Writings of a Rag Girl

Sorrow & Suffering

2011-08-19T06:01:00.002-04:00

There is a classic Christian novel of sorts called Hinds Feet on High Places. It is a beautiful and treasured story of a little deer-like creature named "Much Afraid" who accepts a seed of hope from her Savior and then sets out on a journey.

This story is precious to many of my friends, speaking to them in rich and powerful ways, so they always look at me a little strange when I tell them that I can't stand the book and was never able to finish it.

I've always known the part that bothered me, the part of the story that stopped me in my tracks so that I couldn't go any further. It is when the Savior tells Much Afraid that he has some traveling companions for her - Sorrow and Suffering - and he wants her to hold their hands on her journey.

I am a very visual person, and the mere thought of this causes my hand to recoil. I know that sorrow and suffering are part of this life. I know that God uses them to teach me many wonderful things, but this imagery makes it seem that my Heavenly Father is a masochist. That he likes to cause us pain, that he says, "Hold their hands, it will be good for you."

And so, I have never finished this book. If you love it, I am glad, I am not arguing that you should not read or love a book that has spoken to so many, I just want to explain what I just realized. The reason I can't stand to read this book, to imagine myself holding the hand of Sorrow and Suffering as I journey through this Christian life, is because the only hand I am willing to hold is Jesus'.

In my sanctified imagination (as Oswald Chambers calls it) I see us walking through the land of Sorrow and Suffering to get to the other side, to get home to Jesus where there will be no more sadness, no more tears. And when I accepted the love and forgiveness of my Savior, I believe that He took my hand, has never let it go, will never let it go until I am safe in his Heavenly Kingdom.

There is something interesting that Fredrick Buechner once said. He said that if he were not a Christian, he would probably be Buddhist (which I thought was an odd thing to say, but his point is good). He said that when you look at the two pillars of these faiths, the fat and happy Buddha, eyes closed, arms down, sitting in comfort, and then at Jesus, agony ripped across his face, arms spread wide on the cross, compassion in his eyes. The crucial difference between these two icons is this: while Buddha closes his eyes to the pain and suffering of this world, Jesus bears it, taking all of our sin, our sorrow, our suffering and experiencing it himself.

My Jesus did not ask my friends to hold the hands of sorrow and suffering as they watched and waited to see if their new born baby would survive a horrible infection. No, He held their hands, filled up their room, surrounded them with love and compassion, and bore their sorrow in his heart. He walked them through the lands of Sorrow and Suffering to bring them to the other side, deeper into His love, stronger in their trust in Him, surrounded by His Church and never alone.

This is what I know about my Jesus: He does not delight in our pain, but rather He walks with us through it and then does something beautiful with His miraculous magic - He redeems it.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes

2011-06-08T12:49:00.008-04:00

So, this is it.

Today is my last day of freedom. My last day of choosing what I want to do with a portion of my day. The last day of heading out for groceries or a run or to meet up with friends without having to answer to my children. The last day of cleaning the house without little tornadoes of disaster in my wake. My last day of thinking complete thoughts without the interruption of "Gabe is touching my stuff!" or "Josh just fell out of the tree" or "Hope is crying and I don't know why."

This is my last moment at Starbucks to sit and sip my chai while reading and writing and studying to my heart's content.

Tomorrow the kids will be home from school for the summer and on Monday I start my first real full-time job in 13 years.

EEK!

I'm excited and terrified all at the same time. I feel like it's my first day of kindergarten. I went shopping for "professional" clothes and found myself wondering if what I bought was right. I'm hoping that the people at my new job like me, that I will do a good job there, and that my family will be okay with this major transition.

I started looking for a job for the usual reasons: the need for money and insurance. But I think I found one that will be fun and challenging and kind of cool. I get to talk on the radio a little bit, though my kids are disappointed that it's not on their favorite rock station. I explained to them that mommy was taking this job to help our family while daddy finishes school. But I suspect I went a little too far when I expressed my pre-job concern that this year we may not have been able to afford Christmas presents. I personally think we could have had a perfectly lovely present-free Christmas, but I'm also not eight.

Last night Hope prayed, "And God, please help us have money so we don't have to be poor."

Yeah, I'm pretty sure my kids are scarred. Maybe my husband can do their therapy for free once he finishes school.

So, this ends a pretty amazing time of my life. I am forever grateful that I got to be home (mostly) full-time with my kids for the last thirteen years. I am thankful that my husband was willing to sacrifice a lot for me to be home for my family. And I am still amazed that I got to stay home this past school year, even while my kids were in school all day.

Besides some extra time to myself and connecting with friends that I love, I have had time to teach at a women's brunch, two retreats and a Mother's of Preschoolers group. I got to run with my puppy several times a week and spend hours letting my creative juices flow, studying God's word and working on a Bible study.

I went to Italy and got to hear a real Italian exclaim, "Mama Mia!" to my never ending delight, and share exotic food and the love of God with beautiful Chinese students, some of whom are now my sisters in Christ.

I was able to be home to nurse my kids when they were sick, to accompany them on many a field trip and to help out at their schools.

There were pressures and trials, in the midst of the blessings, that very nearly broke me. But God sent friends to help me through and seemed to promise that He is making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. Soon we will be out of this trying time. Soon and very soon.

And so I face my fear of being away from home 40 hours a week and trust in God's unfailing love - that it won't fail me and it won't fail my children while I'm five minutes away in my office, but away none the less.

I will be strong and courageous like my hero Joshua, because just as He was with him, my God will be with me wherever I go.

Tulip Bulbs

2011-05-18T11:54:00.004-04:00

Tulips are my favorite flowers for many reasons, not the least of which is because they bloom every year at my birthday and Easter so that I can have a house full of fresh cut flowers on two of my favorite days.

I also love tulips because they come from bulbs which are insanely easy to make grow and they come back year after year. Tulips were my first foray into gardening. I planted twenty-five bulbs one cool fall day and low and behold, by the time April rolled around I had an array of colorful flowers blooming by my front door. I planted more and more every year until now I probably have hundreds that grow every season.

My daughter and I love to give them to friends and neighbors when babies are born, performances end, and to bring a smile to the people we love. Somehow they always seem impressed that they were cut from our own garden. Not actually impressive to be able to grow tulips I think, but sown with love for sure.

This year my children discovered that if they cut a few and gave them out to random neighbors at unexpected times, they received candy in return. Apparently single men feel the need to give something to small children holding flowers on their doorstep. I saw that this was quickly getting out of control any time my kids craved more sweets, so I told them they could no longer give flowers for candy. They are special and should be treated as such.

One other thing I like about tulips is that they come from those hideously ugly, shriveled, garlic-looking bulbs, and then mere months later they turn into a rainbow of beauty. I thought that C.S. Lewis said something about how we are like tulip bulbs now and our incarnate bodies when Christ returns will be like tulips.

I can't find this quote for the life of me, so I may have made it up, but I'm pretty sure Lewis said it, or maybe it was N.T. Wright. Anyway, I like it because I'm feeling very tulip bulbish these days. Dried up, wrinkly, hideous in my own special ways. At times like this I like to remember that this is only for a little while. Maybe God is working His garden, preparing to plant me in His rich soil and patiently wait for me to grow. And then when the time comes, I will be one of His favorite flowers - bright and alive and shining in His sunshine.

Sadly, my tulips are almost all dead now and I really don't have any flowers to take their place. But I came across the verse in Isaiah 40 the other day that says, "the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."

It brings me hope that someday we'll all be flowers in the garden of our Lord who will never fall again.

Spring Cleaning

2011-04-29T12:41:00.007-04:00

Yesterday a trusted friend came over to help me clean out my bedroom. I have been trying to get it organized for months and finally made a call of desperation to bring in reinforcements. My friend had to be trustworthy, otherwise she wouldn't be allowed into my room of clutter.

See, we don't have a basement or an attic to throw all of our extra belongings, keepsakes, etc. in. All we have is a carport with a small storage shed where lawn tools, totes of Christmas decorations and Joel's surf board are stored. So, when I have stuff that I want to keep, I fill another nook in my room. Under the bed is already stuffed full of pictures and duffel bags (covered by a bed skirt of course), behind the chair are miscellaneous craft and teaching supplies, beside the bed are piles of journals (each with its own purpose to fulfill), and don't even think about opening my closet.

They say the first step to recovery is to admit you have a problem. Here I am confessing that I am just one nervous breakdown away from being profiled on "Hoarders."

Between my husband's desire to keep everything he's owned since 1987 "just in case" and my sentimentality that has me holding onto every art project my children have ever made, every card Joel has given me in the past 20 years, and every book I have ever bought, we are becoming overwhelmed with "stuff."

My friend has the gift of throwing away, getting rid of and giving to charity. She tried to explain to me the idea that we can appreciate that something has served its purpose, and now its purpose is done. Throw it out. Give it away. Get it out. And as I do I will feel freer.

It's a novel idea. Keeping stuff tends to give me a warm feeling of security, until I have to dust, vacuum around and organize it.

But her theory is already proving to be true. I walk into my room and don't see old picture frames sticking out behind every piece of furniture or piles of books and papers that have been read, but have no home on my overcrowded shelves, and I breath a sigh of relief. Its gone. Done with. I've moved on.

I've been feeling that way about my spiritual life lately as well. Like I've hit a spiritual mid-life crisis, weighed down by the burden of unmet expectations, dashed hopes and unrealized dreams. Of course, I know that the dreams I was dreaming were not necessarily God's, but they were nice fairytale-like visions of Jesus riding in on his big white horse making the lives of all my loved ones better.

Not Biblical, but nice, don't you think?

So here I am left to figure out what to do with all of these things. I don't want to give them away, they are like old friends that I can run to for comfort every time life gets too hard, but burdening me still more when they let me down yet again.

I think of the college students I have loved and led to Christ, but have chosen to walk away. I think of the middle school students living such hard lives that the few hours a day I had to love, care for and teach them could never possibly be enough. And I think of the four growing lives in my home that I cannot possibly protect from all the pain of life to come.

And I wonder what is the point? If I can't make their lives better, then why? And what is God doing?

But lately I feel Him asking me to unpack all of these dreams and expectations and hopes for painless lives and give them to Him. Declutter the recesses of my heart and mind, open the windows of my soul and let his Spirit blow through like the Spring breeze.

And I sense Him promising that it will feel good. That He will set me free. And that when I dream His dreams I will not be disappointed.

I think I'll give it a try.

ER Fun

2011-03-14T00:10:00.005-04:00

I am typically a pretty good patient. I'm mostly honest, cooperative and do most of what my doctor says. But I hate taking medicine. I only take it when absolutely necessary, like when my cramps make me want to tear one of my kids heads off, then I think, "maybe I should just take some Advil," and it helps.

I've wondered before if it's that I'm a naturalist, don't like putting foreign stuff in my body, but after this weekend I'm reminded that no, that's not it at all. Drugs and me just don't mix.

Like when I was attempting natural childbirth on my first over 9 pound baby and the nurse convinced me to take some nubane. "It'll take the edge off," she said. For the first five minutes it was mildly helpful, then it just caused me to fall into a deep sleep in between horrifically painful contractions that were only two minutes apart. A couple times my nervous hubby nudged me awake, asking me if I was okay. Apparently as I released a relaxing breath at the end of the contraction, I would forget to take another breath in. Joel was afraid my sleep was becoming a little too deep. Then the baby's heart rate went down so the doctor got Lukas out of there and everyone was okay. But Joel still gets a little shaky when he talks about watching my breathing drop as I dropped off to sleep between each contraction.

Then, for some reason, my doctor gave me nubane again after the birth of my little girl. I wouldn't let him give it to me during labor. Apparently he thought it would relax me again, as I was a little shaken up by that labor. But all it did was keep me from actually sleeping, I remember feeling like I was floating and thinking that my little girl was actually me when I was a baby. Like I said, me and drugs don't mix.

Which brings me to this past week. My doctor wanted to start me on a new medication that I grudgingly agreed to take for the sake of my future health. Then, due to the strep epidemic overtaking my home, I stopped taking the first medication so that I could take the penicillin prescribed by my doctor. I thought it was strange seeing the word penicillin on the label, I couldn't remember the last time I was prescribed that stuff, it was always Amoxicillan or Zythromax, but I started taking it Wednesday and then woke up Saturday morning feeling like my hand was asleep. I tried massaging it, holding it up in the air to get the blood flowing and moving it around, but soon it became painful, like my fingers were going to explode.

I got out of bed and realized my foot hurt too, then my other hand started to hurt and I got out the side effects pamphlets on any and all drugs I had taken in the last week. One said that if there was swelling of the hands or feet I was to seek IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION. You couldn't see that they were swollen, but they were throbbing and were hot to the touch. Can I just mention here that one of the side effects of penicillin is a "black hairy tongue." Are they serious? Black? Hairy? Does it just feel hairy or does actual hair grow on the black tongue? And does the tongue turn pink again or is it black and in need of a good shave indefinitely?

Questions with no answers.

Anyway, I went to the ER and was checked into my very own room. I must say here that my only comparisons are to County General and Seattle Grace. Dr. Green never showed up and there was no Dr. McAnything anywhere to be seen. But they inserted an IV and pumped me full of all sorts of fun stuff like Benedryl and steroids and pain meds. Eventually the pain went away, but I left the hospital barely able to stand on my own two feet and with the doctor telling me not to take either medication because he didn't know which one was causing the side effects. See, me and drugs, no good.

And while I have great respect for the medical profession, I have to say that I don't like all the testing and guessing and uncertainty that goes along with it. I want Dr. House to walk in my room, berate me for my fear of modern medicine, try to kill me with some crazy idea of his, and then heal me with absolute certainty of what the problem is. Okay, I would actually curl up into the fetal position and hide under the bed if House used his usual methods on me, but I would at least like the solid answers that he provides at the end of every episode.

So, I went home and took a two hour nap at four in the afternoon, and when I woke up my fingers were not throbbing, I could walk without pain, and as far as I can tell, I will have no need to shave my tongue in the near future.

Hallelujah.

On Parenting

2011-01-13T09:04:00.003-05:00

This blog is not usually about parenting because I am not an expert parent.

I am an experienced parent, with four kids aged 5-12 I'm pretty sure that's indisputable, but there's a difference.

I think the fact that I'm beginning to get parenting ideas from movies like Despicable Me and Baby Mama is a sign that I am not an expert parent.

The other day I told Joel that I had all of our parenting woes solved. From now on, when our children misbehave they will go in the box of shame (Despicable Me), a lovely cardboard box we could put in the corner of the living room labeled cleverly, "Box of Shame." There is an air hole, so it's humane. And then when our children are good, they will receive the reward of five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact (Steve Martin in Baby Mama). I personally think this is a brilliant plan. As they say at our church (tongue in cheek) "shame produces change!" And really, what could be more rewarding to a child than eye contact with their parent?

In case you don't know me, no need to call DCFS, I'm joking. But the truth is, I started out this journey of parenting reading every book that had a "Godly" plan and tried to follow it to the letter. Over the years I have come to regret a lot of that because it didn't allow me to trust myself as a parent. Sometimes my baby doesn't need to cry it out, but needs to be held, or my son doesn't need strong discipline in this moment, but to know that he matters to me.

And now that my kids are older it has only gotten more complicated. This requires more creativity. A friend told me that psychologist Dan Allender uses fear and humiliation in parenting adolescents. When his middle schooler was too embarrassed to have his dad drop him off at the door of the school, Dan realized that his son didn't want to be seen with him, so the next day Dan took a paper bag, cut out eye holes so he could see, and dropped his son off at the door with a bag over his head. To his amazement, his son never complained again. Now that is parenting genius!

I used to think I'd be a cool parent who my kids wouldn't be embarrassed by. I now realize that is impossible. Once a child reaches the age of 11 they are embarrassed by everything. I have surprised myself to realize the sick delight I now take in mildly humiliating my children. It's too easy, and you've gotta have fun as a parent or you'll just go crazy.

So, fear and humiliation will help Lukas through middle school, whereas Gabe needs focused activity. He brought home a writing exercise yesterday that I was sure was a consequence for out of control behavior, but he insists it was just a regular journal assignment. This is what it said:

Calm Down

By Gabe

I am always getting hyper and getting in trouble for being hyper. My mom and dad started to think of solutions.

One bad solution is warning me, because it is hard to stop. The first solution was to make me read. It didn’t really help. Then a better solution was to make me take deep breaths, because it helped me calm down. An even better solution was to walk away, because then I couldn’t do any more damage.

The real solution that worked and they do now is to make me go outside and do three or five chin ups on the rings, because it wastes my energy and it is fun, too.

It sort of cracks me up that my son is so self-aware that he is critiquing our various attempts at helping him stay out of trouble. I'm glad he thinks we're finally onto something here.

Now Josh is another story. He has the most guilty conscience I've ever seen. The other night he came to me in silence with something clearly weighing on him. After almost a half an hour he finally broke down and confessed that he had taken a large cardboard box from our neighbor's yard without asking them for permission. We talked about how that was wrong and that he had lied about getting permission and we talked about needing to go and apologize to our neighbors. After a little bit I asked if he felt better after telling me. He said no because he was afraid he was going to go to juvie (juvenile detention). I stifled my laughter and told him that though what he did was wrong, I didn't think anyone would send him away for stealing empty cardboard boxes. He was mildly comforted.

But last night, after allowing my kids to watch some t.v. that ended up not being very age appropriate, Josh used some bad language on his brother. Because this has become a trend, I sent him to the bathroom thinking through using the tried and true wash his mouth out with soap method (The Christmas Story). By the time I got to the bathroom for our talk, I couldn't find him. I looked in the shower and he wasn't there and then behind the door. Finally Joshua emerged from under the counter, his face red and streaked with tears. It seemed he had been enduring his own box of shame. I was overcome with compassion for my sensitive boy and chose not to use any soap, but talked to him about sin and forgiveness and saying hurtful things and not letting hurtful things said about you change how you think of yourself.

His older brother had called him a chicken for backing out of a deal that would have certainly caused him physical pain. Josh is so much smaller than his brothers that his only retaliation is fury and the worst words he can think of. As we talked he told me he only knows one bad word and it means, "donkey butt."

That time I laughed out loud really hard. He looked at me like I was crazy, but then relaxed, realizing that if mommy's laughing, the consequences can't be too bad. And so he went to bed assuring me that he would try to control his language and confident that he is loved and forgiven. He and his brother apologized to one another and peace was restored in my home.

Parenting is the hardest thing I've ever done. I really have no idea what I'm doing and I mess up a lot. Though shame may, in fact, produce change, it's not the kind of change I want from my kids. I'd rather have them learn the lesson that their mommy clings to as she does her best to parent them - that love covers over a multitude of sins.

Best of 2010

2011-01-07T09:06:00.006-05:00

Here's my list of favorites from the past year:

1. Best Novel - Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen was my favorite read from the last year. I loved traveling back to the Great Depression era circus train, meeting all of the strange characters and falling in love with that sweet elephant, Rosie. I also liked the Notebook-esque use of the old man telling the story of his youth and wondering who his wife turned out to be. I am sooo excited to see the Reese Witherspoon/Robert Pattinson movie which just happens to come out right before my birthday - happy birthday to me!

2. Best Non-fiction book - The Land Between, Finding God in Difficult Transitions by Jeff Manion - I downloaded this book on the Kindle because it said it was free, but it wasn't. Fortunately, this book knew that I needed it. It is written with compassion by a pastor who knows what it means to struggle through the trials and circumstances of life. It is also a study of Moses and the Israelite's time in the desert, but Manion seamlessly melds new Biblical insights with practical application and encouragement for life today. I have not finished reading it because it's become a sort of devotional for me. I find myself craving his words of assurance and encouragement on a regular basis. I may just start over when I'm finished.

