There is so much in my head right now. It's like there is a hamster wheel in there and all my thoughts and hopes and concerns and worries have piled on and are running as fast as they can. I hear the squeaking. Maybe I should make a list...
1. I have no idea how to parent teenagers. Their decisions making abilities are sub par, to say the least, and yet the decisions they are faced with can have huge repercussions. Do I give them lots of freedom? What if they make a huge mistake? They're too young to have that kind of responsibility right now. They're not 17 or 18. But what if I limit them too much and they end up stunted and socially retarded? What if, by not letting them make mistakes, they never learn from them and make worse mistakes when they're grown? But making mistakes is an important learning tool. But drugs and stuff like that can ruin your entire life... See the hamster wheel?
2. Money. DO NOT get me started. If I have it, I want to relax and not be vigilant about how it is spent. I want to feel some freedom or "breathing room". But then I spend too much and feel really guilty about it. If I don't have any money, then I think of all the ways that I've wasted it in the past or spend too much time thinking of ways to save and/or make some. But then I remember that God always provides our needs and try to trust God. But then I think about natural consequences and how, if you are wasteful you can't just pray and ask God to hand you a vacation. You need to save for it, right? But I see God blessing other people with things that they have not scrimped and saved for and I get confused. Hamster wheel.
3. Missions trip. Our support is not coming in very well. We only have maybe half. But I know that God calls us to missions. But not all people are called to all missions. So am I not supposed to go or am I supposed to get more creative about fundraising? Or am I supposed to wait until the rates go down and our support will cover it? Hamster wheel. *sung in a sing-song voice*
4. Church planting.
5. Homeschooling.
6. Exercise.
7. Personal conflict with people who have not loved me well.
8. Travel in general.
9. Etc. etc. etc.
I feel like a baby Christian trying to figure things out. It all seems so confusing to me right now and I feel like the people who could help me figure things out aren't all that interested. Which leads me to another thing I've noticed...
I've forgotten how to be transparent. Somewhere along the way I've become solid and maybe a little stoic. I've sucked it up and kept working, trying to be obedient. But the harder it gets, the harder I try and the more I try to convince myself that everything's ok. The more I try to convince myself, the less open I am with the people around me. And I lose my ability to be open about my life.
I hate that. I hate that I started projecting competency. I hate that the more I projected it, the less I felt it until I ended up in a place of deep disconnection and aloneness.
Somehow, I lost my way. Somehow, the slippery soap of the gospel squirted right out of my hand and it took me a long time to notice that it was gone...
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Love
It is a beautiful thing to love someone well. To love them fiercely is even better. I don't think that scripture calls us to love everyone ferociously. It would be too exhausting and consuming. And really, I think it would be unnecessary. If you are loved by one person with a depth and openness that goes to the very marrow of your bones, you're blessed.
I don't think everyone has the ability to love this way. At least that's what I hear. But for those of us who do, we must guard our hearts. To love someone this way, to always be for them and never against them, to protect them and open your heart to pour yourself out for them, leaves you open to the deepest kind of heartbreak.
I think mothers love their children this way. I think husbands love their wives this way, and vice versa. I think it is not felt always or even consistently practiced, but when it is poured out? It's a fire that soothes as well as challenges. It brings one spirit in contact with another spirit in a way that allows for the Holy Spirit to pour back and forth between them.
This kind of love isn't sexual or shallow or friendly. It is deep. Bone deep. And it is more powerful than anything we have the privilege to experience on this earth. It can give someone the strength to continue on through unspeakable pain. It can give someone the courage to confess sins too deep to utter lightly. It can open someone's heart and lift them up above their temporal circumstances and look into a reality much higher.
It is breathtaking in its total lack of self-concern. It is the way the Father loves his children. We are not strong enough to understand, to truly grasp, the breadth and length and height and depth. It surpasses our understanding.
But there are moments, those short yet giant moments, when we are able to love someone else this way. We cannot sustain it. Not like God. But there are those times when we open ourselves wide and pour love into someone's heart and they feel it and they know it and they are lifted up.
I don't think everyone has the ability to love this way. At least that's what I hear. But for those of us who do, we must guard our hearts. To love someone this way, to always be for them and never against them, to protect them and open your heart to pour yourself out for them, leaves you open to the deepest kind of heartbreak.
I think mothers love their children this way. I think husbands love their wives this way, and vice versa. I think it is not felt always or even consistently practiced, but when it is poured out? It's a fire that soothes as well as challenges. It brings one spirit in contact with another spirit in a way that allows for the Holy Spirit to pour back and forth between them.
This kind of love isn't sexual or shallow or friendly. It is deep. Bone deep. And it is more powerful than anything we have the privilege to experience on this earth. It can give someone the strength to continue on through unspeakable pain. It can give someone the courage to confess sins too deep to utter lightly. It can open someone's heart and lift them up above their temporal circumstances and look into a reality much higher.
