Brendan

3 am phone call.
pointed head in a striped cap, giant baby hands.
snuggle. cuddle. love.

2nd year.
bubble baths, funny faces, repeating led zeppelin.
come stay with me. let's race, color, sing.

4th year.
hold the baby. teach her guns and blocks.
come stay with me. let's cook, build, be silly.

7th year.
sad, confused, quiet.
what is divorce? can i stay with you?

10th year.
funny. mouthy. getting in trouble.
sure you can stay with me.

14th year.
music. girls. guns.
soul has returned. you're still mine.

18th year.
grown. confused. sure.
man. still my baby.

now.
must you leave? stay with me.
play. sing. silly. safe.
i still love you.

"The Ordeal"

I have bad teeth. That is no secret. And I'm not really one of those people who never talks about it. No one will ever say about me, "Oh wow! I had no idea that Crissy had bad teeth." I whine about them too much. What can I say? I'm a whiner. From waayyyyy back.

Monday I went to get the impressions for three crowns made. One of those is an implant. My first and hopefully last one. Me no likee. And they're too expensive. So, long story short, there was a new-ish hygienist who apparently is not 'for' suctioning. I lay there drowning until I couldn't take it any more. I swallowed. Which, it turns out, was a bad thing to do.

The drill cut into the soft floor of my mouth, right under and connected to my tongue. It bled. He cauterized it with silver nitrate and then put some stitches in it. After that, hygienist-lady (who incidentally will never work on me again) broke my temporary bridge, couldn't make another one and sprayed me in the face twice with water. By the time I left, my dentist had apologized countless times and my face was already swelling.

I was seriously trying not to cry. I was in pain, and it had scared me. When I walked into the waiting room, my father-in-law was there for his appointment. When he saw me, he reached out to me and I started to cry. He patted me on the back and asked silently if I was okay. I nodded, got my self together and drove home.

By Monday night, I couldn't swallow and my mouth was in hell. Tuesday, same thing. I couldn't move my tongue, couldn't talk, couldn't eat and spent a lot of time pacing and counting to control the pain.

My sister came up two days straight and schooled the kids, tidied the house and cooked supper. My kids got really good at charades. My friends brought me food and sent me sweet notes on facebook.

Today almost 4 days later, the swelling is finally going down and I can whisper. I have learned to drink my pureed food and be thankful for it. I can swallow a lot more easily.

But now I've realized that my tongue is numb in places. And there is a huge goiter-looking thing under my chin. I'm afraid that the drill got to my sublingual gland and maybe some nerves. I'm having trouble talking. It sounds like I've had a stroke. So I'm sitting here, in bed, blogging my fears and worries.

I know that God is good and his meticulous providence is perfect. I know that I am thankful for his provision in all things. I also think that it helps to just speak it. To remember it. To share it. No matter the end result.

October 23rd - A Great Day

What a beautiful day. I mean it. After months and months of rushing from one task/event/commitment to another, we just slowed it down today. It's funny: when you're over-committed, it feels impossible to let go of things and slow down. Until you've finally had enough, then it's easy as pie. You just cancel things and say no.

Anyway... so today... Brody and Ty both had games. Chris and I hung out and enjoyed being together while watching our "Squirt" and "Pork Chop" play ball. No stress whatsoever. Both boys won. We came home to a relatively clean house, laundry done (Thank you Brendan!), hot dogs thawed and ready to grill. Chris and the kids, plus our friend John, played two-hand touch in the front yard. I stretched out on the porch swing and propped my feet up on the chain. The wind was blowing just enough to keep us cool and push the swing. I talked to my cousin Brad for a little bit.

After a late lunch, I took a nap while the boys watched LSU and Auburn play and the girls hung out. After a lovely nap, (my first in months) I made homemade strawberry milkshakes for supper, cause I'm cool like that.

We looked at old scrapbooks and sat in the floor laughing. We teased and hugged and talked. At one point I watched Brody go get Gracie a housecoat because he noticed she was cold.

It was so nice... no, nice is not the right word, ... it was healing. Too much responsibility can suck the life right out of a family. Every once in a while, you need to not answer the phone, turn off Facebook and just hang out. I am so glad we did.

