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.”

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.

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.

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.

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?

Learning How to Think

"I was just thinking". Now that's a good phrase to hear. Especially from my kids. I used to think that people are born knowing how to think, but the older I get the more I realize how untrue that is. Well, maybe I should clarify: people are not born knowing how to think correctly.

I guess it goes back to the Fall. Everything fell, even our intellect. And even if we think really hard, our starting point is usually flawed. It's sort of like evolutionists: they presuppose the Earth's age at billions of years old and go from there. Everything that comes after is flawed because their presupposition is wrong.

Hmmm. Where was I going with this.... Oh yeah. Thinking. As I grow in grace I realize how lazy I am in my thinking and when I do think, I usually start with what I feel or like instead of truth.

Example:

I decide I need to spend more time with Gracie because I think she is struggling with fear. I remember struggling with fear as a child. I felt unsafe as a child. I felt like I needed to protect my parents as a child. Therefore, Gracie needs me to show her that I will protect her.

Presupposition 1: Gracie has the same kind of childhood that I did.

Presupposition 2: My love is enough to calm her fears.

Both are wrong. Her childhood is very different from mine. And according to 1John 4:18 - Perfect love casts out fear. Hmmm. I guess that excludes me.

So what does she need then? A correct, Biblical worldview presupposes that we are created for God and our deepest need is for him. So... she needs Christ. She needs the gospel.

My actions toward her may be the same as before: pray with her, snuggle with her, let her leave her nightlight on, etc. But my reason for doing those things is different. And one thing I have learned is that people, children especially, learn what you believe more than they learn what you say.

Glimpses

Sometimes your children do small, seemingly insignificant things that give you a tiny little glimpse of the person they will become. And it's simply amazing when that little glimpse makes you giddy with excitement for that day to come.

(Sidenote - I think a person's taste in music tells me more about our potential friendship their words ever could. Truly.)

That being said... go listen to Maggie's playlist on her blog. It's a little glimpse that she and I are going to be great friends one day... *smile*

Dear Santa

I would like to make a note of the few things that I want for Christmas. I know it seems childish, but if I don't write it down I'll forget them.

1. I want some good slippers. I have none and my feet get cold. But my husband gets annoyed when I walk around in socks because it will wear holes in them. Need slippers.

2. Chopin's Nocturnes. Because they are just so beautiful.

3. An under-the-counter can opener. Mine is old and broken and I miss it.

4. New candles. I haven't bought any in probably three years and you can tell. Pitiful.

That's all I've thought of so far. Maybe I'll add to the list later...

Ridiculous Rambling

I hate that I don't blog much anymore. There are so many times that I'm out and about and think of a post topic but by the time I get to a place where I can do something with it, I forget! It's pretty annoying.

The age of the blog is somewhat past I think. Facebook has taken over. FB is more about instant gratification and quantity over quality. Which has its appeal, even for me. But the good old blog that makes you slow down, settle in and absorb has its appeal too.

My schedule is sooo close to slowing down. For those of you who read this and don't know my schedule of late, let's suffice it to say, I've had obligations every day of the week since August. Football for both boys has now headed into the playoffs, meaning we're almost done for the year. Ballet and music still continues. But football has taken up three nights a week and all of Saturday.

Football has been so fulfilling. Brody and Ty have learned a lot about the game and themselves. Plus they've made lots of friends. I've gotten the opportunity to meet some new people too. All of this figures into learning how to plant a church, meeting people and longing for ways to share the gospel with them.

I wish church planting was a clear and concise thing, but alas, it is not. I'm learning to find the sensation of being completely out of control reassuring. It's when I feel like I'm doing it right that I start to take ownership of it. And that always ends badly.

I need a haircut. Anyone know how to do that? For free? ... Hmmm. Anyone? Beuller?

Being Missional

Missy and I are having a great time making up life stories for everyone we meet. So far, 'Patricia' has quite the sordid past. She's slightly damaged. 'Jorge', her husband tries to help her but she needs more than he can give.

'Hank' sat in the hot tub for several hours talking to 'Richard' about the rogue crabs that try to take over the condo pool during the night. No conclusions were reached.

Across the way, in the other building we watched as 'Ethel' lost her hair money to 'Estelle'. Bless her heart. It was probably because 'Estelle' made her sit in a really uncomfortable chair, knowing that she has a bad back. Their husbands, Bill and Henry, sat in the other room composing new southern gospel music for their band, The Blue Hair Group. They're really popular.

'Joe' the maintanence guy had to close up the pool early so he could get home to his 400 pound wife, cause she needs her doughnuts.

Today, we met the other Joe, who's real name turned out to be Colin which made me very happy. Anyways, Joe (aka Colin) let us use the chairs and umbrella for free, but we had to pay $20 to look at him. It was a steal really. We're gonna sell some stuff out of the condo to get some more money for tomorrow.

Maggie's Words

Maggie has a new blog and I like it very much. I need to help her change the settings for comments though; it wouldn't let me leave one...

I like her writings. I like the way her mind works. I always have. I remember once, when she was in second grade, she decided to get creative with her sentences for spelling. I remember one in particular, I'll put the spelling words in italics. "Sarah Wilkes is jelly and I will have happiness." Funny.

She should write more, I think. Check it and see if you agree.

www.margaretsharp.blogspot.com

Fundamental Differences

There are fundamental differences between boys and girls. If someone tries to tell you this is untrue, what they're really telling you is that they have no children of their own, and in fact, have never met anyone under the age of 18.

A girl is handed a Barbie doll and immediately begins to plan a wedding. A boy, given the same doll, immediately begins to plan a death. I have heard one of my sons give his sister the following advice: "You need to take it to the pool house next time and try to drown it. I bet it'll make bubbles." His sister looked at him in horror and clutched her doll to her chest.

Girls tend not to laugh at each other as play. They may laugh at someone who's not there but not each other. It's just not funny. They will get their feelings hurt and cry and uninvite people to their party, even if that party is nine months in the future.

