Birthed in Freedom

For the most part, Americans go through every day without realizing the amount of freedom we have over basic choices in our lives, including the right to decide how many kids we want to have. But today, China announced that it would make exceptions to the governments one-child per family policy for those family affected by the earthquakes two weeks ago.

How many Americans even realize that in the 21st century the nation of China regulates how many children a family can have? It's crazy.

It's important to be reminded once in a while that the rest of the world doesn't enjoy that same freedom as we do in America, whether it's the right to elect our own leaders or create our own families.

Joanne in ... Africa?

For whatever reason (let's call it deadline distractions) I was surfing Google images today and typed in my name. Up came a bunch of strange stuff, but one piqued my curiosity. It was a picture of a guy that was used in an article a few years ago, and it was now linked to Focus on the Family - in Africa!

Apparently the article was reprinted by FOF Africa, or ran there originally back in 2004 and is still online. Either way, I'm thrilled that the piece still has legs and has a timely message for teens on the other side of the world.

Just goes to show; you never know where your online writing goes ...

American Idol: It's not just for kids anymore

When Tuesday's "American Idol" finale was down to the wire, the media had pegged David Archuleta as the likely winner, fueled by his screaming, frantic teen fans.

When the envelope was opened, it was Cook win.

I could have guessed that.

For a while, I thought Archuleta might pull off the win. But I was already wavering by Tuesday night's final performances, and when the show was over I was certain it would be an upset in Cook's favor.

I knew that because almost everyone I knew was in love with David Cook. Now that might not seem like a big deal, except that I fall into that very unAmerican Idol demographic of over 35.

We all just assume that it's teenyboppers burning up the phone lines to vote, and so, with pink cell phones ablazing, we assumed the kids would crown Archuleta.

But Neilson released some statistics today, revealing that the largest demographic group who watched season 7 of "American Idol" were 35-49, with 29% of the viewing audience. The next largest group was 50-64, with 23%. In fact, the entire under 35 demographic accounted for only 36% of the entire season 7 viewing audience.

Who would have thought that it was grown ups watching "American Idol," let alone voting? AT&T reported that the average person who voted by text message voted 38 times during the season, and more women than men voted by text.

Is it possible they were drawn in my appearances by Neil Diamond and Dolly Parton, or were Neil Diamond and Dolly Parton chosen because of the audience demograhics?

I don't suppose we'll know which came first. Let's just hope the don't up the age limit again for season 8 and start letting anyone with an AARP card compete.

SCC family tragedy

There's sad news out of Tennesee today as the reports comes out that yesterday Maria Chapman, the youngest adopted daughter of Steven Curtis and MaryBeth Chapman, was killed when she was struck by an SUV. The accident occured in the Chapman driveway; one of the family's teenaged sons was behind the wheel.

Please keep the Chapman family in prayer.

And the winner is ...

David Cook! I predicted that it would be an upset. When Ryan Seacrest was about to read the winner, I turned to my David and said, "OK, who's it going to be?" He fell for the media hype and said "Archileta" but I stuck to my prediction.

The voters got it right, as Simon says. His pan of Cook's performances on Tues may even have helped, because Cook fans may have tore up the voting lines making sure to prove him wrong.

And tonight ... Last Comic Standing and So You Think You Can Dance start. Gotta love summer reality TV.

Kennedy on the brain

When I heard the news yesterday that Senator Ted Kennedy had been diagnosed with brain cancer, I tried to put myself in his shoes.

What might that feel like to have the doctor come in and tell you that you're probably going to die, soon and painfully?

I frequently feel sympathy when I hear about people in trouble, but this time I actually felt a little scared, felt my heart beat faster and my skin flush cold and my brain scream. That's because his diagnosis came the night before my visit to the neurologist.

At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, I confess that I had been a little worried about that MRI I had last week. It's not that I thought I was dying, really, because frankly we're all in the process of dying aren't we?

I was just concerned that I might be dying now, or that I might have something neurologically wrong that was going to keep me in this tipsy, off kilter manner for the next 30 years. (I plan to live a long time.)

I tried to imagine what it would feel like to have my own doctor hand me the diagnosis Senator Kennedy had just recieved. And what I felt was a deep sympathy for him and an overwhelming desire to pray for him.

Which is I think what God means when he tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Rather than think, "Thank God that's not me" he wants us to think, "What if that was me?" and then reply in sympathy.

