Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Carma’s Corner: Secret Santa

I don’t believe in Santa; I actually can’t recall a time when I did believe in Santa. My parents were not anti-Santa, but the whole “Santa charade” wasn’t really promoted either. Of course, I always had stockings and gifts—but being the realist that I am, one man flying around the world and sliding down chimneys did not seem very plausible or believable. Some may argue that I have been deprived; I don’t think so. I still experienced all that Santa stands for—happiness, cheer, gifts—just without the flying or sliding!

While I don’t believe in Santa, I’ll admit that I like the concept of Santa—sharing joy and cheer with others. On the CBS Evening News the other night, a story aired about a man who plays “secret Santa” each year. He randomly chooses individuals and hands them a $100 bill. He doesn’t know the individuals; he doesn’t know how the money will be used, but he believes the world can be changed by one random act of kindness at a time.

Imagine a world where more “secret Santas” existed; would society even look the same? Granted, not every “secret Santa” could pass out $100 bills, but perhaps opening a door for a mom with two small children, scooping the walk for a widow/widower, or buying a cup of coffee for someone means more than the wad of cash. Oftentimes, the actual gift or act is remembered for awhile and then forgotten, but the thought is what actually leaves the impression and touches lives.

Secret Santas will come and go; their gifts or acts will offer momentary happiness and lifelong memories. Just recently, my mom, sister and I experienced a “secret Santa”. We were ordering lunch at a deli when an elderly lady came from behind and pressed money into mom’s hand. As mom turned around to thank the stranger, she was disappearing in the crowd. However, beyond “secret Santas,” there is only ONE who brings everlasting joy and eternal life. For it is because of Christ that society may see more good will to all… especially during this time of year.

So… in retrospect, I have not been deprived at all. My parents just taught me to place my hope and joy in the eternal… and in light of my eternal hope and joy, I love sharing tidbits of happiness, especially when I get to be a “secret Santa!"

Carma’s Corner: A Tribute

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to
live taking form of readiness to die. –G.K. Chesterton

On Friday, November 11, 2011, the country will take a step back and honor the epitome of courage, the veterans. 11/11/11 will mark the 92nd observance of Veterans Day; President Wilson proclaimed November 11, 1919 as the first commemoration of Armistice Day by stating, “To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations…” On May 13, 1938, it was declared that November 11 in each year would be a legal holiday. However, on June 1, 1954, the holiday was renamed from Armistice Day to Veterans Day; Armistice Day was primarily dedicated to remembering and honoring the men and women of the first World War, but Veterans Day was declared a day to honor and remember the men and women of all wars.

I could go on with more of the history of the holiday; I could go into great detail about the various observance ceremonies around the country, but I really don’t believe facts and traditions truly capture the core of Veterans Day. The core of the holiday is found among the thousands of white crosses at Arlington National Cemetery; it’s found in a tight hug to a returning or leaving soldier; it’s seen in the choked back tears at the sound of the national anthem.

In honor of this national holiday, I have decided to share something that I recently received from a fellow writer in Florida. She ran across a poem composed in September 1944 by a soldier from Sibley; the author is unknown, but it is known that the poem was written shortly before the soldier was captured and taken to a German prison camp. I am told that the poem was published in Newspaper Clippings of Osceola County of World War II Veterans by Merrick Publishing.

My Only Plea

Still laugh, said I, when I'm away,
And gather all the flowers of May;
Still keep my room, the pictures all,
That I have loved upon the wall;
For I shall want them every one,
The moment that the war is won.
Still play the records, dance and sing;
And spread no fears of sorrowing,
Be happy every time you can,
For Victory, work and pray and plan;
For I shall want you looking well
When we have fired the final shell.
Still bake the pies as it might be
That I were coming home to tea;
Still plant the garden, roundabout,
Still grub the sturdy thistles out;
And stake the blue delphinium,
As if this war had never come.
For if this struggle shall be long,
At home there must be mirth, and song.
Since these are what we fight to keep,
So hide away when you must weep,
And be as brave at home, as we,
Who fight in sky, on land and sea.

Can anyone tell me more about the author of this poem? If so, please contact me at carmarc@hickorytech.net or stop in at the Osceola County Gazette Tribune office.

Carma’s Corner: Sparks

Sparks have certainly been flying the last few weeks; the tiniest flicker of fire combined with gale-force winds and saltine-cracker dryness has resulted in several dancing flames in fields around the area. Unfortunately, snap, crackle and pop is not the sound farmers want to hear behind their combine; a season of nurturing and growing can quickly crumble to ashes, leaving farmers with more questions than answers.

Like the tumbling leaves, questions regarding the flammable fields swirl around the community. Why is it so dry? Why is it so windy? Why doesn’t it rain a little to settle the dust? Why is hard work and toil reduced to charred stubble in a matter of minutes? The answers are not known, like many answers to life puzzling questions. The only certain answer is that sparks, dry fields and gusty winds make for a dangerous, anxious-filled equation.

It is with confidence that I have to report a favorable forecast of “sparks” flying once again this week. But, don’t worry, I’m not foretelling of great field fires; even if I did know, I wouldn’t be putting that knowledge into print. No, the “sparks” will be igniting in the print world, or perhaps more accurately in bookstores around the world. For the last year, fans around the world have been waiting for the latest “spark,” and this week marks the newest release from Sparks, Nicholas Sparks that is.