Thinking, Blinking and Humanity

I just watched an episode of This American Life on Netflix. TAL has been a radio show on NPR for a really long time and a few years ago Showtime made it a series. Alas, it only lasted 2 seasons. But I digress...

The episode I watched is called Escape. It was about a guy named Mike who has a muscular disorder to the point that he is completely deformed. He cannot speak, swallow, move. He can click a button with his thumb to type and he can blink and move his eyebrows. He is 27 years old and living at home with his mother.

Mike has perfect mental capabilities. He writes, jokes, curses, and is sarcastic. He just wants to be happy. When asked who he would choose to be his voice, instead of the stilted computer generated one, he answered "Either Johnny Depp or Edward Norton because they are both complete badasses."

When he said it, I felt kinda sorry for him actually. He was just so pitifully not either of those guys. But then to my complete surprise, Ira Glass says that from that point on in the show, all of Mike's emails and answers would be read by... Johnny Depp. And they were. From there on out, whenever Mike spoke it was with the voice of Johnny Depp.

I was really surprised at the effect this had on me. I immediately gave Mike's intelligence more credit. He seemed more human and tangible to me. His words seemed deeper and more eloquent. I don't think it had as much to do with it being Johnny Depp's voice (although it didn't hurt... I'm just sayin') as much as it was just a "normal" voice.

I wonder if Chris' dad feels that way having to use a servox. I wonder how many people in the world feel that way.

Mike has a girlfriend. An intelligent, non-handicapped girlfriend. People think she's crazy or perverse. I cringed when they introduced her. But after a while, I realized that she sees into him. She looks beyond his appearance and into his eyes and sees something that others don't see. I wonder if I could do that.

I have no conclusion to these thoughts. I just wanted to get them out of my head and maybe send them out into the great unknown. Maybe someone else will pick up my thoughts where I left off.

Define Iconoclast

I've been reading C.S. Lewis today. Thus my superior language skills in this post.

I like the movie Then She Found Me. There is a scene when Helen Hunt's character is having a crisis of faith and her mother tells her, "Maybe God is not who you thought he was. Maybe he's difficult. Awful. Complicated."

To some that may sound sacrilegious. But to me it sounds convicting. Lewis says that God is the Great Iconoclast. He says, "My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself." I have varying ideas of who God is or who I want him to be. (I'm working as a church planter: thus, God wants to make this whole church planting thing fun. I love my husband: God will give my husband great tenderness and affection for me at all times.)

And when God does not meet my expectations. When my husband is busy or my mother dies or there is pain in church community, my perception of who God is will be shattered.

I had a friend tell me once after a semi-traumatic event, "Maybe you just thought you were trusting God."

There are so many times that I just think that I am trusting God. Like Helen Hunt's character said, "I had faith. I thought God was good." What she really meant was that she thought God was going to do things her way. Or that the only "good" she could see in that moment was what she had the power to envision.

I don't really know if I am saying that I don't have faith or if it's that I don't put my faith in who God really is. I invent who I want Him to be. I exercise faith by clenching my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, hoping and wishing on a star. My faith is stilted. My hope is in a religious idea. I build a temple out of my circumstances.

And when things do not go the way I think they should, or there is pain that seems too much to bear, I feel the foundations of my life begin to tear and I panic. I panic thinking that God has somehow abandoned me or let me down. But the reality is that the tearing and shattering is God revealing Himself to me. I forget that God's presence is associated with fire and thunder and earthquakes.

Lewis says, "God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. ... He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down."

Most of the time, I want an easy God. A religious figure. A relic to help me through my day. But God is a furious lover. An independent reality. A complicated Trinity. He shatters in order to shape. He is the Great Iconoclast.

Both of Me

I've noticed something about myself. When my life gets scheduled to the nth degree, I get the urge to take on a project, usually a remodelling project. I've wondered about it. Why in the world would I try do one more thing when I'm already busy?

