a posse ad esse

Sometimes a Latin dictionary comes in handy:

When dealing with your fiance's pet: Feles mala! cur cista non uteris? Bad kitty! Why don't you use the litter box?

When registering for wedding gifts: Furnulum pani nolo. Thanks, but I don't want a toaster.

When taking a bath: Ubi est mea anaticula cumminosa? Where's my rubber ducky?

Back in the day, I had some friends who thought quid quid latine dictum sit, altum videtur! Anything said in Latin sounds profound!

But now as I'm packing up my apartment in preparation to move to Kansas City, or Our Town, as I like to think of it, I find myself questioning my a) need and b) desire to hang on to such a relic of my former linguistic glory.

But it's not just space on the bookshelf that matters. This dictionary represents a time when I was awkwardly searching for my intellectual, social, and spiritual worth and identity. It was a rough couple of years.

But the people I was trying to impress (aka the boys I liked) aren't a part of my life anymore.

The doubts I had spiritually have been relentlessly proven wrong.

I am certain of God's faithfulness to me, and my purpose in His kingdom.

I have moved a posse ad esse. From possibility to actuality.

I am not hiding from the past, or from struggles that the Lord lead me through, but I don't want a reminder of my old self taunting me from the bookshelf. I choose to put off those things.

I also don't want to have a place of retreat for my brain and heart to linger, when life with my future husband becomes frustrating. I don't want old voices whispering through the pages, "This is who you used to be...think of whom you could have become..."

I am committed to choosing to be who the Lord says I am today.

A posse ad esse. From possibility to actuality of faith.

Where do you go?

The man I am going to marry has adventure running through his veins. Unmapped lands, untried combinations of spices, untested methods of fixing garbage disposals or lawn mowers...he'll figure it out. If there's a tree on the prairie, he'll try not to fall out of it, waving at me from the top branch.

And the crazy thing is that he's asked me to come along. Into uncharted territories, unnamed cities and undefined spaces, into undiscovered places in my own heart and mind. He's Superman, Peter Pan, the last action hero. And me? I'm...I'm with him.

It's scary sometimes, leaping off cliffs and splashing through waterfalls. I feel like I often dig my heels into familiarity and resist his outstretched hand helping me fly.

Look at these pictures of Lois Lane and Wendy. Do you see the trepidation in Lois' face? Can you tell from Wendy's grasping hands and flailing feet that she'd rather be on the ground?

He loves the Five for Fighting Superman song that goes

I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me

I’m more than a bird...I’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me

Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see

It may sound absurd...but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me.

It's not easy to be him, but he's been given the grace to dream big dreams and go big places. And he's invited me along. I'm with him, for better or worse. That's my choice.

I will try.

Thanks, Dave Matthews, for putting it in words for me...

I am no superman not at all
I have no answers for you
I am no hero, and that's for sure
But I do know one thing
Where you go, is where I want to be

Where are you going? Where do you go?
Are you looking for answers
For reasons under the stars
If along the way, you are growing weary
You can rest with me until a brighter day

I am no superman, that's for sure
And I have no answers
I am no hero, oh don't you know
But I do know one thing,
Where you are is where I belong
Where you go, I do know, is where I belong

grease monkey

I get my car(s) fixed a lot.

The guys down at TiresPlus (Michael, Tom, Will, Matt, and the cute one I flirted shamelessly with for a year and a half) know all about my rims, my oil pan, my transmission, my masters degree, my sub jobs, and my fiance.

The guys call me by name when I walk in and let me change the channel on the TV in the waiting area. The first summer I lived here, I remarked off-handedly that TiresPlus should have a punch card like Subway, where every 10th repair is free. They think I'm pretty funny.

This relationship has survived two and a half years, three apartments, five roommates, two cars, a million miles, and nearly that many dollars. I can only hope that my fiance and I do as well.

I know very little about spark plugs, carbuorators, mufflers, or ignition switches. But I'm learning. The guys at TiresPlus are always eager to show me what they're working on, and tell me about the variety of ways my car(s) had been injured.

As a girl, I feel fairly vulnerable when I walk into a car place. I am at the mercy of these men and their oil-stained hands. And who knows...maybe my fiance or my dad could get a more honest opinion, or a better deal, or give the mechanics specific instructions about what to fix.

I'm usually a little vague. What's wrong with my car? Well, it's "a scary humming sound" or "a wobbly feel" or "a suspicious-looking puddle in the garage." TiresPlus teaches me to trust, and have hope, and depend very practically on God's providence and mercy and the wisdom of others.

So the other day I had my car in to have the wheels aligned and the tires balanced, although I asked for it the other way around. As usual, I sat and waited, watching TLC and tying ribbons on wedding invitations. When the guys were done, I went up to the counter to pay.