I have been a Sparks fan for over 15 years. I am one of those fans who has read all the books, who has seen all the movies and who will order the new book on its release date. Sparks has written 18 novels, including The Notebook, A Walk to Remember, Message in a Bottle and many more. While all these novels present the “boy meets girl; boy falls in love with girl” story, it isn’t actually Sparks’ “love stories” that I have grown so fond of—it’s his endings.

As a student of writing, I have always detested happy endings; I don’t like knowing the ending of a book by the third page. For many love stories, if the boy sees the girl by the third page, a reader can be fairly confident there will be a couple in the end… oh, there will be the little tiff in the middle to add suspense, but then the characters will reunite and live happily ever after.

Ugh!Sparks doesn’t have that nauseating sweetness concluding his novels. Don’t get me wrong, his conclusions aren’t depressing or doom and gloom either—it’s just the right amount of reality mixed with glints of hope… or perhaps I should say little sparks of assurance for better days to come. And I believe that is an accurate portrayal of reality, days filled with sparks of goodness to keep moving on.

Although I’m an avid fan of Sparks, I do not aspire to be another Sparks; it’s not possible. There are hundreds of fans who want to be just like Sparks; I’m not among those hundreds. No, I’ll use the “sparks” of creativity that God has given me and blaze my own way. I’m no Sparks. I’m a Smidt.

Carma’s Corner: 09/11/01-09/11/11

September 11, 2001 was like any other early Tuesday morning; I was reluctant to get up, knowing my daily schedule consisted of four demanding college classes. Before jumping into the shower, Mom switched on my radio, and I halfheartedly listened to the music. I wasn’t completely convinced that waking up was in my best interest, although I knew my time in bed was limited to the length of Mom’s shower. For the next fifteen minutes, I wavered between dreams and reality, but in an instant the dreams abruptly dissipated when the radio announced, “The World Trade Center has been struck by an airline.”

Needless to say, the radio was replaced by the TV; the dreams were replaced with the shocking reality of a building inferno—and questions were replaced with terror when the second plane slammed into the other tower. As the day unfolded, these two initial attacks were only the precursor of a day filled with indescribable horror and years filled with never-ending recovery efforts. When all was said and done, 9/11’s aftermath left approximately 3,000 empty chairs, places where grandfathers, fathers, brothers, uncles, sons, grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, daughters, friends, and even children once sat. Irreplaceable individuals were taken too soon by the ruthless tyranny of terrorists.

It’s been ten years now since that fateful Tuesday morning, when America, the land of life and liberty, quickly vanished into America, the land under attack and turmoil. It’s only natural to remember those who had their lives snatched away on that day, but it’s just as important to remember those who survived and were left behind. For thousands of people, life changed forever; for the nation, the sense of security and invincibleness waivered.

In the ten years since 9/11, America has seen its share of victories, the most notable being the capture and death of Osama bin Laden on May 2, 2011. However, other victories include the dedication of several memorials, the growth of children of 9/11 victims and the sense of moving on while remembering. September 11, 2001 marked the start of a new chapter not only for many people but also for the nation.

On November 11, 2001, President George W. Bush stated, “Time is passing. Yet, for the United States of America, there will be no forgetting September the 11th. We will remember every rescuer who died in honor. We will remember every family that lives in grief. We will remember the fire and ash, the last phone calls, the funerals of the children.”

After ten years, this statement still rings true. We will not forget, but we will move on as a nation—and as I believe—one nation under God!

Carma’s Corner: Back to School

It seems only fitting that I should write about back to school preparations; I mean, after all, it is August, and the days of summer freedom are quickly vanishing, much to the protest of students… and possibly even some teachers. There’s just something about summer—late evening strolls, dancing bonfires, smoky barbecues, chilly swims—that is hard to relinquish for desks, textbooks, and homework. But, every August, the calendar begins its march toward that red letter day, the first day of school.

For some students, the first day of school is dreaded; for other students, the day is merely another day, just one step further in the education journey, and, for a few, the day is exciting and can’t arrive soon enough. I guess I’ll confess that I tended to belong to the latter group; I truly did love school!! Oh, there were days when I wanted to heave the homework out of the window, and there were other days when skipping classes to go shopping sounded better than balancing chemical equations. But, for the most part, I didn’t find school to be dreadful. However, it wasn’t until recently that I fully discovered and understood my attraction toward school and learning.

When I was in kindergarten, I was a patient in the hospital more than a student in the classroom. It was pneumonia, then lung congestion, then sinus infection, then flu—the laundry list of infections went on and on. Being a kindergarten student, the hospital was the last place I wanted to be; I needed to be learning my letters and mathematics, not watching the IV drip the latest antibiotic. If I remember correctly, I spent more time watching the IV drip than learning my ABCs during my kindergarten year. But yet I knew I needed that IV in order to receive my reward—returning to school.

