Epiphany

I hate my body. Except I love it.

These are the warring factions that have been inside me for pretty much ever. I know there’s a whole movement about body image. I get that. I don’t really care because I’m talking about me. And you, because you feel the same way I do, you know you do. All my life I’ve struggled with my weight. When I’m overweight, I let that fact dictate how I feel about everything. And I do mean everything. What I weigh impacts whether I want to go out or stay in, participate or not, get naked or not.

And don’t even get me started on the self-loathing that goes along with it; the running commentary in my head. I don’t want you to see me naked, I’m fat. I can’t wear that dress, I’m fat. Why do I have no self-control? Why am I eating this again? Well, I’ve already ruined today, I might as well really ruin it. Why can she eat anything she wants and I can’t? I wish my stomach looked like that. These pants used to fit. Dangit. I’m worthless.

That was in my head for about 25 years. Until, by the grace of God, I came to understand the value of myself in a different way. It took a loooong time to get here. I’m not “there” yet. But I’m not where I used to be, which you might recognize.

I was a chunky kid. Big thighs, big ankles. Not athletic by any stretch of the imagination. I’d rather read. I don’t know when I started eating to feel happy. I just remember doing it. And yet eating makes me big and being big makes me sad so I guess I’ll eat. Why not, let’s just throw in the towel. WHY is the way I feel about myself tied to my body? Why should it be? It makes no sense.

I have a scar on my right hand where I was getting my bike out of the shed one day when I was probably 12, 13, something like that. The shed was really just a lean-to; covered on the sides and top with corrugated tin because we stored firewood and the mower under there. And the bikes, to keep everything out of the rain. Anyway I was getting my bike out one day and sliced my hand down the corrugated tin and it eventually healed into a perfect little raised line about a centimeter long. I remember it very clearly for whatever reason; maybe because it sliced my skin so perfectly (up until then I’d only scraped knees and elbows; no real injuries) and it was kinda fascinating to see inside there, and maybe because it happened before I’d really even realized it. My Uncle Hubert and Aunt Marcelle were over for coffee that evening. Mom and Dad used to have them come over for coffee every so often and they would sit and chat and it made me happy to know that they were happy. Sometimes I’d listen to their conversation, even if I didn’t understand it, and sometimes I’d stay in my room and just hear them laughing and talking, and sometimes I’d go outside and leave them to it, like that evening. They were good friends and it was comfortable, hearing them laugh and talk together.

I tell you this because it’s part of me. I look at that scar and I remember Uncle Hubert and how I loved to smell him smoking his pipe, before he got smart and quit. It’s not pretty, but it’s me. I have a spot on the bottom of my right foot that hurts sometimes when I step on it wrong; it’s from when I stepped on a cigarette butt in front of the old Kmart one night while Mommy was shopping and Daddy and I waited outside so he could smoke. It wasn’t his cigarette butt; he was still smoking his, but somebody else had thrown theirs to the ground and I walked my little bare feet right over it. I cried and Daddy picked me up and held me and I could smell his t-shirt with the dirt and oil and grease on it from having changed the oil in the blue truck earlier that day. He let me “help” him do that; crawl underneath the truck and watch the black black oil drip down into the pan.

Carter asked me what the scars were on my hip last week. They’re stretch marks and they are totally unfabulous. If he’d come out when he was supposed to come out, a week and a half earlier, I wouldn’t have had them. But he didn’t, and I got bigger, and bigger, and I have the stretch marks to prove it.

My mother makes carrot cake like you have never tasted carrot cake. Seriously, whatever way you think yours is good, hers is SO SO much better. She does this thing where she sugars the pan, and then when the cake bakes it comes out all wonderful and sweet, and then the icing. Oh. My. Gosh. The icing. Only Mom can make cream cheese frosting like this, and you put it with the carrot cake, and it’s unreal. I eat far too much of it, and I can’t resist it when she makes it. She makes me this fudge-ribbon cake for my birthday that’s all chocolatey goodness and cream cheese ribbon (holy cow, maybe there’s a theme here) and I can eat that whole thing with no help. My thighs are a testament to that carrot cake, and that fudge ribbon cake.

These hands have caught vomit, wiped away tears, checked for fevers, and sewn Halloween costumes. My boobs are pathetic floppy reminders that I couldn’t breastfeed my own children, yet they drive my husband out of his mind. My booty is rife with cellulite but my booty has sat on hard bleachers through baseball games, and on horses, and through cold nights around bonfires. My tummy has rolls. So. Many. Rolls. My rolls actually have rolls. My children made those rolls and stretched out my tummy and left their mark, and they lay their heads on my soft tummy now when we snuggle in the bed reading books. The skin under my arms? My bat wings. Flap flap flap. These arms have held cranky babies, crying loved ones, and toted groceries to feed my family. They’ve hauled firewood to the truck from the woods and they’ve had kitty cats fall asleep in them.

My body has stories. My body has been USED, people. It’s not pretty. It’s not skinny. It’s too lumpy in places, too fat in places, too wrinkly in places, too rough in places. But it’s beautiful, because it’s what God gave me to walk around in, to love in, to help in, to comfort in, to be happy and sad in. Love your body too, no matter what shape it is. Stop trying to make it fit into whatever size you think will make you happy. If it feels good to exercise, then do it. If you have a few more pounds this year than you did last year, then so be it. Buy bigger pants. Look at what God has given you in this body and what you’ve done with it. It's a beautiful, strong, amazing body.  It doesn't need to "look good" in pictures.  It's too busy living life.

Absorbing the Blow

As a mom, and a daughter, and a female, all of those things put together, I’m continually struck by how much we as our gender in each role, endure. How much we balance, and juggle, and attempt to be all things to all people; especially to our own families. I’d like to say “well, that’s just how it is in my family, we ladies are very giving people,” except that I see it in all of my women friends, relatives, co-workers… I think it must be a singularly female thing, or maybe it’s maternal, since a lot of the women I can think of who are like this are moms, or maybe it comes with age. Like mold. I don’t know. Maybe boys are like this too, or would be, you know if they didn’t have penises that took over their brains and laser-focused their entire existence down to a razor-sharp pinpoint of hormonal urgency.

I have always heard it said that you should “turn the other cheek.’ Yes I know it comes from the Bible, I even Googled it so I could tell you where it was. Matthew 5:39: “But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.” God said it so you have to do it. But if that’s not enough, if Kenny Rogers can put it in a song then there’s probably something to it that should be heeded, much like knowing when to hold things and fold things.

But with me, and some other females I know and love, I don’t think it’s so much turning the other cheek as absorbing the blow. We aren’t solid, steadfast pillars who take adversity and unkindness and ingratitude with no discernible surface impact; it’s more like we’re air bags. We kind of catch the unkind remark, the additional burden, the carelessly-tossed backhanded compliment like a football, absorbing that impact of that blow instead of having it glance off in a funky-angled trajectory to ricochet into somebody else. And it might leave a mark.  Not to say all women are like this, or that we’re like this all the time. You do have your Jerry-Springer-tennis-players who take every insult, perceived or otherwise, and fling it back toward the sender with equal fervor and vitriol. Everybody has one of these inside them, the knee-jerk reaction of “you hurt me, I’ll hurt you,” the toddler-mentality of “if you break my toy, I’m breaking yours.” I’m talking about the kind of catch that comes with age, maybe with mommyhood, maybe just as your relationships stretch from grades to years to decades and you realize what really matters in life.

