Limping along

So, I go to this class on Tuesdays. It's a class on Ecclesiastes, from the bible.
My teacher was talking about how we have all these needs, as humans. Food. Water. Friendship. Companionship. You-know-what. "Pedicures" was not on the list, oddly enough. I've had two pedicures in the past 10 years. You-know-what? Not so much.
He was talking about how God put these needs in us. How people over-compensate. Like when folks are thirsty, and their bodies need water, but they eat instead. Or how friendless people get promiscuous.
I've heard diet gurus talk about this, but I never gave it much thought. It seems to me that I should have pated attention.
Personally, I eat to make up for pretty much everything.
Unless I'm drinking to make up for it.
Or shopping.
Or applying eye make-up.
Mostly, over-compensating is a life style for me.
I was struck by the realization that nothing is supposed to make up for anything else. No food? Well, then, water is not going to help for long. No man? Chocolate is an unsatisfying substitute. You can try for a while, but at the end of the day, the basic need is still left empty. The hollow spot is still hollow, and it must be dealt with as it is.
For some bizarre reason, this was really comforting.
The reason I would like a man is that I don't have one. Super strong Christian-ness ain't gonna change that. It just is.
God takes us with those gaping holes in our selves. He teaches us to function as handicapped people. We all are handicapped.Once I recognize that in myself, it's sure easier to appreciate it in someone else.
If you tell me that you are fully fulfilled, I'll know you are a liar, and I'll figure that's your Handicap sticker.
Handicapped Parking, My friend, right next to me.

I decorate with Lysol

The kitchen floor is now clean-ish, which will bring you no small relief. I mopped it with an unknown substance from beneath my sink. The picture on the faded label resembled a sparkle, so I figured I couldn't go wrong. Usually, I mop with the bald man or a pine tree, but this was all I could find on short notice.

My old friend Heidi used to boil pine sol when company was coming so that her house would smell clean. Which? Whatever...her house is always clean anyway. She's in Virginia now. Weren't there tornadoes there last night? The boys and I watched the movie Twister last night on Don's new computer. That is one of the best movies ever made for one-liners. It has lines suitable for quoting in a wide variety of situations. I find that much funnier than it probably is.

That spray Lysol is great for sanitizing in a pinch. I use it on doorknobs, telephones, light switches and small children. Baby wipes are fantastic for quick bathroom cleaning, too. Those new-fangled expensive wipe things are over-rated. My mother sometimes carries little alcohol wipes when she goes in public. No, not that kind of alcohol. She kills germs. She is a sort of civil servant in that way.

My youngest child is a little OCD about germs. He was thrilled about having his own computer so that no one else's germs would touch his keyboard. I Lysol my keyboard. He also makes a mental note of anyone who doesn't wash their hands after using the bathroom. If we know you in real life, and you don't wash your hands, know this: You are much discussed at our house. And we're a little grossed out.

You would think with all this attention to the eradication of yuck, that I'd have a really clean house. Not so. Someday I will, though. I will have a gloriously decorated home with formal gardens and a fountain. I will have a library and a library ladder. I will have a Victorian parlor and we shall take our tea there in the afternoon, if it's too chilly on the veranda. In that day I will custom order tassels for every room from the Nester.

Do you think that Mr Clean is single?

In Which Tigger Drinks Heavily

Some days there's no help for it. Drinking heavily is the only answer.

There was a time when I thought that my very soul would be rent asunder if God should withhold from me more children. I am better now.
I spent the day with a four month old teething baby, with a strong set of pipes. Now I know that I am too old and tired to ever rear a newborn.
How does Kanga do it? You never see her tippin' back the honey pot.

Just look at Pooh: I never believed that was straight bee's honey, if you know what I mean. That's a beer belly, that is.





I'm not really going to drink heavily. Mostly, I just need Calgon to take me away.

Perhaps Yvonne will take me away. She's off to an adventure in Greece. Be safe, Yvonne. I shall pray you Godspeed.

I shall feel suitably worn out from watching that baby, and I shall consume something moderately low-cal.

Or chocolate. Whichever.

Party like a rock star

I carried my camera around all weekend and took no photos worth posting. I have an affliction when it comes to that.

Besides the Newsboy's concert, and a pedicure, I went to a couple of rockin' par-tays and one very lively house church. It was not unlike being 20.

My sisters are quite a bit younger than I am, and they each threw a party. The one who really is a 20-year-old-college-partier had a backyard bar-b-que complete with a drink she called "jungle-Juice." It's a hodge-podge of really seriously liquor-soaked-fruit. You could remove your nail polish with the stuff. I had half-a-glass and forgot my name. There are a lot-of-dashes-in-that-paragraph.