Fortunately for me, my diagnosis was good. MRI normal, blood work normal. No tumors, no neurological problems. I have a good old fashioned case of vertigo that I am probably going to deal with off and on for a while. The doctor is sending me for some vestibular physical therapy and a referral to an ear, nose and throat specialist who will do some vestibular testing.

All the same, I feel badly for Senator Kennedy. And I'm going to keep praying for him.

Vertigo Update

I went to the neurologist today. The verdict: I definitely have vertigo. My MRI was normal, blood work normal, etc. No tumors or neurological disease (thanks for praying!). Now that I've had vertigo (twice), I'll likely have it again, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, who knows.

She also said, not surprisingly, that open spaces, warehouse environments, and large rooms will trigger anxiety attacks, b/c my brain senses too much going on to balance. It explains why I have such a difficult time navigating around Wegmans, at least.

In fact, I tried to go to writing group last night - I got in the door and up to the second floor, and was so off balance and shaking I turned around and left. At least I was home in time to cozy up on the couch for the last match up between David Squared on American Idol (I predict a Cook upset). The doctor suggested either going on zoloft or taking xanax as needed. I opted for the second since I only have the problem when I'm in a large space and I'm mostly not.

She's sending me for vestibular physical therapy and also to an ear/nose/throat dr who will do vestibular testing. Whatever all of that entails. By the time the appointments roll around this episode might be over.

Anyway, that's the verdict! Thanks for praying for my MRI. I feel better knowing that there's nothing else major going on. Now we just find a way to make this go away and not come back!

MRI Update

Thank you to all who were praying for my MRI last night. I was really nervous about being shoved into the machine without an escape hatch but I did it.

Barely.

I took my Xanax an hour before and was feeling pretty mellow by the time we got there. In fact, I was yawning through the intake paperwork and looking forward to a nap.

Until they told me I needed an IV. Then I woke up.

Apparently they need to use contrast dye so they can see all of my brain nerves and whatnot, which reminded me that they're looking at MY BRAIN because I'm having a problem, and all sorts of things started running through my head. Oh God, please don't find a tumor. Don't let there be metal shavings behind my eyes for some reason and have my head explode. Don't let the techs go home and forget me in the machine.

Fortunately, the first nurse I saw was Karen Zinnecker, who goes to church with me. If you are ever in the hospital, you want Karen Zinnecker at your side. Her whole aura is peace and tranquility. Even though she was with another patient, I felt better just having her in the room.

So I got undressed, got an IV stabbed into my arm, and head into the MRI room.

At this point, I wasn't nervous at all. I looked inside the machine and was relieved to see that it had openings at both ends, was roomier than I expected and shorter, so my feet hung out. I was relieved. I can do this.

And the MRI guy (I'll call him El, because those are the first two letters of his name but I can't remember the rest) was so nice and patient, I wasn't nervous at all.

I got up on the table, and they adjusted the knee pillows.

Then they put the Tweety bird cage on my head.

Wait, back up to the music. I brought two CDs to have them play, Daughtry and a new one from Paul Alan. To listen to music, they gave me these massive headphones and had me put my hair all up in a net bonnet to keep the headphones sanitary. They handed me a button to push if I needed anything and El said that if I needed to get out it would only take 6 seconds to get me out.

So half my head was clamped into huge headphones and my hair was bound up in a bonnet.

THEN they shoved Tweety's cage over my head.

Talk about confining. I couldn't have moved even if I wanted to.

The table moved me into the hatch. I had my eyes closed, but I could still tell when I was inside because the light went away and everything was dim.

That's when I panicked. And opened my eyes.

I probably wasn't even in the machine all the way before I was pressing the button to get OUT. OUT! NOW!

I started crying. El comforted me by telling me he couldn't even stay in it the entire time when he had an MRI, and that 30% of patients can't ever do it. He said we could try again, or I could reschedule and take more Xanax.

Then Karen came in and started hugging me and asked if she could pray for me. I said that would help and laughed, so she prayed. I have no idea what she said, but I know that after a few minutes I calmed down. I took out my contacts (which were now covered in mascara), told them to skip the headphones, popped in basic earplugs, and said I'd try again.

This time I knew what to expect when the light dimmed, so I just took a long deep breath. I knew that if I freaked El really would have me out in 6 seconds.

