I'm shocked I didn't win

We even bought 2 tickets, likely in case we left the winner for the next guy in line and we didn't want to miss out by "just one." But the time for the draw has come and gone and my husband didn't wake me up, nor was there a new car minivan in my driveway this morning, so I'd guess it's safe to say that these 2 pieces of paper aren't going to taste nearly as good as the Chipotle he would've bought. 

But who, in the past 24 hours, hasn't played the "If I won" game? I mean, $640 million is a lot of money. The thought that building a million dollar house would be one of my big spends... well, then I'd still have $639 to go. When JJ and I played the "how would you spend it" game last night, a boat and college education was on the list. Blah blah. Pants that fit for me. (OH! MY! What a pickle if I'd won as it's still during Lent. I'd have to hold out on my spending spree!)

Everyone always lists out "give to charity" on their spend, but I started thinking about what that looked like - just add that to the list of ways I'm a freak. I know so many people in ministry and I'd love to be able to support them in different ways. But $639 million (remember, I built the house) could potentially change the world. At least, someone's. 

I decided on the way north that I'd invest a good sum to solving Hardin County's problem of heroin trafficking and addiction. Between my limited interactions with those caught in the world of the addiction and the regular reports on WKTN of overdose and arrests, I strongly feel this problem needs addressed. I'm sure lots of good people in the area want to see change (several churches have had rallies and stand on street corners with signs trying to bring awareness), so I wondered, nearly aloud, what several million dollars could do to bring healing. I'm tired of seeing "Drugs bring Death" signs in the windows and knowing it's true. 

I decided that in bringing together a roundtable (sheriff, mental health professionals, community leaders, business owners, educators, pastors, poverty-mindset gurus and former addicts themselves) we'd discuss how we could equip the entire community to bring healing. While the sheriff might get a larger staff (largely to focus on targeting dealers as opposed to addicts themselves), the focus of the group would be about a trickle-down effect. 

The general tendency is to throw some money at "professionals" and outsource. Perhaps build a large facility that those suffering could "come to" for  help. But I'm firming up my stance that places and programs don't change people - people change people. These kinds of nasty, cyclical, crippling situations can't be solved by offering someone a free this or that. And programs simply organize people. So let's focus on people. 

I know next to nothing about addiction (I was going to crack a joke about coffee, but that's just not even funny to try to draw a comparison). But in my experience, when I need to make major life changes,  I need people who support me. I need those who challenge me. I need those who walk beside me and tell me it's okay if I need to sit down and rest. I need people who believe in me, not in the sense that my worth is dependent upon me changing, but that I'm worth investing in to see change. 

A major hole in our system is the way people build community. Those in the rings of drugs and crime know one another. Users seek friendships with other users. So even those who have that gut leading that things need to change, and they want to change, rarely have a large circle of people to draw them toward the actions that will bring about change. For some, life outside of addiction is a foreign concept. Not only do they not know how to live it, they lack awareness that a whole world lives by a different set of rules and norms. 

Every single heroin addict in Hardin County lives by someone. They share a property line. Even if they live by another addict, that addict lives by someone. Somewhere along the line, someone who is living clean and healthy is encountering someone who isn't. So what if the community decided that it wasn't going to let a crippling disease infect its body anymore. What if the churches and civic groups and the library and the mothers groups and the Elks and the Y and the coffee shop and the Mexican restaurant (Heavens! There's only 8 places in the county to go! This can't be that hard!) were provided means to help their people, their customers, their members, learn to seek justice and love mercy? What if we organized our people to, using the incarnational words of Eugene Peterson, "move into the neighborhood" on a regular basis. Just using basic math - there are more of "us" than "them"(what awful language, writer!), imagine the results. If each addict had one person calling them once a week. 

Is it foolproof? Nope. Would well-meaning people get taken for a ride, treated badly, scorned, or possibly even hurt? Absolutely. 

But with even a small sum of money, we can build a house or we can build a future. In this situation, there's no such thing as "live and let live." It's "live and let die" if we choose hide our eyes. And it's not addict deaths; such a infestation has the power to suck the life out of even healthy hosts. 

Or, I could just buy a yacht. But changing the world sounds so much more exciting than just seeing it.  

morning reflection

This morning's reading came from Zechariah, one of those minor prophets that few approach outside of seminary assignments. But this is why I love a good devotional read (I'm currently using Solo and would recommend it to my friends), much like preaching from the lectionary. It forces you to deal with passages you'd otherwise like to skip. 

Today's message included a reminder of God's word to his people: "You're interested in religion, I'm interested in people." And Zechariah reminded the people of the previous message that repeats itself over and over in the prophetic books:

Treat one another justly. 

Love your neighbors. 

Be compassionate with each other.

Don't take advantage of widows, orphans, visitors and the poor.

Don't plot and scheme against one another - that's evil.

This kind of message is par for course for the past several weeks. But the reflection questions caught me:

1. If God were looking directly at you and saying these versus, what would He mean by "You're into religion, I'm into people"?

2. Who do you know needing justice love and compassion?

3. Which of your religious activities do you think might merely be meeting your own selfish needs? Examine them. 

And suddenly some 9-year-old-boy drove by on his bicycle and chucked a stone at the house and hit me between the eyes!

At least, that's how it felt. 

I can't explain to you the frustration I feel in beginning to seek a church home for 362nd time. We just want to connect. To serve. To connect. 

But this passage squarely asked me to examine my motives and totally called me out that I can be serving, and loving, and fulfilling God's call Monday - Saturday while we find our People. And perhaps Sunday has come to be a bit more for me than for Him. 