It is breathtaking in its total lack of self-concern. It is the way the Father loves his children. We are not strong enough to understand, to truly grasp, the breadth and length and height and depth. It surpasses our understanding.
But there are moments, those short yet giant moments, when we are able to love someone else this way. We cannot sustain it. Not like God. But there are those times when we open ourselves wide and pour love into someone's heart and they feel it and they know it and they are lifted up.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Catalog Living
Elaine finds it hard to get to sleep at a decent hour when Gary insists on “working the red carpet” every night before getting into bed.
This current post from catalogliving.com made me think of KimHill. Can you figure it why? heehee
Saturday, February 19, 2011
It Might Get Loud
I know that I've blogged about music before. And I am completely aware that I've blogged about documentaries. But I can't help it; I love them both. And today I found the perfect combination of both...
It Might Get Loud is a documentary that was advertised as being about the electric guitar. I was interested. Then I found out that it starred Jimmy Paige, The Edge and Jack White. I was thrilled. I settled into my favorite armchair with a glass of water and a handful of M&M's. Then I paused it to get my headphones since I have such loud children...and headphones in my ears are their sign to leave me alone.
It was outrageous! I loved it! Nothing draws happiness out of me as much as music. And I have always loved Led Zeppelin and U2. The White Stripes are a newer fave addition to my playlist. To see all of the guitarists together and to hear their back stories was really fun.
All I could think while I was watching it was how great it would be to watch it with Brendan. After all, he's still a musician, and the first time he ever heard Led Zeppelin and U2 was from Chris and I. I remember teaching him to sing some of the songs when he was barely two. Seems like yesterday. Maybe when he's home we can find a couple of hours to watch it together. In the mean time, I think I'll write him and tell him about it.
It Might Get Loud is a documentary that was advertised as being about the electric guitar. I was interested. Then I found out that it starred Jimmy Paige, The Edge and Jack White. I was thrilled. I settled into my favorite armchair with a glass of water and a handful of M&M's. Then I paused it to get my headphones since I have such loud children...and headphones in my ears are their sign to leave me alone.
It was outrageous! I loved it! Nothing draws happiness out of me as much as music. And I have always loved Led Zeppelin and U2. The White Stripes are a newer fave addition to my playlist. To see all of the guitarists together and to hear their back stories was really fun.
All I could think while I was watching it was how great it would be to watch it with Brendan. After all, he's still a musician, and the first time he ever heard Led Zeppelin and U2 was from Chris and I. I remember teaching him to sing some of the songs when he was barely two. Seems like yesterday. Maybe when he's home we can find a couple of hours to watch it together. In the mean time, I think I'll write him and tell him about it.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Is Resistance Futile?
Only those familiar with the repercussions of mental illness will understand this, I am sure. It almost doesn't make sense to me. Will my mother always affect me this way?
-------------------
Like a ghost.
A dream almost remembered,
niggling at the edges of consciousness.
Like a word on the tip of the tongue.
A splinter festering in the finger.
Shadow, fear, always there.
Like an ancient worry stone,
turned over and over.
Rubbed gently over time.
Familiar, yet repugnant.
Run from it. Yesterday.
Ignore it. Today.
Pretend it doesn't exist. Now.
Bone deep surety, inevitability.
Resist, resist, resist.
Nothing is written in stone.
Will the reality of my mother ever leave me be?
Or will I wrestle with her every day for the rest of my life?
Weary.
Tired.
Done.
...
Faith.
Is God really good?
Ruthless trust.
Cling. Hope. Tenacious faith.
Please be real.
-------------------------------------------
I do not call this poetry. I don't know what I call this. Stream of consciousness, maybe? Incoherent babbling of a raving lunatic? Grieving of an abandoned child? All I know is that it helps to get it out of my head.
-------------------
Like a ghost.
A dream almost remembered,
niggling at the edges of consciousness.
Like a word on the tip of the tongue.
A splinter festering in the finger.
Shadow, fear, always there.
Like an ancient worry stone,
turned over and over.
Rubbed gently over time.
Familiar, yet repugnant.
Run from it. Yesterday.
Ignore it. Today.
Pretend it doesn't exist. Now.
Bone deep surety, inevitability.
Resist, resist, resist.
Nothing is written in stone.
Will the reality of my mother ever leave me be?
Or will I wrestle with her every day for the rest of my life?
Weary.
Tired.
Done.
...
Faith.
Is God really good?
Ruthless trust.
Cling. Hope. Tenacious faith.
Please be real.
