Back with a gripe

Finished the novel I was editing (no, not mine, someone else's) and am celebrating by, well, getting onto the next thing. Including reestablishing my presence here.

Although several things happened over the last few weeks that I've wanted to blog on, those that stick out the most are the ones I'm going to gripe about. Namely, the behavior of so-called "Christians" - the one who works for Windstream Publishing, the one who's been trying to kill his wife, and the ones who apparently don't have jobs.

A note: I am Christian. And I am Catholic. And although, having been raised Protestant, I have more than a little "God helps those who helps themselves" influence wired into my brain, I also believe that it's a sign of weak faith for people to take matters into their own hands, try to control a situation's outcome or even other people. Whatever happened to prayer?

That people stand outside Terri Schiavo's hospice, praying for her, is encouraging and positive. It's the people who deride and threaten and hate that scare me, because they seek to divide rather than unite. In the same way that people who blow up abortion clinics make all pro-lifers look bad, and that priests who abused children undermined everything the good priests did for their communities and their Church, these "Christians" make it easier for non-Christians to hate us. Then what? We could all go around beating our breasts about persecution? Oh, wait - don't those people already cry persecution when things don't go their way - prayer is removed from schools, or a menorah is erected beside a Nativity scene?

Non-Christians believe Christians are intolerant because a tiny minority is allowed to speak and act for all of us, to perpetuate myths about our beliefs. Unfortunately, the media love controversy, and with more of them focusing on religion than they did prior to the election, they will go where the ratings lie - to the protestors.

Which leaves Christians with one of the hardest challenges of all: turn the other cheek. Not to promote a groundswell of "proving" to the media and to everyone else how good we are; but to take what is evil in the world and make something good of it. One of the greatest examples of this kind of courage was the Ten Boom family, who humbled themselves for Christ's sake. Surprisingly, often love really is enough.

Reshuffling brings equilibrium

I'm handling this month's glut of work much better than I thought I would be. Granted, it's early. But I'm already two-thirds of the way through two articles, much earlier than usual, and I feel like I'm in good shape to get other deadlines in on time.

What happened? I broke a rule I'd set for myself. I started out believing that my early morning work time had to be devoted to my novel. Except that under much pressure, I was already letting other work creep into that time, and I was being dishonest about it. In the meantime, I finally stopped denying that I was going to be late on the novel edit. There was just one thing to do: move the novel time to Prime Time, and use valuable early-morning real estate for the edit.

I make great progress in early mornings. Not so great progress in the evenings. But I feel it's easier for me to be flexible with my novel than it is to be with paid work. And I'll go back to working on it in the mornings, when this edit is done.

My one concern: the boy who has decided that 6 a.m. is a great time to wake up. Lord, help me.

It's on days like today...

... that I sincerely hope my son will always (and I do mean always) be content with my leaving him in his crib with his doggie and his books while I do business.

Not much business got done today. There was the tantrum at seeing golf clubs on The Today Show that he couldn't have. (He's obsessed with long-handled objects.) There was the clamor to sit on my lap, to write with pens. (I created a monster.) Then, the demand for pens other than those I had given him. The refusal to sleep. (Another molar is coming in, and if I had a brain left, I would have called the doctor to find out if Motrin interacts with Dimetapp.) My last desperate attempt to entertain The Boy Who Wouldn't with dishwashing. (Bad idea. He tried to help.) And finally, my total abandonment of any attempt to be Supermom. Take Our Children to Work Day came early this year as I brought my son to his father's classroom for the last Economics class of the day. The teenagers loved it. The boy loved the chalkboard.

Then I came home and read this blog. And Lord, I don't ever want to be in Liz's position. Ever. Especially not on a day like today.