A church family is a non-negotiable for us. We need the practice of setting aside time. We need people around us. We need teaching. If I don't surround myself with others, I may start to believe myself to the fullest extent when I say I'm always right. 

But a church family isn't a pre-requisite for living with God's purposes and will in mind. I don't need the church secretary to create a sign-up sheet to love the widow across the street. I don't need the youth director to create an event so that I can be friendly to the high school baseball player who watches our dog. 

A community is helpful for holding us accountable, but it's not required to start today living and loving as God wishes we would. God's not as interested in religion, the patterned acts of pseudo-devotion that makes us feel better about ourselves. He's interested in people. And even a part-stay-at-home, part-work-at-home, my-van-never-leaves-the-house mom is surrounded by those. It's not a matter of being equipped, it's a matter of taking my eyes off of 2503 and looking down the entire Drive. 

Bring on Easter

Though the whole fasting from purchasing has been a bit easier than anticipated, I still have a list of things that quite possibly will find a home post-Resurrection Sunday. 

1. Jeans that fit

2. A blender that blends (nothing says New Life like a smoothie you don't chew)

3. Lunch out.

4. A glass container to keep my tea in the fridge

5. Something from IKEA. Just because. 

6. Some sort of white board for my office (I might Pinterest this, but I'll need to buy supplies)

7. Lounge furniture for my back deck. 

How old am I that these are the purchases I drool over? 

if I only had a penis

While in seminary I once encountered a group of men who told me in no uncertain terms, that women should be silent during church. (Subsequently, when they wanted me to report to the class our assignment, I used their hermeneutic and declined such participation). Later, I was told by a (male) professor that I should be taking part in a few programs offered by the school precisely because of - and in spite of - that very group of men. 

I remember sitting in one of my required UM classes and having a panel discussion about Women in Ministry. I was asked to speak / participate, but I declined. I didn't feel I had anything to offer. I was a woman and I was in ministry, but I had no thoughts beyond the obvious. The women who led the discussion had more experience fighting battles with the Establishment over their worth and value in a church leadership role. I remember discussing with a friend later that it's because they've fought those battles that I have not needed to; but because I've not fought, I'm not passionate. I've always been pretty non-involved in these heated theological debates. 

Last night I was told that we had to "check to see" if I was still permitted to lead in ministry in the ways which I have for nearly 10 years. My talents, experience and knowledge came secondary to my sex organs. Which is surely what Jesus looks at first. 

I can't describe the hurt. The frustration. The sadness. Typically I'm the type who will simply walk away and find a place to fit (and this will likely be coming). But last night I hadn't moved into "what next." I apologized profusely to my husband for being difficult, a gesture quite unnecessary in his eyes. But the truth of the matter is: if he'd married one of those quiet, compliant types he'd be involved in a church home by now. (And he probably wouldn't have spent last night doing his own ironing while his wife went for a run.)

I went to bed with tears. I questioned why God would make me with such a mold. I've thought before, and last night with much more certainty, that it would've been easier if he'd made me a man. Or if he would've shaped my mind differently. If I was born without a large mouth that insists on sharing  everything. Or the insatiable curiosity that has me reading about anything. Born sans these, I think my life would more easily navigable. 

Perhaps if born a man, I'd be okay with the tug I feel toward higher aspirations. I wouldn't be ashamed to climb any sort of ladder. I wouldn't feebly raise my index finger when asked "who wants to take this on?" 

I could go on to list the scripture I use to defend my place of service. Or how we can't bear to think about raising our girls in a place where they'll infer that they may only participate in church life a fraction of the way their brother will. My mind has ventured in so many directions over the course of hours. 

But the long and short of it: the church made me cry. It made me ashamed of who I am. It made me think that I needed fixed, not because of the sin I in which I find myself entangled, but the body in which I was born. 

And that's not right. 

So this morning I say a prayer of thankfulness for my roots. For the places and people who grew me. For the encouragement and love of those who believe gifts and passions come from the heart and not the genitals. I'm thankful I know of a place where I will be welcomed as I am. A place that if I'm told to be quiet, it's because I'm wrong and using bad theology, not because I wear a bra. I'm thankful that this church doesn't tell the whole story of the Church and a new chapter awaits. 

there's a Jesus in my yoga

Thanks to my husband's generous employer, I participate in a weekly yoga practice (some sessions twice a week!) downtown. I absolutely adore the teacher and have benefited on several tiers in terms of personal health. I've practiced yoga on my own over the years, or with others who had some knowledge of postures, but this is my first experience with a trained professional (and it makes a difference, I must add). 

Over the years I've discovered that a sector of the Christian population tends to shy away from the idea, scared it might let the devil in or something. I suppose I understand the reasoning - that its roots lie in another religious practice, namely Hinduism - and articles from both the Hindi and the Christian side can argue against a crossover (google "yoga and religion" and sit back with buggy eyes). 

I'm a huge advocate that spirituality and faith is not simply a heart or mind condition; it's something that involves one's entire being. Following Jesus isn't just about what I think or feel, but it contains also what I eat and how I treat my body, among other things. So I'm not convinced that I can just "turn off" my faith for an hour or so while I twist into a pretzel. But, (much to this writer's chagrin), I also won't leave donning a Bindi.

