The dark side

I'm now the one with dark humor. I joked about single people not having to endure the torture of wheedling family members bending over their death bed begging them not to die like idiots the other day. Jody was clearly horrified and told me he'd never thought of such a thing. I shrugged and said "yeah, I only say what's true." It's true alright. Very true. Lonely people will have peaceful deaths, traveling off to heaven without a reason to linger or fight the inevitable. 

Another thing I wonder about is why is it so taboo to grieve? No matter how ya do it, people are all off to the side saying crap like "she's just never gonna get over it." Well gosh people it's not a pet rat ok? For years we've all listened to you rattle on and on about how many people in your house puked this week or how you just hate packing when you move or how smart your kids are which all get the fog horn for most boring conversation/Facebook status ever and we are not setting you a time limit (even though honestly we should). You are still accepted and loved even if that's all you've got forever to the end of time but that's only because we can use the hide feature on facebook and minimize the refrain. Just saying... Those who live in glass houses should only throw marshmallows.

My new normal

When I lost my dad my head spun. I obsessed over how to keep his spirit alive for my kids. I worried over the pieces of him I'd never absorbed. I fretted that I would lose even more pieces of him to never have again. Then one day I played a silly trick on one of my kids that didn't have anything to do with my dad or any memory of him. And we giggled until we cried and I thought of how he would love to see me make them laugh. The biggest thrills of his life came when someone did something clever and incredibly funny.  That was when I knew that the pieces of him I needed were all here and are safe and sound. It's very comforting. If I wanted to sum up what my dad tried to place inside me, it's the approval of all that I am and the belief of all that I can be. If I want my dad to live on in my heart, I don't need to copy his humor or quote his favorite people from history. All I need to do, is live as freely and expressively as he raised me to and be the biggest me he ever dreamed I would be. When I think of all I lost when he died, I know it was a deep loss because he found himself, he accepted himself and he expressed himself. I will always reminisce about him but I don't struggle with wanting to replace him because his uniqueness could never be copied, even by me. He didn't want me to be him, he wanted me to be me which he thought was quite grand. 

It's a peaceful place i find myself in these days. I have accepted myself and my imperfections which has made accepting imperfections in others the most natural process. I used to wrestle with it so. Fighting grace like the best Pharisee in the land. But Jesus found me and he held me close and I've been set free. The Holy Spirit does everything I used to try so hard to do without success.

A year ago

Has it been a year since my dad pulled himself from bed struggling to spend the morning with me before I left? Oh that was it. After that he was gone from me. How I loved him. How he loved me. We had a special thing that I miss more than I anticipated and my anticipation was really bad. It's a constant dull ache that swells to a throbbing when a Dad moment pops up. When I'm driving and I wish that I could call him. When Election Day came and went without our excited and over dramatic phone calls. Today I went to a dollar store with the girls and remembered a time he and I somehow wound up on a grand tour of dollar stores in Springfield all day long one time. He's with me constantly and I'm thankful that somehow over 13 years of me being far away he held me close. I miss his unconditional love and constant pride in me. He was so perfectly him. He let me be me and he loved what that was. It was all that a daughter could ask for. He showed me how God the father loves me and that's what God asked of him. If I asked what more I could ask of my dad by him living longer it would just be more of what we had. Nothing that was missing because nothing was. His imperfect life was all I needed as his girl. With my hands tucked in his back pockets pretending to be his shadow, I held on and it was perfect. A perfectly imperfect life. We stayed best friends through all.  When I think of him holding his head in his hands and telling me he wished his mind was clear so he could spend the morning with me, I had no idea that was my last morning with my real Dad. I wrote on Facebook that my heart was torn in half that day. I didn't know it would tear in half again remembering it today. And as I laid curled in a ball tonight sobbing to God, I asked him why Dad had to endure so much pain and He said "so you could be broken and humbled and become my disciple." I'll never stop loving him and missing him but when I see him where he is now I feel nothing but joy. He loves being with Jesus as much as I would if I joined him today. Jesus has consumed me this year. I've learned humility. I've learned that it's the window to faith. I've learned grace. How to receive it and how to give it probably only in very simplified terms. I've learned about love. I've learned about peace and healing. It would be fake to say I've touched joy but I know it's coming so I just keep singing like Dad.

