The Year I Became A Wise Man (Woman)

December 23^rd, 1998

Walmart: Roseburg, Oregon

I am running through the aisles like a mad woman, throwing every sparkling item and sports-themed toy into the basket. My heart is pounding, blood is rushing through my veins, my brain continues to echo, “It’s not enough, it’s not enough!”  What seem like thousands of other shoppers are all vying for the same shiny toys and stocking stuffers. My normal, joyful demeanor has been replaced by a wicked, conniving, selfish monster who must get all the toys.  Christmas is almost here.

A little background for you. In 1998, my son is five. My daughter is eighteen months. My husband and I have done our best to provide them with everything his salary as a grocery store clerk could.  I took on a job as a part-time waitress to get some extra Christmas money and we were planning our first ever vacation without kids over the New Year. I was feeling incredible mom-guilt over going away, so I knew I had to make this Christmas the best ever.

My husband and I came from very modest homes growing up. Neither of our families had much money, but the one thing they did have in common were pretty fantastic Christmases. His mom would make sure the presents were stacked far and wide under the tree. My mom would try her best to make sure we got exactly what we wanted, even if it meant we had to skip on paying a light bill. So you understand, we had tradition to uphold.

Here I was, in the middle of Walmart, pending an anxiety attack, when I looked at my husband and shouted, “We don’t have the stocking stuffers!!” This was followed by tears and my worth as a mother quickly rushing down the emotional toilet in my heart. I grabbed my basket, woman-on-a-mission-style and proceeded to knock other baskets out of the way, as I barreled down the aisles looking for the magical items which would automatically increase my value as both a mother and a human being. My husband, trying to catch up with me, is saying something along the lines of, “slow down, this is ridiculous”. I am tossing baseball cards and a little, glitter-filled baton with streamers on the end, into the cart. Out loud, I repeat what the voice in my head has been saying, “It’s not enough”, as I try to wipe away the tears and shame that stain my face. My husband puts his arm around me and says, “Yes, it is.” I know he is right, but it still feels so wrong.

We go through the check out and I am scanning for the magic items to put in their stocking to fill the void in my soul. Princess chap stick, a baseball key chain, a mini flash light, gum; anything to soothe the ache of contrition within me. In the parking lot, I feel like a failure and ask my husband if we can go to Fred Meyer to see if they have anything else, he says, “no”. I brood.

That night we are lying in bed, talking. “Ali, this has to stop” he says. I know what he is saying is true, but how can it stop? How can I escape this remorse I feel at letting down my kids on this incredibly important day where I prove how much I love them?

He says, “We still have a lot of years to do this, and I can’t deal with this every Christmas”

I ask, “What do we do?”

His response, “Not this”

That Christmas, as the living room was full of wrapping paper and toys, and we were starting clean up, my sweet daughter asked, “more?” Instead of the intense infusion of guilt I expected to come, it was a feeling of sadness.

I had created this.

I had caused this sweet, tiny, beautiful human to want more instead of being content and grateful.

That was the moment I knew things had to change.

And thus began my journey into how to improve Christmas for us. I began to really listen to Christmas carols; love, joy, peace, ‘most wonderful time of the year’, and all that. I am a Christian, so I know this is not only a holiday, but a Holy Day, meant to celebrate our Savior’s birth.  It occurred to me, after reading the Christmas Story for the thousandth time that there was a clue in that story. Jesus, as an infant, received only three gifts from the wise men who honored him. Why couldn’t we do that? What would that look like? I mean, Jesus got three, and my kids were certainly not more deserving than He!

I told my husband my plan and he looked at me with his sideways glance and asked if I was serious. I told him I was and I asked him to hold me to it the following year. Around October, he reminded me of my commitment and I balked at the mention of it.

Could I really do this?

So we started talking about it- what should it be? Do we put boundaries on it? Confine it to a specific dollar amount? The kids were so different, how could it be equitable? If we give them the first three things on their list, what about things they need?

After many discussions we came up with the following guidelines. They would receive:

• Something they want
  • This was basically the thing they really wanted, a video game, new doll, etc.
• Something they need
  • This usually became something like a new baseball glove for our son, dance shoes for our daughter, etc.
• An Experience (preferably with family)
  • This could be movie tickets, theme park, a sports event, or a play.
• We also did a stocking which had small things in it

Incredibly, we stuck with it. We let the kids know ahead of time what we were doing.  They were young enough to not be disappointed, and knowing how many were coming kept them from expecting more. I was also limited to three items for each so I had to think long and hard. Rarely did my shopping go into December and I never had another ‘Walmart Breakdown’.  Christmas became easy after that. In fact, one year we were so broke we didn’t do actual presents- we actually did good deeds for one another, and they were totally on board!

I texted both of my children today and asked, “Now that you are grown, how do you feel about the ‘Three-Gift-Rule”.  My son replied, “I liked it, because they were generally really good gifts”. My daughter said, “I liked it. I liked that we always knew the number so we weren’t disappointed like kids who were like, ‘my parents only got me eight presents’”.

I can’t tell you what to do as a young parent, but I can give you this sage advice; don’t give your kids so much that you become the “Christmas Monster” because you spent all your money on presents, and still feel like it is not enough.

Set boundaries, set reasonable expectations, and know that your kids will be better off for it. So will you!

It’s good to know that I didn’t ruin their childhoods by restricting the number of Christmas gifts they received. Instead, I did that by attending every one of their high school dances as a chaperone… (true story)

Don’t Be A H8er

Because no writing comes without inspiration, I will share where today’s blog idea came from. I read a blog yesterday called Ten Thousand Places, the post was Bake For Them Two, go head check it out; I can wait. No, it’s really good – go read it!

The post references Matthew 5:41, “And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two”. The post also gives background about what that meant in that culture; essentially, “swallow your pride, don’t worry about what others think and do what I am telling you is the right thing”. The author, Jessica Kantrowitz compares this to the current issue of a Christian not baking a cake for a gay wedding.

Her blog really caused some soul searching on my part. I have thought a lot about this before and talked about it to some,

but in my recollection, I have never written about it, so here goes…

Most Christians know that the Bible is divided into two parts, the Old and the New Testament. The first thirty-nine books (the Old Testament) contain a lot of history and background. We see the origin of life, the way that God’s people honored and worshipped Him, a lot of battles, and a lot of judgment. By the time one gets to Leviticus, there are a lot of rules- without going into detail, many of those rules were put in place to protect an ancient civilization. The ultimate point of the Old Testament is to prepare the world for the coming messiah.

The last twenty-seven books, the New Testament is really a complete game changer. The Jewish people were oppressed when Jesus came on the scene. He did not come in kingly robes; he was born in a barn. The Jews were expecting a messiah that would conquer their oppressors and place ‘God’s Holy People’ back in their place of honor. In that light, Jesus was a great disappointment. Not only did he tell them everything they thought was wrong, he also invited the dirty gentiles to be a part of His plan.

I promise, I am finally getting to the point of this blog-

Jesus was not a hater, and his followers are not called to be haters in any sense of the word. Don’t believe me? Let’s take a look at scripture:

Did Jesus get angry? Yes- Three times that I can find:

Upon hearing that Lazarus died,

“When Jesus saw her weeping and saw the other people wailing with her, a deep anger welled up within him, and he was deeply troubled.” John 11:33 NLT

At being condemned by the Pharisees for healing on the Sabbath  

^“He looked around at them angrily and was deeply saddened by their hard hearts. Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored!” Mark 3:5

When people turned the Temple into a place to make money,

“Jesus entered the Temple and began to drive out all the people buying and selling animals for sacrifice. He knocked over the tables of the moneychangers and the chairs of those selling doves.  He said to them, “The Scriptures declare, ‘My Temple will be called a house of prayer,’ but you have turned it into a den of thieves!” Matthew 21:12

Who did Jesus get mad at? In today’s vernacular the term would be church people!