Instead, I choose to take the wisdom and understanding from the practice and see how it can strengthen my own framework, which is (largely, I hope) built around Jesus. Though Jesus himself had access to all truth, I'm not convinced his followers have had a corner on that market, so perhaps an open mind might help us connect our own dots. Which is exactly what happened on Thursday. 

Our practice contained a large amount of twisting and turning, stirring up the insides and opening up the chest. At its conclusion, as always, we ended in shavasana (pronounced in our class "shibasa" but when I googled "corpse pose" this is the spelling wiki provided. And wiki is always right, right?). Corpse pose says it all: laying flat on the ground, eyes closed, releasing tension throughout the body, quieting the mind. I remembered that I'd learned before that this pose is where "the true work of yoga is done" (I think this came from my yogoamazing podcasts. Free, but a warning: he is a tad fruity.)

I began to chew on the fact that the act of ending work with a period of rest in order to make the work fully effective is a shared idea across the two beliefs. In the pose the body switches to a anabolic state of being, when organ and muscle repair happen, as opposed to our normal catabolic state (thank you wiki!). All of the work we did for 50 minutes may amount to nothing if we don't give the body a chance to absorb it, to wallow in the change that is happening within. 

And so it goes with the end of our week. We work, toil, sweat and labor (even if by sitting at a desk) all week. We might even see progress. We might meet the end (or perhaps just the middle) of our to-do list. So rarely do I hear about people getting ahead, but many find victory in simply keeping up the pace. 

But the truth of the matter is that none of it will last if we don't take a Sabbath break. If we don't rest and allow the change to work itself through us. It's a basic principle of nature: rest is required. Runners are fully aware - they mandate regular rest throughout marathon training. Even bears at the zoo operate with a similar law of nature (a fantastic teaching by Ruth Haley Barton includes this tidbit). 

At its base, in both the practice of yoga and in a life following Jesus, this fundamental truth will save us. We cannot do it all. Change cannot be mandated, only invited. "Like fruit in a vineyard, these gifts appear..." It is in the stopping, the resting, the simmering, that the best work is done in us. Grace doesn't force herself upon helpless victims; she awaits an open door. And her presence transforms us. 

I'm hoping that tomorrow she arrives early and stays all day. 

the church, the steeple, the people

As of late, this is largely how I've begun to feel within the churchy world.  So Rachel Held Evans' post this week about Why I left the church struck a chord; though I'm not contemplating going anywhere, I resonated with her frustrations. 

Instead of withdrawing, I've made the decision engage further; I know the situation isn't perfect, but I'm not waiting on perfection. As KLR likes to say, I want to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem. We've found a group of people who seem genuine, kind and welcoming. There's an organic feel to the church. When you meet in the banquet room of a shanty hotel, you're really dependent on welcoming others with your people, not your facilities or programs. I like that. 

But, much like Evans has found, sticking around can be exhausting. I sometimes feel like I'm stuffing my emotions under, or even living a double life. I've started to participate in the youth ministry and enjoy it to the hilt - it's like my ministry blood has started flowing again, energizing my limbs that I never knew were sleeping. Talking to the girls, even playing silly games, fits like my Reef sandals on the first day of Spring. 

But returning to something offers a viewpoint of how much has changed, namely: Me. I flinched when the leader used the word "saved" in a talk. Why? I have no idea. We talked about how to have a quiet time, a discipline I love and depend on, a morning ritual that has become my main outlet of peace in tumultuous life. So while I love passing on the knowledge and skills of spending time with God, I'm saddened when it comes across to students as yet another thing to do, another way that proves they're not enough when they don't follow through on their goals to become more diligent. Hearing the girls' frustrations and fears made me want to cuddle them up and say, "But God loves you and this doesn't define your life with God." But I was afraid they wouldn't let me come back next week. 

My view of God and the Church evolved a lot over the past 5 years or so. I feel like it's roomier, and I've allowed some boundaries of belief to become a bit more of a semi-permeable membrane as opposed to a stone fence. I'm okay with it; my relationship with God has flourished, as opposed to floundered, because of it. 

But in becoming more internally spacious, I feel a bit crammed into the larger context of Christian subculture. Like I'm trying to wedge myself in, shoulder first. I want to be a part. But sometimes I feel like there's just not room at the table. 

I'm not asking that people agree. I'm not looking for people just like me; I'm looking for people who accept and respect me if I disagree. I'm looking for a faith family that loves us all because of - not in spite of - differences. 

your judgmental tone is so loud I can't hear a word you're saying

Much like H Boy only seemed to sprout new teeth over holidays, Baby C seems to conjure some sort of issue at the most inopportune times. The weekend I take all three to my folks while my sister arrives as solo parent as well? New teeth. The night before I have to fly to Rhode Island and back (leaving at 5am and returning at 11:30pm thanks to a 3 hour delay in DC)? An unshakable fever. For 3 days straight the girl was hot to the touch and getting hotter. 

As I posted on FB, I decided to play to the mom guilt and take her to the doc - 3 days and 104 were my limits. However, I was fully prepared to get the "it's a virus, plenty of fluids, dose up on the Tylenol" schpiel. But instead, doc said that it was likely some sort of infection, be it sinus (she was drippy), ear or even urinary tract, and prescribed a antibiotic. 

It's no secret I'm not a lover of the pharma industry or its sway on the medical community. Apprehensive is the friendly term I'd use for my response. I asked a few questions, as I think all patients should, including "so you don't think it's a virus?" But the doc felt pretty strongly that an antibiotic was needed as the fever was too high (agreed) and had been there for too long (agreed). 