Ever since my kindergarten year, I always saw going to school/classes as a privilege—because, if I was going to school, it meant God had given me strength and health for that day. Don’t get me wrong, I was no perfect student; I had my fair share of fun, but I held a genuine respect for learning. I still do. In fact, I have so much respect for learning that I will be returning to the world of academia at the end of this month. I’m going back to school, not as a student though but as an adjunct instructor.

Beginning August 24th, I will be teaching English Composition on-line for Dordt College. This opportunity has exceeded all my expectations; I feel very honored… and a little overwhelmed, but not defeated. I’m confident that I’ll learn along with the students, if not more than my students! Because of this new venture, my contributions to the newspaper will be slightly less; I’m still planning to write, but more on a part-time basis for awhile… or at least until God reveals the next chapter of my life.

But, until then, I’ll be joining the ranks of those going back to school… and drawing strength from God who promises: “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Monday, August 1, 2011

Carma’s Corner: Death Race

A couple weeks ago, the news anchor on Nightline stated, “There are three types of beings who will run themselves to death: dogs, horses, and humans.” I was not surprised by this statement; I have heard instances where dogs and horses have run until dropping dead—and, as for humans, it is not uncommon to run ragged, figuratively until death. However, the news anchor was not speaking figuratively; he was talking literally in which numerous individuals participate in the annual The Spartan Death Race.

How bad can it be? It’s just a race! Well, the death race makes RAGBRAI look like a cake walk; it makes the Tour de France look like a Sunday afternoon joy ride… and the Boston Marathon?? Phew… nothing more than a leisurely jog!! What exactly is The Spartan Death Race? According to the web page, “This is the highest level of Spartan Challenge. The Spartan Death Race is designed to present you with the totally unexpected, and the totally insane! This endurance race is comprised of mud runs, obstacle racing, physical challenges, and mental challenges all in a +48 hour adventure race.” Doesn’t sound too horrible yet, right? Oh, did I forget to mention that participants are not allowed sleep, have no knowledge of the obstacles to be completed, and not told where/when the finish will be??

The death race was created in 2007 and takes place in Pittsfield, Vermont. The race’s capacity is limited to 200 applicants, and all have to sign a fatality waiver upon registration. The race has an average recorded completion rate of 10 percent. This year’s race began on Friday, June 24, at 6 p.m. and lasted until 3p.m.on Sunday, June 26—45 hours. The race required participants to complete more than a dozen challenges through the central Vermont woods. The details only get better from here!

AGENDA:
Challenge One: dead-lift 100,000 pounds worth of stones over a six-hour period without stopping!

Challenge Two: hike upstream in 45-degree waters… after getting out of the water, carry a candle for a quarter-mile—if the flame goes out, do it over again. Regardless, the task has to be repeated seven times!

Challenge Three: pick out a three foot, 40 pound tree stump and carry it around for more than 24 hours, including a nine-hour hike to the top of a mountain. At the top of the mountain, participants receive several Bible verses to memorize and are required to recite the verses at the bottom of the mountain.

Have I lost anyone yet? No? Keep going then! Other challenges included carrying a 10-gallon bucket filled with water for 2.5 miles without spilling—if spilled, start over. After more than 40 hours into the race, participants were given a 166-question test to recall information given to them at the beginning of the race and throughout the course. Of the more than 150 who applied from 29 states and Canada, only 35 individuals survived the 2011 Spartan Death Race. Their prize package included: Spartan Death Race jacket (on completion), Spartan Death Race Finisher Medal, weeks of pain after the event, and the entitlement to be called a True Spartan (Gold Level).

By now, the overwhelming question may be… WHY? Why would people willingly volunteer for such torture? Why would anyone subject a body to such hardship? I do not have the answers. One participant who survived put it this way: “It’s unexplainable. When he announced it, it was sheer exhilaration. Then I had a moment where I thought, ‘I did it.’ It’s a life-changing experience. It puts things into perspective… you can move mountains if you really put your mind to it.”

So… there it is! Is anyone interested in enlisting in the 2012 Spartan Death Race? I don’t know; I’m considering it… I’ll be happy if I survive the registration process!!

For more information on The Spartan Death Race, visit the official web page at http://www.youmaydie.com/.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Carma’s Corner: Taming the Dragon

I have become slave to a dragon. Yes, I’m at the mercy of a dragon, and, trust me, this dragon is no Puff the magic dragon who lives by the sea and frolics in the autumn mist. No, this dragon is stubborn, ornery, and disruptive on bad days and understanding, cooperative, and a blessing on good days. But I never know when good or bad days will occur; I just wait and see for the dragon to reveal its daily attitude.

For the last 12 years, my life has revolved around this dragon; I live with it; I work with it, and I even socialize with it. By this point, the secret is probably becoming clearer that the dragon isn’t a fire-breathing, winged creature (although there are days when the dragon makes me breathe fire)—no, the dragon is found in my computer and is known as DragonDictate, or as I like to call the dragon, Princeton.

When I was a senior in high school, I was introduced to DragonDictate as I had lost all abilities in my hands. DragonDictate is a voice-activated computer program that can operate a computer via voice. Dictation appears as text on a computer screen, and voice commands are used to navigate the mouse and other functions of a computer—on good days, that is.