I think it's because my life is regimented, task-oriented and repetitive, to a certain degree. (Don't get me wrong, I'm doing things I love: homeschool, football, ballet, etc but it's the same schedule almost every day with no delineation) And really, that kind of life will kill me eventually. While my husband positively thrives on schedule, it sucks the life out of me. I tried once when my kids were younger to do the same thing, at the same time, every day. It worked for two weeks. And then I began to question the meaning of life and the purpose of my existence. It really felt to me that life stretched out in one long, endless, tiresome repetition with no goodness or joy to be seen. I learned something about myself.

I need to be creative. I need time to plan things, do things that are for the pure sake of beauty. I need to read, sing, dance, build, plan, see change. I need to stretch my soul.

So in the midst of being a responsible mom and wife, while I am teaching and cheering and waiting, I need to also be the other me, the introspective lover of art and beauty and change. Because I am both those people.

Mom Shirley

I wonder if it's a good thing or a bad thing that my children have experienced so much death in their short lives. I can see the benefit: heaven is very real to them. They do not fear death. They hate it, but they do not fear it. They have so many people they love there waiting for them.

But I hate that they have had to experience it. I hate the sadness that envelopes them at times. I hate the impotence I feel at their grief. I cannot make it better. It sucks. It is broken. I cannot change that.

I want my children to love God. I want them to trust in His love for them. I want for this too to be made right.

Mom Shirley is dying. She is the grandmother that we have helped care for since her stroke when Ty was a baby. Her house is where we spent every Wednesday night for over a decade. Her wheelchair is the first "car" that both my boys worked on with their little plastic tools. Her words of wisdom taught me how to potty train and laugh and relax and cook cream of chicken soup. She has ruthlessly trusted God in all things. Her husband and two of her children are in heaven waiting for her.

Her leaving will leave a gaping void in our lives that only the Spirit can comfort. And she will be one more person that my kids will look forward to seeing in heaven.

Shhh. Therapy In Session...

The Gospel Is A Beautiful Thing

An isolationist life philosophy, by its very definition, cannot include evangelism. It seeks to insulate the person (or family) from the 'evils of the world', thus excluding the unbeliever. But as the gospel is worked out in the life of the believing individual, it becomes easier to identify with the unbeliever. Being able to identify with the 'sinner' eliminates the fear of the 'sinner', thus opening the life and heart of the believer to the very people he was once isolating himself from.

The gospel is a beautiful thing.

Thoughts I've Had Today That Made Me Smile

Thoughts I've Had Today That Made Me Smile

1. KimHill is moving home soon!

2. When the toilet at Old Navy violently flushed, I thought of Moaning Myrtle. (a Harry Potter reference)

3. Boys like Dirty Jobs; girls, not so much.

4. I want to pull a Mystery Science Theatre with Heather and Missy... while watching Twilight.

5. I didn't have to fight either of my daughters on modesty issues while picking out bathing suits today.

6. I am friends with the lead singer of my favorite band. That is very cool.

7. My son is trying to make his own ammonia. In a bucket. Behind my house. Thanks Mythbusters.

8. My kids have discovered The Police and they like it.

9. I made my teenager and her friend laugh several times and then call me retarded.

10. I'm glad I recycle.

11. I realized that I know several grown-ups who were homeschooled. And they're very well adjusted.

12. A year ago today I was with my friends in England.


These are just the few smiley thoughts I had today. I hope one of them made you smile too. :o)

Vague

I sit here, paying bills and staring out the window. It's so pretty outside today, but I know that it's really humid and so I just pretend that I want to go outside. We have enough money in the bank to pay our bills. For that I am thankful. But what about unexpected things, or extra things? Nope.

Maggie needs braces and I've been trying to save enough to pay for them. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I had a job. But then the implications of that begin to multiply in my mind and I shrink away from it. God will provide. He always does.

My life is like my computer monitor. I have five tabs and four programs open. Clicking back and forth, back and forth. I think my computer is tired.

I can't decide if I'm overwhelmed or not. I don't think I am. Just disjointed a bit. Out of step. Trying to rest. Resting is hard to do when you have a vague feeling that you're forgetting something.

I miss my husband. I wish I could spend more relaxed time with him. We used to be together all the time. ALL the time. We stayed at home mostly and walked around the property and cooked dinner together. We were introverts. But now we have more kids and more responsibilty, friends. And ministry is a beautiful beast that cannot be tamed. We cling to each other more now than ever. We just have to do it in fits and starts.