3. Best Children's Book Series - Knuffle Bunny by Mo Willems - I'm pretty sure the man is a genius of some sort. I love how his pictures meld New York streets with cartoon drawings and the way his writing captures the passion of a child and hilarity of parenting. My daughter loves these books so much that get them from the library over and over again. The final installment, Knuffle Bunny Free, was just released, but don't read it until you've read Knuffle Bunny and Knuffle Bunny, Too. My family's favorite part is in the first book when the little girl goes "boneless" in her daddy's arms. Don't tell Hope, but she's getting the whole series and her very own Knuffle Bunny for her birthday. I can't wait!!!

4. Best Movie - Inception - This is the only movie this year that I walked out of in awe. In awe of the movie experience I just had, in awe of the special effects and powerful story, and most of all, in awe of the amazing mind of Chris Nolan. In an industry made up of story lines recycled into oblivion, he came up with something completely new and mind blowing. I'm pulling for it to win best picture at the academy awards this year. If you haven't seen it, do, but be sure it's on the biggest screen you can find with a high quality sound system so that you can have the full Inception experience.

5. Best Family Experience - our first real family vacation in Tennessee - whether trying not to lose any children while tubing down the river, exhausting my kids on what was supposed to be a 3 mile round trip hike to a waterfall (turned out it was 6 miles in 90 degree heat and we didn't quite make it), going out for Mexican food or just hanging around what the kids now call "our cabin," it was awesome to get away from everyday life to focus on fun and family. The only problem now is that our kids want to go back next year.

6. Best Personal Experience - Italy! - It was truly the trip of a lifetime. From the cafes on every corner that invite you to come in and sit as long as you want, to the beautiful, passionate language and gorgeous people and paintings and buildings, not to mention getting to talk about the love that God has for his people with people that have never heard it before, it was more than I ever imagined it would be.

7. Best Daughter - Hope Elizabeth - She continues to leave me in wonder as she wants to be like me, but is so much her own person. Her first day of kindergarten she sat in her desk and never even looked up at me to wave good-bye. She was ready to strike out on her own, much more so than Mommy, who left with tears in her eyes. She is the delight of my heart, a gift that I never expected.

8. Best 3rd Son - Joshua Brody - my little turkey pot pie, as I affectionately call him, continues to crack me up with timely one liners and hilarious retorts. He is as sweet as can be and tough as nails, too. I feel for him being sandwiched between two older brothers and a little sister who acts like a little mommy, but am proud of him for finding his own path, too.

9. Best 2nd Son - Gabe - He is still crazy as he's been since he was a toddler and perceptive. His way with words is a blessing and a curse as he tells great stories, cheers up family members when they are down and offers stunning insight into all sorts of things, while also having the power to crush or manipulate a sibling at will.

10. Best Oldest Son - Lukas Joel - named after his dad, he continues to clash with him the most, but only because he's so desperate to become a man himself. Battling dyslexia, Lukas has become a middle schooler who works hard in all of his classes, brings home good grades and is a voracious reader, much to my amazement. He is learning an instrument, making new friends and doing a pretty good job of managing what I tend to think are the worst years of a person's life.

11. Best Husband - Joel - Juggling a full-time job, full-time school and a full-time family, Joel continues to impress his teachers, minister to students and still make time to talk to his wife at the end of a long day. I'm still mystified by the fact that he loves me while knowing the depth of my flaws. I continue to grow in respect for the man that God is making him to be and look forward to finishing this journey with Joel at my side.

12. Best Dog Ever - Gabby - Last but not least is my puppy who came straight from the hand of God to me. We have the most co-dependent relationship I've ever heard of between an owner and pet, but it makes me deliriously happy and she seems quite pleased, herself (as long as I'm around). She is my running partner, protector, snuggler, play friend and companion and I've decided she has to live forever as no other dog could possibly be as awesome as Gabby.

There were so many great things about 2010, but these are the top. 2011 is already underway and is off to a good start. As Joel will not be done with grad school until May of 2012, I'm trying not to view this year as the year between, but to look for all the hope and possibilities that God has for us.

May you be blessed in the new year.

Christmas is...

2010-12-29T12:07:00.005-05:00

Christmas is...
footy pajamas and ribbons and bows
twinkle lights and cookie cutouts
anticipation and waking before the sun

Christmas is...
a crackling fire and falling snow
games and meals and memories
bickering and baking, laughing and loathing

Christmas is...
Sparkling trees and video games and cousins clashing and laughing
children and grown-ups barely acting their age
one word reducing us to tears - of laughter or agony
reliving past wounds, remembering past loss
and choosing love.

Christmas is...
Jesus and Mary
Donkey and sheep
Star and wise men
And angels, deep

Christmas is...
Singing hymns, for centuries sung
Family side by side, hand in hand
Open wounds covered in Christmas best
Remembering the One who came to give us rest.

I love Christmas, but I am thankful Christmas is...

Over

until next year.

Italia!

2010-12-02T05:41:00.010-05:00

I've only been home for a few days, and already I'm wishing that Italy wasn't so far away. I want to take all of my friends and family back to show them all that I saw and experienced, and I want to continue the friendships I began in Milano. I guess pictures and blogs and facebook will have to suffice, as Europe does not seem to be drifting any closer to the U.S., and airline prices are holding steady at completely unrealistic prices.

I am happy to say that my trip was amazing in every way. The food was delicious, the sites were awe-inspiring and the people and language were wonderful!

I so enjoyed learning the language over there that I was trying to teach some of it to my children, but the other day after using my favorite saying to send Lukas off to school, "Baci! Baci! Arrivederci!" (which means kiss, kiss, goodbye), my kids asked it I could be less Italian.:(

I don't know. I think after visiting Italy a part of it stays with you. I'm wondering if my experience there has earned me the right to call it "the old country." As in, "Remember back in the old country? When we had gelatto every day and enjoyed long relaxing meals, twice a day? Ah, I miss the old country."

Though I enjoyed the language, there were a few issues I ran into with it. First of all, it seems that without the proper voice inflection and hand movements, no one understands you. My most frustrating experience was trying to order bruschetta, real Italian bruschetta. I even had my Italian interpreter next to me, but all of the Italians looked at me like I was crazy. They asked if I saw a picture of it, but I couldn't find one at the time. I got a kebab instead. It's kind of like a gyro, but I didn't like it as much. Later, I found a picture of the bruschetta and showed it to Frank, our host, who said, "Oh, bruskaitta!" (with a powerful accent on the ai). Determined to order my own bruskaitta (which is actually spelled the way we spell it), I practiced my pronunciation and accent and a few days later the waiter brought me just what I wanted and all was well in the world.

I think my favorite part of being in Italy was waking up every morning, raising the blinds and opening the window to find Italy just outside - the old buildings, flower boxes in every window, trams running constantly, and Italian voices raised in what often sounds like arguing, but usually is not. They are a very passionate people.

As much as I loved being in Italy, ten days away from my family was very difficult. At one point during the trip I told the girls I needed more hugs because between my husband, four kids and dog, I was used to at least 100 touches a day. Thankfully, soon after that I got my first Italian kiss! Don't worry, it was from a girl, on both cheeks and it made me gloriously happy, as it meant that we were friends and made me feel like I somehow belonged there.

After getting home, sharing gifts with my kids and being mauled with love by everyone, I asked Lukas how he did while I was gone.

"Terrible," he said. "It was like a puzzle with a missing piece."

Such a beautiful word picture, I thought. And that is how I felt, too. As I traveled and photographed and met and loved people, I still had this aching feeling, like I was a missing piece, longing to be back in my puzzle where I belong.

Arrivederci!

2010-11-19T07:06:00.002-05:00

I'm freaking out, I'm totally freaking out!

I leave for Italy this morning and really don't want to leave my family, but am so excited to see Italy and meet the people, see my sister and watch God unfold what I trust is his awesome plan for this trip.

I Googled our hotel and it is so quaint and perfectly Italian, I can't wait to be surrounded by Italian voices and scenery. I also saw where we are going for our excursion day - Lake Como! Don't worry, I'll tell George you said hi if I see him. And, of course, I'll be posting pics.

Well, wish me safe travel and my husband sanity as I leave him for nine days as Mr. Mom.

Addio!

My Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

2010-11-12T13:12:00.005-05:00

Last week was not a good one. It began with tears, my own instead of Hope's this time. I woke up Monday morning unable to shake my sadness. I went for a run and as I prayed I started bawling. Apparently there were some unresolved issues I needed to work through with some friends. The hurt was overwhelming me, which then turned to anger.

I don't really like anger. It's ugly and impulsive and does all sorts of stupid things and then blames it on us. So I boiled and stewed and sent out a short email asking my friends if we could get together and talk. I knew my typical novelette of an email would only lead me to trouble. They responded promptly with a time to get together and I felt a little better. The cursing in my head subsided a bit and I considered making a list of grievances, but thankfully didn't.

Apparently this is what happens when you leave things unresolved for something like 10 years. One day some event triggers it and a flood of emotion, dammed up to overflowing comes flooding out. I don't really like these floods of emotion either (note my previous post on my control freakishness).

So, to recap, it's Monday, and I'm an emotional mess.

Then I took my daughter to the doctor where she failed a hearing test, in both ears, even though I thought her hearing had improved.

Discouragement on top of sadness.

Then I took my daughter back to school and discovered that I had taken her to the doctor during a special lunch time when she was to get pizza and cookies and sit on the stage to get a character award.

Complete failure as a mom on top of discouragement on top of sadness.

At this point I was thinking going back to bed and starting over in another hemisphere would be nice.

The week progressed.

The meeting with my friends on Thursday went well. I told them how I felt, minus the angry tirade, and then cried for over an hour as we hashed through the past. Apologies were made, explanations were given, friendship was reaffirmed, and then I left.

On Friday, my mom arrived. We headed to the mall to do some early Christmas shopping and while in our first store, perusing pajamas, I got a call from my son's school. He had lice.

Lice.

Deep breath...

So now my emotionally exhausting week turned into a physically exhausting weekend as we washed (and shaved some) heads, cleaned sheets, bagged stuffed animals and combed out nits. (I apologize if you are now scratching your head uncontrollably. I promise you can't get it through the internet.) By Saturday night I was pretty sure that every surface had been sprayed, laundered and deloused and I was done. Emotionally and physically DONE.

Mom left on Sunday morning and I had the opportunity to go to Starbuck's for a little chai therapy and journaling. It was wonderful. A few more tears were shed as I poured out my heart to God, but he gave me insight into where all the tears had come from and why. But he did me one better. He showed me that he saw all of my pain over all of the years, all of the sacrifice, and that he felt it, too. It mattered to him. And not only that, but there would be rewards in heaven for everything done for him. One day, he would make everything better. And so, after a very, very long week, I was comforted. I felt peace.

As I thought about what I needed for the coming week, I felt prompted to fast on Monday and then to gradually reintroduce foods throughout the week. Have I mentioned that I was eating my weight in Oreos to cope with all the stress of the previous week? I wondered if a little self-control on the food end of things might help me look to a higher power than Nabisco when tragedy strikes again.

And it has been awesome. Not only is my son's head no longer crawling with insects, but I feel so connected with God and able to do one thing at a time, prioritize my time without worrying about my list of 100 other responsibilities, and I've lost a few pounds (this in not the ultimate goal of fasting, but I'm pretty sure it was all Oreo weight that needed to be removed immediately). I feel like this fast has been a reboot for my body and my brain.

So, my terrible, no good, very bad week came to an end. God redeemed it and has given me a pretty wonderful one to follow it, and hey, I go to Milan in seven days!

Losing Control

2010-11-02T10:30:00.000-04:00

Apparently, I'm a bit of a control freak.

My husband chuckles when I say this. Not a, "No, you're not a control freak!" kind of laugh, but a, "Really, you're just figuring this out?" laugh, which I do not appreciate.

It's always irritating when other people know things about me before I do.

But I came to this realization the other day when I mentioned to a friend that I have had a few borderline panic attacks lately. It was odd to me because my life has gotten less stressful since my kids are all in school and I no longer work at a job where I felt like a constant failure.

My friend, after listening to what brought on these attacks, suggested that I make a list of everything I feel responsible for and then share it with my husband, and maybe see what he could take on and be responsible for.

I began my list. I started with all my responsibilities on Monday - everything from getting groceries, to getting kids to their events, to working out, making dinner, checking everyone's homework, teaching my younger two to read, and practicing spelling words, then moved to Tuesday and so on. The list, by the time I was done, had more than 100 items on it, all things that I feel responsible to get done.

I showed Joel the list and he gasped, really. My husband has a lot of responsibility right now with working a full-time job and going to grad school just about full-time, so I try to pick up everything I can for him. But the truth is he does help a lot. He does dishes regularly, throws in a load of laundry here and there, vacuums and such, but when he does these things I usually feel guilty. Like it's a sign of my failure that he needs to pick up my slack when he's already stressed out.

But getting to part 2 of my assignment was difficult. What could I actually give Joel as his responsibility? As in, not my responsibility anymore. The problem was, as much as I didn't want so much responsibility on my shoulders, it was hard for me to let go of any of my list.

If I don't make sure that Joshua's reading is done, will he fall behind? If I don't clean the bathroom myself, will it really get as clean as I like it? Could someone else really work out for me? Man, that would be nice if I could hire a personal trainer to work out and then see the results on my own body! Seriously, why has no one else thought of that?

Anyway, all of this thinking about my myriad of responsibilities made me think about something that Shauna Niequist said in her book, Bittersweet. As a wife and mother, author and speaker, she has made a list of things she doesn't do.

This list includes:
scrap booking
baking (though she buys lovely treats from the bakery)
gardening
home improvement (she says unloading the dishwasher counts as home improvement in her family)
making the bed

I look at her list and think, but I love baking, just not the effects of eating what I bake. Gardening is sort of fun, especially the fresh basil and tomatoes that make the most wonderful bruschetta. And making my bed is the easiest "cleaning" I do of the day.

I know I need to give up some things on my never ending list of responsibilities, but every time I try to make my list it looks something like this:

What I don't do:
Sing well
Keep my house clean enough
Always respond patiently to my children
Eat well enough to get my cholesterol down and lose 10lbs
Save money
Respond to emails promptly
etc...

You get the point. My list of what I don't do is really a list of what I feel bad about not doing well, which is probably not the goal of this exercise.

So, for right now, just having a husband who has compassion for my extensive to-do list is nice. I'm still working on figuring out what I can let go of and sacrifice for my own sanity, without causing my house to spiral out of control.

Bittersweet Kindling

2010-10-20T10:41:00.008-04:00

I am a book lover.

I love not only reading books, but holding their sturdy spines in the palm of my hand, turning the paper edges with anticipation for what waits on the next page. I love the smell of wood pulp and ink.

I love books.

Reading them, underlining their best passages, dog-earring the pages so I can go back to my favorites again and again. And lining them up neatly on my shelves, like old friends and destinations just waiting for me to come and visit again on a lazy, rainy afternoon, a sunny morning or sleepless night.

Books are a wonderful escape; fuel for my imagination and understanding of this world.

Someone said that, "A room without books is like a body without a soul."

It feels true to me.

Whether the tattered and stained cookbooks that tell the tale of favorite meals shared with love, as well as failed attempts at culinary delights, that sit on my kitchen shelves; or the worn and dusty collection of classics that go mostly untouched in the family room; the pile of reading material waiting on the bathroom counter for a stolen moment behind a locked door; the loads of books on my bedroom shelves where my favorites are displayed and cared for; or the rainbow of childrens books standing at attention in my kids' rooms; books bring comfort and imagination to all the rooms of my home.

So when my husband got a Kindle for use in grad school, I was excited for him, but hesitant for myself. It sounded so exciting to have books right there at my fingertips, whether traveling or home or at Panera. No broken back as a result of lugging all those pages, just the touch of a button on one neat and tidy device. But no books?

This week I bought my first book on Kindle. It is called Bittersweet and is by Shauna Niequist, the author of Cold Tangerines, which I blogged about before. And the title seems fitting for my first foray into technical reading.

The Kindle is cool. Even though it looks like a computer screen when turned off, when I turn it on, it is as though a page appears with no glare and no screen strain on my eyes. It saves my place when I turn it off, lets me underline or take notes right there in the text, no need to find a pen, and I can make the letters larger for my eyes which sometimes require reading glasses (yes, I am that old).

When I turn it off, a random picture appears of sketches of fish straight off an encyclopedia page, Mark Twain, Mount Olympus or, my personal favorite, Charlotte Bronte (I almost kissed that picture when it appeared, but refrained due to the fact that I had on lip gloss and did not want to clean the screen, but I do love her that much). I need to have proper lighting to read off of it just like a normal book and Joel bought a nice protective case for it that feels like a book spine or nice journal in my hands.

I know that this is the future of books, if only to save the trees and publishing costs. I must say it was pretty amazing to see the book on amazon, buy it new for a paperback price and then watch as it downloaded to the Kindle, via some sort of magic that I do not care to understand, in mere seconds. But I will miss not having this book's purple spine watching over me as I go to sleep at night or being able to grab it off the shelf, shove it into a friend's hand and tell her she must read it.

The book, Bittersweet, is pretty fantastic. The Kindle certainly doesn't affect my enjoyment of the content and kindly shows me my progress (28%) at the bottom of the "page" as there are no page numbers or book marks to show how far I have gotten.

So, while I am enjoying the convenience of our Kindle, I hope that books will forever be printed on paper, at least a few copies, for those of us who need these old friends sitting on our bedroom shelves keeping us company, not just on our hard drives.

Waking Up Hope

2010-10-06T14:08:00.005-04:00

No, this is not a commentary on how to wake up hope in our lives, but a plea for help in waking up my 5-year-old daughter for school every day.

Each morning I start with the tried and true alarm clock, situated next to her sleepy head, move on to flipping on the lights and telling her to wake up because it's time for school. These tactics, which have been effective on my three boys, are completely ineffective on my late night owl daughter.

Here are some more creative approaches I've tried:

1) Putting her to bed super early so she won't be so tired in the morning.
Result=It's 10pm and I think my daughter has been sleeping soundly for the last few hours, only to hear her door open and tiny footsteps make their way out to the family room where a very awake little girl tells me she just organized her kitchen.

2) Thinking of something she will look forward to that day which would make it worth getting out of her soft, warm bed (i.e. you have art today! It's Friday! You get to wear your days-of-the-week socks! I'll make you a special lunch!).
Result=I'm beginning to feel more desperate. My attempts at manipulation seem to be moving into the realm of bribery and I'm afraid she's onto me. Next thing you know she'll be staying in bed longer, holding out until I offer to buy her a pony for getting her tushy out of bed (not gonna happen).

3) Singing her ridiculous songs to make her laugh and wake up happy and/or annoy her until she gets up and asks me to please stop singing.
Result=That annoying song, Alejandro, seems to be on our local radio station every morning about that time and is most effective at making my boys laugh and then beg me to stop singing while Hope just giggles a little and then hides deeper under the covers.

4) Faking a natural disaster. This morning was my first attempt at this. It started out with me shaking her gently, and after no response, I started shaking her mattress violently and telling her it was an earthquake.
Result=Either she realizes that we don't live on a major fault line, or she just doesn't care, but it didn't work either way. Maybe telling her a tornado is coming would be more effective, but I fear scarring her, as she's actually pretty afraid of those.

