Church

My writings of late have been less than fascinating, and for that I apologize. I am nothing, if not inconsistent. Sometimes.
How are you Internet people?
I did something today that was different and exciting. I got all dressed up, and abandoned my children at home, so that I could run off and enjoy a rare experience, for me.
I went to church.
House church is as different from institutional church as can be. Now, I don't miss house church, ever. I'd meet several times a week if the group would consent. Mostly that would start to look like communal living, and that's a bit cultish, even for our group. Come to think of it, they may like the idea of a commune, after all. But I digress....
Church is a place where everyone faces the backs of others, and they dress up. An alarming number of these people neglect to style the back of their hair, and this is a shame. No one looks at your front through the service. At house church, you can come in your PJs if you like, and everyone looks at your front. We sit in a circle and see one another's faces. It's not a good place to be if you have much to hide.
Everyone stands up when they're told to, in regular church, and they shake hands on command. I was thinking about this. I don't know these people whose hand I was shaking, and I hope they washed their hands this morning. That's like a whole germ-sharing thing. In house church, I already have these people's germs. Their kids throw up in my house, I breath their same air 'cause we get in each other's business every day, and we cook for one another. It's like we're related. I could hug 'em or share a bed, or get the Holy Kiss thing going on, and it doesn't make much difference. I so have these people's germs already.
In regular church you say, "How was your week? How are you?" And the person says, "Fine, fine. You?" In house church, friends say, "Dang, this week nearly kicked your butt, huh?" And they pour you a glass of wine.
We don't sing in house church, and maybe that's best. I love to sing, though. That is a good reason to go to a regular church from time to time. God loves singing, and so do I. We ought to figure out how to get more of that in our little group.
Teaching is different in regular church. It's like a classroom. The Guy Who Knows Stuff gives a lecture, and it's good stuff. He incorporates history, and language, and cross-references. I took notes. In house church, it's more like group therapy. Someone will talk about how a passage from the bible is making them do things in a new way, and someone else will add what they've learned. The whole thing kind of ebbs and flows like a living organism. It's not as intellectual, but it's really very applicable.
I like house church. But there's stuff I like about real church, too. It's a bit of a trade-off, either way. Just like anything.

The Boys

I like to be up early so I can hear the silence. Silence is a rare and wonderful thing.

My children are getting really big, and I am moving into another phase in my life. Did you notice?
M' is a football player with this fuzzy upper lip. He is also a hunter. He is off this weekend to shoot a deer for my dinner table. Can you imagine? Venison. He's quiet and thoughtful, sometimes. Goofy as can be other times.
D' is tallish and insightful. He is very musically inclined, and deeply interested in people and spiritual things. He understands more than most grown men. He is very happy, though deeply sensitive.
They are each so different as they approach manhood. I seem to have little to offer these men, save a well stocked refrigerator. There is so little time left to parent.
What will I do next?
Do you ever think about that?

It's still so quiet. I love this time of day.

No Visible Protection

I love Charles Spurgeon with all my heart.
You would think that the fact that this man is dead would inhibit that somewhat, but this is not the case.
I have a copy of his devotional called Morning and Evening, and I read it from time to time. This particular book belonged to my Very Great Grandmother Who Disappeared. It is one of those treasures that I would enter a burning house to redeem, on account of it being so precious to me. For Grandmother's sake and not for Mr Spurgeon's. I wouldn't enter a burning house for Mr Spurgeon.
My Grandmother really did disappear, have I ever told you that story? She was a beautiful woman, who loved the outdoors, and lived the sort of life that left a lasting impact upon several generations of her family. I want to be like her, even if I am not all that outdoorsy.
And she disappeared one day.
We panicked.
We prayed.
People searched.
No trace of her was ever found.
And, though the questions broke our hearts, her dramatic end was appropriate to her powerful life. Mystery suits her.
Once again, I am way off my point.
I was talking about Charles Spurgeon.
In yesterday's devotional, which I read today, Spurgeon wrote to me thru the ages. He was talking about Ezra, who was this guy from the bible. Ezra had to go talk to the king, and he was all bragging about how powerful God is. He said that God does good stuff for those that are His, and His "power and His Wrath are against those that forsake Him." But, once Ezra said all this to the king, about God being all protective and powerful, he couldn't really ask for a contingent of soldiers for their journey. See, he would appear to be a bit false if he said that God could do all this stuff, and then put his faith in soldiers.
And this relates to me.
Years ago, I determined to trust God to be my Provider and Protector. He has never once let me down. For over a decade, I have worked at home and parented full time, even as a single parent. At the moment, I am in a situation where God is allowing the manner of provision to change. A lot. However, I can hardly do less than look to Him to continue to Provide and Protect. I keep telling you this, but I am really reminding myself. The truth is that my faith is very small, and I get pretty freaked out. However, God is as real in my life as He was for Ezra. His protection is as sure. And whether kings or peasants watch my story unfold, I will march ahead on my journey with whatever means of support God sees fit to allow. Ezra didn't depend upon flesh and blood, and neither shall I.
Pretty cool, huh?