Tom, who's in charge on Tuesdays, took the bill out of my hand and signed his name across the balance due. He grinned at me and said, "This one's on us. Your punch card was full."

Grace from a grease monkey.

I love TiresPlus.

the long way home

Grandpa Detrich always liked to take the long way home.

First we'd go to the Dairy Queen for a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a cup...then out on dirt roads where wild turkeys scuttled into the ditch...over rickety bridges spanning dry creek beds...past the field where the '52 flood brought an underground spring suddenly to life...up to the top of Indian Hill to look at the new housing developments or the mist settling grey around the grain elevator and all the way to the eastern horizon.

He liked to drive across the Milford Lake Dam, and the back roads by Easy Jack's, or through the Oak Grove or the Bonebrake, pointing out the skeletons of ramshackle farmhouses and stone structures that used to be somebody's "place."

Grandpa Detrich always had to go check on something...a real estate deal for a new family in town, a property dispute out at the quarry, a file down at the office, or the fence along the creek at our aunt's farm.

Nothing was ever quite on the way and I think Grandpa liked that.

Peacocks roost by walking under their designated sleeping spot and jumping straight up into the air to land precariously on that branch...Clive Cussler writes himself and one of his classic cars into every Dirk Pitt novel...the best cherry pie in the world is made by the women from the Alida-Upland church and sold at Chris Bletcher auctions...a Pizza Hut mint will last over an hour if you just set it on the top of your tongue and try not to suck on it.

That's the kind of stuff you learn on the long way home.

The neighborhood cats will leave the birds alone after a couple of shots from a pellet gun. Other rummy players will overlook what you've laid down if you keep your piles close to the edge of the table and out of order. There is a bottomless pot of coffee at the Senior Center, and an endless game of "guess the number" to see who pays for it each month.

Homemade ice cream tastes best eaten outside. Don't mow the lawn when the grass is damp. The human body is fragile, and prone to mysterious injuries that need bandaids and iodine. There's nothing better than a nap with a lap full of sunshine and prism rainbows.

Small towns in Kansas are worth saving... worth celebrating.

That's what Grandpa taught me.

I pray he found the long way home at last.

What's in a name?

Upon making the decision to join the Burton family, I became curious as to just what sort of folks these Burtons, worldwide, are. Both of my grandmothers are very interested in genealogy; however, I'm pretty sure this blog entry has nothing to do with actual bloodlines.

There are apparently a lot of people in the world with the last name of Burton...enjoy a few pages from my new "family" album!









Tim Burton...the bizarrely creative genius behind such films as Edward Scissorhands, Beetle Juice, several Batman films, James and the Giant Peach, and the second Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Be sure to catch Johnny Depp in Tim's upcoming Sweeney Todd.

Dan Burton... Indiana's Republican US Representative (Vice Chairman of the Subcommittee on Asia and the Pacific). He's in his twelfth year in office, and reminds everyone to "Vote Hoosiers!"

Virginia Lee Burton...author and illustrator of Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel. This book was made famous by Ramona Quimby who enjoyed the loud sound effects of the steam shovel, whose name is Mary Anne.

Gary Burton... honored with a Grammy Award for his 1971 jazz album Alone at Last, which features his solo vibraphone concert recorded at the 1971 Montreux Jazz Festival. This is a vibraphone.

Burton-on-Trent might not be Stratford-on-Avon, but Burton is widely known as ‘the brewing capital of England.’ Please remember to drink responsibly...have a half a beer.

Burtons also make snowboards. I don't know anything about snowboarding, except that it looks cold and adventurous, and has a lingo completely foreign to me. I plan on working on my Stale Fish Grab or maybe a Nollie so I can really feel like part of the family and bust some phat air!

Lucy in the Sky

10 Facts and Commentary about Transparent Crystals of Tetrahedrally Bonded Carbon Atoms.

1. Diamonds are the hardest natural material on earth. They score a 10 on Mohs' scale of mineral hardness! In some ways, I have found our engagement to be the hardest (and simultaneously beautiful and sparkly) time of my life. If that Mohs' scale went all the way up to eleven, then I could measure it properly.

2. It takes a temperature of 1325°C and a pressure of 50,000 kg/cm2 to make diamond underground. That's like having the Eiffel Tower dropped on your foot, on a 2417 degree day in France.

3. Diamonds have been around for a long time. The first recorded description of a diamond is in a 296 BC Sanskrit text. I do not know the Sanskrit word for "diamond," so I will have to trust Panini on that.

4. Some people believe that diamonds have magical powers. The Romans believed that diamonds would protect them against poison and plague, or that diamonds could cure enchantment. There's two ways to think about that. Either it means that kisses don't do anything, but engagement rings have the power to turn frogs into princes...or it means that the impending reality of marriage "cures" any enchantment in young lovers' hearts.