5) Having Lukas play his trumpet in her room. He's just learning to play, so not only is it loud, but it is irritatingly off-key.
Result=Everyone else in the house is annoyed by such loud noise first thing in the morning, including Joel who has to stay up late studying, while Hope lays in bed with her pillow over her head.

6) Putting Gabby on her bed. Our sweet puppy is the sure-fire way to get Hope to stop crying, so maybe she could help wake her up.
Result=My dog, who seemed to be on to my plan and is terrified of heights cowered in fear as I picked her up and then foiled my attempts to get her onto Hope's bunk bed buy digging her claws into my shoulder and Hope's railing. Later I also realized that she peed on Hope's carpet while cowering in fear. Nice.

So, this is just a smattering of my attempts since the school year began. If you have any creative suggestions, just leave them in the comments below!

P.S. Hope does like kindergarten, though she says it's not as much fun as preschool. :)

Ciao, Bella!

2010-09-27T11:50:00.004-04:00

God has really been pretty good to me in this life. I live in a nice house, have a great family, have friends that I love and enjoy, even good health. But every once in a while I am blown away by an extra blessing that God gives me. My puppy is one example, why she means so much to me, I can't put into words, but she feels like a gift directly from God to me.

The other day another of these blessings came upon me suddenly. It started out as sort of a joke. We were in church listening to the announcements when our pastor said that there was a short-term mission trip to Milan, Italy that was still open for more people to sign up. It was to be during Thanksgiving, and as this is the year that we are with Joel's family for that holiday, I turned to him and whispered, "Hey Honey, can I go to Milan instead of your parents' for Thanksgiving?" I love my in-laws, and Tennessee is beautiful, but we're talking Italy here.

In all seriousness he looked back at me and said matter-of-factly, "If you can raise the money."

Of course, he knew that money was a sticking point, but he meant it. Out of curiosity I went up to our pastor after church to find out the details, particularly how much it would cost. But while I was waiting in line Joel appeared next to me and said, "Oh, we actually have that money raised already."

What!?!

It's a little complicated to explain here, but essentially, the missionary agency we work for already has that money for ministry expenses in an account for us. We don't have access to it for anything normally, but for this trip we do.

My reply to Joel was something like, "Don't be messin' with Milan!"

But he wasn't messing with me, he was serious, and serious, as well, about me going if I wanted to.

So, I thought maybe I should pray about it. I usually pray a lot about these things, but felt so much excitement about going and how everything was falling into place that I wondered if I already had an answer. Just in case, when I was journaling my prayer to God, I asked, "So, what do you think about Milan?" No immediate answer, just all of my own excitement welling up in my belly.

The next day as I was running, I asked again, "What do you think about me going to Milan?"

And to my delight and surprise, I felt like God said that it gave him great pleasure to give me this gift and that he wanted me to enjoy it.

I felt so loved and special and amazed in that moment, that God would care enough to send me on a trip overseas to see a new place and meet new people and eat real gelato on an actual street in Italy. I couldn't believe that God would love me that much.

But, apparently, he does.

So, as long as I get my passport in time, I will be off to Italy mid-November. I will be going to help teach English to some Italian college students and hopefully to share with them at least one ounce of this love that God has shared with me.

Rest

2010-08-18T09:59:00.003-04:00

"I'm freaking out, Mom, I'm freaking out!"

Those were the words coming from the backseat of our minivan the first day that I drove my oldest to school six years ago. Today the words are mine.

I watched my oldest son ride off to middle school today, on his own. He wanted to ride his bike. He wanted to go alone. He's ready.

I'm not.

I wanted to go with him, make sure he got his locker open and walk him to his first class, maybe even take a picture. You don't think that would affect his middle school status, do you?

I'm trying to figure out how close I can get to the school when it's time for him to head home. If I stay a few blocks away I may not totally humiliate him.

I don't know.

To add insult to injury, I also had to drop my baby girl off at all-day kindergarten today. She was ready, too, she was fine. I thought she might be a little sad to see me go, maybe look up at me longingly as I left. Nothing. I held back the tears, told the teacher to have a good day (code for: please take care of my baby) and left Hope coloring the picture of Barney on her desk.

Then I drove off, alone. Came home to a quiet house, only my puppy waiting for me. No one asking for a snack or to watch t.v. or to play with me. I can clean the house without anyone following behind me to mess it up again, until 2:45.

I feel this odd sense of joyous freedom tinged with crushing anxiety. Twelve years now. Twelve years of raising kids, being a stay at home mom, maybe working part-time, but mostly with my kids all day, every day, for twelve years.

I feel like I've earned this. Earned a little break. But I miss them. It is excruciating having to wait six hours to hear how their days went - if Joshua scraped his knee on the playground, how Gabe likes his first male teacher, if Lukas was shoved into his locker (he checked to see if he would fit when we visited the school - he does, just barely), and if Hope likes school.

And so, when the anxiety starts ramping up and I feel like I might not be able to take it anymore, I get on my knees and give them back to the One who never leaves them, always knows how they are, and somehow loves them infinitely more than me.

And He says to me, "Rest."

"Rest in me. Trust in me. I will care for them when you cannot. I want you to rest."

Okay, I'll try. I'm still eager to hear their stories when they get home, but for now I'm going to drink my chai and rest.

Vacating

2010-08-16T19:24:00.008-04:00

Last week, for the first time ever, we went on vacation with our kids. We've camped with them, visited grandparents and even lived in the mountains and at the beach for entire summers (for my husband's job), but we had never just gotten away for the sake of getting away and having fun as a family. And it was awesome.

We went to the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee because we got a good deal on a cabin and we could drive there in one day. The cabin was gorgeous, with a hot tub on the deck and jacuzzi tubs in each bathroom. The hot tub was used at least every evening, often mornings, too. And Gabe soon figured out what fun it was to wash in the bathtub and then turn the jets on.:)
Since I actually had my own master bath, I refused to let anyone under the age of 13 use it. And it stayed miraculously clean all five days!

The first day of our trip we went tubing down the river. The river was a little low, so it ended up being a bit more work than we expected. Joel took Hope and I took Joshua as we floated down the river, keeping them on course, unwedging their tubes from between rocks, and helping pull them over low rapids.

The kids' favorite part of it was when we stopped at some giant boulders that they could either jump off of or swing from a rope into the river. I wish I had a water proof camera. Joel and I were exhausted by the end, but had stayed cool in the 95 degree heat and had a lot of fun as a family.

The next day, Joel's parents were gracious enough to come and hang out with the kids while we had some time out to ourselves. I wanted to do something adventurous, like kayak down the river, but with the river so low we thought we'd be pulling our kayaks more than paddling. Our second option was to go zip lining, until we got there and asked how high it was. Joel has no fear of heights and would have loved it, but wouldn't do it when he saw the terror on my face when they said I'd be hanging 200 - 300 feet above ground. So, I got to see the Titanic. That's the actual ice berg that caused its demise. Cool, huh?

And then on our last day I planned an awesome hike to a water fall that we could walk behind. I mean, how cool would that be to go behind a water fall, and what a photo op?

Unfortunately, for some reason I thought that 3.5 miles meant round trip, not one way. So with my family wilting in the heat and exhausted from the hours long uphill climb, we gave up and stopped at a place where water did fall, just not quite as dramatically as we had hoped.

But, the kids had fun climbing around and we got a nice family photo, which always makes me happy.

That night was our last night, so we went into town for a delicious Mexican meal and then went to a mirror maze that was so much cooler than I ever imagined. We really couldn't tell what was a mirror and what was real. But we eventually found our way out and then headed to Pirate Black Light Golf.

This is me posing in front of another scenic water fall while Joel focuses on his game. He was a little disappointed in the greens. I tried to explain that quality of course was hardly the point. Men and golf, what can you do?

After that we headed back to the cabin to pack up. When Hope and Josh realized what was going on they started crying. They wanted to stay and keep having fun. I think Josh loved his bedroom so much he would have been happy to move in permanently. But I guess tears are a sign that we accomplished our goal of a fun, bonding family vacation.

The next day we left our beautiful cabin in Sherwood Forest, drove out of the Smoky Mountains and headed home to prepare for school. Summer will be over for us tomorrow and the chaos of managing six lives going in all of their different directions will begin again. But I'm so glad that we had a chance to create some awesome memories for our kids, and us, too.

Reading

2010-07-26T22:24:00.003-04:00

So, I've been reading. A lot. It's been my favorite activity this summer, sitting by the pool, reading a book as my children play. I love that they are all now excellent swimmers. So much less stress.

Anywho, I started the summer with the biographies of Corrie ten Boom (mentioned in the last post), kept trying to read the two headier books listed at the right, and then read the memoir of a surgeon who started a hospital in Ethiopia to fix fistulas. The book is called, The Hospital by the River. It was a fascinating (and sometimes horrifying) book that both showed life in this troubled and impoverished country and explained in graphic detail the horrors of obstructed child birth in 3rd world countries. I don't want to go into detail explaining what a fistula is, lets just say it is not good, and this Catherine Hamlin is a saint. On the book jacket, they compared her to Mother Teresa, but I think M.T. is rather like the all-star of the faith whose jersey is retired. There is no comparison.

But this woman did a world of good, and as far as I know, continues to do much good for the people, and especially women of Ethiopia that she loves so much.

As inspiring as she is, Joel recommended that I stop reading such depressing books this summer. So, in search of lighter fair, I stumbled upon some ridiculous teen romance. Not quite the beloved "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants," but fun none the less.

It's taken me back to my reading roots - young adult romance. I fell in love with stories when I was in first grade and Miss Carstensen read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to us. I ran home every day and told my mom every detail of the latest chapter. (The movies have never lived up to the magic in my 7 year old brain). Julie of the Wolves I read soon after and was the first book that made me cry. I'm still heartbroken by the horrific ending. And then Where the Red Fern Grows, which, I finished in my 7th grade homeroom class, made me cry - publicly. There is nothing sadder in literature than a dog dying. Seriously.

But, according to my teachers, I had good reading comprehension, but was a slow reader. I now realize that this is because I love the detail. I love picturing every color of the sun as it sets, every crinkle of the grandpa's brow, every whisper of the boyfriend's voice in her ear. I like to let it linger in my head, swirl around a bit and then move on with the story when I'm ready.

My mom on the other hand, was eager to make me a more efficient reader and therefore borrowed dozens of books from a friend's daughter. Every one of them had a picture of a teenage girl on the cover with a handsome teenage boy just behind her. The stories were all the the same- girl meets boy, sparks fly, something comes between them, they end up together in the end. To Kill a Mocking Bird, these were not, but I devoured every last one of them by summer's end and I was hooked. Few things get the blood pumping like teenage romance.

And so here I am, reading the likes of Sarah Dessen, whose characters are decidedly less picture perfect (one is abandoned by her mother, another nearly raped), but the formula is still the same - boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl pushes boy away due to her issues, then realizes the error of her ways and kisses him in the end. And I am hooked yet again. I've read three of these ridiculous books in the last two weeks and have two more on hold at the library.

I keep wondering if I should read something a little more literary, but it is summer after all, the perfect time for teen romance.

***Forgot to mention - I did read Water for Elephants as well - love it! 4 stars, two enthusiastic thumbs up. Can't wait for the Reese Witherspoon/Robert Pattinson movie to come out!

Adopt-a-Grandpa

2010-07-08T07:50:00.002-04:00

I just finished reading Corrie ten Boom's biographies (3 of them) and have found that she is, indeed, my hero.

My first exposure to her and her life was through the movie, The Hiding Place. I was horrified as I watched this true story of her family hiding the Jews in Holland and then being taken to Nazi concentration camps where they were forced into hard labor, beaten, and hardly had enough food to live on. Many of Corrie's family members died in those camps, but miraculously Corrie survived and was released one week before all the women her age were exterminated in her camp.

Corrie went on to travel the world telling anyone who would listen that God's love is deeper than the darkest place. She knew. She had been there.

Corrie also lived out and preached forgiveness, setting up places for former Nazis to heal, receive forgiveness and be made whole. Corrie even had opportunities to forgive former guards that had wounded or humiliated she and her sister. A true example of walking the talk.

But when I read the story, The Hiding Place, I was relieved to find that it begins in Corrie's childhood in the Beje. The crumbling old home in Haarlem, Holland where her father worked in his watch shop and every aunt she had came to give her two cents on Corrie's life.

What I loved to read about the most was Casper ten Boom, Corrie's father. He was this wise old man, kind to everyone he met, treating beggar and dignitary with the same respect, always believing in the good within people and trying to draw it out with his own goodness. Brave, as he helped to hide Jews in Nazi occupied Holland, dying in prison for this act. The Nazis had wanted to release him because he was so old. They told him they would set him free if he promised not to cause any more problems. Casper said that he could never turn away anyone who needed help, and he never did. Not the 11 foster children whom he helped raise in his home, not the men who came begging for work or the families who came to the back kitchen door, knowing that the ten Booms always had soup going on the stove in case they needed it, and certainly not God's chosen people, the Jews.

And Papa ten Boom was a fount a wisdom. Every day reading to his household from the scriptures, giving patient, thoughtful replies to his childrens' questions, seeing what was coming when Hitler gained power.

Reading about him made me wish I could have been one of his foster children. To sit at his feet and hear the ticking of watches inside his coat, to listen to his sure, steady voice read from the Bible he loved, and to be able to ask him so many questions about why life is the way it is and how it got this way. Maybe he wouldn't have all the answers, but I know he'd have some.

It got me thinking. I know we have big brother/big sister programs, why not Adopt-a-Grandpa? I thought I could start scouring nursing homes for old men who still like to talk, have something to say in this world. Set them up with people who want to listen.

Or maybe have an eharmony-grandpa. Seeking wise old man who likes to tell stories, answer questions, with warm smile and preferably non-diabetic (I like to bake for people).

I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I think I'm just talking about God, the Father of Fathers. Someday I'll see his beautiful face, I like to picture it a little worn with years like a grandpa, but I don't think God gets very worn. But I'll see him and if I'm not flat on my face in awe, I'll ask him some questions, and maybe just maybe I'll understand his answers.

And then he'll give me a hug. I hope.

Ode to a Great Dad

2010-06-20T19:39:00.003-04:00

This is my husband.

The one hanging in midair.

He was a pole vaulter in college, so despite his 40th birthday looming a few short months away, Joel continues to impress the youngsters at the pool with his mad skills. Gabe posed for this picture to put on the front of a homemade card for his dad. It was to say something like, "You're so cool you can still do flips in the air."

And he is. Cool.

I married him, in part, so that I could become more like him. More emotionally steady, more eager to meet and be very friendly to strangers, more able to stay up late at night and have a coherent thought. I don't know that I've actually grown in any of these things, but I do still admire them in my husband.

We have four kids. Four. When we were having kids I knew so many family with 4 or 6 or even 10 kids, that four actually felt almost small. But I've found that it's actually a big number. I thought the number would get smaller once my kids were bigger. Not that I'd have fewer kids, heaven help me if I lose one of these, but that it would feel smaller. I thought that as they became more independent, made it to the bathroom on their own, could speak, ride bikes and read books, that I'd sit back and relax and think how awesome it is to be a mom to these kids. And it is awesome, I wouldn't trade it for anything, but it is hard.

I am so thankful for Joel, my baby daddy to all four of my kids. When I feel like I'm going to bang my head against the wall if I hear one more comment about how they need more video game time, Joel steps in and explains the rules and that the kids need to respect me and give Mommy some grace. When I feel like a complete failure as a mom, he holds me and reminds me how loved our kids feel, how secure they are in that love, and that tomorrow is a new day. And when I have no idea what to do, how to help these boys become men (of God) or how to raise a pure and beautiful daughter in this sex saturated society, we seek the Source of all Wisdom together and figure it out step by step, day by day.

Sarah Groves' song about her husband says, "Life with you is half as hard and twice as good..."

So true.

But I think what is weighing most on my heart this father's day is what it is to watch my husband love our daughter. I see everything that I didn't have because my father lived across town.

The good morning kisses.

The middle of the night snuggles to keep bad dreams at bay.

The protective strength of father arms always there, always ready when Hope is scared or weak or hurt.

The pitiful efforts to do her hair or pick out an outfit when I'm not home.

The endearing terms that remind Hope how special she is to her daddy.

The intimate security of watching daddy kiss mommy and tell her he loves her.

The spontaneous dates to Taco Bell for no apparent reason.

The sound of that strong, sure voice shouting, "You can do it!" before she jumped off the diving board for the first time, or telling her, "It'll be okay," when it feels like it can't possibly be.

While I had many of these things every other weekend and I am thankful for that, the truth is I wish that I had had all of these things in my home as a little girl. But getting to watch my daughter get them brings so much joy to me that tears regularly spring to my eyes.

How thankful I am that in the love of my life, I also gave my daughter the joy and security of hers.

Fear & Trembling

2010-05-10T06:48:00.011-04:00

I went to a conference last week. It was designed to help people who want to develop a speaking ministry. The main thing that I learned is that I need to tell people that this is what I do, and that I want to do it more.

Me with my small group at the conference.

So, I thought I'd start here on my own blog, sharing what I believe God has put on my heart.

Ever since I was 18 years old, I've had this overwhelming desire to share the things that God
teaches me with others. At times the feeling is so pressing that I feel like I might explode. I relate to Jeremiah, the prophet, who said that he felt like God's word was a fire shut up in his bones.

For years, my answer to that question, "If you knew you only had a year to live (or 30 days or whatever), what would you do?" My answer was always that I would find as many people as I could to tell them all that God has taught me. It was what God had put on my heart, and I hadn't done it yet, and it was making me crazy.

Thankfully, over the past few years I have had multiple opportunities to teach the things that God has put on my heart. I have taught people about God's holiness, in this highly entertained nation; about Esther's beauty; about sitting on a beach with Jesus, like Peter did; about how God is the ultimate romantic, the creator of romance; about tearing down the walls in our lives, to get to a place of peace, just like Joshua did; about being an adult child of divorce; and this year I have taught on the miracle of hope in our lives, in my life.

By God's grace, some of that fire has been released from my bones. I have been able to share insights God has given me into his word, I have attempted to use my creativity to show the relatability of that old book to today, and I have had the privilege of looking hundreds of people in the eye and telling them that they are loved, that there is hope, that God is for them. And when I do this I feel like I have done what I was put here for. I feel fulfilled and overwhelmingly happy.

At this conference, they taught us how to do this professionally, how to promote myself and this ministry that God has put on my heart. And I hate it. I hate the idea of advertising myself, putting myself out there. But I guess it's a means to an end. If I am not to explode with everything God has given to me and if I am to live in obedience to what I believe he has called me to, then this is what I must do.

So, apparently at some point I'll be setting up a website with info about me and what I like to teach on. I'll be sending countless queries to magazines, in hopes that maybe one of them won't reject
Me graduating from the seminar with
my small group leader, Linda. She's a
great lady, a published author and
speaker with a heart to help other writers.
How cool is that?

me. And I'll be asking people like you, who know and love me, to spread the word. If your church is looking for a speaker for a women's retreat, maybe I could help you out. If you know of another church that needs someone to teach a seminar on one of the above topics, let me know.

Donald Miller says that you know you're living a good story if it terrifies you. Well, here it goes...

