Olympic Limericks

Behdad Salimikordasiabi

He's drawn super heavyweight, Iranian fame

And crumbled the uneasy challenger's claim.

Assertive and burly,

He began training early

By carrying the ponderous weight of his name.

Four years ago I wrote three Olympic observations in the form of limericks. Oddly enough, they still apply this year. So I dusted them off and am putting them back on the blog shelf. Then I added a couple more in honor of all the hours we've spent watching the games...and Geiko geckos and a conspiracy to get us to watch upcoming Bourne movies...and inarticulate Chevy truck owners...and other advertisements ad nausea... oh well, Olympics, I said.



Men's Gymnastics--The Chinese

They're doing remarkable things
On the horse, on the bars, on the rings
Their leads are commanding
They stick every landing
They've balanced their Yangs and their Yings

Michael Phelps

His perfect, elongated torso
has been featured as never before, so
When his swimming suit slips
Down toward his hips
The length of it seems even more so.

Badminton Scandal

These famous badminton abusers
Looked much more like cruisers than bruisers
Their plays were so lame
They were kicked from the game
For trying to be the best losers

Gabby Douglas

The smile is as big as the girl
With a twist and a leap and a whirl
She swings and she soars
While the crowd stands and roars
For their fabulous, high-flying squirrel



Shelly-Ann Fraser

The 100 is no piece of cake-a
You cannot afford a mistake-a
Just a cool running leap
for a clean medal sweep
It's Jamaica, Jamaica, Jamaica!


Ok, readers, if you want to add your own, send them to me in a comment and I'll post them...

Here's one from Carina:

In London the people are running
And swimming and boating and gunning,
But here I'm just beat
Walking out in the heat
Only watching and cheering and sunning








Then I wrote one for the runners:

Though chased by a feverish pack...
a Kenyan in front and in back... 
Tirunesh Dibaba...
from Addis Ababa...
took off with the first gold in track!



   This one's from Matthew

There once was a runner from Wales,
Who trained with his dogs on the trails.
When his races were run,
He didn't win one,
"I'm sorry I only chase tails!" 



And another from Carina

There was a young lady from Perth
Who knew from the day of her birth
She was born to compete
Flying fast on her feet
Could she be the next fastest on earth? 










Here's one to celebrate golds for Phelps, Franklin, Ledecky

We don't, in one night, as a rule
Make such a big splash in the pool
But Phelps took a gold
Then was followed, I'm told
By two girls not yet out of school 

 And one for the hours of diving...

There were few dives the diving team wouldn't do
And fewer than that that they couldn't do!
So, fearless and brash,
They made a big splash
Which is precisely what they shouldn't do 

 

For Beach Volleyball

Remarkable cheering, I'd say
For Kerri Walsh and Misty May
Whose volleyball shorts, 
quite the barest in sports,
Add meaning to "hip-hip hooray!".






Trampoline

They snickered when China's young Dong Dong
Was announced, but his program was strong strong
His daring routine
On the high trampoline
Beat them all, so they didn't laugh long long




Granada's First Gold

And, speaking of Olympic names
We can't forget Kirani James
Who ran for Grenada
As hard as he otta'
And earned the most famous of fames.



Here's one from Rinkly Rimes...who lives in Australia

Two sailors from my local area
Have beaten Taiwan and Bulgaria
The hopes of us all
Were pinned to their 'wall'.
Though others were quite a bit hairier.



To David Boudia (who beat the Chinese world champion to win a gold)

In the platform semi’s he nearly lost out

But Boudia’s grand final we all talked about

When the flawless Chinese

Began feeling the squeeze

And his gold-medal smile soon succumbed to a pout

 The Fastest Man
 

Like lightning, he bolted, then chattered

Of every world record he’d shattered

The mighty Usain

Left them all in the rain

And, to him, that’s the one thing that mattered

 

 

Wardrobe Malfunctions

When the suits of the polo teams

Are held on the body with strings
It's hard for them all
To keep watching the ball
Cause' they're worried about other things

And finally…I write one to all the Olympians

Alas, the Olympics are over

Say goodbye to the white cliffs of Dover

And to every athlete

Who went down in defeat--

All those who are not “in the clover”

No camera was trained on your face

No multitudes cheered for your race

Yet you ran in a manner

That would honor the banner

Of the country that gave you a place

And as fame is obscured by the years

So also, your pain and your tears,

Will yield to the glory

Of a much larger story

Olympians, you share the cheers!