Livin' the dream, baby

And the fun just keeps on coming...
What with the felicitous delight of ex's, lawyers, and poverty, you wouldn't think I could possibly enjoy much more. You would be wrong.
The whole ex-thing is just annoying. I think I covered that for you in my last post.
The lawyers? Gotta love em. If I go back to school, I think I'll be a lawyer. Honestly, where else can you make so much money justifying any horrible action on the planet with the force of mere words? Seriously, I could be good at that.
And Poverty? I can't really plead poverty. Despite all the crazy life situations, God always provides for us. If my God is all that wealthy, then I can't really claim to be poor.
My life just seems to be one freefall of faith after another. What could be better? A root canal?
There was an ad on TV a hundred years ago where a person was standing with their back to a swimming pool, and they would throw their arms out to the side and fall back into the water. This became known as the Nestea plunge.
I live the Nestea plunge.
It's a stunning series of situations that are so far beyond the realm of normalcy. They are what we refer to as "God things" because they are the sort of thing that only God can manage. No one else can get their mind around these. All one can do is trust and ....fall.
I kind of think that these Big Situations are because I am, in fact, the original Drama Queen.
I know someone who overreacts to every single situation. When SOMEONE IS DRIVING 5 MILES PER HOUR BELOW THE SPEED LIMIT, This individual is in danger of having a stroke. No kidding. It's not healthy. But the problem is not that his life is really that bad, it's just that he REACTS TO EVERYTHING IN CAPS LOCK.
So, I was thinking that maybe I do that.
Maybe my life is really not that abnormal, just I am.
Which is entirely possible.

Macabre

I have something to say, which is very surprising considering that is what I do. I say things.
Today I want to say that divorce is a terrible thing.
This is because it creates ex-husbands.
In the Olden days of Israel, if a person committed adultery, they were stoned. To death. Until extinguished.
Voila! No ex!
I can see why God did it that way.
Some ex's (who shall remain nameless) get themselves stoned, but not unto death. Then they proceeded to become ...words, the likes of which my Christian lady friends rarely use. Although, today a few of my friends have graced my ears with rare exceptions.
I vote for Capital Punishment in the event of either adultery or abandonment. Really. I don't think we should be picky about the whole stoning idea. I mean, what with technological advancement, we have the tortures of the ages to draw upon for inspiration. We could have them hanged, drawn and quartered. Or boiled in oil. It could be like a page from Foxe's Book of Martyrs! We could have a new book and call it The Ends of Exes. The proceeds from the sales could go to support the widows.
This is my idea. Does anyone have a better one?

Remember Sean Cassidy? ...No?

Sometimes you need to hear the right music.
I am one of those people for whom music is crucial.
Tonight I am listening to Little Feat play Dixie Chicken. It has this piano line that captures the center of my being and holds me breathless.
Yeah, it's a great piano line.
There's one spot where the electric guitar, or something, gets really screechy and annoying, but it passes quickly. I just start the song from the beginning, again, and then it's all better.
Music should do something to you, don't you think?
Like a really good kiss.
...and now I am listening to Sarah MacLaughlin sing Possession. That's a kissing song, if ever there was one.

