Why

It was early. They walked quickly, in hushed tones. It was cool, having rained overnight. Everything was so rushed on the Preparation day, there wasn't time to properly anoint the body. The women all agreed to meet early the morning after the Sabbath, in order to anoint His body; as was fitting. They wondered aloud if the soldiers would help them with the heavy stone.

Passover was usually a time of rememberance but also of celebration. This time, however, there was no celebration. FOr the first time in their lives, all ritual seemed hollow. Afterall, their Deliverer was dead. For three years, they'd followed this man - the One. All they'd hoped for - gone - in one horrible afternoon. Why, Lord, why?

Mary Magdalene worried a little about how quiet it seemed - her experience with Romans was that they were loud - all the time. And yet, as they approached the tomb she did not hear anything - no voices, no heavy steps - just the quiet of the garden.

Then they saw it. The tomb was open. The guards were gone. What had happened? Surely no-one would have taken the Lord's body. Why, then was the stone rolled away? Why would the Roman soldiers have unsealed the tomb? Why?

Frightened, they ran to the tomb, but found nothing. Bewildered, they ran outside and were met by two men. How brightly their robes shined! And their voices rang - it was terrible and beautiful, at the same time.

"Why do you seek the living among the dead," one of the men said, "He is risen! Go and tell the others."

They immediately rushed to tell Peter. "Why don't you believe us? We've seen it for ourselves!" Mary's heart was heavy - she told herself she believed these men - surely they were messengers, sent to give them the good news. Why, then, couldn't she rejoice with the others? Why wouldn't they believe her?

Peter immediately ran for the tomb - going to inspect the now shed graveclothes with bewilderment.

Mary knelt in the cool grass a long time, eyes closed, just listening and praying. When she looked up, she saw a man standing near her. Grief-stricken, she cried, "They've taken the Lord away and I don't know where."

"Mary," said the man. It was only then she realized the man standing before her was Jesus. Alive!

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Jesus had to die. God's perfection demands a sacrifice for sin. It is a death sentence. From the very first rebellion in the garden, God knew we could never be redeemed unless He intervened. From the beginning, to the very last pages of Scripture, we read of God's plan to redeem us through the death, burial and resurrection of His Son. Jesus had  to die; or we would never truly live.

That's why.

Gone

I can't imagine the stunned shock of the disciples. Even though they'd been told this was coming, how many of them really understood? And now, He was gone. They'd watched their friend and teacher - the Savior - beaten, mocked and, finally, crucified.  They watched, with finality, as the Roman soldiers sealed the tomb with an enormous rock.

Judas had betrayed him to the priests and, now, he was dead. Peter, the Rock, had denied him - three times. Not one of the 12 had come to his aid.

And now, they were in hiding. Afraid for their very lives. I imagine the room where they gathered was as silent as the very grave itself.

They had to be exhausted from their grief and terror. It wouldn't be until later they would be filled with courage. Today, all was uncertain.

Soylent Green

Linky Linky to this VERY strange movie

I had an interesting epiphany this morning.  We do not know we are starving until we taste real food again.

For [fill in the blanks], we've been "too tired" to go to church. We've had too much to do. We've been over-extended/-committed/whatever. (and we were) We, legitimately, were running on fumes. Munchkin and I had Oliver! and Coach started soccer season. I had SO many work obligations I brought it home a lot of nights; against my personal commitment not to. Goals made at the new year still hang, unstarted (is that a word?) on the door.

Church was effectively shelved. A two hour commitment, once a week, was crossed off the list, in favor of a little more "rest."

What we didn't realize at the time was that we were also shelving two hours of concentrated family time; one of our family goals. Time to pray together - also a goal . A church where we could plug in - another goal. Two hours a week, dedicated to reminding us and reinforcing the kind of family we want to be: friendly, patient, kind, healthy, praying, and on and on. So, by eliminating that two hours a week, we effectivly hobbled our ability to meet almost every one of our family goals and many of our individual goals.  Yes, that two hours were freed up but we were starving our family of fellowship, community, encouragement from the outside, accountability to something bigger than ourselves and a group connection to our Savior.