My other 20-something-sister is more mom, and less party. She had a little family get together to celebrate her man's birthday. She has those lovely baby girls, whom we all sit and admire. Small children always become the focus of any of our gatherings. I think it's because they provide so much fodder for conversation. And also they are cute.

Our little house church group is all kinds of fun. You have never met such a group of people who so genuinely love Jesus, and also know how to kick up their heels. I was thinking that we should begin a commune. We could be a cult. At Tim's Pool.

What with my whirlwind social calendar, I was noticing that neither my kitchen floor, nor my lawn received due attention. How is it possible that the week is now upon me, and the weekend work never got done?

I need a wife. If I had a wife, she could pay the bills, and clean the house. Get to the grocery store, and deal with the laundry. All this time I've been praying for a husband. Clearly I need to rethink my request.

A blurb

It's the middle of the night since it's past 10 and I'm tired. I have just returned from the Newsboy's concert. Yes, Iam still in love with the lead singer, even though he's married. No, I am not likely to get over it soon. It's the combination of his passion for the Lord, and his Austrailian accent. And also his eye makeup.
Kara leaned over to me at the concert and said, "I can see why you're in love with him."
Which was somewhat helpful. I am hopeless, after all. Her compassion was very comforting.

Financial wranglings

I am basically in love with Turbo tax, the IRS, and Meichelle. Plus, also, I am really grateful to God.
I had answered the series of questions put to me by TurboTax in growing delight at the number in the top left hand corner. As you answer question on this thing, it tracks your refund for you at the top of the screen. So, the number grows or shrinks depending on the information you feed it. Cool. I was expecting a large refund.

So, Kara came over and happened to glance at my computer screen. She got a puzzled look on her face.
"When the number is in Red, that means you owe Them," Kara informed me.
Which hadn't occurred to me.

At a moment like that, a girl has two choices. Drink heavily and chew on her nails. Or, chose to trust. God can provide in one situation just as well as in another, after all. I chose the later.
Then, I called Meichelle.
Meichelle-my-belle, whom I love with all my heart, is an accountant. She turned that frown upside down, and also that number from red to green. Then she doubled it.

Which? Shopping!
I took an honest look at my debt. Met it square in the eye. I wrote out the numbers. Figured what I could pay off. Then, I bought a computer. Sensible, no?
It's not for me.
It's for D'. My 11-year-old has better technology than me.
My second born so often gets hand-me-downs. He gets the backseat. His big brother is involved in so many things, and has such well-defined interests, that D' seems somehow overlooked.
I am so excited for him! This is a gift that totally surprised and thrilled him.
I told D' that there is a reason he got such a gift, and a purpose for such a gift.
The reason he got it is that he is such a hard worker. This is the child most likely to have a clean room. He contributes so much, and exhibits such gratefulness.
The use for it is, of course, educational. D' has often struggled to learn by conventional means. I had him tested, a couple years ago, by someone who was in a position to help. She made a number of suggestions to me, one of which was a two thousand dollar program (I don't think so). Another suggestion was a trampoline, which I bought with last year's tax return. And a computer. Apparently kids who struggle as D' does learn very well through electronic means. So, we're going to give it a try.
Anyway, the laptop was on clearance, and was cheaper than a desktop.
I still have enough tax return to sweep away a vast portion of my debt.
And then I will be broke again.

Praying for my friends

There are large situations on my mind this morning. Opportunities to see Heaven displayed in ordinary lives.

Do you think that sheer quantities of people praying increases the likelihood of a favorable answer from the God of Heaven? Or is hanging on His Hem in fervent prayer simply a matter of aligning myself with those who are hurting, and allowing Him to alter my perspective?

One little girl has been at the mercy of our justice system, and is awaiting a favorable outcome. Today is a pivotal moment in her pursuit for justice, and for freedom.

Another friend is facing a crucial test today that will impact his ability to provide for his family.

One friend is grieving powerfully, and facing a life forever altered.

Another on the brink of divorce, desirous of a miracle.

And so we wait. It is no real mystery to me that This God we serve allows us to come to these places. Here we are frozen in anticipation. Dependant. All we can do has been done, and the time has come to "be still and know that (He is) God." How delighted He must be to have our full attention thus.

I was meandering though the Gospel of Luke this morning, and I came across a note in the margin. Do you write in your bible? My margins contain all manner of lines on the significant moments from my life. It's instructive for me, because I am forced to remember the mighty things that God has done for me.