Boys see a stick and fall in love. I've never seen one of my daughters do this. A stick is... well, a stick. But a boy sees the same random piece of wood and catches his breath. He must have this stick. (Not unlike my father who, seeing a bolt in the middle of a busy intersection, will risk his life to obtain it.) A stick is full of magic. It can be a gun, a sword, a lightsaber, a battle axe, (are you seeing a pattern here?) even a machete. A stick can save an empire. Unless your sister, completely unaware of its power, throws it into the bonfire. Then of course, the empire is on hold until a suitable replacement can be found.

In the same vein, when boys play, you hear the word "die" a lot. Sometimes in quick succession. (ie. "Die! Die! Die!) Not so with girls. Girls say things like "pretty" and "silly" and "ohhhh!". Boys and girls playing together? Well then you hear things like "That's stupid" or "Stop it!" or "Whatever."

I've never seen my daughters do tricks with their, um, privates. Boys however, well that's a different story. Many a conversation has been halted because the introductory sentence was, "Momma, did you know that a penis can..." Aahhhhh! Stop talking. Stop. Talking. Now. My children learned the word "inappropriate" at a very young age.

There can be similarities between boys and girls though. Let me see... they both eat. And sleep. And, um, nope... that's all I've got in the similarities department. I'm sure with some thought I could come up with more, but right now... nope. I got nothin'.

My Saturday

So we spent the day in Chelsea at the football field. And by all day, I mean 8am to 4:30pm... all day. I took all my kids plus Bren and Ellas. It was a long day but not really a bad day. We watched the games and cheered until our heads hurt. We went to Hargis between games and ate a picnic lunch, chased the ducks and hiked to the cross on the hill. It was pretty fun. Except Maggie hurt her toe and Bren was attacked by a mutant hornet. He escaped without being stung, but it was ironic since we were playing the Chelsea HORNETS. Funny.

We drove to Ginger's after Ty's game. The kids swam and we talked. And watched the newest New Moon trailer like three times. It looks so good! I can't wait til November. Ginger and I always have fun together. We laugh like preteens and make stupid, silly jokes. But it's not always silliness. It's so cool to have a friend that really gets you. I'm gonna miss her when she moves.

Gotta got to Springville church now. See ya soon.

Music Flashback, Clean House

I updated my playlist tonight. There's some good 90s music on there now. Verve Pipe, Third Eye Blind, The Wallflowers, Three Doors Down. Good stuff. Not sure why I'm remembering all these bands.

My house was ridiculously dirty tonight. I stayed home while Chris took the boys to football and cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. I ran the dishwasher twice and the washing machine once. I vacuumed the floors and the rugs. It felt just lovely to sit in my living room surrounded by... nothing. Ahhh.

Ty is combing my hair. I love it when my kids get the urge to play with my hair. It puts me right to sleep. My eyes are all droopy right now.

I miss blogging. I should do it more. It's very therapeutic.

A Snapshot

A quick snapshot of my life:

I'm sitting in my comfy green chair, cruising the web. Listening to music. Sippin' my coffee.

Ty and Griff are playing tennis on the Wii while Michael and Brody cheer them on. There is much laughing and jumping and screaming and high fiving. I am smiling.

Maggie and Gracie are playing a game on the internet. Laughing at each other. Getting along. I am relieved.

My packing for the beach is almost done. My laundry is done. My supper is laid out. Addison is coming for pot roast. Dane is house/cat/dog-sitting while we are gone. I am happy.

It's funny how different I feel today as opposed to Friday. I want to say that I wish every day was like today... but without the crappy days, I wouldn't really appreciate it. I guess I should just enjoy it. I am grateful.

Struggle

This is a post I wrote quite a while back but never published. Obviously the moment I was having has passed but it's still an honest expression of what was going on in me at the time. Thought I'd share...





Why the disconnect? Do I really give off the vibe of being unhappy and overwhelmed? Is it not okay to express pain in those moments when I do feel that way? Just because I have moments of feeling stressed out does not mean that I feel that way all the time.

I have noticed that when I feel the heaviness and weight of duty there is something askew. Something is out of line. I shouldn't feel burned out. I shouldn't grow weary of doing good. But there are times when it seems that there is no other option but to extend myself to the point of discomfort. That other people just expect more and more of me the more I give. That they give no thought to the fact that I am tired.

Where is that line? And what happens when there is no other person that I can confide in? When I feel absolutely alone in the struggle? What then?

Do I drop everything? Leave people hanging out to dry? Or maybe realize that I have complete freedom to fail. And people will be disappointed in me. And let down by me. And maybe even forced to take some of my responsibilities.

And all the while I recognize that I do all this to myself. I want others to help me, I expect it. But I don't always ask for it. And when I work and work and work and then forget something or don't do it right, it wounds me to have it pointed out. And it makes me angry because the person pointing it out usually is the one that always leaves it up to me to handle things. Tuesday morning quarterback.

Oh, my sinful, pride filled heart. It burns in my chest. It chokes the life out of my relationships. It isolates me and whispers evil in my ear.

The Best Song

Chance Meeting by Act of Congress is my most favorite song ever. It has consistantly been at the top of my list for a year now. It's not that I listen to it repeatedly. It's just that every time I listen to it, it makes me feel... amazed. I love it. If a movie is ever made of my life, I want Chance Meeting playing in the background while they're telling the love story of Chris and me. And if I die I want it playing in the background as people watch a slide show of my life. I love it that much.

If you don't have it, it's on the Declaration CD by Act of Congress. You can order on iTunes.

Let the Dazzling Begin....

What It Takes To Have Flawless, Happy Family Pictures... Like Me

We had our pictures made this morning. And yes, the ridiculously talented Jessica took them. Thanks for asking...

I decided at 9 o'clock last night that we would all wear white shirts. It sounds kind of hokey but nothing else looked right. So the girls and I loaded up and drove over to hell, where it seems that they have all kinds of white shirts on sale for like $5. So I was super happy. And my conscience only convulsed slightly. (I stomped it down.)