[Enter the Soylent Green metaphor]

Soylent Green is a movie that came out in the 70s and, according to wikipedia: much of the population survives on processed food rations, including "soylent green". It's a weird post-apocalyptic movie that came out in the 70s. People don't eat real food anymore. They eat this soylent green stuff.  It tastes better than other food rations and is more nutritious.  After a VERY long story line (hello, 1970s, I know all the drugs slowed down your processing speed but it doesn't translate well to future viewers), Charlton Heston's character discovers this soylent green is made of PEOPLE.  When people die, their bodies become this processed "food." People don't even know what they're eating. At some point, Heston's character aquires some steak and it's like a treasure. It's so valuable, they hide it until they are ready to eat it.

[return to today]

This morning, for the first time in months, Coach and I went to worship service. At our church. When Brother Andy began to preach, any sense of lingering tiredness fell away and we were just caught up in this sweet fellowship with each other, with the others in the room and with God.

It was during this time I realized I'd been starving for real food. Making myself be content with processed and manufactured rest, over time, my spirit grew quiet as my flesh began to "forget" what real food tasted like. Not that my spirit went away or was less present - I think it just waited for my flesh to get. a. grip.

Suddenly, my attempts to free up our time seemed laughable. Like I could re-create this feeling without spending the time in the pew.  Like I really wanted to. My spirit laughed; not in a mean way, but in a joyful way. Making a joyful noise took on the proportions of the delighted oohs and aahs when Mom presents the family with the Thanksgiving turkey. We feasted on the scripture (Romans 8).

And, not for the first time, I said to God, "God, why did it take me so long to figure that out - the answer was right in front of me the whole time..." And I'm sure God just shrugged His shoulders and said, "I don't know, but I'm glad you're back."

It was good.

We rested in Him.

We were filled.

An Actor's Wish List

I don't know that this is really a bucket list, per se, because some of them are total fantasy but these are the roles I'd love to play. These are not in any order and they are not all musicals/operas - I want to play them ALL! 

1. Fantine, Les Miserables
2. Tosca, Tosca
3. Liu, Turandot
4. Elphaba, Wicked
5. Lucy, Jekyll & Hyde
6. Lucia, Lucia di Lammermore (hahaha - the music would kick my butt but what a fun part to play)
7. Donna Elvira, Don Giovanni (I was 19 when I played her before; how much heartache had I really experienced? NONE)
8. The Countess, Marriage of Figaro
9. Cio-Cio-San (Butterfly),  Madame Butterfly
10. Lily Craven, Secret Garden
11. Narrator, Joseph & the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
12. Mary Poppins, Mary Poppins
13. Donna OR Tanya, Mamma Mia!
14. Mimi, La boheme
15. Lady Macbeth, Macbeth
16. M'Lynn, Steel Magnolias
17. Vivi, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (younger Vivi)
18. Grizabella, Cats
19. Roxie Hart, Chicago

 Oh, I'm sure there are more but this is a good list.  *giggle*

A Great Opinion Post

Some of my favorite quotes from this great opinion post from Washington Post Opinion Writer Robert J. Samuelson:

• Our political system prefers rhetorical fairy tales to unpleasant budget realities.
• There’s no culture of moral accountability.
• On both left and right, myths persist of painless solutions: “eliminating waste” or “taxing millionaires.”

Sunday night...really?

Is there an app for another couple of days of weekend?  I didn't do laundry.  I didn't scrub floors.  I didn't ... you get the picture. 

I made a little progress on the garage but only enough to create a path through the chaos.  I swept the floors before we had three giggly, wiggly little girls over for Munchkin's birthday sleepover.  HA.  Sleep.  Puh'Shaw.  At 12:30, I came in and started threatening to put children in the crate with the dog if sudden sleep didn't overtake them!  *giggle*

Princess Crybaby has been cranky McMuffin all day.  (no, I don't know why I called her that, Sarah.)  She wouldn't nap but 30 minutes at a time, wasn't interested in anything I fed her BUT teddy grahams and mandarin oranges.  She ate about half a bowl of everything else before she started throwing it on the floor.  *sigh*

She scraped her knee yesterday, at Nana's pool.  I swear, this child is as accident prone as...well, me. 