In the beginning, I’ll admit I was not one bit impressed with DragonDictate; it was much easier to tell someone else what needed to be typed. But I was assured DragonDictate only needed to be trained in order to follow my dictation and commands. Training was a rigorous 30,000 word vocabulary repeated three times. I laughed, wondering if DragonDictate would rule me, or if someday I would master it.

The first year of the relationship was frustrating, tiring, and slow. DragonDictate’s favorite word to print was “Princeton”—no matter what I said—it was always “Princeton”. Hence, I named DragonDictate, Princeton—the name has stuck for the last 12 years, although the dragon rarely feels the need to print its name anymore.

Today I have a love/hate relationship with Princeton. Some days I rule over Princeton, but the next day Princeton rudely reminds me that I’m not the master. Nonsense words appear on the page, and little to no commands are followed to operate the computer. On these bad days, I simply state, “Princeton has an attitude.”

Over the last couple weeks, I have been in basic training once again with Princeton—my fourth time in basic training. Computer problems caused issues with the voice activation program, which only leaves one option: repeating a 30,000 word vocabulary list. At this point, I’m in the “taming the dragon” phase, convincing it that cooperation is much easier. Even though training is tedious and time-consuming, I don’t mind doing it because the freedom and independence I receive from Princeton far outweighs the frustration.

I am thankful for Princeton because I know God is using it as a tool to allow me to be an active member in society. DragonDictate (Princeton) is more than just a voice-activated computer program to me; it’s one of the keys to show how God can use all people, even technology, for His glory. With God, all “dragons” can be tamed!

Carma’s Corner: May 1, 2011

An event to certainly go down in history—just like the fall of Hitler and Hussein—now the demise of Osama bin Laden. On Sunday, May 1, 2011, President Obama stated, “Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children.” For nearly ten years, Americans have been awaiting and anticipating this statement—the declaration that justice had been served. The announcement of bin Laden’s death has erupted a host of responses from closure to vengeance to a renewed sense of patriotism.

As like many Americans, I feel a sense of patriotism and completeness welling within my being, but there is also another feeling growing each day—an unsettling feeling. It’s not that I don’t believe bin Laden deserved death; it’s not that I don’t think justice needed to be served, but I fear the sense of pride and celebration surrounding the death. Yes, America did accomplish what it set out to do—to oust the world of bin Laden’s tyranny. President Obama said, “… but tonight we are once again reminded that America can do whatever we set our mind to. That is the story of our history.”

However, it’s important to remember “the story of our history” never comes without cost—irreplaceable costs of life. Bin Laden’s reign has tallied up countless deaths: 3,000 on September 11, 2001 and numerous others in the nearly 10 years of trying to capture him. None of these deaths were celebrated; no, in fact, I’m fairly confident that each life lost left a hole in someone’s heart. Lives are celebrated, not death.

I do believe the Navy Seals who carried out the mission to capture bin Laden dead or alive should be commended. Perhaps, America should redirect their celebration and joy from the death of one man to the dedication of the military to ensure America’s security. However, America’s ultimate security is found in God alone. God protected those Navy Seals as they landed and commenced their mission within bin Laden’s compound. May 1, 2011 apparently was God’s appointed time for vengeance to be delivered.

Celebrate freedom. Celebrate life. Celebrate God.

Martin Luther King Jr. summarizes my thoughts by stating, “I will mourn the loss of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

Carma’s Corner: Watching, Waiting, and Wonder

It’s happened. It didn’t go unnoticed. No, I dare say the event gained ever increasing popularity with each passing day, but the mounting attention and excitement was unbeknownst to the ones being watched. In fact, I would venture to guess the one being watched finds the event nothing more than an act of nature. But for the twenty-five million plus viewers, the event is a wonder of nature!

Somewhere in a tree near Decorah, IA, two bald eagles maintain their nest, care for their three offspring, and keep vigilance to ward off any potential predators—all in front of the camera. The live video feed has caused a flurry of followers, or perhaps peeps is a better word, to tune in several times a day to see what Mr. and Mrs. Eagle are doing.

Over the last few days, I have been among those peeps. I’ll admit the live video feed is not only intriguing, but also addicting. While I love watching the little eaglets eat, I’m most mesmerized by the dedication of the mother and father eagle. Hour after hour, one of them sits on the nest—watching their young and waiting for the change in shift. It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining, if the rain is pouring, if the wind is ruffling their feathers… one sits—the nest is never abandoned.

Since these eagles have caused such a stir and craze, I decided to do some research on these majestic creatures. Here are a few of the facts:
o Juvenile bald eagles are a mixture of brown and white. They reach full maturity in four to five years.
o The female bald eagle is 35 to 37 inches, slightly larger than the male.
o Bald eagles weigh from ten to fourteen pounds.
o Eagle bones are light because they are hollow.
o Today, there are an estimated 9, 769 breeding pairs bald eagles. They mate for life-until one dies.
o Bald eagles have 7,000 feathers.
o Bald eagles can lift about four pounds and mainly feed on fish and carrion (dead annals).
o Bald eagles can fly at approximately 30 miles per hour and can dive at 100 miles per hour.
o The wingspan of an eagle measures from 5.5 to 7.5 feet.
o Nests usually are built near the top of a large tree. Enlarged annually, a bald eagle nest can become the largest of any North American bird. The record nest measured 20 feet deep, 10 feet wide, and weighed two tons.
o At 10 to 12 weeks of age, eaglets are fully feathered, nearly full grown and can fly from the nest.