When I got home, Chris pointed out that the boys really needed haircuts. I wanted to protest but since it was obvious it was true, I had to nod sadly and then panic about when this was going to take place. It was, after all, 10 pm, Chris was leaving for work and pictures were scheduled for 10 am the next morning. Chris volunteered to do it the next morning. Tragedy averted. Almost.

I forget that Ty has major issues with haircuts. He hates the little hairs that get all over you. He claims that it is unbearably itchy and he breaks into man-sized whines. Seriously. So, Chris cut his hair at 9am and I spent until 10am trying to remove tiny little hairs from his shirt. It was super fun. I tried using tape and even threw it in the drier. I ended up holding the shirt and picking individual hairs out of the fabric. I couldn't bear the torment he was in.

The actual photo shoot was lovely. Aside from the broken glass on the sidewalk... did I mention that we were barefoot? And also aside from the hordes of mosquitos, that is. We sprayed each other with chemicals and even had to rub the bug spray on our faces. The attacks were brutal. My sister-in-law was especially targeted. Bless her heart.

But I'm sure the efforts we made will be worth it. And besides, Jessica is a miracle worker. Oh and my kids are beautiful. We can't forget that. That always bears repeating. I'll post the pics when I get them. Prepare to be dazzled.

A by-product of failing to blog regularly is that people quit checking your blog. *sigh* Oh well. I'm glad this is just for me and the great unknown.

Music, Tears and Eternity

As I mentioned in my previous post, I went to a concert tonight. The guy's name is Sam Bradley. I like his live music better than his recorded. But then again, all he has is myspace music, no cd yet. He's fun to go see because he loves it so much. He's doing exactly what he wants to be doing. I wish I could talk to him about the gospel.

There's another couple of people I've found on myspace. Aoife O'Donovan and Marcus Foster. Love them. Serious awesomeness. Marcus's song Fourteen Times owns me. And Aoife's Burning Heart moves me. Marcus is coming to Nashville in August. I wanna go. Hmmm.

I learned a little more about community tonight. I learned that watching a non-christian experience/observe true community is, um, awkward. There is a flow to true community. There's an intimacy that can only come when the Spirit is testifying, pouring life back and forth. To someone without the Spirit, there's something both uncomfortable and enticing about that. On the one hand, community and relationship are what they are created for and long for. But on the other hand, there is a knowing and a being known that is scary and vulnerable. It's beautiful and ruthless at the same time. It is a love that hangs on and says, "I know you're messed up and you're probably going to hurt me, but I'm just like you and I choose to love you anyway." There is safety in true community because it comes straight from the heart of God.

I am seeing God expand my vision to include eternity. It changes the way I see everything around me. I remember telling G a long time ago that I did not like the thoughts of them leaving to go to Ireland. He just looked at me and said knowingly, "I know. But you will. One day you will." And now I do. I see the future of heaven as a place for all the unhindered fellowship I long for here. And I see the beauty of sacrificing a little bit of that fellowship now, for a time, so that others can hear and have the same kind of redemption and fellowship. It is a very worthy cause.

As I sit here, exhausted, writing my heart, I cry. I cry for the loss I already feel when I think of the Donahoos and Morgans going. I cry for the loss that will come soon when the Springville plant is ready to particularize and we move our activities there. I cry for the beauty of the Spirit in my volitional family that holds me and pours into me. I cry for the lost who are called lost for a reason. I cry for their fears and their lostness. I cry for the blessings of the faces that come into my mind right now. Melissa Mohr. Bekah. Sonja. Jessica. Jawan. Leslie. Laura. Trisha. I see a hundred faces and know that they are known by me and I am known by them.

I cry because I am tired. And the tears are friends, expressions of love and beauty and connectedness. But alas, now I ramble....

Live Your Life

3x5 ... There's a song by John Mayer that talks about putting down your camera and just living your life, experiencing the moment. I watched people at a concert tonight, so concerned with video, taking pics or texting that they ended up not enjoying the moment they were in. There was no leaning back, watching the performance, soaking it in. There was no open eyed amazement at the talent before them. But hey, they got all the youtube footage they can handle. What's wrong with this picture?

This is for my lovely friend Leslie. Go Team Meat!

Need?

What is the difference, or rather, where is the line between need and selfishness? How does one tell which is which?

Some would say that any demand we make on another person is selfishness. Do I really need Chris to help around the house? etc. If I can realistically solve the problem/do the work/fulfill the obligation to ask for help is selfishness.

Others would say that's wrong. God created in us needs and desires. Companionship, understanding, relationship, relaxation, cooperation, etc. We were never meant to be an island. When is it the other person's responsiblity?

I wish I knew. I struggle. How does one express a felt need without it being a demand? How does one not resent the one not meeting the need? Or, for that matter, even seeing the struggle?

And while I am so wrapped up in my own needs/selfishness, what is happening in the world around me? How many people around me feel the same way? About me? Ouch.

England- Part 2

I like lists. I really do. They're so efficient. Say what needs to be said and be done with it. Nothin' wrong with that. So I thought I'd make a list of things I learned/experienced/know about England/English culture.

1. Finding a 'rubbish bin' is quite difficult. Apparently they don't make trash... ever. Good to know.

2. The word 'water' is difficult to say with a different accent. Jeven had trouble saying it with a southern accent and I had trouble with the English accent.

3. The British are not overly fond of food seasonings. Also good to know.

4. I saw a lot of yellow wisteria. Very pretty but makes me think of pollen.

5. No such thing as a yard sale in England. It boggles the mind.

6. Jesus, sin, heaven are all ideas; not unlike zen, purgatory or re-incarnation. There is no absolute reality or truth.

7. It takes a few days to get used to asking people where the "toilets" are.

8. Pepto Bismal is treated almost like a controlled substance there. You must be interrogated by the pharmacist before purchasing. Don't ask me how I know this.

9. When they say 'folk music' it means something completely different than what we think of. Especially if it's of the German persuasion which has lots of yodeling. Hmmm.

10. No electricity is allowed in bathrooms. No switches or outlets at all. The light switch is outside the door. Cobi and I immediately thought of the prank potential of this situation.