 

Leading Worship

There's a difference between leading worship and performing.
Most worship bands don't understand that.
If you are asked to be the entertainment for a group, and everyone will be listening to you, and enjoying your performance, then go ahead and perform. Be excellent!

But if you are called to "lead worship" at a convention or a weekend service, that's another thing entirely.
Your goal should be different. You can't merely "worship" in your own little over-lighted stage world. Your job is to pull from the audience their praise and direct it to the highest heavens while you stand out of the way, enjoying the inevitable presence of the Holy Spirit who comes to honor sincere worship.

Having attended over a thousand worship services in my lifetime, I've made a few observations that may be worth the time of an aspiring worship team:

I. The focus
It should be on Christ, not on you. This isn't the time for little jokes among band members, for idle banter and flattering introductions. If you play and sing well, the audience will be aware of that; you don't have to prep them by describing your talents and applauding each other. You don't need to entertain them with quirky stories about those who invited you to come. You need to direct them to worship.

II. The songs

An audience cannot worship if they don't know the songs. Even if the melody line is simple enough to play on two lines of the staff, learning a new tune and new words requires concentration. Nobody worships while struggling to learn the song. You probably think it isn't "cool" to sing last year's songs, but you have to think about why you're singing at all. You don't want to hear your own solo voice, however impressive it may be. You want to hear a river of praise--voices moving along together, harmony overlapping melody and ascending.   So sing songs the people are likely to know--not the three you wrote last week.

If you must sing the latest compositions, then teach them to the audience. Repeat them the next day, and the next. Give the audience a chance to really learn them; mix them with familiar songs people can sing without craning their necks to see the screen. I know, they will never get to see the massive range of your repertoire, but so be it. That's not why you've been asked to lead worship.

Don't just sing songs taken from albums of popular singing groups. They sound good. They have great chords and elegant key changes. But they are also pitched for professional singers. The average person out in the audience might have heard the songs, but they can't sing them--beyond joining in on an occasional "Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh".  If you are leading young people, who've memorized these songs as they heard them on the radio, it might still work. Otherwise, avoid them. Worship isn't supposed to be a group try-out for "Who's Got Talent?"

Keep the order simple. Don't take off swooping and diving from refrains onto bridges leading to sub-bridges and back to verse two again. If the slide-runner has trouble finding where you are in the song, so will the audience, particularly since they don't know the words and music. And, if they are stumbling all over the song, they will finally give up in frustration and sulk--an activity not very conducive to worship.

I'm not saying you should avoid new songs all-together, but use them sparingly, until they, too, become familiar melodies.

III. The power

Before you ever get up to sing, pray. In fact, prayer is a more important part of preparation than tuning the guitars to the keyboard. Also, include prayer as part of the worship. It's uplifting. It points to Heaven. It leads an audience to worship, something you can't force them or shame them into doing.
 
Worship can be powerful. There have been times when God's presence shook the house as worship and prayers were lifted. It was a phenomena that can't be evoked. Don't try to imitate it by screaming the guitars and turning up the amplifiers to make the place shake and all souls tremble. That's not power in worship. It's just noise.

Sometimes the greatest power in worship comes quietly...after the shouting.

So...ask yourself. Am I leading worship?
Are the people singing, praying, worshiping?
Who's getting the applause?
When it's all over, will they remember me?
If not, maybe I've been successful.

Worship Band

They move in syncopation
each in his shining circle
swaying on an elevated stage

Blasting--bold and brazen--
guitars like whips of rhythm, and a
drummer in his plexiglass cage

Nineteen spotlights flashing
blue and red and purple
changing to reflect the singer's mood

We cheer and clap with every song;
they pull the audience along
for, "Jesus, this is all about You".

But I wonder if we've thought this through enough
"Why aren't the blazing spotlights pointed up?"

North to Nebraska

Nebraska looks a lot like Kansas and Oklahoma, I discovered, except for one thing--Corn. I didn't see any wheat fields there, but the corn fields are impressive. They are planted on the flat fields and, just as often on the hills, even on the land that slopes down to the ditches and the creeks--almost to the water's edge.