Reading these facts and watching the video, I can’t help but marvel at God’s masterful design of the eagle. Each feather, each character trait, and each physical attribute is specifically chosen for the eagle’s prosperity and posterity. No detail is superfluous or carelessly added; each facet holds an important role.

In the same way, God creates each human being individually and unique; he then waits and watches over his creation, just as the eagle. And I’m confident that when the time comes for the new little one to arrive in the world—God feels a sense of wonder because He knows He is the one who “fearfully and wonderfully made” that tiny being. He makes no mistakes; He makes no boo-boos; He only makes one-of-a-kind models.

I feel honored to witness the eagle family—yes, it has consumed quite a few minutes of my time over the last week, but I’ll continue to watch and wait… praising my God for this wonder of His creation!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Carma’s Corner: If the walls could talk…

The house was old; the windows were shattered; the paint had blistered and peeled; the front steps crumbled. There it sat—alone amidst a few living birch trees. It was dilapidated, decrepit, ramshackle… clearly an eyesore to any passerby. A few weeks ago, I happened to be the passerby of this lonely house; my initial thought was “the wrecking ball needs to pay a visit.” But as I peered through the hollow window, I saw a wall… and immediately my creative juices started churning.

My mind started saying, “What if those walls could talk? What bedtime stories would I hear? What arguments would be retold? What parties would be relived?” I didn’t know; I didn’t know if the house was one filled with happiness and joy or one filled with strife and turmoil. It didn’t much matter now; I didn’t ponder long and went along my way, but I kept thinking of the house… the stories that could be told, if only the walls could talk.

My desire for a story from a house came a little too boldly this past month. It’s a story that still leaves me shivering a few days after its telling, and I don’t even know the ending yet. But I’ll share…It started with a remodeling project—finishing a room. Late one evening, it was determined that a wall needed to be removed, so out came the work gloves and tools. About halfway through the demolition, a question was raised, “what is this?” while nine cassette tapes were extracted from the wall. The tapes were tightly bound with rubber bands and labeled 1-9 and 666, the mark of the beast. The tapes were quickly tossed aside until the first tape finds its way to the cassette player a few days later. And thus a story of a life not known unfolds… In one tape, it’s all there, every ounce of detail identifying the recorded individual. And then came the purpose for the tapes… concisely said, “so one day the truth will be made known.” The story is halted for now, and only a narration of a life lived is being heard.

The “truth” still remains undisclosed… and which tape will illuminate the darkness awaits to be played… outside of the wall. It is not known that if the one who placed the tapes in the wall may still be living; it is not known when the tapes may have been placed in the wall; it’s not known whether the “one” will return to rightfully claim the hidden truth, but it is known who the tapes are intended for.

Returning back to the old house, I wonder whether the question is “what would the walls say” or more so “what do the walls hold?” The walls can only conceal for a short time, but eventually one day a hole in the wall will be made… and the truth will be revealed. If the walls could talk, what secrets are waiting to be disclosed?

Carma’s Corner: Perseverance

Turn on any television. Switch on any radio. Pick up any newspaper or news magazine. The overwhelming news bulletins have lately been on the political protests and uprisings in Cairo, Egypt. Thousands upon thousands of people have gathered for one sole purpose, to oust the thirty year reign of President Hosni Mubarak. Of course, the people who have convened to support the maintaining of President Mubarak’s reign cannot be disregarded. Even though these two groups of people are seeking different political measures, they do share one characteristic: perseverance.

What exactly is perseverance? According to the Oxford English Dictionary, perseverance is “the fact, process, condition, or quality of persevering.” But if persevering is not understood, the definition of perseverance does not shed much light on the actual meaning of the word. In the dictionary, persevering is defined as a “constant persistence in a course of action, purpose, or state; steadfast pursuit of an aim; tenacious assiduity or endeavor.” Perseverance is the noun form of the verb “to persevere.” In short, all these definitions can be simply summarized in the concept of “keep moving on no matter what.”

In Egypt, the anti-Mubarak squad is determined to bring about the end of Mubarak’s leadership, whereas the faithful followers of Mubarak are dedicated to ensuring his presidency doesn’t come to a premature end. The devotion and perseverance of each side has resulted in unrest, turmoil, and uncertainty. Which side will claim victory; whose cries will be answered, or what results will occur from this outpouring of dissatisfaction? I do not know. But I do know perseverance gets results.

Perseverance has always been an important ingredient in my life. At times, I like to imagine God writing down my recipe while He was creating me; maybe the recipe looked as follows: 2 drops of patience; 1 drop of knowledge; 1 drop of kindness; ½ drop of humor; ½ drop of cheerfulness; 1 drop of love; and 1 drop of perseverance... ½ jar of perseverance. Add the breath of life. I realize my imagination is not an accurate portrayal of my creation, but I do believe God has blessed me with extra ounces of perseverance, especially since He is the author of my life and knew what my days would entail before even one hour had been recorded.

