TAE WOMB DO
By Therese M. Guy
May 6th 2008
The world has always been competitive. We are now reaching break neck speeds not only with modern vehicles, communication devices, and nano-second food preparations, but in early child development as well.
When I was a young you started sports in high school. Now, if you do not start soccer or cheerleading as a three year old, you have no chance of making the high school team.
I own and operate a martial arts studio. I did not start my Taekwondo training until I was an adult. My class had only other adults in it and I felt proud and confident in my abilities. I was blissfully ignorant! Those rose colored glasses I wore stayed on until this year.
What caused them to fall off? Maybe, it was the gray hairs gathering on my previously brown crown, or it could be the impending birth of my first grandchild?
Whatever the reason it was very obvious tonight at Taekwondo that I need a boost of adrenaline to keep up with the kids of today.
This evening I strolled on the training floor in all my fifth degree black belt grandness and demonstrated a technique to a group of five year olds.
One new little child jumped up and yelled with enthusiasm,
“You mean like this?” And executed the technique in perfect precision. (Did I mention it only took me four years to get it right.) Oh, and I forgot, he did it while texting on one of those darn cell phones I’m still trying to figure out.
Now people read or play music to their children in the womb. So they will come out spouting French literature, speaking Latin, or humming Mosart. Ahh! How do I contend with that?
Earlier in the day my daughter had an ultra sound. My soon to be grandchild was moving like crazy. The baby was kicking, flinging its arms, and doing back-flips.
“Great” my husband quipped, “It’s doing Tae womb do.”
Do they make black belts in newborn size?
I guess I should look on all this starting at a younger age with a different light. Maybe it means, since I will be replaced faster, I can retire earlier? What do you think?
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
What More God?
WHAT MORE GOD?
by Therese M. Guy
I was named after St. Therese the little flower. She lived a short life. She entered the Lisieux Carmel at the age of fifteen and died of TB by the age of twenty-four. She is known as the saint of the little way, content to live a life of quiet prayer. I on the other hand have never been considered quiet! But the idea of the,” little way” appealed to me, not that I desired to be a quiet example to the masses but because I thought I could bargain with the Lord for an easier path. I wanted to opt out of going out in the world to do great deeds, so during prayer at thirteen I struck a bargain with the Lord.
“Lord” I prayed. “Tell you what, I don’t think I was made to do big things, so I will just take care of anything you bring to my front door.”
“A loaded statement,” you might comment?
“ Naive” you might add.
“Absolutely” I would now agree.
As I grew older I still tried this bargaining process with God. I know now that not only is it foolish to try parleying with a deity, but that God has a great sense of humor when putting me in my place.
When I was nineteen I decided to leave the decadence of the city and move up to the more rustic setting of Northern Minnesota. I drove a very used lime-green Plymouth Voyager. The tires were bald and not very conducive to life in the icy northern winter.The locals joked that my name was on the tow truck chain because I had to be hauled out of the ditch so many times. The winter was a cold one and my troubles just kept coming. My heater core broke in the car and now I was not only in danger of careening off the road but in freezing to death too boot.
My brother-in-law stepped up and said he would try to see if he could fix it. As he lay across my front seat trying to work under the dash, I stood nearby bemoaning my luck. At first I was just mumbling, but as I contemplated my troubles my voice raised, and I ended my tirade by flinging my hands up and yelling,
“What more God?”
My brother-in-law heard me yell and jerked up off the seat, and while asking, “what?” He put his screwdriver through the drivers’ side window of my car!
There were no garages nearby, so replacement parts for the heater and window were ordered through the Sears catalog. It took four weeks to be shipped. During those four weeks, I drove down the road with the ice scraper in my hand reaching through the open window scrapping the ice from the front of my windshield. During those four weeks, I had plenty of time to reflect. During those four weeks, I came to the conclusion, never, ever, say, “What more God!”
Recently, while out to lunch with a girlfriend, we discussed the current world problems. We talked about the sagging economy, the health care crises, gas prices, and the upcoming elections. My friend became very agitated and blurted out those dangerous words,
“What more God?”
I gasped and spilled my soup in my haste to clamp my hand over her mouth. The soup spilled on my cell phone shorting it out. While still holding my hand across her mouth I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “never, ever, say, what more!” She pealed my hand off her mouth and looked at me like I was from outer space. She then quickly stood and said she forgot she had an appointment or something. I sat back and smiled. I think to my self, “that didn’t go so bad. I only lost a lunch, a cell phone, and possibly any future lunch dates with that friend, but I’m sure I avoided a much bigger disaster, all in all not a bad save.
by Therese M. Guy
I was named after St. Therese the little flower. She lived a short life. She entered the Lisieux Carmel at the age of fifteen and died of TB by the age of twenty-four. She is known as the saint of the little way, content to live a life of quiet prayer. I on the other hand have never been considered quiet! But the idea of the,” little way” appealed to me, not that I desired to be a quiet example to the masses but because I thought I could bargain with the Lord for an easier path. I wanted to opt out of going out in the world to do great deeds, so during prayer at thirteen I struck a bargain with the Lord.
“Lord” I prayed. “Tell you what, I don’t think I was made to do big things, so I will just take care of anything you bring to my front door.”
“A loaded statement,” you might comment?
“ Naive” you might add.
“Absolutely” I would now agree.
As I grew older I still tried this bargaining process with God. I know now that not only is it foolish to try parleying with a deity, but that God has a great sense of humor when putting me in my place.
When I was nineteen I decided to leave the decadence of the city and move up to the more rustic setting of Northern Minnesota. I drove a very used lime-green Plymouth Voyager. The tires were bald and not very conducive to life in the icy northern winter.The locals joked that my name was on the tow truck chain because I had to be hauled out of the ditch so many times. The winter was a cold one and my troubles just kept coming. My heater core broke in the car and now I was not only in danger of careening off the road but in freezing to death too boot.
My brother-in-law stepped up and said he would try to see if he could fix it. As he lay across my front seat trying to work under the dash, I stood nearby bemoaning my luck. At first I was just mumbling, but as I contemplated my troubles my voice raised, and I ended my tirade by flinging my hands up and yelling,
“What more God?”
My brother-in-law heard me yell and jerked up off the seat, and while asking, “what?” He put his screwdriver through the drivers’ side window of my car!
There were no garages nearby, so replacement parts for the heater and window were ordered through the Sears catalog. It took four weeks to be shipped. During those four weeks, I drove down the road with the ice scraper in my hand reaching through the open window scrapping the ice from the front of my windshield. During those four weeks, I had plenty of time to reflect. During those four weeks, I came to the conclusion, never, ever, say, “What more God!”
Recently, while out to lunch with a girlfriend, we discussed the current world problems. We talked about the sagging economy, the health care crises, gas prices, and the upcoming elections. My friend became very agitated and blurted out those dangerous words,
“What more God?”
I gasped and spilled my soup in my haste to clamp my hand over her mouth. The soup spilled on my cell phone shorting it out. While still holding my hand across her mouth I leaned in and whispered in her ear, “never, ever, say, what more!” She pealed my hand off her mouth and looked at me like I was from outer space. She then quickly stood and said she forgot she had an appointment or something. I sat back and smiled. I think to my self, “that didn’t go so bad. I only lost a lunch, a cell phone, and possibly any future lunch dates with that friend, but I’m sure I avoided a much bigger disaster, all in all not a bad save.
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