Where the corn fields stop, there's another crop--a short, much greener plant--beans or soy, I assume, to rotate for soil replenishment. Occasionally, there are terraces on the hills, made with yard-wide swaths of some kind of tough-looking grass.

As we approached Omaha, the land became greener, and the hills higher. In the city itself, there was a hint of river moisture, but that might have been due to the fact that our hotel was within walking distance of the wide Missouri River.

We were at a church convention here for four full days, so it was refreshing to discover that the conference planners had done their homework well. The Embassy Suites hotel was wonderful. I have absolutely no complaints. Things ran so smoothly that it was difficult to tell there were two and, at one point, three separate conventions going on there. The first floor center attraction was a stream full of large goldfish. The little islands of dining areas and reading lobbies were all nestled into this stream. There was a waterfall in the corner of the second floor which fed the river.

Our room was a true "suite", with a little living and dining area, kitchenette, bathroom and large bedroom with an over the city view of the sunrise.
We were on the seventh floor, right under the roof.

 Omaha is in the process of revitalizing their downtown area. They've converted the run-down buildings into high-dollar condos and apartments and created an "Old Market" area close to the water front. Turtle and I were impressed by the plants on the roofs of downtown buildings.

 ...and climbing up the walls.

 I couldn't resist taking a few pictures of old buildings. They're impressive enough to amaze this Oklahoma yokel, but, I must admit, it doesn't take too much to delight me.

The food was scrumptious, and since I couldn't resist all the chocolate and cinnamon roll breaks, the buffet meals and "all you can eat" breakfasts of hash browns, bacon, eggs, sausage, omelets, biscuits, gravy, juice, milk, pancakes, etc. and etc, it was a battle to keep from putting on twenty pounds or so.

I managed to hold it to a couple. Of course that meant using the hotel gym, and taking the stairs instead of the spiffy-little glass elevator, but it was worth it!

Trimming Cedar Bushes

About every five years or so we have to trim the cedar bushes/trees. This can be quite a chore. Turtle is allergic to them, so we proceed with caution. He pulls out the handy-dandy teeny tiny little chain saw that fits on the end of the weed-eater. (Weed-eating, by the way, is Turtle's sole domain. I can't manage the weight safely with grass blades on it, let alone with the chain saw.) Then we walk over to the trees and I show him which branches need loping off--those that are shooting out in odd directions and those that are growing toward the ground. Eventually, we get it right. I spend a little time with garden cutters of various types, up underneath the tree dome, pruning out dead wood and branches that are full of dry leaves. Pruning shears work well until they get dull--same for garden snips and for that not very effective cross-cut saw.

For five of the trees, this was the second pruning. They had gotten to look just a little too much like Dr. Seuss trees--top heavy with long, pointy branches of wispy leaves. The sixth tree/bush-trosity had never been pruned. It squatted on the side lawn like a great green cave. My grandchildren used to hide beneath the branches, and, at one point it was home for a cottontail or two. There was no way to get a mower to the underside of it.








After we cut all the bottom branches away, it looked like this. It seems small in this picture, but imagine me, trying to reach the top to tweak off an unruly leaf or two--I can't, ok, and that's why they are still there! We collected four large garbage bags full of vintage leaves and needles from around the base. (notice the large, brown bare spot) Then I painted all the chopped spots where bare wood was showing. At first, I used paint, but, since I liked the look of the natural grain, I switched to varnish. The job took a couple of days, not because we are wimps, but because it's simply too hot out there to work after mid-morning and before sun-down. Well, we could be wimps too, but hey, we did it!

 Here's what's waiting for the city truck. It's seven feet wide, twenty-five feet long and as high as my waist--all branches and wood chunks of sweet-smelling cedar. Smells better than Turtle and I did when we were through with the job.

Great Summer Exercise Program

 

Most of my summer exercise program this year has been automatic and relatively painless. I don’t have to pay a membership fee or wait until a friend is ready to go with me.  About three days a week I get an hour and a half of pleasant working out—usually early in the morning before the heat begins to broil everyone who pokes his or her nose out from under the shade.