People who claimed to love God, yet their actions did not support that. Legalism made Jesus mad, a lack of compassion caused him to get angry and then sad. Makes you think, huh?

Prior to the New Testament, God’s people were expected to be separate, they did not proselytize. For the most part one was born into it- or you were up gentile creek without a paddle. The crucifixion changed all of that, Jesus’ teaching opened doors that had been closed for centuries. So why do we still feel a need to separate from- or be hateful to those we disagree with, when it clearly goes against the teaching of Jesus?

When I have discussed this with others, they have said we should be separate quoting the first half of 1Peter 2:9,

“But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession…”

The ironic part is that they forget the second half-

“As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for He called you out of the darkness into His wonderful light.”

Wait! What?

But it says I am one of the cool kids now! You mean that being one of the cool kids means I have to be nice?

Yep, sorry, no Regina George attitudes here, please.

We are called to LOVE one another (including dirty gentiles and sinners)!

Don’t believe me?

Let’s go back to scripture, Jesus met a Samaritan woman at a well- she had been married to five men and the one she was living with wasn’t even her husband! John 4:4-27 explains this encounter.

How does it end?

His kindness moves her, but it also makes the disciples a little uncomfortable, look:

^“Just then his disciples came back. They were shocked to find him talking to a woman, but none of them had the nerve to ask, “What do you want with her?” or “Why are you talking to her?” The woman left her water jar beside the well and ran back to the village, telling everyone, “Come and see a man who told me everything I ever did! Could he possibly be the Messiah?” So the people came streaming from the village to see him.” (NLT)

So kindness moves people? Hmm… And because I am a woman I love to see how Jesus interacted with them, lets try another.

When a woman caught in the VERY act of adultery is brought to Jesus by the ‘church folk’ his response is,

 “All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!” John 8:6-7 (NLT)

That is pretty clear, don’t throw shade, people. Don’t trash talk, don’t judge, and don’t find things that make you better (in your own mind), in order to put down or deny your love to others.

I am a sinner saved by grace, but that salvation does not give me carte blanche to hate others who have not accepted this gift so richly given.

I still sin every day

EVERY DAY

I deal with sins of pride, jealously, being impatient, losing my temper, gluttony, and many others… shocking, isn’t it?

It’s pretty funny, actually- the clearer our lens of self, the harder it is to look at others with an evil eye.

So don’t make a wedding cake for gay people if you don’t want to,

Don’t sell shoes to a woman, who may use them to walk the streets,

Don’t buy a book from a store that also sells Harlequin romances,

Don’t eat a hamburger made by someone who may have cussed out another driver on the way to work

Don’t leave that tip for a waitress because she has a tattoo

And don’t ever read another blog post of mine, because I too am a sinner, saved by grace.

Or…

What if we make cakes for anyone who deems our goods worthy enough to eat?

What if we start a conversation in the shoe store and find out that woman has four kids to support and just needs a little help? (and we help her!)

What if the hamburger guy was coming from his first job to his second job and he was exhausted?

What if the tattoo…

WAIT, this is silly!

Can’t we just stop this and love each other?

Can’t we just take the good with bad, be kind, and show people who Jesus really was?

Can we stop making excuses about why He didn’t fight back? Why He turned the other cheek? Can we stop using our own pride as a way to justify judging others?

I am so frustrated with the religion of hate that seems to label itself Christianity.

That is not my Christianity and it certainly isn’t what Jesus intended for His followers.

I will finish with the words of Jesus,

^“This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you” John 15:12

That’s pretty straight forward-

So Don’t H8, tolerate

No, wait don’t simply tolerate, LOVE!

On Hearts and Helicopters

I will start this blog by openly admitting that I am a “Smother”, a term affectionately given to me by my children. If they are in it, I am right behind them. I blame this on my son.

My son entered the world 21 ½ years ago, ready to explore. He needed to interact with everything. He needed to feel, to taste, to see – everything. As a toddler, he put pennies in his mouth and soon after, started playing the ‘flush game’, where all of his action figures would get washed away in the tsunami of the tidy bowl. Unfortunately, like Columbus, few rarely made it to their intended destination and instead would get stuck right about the place the pipe went from the toilet into the wall. This meant Daddy would get home from his afternoon/evening job at 9:30 pm and have to take the toilet apart before going to bed (so he could attend 7:00 am classes). I would like to say this happened once; I hate to say it happened numerous times. The second I turned my back, like Charybdis, the ancient sea monster of The Odyssey, Cody would flush away He-Man and G.I. Joe. If I did not watch closely, he was flushing, running off, or eating something he shouldn’t be eating.

So you see, it really isn’t my fault, Cody taught me very early that I must stay close and be on constant watch. Because of this, I became, though I hate to say it, a ‘Helicopter Mom’.

Having worked for a government contractor that dealt with military ‘copters in the past, let me give you some insight on the types of helicopters I became. Sometimes I was a Bell Kiowa, which is to say that my mission was scouting and observation.

Bell Kiowa

Other times, I was the Boeing-Sikorsky Comanche, my mission being reconnaissance and attack, as one sweet girl (possibly reading this) can attest when she got a little too close to my son at a school dance.

Boeing-Sikorsky Comanche

I took my missions very seriously and I was always on guard. I knew who he was dating and who he was hanging out with. Because of this, my daughter has had to deal with the same overprotective ‘Smother’. I did it because I loved them, because the world is a scary place, and because in life, if you make a bad choice and cause the plumbing to back up, someone has to help you dig through the crap and find your toys.

So he went away to college and I knew nothing. I would peruse (ok, stalk) his Facebook page to see what he was up to, but he was virtually silent. I waited patiently for his trips home to find out what was happening in his life. Is there a girl? New friends? I would occasionally get wind of him casually dating someone, but nothing that he ever wrote home about.

Then last August happened.

He was in Minnesota at a training college for a mission he will be going on in January. He was calling and texting quite a bit, so I figured he was homesick. Then a name came up; a girl’s name. He talked about how they did not get along at first, and then they became friends. But there was something about the way he said her name, Faith.

First of all, I could tell when he said it he was smiling. But there was something more. Like the way one would say hot apple cider on a cold evening, or ice cream on a hot summer day. There was an affection I had never heard before, it became more noticeable as time went on. Instead of hearing about impromptu football games, the way the food was cooked, or what was on the agenda, more and more of our conversations became about this group of friends, this girl in particular, and he started talking about life after his mission trip to South Africa. He also gave me permission to ‘friend’ her on Facebook, and eventually have a purposely awkward Facebook message conversation about whether she wadded or folded her toilet paper, what her biggest fears were, and what a pain in the neck my kid can be (hey, helicopter habits die hard).

At the end of his time in Minneapolis, he told his dad and I he wanted to ask her to be his girlfriend, since she passed the toilet paper question, we told him to go for it if she was willing to have a long distance relationship.

He and his dad are working in Colorado, she lives in Oregon, but her extended family is in Colorado so her immediate family decided to spend the holidays there. My daughter and I were also spending the holidays in Colorado with the boys, so we were not only able to meet her, but her family as well.