Coach is making progress with CC boys.  They have a race Friday morning.  The greatest part of this is having him (with the exception of a little while Friday night so he can go shoot volleyball) all. weekend. long.  We may just turn the phones OFF Saturday and spend time together, as a family, in our pj's. 

Today is the 10th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center, Pentagon and Flight 93's crash in that Pennsylvania field.  I've avoided coverage of the attacks all weekend.  Knowing it was on nearly every channel meant I didn't watch very much TV this weekend. 

Yes, I remember the exact moment.  I've tried (and failed) avoiding re-living it this weekend as my facebook friends go back through the details of those days. 

Ok. Here I go.  *deep breath*

The Ex and I took an annual trip to his parents' house, in New Jersey.  Historically, we flew because it was faster.  Historically, the first day was getting settled and recovering from the flight.  The second day of our trip, we always went in to New York City because I am a tourist and, dang it, I love that city.  Historically, we took the train from Princeton (I think) into Penn Station.  The last time we were in the City, we decided to start the day downtown, at the World Trade Center, so we could see the financial district and all that stuff down there first; then work our way back uptown. 

Ok, so that gives you the background up to 2001.  That year, we decided to drive - a cross-country road trip.  It was a fun trip.  We stopped in Nashville for a night, then Washington, D.C. (beautiful hotel) then on to NJ.  We were in D.C. on September 9 & 10.  September 9 was a Sunday.  Monday, September 10, we talked about trying to get a room and stay another day and spending a little more time in D.C. because we didn't have time to really see/do much.  But, wanting to stay on schedule, we decided to go on ahead to NJ.  Traffic was so bad headed north, straight out of the city, we looped around in a big circle around the city, bypassing traffic.  I snapped a shot of the side of the Pentagon as we drove past.  I remember very clearly it was about 9:30 in the morning.

All the way to NJ that day, the Ex was adamant he did NOT want to go into NYC; he was tired of going into the city, it was expensive, boring, etc...  We were already planning to drive to Montreal to meet/see his Canadian relatives and he didn't want to spend an entire day wearing ourselves out (and spending money) in NYC when we could wait and do the same thing in Montreal.  He wanted to go ahead and go on to Canada Tuesday morning.  I thought he was just being difficult and argumentative so I pouted and bickered. I agreed to let it drop (for the moment). 

Very early Tuesday morning arrives and we are still bickering about NYC.  I finally give in and agree we should go on to Canada; even though that means we won't make it into NYC at all this trip (dangit - I SO wanted to see Wall Street).  Little did I know all that bickering and finally giving in probably saved our lives. 

We get in the car around 7am Tuesday, September 11 and head north.  Around 8:40am, I am changing CD's out and we hear (of all people) Howard "I am the Nastiest person ALIVE" Stern sounding VERY grave on the radio.  Immediately sensing something was VERY wrong with this picture, we listen in horror as he recounts how, just two minutes earlier, a plane crashed into the side of the World Trade Center.  Was it an accident?  How had that happened?  We found a roadside gas station a few miles down the road and watched, in HORROR, with the strangers in the gas station as the second plane hit Tower 2.  The Ex and I looked at each other and said, "they are going to close the borders."  We jumped back in the car and floored it for the Canadian border. 

Sure enough, we were one of the last through the border before the country went on hard lockdown.  We listened in terror as the towers fell, listened to the reports of the plane that smashed into the Pentagon and of the downed plane in the Pennsylvania field. 

We stayed glued the rest of the day to the television, horrified at the pictures of the falling towers, the people jumping to their deaths, the flames and smoke filling the Manhattan skyline, the firefighters rushing in but not coming back out.  It was a horrible day.  The entire world was in shock.  How could something like this happen in America?