He knew perseverance would be needed in the countless, long hospitalizations; He knew perseverance would be required to achieve education; He knew perseverance would be in high demand by my physical limitations. But He also knew that He was going to use my perseverance for a greater plan.

Although perseverance has played a significant role in my life, perseverance doesn’t constitute the successes of my life—not my education, not my career, and not even my disposition. No, my success is found solely in God’s gifts to me. I believe He gave me extra perseverance in order to use my limitations for His glory. Oh, there are days when my limitations scream “don’t even try… you can’t do it.” But then my heart yells “how can you ignore your makeup… surely God didn’t give you extra perseverance for storage… use it for Him.” So… I keep moving… and will continue to do so with God’s help.

Back in Egypt, perseverance has drawn people together to seek political change, to end Mubarak’s control, and to create history… all of which will not happen without God. In the same way, without God, my perseverance may have provided me with a few successes, but, with God, my perseverance is unconquerable… and has given me a lifetime of blessings.

I couldn’t have asked for a better recipe!

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Carma’s Corner: Renewal

Here it is-the second week of 2011. For some, 2011 has already been marked with heartache, tragedy, and trial… while for others, 2011 has ushered in joy in the birth of new family members, excitement in marriages, and hope in new jobs or promotions… and another majority may have barely noticed the shifted year, except for the changed calendar on the wall. For me, I’ll readily confess that I belong to the latter majority; 2010 graciously relinquished its reins to 2011. But I can’t fully commit to saying, “I didn’t notice the change in the year” because I did take notice, I did make resolutions, and I did give thanks for the New Year… whatever it may have in store.

January usually dawns with high ambitions for me. Maybe… this year I’ll write the great American novel, or perhaps this small-town, Midwest girl will be discovered by some elite literary group… or for some unbeknownst reason, I rock the literary world with a new voice and perspective. As I said… high ambitions… and within a couple hours, my realistic nature gently yanks me out of the clouds and plants my feet on the ground with a thud. It’s not that my high ambitions are dashed, but the aggressive ambitions are renewed with a dose of reality.

In a sense, January is often seen as the month of renewal. Like me, people claim that this year will be the year to lose weight, gain financial stability, start an effective exercise regimen, eat a more healthy diet, pursue more education, or to find the right balance between work and family. The list is endless. For some, one or more goals will be accomplished, while others will quickly fall to the wayside, left waiting for yet another January renewal. But what does this word renewal mean, and why is it so closely linked to January?

When I was in college, I once received an assignment entitled “expanded definition.” The directions informed me that I was to choose a word and define it in three to four pages. It sounded simple enough, but the final line of the directions read: “Student is allowed to use only ONE version of a dictionary.” My idea of using three or four different dictionaries to define my word gingerly skipped off my pages, leaving me to clothe 3 ½ pages of naked paper. Today, I can’t recall the word I defined, but I remember that the assignment taught me to think about words beyond their printed definition.

The word before me now is renewal… don’t worry I have no plans of filling 3 ½ pages! According to Merriam-Webster Dictionary, renewal means “the act or process of renewing: repetition; the quality or state of being renewed; something (such as a subscription) renewed; something used for renewing, specifically: an expenditure that betters existing fixed assets; and the rebuilding of a large area (as of a city) by a public authority.” In essence, the dictionary basically states that renewal means to take something old and give it new life.

The months of each year come and go, but January always marks the beginning… the start… the launch. It provides hope, a sense of renewing purposes. Maybe… 2010 vices can be 2011 victories… 2010 poverty can be 2011 prosperity… or 2010 acquaintances can be 2011 friends. January provides a clean slate for individuals to dare to try something new or to renew past ambitions with greater purpose.

As for me, my high ambitions have been revised and are now called my renewed ambitions. The Great American novel has become 200 words of personal writing each week; the elite literary group has become associating with writers to get ideas and feedback… and as for rocking the literary world, I’ll be content with a small dent!

But for any goals to be accomplished… renewal isn’t just for January… it’s for February, March, April, and so on. For it’s in continual renewal… that true success can be witnessed.

Carma’s Corner: 2010 Rewind

The carols have been sung; friends and families have gathered; the delicacies of the season have been consumed; the gifts unwrapped, and now the busyness of the holiday turns to reflection. In just a few short days, New York’s Times Square will explode with people; champagne bottles will be uncorked; promises will be made; proposals will be accepted, and a minute before midnight, everyone’s attention will turn to the notorious lighted ball slowly descending to a countdown chorus… three, two, one…HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The end of 2010 is near; 2010 will soon be written in history books. What will historians write about the year 2010? With an interest in journalism, I reviewed some of the headlines that made national and world news. Here are some of the headlines I found:

December
Senate Passes Tax-Cut Compromise

November
In Midterm Elections, Republicans Win House, Democrats Keep Senate

October
First of 33 Trapped Chilean Miners Rescued

September
American Hiker Released on Bail from Iranian Prison

August
Home Sales at Lowest Level in 10 Years

July
Stampede During German Parade Kills 21, Wounds 500

June
U.S. Soccer Team Advances to Round of 16 in World Cup

May
Oil Spill Biggest In History, Estimates Suggest

April
162,000 Jobs Added in March; Unemployment Remains at 9.7%

March
Female Suicide Bombers Kill 39 in Russian Subway Stations

February
President Obama Outlines Health Care Reform

January
7.0 Magnitude Earthquake Devastates Port-Au-Prince, Haiti

I’d venture to guess that one or more of these headlines will be studied by generations to come. But even though the historians will try to justly capture the events, the textbooks will never be able to fully capture the relief and excitement of the rescued Chilean miners, the havoc racked by millions of gallons of oil spilling into ocean, and the devastation, turmoil, and sadness thrust upon the people of Haiti. The history of 2010 will only be ultimately real for those who witnessed and endured the year.