For worship I like Skillet.
Or the David Crowder Band.
Or Keith Green.
Or Third Day.
Or Bach.

For dinner, you must have Billy Holliday, Norah Jones, or Ella Fitzgerald. And candlelight, of course.

Do you remember Sinead O'Conner? It was this '80's affliction, but I still have Nothing Compares 2 U for nights where I feel lonely.
Listening to old music is like going through old journals. Don't you think?

Cathy, who was that Christian singer that sounded like Stevie Wonder? We saw him, I think, at the San Jose Fair one year...? And who sang Wild Horses?

Friends, I wish you were here to listen to old records with me. Even if they are on the new format of my computer, rather than the classic vinyl.

June Cleaver

Today is a carbohydrate fest. This is because today I am very unhappy with my little life, and I want a pity party. Tomorrow, I'll be all happy and back to rejoicing.
It's just that I never ever wanted things to be this way. Sure, there was a time when I wanted to be a famous actress and have my name in lights on Broadway. But, mostly, since the early '90's, I've wanted to be a mom. If only I could stay home having babies and doting on my adoring husband! If only I could home educate with no thought at all for bills and jobs and such. I would worry about cutting coupons and landscaping. Do you see the truth? I want to be a kept-woman. Is there such a thing?

Wanted:
One extraordinary man. Tall. Brilliant. Well-read. Financially responsible. Marriage minded. Must adore children and support home education.
Must be able to tolerate a head-strong, independent woman with a mind of her own and a tendency to be messy. (I think that this is where I lose them)
Send resume, references, and tax returns to me immediately.

Ah, well.
Like I said, I'll be my usual cheery self tomorrow.

We're an exclusive boutique firm

I apologize for neglecting you. On Wednesday, last, I found that I needed to be in a meeting in Seattle on Friday. So, I dashed around like a crazy person and flew out on Thursday evening.
It was a business meeting.
Because I am a Business Person.
I have a glimmer of understanding regarding why women leave their homes for the workplace.
It's because they get to wear makeup, and go in public, and schmooze over happy hour. It's very different from changing diapers and folding laundry.
So, I had a real meeting in a high-rise building. At a conference table. I had a briefcase and I wore "business-casual," Which means that I wore the kind of clothing that one irons.
The meeting ran really long, and so I was starving by the time we were through. This necessitated a stop at a lovely business person restaurant where there were lots of other business people discussing business things.
I ordered a Pomegranate martini and a late lunch.
Business people speak in acrostics. They say things like this, "Hey, I need you to order the APS for the ILIT so we can get the MVR ASAP." And I didn't know what we were discussing, so mostly my luncheon consisted of having the acrostics defined for me. Now, I can speak acrostic pretty well.
Also, when you are a business person, you have to walk with a sense of purpose and you have to act like you never do your own laundry. Plus you shake hands a lot.
All the business travelers at the airport were the same. They all have a cell phone surgically connected to their ear, and they carry a heavy briefcase, and they talk loudly. So, I tried to fit in. Only, I hadn't had my nails done, and all the female business travelers had their nails done, so I think they could tell that I do dishes.
Someone asked me what I do for a living, and I said that I am a glorified secretary. A "kelly-girl," if you will. Apparently, I am not supposed to say that. I asked my boss what I am supposed to say, and he told me this whole paragraph. It wasn't acrostic, but it was very foreign sounding just the same. He wrote it down for me, and this is what I am supposed to say:
"Well, I handle the finance and administration for a firm that does very advanced estate tax planning, business succession planning, liability mitigation planning, and privacy planning for high net worth individuals nationwide."
This requires a significant shift in my personal self image. Because I see myself as just sort of a mom, and I do this stuff at my desk in the afternoons. I didn't know, until Friday, that I was a Real -life Successful Business Woman.
I told him that since I can speak acrostic and I am really successful, that I want a raise. Because I need to get my nails done, and I need to go shopping for clothes and makeup. He told me that I have to work for the money, which is very annoying.
Traveling on an expense account is really fun, though. I want to do it again.