A Little B-day Therapy

2010-04-22T06:51:00.005-04:00

My birthday was a couple of days ago. It was pretty awesome. I had lunch with friends, dinner with family, watched a Madonna-themed Glee with one of my favorite people, and got a massage. It was pretty much the perfect day.

But when I say "massage," I'm not just talking about one from my awesome hubby. No, I got a real massage from someone called a massage therapist, as in, this is her full-time job. I have had one "professional" massage before, but it felt like it was from a hair stylist who took a few classes on the side. Now I know I was right.

A real massage therapist is amazing. First of all, that woman didn't just have magic fingers, she had seriously buff hands and forearms. She manipulated my joints and muscles, pulled on my head and pushed on my shoulders to work out the labyrinth of knots in my neck and upper back. It lasted an hour, but I could have laid there all day.

Afterward I just wanted a nap. And to schedule my next appointment.

I'm a pretty big proponent of therapy, you know, the kind where you work out all of your stuff and then go home and cry, but it eventually gets better?

I have now officially become a fan of massage therapy...where someone else works out all of your stuff and then you go home and take a nap.

Now I just need to figure out if my insurance will cover it...

Story, part 2 - Redemption

2010-04-01T20:28:00.009-04:00

We don't choose our endings, but God is capable of redeeming our stories.

I made a friend a few summers back. I was in the mountains of Colorado with no t.v., sketchy internet, and three young boys. I had a lot of questions for God that summer and sought answers to them in two books - The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce (trust me, it's super fun:) and Genesis.

I read the divorce book to understand how my family dysfunction affected me, and I read Genesis with the question for God: "How do you feel about me, about your people?" And an amazing thing happened. Right there in the Old Testament, amid the smiting and stoning and casting out of Eden, I saw how much God loves us, how profoundly he delights in us. It was amazing.

And I saw how so much of what I believed about God was actually based on my messed up past, not scripture. It became clear to me that God loved how much I loved my family, my husband, my children. My intense love for them did not make God want to take them from me, as I had feared since I fell in love with Joel a decade earlier. I was sure that that verse on how we should hate our mothers and fathers compared to our love for Jesus meant that God would punish me for loving them too much. I saw how messed up this thinking was. How could the God of love be angry at me for loving people he loves infinitely more than I do?

How I tried to break up with Joel because I was too happy? - common among adult children of divorce. Desire to be with Joel my whole life, but terrified of marrying him? - because of the broken family. Constant fear that husband will have an affair and children will be killed in horrible accident? - part paranoid me, part serious dysfunction. It was crazy and eye-opening and freeing to have the wheat separated from the chaff, the truth from the lie, the true God from the false (and scary) image in my head.

I felt free, and had just begun my journey of understanding just how much God actually loves me.

In the midst of this journey came my friend. She was this sweet and beautiful girl who asked if I would mentor her. Our mentoring sessions consisted mostly of me sharing what I was learning in all of my studies, and her asking me questions and telling me her story, which was filled with plenty of dysfunction of her own.

Her parents had divorced years before and her father was an alcoholic. It was a difficult story to hear, but somehow God brought us together that summer and began her journey of healing as well.

A few weeks ago I was able to get with this friend after so many years apart. She had gone into full-time ministry for a few years, gotten married and is now teaching and thinking about starting a family. It was fantastic to see her and to hear how well she is doing, but one thing in particular has stuck with me.

She told me the story of how her father died.

After years of alcoholism, her father's body just started to give out, to shut down. He went into the hospital and eventually reached a point where he was no longer able to talk. He couldn't speak, but he was coherent. He was sober.

My friend visited her father regularly during this time, talking to him and somehow understanding what he was saying to her (she was the only one that was able to interpret what he was saying). And something amazing happened. This girl, who had such a broken relationship with her father, got to hear all of the things she needed to, things she should have heard years before.

Her dad said simple things like:

"I love you."

and

"I'm glad you're here."

Things she had never heard before.

He held her hand and looked into her eyes with clarity in his own and spoke words of love and affirmation to a daughter he had horribly neglected.

I sat there listening to my friend tell her story, open mouthed, in awe of God. I sat there in awe of his goodness, of his kindness, of his power to redeem, and of his desire to make things right.

When I met with her so many years ago I prayed that she would find strength in God, that she would seek out the healing I believed he offered. I hoped that she would find people to love her wherever she was, but I never dreamed that the story of her dad would be redeemed, I didn't dare to hope for that.

That goes deeper than any Hollywood ending. That is redemption of a life, and that is pure God.

I know that my Redeemer lives, what comfort that sweet sentence gives...

How amazing that we serve a God who not only redeems souls, but stories, too.

Story, part 1 - Endings

2010-04-01T19:47:00.009-04:00

I watched this movie the other night that really affected me. I don't want to tell you the name of it:
1. because you'd make fun of me

and

2. because I'm gonna give away the ending.

It's the story of these two people who fall in love. The kind of love that consumes you from the inside out. I know, it's Hollywood, so what other kind of love would there be? But I'm a romantic and totally bought into it. Anyway, they both have these kind of tragic pasts which makes their love for one another that much more intense and magical. (And which made me love the story even more).

It's a typical movie in that you root for them to figure it out, to make it work, to forgive each other when they mess up, and they do. But then something unusual, for Hollywood, happened. One of them died. On one hugely tragic day, a main character died along with many others. I watched transfixed as the significant other and the character's family grieved this loss. It was so sad to think of them going through yet another tragedy. It was too much. No family could survive under that. The story wasn't supposed to be over...but the movie was. That's how it ended.

It wasn't a typical Hollywood ending because no one watching wanted it to end that way. No one thought, "Yes, the main character should die tragically at the end of the movie and leave the other person to grieve another crushing loss. Yes, that would be really satisfying." No one thought that. No one wanted that. But that's how the story ended.

As I left the theater, though, I thought how no one who died on that day in real life (it was 9/11) was done with their story either. No one went into work thinking, "I've lived my life, I've loved enough, I'm okay with not making it home today." No one thought that, because their stories weren't over either. They had husbands or wives, kids or roommates, moms in the hospital or little brothers needing to be picked up from school. They had dreams of the next day and year and decade. But their story was over. Just like that.

They weren't in a Hollywood movie where a test audience decides if the ending is just right. I heard once, though I don't know if it's true, that Pretty Woman's original ending had Julia Roberts strung out on drugs in some seedy hotel room while Richard Gere went back to business. It was a romantic comedy with a decidedly tragic ending. But (not surprisingly) the audiences didn't like it. So they changed it all around and gave the insanely happy fairytale ending where every need of every character is met and they ride happily off into the sunset together.

We don't get to choose our endings. I don't mean to be morbid, but today reminds me of this fact. We don't choose our ending, but the miraculous fact is that even when the ending is most tragic, God can redeem the story.

To be continued...

Closure

2010-03-05T06:37:00.004-05:00

They didn't cheer.

This is a good thing.

They didn't cheer.

I thought they would. I prepared myself to know that deep down they didn't mean it. But I told them I was leaving and they didn't cheer. God is kind.

Two weeks ago my husband and I decided that I needed to quit my job. For the last two years I have worked as a middle school teacher at an after school program for at-risk kids. Even though I don't live in a very big city, our schools essentially function as inner city schools and these are the students that I have worked with.

And I love them.

They have made me laugh and cry, feel angry and happy, hopeful and hopeless.

My first year on the job I felt like a complete failure. Every day that I couldn't get them to calm down, not tell each other to shut up or put one another down, every day that they brought in another "F" or disciplinary referral or I found out they were suspended...again, I felt like I had failed.

It was a long and painful process to realize that my job was not to save them or make them successful or even make their lives easier. I could do so little in a few hours a day, especially when they were already exhausted or angry or just plain done after a long day at school.

I found that my role was to just show up. To offer them a kind smile and a warm welcome, to encourage them to study and learn, to find their gifts and talents and offer them to the world, and most of all, my job was to love them. No matter what.

And I tried.

And so, yesterday I spent the day emotionally preparing for their responses. I was sure that some would cheer, glad to be rid of me, happy to see me go, but hopefully knowing that no matter how they felt, I had loved them. I was ready for anger, too, the go-to response in that classroom, but I didn't see that either.

There was surprise and confusion, even some sadness. I gave them a picture of our class and one last "proverb," as I called the wise sayings I had them memorize every week (for a blowpop reward). And then I wrote a personal note to each one of them. An honest note telling each one of them what I saw in them, what gifts and talents I looked forward to watching them develop, encouraging them to set goals and to work to achieve them. I was making sure they knew they mattered, to me.

And I told them I loved them. Because it is true. No matter how hard this job became. No matter how much abuse I received. When I left for the day, I hurt because I loved them so much, wanted to do so much more for them, felt like such a failure.

Yesterday Zhylon said he would miss the sweet things I say. I got to hug a few students good bye.

Kindness wasn't lost.

I told them I was leaving, and they didn't cheer.

The Hope Lady

2010-01-14T06:40:00.004-05:00

During the Christmas break I had the opportunity to teach a seminar at Ignite, our ministry's national conference. The topic I chose way back in August, was hope. The Miracle of Hope was my title and challenge to convey.

When I chose the topic I was feeling very hopeful, in fact better than I had felt in years. I was thrilled to get to share on a topic that I had learned so much about and come out on the other side of. Unfortunately, by October I was not feeling quite so hopeful any more. I was struggling with God to understand where exactly we can put our hope.

I knew that I was supposed to put my hope in God, and that's great, but it seemed so limiting, and so simplistic. I had an hour to speak, should I just tell them to put their hope in God and then dismiss them? It seemed like such a bumper sticker answer, and I'm much too long winded for that.

I know that we're supposed to put our hope in seeing Jesus one day, and while that does give me great hope and I eagerly look forward to that day, it seems that we must have more hope here and now.

What I realized as I wrestled with God over this, was that I wanted to continue to hope in people, in specific relationships in my life and the results that I craved. Unfortunately, that is exactly what God was asking me to let go of. Whether family members that I wished could engage on a deeper level with me, or my at-risk students who I wanted to see transformed, God asked me to release my vice grip on this hope I have in people.

Out for a walk one day with my son and our dog I was delighting in them and the new fallen snow. We made snow angels, threw snow balls, chased our dog around and laughed as she frolicked with complete abandon. And I was filled with pure, unadulterated joy. It was one of those moments that I wish I could bottle, put on a shelf and open just a crack every once in a while to remember its beauty.

And in that moment I felt like God asked me, "Isn't this enough?" I stopped in my tracks and realized there was no end to what I hoped for other people. For my students, I don't just want to help them be successful in school, I want them to know peace and love, to be provided for and have a support system. But I felt like God asked me if the possibility of these moments wasn't enough. If they, if I, get to experience this kind of love and joy and delight for just a few moments of our lives, isn't that enough? Isn't that the hope that we crave?

So, in my seminar I told a lot of my story, the hopelessness that I come from and the miraculous place that I am now. I talked for an hour, read an abundance of verses on putting our hope in God alone, but in all the fantastic aspects of our Infinite God, and then I read some slam poetry at the end (just for fun). And somehow, God spoke and people heard.

Thirsty hearts were quenched with a little hope from their Creator and I got to hear a little bit from many of these. It was wonderful for the rest of the conference to have people come up and tell me they needed to hear what I shared, they were struggling with hope themselves, and that somehow my story brought them hope.

As I was leaving town, I stopped at Starbucks for some chai and as I waited in line I listened to two girls chat in front of me. They were college students that I didn't recognize, but when we were about to get our drinks they looked at me and one of them said, "Hey, aren't you the Hope Lady?"

Why, yes I am.

If you want to hear my teaching, The Miracle of Hope, go to www.gcmignite.org and click on audio video, then breakout audio, click sermon player and then scroll down to my teaching title. Grab some chai and sit back and hope.:)

Insults and Such

2010-01-05T09:33:00.007-05:00

It has been too long since I last blogged, and unfortunately I do not have a finished novel, but I am much farther and have learned a great deal about writing and the joy it brings to my soul.

But I wanted to talk about an insult I received on Facebook. To start off the new year I had an old friend (and ex-boyfriend) add a comment to one of my photos that has since been deleted. It went something like this: "Just keep those hairy ape-arms hidden (sorry I remember that)."

Lovely, I thought. A grown man trying to take me back to my insecure days of elementary school. It is true. I have hairy arms, even started shaving my legs in 4th grade, and not because I hit puberty early. But I didn't shave or wax my arms because stubbly arms didn't sound very appealing and I wasn't too fond of pain at the time. But this was the one thing for which I was made fun of throughout my childhood.

It is interesting to hear the insult now, as an adult who knows a little more about life and who she is. I now realize that this is the most minor aspect of myself, and actually has some benefits that my husband doesn't complain about - a little extra testosterone in the system is not all bad.;)

But even more than that I realize that for someone to reach out and publicly publish an unkind comment there must be an issue, some hidden motive. If you've read my post on regrets with boyfriends, you know that he has plenty to fuel the ex-boyfriend fodder. But we've had perfectly civil conversations over the last several years, so I think something must have sparked some malice.

Here's my theory. He posted his insult on the day that my status update read:

"Celebrating 15 awesome years with Joel, praising God for his goodness."

Now this fellow, we'll call him Matt, is an atheist. A passionate, devoted anti-God atheist. I am not. I love God. I am forever grateful to Jesus for being my friend, savior and lover of my soul. Matt knows this, but I think that seeing my status angered him and he had to lash out in some way. I'm not sure, but that's my theory.

It's interesting because I've been praying for Matt to know God and his love, to feel the peace that can be his with knowing Jesus and the grace he offers. Matt was divorced a few years ago and I prayed for him through that time and like most of us, he has demons he is fighting. And so every time I think of him I pray.

And I'm afraid that my status update seemed like bragging:

"Look at me, 15 years! I have exclusive rights to God's goodness!"

Which is not what I meant at all. What I meant was:

"What an amazing miracle! I am a child of divorce (multiple, in fact). I was married at 21. We have lived on a shoestring budget since our wedding day and at times have not known how we were going to make it, trying to buy groceries for a family of 6 on $40 a week. All this to say that I am married against all odds and statistics. It feels like a miracle of God's goodness."

If, on the other hand, I had been divorced 5 times by now, God would be no less good. I might want to utilize some wisdom in future relationships, but God's goodness is not dependent on my circumstances. God is good. That is fact. And I have found that as I seek him, read his word and attempt to follow it, hang out with others who love God and share that love with people who don't, I tend to feel God's peace. I feel joy. And I see his goodness. I feel it as I share in it.

I don't know why God has been so good to me. I know he loves me and desires to give me good things, but I believe he feels that for all of his children. I know I had many years of loneliness and at times I feel like shouting that verse from the book of Joel (ironic isn't it?) that says that God will restore the years the locusts have eaten. Oh how he has restored them!

For our anniversary Joel got me a necklace that says simply, "loved." Because that is the most profound truth of my life.

I am loved.

I am loved.

I am loved.

How can it be?
How I wish that Matt knew how loved he is as well.

NaNoWriMo

2009-11-07T13:41:00.006-05:00

It's November, which means two things: 1. Christmas is less than two months away, and 2. It's National Novel Writing Month!

I had heard of this NaNoWriMo thing before and thought it sounded insane. The goal is to write a whole novel in one month, the month of November, no less, when you're also supposed to get ready for the holidays, buy Christmas presents and winterize the house (I have never winterized a house in my life, but it's on the to-do list, ya know).

50,ooo words in one month, that translates into approximately 1,667 words a day. Gulp.

So, this year I decided to try it. There's this story I've had in my head for years. I've written bits and pieces of it and developed characters in my head until they feel like real people, and I thought maybe this was the kick in the pants I needed to actually get it on paper.

It sort of reminds me of when I decided to run a marathon to reclaim my body after weaning my fourth child. For some reason I thought it would be great to celebrate that my body was now my own (and my husband's, but not my children's) by torturing it with hours long 10, 15, 20 and ultimately 26.2 mile runs. How'd that pan out for me? Let's just say I'm not the poster girl for why to run a marathon. Talk to someone else if you want to be motivated. Ask me for details if you'd like to cross that sucker off your bucket list.

Anyway, as of November 1st I actually started writing, everyday. Somehow it conveniently worked out that it was also daylight savings time and I've been waking up at 6 a.m. bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to write. This has been awesome. I have discovered that I really like writing every day. Unfortunately, I have also discovered that writing a whole story, in some sort of logical order is insanely difficult for me.

A lot of writers talk about this almost transcendental experience of having their characters lead them through a story, taking them places they never imagined and discovering new things along the way. I, on the other hand, feel the need to apologize to my characters for writing them into corners I have no idea how to get them out of. It makes me want to jump from one scene to another, randomly leaving my characters at odd places and hoping that someday, if this thing actually makes it to a publisher they'll think it's just my super cool oh-so-ahead-of-the-times story telling technique.

On the up side, our church had a fast this week that also started on Sunday. I fasted from food for a day, but abstained from t.v., movies, and people.com for the week. Those of you that know me understand the sacrifice it was to not be up to date on how Nicole Kidman and my boy Keith are doing or what new project Rob Pattinson is gearing up for. Yes, I have a very shallow side.

Anywho, I realize that these preoccupations are my way to avoid dealing with the difficult aspects of my life, particularly, going to a job four days a week to be verbally abused by middle school delinquents (whom I love:), and to avoid writing because I'm so terrified I'll be terrible at it.

I'm of the camp that thinks that sitting and dreaming is lots o' fun, but doing is kinda scary.

So this has been an exciting week of facing my fears and doing something with all the dreams in my head, instead of trying to live vicariously through someone else's (though, I guess I sort of do that with my characters). But what really annoyed me was that Thursday night I broke my fast from internet gossip sights and by the time I went to bed I was thoroughly depressed.

What I discovered is that if I want to be happy I need to do what God made me for, which seems to be writing, teaching, and using my creativity to communicate with others. I often watch movies because I crave a good story, but what I'm really needing is to write the story in my head.

This annoys me, but makes my husband very happy. I'm annoyed because it's a lot easier to lay on the couch and watch a movie than it is to sit and stare at a computer screen that taunts you with its blankness.

My husband is happy because since the day we were married he has thought I was a gifted communicator and has wanted me to use my gifts. (Have I mentioned how well I married?)

So, wish me luck or grace or inspiration. I have met my goal of writing every day and facing my fears, but I'm behind on my word count. But hey, if I just write 5,486 words today I'll be all caught up for the week.:)

Innocence Lost

2009-10-08T10:21:00.000-04:00

The other day I had to explain abortion to my 10 year old son.

I'm not trying to make a political statement or create any sort of firestorm. I just have to say that this conversation was right up there with answering the question, "Why aren't grandpa and grandma married?" which was asked through such innocent eyes.

I had been avoiding this abortion conversation for some time. A few years back there was a newspaper article in which planned parenthood listed important things to talk about with young children regarding sex. There were obvious things like "good touch" and "bad touch." But one recommendation set my blood boiling.

They said that little girls, starting at age 5, should be told that if they become pregnant they do not have to have the baby. I don't know who recommended that specifically, but I could only imagine my five year old self playing with all my baby dolls, dreaming of being a real mommy some day, only to have my mom confront me with the cold hard truth that if I get into a bad situation there is a way out. Nothing like indoctrinating the young.

I do not label myself prolife or prochoice. I have never financially supported a prolife organization or walked a picket line. I have friends, who I'm sure, would look down on me for this. But the truth is that if one of my at-risk students came up to me and said that she was pregnant and asked what to do, I would do everything in my power to help, financially support, and comfort her. I also know that I would offer to raise her child as my own if that was what she wanted. I would not bat an eye, my husband would be on board, and my children would be thrilled. They don't understand why we stopped having babies in the first place. They believe that every human life is precious, and the more the merrier, no matter how cramped and chaotic that merriment may be.