He looked through her charts and noticed that she's not up-to-date on her vaccinations (read: hasn't had any). I think I saw the "you're one of those" light come on and then he threw in, "if you don't want to do the antibiotic then we'll have to go down to Children's and do a full panel workup to find out what's causing it." 

I hate fearmongering. Especially to moms, who live and sleep the "what if I would've" game. It's not a fair card to play simply because you're wearing a white coat. They gave us a dose of baby Motrin (right there at the office because I'm sure he was convinced I wouldn't do it on my own, even though I told him we'd been doing Tylenol for the past 2 days) and asked me point blank if I was going to get it filled. 

I left upset and frustrated. I felt bullied, backed into a corner. I stopped in to my chiro's office (they share a building. Weird, eh?) and though she wasn't available, I chatted with the receptionist, who I adore, and she made me feel a bit better. Later she called and said that Dr. A agreed and the antibiotics were the best route at this point. 

I came home sorting through my frustrations. It wasn't that the doctor prescribed an antibiotic; it's that I felt he didn't want to listen to a single concern I had. Because truth be told, I was willing to give her the medicine - I just wanted to talk through all options. And honestly, I would be satisfied with an "I don't know how it might affect X, but I really think that it's a secondary concern to the high fever." That's a fair answer. But in my situation, I was being treated like it wasn't even a fair question.  

I think perhaps the larger Christian community could learn a little something from my doctor. Perhaps we should know when to prescribe and when to listen. When to air concerns and when to say, "I hear you, but I think at this point, that's a secondary concern." (*Note: this means later addressing secondary concerns as true concerns, not just gloating about how you were right about the primary issue.)

In the end, the doctor was right. The antibiotics dropped her fever quickly and she was in good spirits this afternoon. I didn't even have to give her a dose of Tylenol tonight. Does that make me want to call him up tomorrow and express how wrong I was and how glad I am that he whipped out the phrase "children's hospital"? Not at all. I'm shopping for a new doctor. Because even though he's right doesn't mean he cares. Just because he can present true fact doesn't mean I want to see him. 

 

parenting as stewardship

Most Octobers, I don't enjoy Church because it's budgeting season and we're forced to hear how important our 10% is, both to God, the Church and ourselves. Whilest true, I feel the message would be more effective to talk about the 90% and how we steward that. We only have so much to spend, but do we see each purchase as a decision? Probably not. We just know we need more coffee and Meijer put Brand X on sale. That's not stewardship, that's math. 

But today I read in the NYTimes Blog (Motherload) a book review on No Regrets Parenting (now on my wishlist); the author did the math and it turns out that as parents we only get 940 Saturdays through childhood (ages birth - 18). Less than a thousand. If you put a dollar in a jar for every Saturday that you get with your kid, when they graduate you'd not have enough to pay their first quarter's tuition. Or even a decent car to send them away in. 

Wow. 940. I keep rolling that number around in my head and wonder if I'm stewarding them well. Today hit the mark - we spent the night at grandma and grandpa's, woke up for breakfast that we didn't make, stopped at Indian Mill to throw stones, took the big kids to the park, grilled out some lunch and then played outdoors after naps. Of my 940, I'd say that's a good way to spend one (or several). 

I thought about the parents that I follow whose children are in a different stage of life; they get to spend their Saturdays at the ball diamond. I wonder if they enjoy one that way? Forty? What's the best number to allot to childhood activities versus the number to spend simply being a child? 

Or we can switch days and instead of counting the recreational ones, we could count the spiritual ones. We get 940 Sundays to bring our kids to church, to set an example of prioritizing worship, of introducing them to a family of believers. Sleeping in sounds nice much of the time, but if we only get 940, and we spend 400 of them sleeping, shouldn't we wonder what a life of faith would've looked like? Clearly church attendance doesn't make the person a Christian ("any more than being in water makes you a fish"), but the simple act of putting on our pretty clothes, singing a song and hearing a message to center us on God means that we're doing more to stretch our spirituality than if we stayed in our jammies and watched cartoons. I feel like it's a worthy way to spend a Sunday. 

940. I can't stop. If I realize that I only get a limited number of childhood Saturdays, will I choose to spend them wisely? (And what exactly is "unwise"?) We don't need to turn every Saturday into a production, but with this new knowledge I want to be able to begin to name the good and the bad, the worthy and the unworthy. What if I spent at least 100 of them serving others with my kids? How could that impact them? What if we spent at least 50 of them in other places - new states, countries, cultures and climates? How could that shape their view of the world? 

An friend spends his Saturdays at the House of Breakfast with his daughter. Nearly every Saturday, unless extenuating circumstances arise. That's worthy of a Saturday right there. And they return and still have a whole day ahead (until he has to preach, God bless his soul. *Pats shoulder appreciatively*). 

What if I were to begin viewing Saturdays like money? What if I stewarded my precious time with my children, seeing each week as a decision between this or that. Yes, there's X we could do. But I want to put my time and energy with my children toward Y. I don't want another 50 Saturdays of such-and-such to eat away at my stash. 

Stewardship, the idea that we control resources but cannot create them, seems such the church-y word to me, but yet that's what we are here on earth - stewards. Nothing we owns goes with us; we simply use, enjoy and manage it for a short while. So it goes with children. We can control the resources. We can use, enjoy and manage the time with them for such a brief while. When they're grown, we cannot manufacture new years of youth to be consumed again. 