Hi Ya'll

When I blog about my problems, failures, imperfections, struggles etc... I'm not doing it so some of you can think you're better than me. I'm not doing it pridefully like I think my mess is amazing or something. I'm not doing it for attention. It's not a cry for help most of the time (haha). It's an attempt to relate to someone out there like me. It's my "yoo-hoo" to let everyone out there in the fog know that there's another boat in the same situation who feels just as helpless and just as worried that we are just floating in circles going nowhere. Sure, most people blog when they have it all together to encourage people and give them some kind of hope I guess. I find it very defeating personally. I read a blog the other day that advised me to give each of my kids ten hugs and spend 15 dedicated minutes one on one with each kid every day possible. I felt like I'd been clocked with a 2 X 4. Now fortunately Hazel claims about 40 hugs and cuddles per day by demanding them so I guess she's covered. The rest of them are going to wind up in therapy where they probably won't get any hugs remain in an abyss of emptiness. They each claim one hug at bedtime as well as wallowing on me on the couch, having me clip their fingernails, forcing me to read aloud until my tongue is bubbly, sing them to sleep, cooking with me and being allowed to talk to me basically the whole time we are together. It's a shame that won't keep them nurtured and normalized but it's what we do. Kudos to the parents who have more in them to give. Just picture me as the hippo with four personal penguins. FAIL!
I seriously loved getting a comment on my Facebook that I should get therapy. I laughed out loud reading it. A few of my friends had a different reaction. They were calling me left and right affronted for me. Asking if I would delete the comment. Telling me what they would say. I was just like "eh, I put myself out there for some poor soul who relates to me and feels connected by my nonsense and it looks like I had a little fallout with a well intentioned person who I don't think really read the blog or understood my intent. Not really a big deal." Honestly, most people don't understand why I do it. They are simply embarrassed for me when they read my blogs. Again I'm like "eh, somebody out there needs me to be real... even if that somebody is just me." I kinda think it's egotistical to blog. Like we consider ourselves these amazing interesting people who captivate the world with our witticism. Nah, I'm just slogging through my imperfect life like the rest of you and authentically capturing it for my kids so they know they have to keep on going when the going gets tough and that it is in the range of NORMAL to face relationship problems, financial struggles, health issues and grief.

Now for the nitty gritty. Here we are over nine months out from losing my dad. The weather is exactly the same as it was the day he found out he had a tumor the size of a cantaloup. I talk to him in my head every single day even though I never talk to the rest of my extended family. I cry almost every single day. I recently read that grief only really lasts six months or longer in rare cases. Of course I have to be a rare case because being normal is so blasé. Currently I can barely grit out a conversation with anyone in my extended family. Jody just asked me today what I think will happen. He feels that Dad was the glue holding us all together. I honestly could not say. I have surrendered to whatever those relationships turn into. I can't single handedly heal all wounds and scars and restore the family. I'm not the glue. I'm not a magician. I'm not a super hero. I'm not even a millionaire. So whatever people want is what it will all be. And I will flow with whatever that is. I have no expectations of them. In other news, I had the beautiful experience of releasing Dad to heaven last week. It happened in church and it was transformative. I've been reading about grief and codependency and it has really brought me to a place of healing and peace. I'm now a student of what it was that dad did to make people always feel so important and funny and special and unique. I think I want to learn that. 