It’s a kind of grace, really. When I was a teenager in the throes of my hormonal angst and I would rail against my mother’s carefully constructed safety barriers, she would endure my blasts, buffeting them off to the side like ineffectual clouds. She’d stand there weathering the storm until I blew myself out, realized she was right to begin with, and moved on. Not saying anything about it, just gathering herself quietly, knowing there was going to be another onslaught at some point for which I would not apologize, but taking a breath after having withstood this one in preparation for the next. It’s kind of like how you envision following a toddler around when they’re learning to walk – you’re right behind them, ready to catch them if they fall, but not actually touching them. Even as they grow, not offering any advice (unless they ask) or guidance (unless they ask); your arms are out wide to keep them on the path and prevent things from ramming into them, but they’re going in their own direction and all you can do is follow and hope they remember all the good advice you gave them, back in the beginning when they actually thought you knew what the heck you were doing. Before they figured out that you’re winging it like everyone else. That’s one of the things I imagined would be hardest about being a parent, based on how I saw my own parents as I grew into adulthood. How do you walk the line between being there when they need you, but not parenting them? Catching them when they fall – letting them hit to see what it feels like but not so hard that it leave scars – after all, that's your baby - and setting them back on their feet, but not carrying them forward? It’s a narrow line, people. A line my parents somehow managed to navigate throughout my life but one which mystifies me as much now as I walk it as it did then, watching them walk it.

I wonder how we get like that. There are so many beautiful women I know that have endured such trying circumstances (read: having me for a teenager) and yet still come through it with this patient, beatific look on their face like, “Yeah, I got that one, what else you got? I can take anything you dish out, and I’ll still be standing here, and I’ll still love you afterward.” I’m not even talking the big guns -- ladies who’ve been left without moms too young and had to pick up the slack; had to deal with poverty, alcoholism, and abuse. I’m only talking about the day-to-day minutiae of LIVING. We take on school PTOs, handmade Halloween costumes, the pain-in-the-butt project at work THAT WILL NEVER END, the laundry, the ring in the toilet that. Will. Not. Come. Out, no matter what caustic military-grade solvent you put on that sucker. The dog with the bee sting who can’t breathe and has to be rushed to the vet and the little soul that needs to be soothed because the birdie fell out of its nest and “we just found it like that.” We take on the smart mouths, the eye rolls, the hair that gets dyed pink and green and then has to be fixed at the salon, the questionable fashion choices, the sarcastic comments, the judgment in that other mommy’s eyes because OUR yogurt is SMACK DAB FULL of red #5 and HERS was organically grown in a star, nay, coaxed to life fairly nestled in a fairy’s bosom. We endure the “we didn’t do it like that in my day” and the “give that kid to me for a week, I’ll straighten him out.” We deflect well-meaning comments from friends and relatives that we take wrong; surely they didn’t MEAN to make me feel like an ineffectual dunce who can’t connect two bumps on a pickle, and WHAT THE FRESH HELL IS THAT SMELL COMING FROM THE WASHER?!   I didn’t mean for something to come across that way – and holy hell they are totally letting me have it and I didn’t mean that at all but can’t they see I frickin’ LOVE THEM?

And there you have it. There are so many women that I know that love even when it isn’t deserved the tiniest bit. Who keep taking what gets dished out, absorbing blow after blow from every conceivable direction, and are still standing there ready to pick up whatever pieces fall and hand them back over whenever the circumstances dictate. They get their feelings hurt and they swear they’re not going to fall for that again; they’ll be tougher next time and they WILL NOT be there to catch the next free-fall… and still there they are. Right when you need them before you even knew it.

If you are one of those women who are patiently buffeting blows or waiting to catch the next stumble, understand how much you’re appreciated even if you never hear it. Seriously, you may never EVER hear it. Understand how WE are able to toddle off into the great unknown because we know you’re right behind us. If you’re one of the toddlers who are railing against someone who’s in your face and up in your grille and has GOT A FRICKIN’ OPINION ABOUT EVERY LIVIN’ THING YOU DO – take a minute and be grateful for their interest and concern. It is so good to be loved. To be loved and watched from afar, but also to be smothered under the 3-inch quilted cotton oxygen-sucking monstrosity that is whatever your most difficult relationship is right now. God made us to love each other but He in his infinite yet unfathomable mind-numbing wisdom didn’t make us all the same way and so we love each other differently – and that is also why there are bell-bottoms and gauchos. Because somewhere out there some idiot thought they were beautiful fashion choices to be embraced. Go embrace all the strong women in your life today and tell them you appreciate them, and thank them for loving you when you were a pain in the arse.

Bad Words

Yesterday we were on our way to school in the car, it’s about 7:30am, and Carter says from the back seat, “Mama, is F@#K a bad word?”

Um.  Yeah.

So I said, “Well, it’s not a nice word, so we don’t say it in conversation.”

“What does it mean?”

Well, I didn’t go THERE.  But I said people use it all kinds of different ways; as a verb, a noun, an adjective… you have to admit, you can't beat it for versatility.  Personally I say it quite a bit, usually in my head, occasionally alone in the car, but not within earshot of the kids.  I find it very satisfying and at times, the only word that fits the situation perfectly.

“Well, is sith a bad word?  Siht?  Something with an S.”

“S@#T?”

“Yes, that one.”

“That’s not a very nice word either, so we don’t use it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude.  Remember how I told you that holding up your middle finger means that you’re telling someone they’re useless, they’re lower than dirt, and that’s why we don’t do it?  Using those words make people feel like that too sometimes.  So we don’t use them.  You’ll probably hear other people using them, though.”

So I asked him if he’d heard someone saying those words recently.  He said there were two boys in his class that were talking about it at lunch and they were trying to think of all the bad words they knew.  “They said there was an f-word, two s-words, three e-words, and a c-word.”  Little boys, you BETTER NOT teach my kid the c-word.  (I can't think of what the e-words must be.)  I’m not upset that he knows those words.  I knew it was just a matter of time and I’m amazed we made it this long.  I learned the s-word earlier than he has; in second grade when Justin Lavoie wrote it on a desk.  It didn’t mean anything to me then, just like those words don’t mean anything to Carter now, he just knows they’re “bad.”  But, he said, “I didn’t like that conversation very much.”

I’m not thrilled he knows those words now, just like I won’t like it when he no longer believes in Santa or the Tooth Fairy.  But I know those days are coming too.  In some ways I wish I could keep them both little forever, homeschool them and control everyone they meet and insulate them from all the bad in the world.  Last week these same boys asked him if he was friends with another kid they thought was weird.  Carter struggled with that, because he thought the weird kid was just fine, friendly even.  But he could see what those boys were asking, “Are you friends with the weird kid?  Because if you are, you’re weird too.”  We talked about that, and I told him he’d face that problem all his life.  Even as an adult you face that, adults are just more subtle.  “I don’t like that person, so you don’t need to like that person.”  

He asked me what he should do about it.  I asked him if he liked the “weird” kid.  He does, so I asked him if he thought it was a good enough reason to not be friends with him just because the other kids thought he was odd.  And I told him that if he stopped being friends with the odd kid, it would probably hurt his feelings.  But I didn’t tell him what to do; I asked him what he was going to do.  He said he was going to invite the boys to play with him and the weird kid, and they’d see how much fun he was. 

Yesterday I asked him what happened with all of that.  He said he introduced them all, and they played tag, and he doesn’t know if they all like each other but they all played together.  My boy the peacemaker.  I asked him what he’d do if those boys started up the “bad word” conversation again.  He said he sat with somebody else at lunch so he wouldn’t have to be a part of that conversation.

I’d really like to save him from that crap.  The peer pressure garbage and the do-you-like-me-I-like-you-but-different-is-bad idiocy.  There were some people I was friends with in school that weren't exactly scholars, nor were they the best-behaved people, but there was something to them I liked.  One girl had (and still has) the absolute best sense of humor; she wasn’t exactly brilliance personified but dang, she could make me laugh.  Another girl I knew used every expletive there was in every sentence she spoke – but she WAS brilliant and probably one of the kindest people I’ve had the good fortune of knowing.  I’d hate to know I’d have missed out on them if I’d been “saved” from the peer pressure of being friends with them.