5. Diamonds can be deadly. Catherine de Medici, the Queen of France in 1560, used to poison her rivals by spiking their drinks with diamond dust. On a side note, she also made a rule that women had to wear corsets, so she gets Two Thumbs Down.

6. A diamonds repels water but attracts fat. This must be why I like to eat bacon but don't like to wear a swimming suit.

7. Diamond is a good conductor of heat. When it is not in contact with a source of heat, a diamond always feels cold. Me too. Fortunately, my fiance is like a furnace.

8. Most diamonds radiate visible light when exposed to ultraviolet light. This means if you are Ross Gellar, you shouldn't wear too much bling on your improbable second date with the girl with the black light.

9. Marilyn Monroe's song about diamonds (sung by Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge) has a catchy title, but is actually about the glass ceiling, the stock market, budgeting and the aging process; it uses adjectives like liasonic and continental; and includes the tongue-twister "better bets if little pets get big baggettes." I can see why it's such a hit!

10. Diamonds are not actually this girl's best friend, but I'm blessed to wear an oh-so-sparkly transparent crystal of tetrahedrally bonded carbon atoms as a sign of a precious promise from the man I love.

Hard Times

Almost exactly a year ago, I sat transfixed in front of the TV, watching an ominous swirl of clouds approach the Gulf Coast. The wind blew, and the sky got dark, and then Katrina came. The nation watched the tragedy that swamped New Orleans and much of Mississippi with murky water and governmental ineptitude.

This morning, I saw a documentary update on the rebuilding process. Some people are managing to recreate a semblance of normalcy in Louisiana and Alabama, but many other families still live in FEMA trailers, crowded in with relatives, or remain "temporarily relocated" in Dallas and other cities across America.

I wonder what those people think about every day when they wake up. Do they hear the sound of rushing water and people screaming for help?

Do they mourn every moment for lost memories, photographs, friendships, opportunities, the familiarities of home?

Or are there more immediate struggles that eventually start to outweigh those enormous burdens?

Children starting another year of school need new shoes again, parents heading to the office or factory every morning still don't feel fulfilled by their work, the car which helped them escape the rising water is low on gas again. Couples continue to argue about money, or how to communicate more effectively, or where to spend Thanksgiving this year. Single people still wonder if they wouldn't be happier if they were in a relationship. Elderly people feel the everyday aches and pains of an aging body.

These difficulties have nothing to do with Katrina...it's just life. Is that an easier storm to weather?

How do you survive devastation? How do you survive at all?

There's a Reva Williams song that asks, "Why can't 'hard times' be tornadoes, or monsoons, or just an earthquake?/ It's the small things, not 'the big one' that tear us down, that make our hearts break."

Lord, I lay these small things at your feet. Forgive me for being selfish, for being stubborn and prideful, for forgetting what's important. I want to cling to your throne as the waters rise and subside, and not wander away even on sunny days.

Flying Dropkick Off The Top Rope

I'm not in the mood to read.

I grew up without a TV at home and spent the better part of my childhood curled up on the couch with Encyclopedia Brown, Caddie Woodlawn, and the Baby-sitters' Club.

I loved these books; they were about kids like me, kids with ambition, fear, parents, homework, friendships, and a little bit of spending money. The situations they found themselves in, I could identify with. Okay, so I didn't know anybody named Bugs Meany, but I knew that the noontime sun doesn't cast a shadow, so the banker must be lying about the robber's escape. And I never spent a whole silver dollar at the merchantile on rock candy and hair combs and harmonicas for some little Indian kids, but I did have a bonnet and a secret passageway back to the 1880's through the lilac bushes. And I baby-sat all the time, although thankfully not for Jackie Rodowsky, the Walking Disaster.

That's why I loved reading. Because I could imagine myself in the adventure, on the trail to Oregon. Those kids were my friends, or they would have been, if they would have known me. There was so much to learn from them about creatively overcoming adversity, giving to the less-fortunate, and winning at growing up. I owe those authors a lot.

I still love to read, just not today. Today, I want to watch television. Specifically, professional wrestling tapes from the late 80s. Yes, I am a reading teacher, and have preached many a sermon on the Evils of the Idiot Box, but I'm worn out from my first week in 6th grade, and I just want some WWF.

My uncle used to tape WWF, and we'd watch hours of SummerSlamVII at the farm. Jake the Snake, the Bushwhackers, the Ultimate Warrior, Hulk Hogan, Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake... we knew them all. One of my favorites was Shawn Michaels (either as a Rocker with Marty Jannetty, or when he was the Heartbreak Kid, but not when he was part of Degeneration X...don't worry.)

Here are the Rockers with a Twin Flying Dropkick against somebody in an unfortunate fuschia leotard.