I'm glad I can go to bed tonight assured we spent one of the 940 in a most worthy way. And I have another week to plot and scheme so that the immediate future doesn't slip through my fingers. 

cool girls club

John Meyer realized about 8 years before I did that there's no such thing as the real world. Though I'm quite a different person than I was in high school, some of the mentality and perception of people and status and worth is still there, just in a different form. 

I'm quite the blog creeper. I lurk in the shadows. I listen, consume, emulsify, and then come here and think aloud. Or I read it aloud to my husband, who really cares much less than I'd like to admit. But you know what would be more productive? To engage. Conversate. (Google, I make a motion to turn noun conversation into verb conversate. It's the infinitive form of conversing). 

But in case you spend your webby hours at cool places like spotify or twitter or Huffington or anywhere else I regularly peer into but become overwhelmed by, there's a group of women writing in a way that changes hearts and minds. There's Rachel Held Evans, who gives a voice to Christian women by proclaiming that we do, indeed, have a voice. And Jen Hatmaker, who took the fork in the road that I wanted to take. Today, I saw on twitter that they've become cyber-buddies (is cyber still used? Did that get voted out in 1998?). They're friends. BFF. I walk into the cafeteria, and there they are, eating, laughing, changing the world. They're saving a seat for Kristen Howerton, who also mentions both of these ladies in her well-followed blog. 

And now, instead of me hoping to become webby friends and peers, they're suddenly the cool girls club. My own little version of celebrity, only 80% of the population wouldn't know them by name unless they're in my particular sub-sect (meaning the nerdy-reading type that loves Jesus). I want to sit down with my packed lunch and ask how the Spanish test went. I want to find out what their topics for the research paper will be. I want to laugh at their jokes (we ARE hilarious) and tease about our obvious shortcomings in a way that only friends have a right to do. 

But the sheer number of people who do read and love their work is large; the comment section runs on and on. Who am I to offer a thought, a tidbit? (Especially because they've said it so well already.) I seriously feel so high school. About commenting on a blog. Seriously, self. Get. Over. Yourself. 

As I aspire do more things I love, I realize now that I need to get over my celebrity view of success. I need to stop wanting to be "one of them" and start simply doing what I do, but better. (Starting with: stop treating the blog as a diary and start offering real content. Starting tomorrow.). I need to create a measuring stick so that I can get better, but it need not carry the face of another woman at the top. I don't want to be the red-headed version of someone else. So the mind games have got to quit. 

I told KLR this week that I need to get over myself if I want to do my "other things". I need to realize that being published in Time isn't my success mark. I can do things small, and well, and allow myself a sense of satisfaction. If I only shoot large, I'll never jump. I'll never complete a marathon if I don't go out and build a good 3-mile base run. And those 3-milers are home. Those 3 miles may not stretch me, but they build my foundation. 

So I tell my internal struggle, my wavering from not-good-enough to too-prideful-to-try, to STOP. Just put on your running shoes and see how many miles you can get in today. Then, tomorrow, add one. 

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original. (Gal 5:25-26)

lenten update

A quick update of my Lenten experience. It's going... fine. On the one hand it's much easier than I imagined. It turns out I rarely go shopping for the sake of shopping, or really ever buy things unplanned. On the other hand, it's made me quite the social recluse as most of my attempts to be with other people center around eating out, getting coffee or what have you. My cheating ("taking a Sunday" - but I'll have you know I've made fewer purchases than there have been Sundays in Lent so far. I think this shows effort!) have all been around eating out - lunch or dinner on Sunday with the fam when I just don't feel like cooking and will COMPLETELY justify and say it's biblical. Also there the mental sanity day that I met KLR for lunch. That was a Wednesday and not a Sunday and I've repented for my sin. I know God's okay with it because He completely blessed me with my time in conversation with her.

I wish that instead of just hiding at home until Lent is over, I would (have) become more creative in the ways I connect with others. I feel strongly that having others over and sharing a kitchen and a dinner together is a connection point. Since I married Mr. Hospitality himself, I wish we would make more effort at inviting others over. (On the other hand, I have no idea when this was supposed to happen. Our weekends have been booked solid, unless we're sick, and sometimes both). I love eating out because the work involved is minimal. But I believe it also coincides with the minimal amount of relational depth that happens as well. Bringing someone into your home, to your table, is much more intimate than the industrial setting of fast food. But we're a fast-food nation, and I wonder if our relationships have begun to mimic our eating patterns. We grab a quick conversation on the run, a FB message here and there, but relationship lacks nutritional substance. Quick calories that can fill your tank for the moment, but not the nutrients that make for healthy growth. 

My friend SC lives by the idea that you know the strength of the friendship when you can walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water. You either know where they're kept or are comfortable hunting through until you find them. But that takes more than one visit to the kitchen to have those rights. And you'll never know if you're only meeting at Taco Bell. Dining together is more than just how quick an easy the food can be served; it's allowing people in. It's joining in the chaos of what it means to get food on the table. And in the comfort of creating all of that, relationships bloom. 

So, that's Lenten Reflection #1: commerce has hijacked dining with friends. Unless you're one of the lucky ones who still lives in Findlay and has breakfast in one another's homes so the toddlers can frolic and you can enjoy a cup of coffee and a good breakfast burrito. 

what a glorious day, today (glor-i-ous.day.)

When the day started so swell, I had no idea it would end even better. Allow me to recap in list form. 

1. The best parenting advice my sister has ever offered was not to change the clock, but change the kids. So instead of their wintertime 7pm - 7am sleeping (yes, they sleep a lot. And yes, they nap), starting on Sunday we went to an 8-8 setup. Like. A. Charm. I imagine that as time progresses and daylight invades, we might creep into the pre-8 hour, but so far it's a good gig. 