Today's troubles

There's this scene in the movie, Zorro, where Antonio Banderas is being taught to sword fight. He is told to keep his focus within a small circle drawn on the floor. As his skill improves, the master says, his range will broaden.
It seems to me that the opposite is true in life. The more I learn, the smaller my circle gets. What I mean, is that I actually have to force my scope of reality to be much smaller than it could be. Otherwise I freak out. If I concentrate on what is right in front of me, I panic less.
My worries could include:
Where am I going to live?
What am I going to drive?
How am I going to pay my bills?
What am I to do with the men in my life? Or lack thereof.
How am I going to parent through the teen years?
Or,
I could shrink my circle to include those issues right in front of me.
We need to eat breakfast, and start school. Then, when that's done, we'll do the next thing. Like lunch. Blogging obviously fits in there, as well.
You see, purchasing a retirement account is not an option today. Educating the children is.
I think that is what Jesus meant with the whole "be anxious for nothing" thing. It's counter intuitive, and countercultural. But it seems to work pretty well, when I do it.
Perhaps it's also what is meant by the Psalmist who wrote that God's Word is a "lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path." It's like having a flashlight on a late night trail. I can only see one or two steps ahead with any clarity, so that's where I put my attention, and my feet.
Step by step, little by little.
Keep it simple, stupid.

The grooming habits of juvenile males

Each of my children has a deep and debilitating fear of fingernail clippers. I am at a loss to explain it. Just the sight of the tool elicits thrashing and whining of severe magnitude. Why should this be? They clain it's that I once cut some nail too short and the appendage bled. While certainly a concern, this reality is hardly cause for the dramatic and repeated alarm that I am forced to witness. I did it once, boys! And how many nails have I have I cut, overall? At 20 nails per child at once every two weeks for about 23 combined years....That's a really good track record. The odds of getting a bleeder are low enough that Vegas wouldn't even make that bet.
One solution, which I have frequently brought to their attention, is the possibility of them actually trimming their own. They can't. They freak out at the thought. Have I mentioned that their combined age is 23? You would think that some measure of maturity would be imparted to their personal grooming habits.
Come to think of it, that is really not the case. I do have one child who would shower twice a day if the water were free. I have another child....an older, sweatier child, who figures that more deoterant can buy him a good week without a shower. Have you smelled preteen boys? More deoterant will not, under any circumstance, replace the need for soap and water paired with vigorous scrubbing.
So, as their mother, I still have to oversee these requirements that their Health curriculum covered in the Second grade. When does it change?

On falling in love...

My cousin and I had this conversation last night wherein we talked about falling in love.
I saw an article years ago which claimed that you are either the sort that falls in love, or you are not. So, if you have been in love before, you definitely have the capacity to do so again. You have to come pre-wired with the romantic gene.
I am that sort.
Johanna and I were discussing how you just can't control these things. I think it's rather like finding a great pair of blue jeans. Do you know what I mean?
I could go to the mall today and try on every single pair of blue jeans. I would assuredly not find any that fit. Indeed, I would likely feel deeply depressed when I was through. They would make me feel too short, too fat, too poor, all-in-all totally inadequate. I would need to stay far from sharp objects and open windows until I could apply chocolate. And wine. And then Adkins.
But, some friend might hand me a bag of things she was eliminating from her closet, and they would be in there. The perfect jeans. The sort that feel like a dreamy pair of sweats, but make my bottom look tiny. They would make me feel like a beauty queen, and they would go with everything. They'd be all worn in in all the right places.
But you can't ever find them by looking. You have to stumble upon them unexpectedly.
See?
Just like falling in love.
Now...are any of you clearing out a bag of cast-off men?