11. The British should not be allowed to name their own products. Case in point: Spotted dick, toad-in-the-hole, Minstrels, Horlick malt, mushy peas, Digestives cookies, pasty (pronounced past - ee : a sort of pot pie but in fried pie form), and wine gums.

12. When they say "pie" they don't usually mean what you think they mean... think "meat".

13. Ask your host to be more specific if he asks you "Do you want a lemonade?" You could end up with a Sprite-ish, slightly shampoo-y tasting fizzy drink - not at all like Chick-Fil-A.

14. English money is very easy to use. They just have lots more coins than we do; a total of 8, I believe: 1pence, 2 pence,5,10,20,50 pence,1 pound, and 2 pound. Your pockets get heavy sometimes.

15. The English take the age of their country for granted. Eating in a pub that was built in 1561 is completely normal and old hat to them. Not unlike the way we, as Americans, take the size of our country for granted. To drive from Scotland to London is an 8 hour drive: that's like from Nashville to Mobile. America is really big!

I've learned much more than that but I think that's all for tonight. My eyes are starting to cross I'm so tired. G'Nite.

England - Part 1

Well we're in England now. Got in around 3am-ish Alabama time. It's now 5:30 here. I have two and a half more hours before I can go to bed. That will put me at being awake for around ... um... having trouble with the math... 28 hours? or is it 30? A long time. How bout that?

The flight over was uneventful. I got to sit behind Cobi and talk and laugh. That was fun. The movie system was nice. I watched two episodes of 30 rock, two episodes of The Big Bang Theory, and something else. Can't remember. I listened to non-stop Coldplay while I tried to nap. That was nice. The food was okay. Breakfast was a bit scary... I'm not partial to fuzzy grapes. Call me crazy.

Customs was a bit terrifying; as was the drive to the Kunar's. Otto is a lovely man who used to drive motorbikes for a living. (I don't know what that means) And he drove thru the traffic circles like he was on a motorbike. I held on tight. He told me that God is ultimately in control, right? I asked if we could make the drive a non-faith building exercise. He was very funny.

Once at the Kunar's I did my usual exploring. Their home is very nice. I refrained from looking in any closets, drawers or cabinets. I'm very proud of myself. They have the same tendency as Kim to hang their pictures really high up on the walls. Interesting.

Now we (me, Chris, Chris Barnett and Bill Knapp) are at our host home. The couple is out of the country so we have the run of the place. It's beautiful. The oven took a minute to decipher. There are no closets; only hanging racks of clothes in every room and the hallways. The fridge is tiny. But the views are wonderful. It's like being in a movie.

I can't wait to get some sleep and get going tomorrow. We'll go to the Culcheth church tomorrow morning and then eat lunch with them. We'll go to the Warrington plant tomorrow night. And we get our agenda tomorrow too.

I think I'll walk down to the corner market now, stay awake a little longer. And take some pictures of Gracie's bulldog toy in front of scenery; she'll like that. I'm praying for my family right now. They're at Chris' aunt's funeral. For those who don't know: Chris' aunt committed suicide last Tuesday. It's one of the most tragic things I've ever been a part of. I pray for comfort, peace and rest for the whole family.

I'll try to blog again sometime this week. Bye!

I'm wondering if Brody is going to be covered in temporary tattoos by the time I get home. His new hero is Dave. No pressure Dave, but your 17 tattoos are fascinating. Brody has lots of new ideas for where he wants to put them. Until Dave, he had no idea that tattoos could be in other places besides your bicep. Now he wants them all over. I don't mind. Between the mohawk and the soccer shirts and tattoos, he looks like a disgruntled European. At least that's what Quinn says.

In my mind, when I get home, the kids school work will be completed and their chores will be done. That's in my mind of course. I like living in my mind. Everything's so nice and tidy. I can sing and dance beautifully. I look like I did in high school. My kids enjoy doing laundry. Fleas don't exist. It's utopia really. But then I open my eyes and my utopia bubble bursts. *sigh* I'm closing my eyes again.

I'm disgusted by my hall bathroom. It needs a complete makeover. New paint. New shower curtain. New vanity. New art. And once it's done the kids have to use the spicket outside for washing and brushing their teeth. And they can pee in the woods. Whatevah.

Well thats all. Gotta go now!

Disjointed and Slow

So here I am, sitting in my bed at midnight. I'm very sleepy. But go to sleep? Nah. Not right now.

So much has happened in the past month. I'm not really sure why I haven't blogged. Every time I've thought about it, I just didn't. I'm contrary, I suppose.

Maggie had a birthday. She's now a teenager. My mother's birthday passed with minimal breakdowns. Our dog died. My birthday was yesterday. I am now thirty-six. That feels old right now. Chris is working a lot. We're getting ready to go to England for a week and a half.

My mind is full. Lots of stuff happening up there. But the thinking, meditating, contemplative aspect of my brain is moving very slowly. Maybe I have a virus, like a computer. Or maybe it's sin.

I have been struggling with sin lately. Well, you know what I mean. I struggle all the time. But sometimes there seem to be sins or a sin that wraps itself around my brain stem and refuse to die. And in those times, I find myself closing off to the people around me. I become self-protective. And contrary. And shallow.

I remember my mother talking a lot when she was around my age about being afraid of success. Afraid of failure but also afraid of success. I thought it was weird. What I find scary now are the times I find myself living out things I remember her saying or doing. She is the specter that hovers over my existence. Her memory is one of the things that entangle me. And I am powerless to forget her and her impact on making me who I am. I can't fight that. It's like beating the air.

I have had two panic attacks in the past three months. Trace calls these my Jerry's Kids moments. And although I laugh and recognize his humor and sympathy, it scares the sh-t out of me. It is something I have no control over and it's frustrating and embarrassing and ridiculous. I would rather pretend like they never happen. I'm ready for heaven or healing, whichever comes first.

There are so many things that happen in my life that no one knows anything about. Random thoughts or suppressed fears. Tiny victories and kept secrets. I feel useless most of the time but this feeling is tempered with the knowledge that God does use me, in spite of myself. I want to be used. I want to be free from sins and fears and pride. I want to be wide open to others. I...