2. We were dressed, packed and out the door with little-to-no whining. No small feat, especially with the oldest's inclinations. 

3. I actually accomplished work. Inbox weeded down (I'm slightly anal-retentive about keeping 5 emails, max, all action-required, in my email), phone interviews reviewed and even some resumes rated. Not to mention some very successful calls with the client partners. 

4. Afternoon run in the beautiful sun. I was apprehensive as I was sick last Friday and have been fighting a sinus infection for about 32 years, but it really was the best thing for me. 

5. While on said run, I saw a phenomenally large moving truck down a street of houses much too small to contain such goods. I saw a young mom and 2 kids in the driveway filled with boxes, so I stopped to greet them to the neighborhood (I'm trying to learn how to be a good neighbor). Turns out they've been here a while, but her folks are moving to the area and they've been delegated the holding tank. But she was exceptionally friendly, a SAHM with 2. We talked sitters, because that's my recent angst, and though she didn't know of any she offered to be available if I'm ever in a pinch. We even talked playdate sometime. She has no idea she's now an unknowing friend victim. MUHAHA. 

6.  Naptime involved all 3, simultaneously. Which gave me time to chat with the BFF and get dinner marinading, involving another batch of homemade ranch dressing. 

7. Hubby was home early and the whole family went out back to tidy up and enjoy the sun. Not to mention grill dinner (kabobs). 

8. Got a text from the papa with a positive message from a potential buyer. FINGERS CROSSED. 

9. An evening walk with the older 2 and the blond dog led to another neighborly chat, this time a mom of a little girl slightly younger than Miss M. Very friendly. Again we talked sitters (is that all moms do? She brought it up before I had a chance!) but she takes her little one with her to Centerville where she works. She must be exploring her options. 

10. Thanks to the pushed back bedtime we got jammied up, had an apple snack and read books til bedtime. And guess how much pre-bed whining there was? Nearly zero. Truly, it's the quality time they crave when they're fighting us at night. Our preemptive strategies work so much better than threats or bribes. 

Look at that! A nice, round top 10 list. I'll stop there before the jealousy overcomes you. I hope your tomorrow is as good as my today! 

she took the fruit, as she saw it was good for eating

Thanks to the new grain-free temporary lifestyle, I've been pushed into the world of alternative eating habits via blogs and Pinterest. A whole world awaits that has decided sandwiches are the enemy, and it has become my BFF every day at about 3:00 when I decide that dinner must indeed be served again. Which reminds me of one of my favorite pins:

But as I do my reading, I've been struck by how much evilness seems to lie in the idea of food. A quick list of everything that is awful:

1. Sugar, especially white, non-organic.

2. Non-foods, anything partially hydrogenated or that I can't pronounce

3. Red Dye of any lot number

4. BPA, MSG or other three-lettered abbreviations

5. Margarine (as ants and flies won't even eat it) (see -->)

But then, in reading between the lines of these Real Food blogs, insinuated other offenders pop up, depending on who you read:

1. Meat - we're over-meated in this country, our resources could go further to feed people with vegetables as opposed to animals with food. We simply don't need to eat the amount of meat that we consume. 

2. Bread and grains - the DNA of our version of bread has been altered so much that it's not digestible by many; it evidences itself in the form of allergies and other bodily  (and sometimes mental) manifestations.  

3. Milk and dairy - apparently we're the only mammal to consume another mammal's milk. We're not exactly nursing at an animal's teet, but the concept is kind of odd. Per some reading (either Pollen or a book I read by a vegetarian last year) we evolved to be able to digest cows milk sometime in Ireland when the cows were a plenty, but it's not an original feature of the human digestive system. 

So if you go through your grocery list and axe off everything that contains these things, you're left with:

1. Fruit, though also a source of sugar and carbs, so eat between meals. 

2. Vegetables

3. Nuts, but in moderation, and only those with the perfect Omega 3-to-6 ratio. 

4. Water. But not from a plastic bottle.

All of this is difficult to swallow. It's incredible to think that all of the things God created as good have suddenly been morphed to evilness. But I guess I know why. 

Eve and that damned apple.

I suppose it should come to no surprise that the first sin of the world involved trying to figure out what is good for eating. It started with fruit from the wrong tree and continued on to the meat from the wrong alters, grains harvested on the wrong day and now ingredients added by the wrong source (laboratories rather than God). 

But in looking at the story, the fruit wasn't evil. It's how she used it. She had a relationship and an expectation of the fruit that goes beyond what the fruit was created for. Thanks to genetics, Eve was nice enough to pass this trait down through the Eons - through both nature and nurture, I'm sure -  and we humans continue to wrestle with how food plays into our lives. What to eat, how much of it, how often. What can keep us healthy, what can cause cancer. When to practice moderation, when to practice celebration. What we can control, what we can consume, what we can create. 

So what I really want to know is... how to live within the tension. How to eat well and healthy. How to not be consumed by thinking about something I consume. How to be free of a 2000 year old (or older, depending on your theology) curse. Because I believe there is a way. 

And then Jesus took the bread, gave thanks for it... and gave it to his disciples. This is my body, given for you. Take, eat and do so in remembrance of me. 

take 5

JJ inspired this post. 5 random things about each kid right now:

M (23 months):

1. Sour cream. 

2. "I toot bubbles." 

3. Echoing H

4. "I'm going!" 