I am rambling. Whirling along with the path of my thoughts... Say "Good night Gracie." "Good night Gracie."

Brendan's Birthday Gift to Me

Combos

Combinations. It's all about combinations. I can keep a clean house and homeschool the children. OR I can keep the yard up and exercise. OR I can exercise and homeschool. etc, ad naseum...

If you ask me to keep house, school, AND do yard work, something will be shot straight to hell. It's true. And there are even those times when the closets are tidy but the laundry is out of control.

Sometimes it makes me tired. It used to make me angry. But I am resigned. I cannot do it all. And if by some miracle I do, well, it's not done well. And that's okay. I just keep plugging away. Slow and steady. And somehow it all eventually gets done.

An Honest But Blunt Purging of Thought and Emotion

I am perplexed, tired, overwhelmed, coming apart at the seams. I feel like I was punched about 5 times today. It wasn't as simple as, "Oh, I'm having a bad day." It was more like, "Maybe I shouldn't say this a 'bad day'. Maybe I should just call it 'normal' now."

What if I break? What if I cannot do this? What if I just lose it? The thought runs over and over in my mind: It's too much. It's too much. It's too much.

I have no desire to compare myself to others who have it better than me or worse than me. Or to people who have done all this before me. That is not the point. The point is: This is hard. And painful. And all my nice little natural-gifting packages do not apply. I am out on a limb. Clinging to the gospel.

I am perplexed. And I am struck down. And, in a way, afflicted.

I am afflicted, but not crushed.
I am perplexed, but not driven to despair.
I am struck down, but not destroyed.
(And I am quoting 2 Cor. 4:8-10)

Verse 11 then goes on to say, "For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh."

Can I just be blunt? That s*&$ hurts sometimes.


P.S. I hope no one reads this. But I feel better for putting it out there.







**I wrote the majority of this post in about 5 minutes. Just letting it all out. But as I sit here and read it over, I wonder who will read it. And of those who do, who will have any idea to what I'm referring? So I feel that a small explanation is in order. And I'm sure I'll feel stupid and inadequate as I write it out. Maybe I'll just make a list.

1. Chris has started seminary. He is pursuing a Master's in Divinity.
2. Chris studies all the time.
3. Chris is still working 2 jobs.
4. We are heavily involved in planting a church.
5. I am homeschooling my kids. One of whom is being tested for learning disabilities.
6. All my kids, save one, are involved in extracurricular activites.
7. I am trying to run the home (ie; bills, cooking, cleaning, yard work, taxes, car maintenance, vet visits, etc.) on my own so that Chris can devote himself to studying.
8. I am cleaning Chris's grandmother's and mother's houses once a week to help them. My mother-in-law is wearing herself out and has no one to help her.
9. I have no van. I am packing my kids into a Protege, which I am very thankful to have, but being without a van is really hard.
10. Money is tight. A lot.

This is not a list to get attention or to have people feel sorry for me. This is just so people don't read the post and freak out, thinking I have cancer or something.

Dubai Fountain - The World's Most Expensive Fountain

Captivating!

I Like Music... duh!

My kids pointed out to me the other day that I really love music. My first response was that I love music, of course, but no more than your average mother. After a few discreet inquiries, I'm not so sure that is completely true.

The first thing I do in the morning is turn on music. I have 4 playlists on Project Playlist, 5 channels on Pandora, plus all of my music on Windows Media. I have music for every occasion. In the van, I have my Zune and if it goes dead, Maggie has her phone, and if it goes dead, we have cds, and worst case scenario- there's always the radio.

For school, something soothing like Sufjan Stevens or Over the Rhine or maybe Deathcab for Cutie.
For cleaning and cooking, I have my playlist with Beyonce, Lady Gaga, JT, Outkast, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Gwen Stephani.
For reading, I have my Chopin station on Pandora.
For general usage, I have my playlist on this blog.

In the van, the only time music is not playing is when I'm listening to NPR or a book on CD.

Gracie went so far as to say that I love music more than reading. Huh. I had no idea. I think I love reading more, but when do I have time to spend all day reading?