Things that go BANG! in the night

Ladies, here's the truth:
If you are feeling lonely, and in need of attention from members of the opposite sex, I have a suggestion:
The Gun Club!
Last night the boys and I went off for a bit of shooting at the local shotgun range. It's a sort of place where there are lots of pickup trucks and lots of testosterone.
Lots of Republicans.
Lots of gravel.
Lots of Beer.
Lots of Camo.
And also lots of guns.
But I have not handled a firearm in nigh on 15 years. And, I had never shot a shotgun, only rifles.
Today, I was sporting an alarming bruise on my upper arm. People kept asking what had happened to me. I impressed men with my explanation that I'd been kissed by a 12 gauge. Guys totally dig that. I told this to the camo wearing man at the guitar store today, and he immediately whipped out pictures of his hunting dog. Yeah, Baby!
The reason I was at the shooting range, was that I took my kids to practice for hunting season. M' is going to get me some duck, and some dove, and I want some pheasant, too. And an Elk, but that's a different kind of gun.
The truth is that I had no intention of firing a weapon last night. But the nice men were so insistent, and they offered to coach me. So I picked up this heavy, noisy thing and proceeded to BANG! at clay pigeons. I am certain I looked the dumb blond out there, asking what to do with this great big gun-thingy.
I hit nothing. Repeatedly.
Then, some kind man offered to let me use his really pretty Browning. It had these beads on the barrel which allowed me to aim. Not colorful beads, mind you. Just these bumps that I had to line up. And suddenly, I was hitting everything I aimed at. It was fun! I was being appreciated by men for my firearm-prowess!
I don't really think that the nice men were appreciating my gun savvy at all. It was a fantastical delusion. They were mostly wearing cowboy boots, and they chewed tobacco, and they were all 50+ and married...........Which just goes to show how there are some things I shouldn't blog about.
The boys got a ton of practice, I had a new experience, and we were outdoors in Idaho.

A Dirty Story

I am amazing, on account of the fact that I ran 3 miles In the Rain. Really, I did. Me and Jenine did it this very evening.
I would be more amazing if I had a clean house, of course, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?
It is rainy tonight, for the first time in a long while. Just yesterday, the heat was over 100 degrees. Unmercifully hot! But there is change in the air, and Autumn is on her way. There are a few things that I would sign up to change, and quite a few things I'd keep steady. But God doesn't seem to consult me on these matters, and He has a whole plan thing worked out.
He tends to give these little kicks of encouragement when I falter, you know. Today it was a free oil change.
I know that doesn't come off as deeply spiritual at first blush, but it was. The greasy guy from under the car said, "It's on the house today, since you had to wait." And I knew it was one of those Divine moments where God reminds me that He is perfectly capable of providing for me any way He wants to.
Even with Greasy Hands.
I'll bet Jesus was the sort of Man Who often had dirty hands. Don't you think? I just don't buy the pretty, well-kept paintings of Him.
I'll bet His hands were hard with callouses, and His face was leathery from the sun. I imagine that He was a big, sort of strapping fellow. Can you picture Him? Carpenters had to be pretty strong to heft around all those tools, and cabinets, and custom furniture they made.
Plus, he probably didn't shower very often, though perhaps he swam in the bracing Sea of Galilee. That's a weird thought.
He had to be a really tough Man to take the brutal beating they gave Him. I mean, He survived a long time after losing a ton of blood. He had to have been strong.
He was willing to lift up dirty little kids, and caress those oozing lepers. He got real gentle, sometimes. Have you ever seen one of those posters of a Great Big man holding a tiny little baby? I'll bet He was like that. It's a picture of contradiction. Like a Lover who can battle the worries of all the world, then have Hands of Velvet.
Wow.
This is the Man I have entrusted with my entire life, and that of my children.
I can trust a man like that.
His hands are dirty.
They're stained with Blood.

Have you ever....

1. Been on a cruise
2. Worked as a clown.
3. Wrestled a corpse into pantyhose
4. Taken part in a drug sting operation
5. Given birth
6. Rescued someone from suicide
7. Stood accused of witchcraft, for real
8. Gone to Guatemala
9. Fallen in love
10. Sang a solo

I have.
I'd love to see a list of some of the things you have done.