Luke 17:10 speaks of doing those things which we ought to do. Do I expect thanks for changing a diaper? Of course not. We serve those we need to serve, because it is right that we do so.
The note in my margin was written some time during my marriage. It says this, "How much more shall I respond as a dutiful wife to my husband who provides for me? Please help me, Lord!"
And that note takes me back.
You've heard tell of the dramatic decline of that marriage. But the few years we lived together were unspeakably miserable as well. It occurred to me this morning as I reflected on that little prayer from my bible, that God was doing something powerful in my life way back then. I was young at the time, maybe 27. I was so unloved, and so desperately unhappy. Yet, there was the hand of God, gently directing my mindset. All those years ago He was carefully shielding me from the slough of bitterness. That is Protection from a dreadful fate. A fate worse, by far, than a lonely marriage. God is very strong to accomplish such a thing.
I see Him act today, as well. More and more I come to expect it. It's taken more years than I care to count, just to posses within myself a glimmer of trust.

Remembrance adds fervor to my prayers this morning. He will act. It's what He does.

Various Musings

Patsy was wondering if perhaps I am in a bit of a funk. It's more that I have a lethal head cold, and oodles going on. Life is best for me if I sleep much, and have lots of quiet time.
Lately? Not so much.
We have my normal work schedule, but which I mean parenting several additional children. We have school. And we have an outrageous abundance of extracurricular activities. Lacrosse, guitar, band practice, youth group, my class on Ecclesiastes, house church, occasional regular church, baseball, and blogging.
In case you were wondering, yes, I switched back to regular coffee.

In other news:

I was reading in Romans about how we are to leave vengeance to God, and let Him repay our enemies. That's a hard one, because He doesn't always smash them, the way I want Him to. God seems to get a kick out of converting enemies to friends. There's not a real big line of folks in my "enemies" category. But there's a few people I'd like to see schooled a bit.
Allowing God to do His job there, means that I stand back and don't get in the way. I am no holy agent of His wrath.
And I mustn't simmer.
"Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." See? He knows my propensity for surrendering to the influence of evil, and He warns me not to be overcome. Drown 'em in goodness. Heap those burning coals. Turn the other cheek.
I know why. It's because I get so mixed up with dispensing "justice" that I am tainted in my soul. I get twisted by desire for revenge, and end up hurting myself.
I can go from holy to evil in two seconds, flat. You?
And this is not what I want.
I find, as the years go by, that I am not so impressed with myself as I once was. There's a lot of rough edges. Lots of sinful default settings in my repertoire. It's rather disappointing.
You'd think that the years would bring a radiance. That sort of gentle wisdom that makes for such loveliness. Alas. 'Twould seem that God has a bit more gunk to skim off the top of my persoanlity before I attain such a lofty beauty. There's really no shortcuts, either. One must plow on through and allow Him to remove the ugly in His time. And keep moving forward.

This morning's refrain

My mistakes are so big
my ministries so small
It's a wonder that God
tolerates me at all

I pour all I am into 2 kids and my home, with no idea how my faithfulness here is significant. But there are moments when the veil over eternity seems to flutter and a blinding flash of glory makes me catch my breath. Somehow this is profound. The laundry, the cleaning, the chauffeuring, the obedience. This matters. It is holy.

Mr. Right

Sometimes I think that I am so incredibly privileged. God picked me. I'm not talking about the whole 5-point-Calvin-predestination thing. God picked me to be someone He cares for in a very direct and real sense. God calls Himself the Father to the Fatherless, and the Husband of the widow. We read that over, and we know it must be true. But I get to live that, in a close up and very real way.
When I pray for a husband, I struggle to know if that is the right thing to pray for. Is that really what I want?
This morning in church, I was watching couples (I was also listening to the sermon, so don't you be thinking that I wasn't.) There were these men with their arms about the woman next to them. The gal would lean her head on his shoulder, and he'd kiss her hair. This was happening all around in church. It's a cozy place.
I was tempted for a moment to feel envious.
Then God gently reminded me that He picked me. He has kept me as His own for many years. I sit under the shadow of His wing.
Have you ever toured a magnificent home that you could never afford? One with a dozen bathrooms and a formal garden? You know how dissatisfied you get? I do, anyway. I start looking down on my pretty little home as if I've been somehow denied the better things in life.
I think my husband wishings are like that in reverse.
I have this huge Husband Who is wealthy beyond measure. He surrounds me in love that is never marred by arguments or squabbles. He never neglects to meet the deepest desires of my heart. He parents these children without ever making a mistake.
When I see some man caress his wife, it's like longing for a cottage, when I posses a castle.