Her family is wonderful we had lunch together; even Faith’s five-year-old sister is completely smitten with Cody, her new ‘BFF’. We also really like Faith; she is beautiful girl, both inside and out. Her eyes shine when she talks and she has a  beautiful personality.

But when I watched Cody look at her, he had the same emotion in his eyes that he had in his voice on the phone; apple cider and ice cream, and she seems to look at him the same way.

He cares deeply for her.

I am not sure that we have ever given him a gift on Christmas morning that held as much excitement and anticipation as that first afternoon lunch at Applebee’s had for him. He still says her name with sweetness and a reverence that I have never heard in his voice before. She has stolen his heart; or rather he had given his freely to her.

I cannot say if she will be in his life forever (though I would be happy if she were), but I can say that in his finding her, I see he knows what to look for. This has had a strange effect on me, I must admit. After meeting her, I realize that he is doing ok without the military aircraft constantly circling. He has made a very good choice on his own, and I can finally call off the missions.

Thankfully, I still have my girlie at home to monitor.

On Sherlock Holmes, Ice Cream, and The Will of God

 

”For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me

 Jeremiah 29:11-13 NLT

We are a fortunate lot, those of us born after the scientific revolution. We have access to more technology and information than anyone before us has been afforded. One of the greatest things to come from the scientific revolution was the Scientific Method, which, according to the Oxford Dictionary is, “a method or procedure that has characterized natural science since the 17th century, consisting in systematic observation, measurement, and experiment, and the formulation, testing, and modification of hypothesis”

As kids in school, we learned that if we wondered about something scientifically, we simply needed to develop a hypothesis and experiment until our hypothesis was proven true or false. For our children, if they wonder about something scientifically there is probably a TedTalk, a Khan Academy video, or a Wikipedia page that will explain it all.

An interesting fact, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was so intrigued by the idea of the Scientific Method that he created a fictional character that exclusively used the Scientific Method for solving crimes; the great Sherlock Holmes. If you have only seen the Robert Downey Jr. movie version, pick up a book and read the originals, you will see what I am talking about.

But you may wonder why, in a blog that starts with Jeremiah, would I be going on about the scientific method? Keep reading and if I get my thoughts together, you may understand…

As Christians living in today’s society we trust God, but we have been so programmed by hundreds of years of asking the “whys” that it often seeps into our faith as well. When bad things happen- we ask God, “why?”

It is my humble opinion that there is nothing wrong with that.

Job did.

David did.

Elijah Did.

Jonah did.

Paul did.

These are just a few of the examples that were given to us in the Bible. The problem is that sometimes God answers in a big voice, like with Job; other times God says, “Wait and See”, like with David, and still other times, He does not give any explanation at all.

Let’s switch gears for a moment. As a parent, there are many times when we have to tell our child, “No”. If your child was anything like mine, he had an answer for everything and demanded an explanation for everything.

We would be driving in the car and this would be a discussion:

4-year-old son (4yos): Mommy, I want ice cream

Me: You haven’t had dinner yet

4yos: But Mommy, ice cream is good, and I will still eat all of my dinner

Me: No you won’t, it will ruin your appetite

4yos: Mommy, I NEED it! My mouth is hot and I need cold ice cream to cool it down, dinner will only make it hotter

Me: Sweetie, you are not getting ice cream before dinner, you need vitamins and nutrients and besides ice cream is full of sugar and it will make you hyper

4yos: Mommy, there is a McDonald’s right there, let’s just stop and get a kid’s cone, pleeeeeeaasseeee

Me: Maybe after dinner we will go back out

4yos: Mommy, you just don’t love me, and you don’t want me to be happy

Me (exasperated): Yep, that’s the reason

As a mother, I knew all of the reasons why this would be a bad idea. I even tried reasoning with him. His 4-year-old brain could not comprehend everything that I was trying to tell him. He heard “no” and his major purpose was to get me to change my mind. After a few of these conversations, I started with the dreaded statement that I swore I would never use on my kids, “Because I said, ‘no’”.

You may have laughed at the above conversation, if you have kids; you have had one of these.

If you don’t have kids, take it from me, you did this to your mother.

We are born with the need to get our way and if we don’t get it, we need to know why aren’t getting it. So let’s make this jump to a grown up life in Christendom. As a somewhat intelligent, rational being, who seemingly has all of our little world within our control (pardon me while I take a minute to laugh out loud at that statement) we think that we know what is best for our situation at every moment.

“That job (position, item, etc) would be so perfect, I need to get it”

“If I could marry that person, my life would be perfect”

“I just need to pass that one test and all of my troubles will be over”

“When I have a baby, my life will be complete”

All of these things are statements that we make, that we honestly believe are in our own best interest- when they don’t happen, it makes us question God, or even if there is a God.

I read something the other day that talked about people who were supposed to be in the World Trade Center when the explosions happened, who were not there because of strange reasons; they got sick, car wouldn’t start, they spilled coffee on themselves and had to go back home to change. The purpose of this article was to make the point that inconveniences can sometimes save our life. Shortly after reading this, I received a call from a friend of mine, which is the whole purpose of this blog.

I apologize that it has taken almost a thousand words to get there, but I think it’s worth the price of admission if you keep reading.

My friend, we will call her “A”, has struggled with infertility for three years.  When the process began, she was full of excitement and anticipation. As a woman in her early thirties, she and her husband were ready to take the leap. They had not had success on their own, and so it was time to bring in the big guns (or turkey basters, as the situation calls for).  Having walked through this process with my best friend 6 years ago, I understood what “A” was taking on. I knew the terminology, the highs and lows, and having watched my best friend get her miracle after two years and 6 attempts (her little boy was the 7th attempt) , I was full of excitement for “A”. I let her know that the journey might be long, but to not let it get her down. I was here for her and I would be a shoulder, a cheerleader, and whatever else I needed to be to walk with her. I fully expected this to be an utter success. She was younger than my best friend (when she started), had fewer health issues, and the doctors were certainly more hopeful from the start.

I told her to expect mood swings, mild depression, anxiety, and every other thing that I remembered from my best friend’s process. We regularly had phone calls where I would pray for her, and in my own prayer life, I ‘reminded’ God that children were a blessing.

I also reminded Him that every woman in scripture that couldn’t have children was blessed with them.

He would not fail, He would not let us down.

We prayed scripture and I told God that “A” would be a living testimony to His awesome power and miracles.

I reasoned.

I hoped.

I had faith, and I kept praying.

“A” did not do well with the drugs to stimulate ovulation; she broke out in rashes, and had other physical manifestations that the doctors couldn’t explain. Their attempts failed, but she pressed on. She dealt with the inconvenience of looking like an acne-ridden teenager in her thirties, she dealt with her students asking, “what is wrong with your face?”, she dealt with the physical, emotional, and mental roller coaster called fertility treatments, all to no avail. Because of complications, and with a doctor’s recommendation, they had to stop the treatments. This was incredibly hard for them. It was letting go of a dream, the way they had dreamed it.

Even though they stopped, she continued having physical complications, which in many ways was worse, because at least when she was trying to become pregnant she could justify feeling awful. Once she determined that it wasn’t going to happen, it was a constant reminder of what she had lost. Every time she looked in the mirror and saw the rashes or the scars from the last bout of rashes, it was a reminder that she couldn’t have a baby.