Meanwhile, phones were totally useless.  Family here in Texas had no idea where we were.  We couldn't get through to tell them we weren't in NYC (remember our history).  They had to wait in horrible suspense for the phone to ring.  When that call finally went through sometime early the next day, I will never forget the sound of my mother's voice cracking on the phone when she cried in relief we were ok.  I wanted to go home NOW.

The next few days were surreal.  The borders were closed.  We couldn't leave Canada.  So, for the time being, we were supposed to act like normal tourists, enjoying a visit with family members.  Sometime on that second day, the people around us, seemingly forgetting two AMERICANS were in earshot, started grandstanding that, yes, the attacks were terrible but, by god, this might teach "them" to stay out of everybody else's business and the deaths of innocent people "could have been avoided" and "maybe we'd listen" now.  I saw red. 

Fast forward to Friday.  The borders were opening but with extensive security in place.  It was quite the experience coming back in the US four days after the attacks - in a Tahoe with Texas plates, no less.  The guards were, understandably, skeptical and asked us to pull "over there" for a more thorough inspection. 

The day before we came home, I had all our pictures developed and, only then, discovered I'd taken a picture of the side of the Pentagon that was hit almost exactly 24 hours before the attack. The gravity of the realization we probably should have been in Tower 2 when the second plane hit hit me square in the face. The Ex's stubbornness probably saved our lives. 

Driving back along the highway looking across the Hudson at Manhattan was sickening.  Where the two Towers once stood, smouldering black clouds hung.  Entrances to the city were completely blocked off to all but to emergency personnel.  I have a picture from inside the car of the skyline. 

Then, I started noticing something amazing.  Flags.  American Flags.  First, here and there.  Then, in every window.  Every shop, house, car, and flagpole, proudly waved an American flag.  There were MILLIONS of them.   You couldn't buy a flag. 

We were ready to come home - away from the epicenter.  As we drove farther and farther West, we saw fewer flags and, while still sympathetic, fewer shocked/traumatized faces.  Getting home, it was almost like nothing had happened.  People here were so separated from the events on September 11, it was almost like we were talking about some OTHER country.  Another world away from here. 

Fast forward 10 years to today.  Shock and grief still sucker punch me in the gut when I see images from that awful day.  I can't watch video of the plane flying into Tower 2 or the towers falling, or smoke pouring from the Pentagon or read about those brave passengers on Flight 93 without feeling those sick feelings of shock and sorrow. 

If the Ex hadn't been so adamant about not going into NYC that morning, we could have been there.  We could have been injured or killed.  No Munchkin.  No Princess Crybaby.  No second chances.  No TISD.  It would have been over.  We would have been gone. 

*sigh*

I now realize why my grandfather never talked about his service in WWII.  It's not that he didn't want us to know about it but that living through it once was awful enough.  He didn't need to see images of the atrocities of war to relive those things that may have haunted his dreams.  He didn't want to talk about them because they weren't just nameless American soldiers in a "conflict" that happened a long time ago in a far away place.  They were his friends.  He could probably see their faces, remember the smells and sounds of battle. 

While I do not know any particular person who died in the attacks, I can remember the smell of the air conditioning in the car.  The hair that stood up on my neck when we realized what was happening, how time stood still as we watched the towers fall.  Smelling the smoke in the air on the drive back into NJ from Canada.  How angry I felt as Canadians bashed MY COUNTRY in her darkest hour. 

It is enough to write it down and know I don't have to do it again.  The world will let this go a few more years and I can put the memories aside.  Give it a few more years to scab over.  But, like an injury from which you never fully recover, I have a feeling I will always choke up when I watch the towers fall.  Because I was there.  I absorbed the grief of those around me.  And I lived to tell about it. 

For a brief moment, this country was great again.  We put aside politics, agendas, manipulation and exploitation to grieve together.  For the briefest moments, three horrible hours on a Tuesday morning would burn itself into the American psyche and we were united in a resolve to survive. 

Perhaps, we will experience that again - I just hope it doesn't take another grievous tragedy to bring it about. 