What is this great program called? Mowing the lawn! Yes. With a push mower that isn’t self-propelled. Most yards wouldn’t offer this much in the way of a routine, but we live in a parsonage. It’s large and pleasant and has scads of surrounding grass. I divide all the little lawns into plots: front, side, back, back hill, side hill, and street front. They each take around fifty minutes—some more aerobic and others more like a relaxing stroll.

I know you think I’m being sarcastic…but I actually enjoy it. After last year, and the horrible drought, I promised I’d never complain about mowing again. We've had lots of rain this year...up until July, the grass grew insanely. Now, of course, real summer has kicked in--clouds, but no rain.

I have a feeling that my job is going to be slowing down for the rest of the summer.

Maybe I'll have to do something else--water walking at the pool, perhaps.

Vacation Bible School in Babylon

I hope you can see by these pictures that we had a wonderful Vacation Bible School again this year. Of course it's always wonderful, but it seems like every year is better than the one before. So far we've been to Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Galilee, Philippi, Rome, Jerusalem again, Nazareth, and--this year--Babylon. That's eight years, and nobody is tired of it yet.

We had 49 children this year--including Zaya and Mim, who came all the way from Missouri--and they were an exceptionally well-behaved group. Entering with enthusiasm into every activity and lesson, they were simply a delight!

This little girl is decorating her boxes to make a hanging garden--Babylon, remember?

The carpenters this year taught stamping with leather dies and staining. We actually used coffee for a light brown stain.

At the metal shop, they made name plates.

Every night more and more children came early--so we had to do extra singing to give the family leaders time to arrive and set their rooms in order.

The name tags didn't all survive the week, but they did endure long enough for the leaders to learn names.

Every year we have a bakery. It's everybody's favorite shop.  All evening we smell the baking bread. Then, after the singing, stories, and marketplace, each "family" gathers at "home". They light the candle, say their verse, bless the food. They eat freshly baked, whole wheat rolls and drink cool water (from the "well"). Not once--in eight years--has anybody asked for cookies and kool-aide.

Our bakers explained and demonstrated how bread was made--even grinding the wheat in a remolino. (This year, they inadvertently left the impression with the children that they had hand-ground all the flour for the bread.)

In the "families" older children took responsibility for the younger ones.

And the shop keepers stayed kindly-disposed all week, ignoring the marketplace noise and bustle.

Lights!

Singing! Dancing!

Cheers! Stories about Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar!

Clay beads.

Claye ran the Pottery booth again this year and Carina was one of the "Mater Familias".










The children made necklaces in the bead shop, screeching flutes in the music shop, and ink stamping cylinders in the House of Scribes.

They poured seeds and dirt into their own little "Hanging Gardens."
And so...by the waters of Babylon, we sat down and sang. Well, that's better than weeping.

The Problem With Summers

As far as blogging goes, summers should be the best time for me to write. I get up at the crack of dawn, drink coffee, check my e-mail and facebook, play a couple of computer games, do a little yardwork, clean a little or vacuum a little, exercise on the wii, go waterwalking with the old ladies down at the pool, or maybe rush through a delightfully empty grocery store. I have time to read, to pay bills, to dust rarely-seen corners of cabinets. I have time to write and write and blog all afternoon. So why don't I?
I don't know. Maybe laziness leads to more laziness so, in that case, it's good that I have a job for nine months of the year.

Notwithstanding all the ordinariness of my summer life, I'm going to force myself to blog about it. So.
Get ready for lots of chatter about nothing dramatic.

The Summer Bum

Thunder and Rain

 I can think of several advantages to not caring in the least who wins a basketball game. For instance, this morning is still a lovely morning around my house, but, as I took a quiet walk I saw signs of a  subdued village. There are hopeful banners in store windows, demanding that some team make mincemeat of another team. Someone must have spent hours decorating for this desired victory. Now someone will spend the same amount of time solemnly scraping off the paint.





Thousands bought  T-shirts they won't want to wear anymore. . . and multitudes of Oklahomans will recover from stress brought on by suspense, indignation, and outrage. A myriad of enemies in far away Florida will name their infants Le-Bron or Jamey....

Ah well. It's still a beautiful moisty morning out here in Western Oklahoma!
We had thunder yesterday ...and then rain.  Life is Grand!

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