Through the process, she and her husband determined that if they couldn’t have a baby the old-fashioned way, they would adopt. After determining that they did not want to do a traditional adoption, they opted for the fost-adopt program, which meant they would be adopting a child (or children) from the foster system. This was a well-spring of hope for them as they went through home inspections, mountains of paperwork, and having social workers delve into the reasons why they liked their coffee the way they did, and why they chose to roll their toilet paper over the top of the roll instead of from underneath (ok, the last part was a little exaggeration, but you get the point). They are currently in the process of looking at a sibling group (yes, I said group) that they think might be the right ones.

But as Paul Harvey always promised us, there is a “rest of the story”.

“A” was visiting family 3 hours from home last week when she discovered her leg was swollen. She called her doctor to find out if it was another post-fertility drug complication, and was told to go straight to the emergency room, it could be a blood clot.

I could go on to explain the tests that were done (there were a lot), but I won’t. When it was all said and done, the doctors discovered that she has aneurysmal dilation of the ascending thoracic aorta (a pretty serious heart condition in laymen’s terms). The good news is that while it can’t really be “fixed”, it can be managed and at some point down the line (years from now) she will have to have open-heart surgery, but for now- she is ok.

The kicker though-

the point to this whole blog-

what flattened me (and her too),

is that had she gotten pregnant, she would have died.

Her broken heart could not have supported another life and her own. Fertility doctors didn’t catch it, because there was no reason to do a CT scan on a seemingly perfectly healthy 30-something year old woman.

I cried with “A” on the phone, and I was reminded of a 4 –year old in the back seat asking for ice cream.

I was the kid.

I had explained to God all of the reasons why this wonderful mommy and daddy needed a baby.

I reminded God of His promises, and truth be told, I was disappointed when He said no.

I kept telling Him that nothing is too big for Him, and that “A” could still get pregnant after the fertility treatments stopped.

What I didn’t know was that if God had given me my way, I would have lost a friend. Her husband would have lost a wife, and in the end, nothing would have been gained. In the words of Garth Brooks circa 1990 – “ I Thank God for Unanswered Prayers”.

Isaiah 55:8 states that His thoughts are not our thoughts and His ways are higher than ours.

So why didn’t you get that bike for Christmas?

Why didn’t you get that job, pass that test, or marry that person?

Why did the loan fall through?

Why were you laid off ?

Why did that bad medical test result have to be what it was?

The short answer is, I don’t know. I am only a 4-year-old in the back seat that was asking for ice cream. But I do know this, there is Someone driving the car that knows we have a steak dinner waiting for us at the end of the car ride. There is something bigger and better waiting that we cannot comprehend. While we may never know the reasons or the answers, they are there. Even if Sherlock Holmes were here, his scientific method could not reason it out, but as long as we trust that His ways are better, we may falter, but we will not fall. What I do know is that the peace and contentment that we can enjoy in our everyday life is how we choose to respond to His answer (or lack of one). It’s elementary, dear Watson.

 

Isaiah 40:28-31 NLT-

Have you never heard?

Have you never understood?

The Lord is the everlasting God,
    the Creator of all the earth.
He never grows weak or weary.
    No one can measure the depths of his understanding.
He gives power to the weak
    and strength to the powerless.
Even youths will become weak and tired,
    and young men will fall in exhaustion.
But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
    They will soar high on wings like eagles.
They will run and not grow weary.
    They will walk and not faint.

 

 

I Have a Secret

I have a secret and I felt like I finally needed to share it. After Andrew left, I met a man. This man has changed the way I think about life, myself and other things. He has given me confidence, boosted my ego, and taught me about strength in ways I have never known.

We get together about three times a week and at first, it was pretty clandestine, but I am a little more blatant about it now. I used to sneak into our meeting place, sometimes with a hat on, parking as close to the meeting spot as possible so that no one would see me walking from my car. I didn’t want to have to answer any questions if people that I knew saw me.  Now I will park down the street and walk a bit to the place, with my head held high.

I look forward to his text messages that ask how I am feeling, are encouraging, and remind me that we have an upcoming meeting planned.

Only my closest friends know about this man, and a friend named Shelly from work; she is now seeing him too, and her whole demeanor has changed as well.

One more thing, my husband Andrew knows about it, and he is thrilled.

Before you make too many more assumptions, you should probably read the rest of the story…

I have lost 20 pounds, and it is all thanks to that man I have been seeing, my personal trainer: Matt.

Anyone who knows me knows that for the last 10 years, losing weight has not been a priority for me. I have made jokes about being a “chubby chick”, I have talked about my dedication to cheesecake and Animal Style burgers, I have said that I am pretty happy just being squishy, old me.

When Andrew left to work in the frozen tundra of Wyoming and Colorado, it turned my world upside down. From November until Christmas I was a walking zombie. I had no idea what to do with myself besides just staying really busy. I would cry at night, and live for his phone calls, his text messages, and any way that we could connect. I found out when he came home for Christmas that this was going to be a long-term thing, and my heart was broken into a million pieces.

When he was home, I decided that I needed to do something new when he was gone, something that was for me, so we talked about the gym. I wasn’t going in order to become skinny, I wanted a place that I could spend my time, get strong, change my outlook, and be healthier.

So with fear, trepidation, and a lot of embarrassment, I went to a local gym, hanging onto Andrew’s arm with everything in me, to see about prices.

The only time that I have been successful in a gym environment was ten years ago with a personal trainer and this place had them. I left the gym with my husband without signing up, I told him I wanted to think about it. The day he left, I went back in and signed up for 3 months and 15 personal training sessions.

For my first session, this skinny guy, with the build of a gymnast showed up. I remember thinking a lot of things, “he seems nice”, “he looks twelve”, “what is he gonna do with this hefty lady showing up on his schedule?” He read my file and said, “So you wanna get strong, huh? We need to work on your flexibility”, and then he went on to explain how flexibility and strength work together, he is an armchair Gym Floor Philosopher. He spoke anatomy, which I thought was really cool- because I know that language, too! He had me do pushups for him and we tried some of the weights. I left there thinking that I felt empowered. I had just used weights! I could do this!

Why did I pick Matt, the Gym Floor Philosopher, to be my personal trainer? He understood why I was there. I wasn’t into crash dieting; I wasn’t out for a quick fix, and I WOULD NOT spend hours on a treadmill. He got the fact that traditional cardio was the nemesis that I was not interested in defeating.  Matt found ways of getting my heart rate up that I enjoyed; the rower, and one of my newest friends, the Kettle bell. He has also started me on Jacob’s Ladder, which instead of going up to Heaven like the one in the Bible, goes straight down to hell, and you have to fight with everything that is in you to not go down with it!

I might mention here that Matt is Russian Kettle Bell Certified, which means that despite his sprite appearance, he is strong as an ox, and he can throw a kettle bell around like it’s nothing.

Before I knew it, I was bench-pressing, leg pressing, doing squats, dead lifts, incline presses, and I am currently working on knocking out a pull up (hey this is still a lot of body weight to lift).

I am able to do a headstand 3 different ways and I can actually do an upside-down crunch. I am able to touch my toes, which I have not been able to do since I was in third grade.

The first time that I did a leg press over 600 pounds, I was shocked and my son didn’t believe me, so I made him go to the gym with me to video it. I am leg pressing over 900 pounds now, and I anticipate being over 1000 by the end of the month.