I don’t know how I’m going to help these kids navigate this world.  It’s ugly.  As Christians, we need to be in the world and not of it.  That’s hard.  When you’re in the world you see all the ick and you have to deal with it.  People will hurt you, influence you for good and bad too, make you uncomfortable, and force you to make difficult decisions.   They make fun of you for being different.  You get labeled as a prude because you don’t do the same things they do; if you do the same things they do to “fit in”, you’re a hypocrite.  I don’t want anybody to teach my kids the c-word, offer them drugs, or tempt them to steal.  I don’t want them to be put in the morally-questionable yet socially-defining position of “let me copy.”  But neither do I want to completely insulate them from it, because the awful people of the world, that’s who we’re instructed to tell about Jesus.  To show them Jesus, because that might be all they ever see of Him.  How will they ever understand what people are going through, the temptations they face, the trouble they’re in, if they never have to see it?  How do they ever have an “I’ve been there, and this is how my faith in God helped me through it” conversation? 

I’m trying very hard not to keep all the bad things from reaching my kids; I AM trying very hard to warn them before they get blindsided with something, and to help them face the tough stuff.  To know where they stand on things before they’re challenged, so they’re confident about their opinions.  I worry those challenges will come before I’m ready.  I want them to be able to make good decisions when I’m not around to tell them what to do, and to know that awful things are out there and will have to be dealt with, one way or another.  I shudder at the mistakes they’re going to make, the temptations they’re going to fall prey to, and the horrible things that may befall them.  I can only pray that God will protect them and save them from themselves and the myriad bone-headed decisions they will inevitably make.  When I think of all the times I did something that could’ve gotten me maimed, beheaded, or killed… well, they say God protects fools and children and at any given time in my life, I’ve been one or the other.

So as much as I totally didn’t want to have to explain the word f#@k to my 8-year-old with my 5-year-old in earshot, at least we got the chance to talk about it.  Frankly I’m just glad he didn’t hear it from ME.  

Conflict Sucks

I can be a weepy. sobby, emotional mess.  I know this.  But let me just tell you what these past few weeks have been like. 

Week before last, I was at the rescue mission and I stopped by the men's side to drop off some sugar in the kitchen.  I said hello to one of the guys.  One of the directors saw me, called me into his office, and proceeded to rail at me, basically accusing me of trolling for dates.  I left in tears and didn't go back to the mission, and I was miserable for a week.  I finally decided the next week I had to talk to him.  I had to confront his accusations because what he said wasn't fair.  He didn't even know me.  Everyone I've talked to, except him of course, appreciated me being there, and since I go with my entire family, they know I'm not trying to hook up.  So I called every day and left a message.  I never could get him on the phone.  By the end of that week I was a basketcase.  So the next week, I showed up on his doorstep, even though I was scared to death about how this next conversation would go; the first one had tanked in the first 10 seconds.  We ended up having the type of discussion I think God had in mind in Matthew:

“Moreover if your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he hears you, you have gained your brother. But if he will not hear, take with you one or two more, that ‘by the mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established.’ And if he refuses to hear them, tell it to the church. But if he refuses even to hear the church, let him be to you like a heathen and a tax collector.” (Matt. 18:15-17)

I REALLY just wanted to walk away and not talk to this guy again, like ever.  But the people who would be hurt by that are the people we were both (theoretically) trying to help, and I can't help anyone if I'm not at the mission.  So I walked in his office and sat down, and we prayed together, I told him how hurt I was by his statements, he apologized all over himself for hurting me, and then he told me what he'd REALLY wanted to say and failed miserably at.  During all of this of course I was a weepy mess again, 'cause I'm a girl, and I'm embarrassed at not being able to control myself, but here's the thing.  I was proud of myself -- of US -- for handling a conflict the way God intended.  It wasn't pretty.  It made me vulnerable and it made him have to step up and admit he was wrong, and ask for my forgiveness.  It required me to be brutally honest to a virtual stranger and set myself up for probably being hurt again, since I didn't know how it was going to turn out.  At the end of the discussion we parted as friends, brother and sister in Christ, and partners in the effort to help people who are going through the worst challenges of their lives.  The crapstorm of the week before was gone.

I wanted to tell you this because if you're struggling in a relationship, I want to encourage you to speak up.  I want to encourage you to resolve the conflict and go to the person and say, "You hurt me" or "I know I hurt you and I'm asking for forgiveness."  The conversation I had required that I bare myself and confront someone I barely knew about an incredibly sensitive situation.  I hate confrontation.  When I first married Dallas, I couldn't talk to him about anything emotional unless it was in the dark and I couldn't think too hard about what I was saying -- I just had to blurt it out real fast before my brain could catch up.  (You'll be glad to know I'm past that; yes, over the last 12 years I've improved.  Slightly.)  Suck it up, buttercup, and say it and let the chips fall where they may.  God wants us to resolve conflict, admit when we're wrong and ask for forgiveness.  

So what do you do when your situation doesn't turn out like mine?  When the person you're confronting says "I didn't do anything wrong, I'm not admitting to anything, and I don't care whether you're hurt"?  Beats the heck out of me.  I don't know where you go from there, I guess it depends on whether you have a blunt object in your hand and whether they'll fit in your trunk.  All I'm saying is that if you want to have a relationship with someone, you've got to at least try, do your part, and be honest with them.  All you can control is your own actions.  When you've hurt someone, you've got to acknowledge it, however difficult it is to admit you're wrong (and believe me, it's difficult).  I respect the man I argued with for owning up to handling the situation badly, and repairing the relationship in a Godly way.  He said he respected me for coming back to confront him and not running away with my tail between my legs, badmouthing him to everyone else.  I screw up so often it was nice to feel like I was doing something the right way for a change.

Unfortunately I have other crapstorms I'm currently dealing with, where I feel like I'm being treated unfairly.  I desperately want to call up some people and give them what for, use some very satisfying words, throw things and stomp my feet.  However, I'm trying to handle it like an adult (being an adult sucks) and like a Christ-follower should.  To be a doer of the word and not a hearer only.  I don't know if these other situations will turn out as well but I'm just praying for some divine guidance, as usual, and trying to do the best I can.  Onward and upward, as Mom says.

And the Mother of the Year Award goes to....

Yesterday I was in Target, and I was right behind a lady and her son in the checkout line.  This lady was BEAUTIFUL.  I mean visually stunning; somewhere a magazine was missing its cover model.  Her son was freaking adorable, in a little jon-jon and saddle shoes (SO CUTE!).  She was dressed to the nines and had perfect hair.   And I was thinking, "I bet she's patient too, and never yells at her kids."  And sure enough, here she goes, "No, buddeeee, we're just going to give all these things to the nice lady here, not throw them, okayyyy?"  While her son continues to throw all the things she's brought to the checkout out of the cart and onto the floor.  Fling.  Fling.  Flingy fling.  So then she starts looking around at the cashier, and then me, and then the lady next to her, and then the other cashier, and everywhere but this little boy.  Like any of us are going to do anything; heck, we're waiting to see what SHE'S going to do.  Maybe we'll learn something.  And he's just happily throwing things to the floor while she's flipping out.  She's smoothing her hair and crooning to him, "Now let's just let Mommy have that, okayyyy, honeyyyyy?" while he's totally getting into the flinginess and is now jumping up and down vehemently in the back of the cart. In the middle of all this she stops to tie his little saddle shoe that's come untied and smooth his hair back down, because believe me, he's totally feelin' the moves.  And this goes on and on until she and the cashier finally retrieve everything, she pays for it, and off they go.  