So, I am pro-babies, pro-women working together to find a way, pro-love. One thing I know is that we could always use more of that in the world.

The way this whole topic was broached was because of Obama. Many of my friends had the abortion talk with their kids during the election letting them know how fervently Obama supported abortion, and thus encouraging them to vote against him. My son has revered Obama, along with a good portion of this country and my husband and I allowed it. We talked with him about the many good things that Obama stood for, and avoided this talk. We avoided it until one of our son's friends said that Obama kills babies.

I, personally, don't like to use inflammatory language like that, so when Lukas told me what they said with incredulity in his voice I tried to calmly explain that Obama doesn't actually go out and kill babies. Then the abortion talk began. "See, back in 1973 there was a law passed that allowed women to kill the baby inside of them if they didn't want it, if they didn't have enough money or didn't have a husband to help take care of it."

The look on my son's face broke my heart. I hate shattering his innocence with the harsh reality of this life. Tears pricked his eyes as understanding sank in. Mothers killing their own babies, inside themselves. I saw it through his naive eyes and loved him more as he said that he wished he could just make all the bad things in the world go away, selfishness, everything.

"Me, too, Lukas, I'm sorry."

And so I wonder if another hero has fallen in my son's mind.

Not realizing that my 6 year old was listening, I heard his little voice say, "I'm glad you didn't kill us."

Horror struck my heart.

"We would never have done that, honey, you are so precious to us!"

From the mouths of babes, to the ears of those of us hardened by so many years in this place.

Delighting in a Daughter

2009-09-17T10:00:00.003-04:00

For years I feared having a daughter. I feared the inevitable mother/daughter conflict, I feared her turning 13 and into some sort of unrecognizable monster, I feared breaking her heart.

But when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter some years ago, I cried tears of joy, tears that knew that God had not withheld one good thing from me. He was blessing me beyond anything I could have hoped for and he would give me what I needed to raise this little girl. And that is why I named her Hope - to remind me that my hope is in Him, not in me, not in my ability to be the mom that I want to be to her, but in the fact that His love never fails - not me and not her.

When she was a collicky baby I feared that she already hated me, wasn't waiting until the preteen years, I was failing her already. But once a few nights of good sleep sunk in and she started smiling that sparkling smile of hers at me, I knew we'd be okay.

And this daughter of mine, that I feared having for so long, has become my delight. I look at her and well up with love and joy and wonder. She is a beautiful little girl, but I am stunned at how little that beauty really matters to me. I love when she is dirty and grimy, hair in her face, and wearing her brother's hand-me-downs (like in the picture above). I love her when she is petulant and snotty. I love her when she giggles at her own jokes and puts on a pretty dress with tights, sparkly shoes and a head band because she loves being a girly girl.

And I love the way she loves. She wants to give her brothers hugs and kisses every day, but they don't always want to be kissed on by their little sister. She worries that Joshua doesn't love her because he won't let her kiss him. I love that she crawls into bed with her daddy several times a week because she "missed him." I love that when she talks about loving me she has to mention her love for daddy and that he loves me, too. To her, our love is interconnected and inseparable.

I love her soft sweet skin, her tiny little dimple, the shape of her eyes and the sound of her voice. I love that she's just as tough as she is sweet and that she wants to be like me, though at times that worries me, too.

I am amazed at how unselfishly I am able to love her. I love her not for what she gives to me or does, for how she performs or what she says. I love Hope because she is my daughter, my delight. She is beautiful, but I don't care if there are a million little girls more beautiful than her. She is smart, but I couldn't care less if others are more brilliant. She is mine, and if you lined up all of the little girls in the world and told me I could pick whichever one I want, I would run straight to her, pick her up and hold her tight and never let her go.

Someone reminded me this week that this is how God feels about me, His daughter. It just doesn't seem possible, does it?

First Day Separation

2009-08-13T10:05:00.005-04:00

I just dropped my three boys off for their first day of school.

I now have one in 5th, one in 3rd, and my baby boy is entering 1st grade. Leaving Joshua in that 1st grade class was heartbreaking. Just a few days ago, at orientation, he was so excited that he kept running around the room, greeting all of his friends and talking way to loud. Today, as we walked down the hallway to his class, he started to rub his eyes. I didn't see any tears, but he kept rubbing both eyes to keep the tears from coming. "I think I'm just too excited," he said.

Or too scared, I thought.

But he put his brave face on, and went to his desk, ready to work. I said good-bye and then went to the door. The teacher was trying to get things started, but several of us parents were having a hard time leaving. I thought, this isn't kindergarten anymore, I probably need to go. So I stood at the door, lingering a bit longer, smiled at Joshua and then blew him a kiss. He stared back - no smile, no returned kiss, just a look in his eyes that said, "Don't leave me, Mommy."

I turned and walked away, my heart in my throat. I went down the long hallway, fighting back my own tears now. Remembering that I'm not just sad that summer's over, but that I don't get to play, read or snuggle with my kids anytime I want to now. They have to go to school and face things on their own. And for the first time, I have this urge to go back, snatch each of them out of class, tell them summer's not over yet, take them out for ice cream and then head back to the pool.

But I won't. And I'm pretty sure that they'll be fine. I think I will be, too. I'll be there to pick them up at 2:30, and then we'll go get ice cream and maybe even head to the pool. I may not get them 24/7 for a few months, but I'm thankful that they're still mine.

Reunions, Regrets and Apologies

2009-08-06T09:50:00.000-04:00

I went home a little over a week ago for a reunion. My high school youth ministry was getting together after too many years apart. It was awesome to see everyone, to reconnect and reminisce, but every once in a while the reminiscing got a little awkward.

Like when an old friend told me that I stole her boyfriend on the bus on the way to camp in 8th grade. I hung my head in shame and embarrassment as she described what happened, and then I apologized profusely. Though, in all honesty, I don't remember knowing that he had a girlfriend, but I do remember dating him, and regretting it. I'm pretty sure that I had done her a favor.

Then on Saturday, my friend told me that after I left on Friday night, a guy came up to her and said that he had taken me out on a date once in high school. But he never came up to me. When I arrived at the reunion on Saturday I walked past a row of people and distinctly heard someone say, "Hi Leah." But when I turned to say hi, no one was looking at me and I didn't recognize anyone, so I kept walking. Later my friend pointed out that this was the guy that I had gone on that date with, the one that said hi without looking at me. Weird.

I ran into other guys there. The first boy that I kissed, there on the back stairs of the church, when my knees almost give out. Yeah, that guy was there, but I couldn't bring myself to say hi to him either. No matter how many years have gone by, or that we're both married now and each have our own families. He's supposed to stay part-imaginary, so I'm gonna leave him that way.

There was the guy that had fixed me this really nice dinner and I had talked about my ex-boyfriend the whole time because I didn't realize he wanted to be more than friends and this was supposed to be a romantic dinner. He was there, too.

See, I was not overly confident in high school (this is one of my excuses for being a serial dater). There were people in my life that liked to point out my flaws - everything from my big forehead and over sized lips, to my broad shoulders and big rib cage. A good portion of my life I felt like a walking freak show, the way some people described me. So if a guy asked me to go to a movie, to get brunch with him after church, or to a dance, I assumed that they just wanted to hang out as friends. Unless they spelled out that this was a date and they liked me, I tended to remain pretty clueless.

Unfortunately this resulted in me getting myself into trouble, like when one guy, who had taken me to an arena football game called me out and said he knew I was going out with another guy after church on Sunday. I looked at him dumbstruck, he looked at me like I'd been caught in a lie, finally understanding began to sink in. Oooh, they both viewed these hangout times as dates! I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

I like to blame my family for this.:) See, dad didn't live with me, so he had no idea how many guys I was hanging out with alone on an almost daily basis. If he had, he might have clued me in to what the majority of these guys had in mind. Secondly, my mom was a nun. Not when I was born, but the woman was in a convent through all of her high school years. She didn't have a lot of life lessons to teach me in the area of dating - not to mention the two jobs she worked however many hours a week.

My brother did try to help. He told me once I was going to get date raped if I wasn't careful. This scared me, and made me want to be careful, but if you don't think anyone is actually attracted to you, then why would they want to do that (naive little girl that I was)? Now, there were random guys that I would crush on and one in particular must have been very bad, because my big football player brother told me that if I ever mentioned his name again he would kill me and him. I got the message that time.

But here is the real purpose of this blog - confession. I have carried regret and guilt over the ridiculous way that I dated boys throughout high school for years. I used to think that God was just being good to me in bringing Joel into my life when I was only 18 years old, but now I think it was also to relieve the surrounding male population. They could all breathe a sigh of relief that I was no longer around to misinterpret their advances, lead them on unknowingly or date them only to break up a few days later.

So here is my apology. I am sorry, boys. I am sorry to all the Mike's and Chris's and Jason's, to the Matt's and Dave's and Gary's, to all the ones that I don't remember, and especially to Brian. I am sorry for being a confused, naive and flirtatious teenager. I really didn't mean any harm. I hope you can forgive me.

There. Years of guilt all out on the page. Now I can finish my 15th year of marriage in peace.:)

Summer Nights

2009-07-16T21:59:00.003-04:00

I love going driving on cool summer nights. I love the feeling of relief as the heat of day melts away into a sweet, cool breeze. I love the twilight sky, somehow brighter and more hopeful than the heavy clouds of winter. But mostly I love that it brings back memories of cool summer nights of years past.

My favorite one, when I was eight-years-old inevitably comes back on every cool summer drive. My dad had stopped by unexpectedly, I assume to drop off a check to my mom, but he stayed long enough to offer me a ride in his Jensen Healy. With the top down we drove off down the road. I don't know if he had an errand to run, or just wanted time with me, but I remember stopping for ice cream at a shop I'd never been to. The cones held two scoops side by side, instead of one on top of the other. I thought that was genius.

I remember my dad telling me not to tell my mom, as I liked mint chocolate chip drips of goodness. I hadn't had dinner yet. . . a mid-summer secret. Somehow that made it even more delicious.

Just me and my dad, hopping back into his cool little convertible, wind blowing through my hair all the way home.

I love summer nights.

Other summer memories that make me smile...

Ghost in the graveyard until the moms called us home.

Fireflies!

Late night baths to cool our filthy, overheated bodies of the day.

Going to bed with wet hair on my pillow, the music of grasshoppers and frogs singing me to sleep from the field outside my window.

I love summer nights.

Poetry - Part Deux

2009-04-30T09:02:00.002-04:00

Here are two more of my favorite poems to commemorate the last day of National Poetry Month. The first is about my constant battle against the depression that took my mom from me many years ago (thankfully she is still alive, just hard to reach). And the second is about making peace with my imperfections. Enjoy.

Sadness

When I'm sad
the sadness overtakes,
it leaves me lying in its wake.

I writhe and cry,
"Let me go! Set me free!"
But it holds fast, won't let me be.

I cry within my own soul
for help-
It echoes back, a pitiless yelp.

Wait it out,
I think I will,
Maybe joy will come home still.

Hope

Imperfect heart
that breaks my life in two.

Yelling and screaming,
loving and dreaming,
So much less than
I wish I could be.

Happy
Unsatisfied
Broken Down
My will defied.

I really thought I could create
a perfect world
where love and peace abound,
where souls are saved
and hearts are healed.

No more tears
Fullness
Life

But here I sit in this
rat-a-tat mess,
Loving and being loved,
but left in distress...

Get over it, girl,
you're not home yet,
HOPE.

Poetry Corner

2009-04-22T08:51:00.002-04:00

I'm sure you are all very aware that April is National Poetry Month. You have probably been hard at work on a new collection of poetry to share with the world. Well, it was my birthday a couple days ago, and it has become a tradition of mine to write a poem every year on my special day. There has been nothing worth sharing over the last few years, but the one I wrote for my 32nd has been applicable ever since then, and is my personal favorite, so enjoy a little poetry with Leah today.

32 and...

I'm 32 and I'm in love. More love than I can give in so little time to so many.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Joel.
My husband, my partner, my friend and my lover. My sounding board and encourager, my heart and my life.
Without whom life would be empty, lonely, lost.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Lukas. My bright shining light who finds joy in Christmas and birthdays and celebrating life with me. My determined son, hard worker, good friend. Stubborn and willful, but bright-eyed and wonderful. I love my firstborn son.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Gabe. My bigger than life tender heart. One moment pressing and pressing until I can take no more, the next moment embracing everyone and everything around him as I watch in wonder. Getting soaked in the rain, covered in mud, he never does anything half way. I admire his ability to live life with no holds barred.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Brody. My baby boy with personality that pops. A stubborn will that refuses to be broken, except on his own terms. A sweet, pleasing smile and ornery grin that shows his understanding of everything around him. Bright blue eyes and too much cuteness that gets him out of many a scrape.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Hope. My baby girl that changed my world. I don't know which way to turn. Bound by more than blood, by life, another bearer of life, femininity and hope. Beholder of beauty that shines on her face, but comes from her heart. Precious baby of mine, we're in this together. And I'm in love with her.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with a houseful of bare feet and broken toys. Lovers of life and whiners. Givers of joy and needers of comfort. At times I've nothing left to give, sapped dry...

and then I cry to my loving Lord, who loves them even more than I.

And He fills me up and sets me down in this imperfect life He's given to me and says,
"I'm enough."

So I'm 32 and I'm in love with Him,
I'm 32 and I'm in love with them,
I'm 32 and I am loved.

What more could there be?

Fear, Purpose & Public Speaking

2009-03-29T14:00:00.007-04:00

This cartoon is one of my husband's all-time favorites. I think it's interesting because instead of fearing public speaking, I feel compelled to do it. Two weeks ago I had the opportunity to teach at a friend's church for a women's conference. 130 women of all ages came to enjoy some time together, several high quality seminars, worship, and me. It was especially strange to realize that my picture was plastered all over her church and was sent to hundreds of women, inviting them to come and listen to me share what was on my heart.

I always fear that it seems like pride to put myself out there, to think that I have anything to offer these women, to get up on a stage and ask for their undivided attention. It is a strange thing. And yet, since I was 18 years old I have believed that this is what God has had for me, this is what he has asked of me. He has asked me to lay down my fears, lay my reputation on his altar, and leap in faith. An absurd sort of faith that God is speaking things to me that he wants shared with others.

While trying to pursue what God has told me, I have feared everything from humiliating failure to delusional thoughts. How can we really know when God is speaking to us? We just have to jump. Jump out off the cliff that we fear most and hope that God will catch us and keep the word we think he has given us.

And he did. Two weeks ago I stood up in front of women of all ages and told them that I knew the purpose for their lives. I looked them in their aging eyes and told them that they are beautiful, and wonderfully made, and that they were designed for love. They were created to be objects of affection. Their purpose is, and always has been, to love and be loved.

We laughed and cried together as I walked them through the seasons of life that we face as women. I knew I was connecting with them and I loved it.

And as I shared these things, even as I think of them now, my heart swells with the love that I know God has for them, with the love God longs for them to know and feel and share and delight in. When I stand on that stage my one purpose is to get at their hearts and then to let God fill them up. When I do this time flies.

When I practiced my two teachings they both came out to 30 minutes. This was strange and troubling. I tend to be a person who can barely be kept to a 45 minute time frame, and I was supposed to fill 50, for each teaching. This made me nervous, but I thought, well, now I can slow down and share a few more stories, be ready to share something God spontaneously puts on my heart.

And I filled the time. I was nervous and insecure about what these women would think of me, and yet absolutely sure that this is what God had for me. I don't know why he chose me for this. I just know that he did. And I delight to speak of the love of God to anyone who will listen.

In one of the seminars I went to, the teacher asked what things we enjoy so much that time flies. What kind of things do we start in on and look up to find that an hour has passed in a blink? When I teach that certainly happens, probably why it's so hard for me to keep to a set time frame. When I read or write, time passes without me even knowing it. I used to draw a lot, and I remember getting lost in my charcoal and pencils and sketchbook, completely unaware of an outside world. I love those things. The things that we were made to do, that our whole being gets wrapped up in, that get our hearts and minds and bodies and souls all engaged at once.

I wonder if you've found something like that. If you feel that you know what you were created to do. I'd love to hear if you do.

Me and my chica's hanging out at the conference: Andrea (a.k.a. my rockin' guest artist who sang two powerful songs for the conf.) and Crystal the Beautiful (my dearly missed friend and MC for the conf.).

The Perks of Self-Control

2009-03-20T14:33:00.012-04:00

I'm considering blogging about something besides what I eat at some point, but this is the primary occupation of my life right now (besides the husband and 4 kids, of course).

It has been just over two weeks without chocolate, though I do have to confess that I snuk some cake batter last night while making Gabe's cake. How am I supposed to get through this candy and birthday cake weekend without slipping? I don't know, maybe I need to pray more. But I do consider it a minor victory that it was white cake batter and not chocolate. Still no chocolate.:(

On the bright side, I have now lost 6 pounds. Let me tell you, this is one effective weight loss plan. I feel like I'm losing weight so fast I'll have to get the excess skin cut off by the time this is over, like the bariatric patients do. (Sorry if that was a gross image.)

My jeans are a little loser, my shirts fall straighter, and I'm starting to feel just a little better about myself as Spring approaches. At Christmas time I had resorted to photoshopping out my belly rolls (specimen A to the right). You should hear my fat sound. It is a sound that I make to describe the excess fat on my body, but I can only do it spontaneously, like on an especially fat day. Joel thinks it's hilarious. He always says there's just more of me to love. Thanks, honey.

Anyway, I wanted to share with you some of my favorite new foods:

Pineapple - awesome dessert, even out of the can. My kids and I fight for the juice.
Kiwi - I got a bag of 6 at Aldi for $1.50 - cheap and sweet! Yummy breakfast food.
Whole Cashews - My favorite nut, usually don't splurge on them, but no time like the chocolate-free present.
Dried Berries - supposedly a health food, but when I read the label I saw that they added sugar!
GUACAMOLE!!! I was born in California, so this is my ode to the avacado.
Nacho chips with a hint of jalapeno - just enough kick to make the chip oh so mouthwatering.
Pickles and grilled tuna sandwich - the most satisfying lunch I've had on this fast.
Diet A&W - the least horrendous of the diet family. Thankful that something can meet my need for pop every once in a while (I'll let you know if any tumors form).

The interesting thing about this fast is that foods taste more intense now. When I bit into that pickle the other day my mouth exploded with flavor - it was awesome.

I read this article that said that overweight people don't respond to sweets the way thinner people do. The thin people trigger a release of seratonin when they have sweets, while the heavier people need more dessert to get the same pleasure response. It's as though their taste buds and brains have been dulled to the pleasure. I'm pretty sure this happened with me as I went from cookie dough to Cherry Coke to Dove chocolate trying to make myself feel better.

So, I've actually been enjoying expanding my food horizons, eating fruits and veggies instead of junk and losing weight while exhibiting self-control. My poor husband, on the other hand, has had the opposite response. He says that the longer he does this, the less any food has positive taste to him. Even his favorite meals don't taste as good. This man is a freak of nature. He also seems to be lacking endorphins. After exercise he just feels tired.

Pray for him. He needs it.

9 Days and Counting

2009-03-12T10:10:00.003-04:00

9 days. I have gone 9 days without chocolate. It has been challenging and frustrating at times, but there have been some rewards.