I can never seem to reconcile that God ordained marriage, and it is a good thing.... with the fact that I don't have it, and I must not allow myself to be ungrateful or discontent. He is so good to me, and I am a fickle creature. What human man would put up with that?

A field trip

We went on the coolest field trip yesterday, to a park I'd never even heard of. It's about an hour South of civilization, or 40 minutes from Kara's house.















There were pictures on rocks that folks from ages past left for us to speculate about. They were apparently way smarter than you and I, because they had figured out stuff like true North and prime numbers. Now, I don't know about you, but I haven't figured out either of those things.




You can see an image which looks like a comb or a rake. No idea what that means. The arch with a dot inside, I think that was maybe a self-portrait of a Cyclopes. But what do I know?
I asked for a job and tried to convince the manager to allow me to lead tours from a Creationist perspective.
Also, I tried to convince him to let me take over the management of the park's incoming revenue. And also, to let me pursue world domination.



The children flirted with death on the banks of the swiftly flowing Snake River. M' actually brought a fishing pole along, and amazed the other children with his manly fishing skills.
They climbed rocks and caught lizards, and fashioned weapons out of twigs and rocks.










"Mom, the fish that got away was this big."
Actually, I don't know what he is explaining here. Perhaps we could run a contest in which you all create a humorous caption.













D' and his buddy crossed the bridge and climbed a mountain long after the rest of us were drooping from exhaustion.
We had walked and climbed and explored for so many hours! We all came home sunburned, and in need of a large burger.
I love Homeschool.

A battle worth fighting

I was thinking about purity, which is something of an anomaly. Usually I get to the topic by a rather circuitous route.
Purity transcends action. As a matter of fact, it is an issue whether you are single or married.
Do you know, I can be abstinent without being pure? You can be quite married without being pure, for that matter.
God wants purity from you and I. It's a funny thing to aim at. I don't go there readily by prohibitions. In truth, I don't stay long there by self discipline. How does one set about to maintain such a life?
The only thing that works for me is awe and love... and fear. I am awed by Who my God is, and I am very mindful that my sin would cause Him grief. I love Him. His love for me is far more intimate, and more intoxicating than a moment's thrill would be. When I project myself into the future consequences of any illicit liaison, I am dreadfully fearful of that. (Mother says that fear is often underrated; I think she's right.)
My sons and I were talking about the difficulty of purity. They were a bit impressed when they realized that my husband left when I was 29. That means, I told them, that I know well the struggle to stay pure. I know the cost. It is a difficult thing to fight for, sometimes. I am not a silly driveling parent who tells them to keep their pants on, from the arms of my loving husband. When I tell them that they need to abstain, I say it with some determination, and very little ease.
And I mean what I say.
I am no prude. But I know that no beauty is to be had outside of God's Plan. And I will have beauty, or nothing at all.
Married or single, purity is worth the cost. It is worth the fight. It is worth it.

Life without a TV

D' brought home some candy last night. He and M' and I sat around the living room listening to Ella Fitzgerald, and ate it slowly. We shared a Twix bar; it was all D' would part with. We took very small bites and described the textures and flavors as we ate. We would have made a fantastic commercial, in a condensed version.
Then we watched the candles flicker. They make shadows on the wall. The flames seem to dance to the music, sometimes. Who watches candles burn?
D' was carressing the candy like a miser. He had gotten a stash at an AWANA fair, and he spread it out on the floor, categorizing and counting as he went.
M' was stringing and re-stringing his lacrosse head. Lovingly. Boys are so weird.
I was snuggled under a blanket on the couch, sipping a glass of wine, and reading a paragraph in my book from time to time. Mostly I just watched the boys and listened to them.
M' would think aloud from time to time. Or D' would share random thoughts.
Such a perfect evening.

Happy tax day to you!

Sweet certainty! ...death, taxes, and, What else is certain?

I am one of those people who likes to have taxes done, and the refund spent long before April. Yesterday? I spent the entire day on TurboTax.
It was kind of funny, because I went skulking into the store to peruse the TurboTax display, and ...what do you know? There were other people there! So I jauntily sauntered up and said, "You all late, too?"
One woman nervously chuckled.
One man said, "Oh, this isn't for me, it's for a friend."
I winked at him and said, "Right... I'm gonna use that line!"