Here is the time where I judge.  But no, I'm not judging HER.  I'm busy judging ME.  Seriously, if that was my kid, I'd 'a whacked him on the behind LONG AGO, maybe 2nd fling.  And I think, "Geez, could I really be that patient, as patient as HER, with my kids when they're misbehaving like that?"  The answer is no.  And I know, I've read all those articles about how mommies should stop judging each other and give each other a break, we need to lock arms ladies, SOLIDARITY 'TIL EIGHTEEN, we will prevail, these children will not break us.  But the thing is you are CONSTANTLY comparing yourself to each other and your kids to each others' kids, to figure out if yours are average, or above average, or freaks of nature.  You can't help it; it's ingrained in you from grade school when you all start comparing report cards.  It's like that in adulthood, only your kids and the way you keep your patience is what you're grading each other on.  Old ladies judge you.  People without kids judge you.  And even if they don't say it, you KNOW they're thinkin' it.

So compared to this lady, I'm wondering about myself.  You know I'm not a fashion plate.  If I never had to wear a dress again that would be A-OK.  I will take my jeans and my Converse ANY DAY.  She's fashionable AND in public.  WITH a kid.  I run to Target in mini-bursts when I don't have a child with me, even if it's 8:45 at night, if that's what it takes.  I have got the speed trip DOWN.  Plus she's totally not losing her temper even though her son is acting like a rabid animal.  People, I just cannot put up with crazy.  If my kids can't behave in public, we are totally leaving, I don't care where the cart has to go, we are GONE.  But the thing that gets me is that in the middle of this awesome display, she's worried about his tiny little SHOE and whether his hair is in place.  NOW I feel like a jackalope, because MY kids ate dinner butt naked last night at the dinner table because they'd just gotten out of the pool and we hadn't yet made it to the bath and everybody was hungry.   Sometimes I KNOW they forgot to brush their teeth but I'm just too freakin' tired to get everybody out of the bed again.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story.  I've fallen asleep in the middle of a story I WAS MAKING UP.  I've let them swim when the pool was green.  They've had processed, sugary, diabetes-inducing sugar-crashing powdery-heaven donuts for breakfast BECAUSE KRISPY KREME.  I've let them run around the yard in their underwear in a rainstorm and jump in puddles probably full of every horrifying microorganism there is, even the ones with fangs.  I HAVE FORGOTTEN THE TOOTH FAIRY.  

But I am seriously learning to embrace all the differences between us mommies, and when I hear of a cool new idea that I think could really help me, I give it a whirl.  When somebody lets their kids talk to them in a way that I know I would have gotten the crazy-eyes-defcon-8-look from my mother for, I just tell myself, "nope, couldn't take that, but you do your thing, girl."   I AM NOT OPEN TO CRITICISM, lady in the bathroom with the opinion I didn't ask for.  The answer is, "You're doing a beautiful job."  That is always the answer, lady.  Just like when you're pregnant.  "You got a basketball under there?"  I'M TRYING TO STEAL A BAKED HAM AND THANKS A LOT FOR DRAWING ATTENTION TO IT.  "You are beautiful."  THAT is the answer.  I try to keep them from breaking necks and having any organs visible on the outside, but I also try not to hover or gasp audibly every time they jump into the pool or balance on the curb.  It's a fine line, people.  I have children with no fear, no visible trepidation of any kind.  I'm trying to not impart my crazy on to them but let them take their own path to the therapist.  We are stringent about the basics but we're a little lackadaisical if nobody's eyes are going to get poked out.  I try to let them reason out how to handle things on their own and I try to think of times growing up when I had a similar problem, if it'll help.  And sometimes I lay down the BECAUSE I SAID SO because that's the answer.  

So I snapped out of my Target envy and got up to the cashier, and she said, "Can you BELIEVE that lady?"

Sigh.  I am so FREAKIN' glad I left my kids at home with Daddy.

Rachel and Leah and Goats

So much of the Bible is weird to me; talking donkeys, people cutting off ears, people dropping dead, people being turned to pillars of salt.  Half the stuff, I’m looking in the notes trying to figure what the heck that was I just read.  “Life Application” my butt.  If anybody comes looking to cut off my ear, I’m running. 

But I had another a-ha moment the other day where I finally understood something. We were reading the Jesus Storybook to the kids; we do that every night, and woe be unto you if you are tired and want to skip it. This story happened to be about Rachel and Leah.  It's in Genesis 29 and it talks about Jacob, who goes to work for his Uncle Laban.  Jacob works for Laban, and in return, Laban asks him what he wants for wages; he wants to marry Rachel because she's just so beautiful, he can’t stand it.  "²⁰ So Jacob served seven years to get Rachel, but they seemed like only a few days to him because of his love for her."  Men are like that.  Wave some booty and they fall apart.  Ask me how I know.

So Laban says “Work for me for seven years and you can marry Rachel.”  Jacob does that, he works for seven years, and on his wedding night Laban sends Leah to his tent, not Rachel.  Now I guess it's pitch black dark in there, I don't know, and nobody talks (which I find hard to believe), but somehow he doesn't realize that it's Leah that he got, not until the early morning, after they've already done the nasty. And then Jacob goes to Laban all worked up, saying, “I served you for Rachel!  What the heck?”  (This is kind of like the Message.  “Dude, what up, you jerk!”)

Laban says, “We don’t give the younger daughter away first.  Work for me another seven years and I'll give you Rachel.”  No explanation for why he couldn't have said that up front, why he sneaked Leah in there.  No Steve Urkel, “Did I do thaaaat?”  Seven MORE years until Jacob gets Rachel, like Laban couldn’t have ever MENTIONED the fact that the oldest goes first?  For Pete’s sake, I’d have given you an extra cow if I’d known that, you know? 

The Bible says that God saw that Leah was not loved. Now it doesn't say what's wrong with Leah, other than she has “weak eyes,” it just says that she wasn't loved.  And we already know that Jacob didn't want her. I don't know if she had horns or was just butt-ugly or had some giant disfigurement or what her major malfunction was.  Apparently the main issue was that she wasn’t Rachel.  I try to imagine what she must have felt like; not being loved or wanted, married to her cousin (ew).  I don't think I'd have a happy life if I married somebody who straight up said he didn't want me. But the thing that I'm struck by is that through Judah, Leah’s son, came the line that would give us Jesus Christ.  How crazy is that.

I’ve heard that when we suffer or when bad things happen that we can't see the big picture; that only God can knows the purpose of our suffering.  Sometimes bad things or disappointing things happen in your life and you’re crushed, and maybe later you see how that worked out for good, days or years or whatever.  Example.  When we were just moving back to Jax, Dallas was promised a job. Then suddenly they decided to offer that job to someone who had less experience but also was cheaper. At the time, and for a few months later, he was devastated because he was counting on that job and he was really looking forward to working there.  But out of that disappointment came the job he has now, which he absolutely loves.  And through which we've been blessed to meet some very special people.  Later he was fine with not getting that job, because he enjoys what he's doing so much; God had something better.

But Jesus came through the line of Judah, and obviously Leah had no idea about that, that was WAY down the line.  She spent her entire life knowing she wasn't loved, with her weak little eyes and her horns and whatever.  The most awesome thing that came out of her life, and she never saw it!  She never had a clue, she’s just living her unlovable life, popping out a bunch of children and selling herself for mandrakes.   It's just one more reminder that even though I don't always see it and I can't understand it, I have hope that there's a larger purpose at work.  Ya just never know.

Minor epiphany aside, I'd like to leave you with a conversation between my three children. Yes I said three.  Eli is half mine, just like mine are half Sandy and Ron’s.  Eli came to spend the night the other night and on the way home they were all just being crazy, so I told them they should play the alphabet game.  We do this a lot in the car, mostly just to keep the kids occupied in the car so they don't drive me crazy, and here's how it goes.  For each letter of the alphabet, you have to think of an animal you're going to ride on, a place you're going to go, and something you're going to buy when you get there. This is the conversation.