-------------------------------------------
I do not call this poetry. I don't know what I call this. Stream of consciousness, maybe? Incoherent babbling of a raving lunatic? Grieving of an abandoned child? All I know is that it helps to get it out of my head.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
White Oleander
I watched the movie White Oleander yesterday. I thought it was a really good movie. I watched it based on the cast. Renee Zellweger, Michelle Pfeiffer, Robin Wright. I hoped it would be good, and it was.
Of course there were certain aspects of the film that I did not like. Robin Wright's character used Born Again Christianity as a crutch which is what many in the world boil Christianity down to. That part was sad to me. I'm absolutely positive that many "christians" do use it as a crutch; but I know I don't. I know I have surity that God is real. Christ is real and his sacrifice was real.
But there were moments in the movie that were very poignant. The main character's relationship with her mother was thought provoking, the way it shows how closely a mother and daughter are intertwined. Even when one or both of them are "profoundly broken." (a phrase directly from the movie)
The last lines of the movie made me think of my own mother.
“Even so, I find myself thinking of her, wanting to feel that wind. It’s a secret wanting… like a song I can’t stop humming. Or loving someone you can never have.
No matter how much she has damaged me… No matter how flawed she is…
I know my mother loves me.”
Of course there were certain aspects of the film that I did not like. Robin Wright's character used Born Again Christianity as a crutch which is what many in the world boil Christianity down to. That part was sad to me. I'm absolutely positive that many "christians" do use it as a crutch; but I know I don't. I know I have surity that God is real. Christ is real and his sacrifice was real.
But there were moments in the movie that were very poignant. The main character's relationship with her mother was thought provoking, the way it shows how closely a mother and daughter are intertwined. Even when one or both of them are "profoundly broken." (a phrase directly from the movie)
The last lines of the movie made me think of my own mother.
“Even so, I find myself thinking of her, wanting to feel that wind. It’s a secret wanting… like a song I can’t stop humming. Or loving someone you can never have.
No matter how much she has damaged me… No matter how flawed she is…
I know my mother loves me.”
Wow. I think that says what I think most of the time when it comes to my mother.
Good movie. Very little bad language. Very few sexual situations. But it had the feeling of being very real, which made it more than a little sad at times. The ending was good though. I hate sad endings.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Unsure. Unsteady. Confident.
Things on my mind:
I love Pride and Prejudice. The BBC production. It's time to watch it again. All five hours of it. Solid film-making. Romantic. Beautifully shot. Witty. Well written. Colin Firth. 'Nuff said.
I'm really looking forward to Bible study tomorrow. I've really, really missed it. I love those Springville ladies.
There is a white dog at my house. It's been here for three days and it will not leave. We've chased it off with sticks, thrown gravel at it, not fed it. Today I shot the shotgun to scare it... 4 times! And it still comes back! It's not mean, just annoying. It's sweet, but it's big and a female. Too much maintenance for someone who is not an animal person and who already has a cat and a puppy. I think I'm going to have to take it to the pound tomorrow. Grrrr.... so inconvenient.
I miss Chris. He's been busy this week and we haven't had a chance to just be around each other. I like him. So much. I like to sit in bed and watch movies with him. I like just being in the same room with him: him reading or watching tv and me reading or on the computer. His breathing is a comfort to me. Like that Nickel Creek song, Tomorrow Is a Long Time. It says, "Yes and only if my own true love was waiting. If I could hear his heart softly pounding, yes and only if he was lyin' by me, would I lie in my bed once again." I love the sound of Chris' heart beating. It's slow and steady and assures me that he is real and he's still alive. I love to lay my head on his chest while we watch television and just be comforted by his existence. I adore that man.
I love my friends who come see me and make my home their own for a few hours a week. I love to see them dig in my cupboards and cook. I love making things, like tonight's margaritas, as a team; all of us giving it a taste until it's just right. I love laughing together and telling terrible things that break our hearts. I love that they can answer almost any question that my kids may have for me and vice versa.
I miss Ginger terribly. I didn't think it would be this bad. I honestly didn't. I want so much to have the money to buy a plane ticket. Why must it be so impossible? I feel like that illustration from Jane Eyre, that our hearts are bound together by an invisible cord. And the cord is stretched to a painful degree. I wonder if God will make a way for me to go see her? I wish, I wish, I wish...
I miss Brendan. I wonder how he feels right this very minute. Is he happy? Scared? Alone? Sick? Happy? Smiling? I wonder.
I've thought of Michelle all day. Talked to her once. Is St. Louis what she expected? Is there room for all her boxes? What will she and Michael face in the coming months? I want badly to help them, encourage them. I miss my little SK. Her happy smile when she wakes from her nap on Thursday is in my head. Will she remember me? I want there to be someone else there, in St Louis, who will love her the way my family and I do; who will do her nails and play marbles with her. I want them to be happy.