Silent Tribute

As the scenes of 9/11 are re-lived through television and web news/documentaries and as I take media inquiries on how we are beginning to include lessons about 9/11 into our curriculum, I stop to remember those horrible days 10 years ago. 

How can we objectively present an event that scarred our collective psyche just 10 years ago?  I remember the moment it happened.  I know what I smelled, what I heard, who I was with, where we were going...I remember crying until my eyes were red and swollen.  I remember not being able to get through on the phone to the folks back in Texas (we were on the East Coast), I remember the sick feeling when I realized we should have been in the World Trade Center tower 2 when the plane hit but changed our plans that morning.

Munchkin just turned 9.  Last weekend, there was a host of shows about 9/11 on tv and, naturally, she asked about it.  I got out the newspapers and Time magazine I kept and looked through some of the pictures with her.  I told her about Flight 93 and the courageous passengers who fought to the end.  I told her about driving past the Pentagon just 24 hours before and having no idea what was coming. 

How can I really explain what that day did to us as a nation? 
How can I tell her in a way that honors those who died that day? 

I imagine our grandparents pondering the same things about Pearl Harbor. 

L-O-V-E

Listen
Overlook
Value
Encourage

• Listen means turning off the iPad and phone, disconnecting my brain from the temptation to work and really engaging in conversation - investing in friendship.
• Overlook means keeping the good stuff in focus and it worrying so much about the other stuff.
• Value means caring enough to be sensitive to needs.  I must communicate and model behavior I hope to see.
• Encourage is just that. I think I do can do a pretty good job at this but there is always room to improve.

 

Lord, thank you for renewed vision and a willing heart. 

That's just stupid

"Yes, someone is making fun of me over this, publicly, and inciting others to make fun of it. What? No, I can't say anything. Because I have to take the high road. It's an unwritten code of conduct that I and many of my colleagues cannot stand up for ourselves. We have to remain silent and take it because they have the "right" to publish lies and twisted assumptions about us because we are semi-public figures. If we do say anything, if we ask those people to stop lying, to stop spreading their parasitic negativity, then we are the ones who are wrong." - dooce.com.

When did it become ok and even expected that people should be allowed to spew slander and attack personal creditability and integrity when something doesn't go their way?

That's just stupid. I'm just sayin'.

Epiphany

Ok, epiphany time...  I find it easier to lose weight when I'm NOT working out but controlling my food intake.  When I work out, I hardly lose anything.  I think it's because I am still figuring out how to balance the increased calorie needs with the increased calorie burn that comes with working out.  My body goes into starvation mode pretty easily.  Is that because I was always too thin in my teens through the birth of my first child?

When I think back over time, food and my weight has been a touchy subject all my life.  When I get busy, pre-occupied or anxious, I quit eating.  Literally, I forget to be hungry.  Now, that sounds crazy but it really is true.  My mother was forever checking my collar-bones and grilling me about what I'd eaten.  I was always very thin - sometimes to the point of concern.  I never tried to be thin.

Then, somewhere in college, food became something else.  It was almost a weapon I would use against myself if I was unhappy.  (this conclusion was made upon looking back; when I was doing it, I was not aware of what I was doing.)  This, combined with the party lifestyle I adopted, brought my weight to near dangerous levels.  When I moved home to start UMHB, I was a size 4.  I'm nearly six foot tall.  In nobody's book is that considered healthy.

Then, as tends to happen, my metabolism slowed down in my mid-20s and I began to gain weight.  Since the birth of my first child, I've hovered around the same weight.  While I was working at the CAC, the workload, single parenthood and life, in general, triggered that no-eating cycle.  I suffered terrible stomach pain - I thought I might have an ulcer.  Everything I ate (besides ramen or salad) would hurt so I began to eat less and less.  I got down to a 10; the smallest I'd been since college.

I didn't stay that small, of course.  I started eating again eventually and didn't work out.  Then, comes the second baby and that brings us to now.

My conclusions:

• I do not know how to lose weight in a healthy way.


• I have a love/hate relationship with food.