Where is this post going? No where. Why am I even posting this? I have no idea.

Our Baby Kitties

Our little bitty kittens are super cute. I'm serious. I've tried to be hard-hearted about them. I've tried to not be delighted with them. Really, I have. But it's just not possible. At all.

There are five of them and of course Ty picked the cutest one. But I worry about him; he's so tiny and pitiful looking. We're praying he doesn't die. Ty's named him Tiny Titan, in the hopes, I suppose, that he'll be inspired to live up to his name.

I watched my kids take care of them today. I bathed them for the first time... the kittens that is. As I finished bathing each one, I'd hand it off to a child. It was so sweet to watch my kids dry their kitten and talk to it, trying to soothe it. And then each one of us was holding a towel-wrapped kitten, cuddling and humming to try to recreate a purring sound. (We read that the Momma's purring is soothing) It worked and the kitties calmed right down and went to sleep. I looked up and there were all my kids, rocking and swaying and humming. It about broke my heart it was so sweet. When it was time to put them back in their temporary home in the bathtub, I led the procession down the hallway. We looked like monks, all in a row, humming and shuffling our feet. It made me smile.

Just thought I'd share. Today will be a good memory.

I ask myself if it was a good idea to let both my boys get mohawks five days before Easter. Maybe not. But then again, it's just hair. Who cares? I don't care that much. And they do look so cool. And they're both really happy. I mean really, really happy. And giggling. So I will just let go any happy thoughts I may have had of looking like the sweet, pretty family for Easter Sunday. People will instead see a hip, cool, unapologetically punk, happy family. Oh well. Who cares what people think? Not me... yeah, right.

Baby Steps

I love this part of What About Bob. I quote it a lot. Especially the end: Gimme! Gimme! I need! I need!
Makes me laugh every time.

I need... I need...

I need to load my dishwasher.
I need to put on socks cause my feet are freezin'.
I need to make the kids pack for overnight.
I need to buy/make a birthday card for Chris' grandmother that we stay with every week; she'll be 95 tomorrow.
I need to figure out what I'm gonna feed my family tonight.
I need to take a nap since my medicine kept me up last night.
I need to turn up my music. (JT)
I need something to drink. I'm thirsty.
I need to organize my entire life.
I need to review my lesson for tonight.
I need to stop typing and pick one thing from this list.

Or I could check my email. Yeah, I'll do that.

Gorham's Bluff

My lovely husband commissioned me to plan a getaway for us. It's been a couple of years since we went away just the two of us. Missy told me about a place in NE Alabama called Gorham's Bluff. We went. It was amazing. Completely and totally amazing. Everything about the place is aesthetically pleasing and luxurious. The views, the homes, the quietness, the decor of our house. Even the weather was perfect: it rained the second day. So we stayed in, listening to the rain, reading, watching movies. It was soothing and perfect. I'm so glad we went. You should go. Seriously.

The van is clean. For now. I'm sure it'll start getting nasty very soon. Then I will wait a disgusting amount of time and clean it out again. But the point of this post is to assure you that I am not dead, killed by the horror that was the interior of my van. Thank you for asking.

Mundane Update

Okay. So I'm just going to sit down and blog. I have nothing earth shattering to say. I don't even have anything boring to say. But I'll blog anyway. Aren't you glad?

I am now on my third round of antibiotics. My pneumonia has been downgraded to mild bronchitis. And I feel better. I feel good even. Then I cough up a chunk of God only knows what and reluctantly continue taking my medicine.

Ty threw up last night. Fun. He feels great today. It's the first time he's thrown up since he was three years old. The good thing about having sick, older children is that they throw up in the toilet. It's so much easier to clean up... *flush*. Done.

Kittie still has not had kittens. But she's eating like a horse. Maybe she's in the process of evolving into one. Ha.

I have a new home phone number. If you know me, call my cell or email me to get it. I shall not post it for the world to see. Although there are many celebrities who want it I'm sure. I'm famous like that.

Anybody need a place to live with cheap rent? Let me know.

Beautiful day today! I'm going to go detail the van now. That should take me at least 82 hours. If I don't make it out alive, know that I loved you all.

I just love the looks I get when I cough. People smile when I walk in, "Hi!" -happy to see me. Then I cough and suddenly the looks turn into genuine alarm. They clutch their children closer, tryin to be inconspicuous. But I see their hands twitching, wanting to cover their mouths and noses to protect themselves. They try to cover their horror with concern, "Goodness! Are you okay?" Like I don't know they want to run.

So if you hear me cough, I am not contagious. I am not an eighty year old emphysema patient. I have been on antibiotics for days. And believe it or not, I sound better. Don't run away. Be my friend.

Some Days

Some days I have the heart of an adventurer: courageous, curious, inspired, ready for anything. Other days, I have the heart of a mouse: hiding in a hole, starting at even the slightest noise.

Some days, it is easy to be thrilled over my friends leaving me, going out into the world to share the gospel. Other days, I want to sabotage them, make them stay here so that nothing will change.

Some days, I am ecstatic over the success of the gospel. Other days, I resent it and the sacrifice it demands.

Some days, I am desperate to be free from my sin. Other days, I cling to it like a toddler to its pacifier.

Some days, Christ is all I see. Other days, no matter how hard I look, he is lost in the fog of my own self-deception.

I watched Adam in concert tonight. To me, it was bittersweet. I am in awe of God's gifting to him, and I want more than anything else for everyone in the world to hear what I hear. And yet, I know that will require from him what it requires from us all: sacrifice.

For every step we make toward the gospel is a step away from the comfort of our flesh. Success in one area means deprivation in another. Every church that promises support to the Morgans expidites their leaving their church family. It is counterintuitive to desire a friend's leaving. But they must leave. It is the plan of the Father.

So I look into my own life. Amber is moving to the next town. Ginger and Laura are moving to the next continent. Who knows where Adam and Jessica will end up. I am moving to the new church location.