I am rambling. Anxious. Tired. Unsure of my choices. Unsteady on my feet, metaphorically speaking. Aware of my sin and weakness. Inadequate to the task. Confident that God is enough. Sure that He has a plan.
That's all. The End.
I love Pride and Prejudice. The BBC production. It's time to watch it again. All five hours of it. Solid film-making. Romantic. Beautifully shot. Witty. Well written. Colin Firth. 'Nuff said.
I'm really looking forward to Bible study tomorrow. I've really, really missed it. I love those Springville ladies.
There is a white dog at my house. It's been here for three days and it will not leave. We've chased it off with sticks, thrown gravel at it, not fed it. Today I shot the shotgun to scare it... 4 times! And it still comes back! It's not mean, just annoying. It's sweet, but it's big and a female. Too much maintenance for someone who is not an animal person and who already has a cat and a puppy. I think I'm going to have to take it to the pound tomorrow. Grrrr.... so inconvenient.
I miss Chris. He's been busy this week and we haven't had a chance to just be around each other. I like him. So much. I like to sit in bed and watch movies with him. I like just being in the same room with him: him reading or watching tv and me reading or on the computer. His breathing is a comfort to me. Like that Nickel Creek song, Tomorrow Is a Long Time. It says, "Yes and only if my own true love was waiting. If I could hear his heart softly pounding, yes and only if he was lyin' by me, would I lie in my bed once again." I love the sound of Chris' heart beating. It's slow and steady and assures me that he is real and he's still alive. I love to lay my head on his chest while we watch television and just be comforted by his existence. I adore that man.
I love my friends who come see me and make my home their own for a few hours a week. I love to see them dig in my cupboards and cook. I love making things, like tonight's margaritas, as a team; all of us giving it a taste until it's just right. I love laughing together and telling terrible things that break our hearts. I love that they can answer almost any question that my kids may have for me and vice versa.
I miss Ginger terribly. I didn't think it would be this bad. I honestly didn't. I want so much to have the money to buy a plane ticket. Why must it be so impossible? I feel like that illustration from Jane Eyre, that our hearts are bound together by an invisible cord. And the cord is stretched to a painful degree. I wonder if God will make a way for me to go see her? I wish, I wish, I wish...
I miss Brendan. I wonder how he feels right this very minute. Is he happy? Scared? Alone? Sick? Happy? Smiling? I wonder.
I've thought of Michelle all day. Talked to her once. Is St. Louis what she expected? Is there room for all her boxes? What will she and Michael face in the coming months? I want badly to help them, encourage them. I miss my little SK. Her happy smile when she wakes from her nap on Thursday is in my head. Will she remember me? I want there to be someone else there, in St Louis, who will love her the way my family and I do; who will do her nails and play marbles with her. I want them to be happy.
I am rambling. Anxious. Tired. Unsure of my choices. Unsteady on my feet, metaphorically speaking. Aware of my sin and weakness. Inadequate to the task. Confident that God is enough. Sure that He has a plan.
That's all. The End.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Funniness
Missy and I have a lot of fun. We have PhD's in witty bantering. It's true. I admire us tremendously. It's very hard to remember a time when we were not friends, even though it wasn't that long ago.
One of my favorite things we have done is go back and forth on Facebook. My favorite thread goes like this:
My status update:
sometimes the line between beauty and pretentiousness is in the eye of the beholder.
Missy: Of what do you speak?
Me: I speak in riddles and code...
Missy: Stop it.
Me: The eagle took the spoon and threw it down the hill with the goat... decipher.
Missy: My husband beat your husband up again? Dangit. I'll talk to him about that.
Me: No. That's "The BALD eagle threw the smokin' hot spork down the hill and killed the goat"!
Missy: Busy Beavers.
Me: aannnndddd.... scene! That's a wrap, people.
I'm still laughing. It's so nice to be able to crack yourself up. It's positively outrageous good fortune to have a friend who can do it for you. Thank you, Missy dear.
One of my favorite things we have done is go back and forth on Facebook. My favorite thread goes like this:
My status update:
sometimes the line between beauty and pretentiousness is in the eye of the beholder.
Missy: Of what do you speak?
Me: I speak in riddles and code...
Missy: Stop it.
Me: The eagle took the spoon and threw it down the hill with the goat... decipher.
Missy: My husband beat your husband up again? Dangit. I'll talk to him about that.
Me: No. That's "The BALD eagle threw the smokin' hot spork down the hill and killed the goat"!
Missy: Busy Beavers.
Me: aannnndddd.... scene! That's a wrap, people.
I'm still laughing. It's so nice to be able to crack yourself up. It's positively outrageous good fortune to have a friend who can do it for you. Thank you, Missy dear.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
"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.
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.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, October 11, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
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.
The gospel is a beautiful thing.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
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)
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)
Monday, May 03, 2010
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."
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."
Monday, April 26, 2010
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