Carter:  I'm going to ride a...

Eli:  Goat!

C:  No, hush, I’m thinking. 

Lots of giggling.

C: I'm going to ride a…

E:  GOAT!

C:  No, I don’t want a goat, I’m going to ride a….

E:  GOAT!

Hilarity ensues.

C:  Hush, Eli, I’m going to ride a gorilla.  And I’m going to go to…

E:  Georgia.

C:  Not Georgia.  G…g….g….guh guh…guh…

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  NO!

E:  GEORGIA!

C:  FINE!  I’m going to Georgia.  Mama, Georgia is G, right?
Me:  Yes, you can go to Georgia.

C:  Eli won’t hush.  Eli, hush.  *sigh*  I’m riding a gorilla and I’m going to Georgia and I’m going to buy a….

Sarah Cate:  A GOAT!!

Extemporaneous jocularity commences.

Randomosity

Good grief.  It's about a thousand degrees.  I'm hahhht.

One week Dallas was off, so we took the kids downtown to ride on the sad little Skyway that cost the city 40 quadrillion dollars that nobody ever rides.  But they love it, and it's kinda handy, but it doesn't go anywhere but downtown.  How pathetic is that.  We got to eat lunch at the Southern Grille, where our beloved Miss Jill works.  On the way Carter and Sarah Cate peppered me with questions:

"How many wheels do really big trucks have?"

"Why do they have two wheels next to each other?"

"Is that a Z or a U truck?"  (I used to work for CSX, and we learned that trucks with codes on the back that end in a U are containers; Z means a trailer.  Ever since I told Carter that, he is obsessed with finding the codes on the back of big trucks.)

"How many cylinders do cars have?"

"What's a transmission?"

"Why do trains have so many cars?"
"Why isn't the caboose red?  It should be red."

"I love this bridge!  Can we turn around and go back over it?"

"How do helicopters turn?"

Constant questions.  Some of the car questions, I'm like, Can't we just call Papa and ask him all these?  I don't know how cars go or what a carburetor does or why gas stinks or any of the other myriad of questions I'm asked on a daily basis.  The best I can do is, Let's Google it.  Dear Lord, we thank you for Papa and Mr. Google and the internet.  Amen.

I'm going through a mid-life crisis.  Since Carter was born I've been doing volunteer work somewhere; first it was with Department of Children and Families, a few in the middle, and now the mission I told you about.  I know my job is important to companies, they need what I do, but I feel like I'm not doing enough for people who really need a hand up.  Not that I think I can save the world or that I want a career in social work so other people's problems can suck the life out of me; I just think that the work I do that really counts is about at 5% vs. the paycheck I bring home is 95%, and I need it to be more like 50/50.  Over the last year or so, it's really become a compulsion.   I'm a relatively intelligent person, I got MAD SKILZ, surely I can find a position somewhere at a non-profit or a hospital or something; I don't have to be a missionary in Outer Slobovia.  But, I love the people I work for.  Seriously, there are not better bosses out there; I have the absolute best.  I don't particularly want to leave them.  And I still need a paycheck.  But I've got to do something or I'm gonna DIE.

So I'm looking into other avenues.  I don't know what that is, or what it's going to look like, but I'm hoping I'll know it when I see it.  I don't know how long it'll take, to find that THING.  But I'm willing to wait for the right THING, whatever that is. 

I met some more folks at the mission that I can tell you about.  There's Mike -- he was in phase 2, where they go to work on the farm, and he got colossally drunk one night and they kicked him back down to Start.  At least he's stayed in the program.  I sat down to talk to him and a guy named Bo, and Mike said, "I feel like I recognize you."  So I was like, "Really. I must just have a familiar face."  And he goes, "No, you look like my buddy's old lady."  Seriously?!  Who says that any more?  I gotta check with the old lady before I go out drinking tonight.  Isn't that from like, the 1950s?  I look like somebody's old lady.  How NICE.

I  met Joseph.  He told me he doesn't want to talk to anybody else about why he's there, but he wants to talk to me because he can tell I'm a Christian.  How he can tell that I don't know; I slop food around and clean tables, the hallmark of every God-fearing person, I guess.  He told me he's drunk most of the time and he finally decided he can't take it anymore.  His girlfriend tells him he comes home and yells at her and throws stuff around, and he doesn't remember any of it.  But he told her he was going to the mission, and she's so proud of him so he's trying to stay.  He said, "Look at my eyes, can't you see the bags under them?  I can never sleep when I'm drinkin'.  They're usually worse than this."  So I told him he has to stay, his girlfriend knows what she's talking about; he needs to be here.  He said, "yeah, okay, I might do that."  And I'm like, "NO.  I mean it.  YOU HAVE TO STAY.  I'll be here next week, I expect to see you.  If I don't see you I'm gonna hunt you down."  And he gets this huge grin on his face and he says, "Yes ma'am."   Guess what happened the next week -- no Joseph.  No Joseph since.  His girlfriend took him back.

Matt (the one that said his big belly was prettier than having track marks) went to the hospital for a week; I don't know for what, but Nehemiah said he called every day, so I was hoping he'd come back.  Not only did he not come back, he took somebody in the program with him.  Grrr.

And still no Cameron or James.  *sigh*

Next time I'll tell you about Cowboy, because he's had an amazing life.  And Nehemiah, because he's embarking on an amazing life.

But let me tell you what happened today.  I went to a volunteer project management class through one of the local service organizations.  I walked in to the class, and it was in a conference room with only one other girl.  Another girl came in, in a black dress.  Then a few minutes later a guy in an orange shirt came in.  Then two guys who were leading the class came in.  And we all sat there chatting before the class was supposed to begin, until Black Dress says, "I have to tell you about the weirdest thing; I was coming here, looking for a place to park, and there was a lady walking around the parking lot.  I stopped to ask her if she needed anything, and she said 'I'm looking for a way to kill myself.'"  We all just looked at her, and then Orange Shirt says, "Yeah, I saw her too, right out front.  I asked her if she needed anything but she said no."  So here I am thinking, I must have misunderstood.  So I said, "She's out there, wandering around, and she said WHAT?"  Black Dress repeats her story, and I said something like, "We've got to go get her."  I don't remember exactly what.  So I stood up, grabbed my phone, and went off into the parking lots looking for her, and the rest of them are just kind of following me around.  Long story short, we couldn't find her, and I couldn't find her later just driving around in the parking lots after the class, but WHO DOES THAT?!  Who talks to someone who says "I'm looking for a way to kill myself," and DRIVES OFF!  Then you sit in room full of people for 10 minutes before you say something?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

People are INSANE.  Freakin' insane.

Stuff and Things

Yes, it's been a while since I've updated but since nobody but me ever reads this, it's hardly a travesty.  And really you haven't missed much.

So summer's here.  The kids are out of school.  Carter is very excited about this; Sarah Cate not so much because she's missing her friends.  And Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Taragjini, her teachers from last year that we had to say good morning to and goodbye to every single day THIS year.  They've been in the pool practically every day since we put it up in May.  Me, I'm working.  Dallas is working.  We have responsibilities.  We don't get to play in the pool every day, which sucks.

But there's this new thing I'm doing that I wanted to tell you about.  And I kinda wasn't sure I wanted everyone and their brother to know about it, but now I do because I really think there's a huge opportunity here for you people who pray.  I've been volunteering at the Trinity Rescue Mission in downtown Jacksonville.  It's a homeless shelter for men and women and children, but with a Christian bent.  I serve dinner and clean the kitchen and talk to everybody.  It's not any different than anything I do at home but they say thank you.  There's the difference.  Anyhow, now that I've had a chance to get to know some of the guys there, I really think they could go on your prayer list.  