The only way these things are good is for them to be for the benefit of the gospel of Christ. Everything else passes away. Everything else is vanity. My moods shift. My courage fails. My spiritual eyes open and close. But eternity is ... well.. eternity. And only those things done for the kingdom and Christ will last.

My eyes cannot see it here, now, but I know that it is true. And when I can see that, my courage is replaced with the surety of the gospel. My heart takes a deep cleansing breath, and I rest.

Sleep is Over-Rated

Yes, it is 4 am. I know. And unlike my dear, lovely friend KimHill, I am not getting up early. I just haven't gone to bed yet.

It was one of those very rare nights when you stay up ridiculously late talking to your best friend. I am too old to have these kinds of nights on any kind of regular basis, but on the rare occasion that they happen, they are heavenly. Amber has just walked home and here I am, bleary-eyed, telling whoever is reading that I had a good night. A night where the words just kept coming, meaning and truth flowing freely. It was wonderful.

Oh, and by the by, please don't call me before 10am. I'll be sleeping. ;o)

A Song and A Smile

I was sitting at my table just now, reading, praying and resting. Trying to take time to focus on Christ, letting go of my focus on myself, my sin, my failures. And started to actually hear the words of the song that was playing at the time.

"You don't know how lovely you are.
I had to find you, tell you I need you.
Tell you I set you apart.
Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions,
let's go back to the start."

I smiled. God thinks I am lovely. He found me, chose me, set me apart. I have nothing to hide from him. *sigh*

Him? Him.

I don't have much to say. I haven't for a while now... Sometimes I wonder why I blog. I never really answer myself, I just wonder. I really enjoy blogging when I actually have something to say. Otherwise, I feel like the blog mocks me. Mocks my dryness, my hypocrisy, my inability to formulate thoughts.

Last Sunday night, instead of having a session meeting, the elders and deacons and their wives met with Johnny and Becky Long. Any time I have the chance to be around them I jump at it. They're so honest and open about their sins and struggles. It reminds me to repent. I fight repentance. Not sure why. But I do.

The last couple of months have been dry. Really dry. Feeling disconnected, condemned, tired, worried, distracted. Running after what I don't really want and ignoring what I desire the most. All that with a touch of depression thrown in. Plus the ever present fear that I will one day turn into my mother.

I can theorize. I'm doing too much; I'm just tired. I'm worried about life changes; things are really starting to happen. Money is tighter than usual. I could go on, but why?

I really have a problem with unbelief. And pride. And all the things that lead down to those roots. If God gives me a job, just do it. If I have sin, repent. Why do I fight trusting Him? And still... all these stupid, stupid words and Johnny Long's voice reminding me that maybe all I need is to remember God's deep, adoring love for me, his precious daughter. Not look at my failures but at Christ. Just sit and gaze upon His beauty. Remembering Him, not myself.

Nothing else really matters. Nothing. All these things will be added to me. Seek first His face. It's not about my relationship with Him or the work I do for His kingdom or my striving to not sin; it's just Him. Him alone. Just Christ. His face, his beauty, his love, his death, his righteousness. Him.

I didn't fall. I'm so happy. I skiied for two solid days and never fell once. I made my last run down the slopes repeating the mantra, "Don't fall, last run. Don't fall, last run." And as I walked to the parking lot, carrying my skis and poles, "Don't fall now. You made it all day. Don't fall now." And as I changed out of my ski boots into my snow boots, "No falling. No. Falling. No."

And I managed to go three days on snow and ice and didn't trip or fall. I don't usually fall when I ski but this year I felt vulnerable for some reason. I don't like to fall. Well, the falling itself isn't so bad, it's the landing that hurts. And when I get hurt, I always cry. Always. It's embarrassing.

Now here I am, at Patrick and Meghan's, looking around at all their pretty things and thinking, "Don't break anything. Don't knock anything off or swing your arms or miss the countertop when putting your glass down. Don't break anything."

I'm realizing as I'm typing that I've been in self-preservation mode for days now. I don't want to get hurt or be embarrassed or look like a spaz. I want to look good and together, even when I know I don't measure up.

Where has the gospel been today? Hiding under the Pottery Barn sheets, I guess. I am consumed with myself. My righteousness takes a hard hit when faced with my own inadequecies. And my inadequecies pop up at random times.

But I am reminded of what my heart seeks. Affirmation. Approval. To be someone's delight. And I am all those things. The only one who matters in the universe, delights in me. Is that enough? Today, I choose to believe it is even if I don't feel it.

Rambling Update

Okay. I'm so tired that my eyes are burning but I'm waiting for that dang dryer to be done. So, I thought I'd blog. Haven't done that in a while. Here's to you Elizabeth.

We woke up early this morning, ate breakfast and headed out. After stopping at Alpine to rent skis for Ty, Chris and I, we went on up to the slopes and checked the kids into ski school. Brody and Grace are still learning to ski. Maggie is a lovely, graceful skier but today she went to school to learn to snowboard. And now she can. She can go all the way to the top and come down on her board without falling. It was impressive. She doesn't get that from me, of that I am sure.

Around lunch time, it started to rain. Stupid rain. But then the rain turned to snow. Wonderful snow. But then it all stopped. And got really cold. And by then, it was afternoon and we were done for the day. So we went back to the resort. (Yes, I said resort. Our realty company found a vacancy in a nearby resort for only $10 more a night. I'll take it and thank you.)

So, we dry out and warm up. Watch some cable, a treat for us. Then Brody and I went to Fred's and bought some groceries. And petted a cat. He liked that... Brody that is, although, I'm sure the cat liked it too. Sorry, rambling. Anyhoo... We ate supper and then went swimming.

The resort has an indoor heated pool and a hot tub. Wonderful, right? Why, yes. It was. The hot tub was really hot and the pool was nice and warm. We had a blast. The only problem is, the pool is in a different building, it's own building. Which means that you have to go outside to get to it... or away from it. That was fun. We dried off really well, put our sweatshirts and snowboots on and then made a run for it. In the wind and snow. Brrrrr! We were laughing our rear ends off.