5. Dancing.  

H (3 years)

1. Raisins and nuts. 

2. Ben.  (Right, Daddy-ben?) 

3. Repetition

4. "Do you want to be able to watch TV at Adrienne's?" 

5. Jumping.  

C (almost 8 months)

1. Streeeeeeetch, turn, reach for that object. 

2. Food. 

3. Smiles. 

4. Clapping. 

5. Rocking. 

in every detail

It is absolutely clear that God has called you to a free life. Just make sure that you don't use this freedom as an excuse to do whatever you want to do and destroy your freedom. Rather, use your freedom to serve one another in love; that's how freedom grows. For everything we know about God's Word is summed up in a single sentence: Love others as you love yourself. Thats an act of true freedom. If you bite and ravage each other, watch out - in no time at all you will be annihilating each other, and where will your precious freedom be then?

My counsel is this: Live freely, animated and motivated by God's Spirit. Then you won't feed the compulsions of selfishness For there is a root of sinful self-interest in us that is at odds with a free spirit, just as the free spirit is incompatible with selfishness. These two ways of life are antithetical, so that you cannot live at times one way and at times another way according to how you feel on any given day. Why don't you choose to be led by the Spirit and so escape the erratic compulsions of a law-dominated existence? 

It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage, frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on. 

This isn't the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God's kingdom. 

But what happens when we live God's way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard - things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely. 

Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good - crucified. 

Since this is the kind of life we have chosen, the life of the Spirit, let us make sure that we do not just hold it as an idea in our heads or a sentiment in our hearts, but work out its implications in every detail of our lives. That means we will not compare ourselves with each other as if one of us were better and another worse. We have far more interesting things to do with our lives. Each of us is an original. 

(Galatians 5:13-26, The Message)

what a girl wants

Motherhood (as I'm sure fatherhood) brings a new set of challenges in life; I wouldn't trade it for anything. Not just because I love my kids, but because it's like putting on a new pair of glasses, seeing the world with slightly new shapes and colors. So though I often lament, I do so with a humble posture, understanding that  working the soil and breaking ground come long before fruit or harvest. 
Most recently, and many thanks to my husband's transformation to Gimpy, I've realized the weight of being needed as opposed to wanted. Not in the "give me my stuff and get out of my room" kind of way, but we have yet to venture to the teenage years. No, my kids do enjoy spending time with their parents, they even  crave quality time reading books or being chased. Herein lies the challenge: they don't just want it, they need it. Being needed goes beyond filling the sippy cups, buttoning pants, wiping buns, or serving dinner. These young years require face time, wrestle time, book time, prayer time, and conversation time to help them continue to grow and develop. H likes watching TV; he needs mommy or daddy to "tuck him in tight."
Enter things like breastfeeding or teething and being needed climbs new heights. And quite honestly, it can be quite exhausting. And when the parenting partner isn't able to jump in, either because he lacks lactating glands or because his ability to jump walk in any sense is hindered by an over-enthusiastic attempt at getting into shape, the daily routine of needs begins to feel heavier.
So, thanks to Shoffstall's physical science class, I know that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. The key is to know what counters the weight, which is different for each person. I'm starting to see that my equal/opposite is the feeling of being wanted. Not just because something depends on me, but for the sheer enjoyment.
One way I receive this is through good conversation. Sometimes it's about mundane things like campers; other times it's heavier life stuff, Kingdom dealings. It can be imagining what could be, dreaming of how to see it become reality, brainstorming brilliant ideas or solving the problems of the world. But I balance my neededness with verbal processing, quality conversation. I like to take a seat at the table as a normal participant.
So, in the spirit of Easter, I'm taking a Sunday. I've been living with the weight of being needed to the point where I need a new breath, a Resurrecting conversation if you will. So, I'm going to have lunch with a friend. (No pressure or anything for my lunch date, right?). I hope to return this evening the willing giver of the needed elements of life.

500th anniversary

500 posts about  nothing in particular / everything important in my life. That seems like a lot. 

It has me pegged with curiosity: why do you continue to read? 

Indulge me on a non-significant mile marker. What posts or topics have you enjoyed most? A specific post, or a theme among posts that you see reoccurring? 

Or do you just show up in hopes that I'll write about how big my kids are getting?

Excuse me while I go make a cake with 500 candles. Oh, that's right. A grain-free, low-sugar, no-icing cake. Woo. Hoo. 

wanna be, wanna be, wanna be like Marj

Oh, Mom. How am I like [she]? Let me count the ways....

1. I hate getting my hair wet in the pool. 

2. I just overscooped the amount of peanut butter needed for the apple. It's a real struggle not to get another apple to make it "come out even." (This originates with brownies and ice cream, but let's face it: the principle applies in all paired foods). 

3. Wine. Lots of it and without shame. 

4. Failure to control THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE.

5. Stunningly good looks. 

6. Preference given to staying dry, book in hand, on vacation. Probably related to #1. 

7. I tend to spell things out. L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y. 

8. I love a good party; if I have something to lend the hostess, I offer it; once at the party you'll find me telling a story, most likely with a bit of a dramatic flair. 

9. I can pack a suitcase in 9.7 seconds when told a vacation is a possibility. 

10. Good taste in husbands, as we both married men who love us and encourage us to be our truest selves. 

does this justification come in a size Large?

One of my most vivid memories of my trip to India includes our trip to the Temple on the day the public went, their version of Sunday if you will. It was a very popular temple (for the life of me I don't know which god we were there to observe), thus it was a crowded affair. The temple was high atop a mountain, the entire journey an upward progression. 