live it now

I almost started an anonymous blog this morning. How liberating and exciting it would be to throw caution to the wind and blog about all kinds of hilarious, inappropriate obnoxious things that would just make me laugh and laugh and everyone in my life hate me. So I put an inordinate amount of importance on laughing. I could have worse problems.  But then I read blogs about anonymous blogs and there was that not so little warning at the end that you must be prepared to be unmasked someday. And thus... I shall not. I will continue to shock the older generation with too much info, hopefully amuse my own generation and leave the youngn's wondering why I think I'm funny.
Last night Jody and I got into the dumbest argument that ever did start in the history of the world. But we stuck by our guns and lifted our noses and made our snide obscure observations and even went so far as to "ha" at each other. (this was literally about the Olaf face painting Kait got at church this morning, I am not making that up. Yes, we seem to currently be short on real problems.) After we had enacted the superior silence ritual, I stalked past his impervious back and picked up my kindle and marched into our bedroom past his irritatingly absorbed visage as he physically leaned into the tv to be one with the Broncos. My lofty demeanor had been lost on him which made me want to stomp myself into the ground like Rumplestiltzkin. I stood by my bed and then remembered what I'd thought two days after our last spat. I had looked at a picture of my friend Joel Hedlunds wedding day where his wife hash tagged #therewillneverbeanother. I had stared at that picture and with tears clouding my vision I asked myself what are we missing? Joel has brain cancer. Right now he's fighting for each breath, each word, each minute. I would venture to guess that they do not fight about Olaf. And I love Jody with my whole being so why do we ever waste a single minute in stony "I'm right" silence let alone a whole day? I stood there by my bed asking myself if I was a big enough person to seek resolution before we slept. I quickly decided that it's easier to get on a husbands good side with less clothing on. He came in the room and sliced a puzzled glance at what I was or was not wearing as I read my kindle. He brushed his teeth and got into bed and rolled over with his back to me very purposefully. I was so tired I almost caved. My pillow was so soft and everything was so comfy I think I was in some kind of cloud. But I fought my way to the surface with great focus and started a dialogue. (are you following how badly I did not want to do this?). I asked him why we waste time fighting and he said he had no idea. I told him if we have that much energy to fight over stupid crap maybe we have more energy to invest in each other than we claim. He agreed. He complained about things I do wrong. I complained about how he is so hard on me about all of the things I do wrong. Because that seriously is what we struggle with, I know because we took a personality test this weekend and basically I'm a flapping barn door and he's perfect which is so freaking annoying.  I will note that he is warned to not be hard on the flapping barn door if he is so foolish as to marry said flapping barn door.  He said we aren't a team anymore. I rolled my eyes at the sports analogy. I listed off several things I wish our relationship were more focused on then I said "and what about make up sex?  We never have make up sex, we always quit talking then start talking again the next day. That's so not fair." Jody sputtered "what does that have to do..." I laid there grimacing and trying not to destroy my serious tone but I burst into hysterical laughter. He held me close and I pressed my cheek on his chest and said "I opened dialogue this time, it's your turn next time, it's only fair."

Mommy

This mommy held a hurting toddler all night while she jerked awake screaming that her neck hurt every 15 minutes. This mommy woke up with a migraine. This mommy made her kids tardy for school. This mommy didn't make lunches or kiss their cheeks. This mommy laid on the couch with a cold cloth on her head muttering directions to the kids as they readied themselves for school. This mommy held her little girl and watched Frozen and Dora and made scrambled eggs and drank coffee with frequent distressing interruptions as that girlie cried because her neck hurt. This mommy did diddly all day long until the little one got to go to the chiropractor. This mommy accomplished almost nothing today. But today this mommy received. Her monkeys did their very best getting ready and the first words of her boy after school were "do you feel better?" They helped make dinner. They put away their laundry. The husband went school binder shopping and served dinner. The collective accomplished this mommys job. Thanks guys. I love you.

When to take a picture or a video

It was Ginny's birthday today and she listened to a recording of Dad singing happy birthday from a voicemail he left last year. It's ironic. Of all of the songs Dad sang a million times, happy birthday is nowhere on my top 40 list and yet it's what we have. If I had a recording of singing a duet of Down by the Old Mill Stream with him or him singing Kaw-Liga or Farmer Boy, or The Wild Colonial Boy I'd be ever so much happier. But I don't. It  never occurred to me to record it. Not once in my life. Not even as he drew his last breaths and I gasped my way through thanking him for everything I could think of to thank him for. I sing for him day after day now and I miss him so bad when I sing his lullaby to Hazel. I'm glad he sang to me. I bursted into tears when Hazel asked me to sing Kaw-Liga yesterday in the car. I asked him to sing it in the car over and over and over as a child. When I was very small he made up a parody about me and my blackbird because I was sad to go to school. I wish I remembered it. I wonder why I always just thought I'd go stand by one more bonfire and have one more family singing fest with him. I wonder why as people told me to soak up and savor every second with my children, I didn't heed the voices reminding me to savor everyone else just as much. When they told me to take pictures of the childhood because someday I will forget... I think I took those warnings a little too literally. I have a million pictures of people eating icecream and standing primly for the first day of school and playing dress up... And don't get me started on zoo animals. Lately I've talked to mommies facing the first day of school who shed a tear as they let go a little bit more as they send one off to kindergarten or high school and I think - it's bittersweet. It's worth a snapshot. It's a moment worth pressings to your memory. I suppose it's the end of something but it's nothing like good-bye. If I had a movie of me sitting by a tractor singing song after song with my daddy when I was a kid, I think it would be the greatest gift. And I think I need to open my eyes and really see what my treasures are that I will want to revisit. Things that will transport my kids back to the happiest moments in their childhood someday. Things we do. Things we say. Things we sing. Things we share. I remember a day a song was playing and Jody swept me into his arms and danced with me and sang it in my ear as we danced and I think... what if I could have recorded it so I could see it all over again someday? So listen to me as I say, take that picture or that video when someone is laughing uncontrollably or leaping into a grandparents or if you are super lucky a great grandparents arms. You'll like that progression of pics of your kids on the first day of school and all of their childhood antics but there will be nothing like those moments you were full of joy. I laugh in earnest at the people who say to put down the camera and just live in the moment. For someday we will conclude, that is exactly the moment we wish we had a window into. This is something I know.
Here is a moment when Jody was chasing Hazel and she dashed into GG's arms and said "you can't get me Daddy!" And GG murmured in her ear "don't worry I won't let him get you. You're safe."