I don’t recall these headlines to show all the bad things that have happened in 2010; I don’t outline these headlines to highlight scars gained in 2010; I do so to remember that these headlines are in the past… and even though some effects are still very visible, the only remaining thing to do is move forward. I don’t know what headlines will be penned for 2011, but I do know, as like all other years, 2010 will be a stepping stone into 2011. The 2010 Rewind gives the forward push to 2011, another year of history in the making.

Carma’s Corner: Blast from the Past-Finally Christmas

A few months ago, I was searching through a file when I ran across a detailed program/schedule of the Smidt Family Christmas Eve. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering how I tirelessly outlined all the times of the events to take place that evening- from the candlelit dinner to bedtime. I gently placed the schedule back in the file, recalling my ambition and motivation for detailing such an evening.

It was a couple weeks before Christmas, and like all other children I was beside myself with excitement. The tree was decorated; cookies were baked, and wrapped surprises were slowly appearing under the tree with each passing day. With all the anticipation and excitement swirling within me, I wanted some way to contribute to the festivities. I couldn’t decorate the tree; I couldn’t bake; I couldn’t wrap gifts. How was I going to add my special touch to the holiday?

“What can I do?” I asked Mom each day.

After a few days of my asking, Mom came up with an idea. “I think you should make a program for our Christmas Eve… a schedule of sorts, so we know what we are going to do when,” she suggested.

That was it; that was something I could do! I pulled out six pieces of paper, my crayons, Christmas stickers, a ruler, and an ink pen. Mom wanted Christmas programs, so I was going to make sure these programs were decked to her satisfaction. I folded; I colored; I stuck my stickers; I wrote, and two days later, I gently laid six individual Smidt Family Christmas Eve programs on the front hall table. It was finally Christmas Eve, and in a few short hours it would finally be Christmas.

When I ran across this creation from 20 years ago, it made me smile, but yet at the same time it made me a little sad. In those 20 years since, it seems like the “finally Christmas” excitement and anticipation has slowly been replaced with an “already Christmas” feeling. As one gets older, one assumes more responsibilities; life changes, and days get busier with families, work, and appointments. Time seems to spin faster, and before long one is left saying, “It’s ALREADY Christmas.”

I’m no different. My yearly juggling act of family, friends, work, and other commitments becomes a highly entertaining circus act in December… and I’m left saying, “It’s ALREADY Christmas.” Gone are the days of “what can I do”; gone are the days of detailing a Smidt Christmas Eve program. Already Christmas remains.

I’ll admit I miss those days of having nothing better to do than wait for Christmas… and then exclaim on Christmas morning “It’s FINALLY Christmas!” But Finally Christmas will never be totally erased in my life because I’m continually reminded of the true Finally Christmas.

Over 2,000 years ago, on a quiet, clear night… there were heavenly hosts just waiting to hear the first cry from Jesus. Imagine waiting to declare the good news to the shepherds; I imagine the angels couldn’t wait to sing… even if it was going to startle those shepherds out of their cloaks.

Jesus cried. And behold angels appeared in the black sky announcing, “Unto you a Savior has been born; He is Christ the Lord!” Jesus was here; salvation had come to the world. The angels were excited and spreading the news of the joyous arrival… IT WAS FINALLY CHRISTMAS!!

May the angel’s excitement and joy invade Christmas this year… so Christmas morning may dawn with a chorus of “It’s FINALLY Christmas! Glory to God in the highest!”

Carma’s Corner: Blast from the Past-Forgotten Christmas

It was Christmas Eve 2003, but all the familiar traditions of Christmas Eve were nowhere to be seen. The scrumptious, candlelit feast was replaced with boxed meals from a vending machine; the melodic “O Holy Night” was drowned out by discordant beeps and buzzes; the brightly wrapped gifts were substituted with finger pricks, and the angel’s joyful declaration came to me as “Your tests were positive for Type A Influenza”. There I sat in Avera Mckennan’s Emergency Room… on Christmas Eve.

After a couple hours of waiting, I was admitted and transferred to One East, an all too familiar wing of the hospital. As I was wheeled to my room, I caught glimpses of decorated trees, wreaths, and garlands in the hallway and waiting rooms, reminding me that Christmas was indeed tomorrow. Succumbing to the fact that Christmas would be different this year, Mom and I settled into the room. Right on schedule, an IV was inserted; x-rays were taken; blood was drawn, and respiratory treatments scheduled.

Around 10 p.m., I was finally told to get some rest, but with every muscle aching, my body didn’t readily welcome sleep. I tossed; I turned; I sat up; I went back to bed, but no position brought comfort or relief. Mom clicked through numerous television stations, searching for some distraction. The clock was nearly striking midnight when Mom came across a station featuring different choirs singing carols.