I have lost 4 pounds. In 9 days. I know that's great, but it's also a little sad. Do you know how much chocolate that means I eat normally? I don't know exact numbers, but a lot.

It reminds me of when I was nursing my daughter. She was a very fussy baby, more so than any of my other babies, so I called the lactation consultant to ask if there was anything I could do. She started asking me a series of questions about Hope and then about my diet. It went something like this:
"Do you drink a lot of coffee?"
"No, I don't like coffee."
"What about tea?"
"Green tea."
"That shouldn't affect her too much."
"Spicy foods?"
"Some."
"You might want to watch that. What about chocolate?"
"What about it?" (defensive, much?)
"Do you eat a lot of chocolate?"
"Ummmm..." Wondering what her definition of "a lot" is.
"Can you fit it into a cup, one measuring cup?"
"Ummmm..." Let's see, brownie batter, then a couple baked brownies, magic shell on my ice cream, a few Dove chocolates here and there. Maybe if I melt it all down it would fit into a cup.

After long silence.

"Okay, just try to limit the amount of chocolate you eat in a day to 1 cup full. Then it shouldn't affect her too much."
"Got it." Sort of.

Yes. I have a problem. That's the first step, right? Admit that I have a problem. Going cold turkey seems to be working. But this morning I realized I still have 31 more days of this and I got a little discouraged. That is a long time to go without sweets. The only other time I have done this was during my first pregnancy when anything sweeter than a pretzel made me vomit. There's a reason I was able to lose all the baby weight so quickly that time.

I have also started to drink some diet pop. This makes me angry because I've had a long standing moral objection to artificial sweeteners. I'm not sure what my moral stance is based on, maybe some shady research about Diet Coke causing brain tumors or something. But I don't like it.

Just thought you'd want to know.

Fasting (Sort of)

2009-03-04T11:10:00.003-05:00

So, yesterday I began a 40 day fast. I know it sounds extreme, but I've been thinking about it for a while and decided that I need to do this. I talked to my husband about it and he's on board. I'm hungry and craving things, but otherwise okay.

Technically I'm not abstaining from all food, just my favorite food - chocolate mostly, also sugar, but the chocolate is the most painful part. Some people say that I'm just giving up sweets for lent, but I'm not catholic and I've never fully understood lent, so I'm not calling it that. I consider it a fast because I normally eat inordinate amounts of chocolate and sweets in a day. Going without is a great sacrifice and will only be successful if it is viewed as a fast.

I know a lot of people who eat to make themselves feel better, I am one of these people. But I keep finding that on the days I feel the worst I eat the most chocolate, cookie dough, brownies and other sweet treats, hence making me feel even more disgusting.

I'm the worst at lunch time. I eat the same thing every day for breakfast - cereal and orange juice, and then I plan every dinner meal for a family of six, which takes some coordination on my part. But lunch, unless I'm going out to eat, just does not appeal to me. Sandwiches are not that exciting, I make a decent salad now and then, but in my post morning, pre-work mindset, lunch just takes too much energy.

So I grab what is appealing. For example, one day I had potato chips, sour cream and onion dip, Cherry Coke and cookie dough for lunch. I was feeling sort of down before the well-balanced lunch, but afterward I felt nauseous as well. This started me thinking - maybe I need to NOT go to these foods for a little while and see what happens.

There is, of course, another motivation. I hear that spring may actually come this year and if it does, then summer will follow, and we have a pool pass, which means I'll have to wear a bathing suit in public and the 15 pounds that I have been unable to lose since having my daughter will be bulging out at all sorts of odd angles.

But I must point out - this is not a diet! I fail miserably at diets. This is a fast. From chocolate, from sugar, from soda. Apparently I can eat as many potato chips and dip as I want, but it's just not as tempting when I can't wash it down with some yummy pop. Same with movie popcorn, darn it! I really wanted some last night. But I do feel thinner this morning and not nauseous from the ridiculous amounts of butter I usually add to the corn. (Thank you, Stephanie, for teaching me the fill-the-bag-half-way, add-butter-then-fill-the-rest-of-the-way-and-add-more-butter technique.)

So, wish me luck, or pray for self-control. I'll keep you updated on how it goes.

By the way, what do I do with all the chocolate still left in my house? Give it to charity? Put it in a safe until Easter and then gorge on it? Hmmmm...

Dreaming

2009-02-05T10:04:00.006-05:00

So, I have very realistic, but off the wall dreams at times, and last night was no exception. I dreamt that I was supposed to marry these two guys, not at the same time, but you know, in some dreamy alter-reality. Anyway, one of the guys was an old friend from high school who I never had any attraction to. The other was Vince Gill.

Don't know why. Again, no attraction to Vince, I don't even think about Vince Gill or listen to his music. About all I know is that he is married to Amy Grant, whose music I used to listen to. Anyway, I woke up a little freaked out, told Joel about it and felt the need to reaffirm my commitment to him. I really am happily married and don't want to be married to anyone else.

It's strange that most of my romantic dreams are with people like this that I have absolutely no attraction to in real life. The weirdest one was a few months ago when I woke up freaked out that I had made out with Al Gore in my sleep. I'm not even a democrat! I chalked it up to my passionate desire to be more green and save the planet.

In my wakeful state my dreams can be just as troublesome. I have this overwhelming desire to save the world. But I don't even know what that really means. I'm not some superhero who can fly around saving the day, though I guess I wish I could.

I want to make things better for people. Like in my job. I teach at an after school tutoring center for at-risk kids. I started this job last fall hoping to somehow save them from their troubled lives, from their anger, their poverty, their loneliness. I ended the semester feeling like an absolute failure.

During my time off between semesters I spent a lot of time trying to figure this out. How had I failed so miserably? I went in with good motives and left exhausted, frustrated and hopeless.

After much consideration and prayer I came to the conclusion that my goals were too lofty (no big shock to you, I'm sure). God is not asking me to save anyone. He's the only one who can do the saving. All he wants from me is to offer them some love, help and hope in a safe place for a few hours a day. It's not earth-shattering stuff, but it's what I have to give.

I just finished my first week of the new semester and feel not frustrated, not exhausted, but peaceful. I have that peaceful easy feeling (can you hear the song in your head?) I get when I do what God asks me to do, and leave the rest to him.

I still want to save the world, but I guess I'll leave that up to Al Gore for now.

Cold Tangerines

2009-01-19T10:47:00.007-05:00

I just finished reading Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist, and am so glad I did. It is a memoirish book of Shauna's thoughts on the trials and celebrations of life. And it is just what I needed.

It was an interesting read in part because Shauna is the daughter of my pastor from my home church. I met her once at camp and remember observing her closely and later wondering if scrutiny like that was a little annoying at times. I have two clear memories of Shauna - one is of her praying a very deep and meaningful prayer and the other is of her explaining how her dad taught her to pop zits without leaving a mark - an important skill for any teenage girl. Of course, I remember this because her dad is an internationally known author and pastor of a mega church, and I love the image of him popping zits in the mirror.

The only reason I don't mention this pastor's name is because in her book Shauna never did. She never used her maiden name, made reference to her parents' names or said where her dad was pastor. I find this particularly interesting because I've learned a thing or two about the publishing industry. One of the things I've learned is that they really like to sell the books they print, and the best way to sell them is to have a famous name attached to them. I can only imagine the fight Shauna had to put up to not publish her maiden name on the cover. It would have guaranteed thousands more sales, I'm sure. But I love that she wanted to make her own name and not just be associated with the legend that is her dad.

But as I was saying about this book intersecting with my life, I just couldn't put it down. I loved Shauna's reallness and openness, sharing her flaws and fears with the world. One thing that struck me early on is how opposite our spiritual journeys were. She was the pastor's kid, being picked out as the church lady no matter where she went. I was the girl from the dysfunctional family just trying to hang on.

So when Shauna started to rebel against her faith in college, wondering if it was really worth all of the hassle, I was clinging to mine for dear life. It was all I had. It was my only hope (to quote Princess Leigha).

A few months ago Joel and I baptized our two oldest boys. In our church we don't baptize infants, but when a person has chosen to follow Christ, then we dunk 'em as a symbol of that decision. My ten-year-old was so eager to be baptized that he told everyone he knew. When it was time for the baptism I found him playing with his friends and said it was time to get ready. His whole face lit up and he literally jumped up and down and screamed, "It's time to get baptized! Let's go guys!"

When he went back to school he told his whole class that he was a Christian and started carrying his Bible with him wherever he went. In case you wondered, he does not go to a Christian school. This is so interesting to me because my faith has always been so intensely personal to me. I've never been very good at defending my faith because all I want to say is, "You know, God loves you." And then I want them to know it and feel it to the core of their being. But I've found that it doesn't exactly work that way.

Once in a class debate over the existence of God someone said that religion was just a crutch. I was hurt. I had no argument to contradict the statement. In some ways I thought it was true, I certainly leaned on God in hard times, I guess that's a crutch. But the way he said it, as though it were an insult, as though it was bad to not have all the strength I needed within myself to get through life, it confused me.

I didn't have the strength then and I don't have it now. I lean into God all the time. He is my strength, he is my hope, his book determines how I live my life and the choices I make. When I think about it I realize that religion is not my crutch, but that my relationship with God is my bone structure. It is what holds me up, what keeps me going, what leads the way. And it is the only way I've found worth living for.

As I think about how the outside world may think about me indoctrinating my children with Christianity, it causes me to pause. I am trying to give my children a more stable upbringing than the one I had. And yet I know that the instability of my life is what caused me to cling to God so tightly. He is the one who comforted me when I was sad, the one who spoke truth to me and brought people into my life to love me and care for me, to hug me and make me laugh until I cried.

My hope is honestly that my children will learn about the love of God in a different way. That they will see it and feel it in my marriage to my husband and in our love for them. That they will witness it at church when we worship God and at house church when we share one another's pain, bear one another's burdens.

The unfortunate truth, though, is that one day they will need God desperately. Whether their heart is broken by a cute little girl, or tragedy strikes our family or a friend, or whether a dream is crushed to pieces. I know that one day they will need God with every fiber of their being, just the way that I do every day.

And in the mean time, I can find no better way to tell them to live their lives - selflessly giving of themselves to help the homeless, comfort the lonely, give hope to the hopeless. But also being in a community of people who are committed to caring for one another's needs. That way, when I'm not there to care for them, I know that someone else will be.

Shauna's book made me cry and mourn for a lot of things that I never had, but also helped me remember all that I did.

I didn't have much, but I had God, and thankfully he had me.

Stumbling

2008-08-31T12:55:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I went for a run with my five-year-old and my dog. I didn't want to run. It was Saturday. I wanted to sleep and eat and sleep some more. But the dog was overeager and the five-year-old was holding me to the promise I had made earlier in the week that he could ride his bike alongside of me while I ran on Saturday.

So, there we are, running along, only a few blocks from home when I realize I am falling toward the ground. In my head I'm thinking "Roll! Roll!" I finished with a roll, but my knees and hands took the majority of the beating. I lay there on my back at the side of the road in pain and humiliation with my dog and son hovering over me to see if I'm okay.

I was honestly hurt enough that I couldn't just get up and walk away. I lay there with my bleeding hands and knees in the air trying to figure out how to get up without using said hands or knees. A concerned elderly gentleman came out of his house to see if I was okay. It was kind of him, and I assured him I just had some scrapes and bruises, but I was embarrassed. I was just running along and I tripped over an uneven sidewalk.

Apologizing to Joshua, I told him mommy was too hurt to keep running, and we'd have to go home. He was bummed, but saw the evidence dripping down my leg and road home without complaining. As I walked I felt my knee swelling and my hands throbbing. By the time I got home I had two goose eggs on my knee with lots of gravel lodged inside. Ouch.

I hate falling. I hate looking foolish. And I hate feeling stupid.

Being a teacher, I think there must be a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe it's that I feel the same about tripping up in life.

I don't like it.

If I had my choice I'd be perfect. I'm not a perfectionist (I actually have an unhealthy fear of them), I just don't like to mess up. And I think I have some solid reasons for that.

1) Falling hurts - my knee is still sore to the touch, and hurts to bend or straighten. Because of the pain I can't do all of the things that I normally do. I have to rest and nurse myself back to health. I need help from others and patience. This annoys me, and I don't like pain.

2) Tripping is embarrassing - we all know that this was our greatest fear at high school/middle school graduation - that we'd trip and fall on the stage in front of everyone. Real life isn't any better. When people see me mess up, I get embarrassed. I don't want the whole world to know how imperfect I am, how often I mess up, and I don't want them judging me for it.

Even my five-year-old, who is used to falling and hurting himself (a lot) commented that mommies don't usually fall down. "I know," I said, "I just wasn't paying attention to my feet. See, we all trip and fall sometimes." Maybe seeing me fall makes him feel better about his record, but I fear that it opens his eyes to how weak and vulnerable I really am and makes him insecure (kind of like it does to me).

3) The evidence takes a while to clean up - I look like I had some sort of accident, but with no cool story to go with it, just some gross scabs. So, whenever I'm wearing shorts for the next few days people will likely ask me what happened. My response will probably be something like, "I'm a big dork." I keep thinking that this is not what God wants me to say, but that's all my embarrassment can come up with. Somehow I think that slamming myself first will preempt the obvious judgment they will come to.

But, as I was journaling this morning and talking to God about my fall I felt like he asked me, "Leah, who are you really?"

"I know, I'm not a dork, I'm still a daughter of the King."

Pretty cool that a banged up mess like me can still carry a title like that, I just don't know if I'll have the courage to use it when people look at my knee in disgust (or maybe sympathy) and ask what happened.

"I'm a dork" still feels more fitting. I guess that's what's so amazing about grace.

Gymnastic Dreams

2008-08-17T10:20:00.000-04:00

Raise your hand if you have been staying up too late watching Olympians win gold this last week. Michael Phelps has rocked Beijing, but my favorite is the women's gymnastics.

Nastia Liukin is a picture of beauty and grace. Shawn Johnson is a powerhouse of perfection. And I am not a little impressed with their cool under pressure. Watching them go one, two in the individual all-around competition was fantastic, though my husband and I almost developed stomach ulcers as we literally held our breath through every routine.

You probably don't know this about me, but I once had dreams of Olympic gymnastics myself. When I was a little girl I begged my mom to wait in the hours-long line to sign me up for gymnastics at the park district. Thankfully, she gave in. This is significant because my mom is not a patient person. She made me wait with her, but I didn't mind. The line wound around the gymnasium, past the vault and near my favorite uneven bars. I was pursuing my Olympic dreams.

My body has a decently athletic build and ability, the only problem is my mind. It is filled with a lot of imagination, but not much mental toughness or tenacity. I once almost got a black eye when attempting a back-walk-over. My leg knew it was supposed to go over, but my brain had second thoughts and hesitated. My knee crashed into my eye socket and I went down. Thankfully no major bruise ever formed.

In second grade there was a girl in my class, Chris Adams, that could do flip flops all across the playground. I would ask her to do them again and again. I loved Chris Adams. I, on the other hand, could only do one flip flop when spotted really well. But I could run and jump over that vault, swing around the uneven bars and point my toes like no other.

One of my favorite, and most humorous, memories of my dad is when he pulled me aside one day and told me that if I wanted to he would support my desire to go all the way with gymnastics. He would support my Olympic dreams. I love him to death for the memory, but even at the time I think I knew it was a little unrealistic. You see, I never was able to progress past "advanced beginners."

I watched anything I could about Nadia Comaneci. I saw how in her native Romania they came into her school and picked her out to begin training at a young age. I waited, but no one came for me. Then she went into a gym with her own personal coaches and they formed her, not only into an Olympic gymnast, but into the greatest gymnast who had ever lived. She was the first to receive a perfect "10." I, on the other hand, watched as a select few walked into our room for "intermediates." These were the girls with potential. I was not one of them.

After filling my mind with all of these dreams, I had one of my own, while I slept. I can still picture it in my mind - leaping and flipping on the balance beam (the apparatus I feared most) and sticking every landing. I was sleeping over at a friend's house when I had the dream. I won gold. I was the best. And then I woke up. It had seemed so real that I cried when I realized it was just a dream. My Olympic hopes would never become a reality. I was 10 years old, already too old to hope.

Now I watch these girls twist and turn in seemingly impossible feats of strength and athleticism with my three-year-old daughter. She gets up and spins and says she wants to do "ballet" like them. And in the pit of my stomach I feel the hopes of a dream rekindle. Maybe I should sign her up for tumbling. She may have gotten her pole vaulter father's mental focus and ability to stay airborne.

But no, I don't want to be one of those parents putting my dreams onto my children. But I have to say, Olympic dreams die hard, even when you never get past advanced beginners.

Time Away

2008-07-30T20:07:00.000-04:00

So, hubby and I had our first vacation alone, with no kids, in over seven years. It was wonderful and refreshing and bizarre (more on that later).

But first I must tell you about our trip to Chicago to drop the kids off at Grandma's house. We left in late morning and before our drive even really began we hit our first detour (an accident prevented us from entering our highway). On our alternate highway we hit another detour that took us half an hour out of our way. And then in 90 degree heat we hit construction in Chicago. Did I mention we don't have air conditioning?

So, here we are in the fifth hour of our four hour drive when hubby notices that the van is beginning to overheat. We pull over to the cramped shoulder of the Edens Expressway in downtown Chicago, turn off the engine and wait for it to cool down. Of course, every second we are getting hotter - airflow is the key to staying cool when a/c is lacking. Trying to stay positive I turn around and ask the kids what they are looking forward to about going to Grandma's house (thankfully this keeps them from whining and focused on why we are subjecting them to this torture).

After fifteen minutes we think the car is cool enough and decide to keep going. Unfortunately, just as we begin to feel a cool breeze again, hubby sees that the thermometer is going up. The van is about to overheat again. Being the ingenious man that he is, he decides to turn the heat on. This draws hot air from the engine and blows it on us. Did I already mention it was 90 degrees outside?

So here we are crawling down the expressway, soaking in sweat when my husband (always the empathetic man) looks over at a guy all dressed in leather on his motorcycle and says, "Wow, he must be hot. That looks really uncomfortable."

Removing my foot from the scalding dashboard I look at the delusional man driving our van and say, "You know, hun, I don't think I am exaggerating when I say that we are probably the most uncomfortable people on this highway right now. We are driving with the heat on in the middle of JULY!!!"

I try to be supportive. I try not to complain. But I cannot take it anymore. Call me a twenty-first century wuss, but I need air conditioning in my vehicle.

Our 4 hour drive to my dad's took 6 1/2. By the time we got to my mom's, my nine-year-old had prickly heat all over his body. As I walked up to our room I felt the temperature rising and realized that my mom did not have her a/c on.

I cried.

That was all I could take. I tried to be gracious, but I suspect mom noticed the tension in my voice when I begged her not to turn the ceiling fan off (she had been reaching for the light switch in our room).

Eventually she turned the air on, I took a cold shower and all was well in the world. I just needed to gripe a little. Thanks for listening.

But 5 nights and 6 days away with my husband is an amazing thing. We couldn't believe that we actually had 3 years of this before the kids came along. It was so strange to have numerous conversations without anyone interrupting, butting in or causing some sort of catastrophe. And then to have no one else pulling at me, asking me questions or invading my space reminded me that we are in a challenging phase of life. I wouldn't trade it for anything, but it is just plain hard some days.

We came home eager to be with the kids, refreshed and reconnected in the most wonderful way (did I mention the hot tub in our room? oh yeah).