I have not delved into Paleo, Atkins, South Beach, the “Twinky” diet, nor have I changed my cooking habits at all. The only thing that I have really changed as far as consumption has been that I have almost completely stopped drinking soda, which for any of you that know me, that is a big thing. I used to go through a twelve-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper every two to three days. My Gym Floor Philosopher told me a couple of things that I have adapted into my eating:

• Be conscious of what you eat, think about everything that goes into your body
• Be thankful for what you eat, say a small prayer of thanksgiving for every piece of food you consume
• Chew your food slowly, not only does it help it taste better, it gets your food in a better condition to be digested
• Enjoy the heck out of what you eat (all of the above contribute to that).

So when the little evil sirens in green jumpers outside of the grocery store beckon me to come and purchase their tasty little cookies, I go and I buy them. But instead of eating a whole sleeve of Thin Mints, I now have one or two- consciously, gratefully, and I chew them up instead of inhaling them.

So why haven’t I said anything until now? In a way I think it is like a person who has miscarried that is afraid they will jinx the new pregnancy. I was so afraid of failure that I didn’t want to let the world know. I am in week 11 now, and I am still going strong (pun intended). I thought about keeping my secret until some future date, but the more I began to think about it, the more I realized that there are other content, champion couch potatoes out there who are missing out on the incredible joy that comes from beating a PR (personal record). There are other cardio-haters that think a gym is only for skinny people who enjoy walking (or heaven forbid- running!) on a treadmill for hours on end.

What have I gotten from this time spent with the new guy?

• I have gotten confidence in myself, confidence with the weights and machines, and confidence in my strength.
• Low back pain has gone away. I used to have mild chronic low back pain that I just dealt with, which would be relieved with massage (which I still totally advocate) but after a couple of days it came back. Not anymore- it’s gone.
• Strength and body awareness. I do not have bulging Arnold Schwarzenegger muscles popping out everywhere. I have tightened up quite a bit and I jiggle a lot less. My back now has a bit of definition instead of an extra set of ‘back boobs’ that hang over my bra. My thighs are getting a little definition and my clothes are quite a bit looser.
• I can stand on my head. Why would I want to do that? It is about body control; I have developed balance that I have never had before. This seems unimportant if you have never done it, but once you do- it is awesome!

I have heard of people who say, “The weight just falls off”, and for me the weight has been going, but it is not falling off, I am building little fat eradicators called muscles that continue to burn fat long after I walk away from the gym. The muscle that I am gaining needs to consume the calories I take in and the calories that I have stored in order to get stronger.

And by the way, Matt’s wife Christina is pretty awesome, too!

If you choose to comment on this, which I would love- please save your diet tips for someone else.

Please do not tell me that if I am not doing cardio, I will die. I am doing cardio, just not on a machine or with running shoes.

Please do not tell me about the latest diet pills, shakes, or supplements, I have been there, done that, and that T-shirt has gone to the Goodwill.

I would love questions, encouragement (Matt gives that with high fives, and “Huzzah”), or even better -to hear YOUR story; what got you motivated, or what is keeping you from being motivated? Let’s chat!

On Love letters and Love Languages

This November (and last) I have participated in the Facebook convention of “Thirty Days of Thanksgiving”. Each day of November, I post something that I am thankful for. There has been a backlash of sorts in the  posts that I have seen on Facebook and comments that I have heard from others. So I would just like to take a moment to explain why I participate.

First of all, it is Biblical.

In Philippians chapter 1, Paul states, “Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God. Whenever I pray, I make my requests for all of you with joy, for you have been my partners in spreading the Good News about Christ from the time you first heard it until now. And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. So it is right that I should feel as I do about all of you, for you have a special place in my heart. You share with me the special favor of God, both in my imprisonment and in defending and confirming the truth of the Good News. God knows how much I love you and long for you with the tender compassion of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:3-8 (NLT)

In I Corinthians, “I always thank my God for you and for the gracious gifts he has given you, now that you belong to Christ Jesus.” I Corinthians 1:4 (NLT)

Romans 1, “Let me say first that I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith in him is being talked about all over the world.” Romans 1:8 (NLT)

But before I digress into teaching a Bible study about thankfulness, I will stop there and go on with my personal reasons for 30 Days of Thanksgiving. My second reason is that it is my love language. According to Gary Chapman of The 5 Love Languages, every person has one of five languages that they use to give or receive love. These are; Physical Touch, Quality Time, Gifts, Acts Of Service, and Words Of Affirmation. Mine is Words of Affirmation. I have no problem telling someone how I feel about them. I express love through words and I feel love through words. Back to the Bible for one minute- “An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up” Prov. 12:25 (NIV). If I love you, I will tell you, if you love me, tell me.

Finally, I am a serial communicator. I get that from my Nana, she was the master of communication, she would write letters and cards all of the time, and when technology made communication easier, she emailed; she was one of the only 75 year-olds that I knew that had a facebook account. I never wondered where I stood with her, because she always let me know that she loved me “Oogles”, and I let her know the same. That is probably the reason why I chose to get my first college degree in communication. Facebook is a serial communicator’s dream! I can see all of the wonderful things that are going on in people’s lives and stay in touch with them with the click of a button. Because I am a super early riser, it doesn’t make much sense to call someone at 4:00 am to say I was thinking about them.

My Nana went to be with the Lord in April of 2010. The last time that I was with her (prior to being at her bedside with family as she passed), was the February before that. She spent the week recalling memories of her childhood and mine. We talked about marriage and babies and how quickly time passes. We talked about all of the wonderful people that we have had the privilege of knowing, and how lucky we were to have one another. As I was leaving, she handed me something. It was a letter, and she told me not to read it until I got on the plane. It was a goodbye letter and a thank you letter all wrapped up in one.

Three months later, at a hospital bedside, surrounded by the family that she created, I held her hand as she passed from this world to the next. The letter was in my pocket and her written words washed over me like a gentle healing balm. I cherish that letter and all of the ones that came before it, and I have determined never to let a moment pass where I can give the same blessing to those that I have the opportunity of knowing.

So, while I will not stop doing my 30 Days of Thankful, I will ask for your consideration to let me express the love in my heart, in the best way that I know how. If you want to block me for the month of November, I will totally understand, but know that my thankfulness will not end in November; it will just not be in the same format. For as Paul said, ‘every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God’ and I will let you, and my whole tiny world know!

Sparkles, Accents, and Carry-on baggage

This morning I went looking all over the Internet to find a quote to put on my daughter’s facebook page for her sixteenth birthday. I am a word person, and I express myself through words, and so does she. I can almost always find a way to express myself through someone else’s words. But the Internet was silent. There was nothing that could so completely sum up what I wanted to say. And so I have to express myself with words of my own, words that still won’t do justice to exactly how I feel, but may come as close as I can.

“I think I am ready for another one”. Those words came almost exactly seventeen years ago, spoken to my husband after three years of a world filled with baseballs, Tonka trucks, and the sheer terror that comes with being the mother of a fearless, active little boy. I knew I was taking a chance at bringing another hyper, wild, male athlete into the world, but I felt that I was up for the challenge. We knew that number two would be our last. After two months of trying we were successful.

I hoped, and I prayed, and I made deals with God. I gave him my request, a healthy, sweet baby girl. If He really wanted to go the extra mile he could give her dimples and blue eyes. I told everyone that I met that I was ok with either one, but secretly I wished for a girl. I reasoned within myself that there could not be enough testosterone between my husband and me to make another Cody.