Everybody who's in the "program" has a job every day and their day is scheduled down to the minute.  They don't leave the shelter and they don't have visitors and they don't talk to anyone who's also not in the shelter.  They start the day with a Proverbs Bible study, then they eat breakfast, then they work.  They have a different guest pastor every night give a sermon and they do music  before they eat dinner.

There's Cameron, who worked in the kitchen.  Cameron was from Tampa but had moved around to several states, "following girls," and ended up in Jacksonville with nowhere to go, high on I don't know what.  He'd been in the program for 50 days -- which means he was more than halfway through it, and clean for 50 days, and on his way to the next phase, where he'd get more freedom.  One night we were serving dinner and he said something about another guy and I asked him, "Who?" and he said, "That guy that just came to the door totally trashed."  One of the other guys in the kitchen, James (who's about nine feet tall) said, "Yeah, he used to be in the program but he just walked out one day and now he's just an overnighter; he's trashed all the time."  Cameron then said, "I don't mind seeing him like that because it reminds me how close I am to being trashed all the time.  Everybody here is one day away from that."

The next week Cameron was gone.  Apparently something happened, I'm not sure what, and they kicked him and James out.  All I could gather was "not following the rules."  He hasn't been back as an overnighter (just someone who comes in for dinner and to sleep; they make them leave in the morning).  I'm praying he comes back.

There's Matt.  He's 34 days sober and says, "I just try to follow the rules so they don't have any reason to kick me out."  He's gained 30 pounds in the month he's been in, but he says "my gut is prettier than track marks."

There's a guy named Warren who says, 'but you can call me Cowboy."  Because he was a cowboy.  He rode bulls on the rodeo circuit.

And then Mike.  He looked so sad sitting at dinner that I asked him if he was okay.  He sighed and said, "Bad day, I guess.  Bad week.  Bad life."  Apparently he's in construction and had a job, but there wasn't enough work.  He lost his house and his car.  We talked for a little while, he asked me to pray for him to get a job, and then by the time he left to go to bed he was smiling.  

So pray for these guys if you do that sort of thing.  Life's a little rougher for them right now.  Maybe next time I'll tell you about someone else.

How Much is Enough?

Mary Poppins said, "Enough is as good as a feast."  I struggle with that, even though I think it's true.  Food and money are my weak points -- I always want more of both.

We just finished a couple chapters in our Bible study on contentment and giving, more specifically grace giving, and the chapters covered things like using resources wisely, what belongs to God and what belongs to you, tithing, being happy with what you have, etc.  I don't know about you but these are areas I've always needed help on, especially since having children tends to be a rather expensive endeavor.  They're not cheap, and I want them to have everything they need and a few things they want.  But there's a balance that must be struck, and there's a message you want to send.  They pay attention to how you spend your money, whether you think they do or not.

I recently watched an episode of Hoarders.  It followed the story of two people who just couldn't help themselves with acquiring STUFF.  One lady used copious quantities of coupons to get hundreds of dollars worth of stuff for something like $1.98.  Which I heartily applaud; any time you can lower your grocery bill like that, I genuflect in your approximate direction.  I have nothing whatsoever against using coupons, either -- I use them when I have them and I dearly love that whole buy-one-get-one free concept.  But this lady clipped EVERY coupon she saw, and bought hundreds of dollars worth of deodorant.  Scads of cans of artichokes, gaggles of green beans, prides of soda, armies of bug spray, flocks of toilet paper.  Then she brought it all home and just stacked it in piles (because the shelving, or cabinets, or wherever you put stuff had long since been buried in stuff).  How many artichokes CAN one eat, anyway?  Another lady shopped consignment sales and thrift shops, and I think her issue was just that she loved getting a "deal."  She walked around her house and could tell you what she paid for just about everything, and it was $1 - $2 type stuff.  She loved buying purses; I couldn't tell you how many she had.  Maybe a hundred?  She would go to thrift shops and pick up anything.  It didn't seem to matter what it was or whether she needed it, it was just whether or not it was a "good deal."

I think most of the people on this show have mental issues.  Seriously; it seemed like they all had a traumatic event at some point in their lives that they could pinpoint when their problem started.  And I'm not knocking that because I get it, they need help.  But I also totally get the draw of finding a "deal."  When you get something for less than retail price, you kind of feel like you've won.  But shopping shouldn't feed your emotions or fill a hole, and that's where I take issue.  I enjoy a trip to Target as much as anybody (especially without kids; do not judge me), but I have to guard against just buying stuff because it's a good deal, because I think that's where you get into trouble, financially speaking.

Our Bible study talked about contentment, specifically godly contentment, and this is something I strive for and don't always quite make.  It's being happy with what you have, independent of circumstances and conditions.  It's so easy to look at what somebody else has, or is, and find yourself lacking.  Their hair is cuter, they dress nicer, they have a bigger house, their kids have more to play with.  It's also easy to find yourself making up for a childhood where you had nothing.  I spoke to a lady at church about this one time and she mentioned that having grown up during the Depression, she had less than nothing.  When she grew up and got married and had an extra income, she found herself buying things she didn't even need, just because she could.  It filled a hole inside, just having the ability to pay for something.  That minute at the checkout was golden; it made her forget how poor her family had once been, how deprived they were, sometimes of even the most basic necessities.  It was like winning.  But when she got home, she said, the guilt would set in.  She hid how much she spent from her husband.  She was embarrassed at how much she spent, but she couldn't help doing it.  It also didn't help that when she and her husband retired, she had less income but more time to shop, and that was entertainment for her.  She told me she'd rationalize it -- she was buying this for someone else; she had every intention of donating it to charity; the product she had really needed to be replaced.  But she had so much STUFF that the garage was so full they couldn't park in it, and they had to buy a little outdoor shed just to hold all her STUFF, and it was all random stuff that she couldn't remember what it all was until she went out there to look at.  And she's telling me all this like, "Yeah, I know I've got issues but I'm not going to change."

The Bible study had a line, "To be content with little is difficult for us because we fail to trust God to provide what we need.  Instead we worry and plan."  That, and "The more one has, the more one wants."  I find those two statements to hit a little hard, because I think they're true.  It's difficult to truly be content where you are, with what you have, all of the time.  And I'm not saying shopping can't be entertainment, because I think it can.  But when that entertainment becomes a way to fill a need, when God should be the fulfillment of that need, that's where I think you get into trouble.  Or when it becomes a distraction from dealing with something, you know, retail therapy, that's when you have to start paying attention.  Over the years I've struggled with remembering that all my resources are really God's resources; that He's given me everything I "have."  Yes, I work for my paycheck, but who gave me this brain?  Who gave me this job?  Who made me healthy so I could work?

I really have to pay attention when I walk into a store.  Do I really need this?  If I'm buying something for someone, is it something that I think they're going to love because it's perfect for them, or am I letting the fact that it's a really good deal drive my purchase?  Am I buying something because I "deserve" it?  Am I celebrating?  It's really hard to stick to a list, but I try to do that.  I desperately want to ensure that I'm using my resources the best way I can -- and even though I don't always get it right, it's something I keep praying will get easier.  In case you're someone who also struggles with this -- here are some other things I've done, or considered:

1)  Stay out of the store.  You can't spend money if you're not there.  Stay off the internet.  Find something else to do.  Play Candy Crush and tell me how to get past level 162.  BECAUSE IT'S IMPOSSIBLE.

2)  Make your list before you go, and if you're going grocery shopping, don't make that list or go shopping when you're hungry!  And don't take Dallas with you because you will hit the ice cream aisle HARD.