They put the music on loud in the room - we went with Paul Alan's CD, El's choice; I'm sure he regretted it because it's overtly Christian - and for the next half hour I counted songs and did deep breathing. In ... out ... this song is over so that's 3 minutes passed ... in ... out ... another song, another 3 minutes ...

With about 8 mins left to go they took me out to inject the dye and the MRI guy said that whatever zone I'd found to go back there for a few minutes, and that he couldn't believe how great I was doing.

By then I had to pee so badly I didn't know if I could hold it, and I was cold so I was shivering, so the last 8 mins were less calm. But I did it.

Phew.

I felt a little bad for El, though. I kind of subjected him to not only open prayer but really overtly Christian music. When I went back in for the last 8 mins I told him to put on whatever he wanted, so he turned on the local FM rock station. But he was a good sport about it and I appreciate his patience with me.

Anyway, that's the story of the MRI. Thanks for praying!

Part of me wished I'd taken more Xanax (which my doctor had suggested) but if I did I wouldn't have had the chance to let God calm me down. Seriously, that's a better feeling than being drugged.

I won't know any results until I see the neurologist next week.

Rapture Ready

I confess that there is simply not enough time in the day to go through everything that comes in for review, and quite frankly some of it should never see the light of day. Because most of what I cover is music, the books often get piled up until someone in my family paws through them for the historical romance and the rest end up in the big plastic bin on my porch.

But the other day I was looking for something to read and pulled out a book called Rapture Ready by Daniel Radosh. It came out in April, and there are two reasons I decided to read it. One, the cover was kinda cute and I thought, "This could be funny," and two, my friend Lori Lenz is mentioned in the thank yous.

My friend Lori is one of the coolest, most down to earth people you'll ever meet. I'm sure she loves Jesus, I just don't think she loves the subculture crap that goes along with it. If Lori is somehow connected to the book, then I needed to check it out.

I haven't found Lori in the pages yet, but I have found a kindred spirit in author Radosh. What I get from just what I've read so far, he's Jewish, hip, intelligent, young and pretty savvy about pop culture. After a day at Shoutfest Christian music festival, he realized there was a teeming Christian subculture that paralleled mainstream pop culture but was completely unnoticed by most of mainstream America.

In other words, as I've complained about before, if you're in the fishbowl, you know the fishes you're swimming with. Meanwhile, everyone else walks by without getting wet.

I'm hooked. Radosh takes a fair and funny look at everything from Passion Plays to the ICRS retail show (or, as I call it, God's Garage Sale*). It's a fascinating look at the Christian subculture from someone completely outside the tribe.

And I find myself agreeing with him on page after page.

Regular readers of my blogs and columns will know that over the years I've questioned my own involvement in the Christian subculture. I'm constantly trying to balance doing my job (writing about genuinely good music or artists with a sincere message) and not barfing when I remember that I'm actually part of that subculture spin cycle that copies mainstream pop culture so we have safe alternative to everything and thereby avoid having to interact with - gasp! - the rest of the world.

In short, we've created a parallel universe that operates as much on commercialism as it does on faith. (Or maybe more so, in some cases.)

Take the book's chapter about Bible sales, for example. I've written about this before: why do Americans, who have more Bibles than anyone else in the world, keep buying more? I get that there are some great study tools out there (I'm using a daily Bible that breaks up the entire Bible into daily readings. I'm lazy, I admit it. I can't keep track of the days of the week without several calendars and a daily journal.)

But God's Word doesn't change just because your new Bible has a pink cover or devotionals for skaters, does it? Are these Bible versions truly created to make the Bible easier to understand or just cooler, hipper, and more saleable? (I say saleable.)

Besides, slapping a duct tape cover onto God's Word doesn't make it more culturally relevant. It makes it God's Word with DUCT TAPE on it. If you want to write a book of devotionals for skaters or bakers or candlestick makers, then do that. But stop trying to tart up the Bible to generate money.

And while we're on the subject, just exactly how many English translations of the Bible do you really need? There are people around the world without even a single verse of the Bible written down in their language (and people groups who don't even have a written language).

Did you know that there is actually a Bible that will insert your personal information into the text, so that the Bible appears written just for you? I'll admit that it's very helpful sometimes to insert my name into verses to remind myself that God is talking to me ("For God so loved Joanne ...") but this takes things a little bit too far, don't you think? It's like those children's books where you send in the info and they print Pretty Little Puppy just for your two year old.

OK, I'm getting off track here. Sorry about that. Back to Daniel Radosh.