With Cody, we didn’t find out if he was a boy or a girl, but with the second one, I could not wait. I told people that with a kid as active as Cody, I needed every opportunity to get as prepared for the new baby as possible, and knowing the sex would go a long way towards that. I went out the week before the sonogram and put $200.00 worth of baby girl clothes on layaway because if it was a boy, this would be my only chance to shop for the daughter that I would never have.

When we found out that she was a girl, I was ecstatic. This would make our family complete. Andrew got his boy, and I would get my girl. I would realize in the months to come how very true that statement would be. When Cody was born, he was always about exploring the world. He did not like to be held, he was into everything, and if you did finally put him down, he would take off.

When Kari was born and we let Cody come into the hospital room to see her, he said that he was going to call her “Baby Beautiful”. My order to heaven had apparently been processed. She was healthy, blue-eyed, and had gorgeous dimples. She was the most peaceful baby I could ever imagine. She wanted to be held and she was perfectly content being in my arms while I talked to her. As she grew, she was different than Cody, she did not want to go out and explore the world, she wanted me. She didn’t clamor to run off, she was simply happy if I was within sight. She wouldn’t go to the church nursery; she wanted to be in my lap. We had a wonderful woman at church who we called “Auntie Cindy” that could hold her in church as long as I was close.

When Kari was about a year old, her brother taught her the call signs for football. She could do ‘touchdown’, ‘offsides’, ‘false start’ and more that I can’t seem to remember right now. I remember thinking that she was headed for the life of a tomboy. This thought went even further when Cody decided to cut all of her hair off at the age of two (to this day he swears that she told him to). Apparently my reaction was over the top enough to make an indelible impression on both of them, as they both still remember the event. Football and short hair weren’t enough to make her a boy, though.

She loved sparkles, glitter, dress up, kitchens, playing house, dolls, and acting. When she was about 4 she would do accents. One of her accents she called, “Maria” who was an old lady that was kind of mean. She also did “Henry” Maria’s husband who was pretty funny too. My husband and I worked with the youth during this time and they would have a field day interviewing her different characters.

I think the most striking difference in Kari though, was a very early love for God. She said at the age of four that she wanted to be a missionary to Africa. She also wanted to be black like Auntie Cindy, she wanted black baby dolls, and when she grew up she wanted to have black babies – when we explained to her that because she was white she would have brown babies, she told us, “Then I will adopt them from black mommies and daddies”.

She loved church, loved singing, and loved to pray. She could pray with such a sincere heart and she memorized scripture like I couldn’t believe. She was so tender-hearted and she would stop and pray for people that she felt needed prayer. She could hold deep conversation about spiritual things at a pretty young age. If you ask her today, she will tell you that she accepted the Lord into her heart in a bathtub when she was five.

Kari has never walked away from her faith; she has always considered that the center of who she is. I think that this is one of the most striking things about our relationship- how much she has taught me about loving the Lord.

As a mother it can be difficult to raise a daughter. I wanted her to embrace life in ways that I never could. I did not want her to deal with body image, boy drama, self-loathing, depression, and all of the other negative baggage that I carried though my teenage years. I wanted her to take the flight of life with carry-on only!

I tried my best to instill in her the best of what was out there, but I know that I made many mistakes. Despite all of that, she has grown up to be amazing young woman. In many ways she is like me. We have the same twisted sense of humor, the same joy de vivre, and the same way about connecting with people. She is so much better at it, though! She truly is the best of me and what makes her better is that she has taken a lot from her Dad as well. She has staunch convictions, she can argue with the best of them and she is so very, very smart. I can have a conversation with her about my master’s level classes and she gets it. She can argue with her dad about spiritual concepts and be totally at ease.

The world says that at this point, we should be fighting. She ought to be about 1-2 years into her rebellious stage and she should despise her mom. I am glad that as much as she loves to read, she has not realized that this is the case. We are still close, she allows me to walk through valleys with her, and she lets me celebrate mountaintops with her, too.

I look forward to the day when she goes to college (though I hope the college is not too far away). I want to cry with tears of joy at her wedding and I want to be a part of her babies coming into the world. I want to teach her how to be mom while she is teaching me to be a Nana. I do not want to rush these things; I just want to quietly anticipate them.

I am her mom, and I always will be. I lead her, guide her, occasionally discipline her, and often drive her insane. I embarrass her, I tease her, and I wipe her tears away. I don’t want to rush the process, but in the deepest part of my heart I look forward to the day when I can put the mom apron on the shelf and really truly be her friend. She is exactly the kind of friend that I want to have.

So for right now, I will keep being mom, I will keep chaperoning dances and asking if homework is done. I will check on her summer reading and ask her is she really plans on wearing those jeans out of the house. I will make her favorite dinner and listen to her frustration about someone not returning a text message. But soon, very soon, she will become my confidante.

If I can say nothing else, I can say that I am blessed beyond measure to have been a part of raising a child that loves God, and that I have a daughter that will grow up to be my friend.

Stupid Summer

Our Pastor is beginning a series the week after next called, “Stupid Summer”. The idea is that he will be tackling “Stupid” things that Christians believe. The promos have been lots of fun and we have been looking forward to it, though our year and a half in Genesis has been very interesting and insightful (here is the Stupid Summer Promo ). I have titled today’s blog ‘Stupid Summer’ as well because this summer has been pretty stupid so far (I hope that Aaron doesn’t mind that I stole his title).

When we moved back to California 25 months ago, we had plans and ideas for our life. We wanted to be closer to family, our son wanted to go to college here, and we were tired of paying for plane tickets or spending holidays alone. Moving to California meant several things, it meant a bar exam for Andrew and a job for him in the meantime. It also meant a school for the kids, a job for me. A lot of unknowns were in the mix- but we were up for the challenge.

Before we moved, we had the school situation for the kids taken care of. Shortly after we got here, Andrew and I were working as substitutes in the school district. Andrew went to work for the same company his Dad worked for until he passed the bar. He was on “Weed Crew” (no, they did not take breaks and smoke marijuana). The work was hard, dirty, and menial- the exact opposite of running his own law office in Washington, D.C. and I admired him every day for doing it. The job did what it was supposed to; when it was combined with my job at the school, we have been able to pay the bills. When Cody went to college I was blessed to find part time work at a spa to help with his tuition. It hasn’t been easy, or particularly fun, but we have been together and we have made it work.

I decided in March that I would begin my Master’s/ credential program so that the school year after this coming one, I will be able to teach full time in a high school, rather than only working hourly in an elementary school. Andrew will be taking the bar exam at the end of this month, and what better way to spend a summer than studying together? He had a plan, he would study every evening after work and every Saturday and Sunday, and give it his best.

He was nervous because he didn’t feel like he had enough time to really dedicate to it, but that all changed the week before last when he lost his job. Yes, you read that right- he lost his job. It was through no fault of his own, which means that the summer that I am not working and we generally have to stretch further to make ends meet; we now have to make an unemployment check (that is half of his normal check) stretch even farther.

His parents have always been wonderful about helping us out now and then if things got tight, but I forgot to mention that his dad lost his job too- the week before Andrew did. Yeah, plan “B” went down in flames too.

So then there is the question- does he chuck the bar study and go find a job at McDonald’s or does he push himself to study with the time that he has now been given? We chose the latter option. So he has been studying 6-8 hours a day, with evenings spent at the ballpark watching Cody play (thankfully, we bought season passes before the job disappeared).