• I am not a stress eater.  (thankfully)


• I am a stress-starver.


• I have a lot of stress in my life (even good stress is still stress; as my mother says).

What I'd like to do is lose the weight in a way I know how to lose it (control food intake) and then incorporate fitness to keep it off.  But I know all my fitness friends are already shaking their heads and saying, "you must balance fitness and nutrition at the same time in order to achieve long-term goals."  How I break this cycle and get to the weight I want without starving myself is the question of the year. I haven't had that epiphany yet. LOL

that sad little song

What is it about music that gives it such power over our emotions? There is nothing more haunting than a melancholy tune; more stirring than a sweeping orchestral swell or more invigorating than a lively melody. 

Or, is that just me? (probably)

Rite of Passage

I can't believe the day is here. A day I've talked about as far, far away for her whole life. No, she's not graduating from high school. Drivers license? Nope. First date? Not yet. So what is this momentous occasion, you may ask?

Munchkin is finally old enough to...gulp...get her ears pierced.

I've been telling her since she was old enough to notice earrings she could have them in third grade. Well, that was simply ages away so it felt like a nice, safe target. A few months ago, Munchkin pointed out to me that she would be a third grader at the end of this school year. Hmmm...true. Realizing there was no more putting it off, I set the appointment. And here we are.

This makes me think about how fast she's growing up. It seems like only yesterday she was learning to walk, talk, run, and all of the other milestones. Before I have time to take three breaths, it will be time to register her for high school, drivers Ed, graduation, college visits....ok, you get the idea...

How do we slow this down? I guess we can't. We take lots of pictures, keep a blog and stay on our knees so we have lots of guidance on raising uber-bright, exceptionally beautiful wunder-kids at the speed of light.

This summer, while she is gone, I will undertake my annual redecoration project in her room. She's decided she wants a "big kid" room. She has chosen only a few toys to keep, preferring to trade the space for a new art easel and a tv/dvd player. This year, she had a hand in choosing the colors and theme (turquoise and zebra print) - something I've always done for her.

This brings me back to today. She chose her new haircut (a cute little jaw-length layered bob).

My baby girl is growing up. Father, give me wisdom. Give me patience. Give me a sense of humor. AMEN.

This is nuts

I'm just sayin'. 

Waiting is fine.  A lesson in God's timing?  Maybe?  I'm totally ok with that.  But this is bananas. 

In other news: Princess Crybaby has her first tooth!  A little white tooth is poking through her tender little gums and giving her no end of fodder for whiny-ness. 

In other, other news: The day after I soak the grass (which hasn't been watered since, oh, NOVEMBER) the sprinklers are working and the grass gets watered.  It wasn't long so I don't know how much good it did.  I imagine I will still run the little sprinkler a few days to help the ground soften up. 

I've had an idea about putting paving stones around the "patio" in order to create little more usable space for the grill and maybe a couple of chairs.  It would delay the need to replace dead grass that was killed by 1. sitting water last fall, 2. a total lack of water through the winter and spring and 3. the high traffic area by the back door (i.e. "patio). 

I think we've decided to stay in our house, rather than taking over Mom's house.  I know it would be a little more affordable and would have an extra bedroom (HELLO OFFICE!) but the drawbacks, while they are minor, would add hassle to our lives and that is counter-productive. 

So, we're looking to improve on our great little house.  YEAH!  I love a project.  (a major reason I love summer)

Not really, no

I promise I'm not really watching the clock.  I've got lots to do and I'm doing it. 

See how busy I am? 

To Do List:
artwork to vendor - done
f/u on $830M DoE funds inquiry - done
pull last week's pictures off camera and post - done
water that sick looking little plant - done
arrange p/u of phone books for campus - done

And I've only been here since 9:30! 

And yet....everytime my phone beeps I've got an email, I say a little prayer, let out the breath I sucked in and check it. 

Ok. I'm going to take a little break and refill my coffee. 

I CAN and WILL wait patiently. 
I CAN and WILL wait patiently.
I CAN and WILL wait patiently.
I CAN and WILL wait patiently.