Once we were in the room, we wound down and... well... here I am. Everyone else is sleeping. And I am watching television and drinking a glass of milk and waiting on the dryer so I can finish packing. We leave right after the slopes close at 4:30 headed to Patrick's.

Things I enjoyed today:

1. Watching Maggie snowboard. I'm so glad she's not a spaz like her Momma.

2. Hot chocolate. Need I say more?

3. Skiing. I didn't fall. That makes me happy.

4. Skiing with Ty. Well, more like watching Ty ski past me, but it was still fun.

5. Staring at my husband in his ski gear, skiing like a pro. Hmmm. Yummy.

6. Spending time with Brody at Fred's.

7. Talking to Gracie about her day.

8. A glass of wine. White Zinfandel.

9. Not having to wait in line at all.

10. The fact that there were only 2 other kids in ski school today and they were with another instructor. That means my kids got private lessons. HaHa!

11. Watching it snow.

12. Music on my mp3 player. Namely Coldplay.

That's all. I seriously doubt that this post is coherent. Sorry. Oh! The dryer dinged. Hurray! Talk to you later.

Giving and Receiving

I love the way my children and their friends love to give one another gifts. And they don't care one little bit if the gifts are new. They love getting used stuff just as much.

I think they like the used stuff better because they know it was a prized possession at one time. So tonight, Lana gave Frankie one of her green sweatbands and a piece of Halloween candy. And it was considered a good gift because she really liked those sweatbands. Everyone was impressed. One of my girls' received a used necklace once and l-o-v-e-d it .

I can't pinpoint the exact reason this makes me so happy. It might have something to do with lack of materialism or some such as that. But it does make me happy.

Fun Pics of Friends

I saw Scott Holmes on the way home from church today. Looks like he did well on his hunting trip. Way to go Scott!

Beauty

I found this yesterday when I was doing some reading on Chopin. I think it is exquisite. At little background first: Frederic Chopin had a long time lover who, although a Baroness, went by the pseudonym of George Sand. George once described an evening with Chopin with their friend Delacroix in attendance:

"Chopin is at the piano, quite oblivious of the fact that anyone is listening. He embarks on a sort of casual improvisation, then stops. 'Go on, go on,' exclaims Delacroix, 'That's not the end!'

'It's not even a beginning. Nothing will come ... nothing but reflections, shadows, shapes that won't stay fixed. I'm trying to find the right colour, but I can't even get the form ...'

'You won't find the one without the other,' says Delacroix, 'and both will come together.'

'What if I find nothing but moonlight?'

'Then you will have found the reflection of a reflection.'

The idea seems to please the divine artist. He begins again, without seeming to, so uncertain is the shape. Gradually quiet colours begin to show, corresponding to the suave modulations sounding in our ears. Suddenly the note of blue sings out, and the night is all around us, azure and transparent. Light clouds take on fantastic shapes and fill the sky. They gather about the moon which casts upon them great opalescent discs, and wakes the sleeping colours. We dream of a summer night, and sit there waiting for the song of the nightingale ..."

Chopin

I love Chopin. He's my favorite. I lie here in my comfy bed, headphones on, dreaming of cloudy nights and swirling mists. He makes me feel; his emotion coming through in every note. Whispering now, coaxing, smiling, weeping.

Making me wish I could play the piano.

One of My Favorite Pictures

I love this picture of Chris and Quinn. This was taken last summer in Mississippi when we went to the reservoir for the day. Lots of good memories: disc golf, floppy hats, water stunts, country music, potty training. Just to name a few.

Definition of irony:
incongruity in a situation
or
when your father-in-law brings a deer carcass by on his way to the butcher at the same time that your only vegan friend is at your house. Hmmmm.

Favorite Failboat

Failboat

Advent season is over. And I have learned that my youngest child is a constant disappointment to me during Children's Sermons. We go over and over the answers.
Purple represents repentance.
Advent means "to come".
The candles are 1) the prophets 2) Bethleham 3) the shepherds 4) the angels.
The white candle is Jesus.

Come on, Brody! Answer the question. You know this. But no, he just sits there screaming out random answers that may or may not have anything to do with Advent. Or he just sits there... blinking.

After church, I ask him the same questions and he rocks! Why he can't do that during church is beyond me.

It cracks me up! I sit there on the front row, willing him to answer and yet eagerly anticipating the words that will come out of his mouth, because you just never know. I have to laugh. Little Brody reminds me that children are not trained monkeys whose sole job in life is to make me look good. They are little people that should just be enjoyed.

God gives us children to humble us.

I am watching my children enjoy their Christmas presents. We opened gifts today since we spend the night with Mom tonight.

I realized last night that for the first time ever, I never even went into the toy department for gifts. Isn't that weird? Brody got a DS. Gracie got a stereo. Ty got rockets. Maggie got a cell phone. No toys. It was kinda nice actually. No little plastic things cluttering my house. No fighting crazy people for a toy that will be played with for 2 weeks.

My sweet family loaded me up with gifts this year. Lots of pretty green glass things, a keyboard for my laptop, and Mamma Mia! Happy days.

I like the fact that we feel free to give things to each other this time of year. No other time during the year do I feel that freedom or plan ahead in order to have that freedom. I see my kids get more excited about watching each other open gifts than their own. I love that. For the past two years, I tell each of them what the others are getting. They love keeping the secret and, in a way, feeling like the gifts are also from them. So much fun.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday as well. Merry Christmas!

Worship?

Why is it that perspectives are so different? One person may see a person of great talent and think "They are so gifted. I'm so glad to experience what they have to offer" and the person in the next seat is completely affected, can't get enough, and wants to praise the person with the talent.

I know I'm not making this clear. I can't explain it. But the crux of the matter is worship, I think. When we see other's talents as gifts from God, we are moved to encourage the person and praise God. When we are caught up in the talent, seeing only its temporal value, we praise the person. We exalt them. We worship them.

There are many things in my life that interfere with my whole hearted worship of God. And the saddest thing is, I know it and don't do anything to purge them from my life. It is idolatry, plain and simple.