I'm about 1/4 of the way through the book so it might totally tank after this. But I don't think so. I like to see how what people "outside the tribe" actually see us.

Because I personally think we look ridiculous a lot of the time.

So far in the book, Radosh has been kind enough to not actually point that out. He just holds up the mirror so we can see ourselves.

* My sister is actually the one who came up with the term God's Garage Sale. We were at a summer music festival and as we walked by the merch tents she said, "Let's go see what's at God's Garage Sale today" and quite honestly, that's about the best description you can come up with for the crap that's there.

MRI on the brain

So I have to go have an MRI on Thursday and then see a neurologist next week to see if they can figure out why I'm still having vertigo.

I suppose there's always the chance that they'll find something horrible in my brain but I'm more worried right now about spending an hour shoved into a metal tube without any escape hatch.

My husband says it's just like being in the tanning bed. The main problem with that comparison is that when I go tanning I don't even keep the bed lid down the entire time I'm in there. I'm a wee bit claustrophobic, but I go tanning occasionally because I like the heat. It feels like a 20 minute vacation and it's a great way to unblock writers' block.

An MRI machine is different, not only because I won't have a sunny glow when I'm finished. I can't open the side and get some fresh air halfway through. What if I have a panic attack in there? What if they put me in there and forget about me? That really happened, you know.

I'm already having nightmares about it. My doctor gave me some Xanax for the event; a little meds go a long way with me so here's hoping that I'm alert enough to answer any questions while being drugged enough to not know (or care) what's going on.

Free Quality Time for Moms

A recent survey by Careerbuilder.com found that 43% of working moms said they would be willing to take a pay cut if they could spend more quality time with their kids.

What I found most interesting were the 57% of women who didn't opt for that.

The key, of course, is the phrase "quality time." Most people (and I mean men) assume that being home all day with children is, in and of itself, quality time. But not every woman sees it that way.

Think about it. If you're a working mother, you can get up at the crack of dawn, shuffle three kids off to day care and then spend the next 8 hours managing employees, negotiating contracts, waiting on customers, caring for patients, or inputting mindless data into a computer.

Or, with the at-home-mommy work day scenerio, you can get up at the crack of dawn and for the next 8 hours listen to three children argue over who gets to use the red crayon first, poke and prod each other until they're black and blue, and repeat the word "Mommy!!" at the top of their lungs 4,978 times.

In either scenario at the end of the 8 work day, there are still 8 more parenting hours left before you can go to bed and start the whole thing over.

I'm sure if the company that conducted the poll was specific about what they meant by quality time, the results would have been a little different.

If, instead, they had asked moms if they would be willing to take a pay cut to spend the day with their kids at the beach - assuming all the children were either sound asleep in their strollers or inhabited by aliens that caused them to behave like well-mannered royalty, and the moms were laying on beach chairs and sipping pina coladas - I'd guess 100% of the moms would have picked that option.

That, my friend, is quality time.

I'm not knocking motherhood. Hey, to be able to grow another human being inside of your own body is a miraculous experience. And to know that you're responsible for raising that child to become an adult who's pinnacle of employment achievement isn't just a paycheck on the 1st and 15th of the month from his Uncle Sam is an awesome responsiblity.

But it's not easy to spend all day with people who pick their noses and stuff Cheerios in their ears.

In fact, we should be offering woman a pay raise to stay home with the kids.

Pet parent? I'm a dog owner

Can someone please explain this latest fad in calling people who own pets "pet parents?"

Once upon a time - in my lifetime, no less - people bought cats and dogs and hamsters and birds and kept them in their house for their own pleasure and amusement. They loved and cared for God's creatures, but it was commonly understood that people owned pets and parented children.

I am a pet owner. I own a dog and a cat. I have, at various times in my life, also owned hamsters and fish and parakeets, often all at the same time.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am in love with my pets. They sleep with me (well, Murphy had that privilege taken away because he repeatedly was waking up at 2 am to lick my eyelids, and then pounce on the dog, and then remove every item of clothing from my dresser drawers; Murphy sleeps in my office now, where he spends the night quietly shredding my files and rearranging my desk. But I digress.)

Anyone who knows me knows that I am in love with my pets. I don't, however, dress them up or let them eat at the table or throw birthday parties for them or pop DVDs in the player so they can be entertained while I'm busy. They're pets. They know how to entertain themselves.