Mourn with those who mourn

Who knows, maybe I need to write ten more, maybe I'm repeating myself... maybe I don't care. Because I've concluded that if I really need to write something, someone must really need to read it.  I do believe there is a Biblical direction for how to help your grieving friends. If my "how to" tutorial is too much for you. Content yourself with the Word.  I can't even say how many people have told me how completely at a loss they are when confronted with a grieving friend or relative. They are paralyzed by the fear of doing the wrong thing. It's scary. It's like trying to move someone out of a car wreck that might have twenty broken bones. You don't want to do any more damage or cause any more pain. I totally understand that. But that paralysis is soooooo much more damaging than trying, trust me folks. I'm the paralysis queen. "Uh-oh... my three year old just went in the water over her head and I'm not out of my swim cover up and I have a coffee in my hand... what should I do first?" As I gingerly set down the coffee my fully clothed husband rises up out of the water with my rescued child in his arms staring at me like I'm a freak of nature. Rightfully so, when someone is drowning, you wade in. And if you are in doubt, grief is like drowning. You can't catch your breath. You see black spots. Your lungs want to explode or is that your heart?
The thing that hurts a grieving person is indifference or the appearance of it very simply. Sure, every griever wishes they knew the appropriate answer when you ask how they're doing and they wish you would never say that they need to just get over it, but saying those things shows a presence which is quite simply better than nothing. And if they vent about other people saying those things, you may think more damage was done than help but you'd be wrong. Even people saying and doing the wrong things give the experience a tangibility. It's the avoidance of the grief that is truly unbearable. I'll be honest, every time someone asks me how my mom is doing... I crumple inside. I don't want to answer. I don't want to cry. I don't want to say she's ok which she isn't. I don't want to say she's dying inside which she is. But I know they care. And that's the bottom line. They ask because they care and I think it's one of those things that hurts but doesn't cause harm if you know what I mean.
The other day my pastor said that Job's friends started out doing exactly what you do for a grieving person. They were present, and they shared his grief. They heaped ashes on their heads for his pain. They had no losses to grieve for themselves but his pain was their pain and thus they grieved with him. Knelly grieved with me. I kinda wonder if I would have made it through that rough patch without her crying with me when I cried. Christine did too, she walked me through my daily tasks like I was a little child and comforted me every day, making time for coffee and Costco and thrifting. I was unhinged, out of sync with Jody, out of touch with most of my family and friends and I honestly can't say what might have happened without those two special people. Jesus gave them a job and they didn't say no. I doubt they realized how desperate I was. Not everyone is that vulnerable but I was and with one person under each of my arms I crawled out of that ravine. It was very very very dark. I remember one very hard day I got a phone call from Jody's aunt MaryLu. She said she felt like she just needed to call me. I was overcome. She ministered to me, loved on me, prayed over me and that was that. It still makes me cry and wonder why people don't do that when they know someone is hurting more often.
One day I was reading a commentary or something about Jesus saying "blessed or "happy" are those who mourn for they will be comforted. " The commentary went on to say that the happiness comes from knowing that you have a reason to mourn and are able to look back at the amazing thing you had and lost and know that you are the blessed one. And that is what will comfort you. It's not a vague promise, it's a statement of fact with all of the parts of the process stated so succinctly you almost don't realize it's all there. I am constantly comforted by imagining my Dad resting his head on mine and saying "well Boogle..." I am comforted by picturing his forearms covered in bits of hay and his beautiful hands smudged with grease which symbolizes his hard work. I am comforted by the memory of knowing and being loved by a man; a really really great man who happened to be my dad. I am comforted by picturing his face alight in a smile as he reminisces about my childhood or even my own children's antics that delighted him." I am comforted by the memory of the happiness that gave me a reason to grieve when I lost it.
I suppose I could find myself in a sea of regret if I'm not careful, but for now I am able to bask in my memories. They are plentiful. They are beautiful. They are a gift so rarely ever bestowed on anyone that I shudder to taint them with anything other than broken thankfulness.
I remember when I was a teenager. A young man from my youth group was killed in a tragic car accident. I didn't actually know him, but he was an only child. Our youth group went to his house to comfort his mother. My youth pastor was literally broken by the pain of this loss. And so for several days even though I didn't know him or his mother at that time, I interceded for the mother and my youth pastor and I fasted. My heart became so heavy at one point, I laid down and felt rooted to my bedroom floor. I was holding for a moment their grief. It was terrifying. I cried my little heart out and laid there and begged God to let me hold onto it for them a little longer because I couldn't imagine holding that burden all day every day. I think I heaped their ashes on my head even though they never knew.
Humans are all so different. We help each other in different ways through different struggles. There is no cookie cutter approach to helping people. The only thing we can do is act with love.