But trusting in God to the point of clinging only to him, letting go of everything else is so terrifying. It goes against every instinct I have. My flesh does not want to die. I try to tame it, to teach it, to be tolerant of it... but it has to die. Like Gollum at Mount Doom it has to be killed because it will never change or get better.

I sigh. I whine. I cry. I want to find the blissful, all surpassing peace that is only in Christ, but my fingers won't let go of my idols. I shake my hand as hard as I can, but I cling harder. The violent shaking is the easy part. The gentle motion of lifting first one finger then another and another is excruciating. Only in grace can I find the ability to relax my grip.

I want Christ.

Poor little Brody. He's finally almost completely over the infection he had in both eyes. Then last night, he woke me up because his ear was hurting. Since he's had such a long history of ear infections, tubes and surgeries, I have an otoscope. Our ENT has taught me what to look for with an infection. Sure enough, he has an infection in his right ear: that's the ear that no longer has a tube. Grrr. We were up until almost 4 and then it quit hurting enough for him to sleep. Which probably means his ear drum ruptured. I'm not sure what this will mean. I don't know if he'll have to get another tube in that ear or not. He's on antibiotics now. He never had fever. I feel terrible for him. At least he's not contagious. The only way this would have been worse for him is if he was quarantined from his friends. So I guess it could be worse.

I am so grateful for my laptop. Every time I pick it up, which is a lot, I thank God. I thank him for providing it. I thank him for the generosity of the people who gave it to me. I thank him for the ways it helps me.

I am also grateful for music. I know I've said this before, but I can't express it often enough or strongly enough. I function so differently when I have music playing. I'm more relaxed and productive. So strange. But true. I wish I could experience what it must be like to create it. I can't even imagine.

So I'm thankful. That's all...

A Completely Useless Explanation

Working at a pet store seems like it would be torture. Well, to me anyway. I'm not such a big animal lover to begin with and to have to work around them all the time would only make it worse. Plus I have issues with people who spend enormous amounts of money on their dog's wardrobe when I know missionaries who could use the cash. I might give them attitude. Then I'd lose my job and that would be bad. Because if I'm ever working at a PetSmart type establishment, that means I'm desperate for money and will be homeless soon. And to lose that job might put me over the edge.

That is why I don't work at PetSmart.

A Poem By Rumi

Who Makes These Changes?

Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer
and find myself chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
and end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
and fall in.

I should be suspicious
of what I want.

I feel so fortunate to be blessed with such clever and witty friends. (note the sarcasm literally dripping from those adjectives) And Missy, I did have a vague foreshadowing of the potential outcome of that last post. But I trusted in my friends maturity.... then I remembered: I have no mature friends. I forgot that temporarily. My bad. But it is good to know that you all need me so badly.

If anyone out there knows of something that I have committed to do this week, please call me. I cannot find my purse calendar and am a bit distracted anyway. I don't want to forget you. Thanks.

The Magic Attic

We decorated our house today. Which means that we had to pull down the attic stairs, climb the steps and enter the magic portal that is "the attic". So much excitement for a thing that most consider a chore.

I climbed up first. Then one by one, the children had to come up. They had to, the attic is an irresistable force that cannot be denied. It calls them to view their world from a different perspective. The attic fan is so much bigger up top than it is from the hallway. The can light over the porch seems so much closer in the attic. The pictures in the hallway look so far below. And then there's the cool stuff.

My old Holly Hobby sleeping bag is visible in its space bag. There are boxes full of school work from earlier years. A box containing Wizard of Oz collectible plates, another box has a model train set. And their old baby bed is stored there. Maggie's collection of glass dolls is in a box up there. It's like a family museum.

I love to just sit on my perch at the edge of the hole and listen to them observing their world from up above. Until I get cold that is. Then it's time to come down, back into middle earth, above the scary blackness that is "the Crawlspace" but below the magic of "the Attic."

A Short List of Things That I Love

1. Waking up after a really good night's sleep

2. Unexpected laughter

3. Music that moves emotion and soul

4. Kissing in the cold night air with the stars above

5. Seeing a shooting star

6. Being recognized for my true self and loved for it

7. Sharing in the joy of others

8. Chris's slow and heavy heartbeat

9. Putting a smile on some one's face

10. Being able to explain something difficult

11. Tight hugs from friends rarely seen

12. Family that is chosen, not just required

13. The sound of gravel underfoot

14. Cleverness and wit

15. Not being able to guess where the conversation in going

16. The unimaginable depth of Scripture

17. Slow dancing with my husband

18. A book that comes to life and cannot be walked away from

19. Connecting soul to soul with a friend

20. The transcendent glory of God that does not shut me out but invites me in

Music and Fear

The soundtrack to Twilight is amazing. Muse, Paramore, The Black Ghosts, etc. are so good. I don't listen to the radio so I have no idea if the songs are being overplayed or not. But I'm really hoping that I get the soundtrack for Christmas... hint hint.

I added some of the songs to my playlist and I've listened to it all day. There's a couple of songs that, while watching the movie, I actually said out loud that I liked them. One of the songs sounds so much like Mo Leverett. Same kind of voice and style, Bren thought so too.


--Change of Subject---
I like to give people notice of my changing the subject. I can make some pretty huge leaps and confuse people. Sorry.




I wonder at fear. Not fear of heights or snakes, things like that. But fear of failure. Fear of failure is a curious thing. It is over something that is, most times, never attempted. Maybe no one even knows about it. And yet it feels defining. It feels binding, like our whole way of thinking about ourselves is affected. And most times, it's over something that, to someone else, seems insignificant or maybe obvious.

I can think of several instances where someone I know is afraid to attempt something that everyone around them is sure of. Where I can look at them and almost get angry because they don't believe in themselves. It's so stinkin' obvious that they have the talent or the ability or desire but they just won't jump. I want to get in their head and somehow make them see themselves from my perspective.

I wonder if there is something like this in my own life. I am amazed at the need in me for approval and perfection. I marvel at the way I second guess myself and make second things first. I want to be free from that. I want to be able to attempt things and be able to fail. I want to never find my worth and identity in what I do or even who I am. I want to be free.