Talk about suspension of disbelief.

I lost interest as professional wrestling became scarier...Kane, Triple H, Batista, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Shawn Michaels now...seem so serious in their intent to inflict pain on one another. Give me a little more face paint, more animals as sidekicks, more tank-top ripping, and a few less matches called "Hell in a Cage."

For a decade, WWF was a terrific combination of gymnastics, fashion, and ego all rolled into one thrilling clash of bulging biceps and acting ability. Sure it was fake, but it was so fun! I think I learned stuff, too, like teamwork and innovation (if your partner is getting double-teamed, don't just get in the ring, bring a steel chair!). I also learned determination and perseverance by watching the weariest wrestlers kick out of a Sleeper Hold, fractions of a second before the 3-count.

Okay. Enough talk, a little more action. Bring it on, Vince McMahon!

p.s. Apologies to my college literature professor. You did your best.

Dresses Without Pockets

"They just can't run down to the bureau at 3:05 a.m. and be married by 3:10. They have to give just a little thought to the process,"said Clark County Clerk Shirley Parraguirre.

Thanks, Shirley.

She's commenting on Las Vegas' new policy prohibiting 24-hour wedding chapels. County officials approved a new 8 a.m.-to-midnight schedule that will take effect next Wednesday.

And as a soon-to-be-married individual, I must applaud the efforts of Shirley's department.

If the rest of us have to wrestle with important decisions like whether or not to allow the groom's cake to be a red velvet armadillo with grey frosting, celebrities and others prone to making hasty decisions should have to think at least a little.

It's funny, or perhaps unfortunate, the amount of time, energy, and preparation that goes into planning a wedding. I'm a little frustrated with the whole process myself, and I am fully aware that we've only just begun (thanks, Carpenters).

I'd like to be thinking about potential ministry opportunities with my future husband, or how we're going to resolve the "he likes having a cat/she doesn't" issue, or if we should wait until he's done with grad school to start a family, or what ornaments to hang on our first Christmas tree, or how to actually live out scripture about spiritual leadership and Biblical submission, or how to combine responsibility, teamwork, sacrifice, friendship, provision, joy, honesty, commitment, passion, communication, forgiveness, hope, individuality, memories, respect, and a shared tube of toothpaste into a lifetime of marriage.

But what I've actually been thinking about is whether to a) carry a bouquet; b) have my sister-maid-of-honor carry a bouquet; c) both...but that means she has to hold both of them during the ceremony, which is awkward; or d) neither...but then what will we do with our hands since our dresses don't have pockets?

Seriously.

Since our ringagement back in June, I've been asked more questions about wedding plans than I ever thought possible. People don't want to know why I love this man, or how we're going to use our life together to glorify God. They just want to know if I have found a reasonably priced photographer. Which, as of today, I have not.

My wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. I guess I hope that it isn't. I think that day will be wonderful, but I hope the days and years keep getting better. After all, we've only just begun.

Go down to the office, Moses

This week, my 6th grade students are learning classroom expectations. Yesterday we discussed what to do if you finish your work early, how the sign-out sheet works to go to the bathroom (to save the teacher from writing out individual passes), where to turn in a completed assignment, and what time they are dismissed for lunch. All of these details are posted in various spots around the room.

What kinds of questions do you suppose I was asked today?

"I'm done with my work...what should I do?" "I need to go to the bathroom. Can you write me a pass?" "Where do I put my assignment when I'm finished?" "When's lunch?"

I answered the first few hours of questions, but eventually started just pointing a yardstick at the wall where all the guidelines were posted, or at the basket clearly labeled HOUR 4 LANGUAGE ARTS ASSIGNMENTS, or at the schedule posted next to the clock.

Oh, and also, "Do you have a boyfriend?" and "Do you always wear flip-flops to school?" to which I just smiled and nodded and continued explaining how to check out books from the library.

But these kids are not the only forgetful ones when it comes to rules and expectations.

This morning as I was driving to work, I heard a Go Fish song called "The Ten Commandment Boogie." It seemed like a catchy way to teach kids some of God's basic rules, although now at lunchtime, I can't remember any of the lyrics. I mean, I know what the Commandments are, or where to look them up if I needed them, but not the actual words to the song.

And I wondered if God ever got tired of me asking the same questions over and over and over. "Do you really exist?" "Do you really love me?" "Do you really hear me when I pray?" "Do you really have a plan for my life?" "Will you really speak to me?" "Do you mean it?"

Maybe God just sometimes wants to point a yardstick at my Bible and say, "Don't you remember? You know this information. Look it up. I told you yesterday. Please try to remember what I tell you. Believe me. It's for your own good."

May these verses from Psalm 119 be the true desire of my heart.

I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands.
I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.
Praise be to you, O LORD; teach me your decrees.
Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law.