Dear Jesus

I pray that you take my pain and use every vivid color to paint something beautiful with my life. I pray that someday when I'm gone my children will rise up and call me blessed. I pray that I will learn to be so completely inhabited by you that nobody even remembers the old selfish hateful hurtful me. I pray that as you consume me, you use me for your purpose. I pray that you make my heart soft and willing to forgive. I pray that you give me wisdom in all situations. I pray that your Holy Spirit gives me temperance. I pray that as I fall deeper in love with Jody that you will make me the wife he needs in every way. I pray that as I am soaked in your love, I will be transparent and your light will shine from my deepest most hurting places out to warm a hurting soul.  

I know this prayer is all about me but it's all I have to give. 

And forgive my hard hearted mess. I know there's beauty in the journey and I give the journey to you. I welcome the scenic route, the road less travelled, the rocky painful route, so I know you more.

A diary of my day as Jody's errand boy

12:15 - home from church... Giving myself a pep talk and suggesting that I drink extra coffee to myself to offset the pancake breakfast crash that was crowding in.

12:30 - rooted to my chair cuddling Hazel.

12:45 - Jody heads to the garage and I surrender to the inevitable and dolefully follow.

1:00 - finding my groove, happy that he's going to have a woodworking setup after all of these years. We are positioning cabinets! This will be done in no time!

1:15 - still chugging

1:30 - kids begging for fishing poles... I give them string. 

1:45 - feverishly taking pictures of trash and trying to pawn it off on Craigslist and Facebook to NO avail. Then I put my hand on the ottoman that has been piled out there and tell him I just have to try to reupholster it and take it to the front door. He ignores me.

2:00 - feeling hungry and tired, trying to keep Hazel happy with old wrinkly blueberries. I suggest an excellent idea for the work bench area which he accepts!

2:15 - announce to Jody that we need the desk that he's been barely tolerating in the garage for several months in our office so we haul it in and I announce I'm keeping it. He stares at me impassively but makes no comment.

2:30 - I declare a lunch break and stuff my face with last nights wilted salad and let Hazel feed herself yogurt which causes a disaster. 

2:45 - Jody propels me back to the garage which I weakly protest to.

3:00 - kids come back from creek for bucket, yes unsupervised! What do you think I am a modern mother? Seriously!

3:15 - Jody tips over the ladder and dangles from rafters trying to catch the work bench with his toes while I piteously wail his name standing on a small cleared area on the work bench with a trampoline net and mat balled up and dangling between us obstructing my view of what is happening until it falls to the floor. Wishing so desperately I'd thought to carry smelling salts or pinch my nose like people do in books for just such a moment later as I reflect back on it.

3:30 - Jody and I are still balanced on the ladder and workbench precariously stuffing precious broken junk in the rafters for "someday"

3:45 - I turn around to see the tackle box open and Hazel double fisting tackle. (Trying to imagine if she has 5 hooks stuck in her hand and waiting for the delayed reactionary scream which never comes.) thank you Jesus she just has rubber worms!

3:59 - I realize I have not made a dinner I promised to a friend recovering from surgery and feverishly text to see if tomorrow works. Gracious gracious people this world is full of.

4:00 - daydreaming of Jody sweeping me into his arms to tell me he loves the free cabinetry I acquired.

4:01 - electricity goes out while Jody is drilling and he yells anything but poetry. He has hit a wire. Everything stops. Time for Mr. Perfect to berate himself for accidentally doing something I definitely would have done while I silently and gleefully welcome him to my world. He abruptly leaves my sad little world and dons his electrician hat.