Finding her way through the tangle

Have I mentioned Munchkin is one of the brightest children I've ever encountered? She loves bigger than most too. This can make for an explosive combination.

Last week, I was told I isolate myself.  I have a theory about that and it comes from watching Munchkin try and find her way through the tangle of social relationships.

Munchkin often finds herself on the wrong side of a little disagreement between girls. All girls do this. But what few know, is that Munchkin, even when she instigated it, takes it very hard that she cannot figure out how to be with the "in" crowd.

I remember that sense of hurt and bewilderment that I'd somehow said something wrong - again.  Even if I imitated behaviors I'd observed, when it came out of my mouth, it came across as bossy or mean-spirited.

As smart as I was, I often found myself alone because of this inability to translate the social behaviors of my classmates into my own personality.  Books became my friends. I couldn't understand how to communicate my longing for friendship and so I tucked it away until I got older and could surround myself with like-minded people who understood my intentions, even when I didn't always say it right.

In some ways, it was a very lonely childhood. I am thankful God gave me a brother with whom I could truly be friends.  I also had a few very close friends on whom I could truly rely.

Since Munchkin is already so much older than her sister, I trust God will bring her a friend; a sister of the heart.

I am still a solitary creature. Some of those childhood lessons left pretty painful scars that leave me cautious around those I don't know.  I like to feel out the temperature of a room before I enter it. I try to avoid those who sow dissent and division.  I despise duplicity. And while I have become very good at communication, my black and white perspective on character can still make me hesitant to reach out when I've watched them practice gossip, slander, selfishness, and all other manner of hatefulness. 

People still confuse me.  I hope she will do as a child what took me a lot longer to achieve: the ability to overlook the failings of the human heart; especially her own, in order to make friends.

nanny state?

I've heard this term a lot lately and thought I'd better check it out for myself. It's hard to know where to stand on issues any more. As I become older and more informed about the political "process," I am more convinced we are the next verse in a very long song. Our country is but one of many who succumb to the insistence of its leaders that they, not the individual citizen, knows what is best for the people and, as a result, doom the entire nation.

The stark fact is that you cannot give power to rule others to a select group of people and expect good things to come from it. Power is like a drug; once given it is very hard to use it only to serve others. We tell ourselves we act in the best interests of others but we are, in reality, stripping them of their personal freedom. This creates a larger and larger gap between the rulers and the ruled until a once humble and noble-intentioned person entrusted as the head of the State becomes a conceited tyrant - bent on pushing forward programs, laws and policies that only serve the people writing them - other politicians. Progress becomes lost in the endless maneuvering, currying favor and compromises made in backroom meetings. The deal is done before it ever sees the light of day.

We are not fit to rule ourselves. Only God can truly lead a people. Haven't we seen one civilization after another begin with the noblest intentions, built on righteous ideals fall apart a few hundred years later because of corruption, greed and all manner of evil?

So what is an average person to do? Scream into the wind with no affect or stand aside and be swept along with the current of political whim?

Earth, Wind & Fire (no, not the disco band)

Munchkin is a great kid.  As my mother says, she is a very, very, very bright child in an itty, bitty body.  That's a lot of brilliance to contain in one little package.  Like capturing the wind.  You can contain it, but it is very, very hard to make it sit still.

That reminds me of how, when my brother and I were still living at home, Mother used to describe us as we might be found in nature.  Brother is light - he fills a room with his presence - he is impossible to miss.  He chases away shadows just by being there and warms cold spots.  People, like moths, are drawn to his light - it radiates from him. 

I am fire.  Raw energy that causes forward motion.  Fire is impressive by it's power and beauty but can be very, very dangerous if left untended.  In my family, my temper is legendary in its ability to flare up, seemingly out of nowhere and be gone again, just as fast.  Fire also has the ability to draw people in.  Fire gives warmth and protection when harnessed. 