I have a pretty big test myself this Saturday, not bar exam big, but a pretty intense test nonetheless. Four English CSET subtests- five hours of English tests in one day; you know you have nightmares about that one! It has been a little difficult for me to study with having everything else going on, including taking my classes (that are not what I am being tested on), making sure that everything is done so that Andrew can study, figuring out finances, and telling the kiddos “no” to every request to spend money or go somewhere because gas costs a lot. We have also had family move here last week from Oregon, which is a great blessing – but wanting to see them and help them get settled, combined with trying to get everything else done has been a little overwhelming.

I feel a little like a hurricane, tornado, and tsunami all crashed through my life in one huge surge and I am still trying to surface. On top of all of that we found out that our very good friend Trevor was diagnosed with Leukemia last week. You know what I have to say about all of this-

It is STUPID, STUPID, STUPID!

So what do we do?

We pray, we save our money; we make a lot of baked potatoes and things that will go far. We trust that this is all part of a bigger plan. Last week Pastor talked about how everything started in a garden. In the garden of our life, God has done some major pruning and it is ugly, it seems barren, and whatever He is adding to the soil smells a lot like fertilizer. But this is intended to produce life, to produce good fruit, and to grow us in Him.

“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!” Galatians 5:22

And finally, the last thing I do is to sit back and imagine next summer, when Andrew has the day off from his new, much better job that he loves. I will be excited about getting ready to student teach, and we will be having a healthy Trevor and his family over for a tri-tip barbecue, complete with real butter on the French bread!  I know that this is only a season, it may have been a hurricane season, but seasons pass and when this one is over we can begin rebuilding. 

Prom Dresses and Police Officers

“My dear brothers and sisters, how can you claim to have faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ if you favor some people over others? For example, suppose someone comes into your meeting dressed in fancy clothes and expensive jewelry, and another comes in who is poor and dressed in dirty clothes. If you give special attention and a good seat to the rich person, but you say to the poor one, “You can stand over there, or else sit on the floor”—well, doesn’t this discrimination show that your judgments are guided by evil motives?” James 2:1-4

Many of you may think that you know what this post will be about. My friend, Jessa and I have spent the last year planning an incredible event, and the last 3 months we have worked with a team to make it happen. Yesterday we held, “Cinderella’s Closet” that gave away prom dresses to girls for free. With a whole lot of incredible people, we gave away prom dresses, shoes, make up, jewelry, purses, hairstyles, and nail services. We got to see the looks on girls faces, as they came out of the dressing room and looked in the mirror, seeing themselves dresses in perfect gowns that looked amazing. This made all of the work that we put in to it worth every effort.

My main job in this was publicity. For the previous two weeks, I had written press releases, worked the phones, sent numerous emails out, and it had worked. We had several television interviews, made the front page of the newspaper, and all three local affiliates had covered us. Anyone who had any form of news in our area knew what we were doing. Any girl that was in need of a prom dress, had a place to get one.

Jessa and I had prayed that God would use this opportunity to minister to young women. We wanted to make sure that every female that walked through the doors of Element Church felt special and loved. By 3:00, we felt that God had accomplished that in spades; what we didn’t know as we were packing up, was that He was not at all finished.

At about 4:30, we were almost finished packing up and Jessa and I had walked outside to take some things to our cars. You need to understand that our church is on a very busy corner and people take shortcuts through our parking lot all of the time. As Jessa and I were encouraging each other on God’s great success, a woman came walking up. She was quite haggard looking with deep lines in her face, and tears rolling down her cheeks. She was carrying a little boy, about two years old with tight little blonde curls and beautiful brown eyes. His face was covered with peanut butter. He wasn’t wearing any socks or shoes and one of his pant legs was covered in peanut butter splotches as well. The woman began to speak, and as she did, sobs began to rack her voice as she asked, “Does the church have a phone I could use?”

Jessa asked, “Honey are you alright?” The woman said, “No, I’m not- I need a phone”. Jessa took her around the side to the kitchen, and I went in through the sanctuary to let our husbands know what was going on. I met Jessa and the woman in the back, where Jessa proceeded to introduce me to the woman, “This is Claire, and this beautiful baby is Jimmy” (Not their real names). I shook her hand and started to play with the little boy as Jessa sat and listened to the woman’s story. I only got snippets. There was an altercation between Claire and her baby’s father at the local park. This was not a new thing, she already had a restraining order against him, but they had decided to try to work things out. I looked at Jessa, with questioning eyes while thinking, “How are we going to deal with this mess?”  As Jessa continued to get the story, I played with Jimmy wondering what to do.

Jessa, in all of her wisdom said, “If you are really ready to leave him, let’s call the Women’s shelter”.  The woman said she wanted to do that. Jessa called the women’s shelter and we were told that in order to proceed, she would have to file a police report. She said she was willing to do that and as we waited for the police, she shared more of her story with Jessa. I cannot give details at this point, because while Jessa was talking to her, I took the baby into the nursery to change his diaper and play with him. Our husbands remained a few yards away in the sanctuary to give Claire and Jessa some space, but still be available if needed.

The first officer from the Santa Barbara Sherriff’s department showed up to file the report. Another officer came soon after that. Then, the paramedics showed up to take pictures of the injuries that Claire’s boyfriend had inflicted on her. Finally, a woman from the domestic violence response team came and began to interview Claire for local Women’s shelters. Jessa and I did what we do; we made coffee and brought bottled water to everyone.

During this time, Claire had begun to vacillate about filing the report, but when she was told that they could not help her if she didn’t, she relented. During her interviews with police, it was brought to light that she was on probation, probably for drugs from the context of the conversation. Her boyfriend was so well known to the police that once they heard his name, they recognized it, before looking him up.

I so admired Jessa for persevering through this, holding this woman’s hand, knowing that she had a history with drugs and law enforcement. At this point I want to tell you that I was filled compassion and love- but honestly what I was really feeling was tired, skeptical, and ready to be done with this situation. By the time the Domestic violence unit arrived; we had been there for three hours with Claire.

I discovered though, that I had a friend. Baby Jimmy was beginning to follow me everywhere. Maybe he liked me, maybe he liked the extra attention, or maybe he just liked the Ritz crackers that I was feeding him. Whatever it was, he was attached to me. This was why I was doing it.

It took a really long time for the Domestic Violence response team to work the phones. At some point my husband came in and was helping them, using the church computer to find phone numbers. While they were doing that, I was trying to put a care package together out of the church food pantry for Claire to be able to take with her and Jimmy. I looked over and realized that my daughter was talking with Claire. Jessa’s Daughter was playing with Baby Jimmy.

We found out that all of the Women’s Shelters were full. Jessa and I had a meeting of the minds and realized that it would not be prudent to bring a convicted felon, with a baby or not, to our homes with children. We called our Pastor and the church offered to put her up in a hotel until a spot in a shelter opened up. We offered to take her. The church had a car seat that was being stored for this type of situation.

The first responding officer had been there the whole time, had lengthy conversations with Jessa. He asked us if we wanted an escort to the hotel and we told him no. He told us that he wanted a call when we arrived. He asked us to be on the lookout for her boyfriend’s car or any car that was following us that looked suspicious. If we saw something, we should call him or dial 911 immediately. He was going to wait to hear from us before taking another call.

We left the church and went to Rite-aid to get Jimmy a sippy cup, a pacifier and some milk. Then we went to Jack in the Box to get Claire some dinner. We had to wait at the hotel for someone to bring the church credit card to pay for the room. It was not a great motel, but it was a warm bed. As we left, we prayed with Claire and Jimmy and gave her a contact number if she needed us.