Caustic

I really ought to be careful as I write today. I am profoundly irritated with a particular individual, and blogging about these things can make others squirm. Like the time I mentioned the totally inappropriate sexual harasser I had the pleasure of working with.
Today's individual would be just about as thrilled to be mentioned in print. (Although, if I describe a psychotic rapist, or a drug dealer, or an axe murderer, and you recognize yourself, well, let's just say that the problem is not the fact that I typed about it!)
Today's diatribe would be about an individual who is entirely repulsed by paying bills, debts, or federal taxes. And also he yells a lot. I would too, I guess, if people kept bugging me to give them money. That I owed them. With interest. That's enough to make anyone cranky.
I suppose that there are two possible solutions if you find yourself in this predicament. One, you could get a job.
Or two, you could try really hard to borrow money from a poverty stricken single mom.
It's a tough choice.
The question which naturally arises is: Why would this individual think that a request for money could possibly be met with success?
The answer is that I am an idiot.
Do you need my stuff? My time? My credit cards? My reputation? Are you completely irresponsible? So much the better! Someone is a little co-dependant.
But here's the good news.
The past few years I have been undergoing a rigorous training program called Girl Gotta Get Some Boundaries. It's been a very difficult program wherein God shreds me completely, and allows me to reap loads of consequenses from the whole lack of boundries. It's a very effective program. I am nearing some sort of graduation, I think. The next lessons I'll need to learn are liable to be just as hard. Probably: Love Thy Neighbor And Say No. Or maybe, Get That House Clean Right Now.
So, annoyed as I am, I recognize that I am really the one at fault. I tend to excuse bad behavior until it becomes so grevious that there's no denying it. By then, so much damage is done. Instead, I need to expect that people (particularly men) treat me with absolute respect. If I am getting those internal warnings, I will pay attention the first time. And I will flee. Or punch him in the nose. Either way.

Have you met Jenine?

Jenine is married to my cousin. Here, she's known as "Jenine the wise." Most places around here she's known for her wisdom, and that's the truth.

She is the momma to 7 children, and she parents well.

There are some people who should not reproduce, but Jenine is not such a woman. No, she has great kids. They are well mannered and interesting people. This woman, when she is not doing mountains of laundry, home educates her kids. She's smart, I tell you. You know how much I like to rub shoulders with smart people!

And she's sexy. I don't normally say that about other women, (nor men for that matter), But she just is. She's one of those women who exudes confidence, and a powerful feminine presence. She sends dynamite signals to her smiling husband constantly. He, as you can imagine, can't take his eyes off of her. That's sexy, I don't care who you are.

You have never known anyone who has modeled such a life of self sacrifice. A large family has meant staying home when her friends are going out. It has meant nursing an infant, long after her peers have graduated theirs from the baby stage. Her life has been a life of commitment to the people she serves.

Neither have you ever seen such a powerful example of strength, and beauty. It honestly doesn't matter if Jenine hasn't had a shower in two days- she has this beauty thing going on. It so far transcends externals! She knows who she is and what her purpose is, like few people I've ever had the delight to witness.

She speaks of her investment in the future. When she peers through the corridors of time, she anticipates a rich harvest for her current work. She looks ahead to a future impact on the generations to come; holidays filled with many grand babies, and her adult children around her kitchen table. She is sowing into Important Lives, and expects to reap tenfold.

It's not just her kids that benefit from her life. Her husband is one lucky dude. She is creative, and hardworking, and pretty crazy about him. She sets a high standard for the wives around her. She kind of blows the curve for everybody else.

Jenine and Mike are moving into their dream home. I spent the morning hanging out with her and pretending to work at packing. She listened to my idiotic rambling, she prayed with me, and she spoke truth into my life. I didn't get a lot done there, but she got a lot done in me. It's like that when you spend time with her. She has a way of making you better than you were before being with her.

Zzzzz

I took a nap yesterday, which didn't really help enough. I grow increasingly pensive and morose. It's a lack of sleep that does it.
First, I get mean and grouchy. Then, I get thoughtful and withdrawn. I sigh a lot. The self-pity sets in next. Before you know it, I want to get back together with Chuck. If that man wanted to marry me, here's what he would do: He'd keep me up late on the phone, for a week straight. He'd use really big words. Kind words. Then, after I was staggering through my days, drinking full-strength coffee in the afternoons, he'd show up with romantic music and a large diamond. It's so simple, really.
...Don't panic.
He doesn't even read this.
Besides, it's my blog, for Heaven's sake. I must exaggerate for effect. Do you think I record the truth with no embellishment? How long have you known me? (There's a word for that exaggeration, "hyperbole.")

I've been reading Romans. We're set to discuss chapters 7 and 8 in house church this weekend. These chapters teach that I am dead to sin. I am no longer the one doing sin, it's sin which indwells me. (That's "personification").
Sin is, on the whole, rather annoying. I say we vote it off the island.