If my brother was light and I am fire, Munchkin is wind and Princess Crybaby is water (so far as I can tell).  Let me explain:

Munchkin is wind.  Wind is constant motion.  Wind carries songs and wishes.  Wind powers turbines and creates electricity.  It sustains life.  Wind can be terribly destructive if your structures aren't built (and reinforced) solidly.  Wind will mess up your hair, blow your dress up and ruin your umbrella on a rainy day.  But, it brings joy because you need it to fly a kite, or sail in a sailboat. 

Princess Crybaby is water.  Water is the giver of life.  We are made of water and without it our lives would end.  Water, like wind, has its own song.  From a babbling brook, to the mighty oceans, people choose to be near water - for many reasons.  Water is flexible but never mistake it's adaptability for tameability.  You can dam up water but beware its power and the potential for catastrophe if the dam breaks.  Very quickly, a little bit of rain can overrun a stream and run a car off the road (as we are constantly reminded during flash flooding seasons). 

Coach is light.  Because I admire my brother so much, it is understandable I would marry a man who shares many of the same qualities as he.

While any one of these things has the power to destroy, we need (and want) all of them around because of the benefits they bring us. 

What describes you: Wind, Fire, Light, Water (or something else)?

Random thoughts on Christ - a mom's perspective

I sometimes wonder what conversations with the boy Jesus would sound like if he were born into a normal, 21st century American household..  Maybe something like this:

"Jesus, I dont care if you are the Son of God, you are going to eat your spaghetti."

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE YOUNG MAN?!"

"I know you are the Son of God but you still have to do your math homework."

I wonder if Mary yelled at Jesus out of frustration, like every other mom in the history of the world has done or if she would be more restrained because she knew who He was.

I wonder if Jesus talked back as a little child.

I wonder if Jesus went through a biting phase.

Would Jesus share his toys with the other children from infancy or was he selfish; like all toddlers?

I try to imagine Jesus as a little child.  For some reason, it is hard for me to imagine the Savior with a runny nose. Or being potty trained. Or having a temper tantrum.

I think about how miraculous childbirth has been and how humbling and terrifying motherhood has been (and continues to be) and wonder how, on Earth, Mary was able to cope; knowing she was raising the Savior.

Am I the only one who thinks like this?

Why?

Before I start this, let me just put out there I know why but that doesn't make it any easier to understand.

Why is there so much cruelty in this life?  What happens in a person's heart to completely and permanently smother the light?  To send them to the brink of madness where acts of complete evil are somehow justified?

Is there not one safe corner in this world?

You read the headlines and cry out to Heaven that, surely, these are Signs that the Lord is coming soon?

The weight of looking into the face of such darkness makes me so sad.

Sing, sing, sing

Laying in bed at the end of a hectic weekend. The dog is lapping up lake Michigan, in the kitchen, the girls are settled into dreamland, coach is putting final touches on coaching plan for tomorrow and I am laying here, reflecting on yet another of my good friend, Sarah's, posts (you are REALLY cooking' good stuff, mama).

She talks about a time when the only thing that got her out of bed some days was a commitment to her dance lessons.

I think of a few times in my life when I ran from singing because I thought my sorrow or anger ran too deep. I thought my song spoiled by my rage or heart-break. I always regretted it.

When Roy Finney died, I did not sing in the choir at his funeral but helped start Go Ye Now in Peace at his graveside.  I will never regret openly weeping as I sang, because I allowed myself to say goodbye in a real way, rather than allow my grief to steal that moment from me.

I did not sing most of my first marriage. My mother wrote a poem about she who could not sing for crying. There was so much hurt during that time, I could not see much to sing about.

I sang By My Side as Riley died inside my womb. The simple songs of praise in Godspell; the simple act of stepping outside myself and the earth-shattering loss I was dealing with truly acted as a lifeline.

I cannot downplay the importance of loved ones around me during times of crisis. It is not that only the song got through.  But it certainly helped.

I was an adult before I realized that, perhaps, God did not give me the gift of voice only to entertain but to praise Him and act as a beacon to others. It is an injustice to ignore this gift when I am hurting. It is precisely this gift that has lifted me out of the depths over and over.

Thank God He can see what we cannot.