Now we just need to set up our appointment with the mechanic...

Our Own Version of Survivor

2008-07-09T23:30:00.000-04:00

The other night my husband and I went out for dinner and got into the most interesting conversation about what kind of reality show we would do, if forced to. I'd like to note that I have no actual desire to be part of any show, reality or otherwise, and have found from my own thorough research that being a part of a reality show is the second leading cause of divorce in Hollywood. Right after sleeping with your costar.

But our conversation was so entertaining that I thought I'd share it with you. This is how the concept evolved:

We were at the Olive Garden eating gelato and my husband was becoming more and more critical of the gelato with every bite (I, personally thought it was quite good). The problem is that not only is my husband a picky eater, but the first place he ever tasted gelato was in Italy. I do not believe that many things would taste better than gelato in Italy, but my husband is on some sort of quest to find American gelato that equals the Italian counterpart. He ignores my pleas to just fly me to Torino to taste the real deal myself.

Anyway, I started saying how Joel should be a food critic, as I'm watching him taste and furrow and explain how it's just not creamy enough. But, I realize that since my husband is such a narrow-minded eater (i.e. picky) he would have to be a very specific kind of critic. Here's where my grand reality show idea was hatched...

I suggested that Joel could critique cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes (his favorite go-to meal). He could travel from Seattle to Sedona, New Mexico to New York on a quest for the best cheeseburger and chocolate shake combo in the continental United States. Now this may have been done before, but not like this. We thought, how fun would it be to load our family of six (plus puppy, of course) into a big 'ol Winnebago and travel cross country for the whole summer tasting cheeseburgers, drinking chocolate shakes and taking in the sights?! Tell me this doesn't sound like must see t.v.

There are aspects of this that I would really enjoy -

1) I love to travel
2) I love adventures
3) I love taking my family on adventures (though as we plan for said adventures they tend to have pained expressions on their faces and whine like tortured puppies).

But, isn't that what makes reality t.v. so entertaining? We like to watch people suffer. You don't have to admit it, but I know it's true. It makes us happy to turn off Survivor and go to our soft cushy beds feeling smug as we drift off into a good night's sleep.

As with any reality show, you have to place enough conflict into the show to make it interesting, and while the six personalities in our family produce plenty of conflict on their own, what would make our reality show so entertaining is that:

1) My husband hates to drive, or really to travel at all

2) My kids are even pickier than my husband (my oldest was once quoted as saying, while at his uncle's house, "I only like macaroni and cheese made in Indiana." We make the best don't you know? (see previous entry for Gabe's approval of Michigan apples)

3) I am a person who needs her space and alone time regularly (picture me abandoning the RV on the side of the road to walk a few miles in my own head).

4) My kids are prone to car sickness (we keep barf bags handy on all our trips).

We could be on the travel/food channel showing the sights and watching Joel slowly gain 50 lbs as he eats a cheeseburger a day, and the kids make faces at whatever food is put in front of them. But, hey, I'd get to see the sights!

So now, doesn't this sound like something that Mark Burnett would produce for the CW?

Book Disorders

2008-06-30T19:11:00.000-04:00

You may have noticed that the same two books have been listed over to the right for some time now. You may assume that I quit reading them long ago, or that I've forgotten to update my reading list (which is partially true). But in reality I have developed a strange condition that feels a lot like reading ADD.

Before having four children I would pick out a book, begin reading it, and then over the course of the next few days or weeks I would complete that book and then move on to the next one. Phone conversations were much the same. Pick up the phone, talk uninterrupted for five minutes or an hour and then hang up and move onto my next task. Not so much now. I remember after the birth of my third child I found that there was no longer any convenient time to talk on the phone. My oldest no longer napped, my younger ones always wanted attention, and in the evening I often felt so spent I wanted nothing more than to stare mindlessly at the t.v.

I don't know when it happened, but about a year ago I noticed that I was constantly in the middle of several books at the same time. And so, if I am to be completely honest, I am currently in the middle of six or so odd books.
Here is my actual current reading list:
Story (slowly, it is very large)
The Shack (quite good, but I keep waiting for a down day with no interruptions so I can slowly read and absorb every detail of it - my friend keeps telling me that day only exists in my imagination)
Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World (for a book study group I'm leading this summer)
Now Discover Your Strengths (my husband is reading it and said I'd like it, which is true), Discover your Spiritual Gifts the Network Way (notice a theme here? my husband and I are in a small group to talk about and discover more about our gifts and strengths)
and I am always reading My Utmost for His Highest (my favorite and only spiritual devotional) and the Bible (always so much more to learn and apply)

This probably sounds overwhelming, but to me it's actually refreshing. Like I said, I've developed a sort of reading ADD. The last book I sat down and read from cover to cover without picking up another book in between was Atonement. Then I proceeded to spiral into an unhealthy depression - I do not know if there is another more depressing book or movie. But I loved both the book and the movie (I also like the Cure, if that tells you anything about me).

So now I am a moody reader. If I've had a long hard day with the kids I'll read something quick and light. If it's been a fun goof off day, then I'm usually in the mood for something more heady and challenging. Whereas if it's been a long monotonous week, I'll pick up something to really inspire me and remind me that I'm living for more than laundry and 3rd grade homework.

I have actually finished my C.S. Lewis book and I have to say I rather enjoyed him. He is truly a brilliant man. I know the rest of the world is already aware of this, but I now see why so many of my friends are Lewis groupies. His intellect is stunning. His reasoning simple, but profound. And I love that he is an incredible example of what it means to love God with our minds.

And so, though my new reading habits are not the most efficient or logical, right now they work for me.

A Rush of Inspiration

2008-06-11T09:00:00.000-04:00

I love to watch movies. I like to be entertained, but even more than that I love to be inspired.

The other day we rented August Rush. It is a movie that did not get good reviews. They said it was sappy, too many coincidences and blatantly pulls at the heart strings. I say it's a fairytale, and if you watch it as such, it can be a very cool movie going experience.

After watching it with my husband, we decided to let our kids watch it, too. It's rated PG and we knew they would love the music.

The story is about a young boy who has lived in an orphanage his whole life, and as most orphans do, he believed that his parents were alive and looking for him. But unlike most orphans, he believed he could hear them in the form of music in the world - in the wind, in the rain, in the sound of passing cars. And he believed that if he could play music, then his parents would hear him, too. And find him.

Some of you are thinking how ridiculous this all sounds, but for me this is exactly the kind of thing I would love to believe in.

So this kid becomes sort of a musical prodigy - first learning to play the guitar, then the organ and more. It's really cool to watch this kid discover his gifts and the music is pretty incredible.

Well, as much as I love to be inspired, I love to inspire my children to dream and attempt new things and to believe that they have something unique and special to offer this world.

I watched my kids as they took in this movie, their eyes riveted on the boy as he dreamed and played music and believed that he could make the impossible happen.

Halfway through the movie my 5-year-old got out his little guitar and started banging on it, hoping to evoke the same incredible melodies that the boy did. My 9-year-old's eyes lit up as they seamlessly melded a symphony into rock music. And when the movie was over my 7-year-old got out his notebook and started writing down notes, writing his own music, just like the boy in the story.

Now, unfortunately, they do not have two musically gifted parents as the kid in the movie did, so they will not likely be musical prodigies. If they want to play anything like that boy, they will probably have to take years upon years of lessons and practice for hours every day, which may be disappointing to them. But I think it's worth it.

I want my children to be inspired to attempt new things. I want them to dream and believe in the impossible. And I want to be there cheering them on every step of the way.

Though this movie may be the stuff of fairy tales, there is a reason that we love fairy tales. We already know how hard life is, we understand the struggle of it all. Every once in a while we need a little inspiration, and the mother of inspiration is hope.

A Little Love Lost

2008-06-04T14:50:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I watched a friend lower her infant girl into the ground.

I watched as the father wept and was embraced by men who grieved over his 15-hour-old daughter.

Tears rolled down my face as the pastor spoke of Katie Joy's place in heaven. I could picture her in the arms of Christ, what a beautiful sight to behold.

And yet, if I could have I would have gone up to heaven, told Jesus they needed a little more time with their girl, and brought her back to the arms of her mother.

I struggle to understand. A little girl formed inside her mother's womb, with too little lung tissue to take a breath in the outside world. Nothing could be done. At a time when life was meant to be celebrated, they prepared for death.

How can it be? Why does God allow such pain and loss? Is it our fallen world? Is it to make us long to be home with Him?

The family sang the words, "it is well with my soul." Honestly, it is not yet well with mine.

Ice Breaker Time

2008-05-23T14:52:00.000-04:00

So here's a little audience participation exercise:
My all-time favorite ice breaker question (I can feel your excitement):

If your life were a movie what kind of movie would it be?
What genre? (i.e. comedy, action, drama, film noir...)

And who would play each important character? (you decide which characters are most important)

**Important note** if for some reason this question makes you feel hostile toward me, do not feel obligated to answer. I don't know why this question would make you hostile, but people have gotten angry about it in the past. If you have any insight into why that would be, please feel free to share.:) Thanks.

For all the rest of you, please play along, because it's fun!

So here's the movie of my life:

The genre of my movie would have to be a musical. I would love to live in a world where people spontaneously break out into song and dance, inexplicably knowing every word and move, though it was clearly spur of the moment and unrehearsed. I just think that song and dance are the most appropriate responses to joy, and nothing beats a really sad song with lots of violins during the low times.

My cast of characters:

Hubby - some sort of Brad Pitt/John Cusack hybrid (Brad Pitt's pre-Angelina boyish sexiness, combined with an early Cusack quirky, goofy earnestness)

Me - Elizabeth Shue (I don't look anything like her, but I think she has a natural beauty and warm intelligence that I like)

My 9 year old - Jesse McCartney (they have the same hair and love of performing)

My 7 year old - Jayden Smith (Will Smith's son, he doesn't have the freckles, but he's got all the attitude of my boy)

5 year old - the kid from Jerry Maguire (how many pounds is the human brain?) sweet and at times off-the-wall.

3 year old - the little girl from The Game Plan (we have a very racially diverse family). She's tough, but girly and sensitive.

Mom - Sally Field for her fierce mom qualities

Dad - a young Sean Connery/Harrison Ford hybrid (it's my movie, I can do what I want) for their classy intelligence and ruggedness.

My Big Bro - Tom Cruise on stilts (from his pre-scientology Top Gun days - cool and crazy)

Sister-in-law - Jenna Elfman (the girl from Dharma and Greg) for her bubbly effervescent personality.

Little Sis - Julia Stiles, different hair color, but same intelligence and grace

Littler Sis - Anne Hathaway - same big brown eyes and fun goofiness

Stepmom (now ex, but none the less) - Sigorney Weaver - they have the same awesome bone structure and beautiful brown eyes.

My friend, Crystal, would be played by an earthy Reese Witherspoon (beautiful and always capable), I can't figure out who would play Stephanie (if you have any suggestions for an athletic, fun and straightforward friend, let me know), and Andrea would be played by Rosie O'Donnell from A League of Their Own (tough, but with a big heart).

So, that's my movie. It would be a musical dramedy - you'd laugh, you'd cry and you might even spontaneously break into dance.

Your turn...

My Own Little Division of Hallmark

2008-05-09T09:50:00.000-04:00

This time of year, the time when cards sing the praises of perfect mothers and ever present fathers, inspires the inner greeting card writer in me. If I were to create my own division of Hallmark it would be called: Reality - Sentiments for the Dysfunctional Family:).

My selection of cards would read something like this:

Mom

You worked two jobs for as long as I can remember,

raised us on your own with no help from family or friends.

I honestly don't know how you did it.

And though I cried many a morning when you had to leave before dawn,

I will be forever grateful that you came home after long days, made us dinner and then tickled us, and tucked us in every night.

Life has been harder on you than most, it seems, and though it knocked you down and out a few too many times, I know you loved me and I'm grateful for that.

Thanks for letting me lick the beater and climb into bed when the nightmares seemed too real, for giving me freedom to roam and play, and for sending me to church camp when I was twelve.

I love you, Mom, Happy Mother's Day.

Dad

I wish that I remembered living with you.

I wish you had kissed my cheek every night before bed

and scared away the boogie man while I slept.

I wish you had been there to scare away bad boyfriends

and to set a curfew for me,

but I know now that every other weekend is a lot for many dads to commit to,

and you were faithful to the end.

Thanks for ski trips and diamond earrings, princess dresses and great hugs. And thanks for dreaming big.

I love you, Dad, thanks for loving me.

StepMom (now ex)

While we may not have met under the best circumstances,

I'm glad you came into my life.

You were so young, too young for a 3 and 5 year old,

but you taught me about beauty and enjoying life in the moment, from you I learned to enjoy photography and gourmet cooking, I watched you put on make-up and delighted in the birth of my sisters.

I'm sorry for how things ended up, it was so painful to have my family split again,

but I don't know what title to call you now. So you're still, and always, stepmom - thanks for filling in the gaps.

I love you, Lori, thanks for loving me.

(ex)StepDad

I used to call you Anti-Christ (not to your face of course). You were always kind to me,

but I hated you for how you treated my brother and my mom and for what you did to my home.

I want you to know that I don't hate you anymore.

I forgive you.

Wherever you are in the world, Happy Father's Day.

Thanks for the kindnesses you showed to me.

And to the Father of all fathers and mothers I say Happy Mother's and Father's Day!

You were there when my parents couldn't be, when they didn't know to be. You walked with me through my darkest days and comforted me through many tears, you brought joy and peace and blessing when I didn't believe they would come.

And thank you for the grace I need as I live out my own dysfunctional life as a mom. Though my kids may need a few years of therapy one day, I cling to your words that "love covers over a multitude of sins," and that "love never fails." Thank you for the truth of those words that I've felt in my own life and thank you that I can have faith that they will be enough for my children as well.

I love you, thank you so much for loving me.

Perspectives

2008-05-07T18:25:00.001-04:00

A few days ago my three-year-old daughter woke up, looked out the window and said:

"The sun gave me a hot kiss!"

"It gave you a kiss?"

"Yes, and then it blew bubbles!"

I wish I could live inside that little mind sometimes.

Dance Fever

2008-04-25T15:38:00.000-04:00

Okay, so here's the low down on the party. It was FANTASTIC!

Here are my top 5 moments at my over-the-top, super-fun 35th (yikes!) birthday bash:

5. Walking in before everyone arrived to find that a few of my friends had already set out their beautiful desserts, gorgeous center pieces, and candles. It looked fabulous and made me feel so loved. And all of my anxiety about how the party would go immediately melted away.

4. Watching all of my friends walk in looking dapper or beautiful and excited for a night of fun and then learning to waltz and rumba together (Dancing with the Stars, here we come!).

3. Listening to my friend Andrea sing like the song bird that she is with a little band that she put together at the last minute. I felt like I stepped into a 1940's night club. Andrea was up on stage crooning the way God made her to as her husband accompanied on trumpet, it was beautiful. Here's a little sampling:

2. My brother and sister-in-law and Joel's brother and sister-in-law coming down for the big event made it even more special as we danced the night away together. I especially appreciated them sticking it out when some country songs came on and everyone else cleared the floor - apparently blood is thicker than water. And then when my all time favorite early 90's new wave music came on and we hummed along to I Melt with You, I was so thankful to have them out there with me bouncing up and down like a bunch of lunatics - as all late 80's/early 90's dancers were taught to do. I was laughing so hard I started crying.

1. Getting to dance with my hunka hunka burning love all night long. He's still the best looking man I ever laid eyes on and the fact that he was willing to throw me this party and dance the night away, even though he is not, shall we say, rhythmically inclined, meant everything to me.

After the party I sat up taking it all in for several hours. It was one of the most incredible nights of my life. I feel so blessed to have friends and family that would help to make it happen.
Thank you!

In conclusion, I'd like to quote Footloose and Ecclesiastes simultaneously, "There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." This was my time to dance, and it was awesome!

**This is me...joyful>>>>>
Thanks to Jayne (j.ro photography) for capturing some awesome images.

Mattering

2008-04-18T15:40:00.000-04:00

You matter to God. You MATTER to God. YOU matter to God. You matter to GOD.

I can picture it in my head, the woman on stage at Willow Creek Community Church pantomiming the words, pointing at me, clutching her hands to her chest and then pointing up to the sky while the words "you matter to God" reverberated through the auditorium. It was the crux of Bill Hybels evangelistic message, and I thought I knew it already.

Anyone who believes in the creator God knows that we matter, why else would he have taken the time to form us? But have you ever learned something that you thought you already knew? I seem to be doing this a lot lately. Things as simple as "God loves me" have become deep and profound and new, like I never really got it before. That I am forgiven and covered by grace, not just for the big things that I gave up long ago, but also for the little things that add up day after day and make me feel inadequate to call myself a Christian has made grace new and shiny and deep as I dive into its depths again and again and again.

And now in the last few weeks, these words: "You matter to God," have struck their mark. I knew that my body, my gifts, my talents, my obedience, my soul all mattered to God. But now I see more.

The other day my husband and I were talking about my lifelong desire to own a dog. My whole life (except for three brief years) having a dog has been too messy, inconvenient, expensive or impractical. My pleading, my tears, my overwhelming desire did not matter in comparison to these. But as I lay in bed the other night my husband looked into my eyes and said, "Leah, if you need a dog, I'll get you a dog tomorrow."

My heart was overwhelmed. (I remembered that it is good to marry well.) And I thought how amazing it is that my heart's desires matter to somebody.

I felt silly, too. Clearly I don't need a dog. But I want one and I desperately want my children to have one as they grow up, as well. I began a search online for the perfect puppy, and low and behold, I found it!

She is part labrador retriever and part golden retriever and she is sweet and beautiful, and as my 7-year-old says, she has made life better, "life is just better with a dog."

I know that just because I have a desire, does not mean that God or my husband will meet it, but this year I'm feeling pretty spoiled, and maybe that's okay.

God communicates with each of us in different ways, and this year He's given me a puppy and a crazy dance party with (almost) all of my favorite friends, just to let me know that I matter to Him.
Pretty cool.

Just in case there was any doubt, you matter to Him, too.:)

Counting Down (and Up)

2008-04-05T09:19:00.000-04:00

Well, the countdown has begun! Only 15 shopping days until my birthday.

My mom has already taken me shopping for my birthday and it was no small miracle that I found three pairs of capris that fit perfectly. We agreed that we must buy them all, as this may not occur again until the next passing of Hailey's comet.

But I must say this birthday feels like a big one to me. It's not the looming 4-0 and I've already passed the momentous 3-0, but getting to the midpoint between the two seems significant. It means that I am getting older. . . still. Does it seem odd to anyone else that time never stops, never even slows down for us? I keep expecting it to, especially when my kids hit phases that I really love. But, in fact, it feels like time speeds up a little bit more every year.

I was doing some figuring in my head the other day, and if my math is correct, I will be turning 50 in just fifteen short years. That is a scary thought. I miss the days when fifteen was a lifetime (back when I was a 15 year-old). Of course, the reverse is that just fifteen years ago I was 20 - unmarried, childless and 20. It's clear that a lot can happen in 15 years, but the problem is that it is going by too quickly now.

To a 15 year-old, fifteen years is a lifetime, but as a thirty-something it goes by in a blink. I'm afraid that I will go to bed one night and wake up to find my nine-year-old towering over me and telling me he's found the love of his life - because he's become a 24 year-old man. And then I'll look in the mirror and see my sagging face and wonder what exactly happened while I slept.