I am apparently going to be plagued by sin all my life on earth. I have to fight against it, but I am not guaranteed a win. It's perpetual futility.
Why did God design this plan?
How is this a good thing?
The only thing I can really come up with is that the fight, the struggle, is the point. Total purity is an unattainable goal, so the battle itself must be the reason. It's a lot of work, frankly.
And I'm tired.
Although, I believe I've mentioned that.

On why I love Chocolate

It is truly a wonder that I am still single, on account of how beautiful and brilliant I am.

I tried on swimwear last night for the briefest moment at the mall. It was a brief moment because of the time frame involved, and also because of the fabric.
The shocking conclusion I reached was that swimwear is stupid. The only way to contain one's bosom, is to wear a bikini. All of the suits that covered one's midsection, allowed all manner of flesh to bubble over the top. There is no modesty to be found.
What is modest? I don't want to be frumpy, you understand, just adequately (and flatteringly) supported. Alas, twas not to be.
And besides...swimsuit shopping with Kara? She looks good in everything. Even bare or bursting.
I resisted the urge to slit my wrists, and we ran across the street to our class. (we didn't really run. I meant that figuratively. If I would run, I'd look better in less fabric.)

The teacher of our class is brilliant. You know how I go weak in the knees for a brilliant man? He talked for over an hour on Poetry and Philosophy. He was using words I had never heard before. I love words I've never heard before.
I have never been one to choose men based upon their looks. Rather, I go for a man's mind. Which likely explains why I can have a perfectly satisfying relationship with a good book. And also why I shy away from pretty boys. (who am I kidding? If I could find a man who was attractive and brilliant and loved the Lord, I'd throw myself at his feet. And beg.)
It's hard to find an upright, God fearing man between 35 and 50. Harder still to find a smart and single one. Add to that the requirement that they know I'm alive, and the field narrows still further. There are something like....oh, I don't know...NONE on the planet.

So, feel free to advise me on my love life, or swimwear. I am sure I'll benefit from your advice. It can't hurt.

A touch of Destiny

I am reading a business book which discusses management, Jesus style. It's called Jesus CEO.
It's a funny thing, really, because this is not a book I would have picked up on my own. It was recommended to me by a friend who seems to have good taste in books. Plus, also, he's really smart. I want to be really smart, so I took the recommendation.

Now that I am halfway through the book, I feel motivated to seize control of a small country. By the time I am through, I might run for President. Heck, I would probably have a good chance!

It's interesting to ponder the way Jesus modeled leadership. Mostly I have considered that in terms of washing people's feet. You know what I mean? Be real nice, and serve others.
This is not so much the author's point.
She sees Jesus as a cutting edge world changer, which...duh! I don't know how I missed that. She talks about how He was convinced of His purpose, and He was a man of action, and how He motivated and inspired His team.

The whole point of the book is personal application. How can I be a leader, like Jesus was a leader?
You lead people, right? Either at your job, or at your home, or at your church. Look around, someone is likely following you.

Here's what I am thinking about this:
Do I know where I am headed?
Who is following?
Am I purposeful and impassioned?

There's a little room for re-evaluation, as I see it. I see my own leadership primarily in my home. The kids are following. Their education and parenting is the focus of my Passionate Purpose. And the goals there are well defined.

But what about in other areas?

I guess I need to infuse a little more inspiration into my daily life. Carpe Diem, you know?
Each of my little decisions today
add up to determine
where I am going,
and whether
or not
I am successful
in the purpose for which
God designed me.

Am I fulfilling my destiny?

Are you?

Eating disorders and child abuse

Well, howdy.
I painted my nails this morning because I am going swimsuit shopping soon. Every little bit helps. It's a part of summer, you know, the swimsuit thing.
Land's End is my favorite place to shop for swimwear. You get to go online and design your own virtual self, and try swimwear on that self. It's much less despair provoking than facing one's self in florescent light and full length mirrors.
My stretch marks glow in florescent lighting. There are stretch marks from my knees to my neck (I apologize to my male readers, I know that's a horrifying image.) But, there you have it.

This weekend I painted. Nothing new, really, just plugging away at the various unfinished projects.