3)  If you've found yourself picking up something you really want and it's not on the list, ask yourself if you really truly want this item.  Do I have something just like it at home?  Why exactly do I want it so bad?  Or is this more of an emotional purchase?  If it's going to make you happy to buy it and then when you get it home you're just going to feel guilty about it, maybe don't buy it to start with.

4)  When you get home, show your purchases to your partner.  It doesn't matter if he/she cares.  Just own up to what you bought.  Except the tampons, because he probably doesn't care about that.  Or the M&Ms.  Because he will eat them.  Hide those.

5)  If you've bought something you really don't need, take it back immediately.

6)  If you're buying something for someone else, consider whether it's something they are missing, really want, would use, and the purpose behind the purchase.  Are you ingratiating yourself to them?  Are you just trying to tell them you love them?  If so, just try saying that to them.  Are you trying to control them?  (EG, buying clothes for your teenage daughter because you think she dresses like a tramp.  Wait -- no, definitely keep the clothes if she dresses like a tramp.)

7)   Review your shopping cart before you check out.  If there's anything in there that's not on your list, chuck it.  Or do what my mom does -- take everything you have just hauled around the store and put it back in some incredibly random place.  (She knows we kid her about this -- and we've all picked up the same habit -- so I'm not talking behind her back.)  Or get this -- take your random things and make piles to freak people out.  A bottle of wine next to a pregnancy test kit next to the baby food.  Put a book about how to take care of your pet snake next to an empty animal carrier with the door open and a flashlight.

8)  Ask yourself if you're shopping because you're bored, or if you're trying to escape something.  I feed my face when I'm bored.  Can you do something else instead?  If you find yourself in stores a lot for this reason, can you do something else, like volunteer somewhere?  Can you find another way to spend your time that benefits somebody?

9)  Do you need to switch currency?  Sometimes paying with dollars hurts more.  It's easier to see that pot of money go down when you have cash in hand, more so than by swiping a card.  Dave Ramsey envelopes, anyone?  Maybe you could pay someone in pennies and make them crazy.  Small victories.

10)  Be aware of the emotional context of the purchase.  Are you trying to fill a need?  Exactly what purpose does the purchase serve?  If you just like the feeling of spending money, can you spend it in a different area?  Can you try limiting your feel-good spending to a certain amount per month?   Allow it, but don't go overboard to the point where you feel guilty about it?

It's so easy to be discontented in this world.  And it's easy to overlook your own inadequacies and own up to them.  But do try to be honest and ask yourself whether you're using your resources wisely and for the right purposes.  Except for M&Ms.  Always buy the M&Ms.

Being "Saved"

And I mean those quotation marks this time, because I'm trying to convey a sense of confusion about what that word means.  See how that works, guys?  Quotation marks can be your friend.  (PS I saw a sign on the way into work -- Your "Hair Styling" Shop!  UGH.)

Carter's 8 now, and has known who Jesus is and that he died on the cross for him since he was 6, and what all that entails.  He's not been baptized yet though, because for a while we weren't sure if he truly understood what being baptized meant, or that the act of being baptized isn't what does the "saving."  He was also very nervous about having to be baptized in front of the whole congregation -- for such an extrovert, sometimes he really can be quite shy.  But he's planning to be baptized in June when our church does a beach baptism, and every once in a while we talk about it.  The other night he said something to Dallas about not being sure he was saved, and since he didn't really have time to get into it with him he told me about it and asked if I'd try to ferret out what Carter really meant by that.

So the other day we were on our way to get Sarah Cate from school, alone in the car (read:  captive audience) and I asked him if he thought he was saved, if Jesus really did die for his sins, and we had a good discussion about that.  Coming from the non-churchy background, I try to explain some concepts differently than Dallas might -- I remember how confused I was about Jesus "living" in my heart when I was little.  I thought he might have a little door and some furniture in there.  Kids take things so literally, and when you've grown up in the church and you're used to the "churchy talk," you forget what it's like to try to explain it in a way that's palatable to people for whom the concept is new.  I had to make my way through all the new terms when I was 28 (like when the heck did "fellowship" become a verb?) and I remember what it was like.  (What's a testimony?  Why can't they just call it your story of how you came to know Christ?  Because it's shorter, I guess.)

Anyhow, I asked him if he had any doubts about whether he was saved, and he said yes, that he didn't know for sure if he was.  So I asked him why, and his answer I think is probably textbook for a lot of new Christians (and maybe old ones too) that, "I still sin sometimes."  He knows Jesus took the punishment that he owed for all the bad things he did up until the time that he accepted Him -- but he was having trouble with the fact that he still messes up even after that.  And of course his version of "sin" is just the times he gets in trouble for stuff -- he knows hurting people and stealing and lying are sins too, but those are mostly things grown ups do and he's more concerned over the stuff he might lose his DS over.

I think this is something lots of people misunderstand -- this notion that once you accept Christ, when you finally realize you can't do everything on your own -- that your life is going to be perfect from then on, or that you will always have perfect behavior.  Yes, your life does change, remarkably.  Yes, you are a new creation -- you're different and you can see it and feel it.  But are you still going to mess up from time to time?  Absolutely.  Are you going to have tough times?  Geez, yes, you are.  You're going to buy a house and spend most of your savings on it and THEN find out that all the air conditioning ductwork is shot and that fancy home warranty won't pay for it.  Are you going to use your resources unwisely and realize you've taking what God has given you for granted?  Probably, at some point.  Will people close to you hurt, go through troubles you can't fix, maybe pass away and leave you to navigate on your own?  Maybe.  What I'm saying is that when you accept Jesus as your Savior, you don't get this All Inclusive Fast-Pass to a Pain-Free Existence.  God doesn't say we're going to have a trouble-free life, but He does tell us He'll be there with us, through the valley of the shadow of death, if it comes to that.

Carter was under the impression that since he still screws up from time to time (has bad behavior, makes unwise decisions, generally acts like an 8-year-old with a little sister), that that somehow erases his salvation.  Or lessens it, somehow.  It doesn't work like that.  Once you're saved, you're in like Flynn.  You don't lose your salvation.  I looked up Romans 8:38-39 and read it to him:

38  For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future,nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And I asked him if he could think of anything that wouldn't cover.  Seriously, can you?  Maybe up till you get to the "nor anything else in all creation."  Then that pretty much covers it.  So yes, you'll screw up, even after you're saved, and God's not some cosmic Santa who grants you forgiveness every time you do it just so you can run out and do it again.  He doesn't pass out Get Out of Jail Free cards to negate what you just did when you mess up, like M&M's to potty-training toddlers.  But knowing God changes you in way that you almost can't define, and it makes you not want to do the things you know are not pleasing to Him.  You want to ask for forgiveness, and repent of it (another churchy word -- it means you say you're sorry and you truly have no intention of doing that thing again).  You want to give grace to others because now you understand what grace really is.  You want to forgive others because now you know what it's like to be forgiven.  There's no guarantee it's all going to be sunshine and rainbows and snuggly puppies, in fact I can just about guarantee at some point, an unhappy thing WILL happen to you and you WILL do something you're ashamed of, because you're a sinner.  But God has a plan no matter what comes next, and you're in it.  

Once we talked through some of that, Carter understood things a little bit better.  And so I asked him if he had any more questions, and he asked me how car antennas work and what radio signals were.  This is how he signifies that a discussion is over -- there's no blinker for a left-hand turn or even a heads-up that a discussion is over.  It's just a bank to the left and you better hang on.  So I guess we're good till the next crisis.  And now I gotta go look up everything about radio signals so I say the right thing.  (Not that I might tell him there are little people singing in the dash every time I turn on the radio, that would be misleading.  Thanks, Uncle Ken.  I believed that for far too long.)