(Aside: did you know that you can hire a personal trainer for your pet? That's right. When you're at work, the folks from Go Fetch! will come to your house and exercise and play with your dog. Used to be dogs got exercise by chasing cats and diggin in the garden. But again, I digress.)

I call myself an owner because I shopped for the dog and cat, paid money for them, and brought them home, where I feed them, care for them, and am (generally) in charge of them.

Yes, I believe they have the capacity to love. Yes, I believe they have feelings. Yes, I sometimes coo and goo over them like I'm in need of therapy or medication. Yes, I am attached to my pets like I'm attached to my skin. Where I go, they go.

But in the end, I'm a pet owner, not a pet parent.

I already parent (or attempt to parent) our daughter and that's more than enough work for one woman in one lifetime.

I'm not sure why I'm so bothered by this whole "pet parent" movement. Maybe it stems from my very basic belief that God created everything in the world and then created man in His own image.

Nothing else in creation was created in God's image. Nothing else in creation has the ability to reason, to know and understand right from wrong and choose one over the other. Nothing else in creation has been given the opportunity to be a mirror image of the Creator.

With that, I understand that God is not my owner, but my parent. That carries on to my earthly relationships.

Parent to Cassie.

Owner of Scout and Murphy.

Pet owner. Child parent. It's not rocket science.

Back on the Verti-Go-round

So here I am, with another recurrence of vertigo. The room isn't spinning so much as I feel like I'm in constant motion. If that makes sense.

Right now I'm taking my undizzy pills and sticking close to home. I'm up and about as much as possible, but once I'm up for a bit I start to stumble like I'm drunk, so not a great idea to take Scout for a walk. And probably not getting behind the wheel of my car today.

We'll see if the doctor thinks this is a recurrence or something new, and if she needs to see me. Or if she thinks I'm a total hypochondriac ...

Oh wait! The phone is ringing!! ... That was my doctor's office. Indeed, take the pills and wait it out. The nurse said that a recurrence can happen, sometimes can tell it's coming but mostly you wake up and there it is.

So it's back on the verti-go-round for a few days, I guess.

Compassion in action

Ever wonder what it means to love someone like God loves us? To put aside our own interests for the interest of others?

Consider this story.

Last week, Western Oregan's Sara Tucholsky hit her first home run in her college career - and then injured her knee on her run to first base. She lay crumpled on the ground, likely with a torn ACL, unable to get up and finish her run of the bases. Because her own team mates couldn't help her run without it resulting in an out, the only option seemed to substitute a runner and have her record a two run single instead of her three run homer.

Enter Mallory Holtman, a four-year starter from the opposing Central Washington, who, according to ESPN, "owns just about every major offensive record there is to claim in Central Washington's record book."

Holtman came up with what seemed to her the only viable solution: she and teammate Liz Wallace would carry Sara around the bases. The girls would stop at the bases long enough for Sara to touch the bag with her good foot, and then they moved on, until she reached home. Sara would get to record her only homer of her softball career, and, as it turns out, help win the game for her team.

But that wasn't even on Mallory's mind. She thinks that anyone in the same situation would have done the same thing, although I'm not sure she's right.

In the end, Sara's team beat Mallory and Liz's team, 4-2. But the character of the girls shows only one thing: there were winners on both sides that day.

I need a nap

Good grief, I'm tired. I mean TIRED. Not sleepy, but exhausted. I can only compare it to how my cell phone might feel when the battery is almost dead but it's still trying to find a signal out of my home area. Roaming ... roaming ... rooooaming ... roooaaammmiiinnnggg ... out of juice.

The irony is that a couple of weeks ago I was flying high. I had a ton of energy and my brain was firing on all cylinders at mach speed. I had to finish six articles before I left for Nashville and man, I was working like a dog. The ideas were flowing, the work was getting done. Today, I could barely form coherent sentences when Scout and I met Rene and Paul at the park to play for a while.

I get like this every once in a while - OK, more than once in a while lately. I've been attributing it to getting older because I can kind of see it coming every month or so. I'm not that old but let's face it. I'm old enough that my doctor frequently uses the phrase "Women of your age ..."

Or maybe I'm just tired. Thankfully, the sun is out today, which is always a good thing. The past couple of days were cold, and after several days of mid-Southern sun my brain quite possibly went on strike.

Maybe a nap will help. Yes, a nap. That's what I need. A nap solves everything.