Do any of you know how to parent a teenager? Because, I was wondering about that. Discipline causes withdrawal. Cracking the whip seems to make him move slower, rather than faster. He morphed into a lazy, moody, freak of nature overnight. How is that possible? You have never in your whole life seen a less satisfied creature. His mother is mean. His life is intolerable. How can anyone expect him to wear those clothes? Those are yesterday's clothes. He is abused and neglected because his mother will not finance his various whims. Poor lad.
I presented the shocking idea that Lacrosse is a privilege to be earned, and not his divine right. Lacrosse practice? At Mean Mother's discretion. That means: earn it, or stay home. No, the team doesn't need you. Get over it.
The CD player? Oh, you mean this CD player? It is not yours, it is mine. It is all mine. If I don't see hard work and respect, then I will not allow you to use what is mine.
Do you see what he has to put up with?
O, the severity. The injustice!

And this is my life in a nutshell. Today, I shall attempt to pay bills. Clean something. Educate America's youth. Abuse my teenager.
Sounds fun. So glad I got out of bed.
(This added for clarification: My teenager is a fantastic human being, and a delightful young man. Please don't let my bloggerly ramblings imply otherwise. I find him to be different, and more challenging as he gets older. He is a very, very good kid. Funny, smart, interesting, insightful AND a bit lazy and moody. Both sides of him are true. Parenting is different not because he has suddenly become bad, but because he has suddenly grown.)

Submission

Every once in a long while, I fall to telling stories from ages ago. There are moments, years even, from my days, which stand out in stark tragedy against the generally sunny backdrop of my life. I find this hard to do. It is a vulnerability that I am uncomfortable with.
How can I share stories without weighty emotion? The echo of those memories is quite strong, but not overpowering anymore. I can remember sorrow and grief without spinning into despair. Time is good that way. The events get folded into me.

My ex-husband is living in town.
Those of you who have been with me for a while, have heard bits and pieces of those days long gone: drug addiction, and violence, and betrayal. It's quite a story.

J', (we'll call him J'. Even those who are not so innocent can stand a bit of protection.)
He's been clean and sober for a while now. Two years, I think. And he is moving, bit by bit, back into polite society.
M' is interested in knowing his dad. D' is really not. Now, because I have sole legal custody, I have a bit of freedom to oversee the kids and their comfort level with this man. He had been utterly absent from their lives for a long time, like 5 years. They neither heard from him, nor saw him.
Now he wants a relationship with them.

I came from a divorced family, you know. My family shattered when I was 10. October of 1980, if I remember correctly. I know what divorce does to a kid.

My step-mother died when I was in my early 20's. My mom went to my dad's house to bring some food, and they greeted one another with a hug. Even as an adult, this simple sight gripped my heart. How I longed, even then, to see my parents together!
There's a mysterious something that a child feels for a parent. We long for their approval, and for their involvement. We love them, no matter what.
My boys are no different.
And so J' has come to M's lacrosse games. It's a tenuous beginning.

I have always been honest with the boys about their dad. They know most of his story, as it's their story, too. The very most shocking elements have been, not diluted, but shared in age appropriate terms. I have insisted on their respect for him.
It's crucial to respect those whom God commands us to respect. Respect does not have to be earned. Respect is an act of obedience, to benefit the one doing the respecting, and not necessarily the one being respected.
The boys may ask honest questions about their father. They may also speak of their concerns or memories or emotions, but they may not be derogatory, nor contemptuous. They look him in the eye when he speaks, and they respond to him as "sir."
They also understand that they must develop a relationship with him based upon who he is, and not on who they would like him to be. This is important. J's future is uncertain, and his past is a shame. To love this man means accepting his weaknesses and limitations. It means respecting someone who has never earned it. It also means that the boys bare their chests to the very real possibility of further betrayal.
But, it also affords grace. My children extend, to an undeserving man, a very tangible example of God's Grace. They gain a deeper understanding of Who God Is, and His relationship to all of us sinners.
J' has a chance to actually become respectable, and to learn more of Jesus through the love of those whom he has most hurt.
That's powerful.
I hold my breath to observe the intensity of it. For me, all fear and desire to protect must be Godward. Any bitterness. or shade of suspicion from me, will only harm those I would wish to shelter.
God be Praised. He can take even the worst consequences of sinful man, and weave them into beauty.

O, for a time machine!

I am so uninspired. How is this possible?

There's a lot on my mind the past few days; Sort of scattered-like.

I have been reading various books. Worrying about various nonsense. And fairly grumpy, overall. Perhaps it's the Vacation Let-Down. Does that happen to you?

I could be back, last week, when these pictures were taken.....or I could be now.

The Bride of Christ

What counts as "church"?
My uncle, whom I respect, says that any meeting of the saints is church. So, if you and I meet for a glass of wine and talk about the Lord, we've done church. Which is great. We should do that.