“Maybe we’ll just listen to the beautiful music,” Mom said, sitting down on the bed next to me.

“Hm-mmm,” I moaned. I closed my eyes, praying that Christmas would bring a better day.

I opened my eyes to find Mom sitting next to the bed. But the room was different; it was much smaller, and many machines surrounded my bed. Numerous tubes weaved over my body, and where they were connected I didn’t know. I didn’t remember having that many tubes when I fell asleep; I didn’t recall actually getting the tubes, but then again I was asleep.

"Where am I?” I whispered.

“You’re in ICU,” Mom explained.

“Oh,” I said, “then it must be Christmas today.”

Mom looked puzzled. “No, Christmas was three days ago. Don’t you remember?”

I didn’t remember; I had only closed my eyes for a few brief moments, and the next thing I knew Christmas was three days ago. I was later told that I had visitors on Christmas Day, talked to my sister on the telephone, and even said Merry Christmas. I had no recollection of these events; for me, Christmas Day had been lost and forgotten somewhere between late Christmas Eve and three days later.

To this day, I have no memory of Christmas Day 2003; it’s been erased. Of course, I have the stories from others regarding how sick I was, what procedures were done, and how Christmas was forgotten among the frenzy of keeping me alive. It bothers me a little that I missed Christmas Day 2003, but this forgotten Christmas causes me to think about one particular character in the Christmas story—the innkeeper.

In Luke 2, it is noted that while in Bethlehem Mary gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in clothes and placed him in a manger because there was no guest room available for them. Oftentimes, contemporary renditions of this story will have an innkeeper shouting “There’s no room for you here” and slamming the door.

I can’t help but think of a few questions: did the innkeeper forget about the young expectant girl on his door step, did the innkeeper ever wonder if the young couple found proper shelter, or did the innkeeper ever consider that this relatively forgettable girl was going to bring an unforgettable gift to the world? I don’t know.

Like the innkeeper, the True Reason for Christmas can be forgotten among the bustle of holiday activities. But remember Christ came to give something unforgettable—salvation to a world who continually forgets Him. Remember the Reason for the Season, and don’t be left with a forgotten Christmas!

Carma’s Corner: Blast from the Past—Frog Come

“No! No frog come,” I screamed and squirmed. I slowly propelled my trike in the opposite direction-away from the pursuant of the frog. I glanced over my shoulder; the frog was gaining at rabbit speed, and I pleaded all the louder “No frog come! No frog come!”

“Frog come! Frog come,” my older brother teased, shoving the frog inches away from my face with each taunt. At twenty-five, he knew that any green, slimy, and jumpy creature was bound to elicit screams and squirms from his little sister, especially when he chased her with frog in hand. He was right.

“No, no,” I protested, shoving my trike forward. At four years old, I didn’t see any enchantment in frogs; I didn’t believe one kiss would break the spell and turn the ugly critter into a dashing prince. If it was green, cold, and jumpy, it was not my friend; it was not meant to be anywhere near me, and it certainly didn’t have any hopes of becoming a knight in shining armor.

Once again, I looked over my shoulder to find my brother’s hands empty. “Wh-where did the frog go?” I asked.

“Looks like the frog got away,” my brother said. I signed; I had escaped the frog invasion unscathed. As I grew up, the frogs would periodically appear, and I would scream and squirm with each hopping reptile. But over the years I began noticing two significant rules to the game: the frog never reached his individual to torment, and the frog always got away before any ounce of genuine fear set in.

I can now look on the “frog come” game with fondness, although at the time the game was threatening. I still can testify that “frog come” still occurs, especially around Christmas. The frogs don’t come breathing, croaking, and tongue flicking; no, the frogs are specially wrapped and planted under the Christmas tree with tags that read: TO: CARMA, FROM: RANDY and TO: RANDY, FROM: CARMA.

The frogs now come as lawn ornaments, garden décor, plush toys, and even figurines. Some of the frogs dance and sing while others have buggy eyes and large scales; some of the frogs just sit like a bump on a log.I don’t mind frogs so much anymore; I dare say I like them, although I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t scream and squirm if a live frog happened to hop on my lap.

I once heard that the word frog could be an acronym for Fully Relying On God (F.R.O.G.). Without fully relying on God, my life would be meaningless; my disability would be unbearable, and my faith would be pointless. But full reliance on God didn’t become a reality until God’s own Son had to have full reliance when He was sent to earth as a babe.

Jesus was sent from heaven, from glory, from perfection to imperfection. Jesus didn’t come as a grown man who was going to save the world with one sweep of His hand. He came as a baby in human form; He grew into a child, adolescent, and adult. He experienced temptations and found His full reliance on God to be His greatest comfort while on earth.

If Jesus wasn’t willing to fully rely on God and come to earth, F.R.O.G wouldn’t have come.I’m fairly confident that “frog come” on the first Christmas too. F.R.O.G came to Mary; F.R.O.G came to Joseph, and Jesus was bringing F.R.O.G to the world for generations to come.

Somehow… my brother must have known that I would need extra ounces of F.R.O.G. in my life!