While you were making your way to the inner courts, it was nothing short of a county fair on the path. Booth after booth lined the way, offering garlands and bouquets of flowers or other trinkets you could purchase and then offer as sacrifice when you took your turn inside. I must add, those selling the offerings brought to mind the county fair feel, just as much as the midway setup. 

I understand the roots and how this came about; if traveling from a far, your homegrown offering flowers might get a bit wilty. Or the trinket could break in the rickshaw while en route. So someone thought, I could make these things available at the temple gate, and perhaps even make a buck for the convenience. 

India in 2005 wasn't much different from Jerusalem in 00. When heading to the Passover Feast, if coming from afar, you'd find a level of difficulty in bringing several goats, sheep, ox and doves. So the locals played to the expedience factor and offered Sacrifices on the Go. And perhaps made a buck for the convenience. 

But Jesus seemed to take issue with the whole process and showed up with whips, driving out the product and spilling the profits. "Stop turning my Father's house into a shopping mall!" Peterson's translation says. 

I'm sure commentaries take this in numerous directions, and honestly I haven't read one of them yet. I lack credentials to offer commentary, only speculation. I wonder what Jesus was so upset about?.. several thoughts come to mind::

1. Did convenience make it possible for people to miss the point regarding sacrifice? So few of the worshippers went out to their own flock and chose their best to offer to God. Instead they just made a quick purchase in the courtyard. I wonder if it's like the old cash vs. credit card argument - that when you see it leave the wallet, it gets to the heart a bit deeper. But modern conveniences allow sacrifice to simply be a purchase, another bill to pay in order to keep the lights on and the Big Guy happy. 

2. Was it the profiteering? The fact that people, probably Jewish themselves, made their living by shortchanging others' experience? Even though it was perhaps initiated with good heart and reason. But prospect of profit likely changes the game for everyone involved. 

3. Was it that the focus on stuff took away from the purpose of the gathering? Now it came about having the right stuff as opposed to presenting yourself to your God. Did this sense of cattle-buying play out in how the least-of-these worshipped? Did they simply resist showing up for the festival when they couldn't buy the right kind of sacrifice? Did the extravagance of some stand in the way of the heart desire of others? 

 

There was more, especially in Jesus' summary statement about tearing down the temple... pair that with Paul's comment that we are Temples of the holy spirit... and we have a new sense about sacrifice. But 2 of the 3 children are awake and I need to get them out the door. So I'll just have to put this on pause for a moment. But before I go: Lenten admission. I bought a t-shirt yesterday. It's not for me or even my purposes - Husband needed it as a gift for his guest speaker. But I was out and about and it saved a trip (and he's still hobbling significantly). He offered to get his credit card in order to make the purchase, but I wasn't sure how that really changed things and didn't want to be accused of using a stolen card. I don't feel a lot of guilt in the purchase, but it does go to show difficult to live commerce-free. 

do you suffer from RLS?

According to whatever manual doctors consult (HB, help me here), RLS is now a diagnosable affliction. Which is astounding. Not once have I verbally communicated to my primary care physician about the fact that I'm bored in life. However, I believe myself to be a sufferer of Restless Life Syndrome. 

You know what I mean (I mentioned it the other day), when you start scouring the interwebs for the Next Great Thing, be it a job, a Ph.D. or a craft project. Or even a new haircut. Or outfit. Though my Lent restrictions have kept this pretty non-material. 

Part of the solution might be to STOP READING. I just picked up Radical and frequently play the fool's part when I raise my hand in steady Amens. This, coming right off the tails of 7. If I were allowed to make the purchase, Barefoot Church would be waiting in the wings (can you believe the library doesn't have a version for loan? Jen, what can we do about this? And did you notice how I just referred to Jen as if we're on a first name basis? Well, we ARE facebook friends). 

Most remarkable is how my readings continue to widen the gap between where I am and where I want to be living. We finally have a house fit to host guests, steady jobs, well-behaved kids and the student loans paid off (private schools, may you have a private place in purgatory). Just when I should feel most settled, I'm ready to jump out of my seat at night. Much like the diagnosable RLS, it's like an itch you can't scratch, but it's somewhere in your soul. 

The problem, my friends, isn't diagnoses. It's treatment. What do I do about it? I have an impending sense that it has something to do with being a good neighbor and living amid this new neighborhood and all that jazz. But not in a smile and wave kind of way. I believe God wants us to dig in. But as I say in about 84% of situations nowadays: What does that look like? And how do I squeeze that in between naptimes? 

The other looming conundrum: I need a people. A tribe. A support system. Folk who know I'm funny and don't think I'm weird. That will push me when I need pushed and hold me when I need held. People who remind me I'm not always right and that everyone need not be just like me (oh, can you imagine even if there were more than 5 of me? Implosion. The world would implode due to noise and arm waggling). 

A quick Google Maps search of churches in town yields 39 results. And that doesn't even branch to the nearby towns, like where the Big Church is. So why is it that I can't seem to find other bodies of people who suffer RLS tendencies? OR, if they do, why aren't we talking about what it means to live on a mission, even when it counters the American Dream? 

I'm not giving up on the current Sunday morning situation. But I'm not satisfied. And I know that I need to be, as KLR likes to chide, "part of the solution, not part of the problem" but I'm not sure how to jump in the pool and 3 months later start making waves. I'm pretty sure that it's clear in the Church Finding Manual that making waves is frowned upon.