I don't intend to turn into Rumpelstiltskin or anything, I just wish I could push the pause button on my life and take the time to really enjoy it.

I guess that's why I feel the need to have a huge party for my birthday this year. We are going way over the top, and I think it's because I need to remember that life is meant to be lived and celebrated and treasured, not just muddled through, cleaned up and survived. I can't make time stop, but for one night I can gather all of my friends, get dressed to the nine's, turn up the tunes and dance the night away.

And if I wake up the next day to realize that my life is half over and my kids are growing foot by foot, at least I'll know that I've taken the time to live.

**This has been deep thoughts with Leah, thanks for stopping by.**

Mealtime Practices

2008-03-27T22:25:00.000-04:00

Ahhh, dinnertime. That joyous time when we gather together to eat a meal and enjoy the company of our family. Or is it the chaotic time when I throw some food on the table, beg my children to eat it, and then plead with them to use silverware and eat with their mouths closed? Maybe it's a little of both.

All of the statistics say wonderful things about families who eat together (particularly around a table in their own home). What do they say again? The family who eats together stays together? 4 out of 5 children who grow up in a home where they meet together for meals at least 3 times a week grow up to be well-adjusted, emotionally stable, college educated, financially viable people? Yeah, that's the statistic I like, I could swear I read that one in Ladies Home Journal the other day. Anyway, whatever it says, it makes me feel smug as a parent - cooking meals, gathering the family and sitting down to pray over our food.

But then the smugness evaporates as my 9-year-old insists on using his fingers to eat everything from applesauce to spaghetti, my 3 and 5-year-olds pick at their food like birds only to beg for dessert and complain about how starving they are five minutes after the table is cleared, and my 7-year-old makes every sort of obnoxious noise known to man during the course of the meal. (If you've ever seen Dumb and Dumber - the most annoying sound in the world, my boy's got it down!)

I once heard a man talk about how at their dinner table he and his siblings' goal was to get their parents laughing so hard that milk shot out of their noses. While disgusting, it made me think. What if this goal I have of raising my children to be polite and proper at the dinner table is stifling their inner comedian? What if we're missing out on laughter and fun, all in the name of a peaceful atmosphere to digest our food?

This is another place where I like to blame mom and dad for my confusion. I remember the casual atmosphere of mom's little round table for three. We were expected to eat with our mouths closed, but other than that I don't remember being corrected or prodded in any way. We ate Steak-ums with relish, talked and goofed off.

At dad's formal dining room table we were to eat quietly, with mouths closed (I am thankful for that suggestion), elbows off the table, napkins in our lap all while trying every strange and exotic food they put before us. (I remember sushi and seaweed before it was "cool" to eat.) At dad's it got to the point that we assumed they plotted and planned a new ridiculous rule for each weekend visit. Seriously, how many rules can you come up with to torment a child? Of course, now I understand a little better.

And I am glad that if I were invited to the White House I would go in pretty well prepared, etiquette wise. That's a useful skill, I think.

But is it so useful that I need to torment my children in the same way? Should we allow Lukas to collapse to the floor in giggles because he tooted again? Should we let Gabe try out every new noise on the family to see which one gets the best reaction? And how important is it really, that my little ones actually consume the food I put before them? Okay, that last one might not be optional.

So what do I choose, or will it choose me? As our children age and their personalities become even more irrepressible, will they guide our mealtime rituals for us? Maybe some day Gabe's noises will cause fluids to eject from our bodies, and maybe, just maybe, Lukas will be using a fork when it happens.

Mrs. Michigan and Other Noble Pursuits

2008-03-12T08:45:00.001-04:00

So here I am posing with the lovely and talented Mrs. Michigan - tiara, sash, and all! (The beautiful girl to her left is my friend Crystal, who I was blessed to stay with over the weekend.) One thing that I found out about pagentry is that the women who enter them are fiercely competitive. I always thought they were just pretty, freakishly tall and skinny girls with an assortment of interesting talents - but apparently the will to win is key.

In all honesty, I enjoyed hearing Laura Loveberry (the crowned one) share her heart for women and passion for the love of Christ to be shared. When she got into the story of how she went from fun-loving cheerleader to "big Bible toting Jesus Freak" (which she had specifically prayed not to become), the room was riveted. I love seeing how God has gifted each person so uniquely, with their own story and passion.

While the conference was great, the highlight was getting to visit my friend, and bring my son along to play with Crystal's oldest boy. I remember when Crystal (above) got married and her sister gave the perfect toast when she said that Corey was getting Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart and Elle McPherson all rolled into one. Now, after peering out into their backyard (read: farm) where chickens roam, baby goats play, and all sorts of foods grow, I see that he also got the wife from Green Acres as well.

The only problem we ran into was that my 7 year old is used to mostly prepackaged food bought from a grocery store (preferably Aldi). So when he was offered their variety of truly whole wheat bread, goat's milk or raw cow's milk, he basically chose not to eat for a day. He had agreed to mac and cheese, then decided no. He was offered other food, which didn't appeal to him. Finally he asked for an apple and water, thinking he couldn't go wrong there. He ate the apple, but then after taking one sip of water he blurted out, "What is wrong with this water?" Corey explained that it comes from a well in the ground. Gabe wanted to know where our water comes from, so Corey explained that process. Then Corey offered to mix the water with grape juice to make it taste better. Gabe took a drink and then said, "It still tastes like dirt."

We will be working on graciousness and how to be a guest in someone's home this week.

Thankfully, Corey told me the whole story with a smirk on his face. I'm glad he found my son mildly entertaining. On the way home I was talking to Gabe about his pickyness when he said, "But they have good apples!" It was Michigan, I'm glad they can't mess up apples.

Getting back to the conference - my part went better than I expected. I went in prepared for these women to be shocked and maybe even put off by my idea of this God of Romance. What amazed me was that in my first seminar everyone had tears in their eyes as I spoke of God's passionate love for them. They were ready and eager to hear it. And then I was encouraged when several women came up to tell me how it impacted them. But I was overwhelmed when two women from the later sessions, who have been on this journey for some time, came up to me with a gleam of hope and excitement in their eyes and said, "I've never thought of God's love like that."

I was humbled and speechless and overwhelmed. God was clearly doing something so much bigger than me. I felt honored to be a part of God speaking to their hearts and pray now that this knowledge goes deep into their souls. I am thrilled that God is still alive and active, his word sharper than a two-edged sword, dividing joints and marrow, and able to make an aging woman blush because of the passion of His love for her. Amazing.

Shout out to ISU

2008-02-29T13:52:00.000-05:00

I wanted to give a little shout out to the girls of ISU, in case anyone decides to stop by. I had a great time last weekend at the Illinois State women's retreat. It is so much fun to get to know people from different campuses and see the unique personality of each church.

These girls - they know how to have fun! I have never seen anything like the Friday night Pirate Booty game we played. It was a high speed scavenger hunt, and I'm still amazed that no one was seriously injured and there were no major squirmishes as they fought to get back to the hostess/game god with their booty.

I don't know if it's the Chicago competitive influence going on or what, but here in Indiana our girls tend to be a little more laid back.

Thanks for inviting me to teach on The Walls of Jericho. As I said before, I got so much out of my preparation that I was praying that God intended this teaching for you, too. Thanks to your responses, I was able to see that God did speak to you throughout the weekend. Thanks for welcoming me in and allowing me to share the things that God put on my heart with you.

I'll be praying for your walls to come down.

Oh, and I am still struggling to find any more specific definition of "heap." I'll let you know if I get a better picture of just what God did with the waters of the Jordan when the Israelites walked across on dry land.

This weekend I head north to do my God of Romance seminar at a women's conference. I'm excited for my first opportunity to teach women in a different age bracket (30-50 year olds) and see how God speaks to them through His word.

And I get to meet the reigning Mrs. Michigan (she's the main speaker). You can all look forward to a picture of me posing with royalty next week.;)

A Little Oscar for Once

2008-02-26T16:19:00.001-05:00

Well, I for one stayed up far too late last night watching the Academy Awards. Ever since reading about some fun and creative ideas for hosting an Oscar party I have dreamed of throwing my very own night of Academy Awards fun. Unfortunately, I do not have enough friends with the same shallow obsession with Hollywood that I possess, therefore I watched them alone (okay, hubby was in the room but typing away on the computer). I explained to him that this is like the Super Bowl of movies and therefore I must give it my full attention.

I love seeing all the famous people arrive in their beautiful dresses and dapper tuxes, it's as close to royalty as we seem to get these days. I was so eager to hear all of Ryan Seacrest's mind-numbing interview questions that I actually shushed my children and attempted to send them off to bed without their good-night kisses. Don't worry, I caved, and only missed a few minutes of the festivities and was back on the couch as what's his name took the stage.

I did not make any Oscar predictions, I didn't much care about best actor or actress this year and it appeared that the only real contenders in the movie category were two terrifying movies that I refuse to see. (My imagination is wild enough, I don't need anyone else's horrific visions adding to what goes on in this head.) But I am so glad I saw the show for one main reason - the music!

As you know, Once is a gem of a movie and you can't help but fall in love with the main characters who appear to be much like the actors themselves. After watching the two lackluster performances from Enchanted (one without Amy Adams), I was glad to watch two truly talented musicians perform their own song with such beauty and emotion. The fact that two relatively unknowns even got to be up there was inspiring.

When they won their oscar I was clapping and screaming along with them. Though it was heartbreaking to watch as Marketa wasn't even aloud to say her thanks to the audience, but what a classy thing for what's his name to invite her back up for a proper acceptance speech - if you've ever watched before, you know that is never done. So if you missed it, enjoy!

I can't help smiling every time I watch that, I just almost started cheering again.

Also so glad that the score from Atonement won for it's category. What haunting music to carry you through such a heart-wrenching story. I thought the acceleration of the typewriter keys being punched throughout was brilliant.

Nothing Like a Good Humbling

2008-02-10T16:35:00.001-05:00

I am so often humbled by my children. They are my humblers, as my friend, Stan, would say. A couple days ago I was driving my 5-year-old home from preschool and becoming frustrated with my 3-year-old daughter's endless crying. Her crying seems to be a response to everything these days.

"Mommy, can I have a cookie?"
"No, honey, you haven't had any breakfast yet."
Big pouty lip, large tears begin to fall, then the grand finale - she runs to her room crying and screaming and closes the door. (I forget, is she 3 or 13?)

So, on this particular day I had asked my little girl to wait in the car, as she always does, while I ran out for 5.2 seconds, grabbed her brother out of the cold and pouring rain, and got back in the warm dry car. Well, though she opposed this plan, mommy insisted. My punishment - by the time I returned to the car the full-on wailing was underway. She had clearly been abandoned on the side of the road and left for dead.

As I attempt to ignore said wailing I am actually getting more and more annoyed. Finally I say, "If you cannot stop crying it means that you are tired and need to take a nap!" I am using tried and true parenting logic/scare tactics now.

Then, my 5-year-old, who has apparently been bearing the shrill sound of 3-year-old abandonment issues much better than I, says, "No, mommy, that's just how God made her."

I stop for a moment, the sound of grace and acceptance lingering in my ear. He's right. He's used to this. From the time my little girl arrived on the scene she has cried. I never actually called it colic (I have friends whose children actually cried for 12 hours a day), but this little creature of mine has cried - a lot.

Maybe she's just sensitive, maybe she's emotional (like me, huh, my brother did call me a cry baby quite often when I was young), maybe this is the way God made her.

I grab my Sesame Street CD and pop it in. Soon the tears subside as Elmo sings along with Hootie and the Blowfish and all is well in the world. Elmo always seems to make everything all better. Even mommy feels better as I realize that I've been humbled and given just a little bit of perspective by my 5-year-old.

Top Ten Reasons to Rent the movie, "Once"

2008-01-25T22:49:00.000-05:00

10. It's a really cool love story with some semblance of morality.
9. You'll feel cool because you are watching and supporting a cool independent film.
8. The music is awesome (you'll want to download it).
7. The actors are musicians that can only half act (according to the director), so it feels like a true story.
6. The lead actor is the lead singer of The Frames, his bassist is the writer/director.
5. The title characters are called "guy" and "girl."
4. It's a low budget film (made for 160,000) so they had no permits to film on the streets of Dublin, Ireland.
3. It was filmed with a long lens, so the extras don't even know they're in the movie.
2. You get to hear the first ever song written about a "broken-hearted Hoover fixer sucker guy" (you can even download it on iTunes - I get a good chuckle every time I listen to it).
1. It's an awesome movie going/musical experience. Trust me, it's worth your time.*

*It is rated R due to the F-bomb being dropped frequently (but it's with a happy Irish accent;)

Let me know if you like it...

The God of Romance

2008-01-07T21:06:00.000-05:00

During Christmas break the hubby and I headed down to Indy for our ministry's national conference. Somehow I misread the map and we ended up driving through a part of Indy that made me realize we weren't in Kansas anymore. The highlight of the drive was passing a pimp on the street. I admit that I am not that street savvy, but this guy looked like he just stepped off the set of Starsky and Hutch. He had on a purple velvet blazer, bellbottom pants and a hat tilted to the side. Weird.

Thankfully we made our way back to the heart of Indy and to the conference. It was great to see people from all over the country that have been serving in full-time campus ministry for many years. I love getting to worship with the people that I love who also have a passionate love for God.

While at the conference I had the opportunity to teach a seminar I titled, "The God of Romance." It was based on the idea from the book of Ecclesiastes that says that "He has also set eternity in the hearts of men." That God has set eternity in our hearts and that He is the one who gave us our desire to be loved and romanced.

I think that this intense desire we have for romance is actually a desire that God put there, a desire that cannot be met by any person on this earth. My husband is great at loving me every day, telling me he loves me, showing me affection, but sometimes struggles with the grand gestures, the things that might help a woman feel special and swept off her feet. But I know other women with the opposite problem. They have husbands who make sweeping gestures every once in a while, but struggle to show consistent affection on a daily basis. As we learn in marriage, we can't have it all - one person cannot be all things to another - not my husband to me, nor me to my husband. Eternity has been set on our hearts.

Honestly, I think this is part of God's plan to keep us searching. Of course many of us go off searching in the wrong places, assuming that this desire must be earthly, I mean, it's the desire for romance after all. But as I watch romantic movies and read my old classic love stories I sense that God is calling to me, beckoning me to come and drink deeply of His love. He challenges me to see that His love is more than the distant fatherly affection many of us imagine, but it is passionate, jealous, pursuing, ardent love. He wants me to be consumed by it, much like I was by my husband's when we first fell in love. I remember floating through my day filled with joy and awe that I was loved, that I had found someone I couldn't live without. It thrilled me.

Why is it that we think being loved by God is nice? Nice is boring. Isn't everything else just an imitation of all that God has to offer? I think that He has set eternity on our hearts, and I believe that He doesn't put anything there that He doesn't fully intend to realize.

My Thougts on a Memoir

2007-12-09T14:59:00.000-05:00

I just finished reading a memoir called The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. It was quite a read. The story of her childhood is both heart breaking and inspiring. Jeannette's parents were brilliant, troubled people. The father was fascinated by science and physics, he was an inventor of sorts, but also a drunk who refused to work for "the man."
Her mother was an artist and stay at home mom who made me feel like I should get a mother of the year award if only because I feed my children on a daily basis and attempt to protect them from harm. This mom also hated to work and only did so when her own children dragged her out of bed and forced her out the door. These were proud people who refused help from anyone but relatives, therefore welfare was not an option. The children were regularly left with no food in the home, so they were required to scavenge for lunch in the trash at school - at times this was their only meal.
I was, at turns, inspired by the father and infuriated by him. One Christmas when they had nothing to give their children, the father took each child outside to sit on the hood of his car and pick a star. That was to be their Christmas present, a star in the sky. Jeannette (the author of the book) chose Venus. Her father explained that it wasn't actually a star, but conceded that if she wanted to choose a planet as her own, he didn't see why she couldn't.
As I read that I wished that I were that creative as a parent. Instead of going into debt or panicking about the perfect gift for my kids, why not give them a star in the sky? Granted, you can't take it home and play with it, but every time you look up in the sky, you'd know it was yours. It was a beautiful moment that clearly meant a great deal to the author.
Another Christmas, a few years later the dad came home in a drunken stupor and burned the Christmas tree to the ground. This was only after another humiliating trip to Christmas Eve mass. The dad's favorite activity during the priest's sermon was to shout out arguments against the plausibility of Mary's virgin birth and other miracles. The man certainly kept life exciting.
It amazed me when, toward the end of his life he discovered that there was a God. It was not through some miracle or a person's love or kindness, but through physics. In his readings he found that there is a natural order in the world. That, he decided, pointed to an intelligent design, a creator. This proud man was actually humbled for a moment.
Of course, the miracle of the story is how the kids survived, how they escaped the poverty and dysfunction of their home to create a safe, clean, hard working, well-fed life of their own. It is both encouraging and inspiring. And an amazing testimony to the potential of every human life.

Peace and Insanity

2007-11-19T20:50:00.000-05:00

"Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane."
- Philip K. Dick

I saw this quote the other day and it made me chuckle, in an ironic sort of way. How often I drive myself nearly mad trying to make sense of the world around me. I find comfort in the words of a counselor friend of mine. He said that mental health is on a continuum, it's not just you're crazy or you're totally sane, but there are gradations. This helps on my "insane" days. Perhaps I'm not actually certifiable, maybe today I'm just leaning a little more that way.

This guy, Philip Dick, had a different plan. Don't make sense of life, was his philosophy, just go insane. I thought it was sort of tongue in cheek until I decided to look up who he was. He was a writer who lived most his life in poverty, writing, doing drugs, and trying to avoid the reality around him - mostly by doing drugs and allowing himself to go crazy. He wrote the books that eventually became Blade Runner, Minority Report and A Scanner Darkly.

Married five times and never able to break out of the not very lucrative realm of science fiction novels, this guy did not experience much peace in his life. I found another quote of his that said, "I want to write about people I love, and put them into a fictional world spun out of my own mind, not the world we actually have, because the world we actually have does not meet my standards." Again, I chuckled, appreciating this guy's perspective. I guess a lot of writer's do this. If they're not writing to illuminate some wrong in the world, then perhaps they're writing to create a better world that lives up to their standards.

But all this talk of insanity and the sad story of Philip's life reminded me of another quote from one of my favorite books. It is called The Singer, and was written by Calvin Miller. The book is part of a trilogy and is a mythic retelling of the New Testament. The language is lyrical and the imagery is stunning.

The part that I can't stop thinking about is where the Singer (Jesus) has been walking along with the Hater (Satan) when they come to a man that looks more like a beast than a human. He is chained to a wall and when the Hater begins to play his wretched tune, the man-beast goes mad. He breaks his chains and goes running after the Hater (who flees into the woods), but the Singer did not waiver:

The Singer then began to sing and continued on until the Madman stood directly in his path. With love that knew no fear, the Singer caught his torment, wrapped it all in song and gave it back to him as peace.
And soon the two men held each other. In their long embrace of soul, the spirits cried and left. They stood at last alone.

As I think about Philip K. Dick and his inability to accept the reality around him, I wish that while he was living I could have sat with him and told him about the peace that he could have had within him. It is not a promise of an easy life, nor one free from madness, but it is one with the hope of peace that Philip never seemed to find in his drugs or the temporary, imaginary worlds he created. I don't know that I myself have a very strong grasp on this peace that is offered, but I believe it is there. And I love that there is one who can catch my torment, wrap it all in song and give it back to me as peace.