There were a group of men in the parking lot with their music turned way up, and completely out of character, I walked over and nicely explained to them that we had a baby that needed to sleep, so would they mind turning it down. They were very polite and did. As Jessa and I were leaving, they were even so kind and to tell each other that we were nice ladies who were very pretty (ok, maybe not in those words, but that was the gist).

Jessa and I left and went back to the church to get her car. We had a long talk about whether we had done the right thing. Will she go back to her boyfriend? Possibly. Will she go back to using drugs? Maybe. That is when Jessa pulled out her phone and using her Bible app, read the verse that I started this post with.

We could not allow this woman to possibly spend the night on the streets. We have a responsibility, as Christians to help people who are in need, even the ones who may not be ‘deserving’ in our eyes. While Claire may have made some bad choices, Jimmy hadn’t. He was simply along for the ride, as twisted and crazy as it may be. Jessa and I also had a responsibility to protect our families, and God provided a way for us to minister to her without putting our kids in danger.

Did we do the right thing? Did we do enough? Is this the beginning of Claire’s life change that will bring her to Christ so that she can raise Jimmy in the love of the Lord?  We do not know the answers to any of these questions that racked my brain as I tried to sleep last night. But one thing has stuck with me; the first responding officer was talking to Claire at one point. She was telling him that she was thankful for the ‘nice ladies’ who were willing to help. The officer said, “Ma’am these ladies are planting a seed tonight in your life, you can make it grow by making better choices, or you can destroy it and go back to the way things were. These ladies don’t need for you to say thank you, they need for you to make the effort to allow this seed to grow and bloom”.

Thank you, Officer- I could not have said it better myself.

Surfing Illusions, Skittles, and Pizza

Those who trust their own insight are foolish, but anyone who walks in wisdom is safe. Proverbs 28:26

I read this verse this morning and it struck me, how often do we trust our own insight in making life-altering decisions? Yes, that is my hand up- really high.

When I was young and thinking about my future husband, I remember my list went something like this; he should have a good sense of humor, be a lot of fun, surf, look like a surfer, want a house near the beach, like bonfires and swimming, have a cool truck that the surfboards can go in the back of, and just be an all around nice guy. The coolest guys I knew were all surfers. I was looking to marry a lifestyle. Have I mentioned that I don’t, nor have I ever, surfed?

So it made a lot of sense when I went to college in Stockton (over 50 miles, I think, from the nearest ocean)- that I would meet my husband there. I had just broken up with a long-term boyfriend and I knew my future husband the minute I saw him- he had a cool strut, an easy-going charm, and bangs that reached his eyebrows. He drove a nice little pick-up and had a gorgeous smile. He was a little older than me, and had some crazy ex-girlfriend who was a stalker, but so what? He was perfect! He was a fairly new Christian but had decided to show his faith by attending Bible College, in reality I knew that it was also God’s way of bringing him to me.

I was going to be the lady, though. No flirting on my part. I would allow him to see my effervescent personality and servant heart and despite the fact there were many other girls far prettier, he would see me as the stand-alone choice in a bride. We had a few classes together, but never sat close. How was I going to show him my godly character if I never got the chance to talk to him?

A group of friends were heading to Godfather’s Pizza, and I was going to do it- I was going to ask if he wanted to go, and if he did, could my friend and I ride with him? I mustered up my courage and took a deep breath, with cheeks burning hot and my breathing near hyperventilation, I walked up to him and said, “Hey there a group of us are going for pizza and I wanted to know if you wanted to go and if you did would you give she and I a ride there?” (I purposely left all punctuation out of the last sentence because I certainly did not use any while asking the question). He looked at me, in my eyes, and said, “I would love to but I have to go run a few errands, but, hey this is my roommate – maybe he would want to go”.

I. Was. Crushed.

It took all of my nerve to ask, I was out of breath, disappointed, broken-hearted, and crushed. Couldn’t he hear the Voice of God telling him to fall madly in love with me?
I vowed I would be patient and let time bring us together, but in the meantime I was hungry. I looked at the roommate. He was little shorter than surfer guy, dark hair with a widow’s peak, a bit of a ‘tough guy’ persona in a leather jacket- not my type at all, which was just fine for my friend and I to ride with. Since I was not at all interested in or attracted to the roommate, I would not feel like I was cheating in my heart on surfer dude- it was perfect.
After a too-loud, Bryan Adams- filled, headache-inducing ride to the Pizza place (complete with discussion of politics-blech!- mixed in), I ran inside to the bathroom and when I got out, all of our friends had moved tables together, but the only seat left was next to the roommate.
All of my careful planning, this dream trip to the pizza place where the subject of my dreams would propose his undying love to me over mushrooms and mozzarella, was ruined. I was forced to sit next to the Rush Limbaugh-loving, Fonzie look alike.
“Ok”, I thought- “I can make the best of any situation, maybe I can even make a friend (especially one who was the roommate of my dream guy!)”. As I turned toward him, I realized that he was turned toward the person on the other side of him, discussing something that was on T.V. I tapped him on his leather clad shoulder and said, “So where are you from?” He turned toward me and said, “I am from Oregon, I have a girlfriend, she is in Arkansas” then proceeded to turn back around and continue his discussion with his other neighbor. I was incensed! Did he think I was flirting with HIM??? Why else would he interject that he had a girlfriend? What did I care; I was just trying to make conversation! Didn’t he know that he was so not my type? I didn’t speak to him again until it was time to go and my friend and I rode back to campus.
The next day I was in a major bind, I needed a ride to a job interview and my friend was running late. I ran into ‘roommate’ in the student center and asked for a ride to the mall for the interview. When he stopped for food, I would not allow him to buy my lunch (that would be like cheating on surfer dude!), but I did learn that roommate guy and I had a few things in common, his Hawaiian-printed rayon shirt also brought him back into my good graces a little. He discussed his girlfriend, who he had a plane ticket to go see in October; I mentioned that I had a teeny crush on the guy he shared a dorm room with.
Over time we began to hang out with another guy who was a mutual friend. We would study together, grab food, and they would come bug me at work. Gradually I began to see that my future husband was kind of lazy. He would show up late to class, blow off assignments, and he was kind of moody. My surfer dude was becoming a surfer dud (oh yeah, I still don’t even think he knew my name).

In the words of Paul Harvey, the rest of the story- yeah you know it. Surfer Dud was gone with the tide and I ended up marrying ‘Roommate’, my own politically conservative Fonzie; who had short hair, wore 501 Levis, and didn’t even really care for the beach much when I met him. So why did I just write one thousand words about my life 20 years ago?

“Those who trust their own insight are foolish, but anyone who walks in wisdom is safe.”

My own insights led to me dream of Surfer Dud. I had MY plan in my life of what I wanted. Thank goodness he wasn’t interested in me! What I thought was heartbreaking was God opening a door to something much, much better. I had to stop looking for what I thought I wanted and wake up to what God intended. Surfer Dud didn’t have any interest in me, Roommate had a girlfriend, so I ended up with a couple of really good friends and a lot of time to spend praying and really looking at what good guys were.

There are times when we really are more like children of the Lord, by children I mean the kind of kids who will throw a fit for a bag of Skittles rather than seeing the banquet that He has prepared for us. I am so glad that His wisdom went before me. He allowed what I trusted as my own insight to be shown for the illusion that it was, and His will won, which means that I won.