Pray Hard | by Linda Brendle

One day last week I was reading one of the blogs I follow and saw a word cloud based on Romans 12. One particular phrase jumped out at me: “Pray hard.” This is a phrase that I’ve seen and heard quite a bit, especially over the last few years, and it’s always raised questions in my mind. What exactly does it mean to pray hard? Being the deep theologian that I am, it evokes images of a 5 year old in the toy department, his tiny fists clinched, his face red with tense emotion as he implores his father.

Car Shuffle Hop | by Linda Brendle

The other day I was talking to a friend whose husband is out of work. He’s looking, but with kids in school, her job, and only one car, it’s really difficult. It took me back a few years, or a few decades, or half a century to when I got my first job and the car shuffle hop began.

Confessions of an Ingrate | by Linda Brendle

In December, I wrote a post called “Confessions of a Book Junkie” about my lifelong love of books. After reading about my way of keeping track of the books I’ve read and the books I want to read, my cousin commented that perhaps I was a list junkie as well. Earlier this month I wrote a post titled “I’m Addicted,” and my son said it might be more aptly titled “Confessions of a Co-Dependent.” And my brother, after reading some of my comments on Christian’s posts, said he thought I might be a closet liberal. Maybe my next book should be titled “Confessions of…” Saturday I added another confession to the list.

What’s In Your Corner? | by Linda Brendle

I read an article earlier this week that said British scientists have found a large number of fossil slides collected by Charles Darwin and his peers more than 150 years ago. The slides were not catalogued properly and were found in an old wooden cabinet, shoved into a corner and forgotten.

To Hunt or Not to Hunt | by Linda Brendle

I didn’t grow up around hunters. I was a city girl. My dad had an old .22 rifle and an old shotgun, but they stayed in the back of his closet, and as far as I know, they haven’t been fired since before I was born. I heard stories from both parents about their dads going hunting to put meat on the table, but as far as I was concerned, meat came from the butcher counter at the supermarket, wrapped in plastic.

Awakening the Socially Unconscious | Linda Brendle

It seems that movies have the effect of raising my consciousness about racism, at least enough to write about it. I watched “The Help” last night. It was a wonderful movie, funny, heart-rending, inspiring, uplifting. But it also evoked vague feelings of guilt, a familiar feeling for us codependents who feel responsible for everything, even the things we had nothing to do with. I certainly had nothing to do with any of the situations seen in “The Help.” Mom and Dad worked hard to provide the things we needed as we grew up, but our lifestyle was anything but lavish. Our home more closely resembled the homes of the maids than the mansions where they worked, and no one I knew had hired help except one family whose house I never visited. But I still felt a little guilty because I was so unaware of what was going on in a lot of the world. It makes me wonder what kind of injustice is going on now that needs my attention.

How Badly Do I Really Want to Be a Writer? | by Linda Brendle

Last night we had a power outage, and it made me wonder how badly I really want to be a writer. I was in the middle of writing an e-mail, not an ordinary “hey, how ya’ doin’” kind of e-mail but a continuation of a theological discussion I’m having with my son. We’ve had these discussions most of his life, ever since we realized that I’m a conservative evangelical and he’s a Holy Heretic. When the power went off, my computer stayed on, but I knew it was only temporary. My laptop is seven years old, and the batteries only last for 10 to 15 minutes before shutting down. I saved my e-mail, turned off my computer, and lit some candles before David shut down his computer and left us in total darkness.

The “Green” Thing | by Linda Brendle

Recently I received a forwarded e-mail called “The ‘Green’ Thing.” You know the kind of e-mails I’m talking about, the ones that have 16 sets of e-mail addresses of prior recipients and are indented so far from the left that there are only six words per line. I usually delete them, but for some reason, I read this one. It was about an older woman who was reprimanded by a young cashier for not bringing her own bags to the store. The following exchange ensued:

Why I’m Not a Millionaire | by David Brendle

I have a guest blogger today. On the way to lunch, my husband David shared with me that he was writing a piece on his favorite subject, money. When he admitted that he didn’t have any real plans for it once he was finished, I offered him a guest spot here. So here are some of his (and Garfield’s) thoughts on finances.

I’m Addicted | by Linda Brendle

David and I spent a few days around New Year with my brother Jim. We enjoy spending time with him and Jo Lynn. They’re a fun couple who always has neat ideas of interesting things to do, and they are excellent hosts. That alone would be enough of an incentive for a visit, but they also live three miles from Southridge, the assisted living facility where Mom lives. If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you know I had a major caregiver burnout a year or so ago, and Mom moved from my home to Southridge. I miss her a lot, but in the last 12 months I’ve begun to recover my sanity and my health and to remember how much I enjoy spending uninterrupted time with David. But this visit confirmed that it’s a good thing she lives almost 300 miles away, because I’m just a step away from relapsing into addiction. Hi, my name is Linda and I’m a caregiver.