If that's church, then I do a lot of church. I wonder if there's a gluttonous quality to it. If I did nothing but study Scripture all day every day, I would be neglecting my responsibilities, and the constant study of God would get in the way of actually obeying Him.
So, too, if I go to church all the time.
We've been going on Sunday mornings more, and there's Sunday night also. I've got this Tuesday night class on Ecclesiastes. When is it too much? Awana, Youth group, Women's Study....we could be doing church every night of the week. But, is that the right thing to do? I rather suspect not.
You and I are told not to "neglect meeting together, as is the habit of some," and that's about as close to a command to church as I can see.
The Old Testament tells us that God wants His people to gather for worship.
The New Testament talks about a number of things relating to the "church." It's purpose, and how to behave there, and so forth.
I guess I am mulling this over for a few reasons.
The house church is one. Some of us attend as our meeting together for the week, our "church." Some call it "bible study" or "home group," and attend a traditional church. But does it matter? Which is correct?
This addresses the headcovering thing for me, too. I am not going to argue that point; I am concerned with my own application. Do I need to cover my head at Tuesday night class because we're studying the bible as a group? Do I have to cover my head at bible study? Can I call house church something like "dinner at Kara's" so I don't have to cover my head? Ah, semantics!
I go through this from time to time. Frankly, I am irritated with the inconvenience of wearing something on my head every time I head off to worship. That shows something kind of ugly in my heart, huh? I find myself looking for the bare minimum, so I can strictly obey. Shouldn't I rather be thrilled to worship my God as He loves to be worshiped?
What about speaking up at Bible study? Here's that question of women being "silent in the churches." If we're at Lisa's house, do I have to be silent? Because I'm not. At a traditional church I don't talk, except to whomever is sitting right next to me,. Of course, that's not silent, is it?
Sometimes I feel like I have to fight my flesh every step of the way.
I was reading this morning in Romans about how I am supposed to live as "dead to sin." But there's is so much of that alive in me. Why?
I want to be a lovely, worshipful, obedient woman. Strong and pleasing to God. Even that desire springs from issues of pride in me. I am pretty much hopeless.
And my question "What is church"? Is that so I can know when the requirement is met, so I can check it off my list? Or just so I can look for loopholes?

A career

Well, there's nothing like an evening in the ER for bringing a family together, I always say.
Ok, it wasn't the ER. It was the minor emergency place down the street.
My poor son nearly lost a limb in Lacrosse practice last night. Violent sport! Teenage aggression!
He was running along, minding his own stick, when something went "pop" in his hip. He lost full range of motion. The boy was in pain. Pain, I tell you! He is no wimp. I could see enormous strain on his face. He was terse, and tried very hard to remain stoic.
After a brief evaluation, we set off for the Doc-in-the-box. And do Doctors know everything? They do not. The educated man tormented M' by manipulating that leg. Then they X-rayed. "Yeah... I don't know," the brilliant doctor said, " Joints are really difficult. It sure doesn't look like any thing's broken in there. Maybe he strained something? Stay off it until it feels better. Do you need crutches?"
That's it?
That was it.
I could totally do that. Next time your kid is injured, you just come on over. I'll allow you to write me a big ol' check, you can sit in the living room for a couple hours, and then I'll advise a bit of Advil.

Which brings me to the next thought de jour. It's not remotely related.

Today I begin a class.
Kara said that I should get a shiny new notebook for my class. Isn't that fun? It's about God and Philosophy, from Ecclesiastes. Doesn't that sound stimulating? I am going to be a student. Of a teacher. In a class. With other Grownups.

And also, I need a raise.
Did you know that timing belts, within the engine of your car, don't last forever? Go figure. Grandpa gave me a bit of an education on that. For a mere Thousand dollars (give or take), one can rest in relative safety for another 90 thousand miles.
I was thinking of all I could spend money on.
Besides the car, the yard needs some intent and deliberate financial attention. Also, my children. They need clothing and a new Lacrosse stick on account of the broken one from last night (was that on your X-ray, doc?). And me. How am I expected to live another day without new paint and a stack of fabric? Fie!
See? Becoming a Minor Emergency Advil Advisor sounds like a savvy career move.

The good news is that I am remarkably happy for someone who ate dinner with two cranky children at 10 pm. Joy is directly related to coffee consumption. And the work of the Holy Spirit. God is Good. I really mean that. With all of the swirling circumstances around here, the one constant is the Presence and Provision of a Creator Who Adores us. We have this steady assurance that upholds us, and even elevates us, above the uncertainty around us. God be Praised!