Another "Post"

I don't know what it is, but lately I keep seeing signs around town that use quotation marks in a "disturbing" manner.  Meaning they are put around random words and it makes me crazy.  Yesterday I saw a sign along the road advertising for "Great" Dane puppies.  So these are Great Dane puppies that are really awful?  Or these are puppies that look like Great Danes but really are not?  Then I saw a sign for a manicure/pedicure salon (held up by one of those very helpful people alongside the road who also spin the sign, do crazy dances, or are dressed up in some weird costume) that said "Try" Us!  UGH.  Try them or don't try them?  Go in and ACT like you're going to try them but then really don't?  There's a bank here that has one of those electronic signs that flashes an advertisement:  "Your" hometown bank!  We like to make you think it's your bank but it's really not?  We pretend to serve your banking needs but then we tell you how it really is?  Here's the best one/worst one, on the front door of a building:  "This building is "ALARMED."  Yeah, well the floor is "SLIGHTLY CONCERNED."  The bushes are "MILDLY PERTURBED."  And I am "ANNOYED" at everyone's inability to use a quotation mark.  " ".  There.  I've quoted nothing, and that makes me win.

Carter's on a soccer team again this Spring, and he loves it.  I'm kinda thrilled with it too, although his team is the Junior Tornadoes.  People, when I look at that name all I see, every single time, is the Junior Tomatoes.  I can't help it, it's what I see.  It's like when I see the Pearled Barley at Publix, and all I see is Pearl Bailey.

We had a minor misunderstanding this week... Sarah Cate turned 5, and she was under the mistaken impression that on that day she would be going to Kindergarten.  Oops.  We had to sort that one out, and she didn't cry but she did SO want to go to Carter's school.  We've discussed that she'll still get to go to Carter's school, but after Summer.  So today, she asked me if it was Summer yet...  I don't think she's quite got it down, but she's such a happy little person most of the time that she just seems to move right on along.

Today we went on a Tour de Farm, a local thing where you can tour the farms that raise your food.  The farms we toured today aren't ones that our delivery service sources from, but they're representative and we may be buying from them in the future.  See, now that I've got some experience in this whole slow food thing, I think I'd do better choosing how much of what we get (eg -- nobody in this family is going to eat beets, no matter where they come from, so there's no point in paying anyone for them).  So it was really great for me to see how these farms are producing our food -- the chickens really aren't in cages, the pigs really do snort and wiggle in the mud, and the goats really do give milk.  Yesterday we stopped by the convenience store to get me an unsweet tea (goodbye, Diet Coke, my sweet friend) and Carter wanted Doritos.  But when we looked at the ingredients and I asked him to read them, neither of us could pronounce half of what was in them.  So I asked him to look for a snack that had words he could pronounce, and he was just as happy with roasted almonds.  I'm enjoying this whole not-eating-chemical-weirdness thing.

A Day in the Life

I know you’re jealous of my life.  You don’t have to admit it or anything; we can just share that little secret between the two of us, that you want to be me.   Believe me, I know – when you have this glamorous existence as the example before you, you can’t help but be envious.  It’s okay.

So today I thought I’d just write down what it’s like, with all the fun of having young children, a full-time-part-time job, two furries, and living “on the farm,” all while trying to overhaul your family’s eating habits, so you can go ahead and start the Fun of Being Me.  I’m just sayin’, some days are better than others, but I gotta get through them all.  So here’s this morning, just for kicks:

Wake up.  Hair’s crazy.  One kid’s doing the homework he forgot to do the afternoon before, one kid’s asleep.  Kiss awake kid.  Answer math question. 

Go upstairs to wake up sleepyhead.  Sleepyhead is unimpressed by singing, gentle rubbing of back, kisses, or talking.  Crawl under covers with sleepyhead and consider whether being on time to school is a mandate or more of a suggested lifestyle.  Consider homeschooling.  Picture living in a cardboard box.  Drag child from bed and carry her downstairs for breakfast.

Realize that Carter is wearing shorts and it’s 40 degrees outside.  Ask him to go put on pants.  Make a waffle for Sarah Cate while answering her questions about why people wear pants.  Start making Carter’s lunch attached to Sarah Cate, who is practicing her lace-tying skills on my drawstring pajamas.  Wait while she double knots the strings.

Feel shards of glass rake down my butt and legs; realize that is just Max saying "hi."  Let the cat out.  Wake up the dog.  Let the cat in.  Feed them both, because the dog won’t go out till she’s had breakfast.   Let the dog out.  Let the cat out.  Let the cat in, who has changed his mind, but first wait while he rubs his face on the door.  Reassure him that yes, he owns the door.  It is his.  Now get the heck in the house.

Realize I have to pee RIGHT NOW (yet another gift-that-keeps-on-giving of having children -- when you gotta go you gotta go immediately or risk peeing on yourself, and let us not discuss the rather inconvenient results of sneezing during the mad rush to the bathroom).  Run to the bathroom with legs crossed (rare yet unmarketable talent), but first spend two minutes untying double knot in pajamas.  Realize that the last person used all but 1 square inch of toilet paper.  Curse this person.  

Get dressed.  Reassure myself that a ponytail is a very stylish fashion statement, even if that statement is “lazy and late yet again.”  Stumble over Sarah Cate, who is “hiding” behind me, completely naked.  Ask her to go get dressed.  Do not believe this will actually happen.  Walk past the bathroom and see the closet is still open, but now can’t close it because there’s a cat on the third shelf. 

Walk upstairs to motivate children.  Notice Carter has changed into pants, but is rocking some wildly different colors.  Suspect he may be color blind or just possibly blind. Ask him to try Attempt #3 at getting dressed, this time with pants that actually match the shirt.  Find Sarah Cate in her underwear singing “Let It Go” at the top of her lungs playing with My Little Ponies, very diligently not getting dressed.  Admonish her, step on a Lego, fix Carter’s collar since he is apparently channeling Danny Zuko today, and overlook the chocolate milk stain on the shirt because it does actually match the pants and we can't have everything.  Answer questions about Batman’s family while dressing Sarah Cate:  how does he know when people need him, does he have a “real job,” what does Robin do, can Robin fly, where is the location of their “underground lair,” does the lair have bats, are they vampire bats, how does Batman know if people need him in the daytime if he can’t see the bat-light, what does Alfred do?

Usher both kids downstairs and brush Sarah Cate’s hair while watching Carter’s replay of his last game of Mario Kart, which is vitally important to him and completely unlike every other Mario Kart game because in this particular game, Peach makes a “funny sound.”  Wait while Sarah Cate determines whether she is Elsa or Anna today, so I can braid her hair in the proper manner.  Try to close the bathroom closet while she finishes this internal debate, but cat is now on the second shelf.  She is Elsa, so one braid.  Listen not-quite-so-attentively while they recount almost word-for-word the entire scene before Anna punches the crappy prince.

Go back to Carter’s lunch.  Hear “Let It Go” for the eighth (or possibly eight thousandth) time.  Ask children to put on shoes, which necessitates their looking in every room in the house only to find them in the laundry room, which is where they always are.  Get jackets.  Get backpacks.  Realize I have not made myself a lunch; grab a banana.  Define the word “optimism” for Carter and then “pessimism.”  Lock the door and go to the car, start it, and realize I forgot my computer.  Curse silently with very satisfying words.

Pause Carter in mid-question about what is the smallest animal in the world, go get the computer, and come back to explain amoebas.  Drive out the gate while attempting to not run over Sadie, who insists upon walking down the middle of the driveway.  Both children now insist they are hungry again even though they ate breakfast.  Split my banana in half and give it to them.  Enjoy a heartfelt rendition of “My Banana Has An Infinitesimal Brown Spot And Therefore Is Now Inedible” by Sarah Cate.  Bite off brown spot and hand it back. 

Listen to them laugh in the back seat all the way to Carter’s school.  

I know you wanna be me.  And that was only half an hour.