4:15 back on track electricity restored and I again make an excellent suggestion for the pegboard installation. I am the perfect side kick.

4:30 - Jody and I are again dangling and wrestling this time our rooftop carrier up to the rafters with various tie downs some of which do work properly -dropping - tipping - falling and finally laughing with our arms over our heads saying this can't go this poorly for this long! I tell him I think Bart would say we are having fun while not having fun.

4:45 - I stare at disarray in all directions and realize this is not over, it's nowhere close.

5:00 - fatigue clouds my vision but I'm quickly snapped back to reality as Jody tips a step stool he's on and catches himself on a rope. His ankle is now tweaked and he asks me how many things can go wrong. I stare at him silently gauging whether I could make a "let's quit" plea but I see no weakness in his green determined eyes. I discard the notion as fast as my thoughts process.

5:15 - vacuuming sawdust for the tenth time. He keeps having to saw one more thing. No job is simple. 

5:30 - I start hoping for a phone call from friends who had made tenative plans for a girls night out contingent upon children etc... I know it's a slim hope but it's ALL I HAVE...

5:45 - I hold a shelf over my head for a very very long time trying to act casual and strong.

6:00 - still not seeing any finish line, working desperately to just keep going

6:15 - I reflect on my amazingness. I think of my time in manual labor and I know that not every wife would hang this long. It takes grueling conditioning of hauling hay in 100 degree weather with 100% humidity to achieve this status but my "self awesomeness ponderance" has a hollow ring because I have a lot more work to do and it makes me want to lay on the concrete in silent surrender.

6:30 - I accept that I am probably not having a girls night out to save me and press on.

6:45 - Hazel now looks somewhere between brown and charcoal in color and still has a blueberry yogurt face. I tell her she's the best.

7:00 - I'm flagging. I occasionally sit down to "check for hits" on the trash I'm trying to give away.

7:15 I'm very mechanically returning bicycles to the rack. 

7:45 my kids return from the creek professing they caught 13 craw dads and set them free. They tell us the garage looks great. I view their praise as a precursor to havoc because children are emblematic of havoc.

8:00 - I rearrange the donation pile and announce I'm keeping the chairs after all. Jody sighs and tells me that sounds great. After all he has only suffered their presence in the garage for a year and it's only the third giant space hog I've decided to keep.

8:15 - we are done! Thank God! Then... Hazel the neglected aborigine requests a ride around the block in her push car. I comply. 

8:30: Hazel and I shower and watch each other change colors like magic while gray water swirls in the floor.

9:45 - I hear Jody praying with the kids and thanking God for me.

10:00 we watch the news and see that the high was 99 today. Oh yeah baby! 

Love wins one way or another

I am writing this blog as an ideal to my children. I am not putting myself on a pedestal and that is why I will spend 60 seconds to quickly list off all of the sins I noticed I committed today. I lost my temper. I yelled at my kids. I even gave dirty looks. I was sensitive about something someone said and had to talk myself through the grace process. I was tired and lazy at one point. I was wasteful and spent time on Facebook. I was inconsistent and didn't always take Hazel to the potty. I was anxious. I was fearful. I was prideful. I was self pitying. Ok enough. I'm going to get a complex. You get the picture. I'm freaking awesome!

I wish I were capable of connecting the dots between serving God and loving Him for people because it's the most important yet overlooked part of faith.  It seems like every day of my life I can draw on examples of my parents character, unconditional love and perseverance. I wonder how many nights my mom propped herself up in bed reading her NASB to Dad with her Strongs concordance and other study materials piled around her as well as Dad's controversial materials like Dakes and the book of Yasher. They fed their spiritual hunger and their love for Jesus grew which of course caused their faith to grow and of course their character grew. 

I recently read an article that 70% of smokers were children of smokers. And during their childhood they had asked their parents to stop smoking without success. I cannot say enough times how thankful I am for a very different yet far more potent heritage.

I recently unintentionally offended a friend. I made several attempts to ask forgiveness and gain an understanding of what I had done but only after a mutual friend intervened did I find out what my latest careless speech had wrought. I felt upset that I had been so misunderstood. Isn't that typical? I'm offended that I carelessly let unbridled and unkind words fall from my tongue and it offended someone. I rationalized that my character had been misjudged and there was no point in defending myself. But ironically I had promised to pray about it. On top of that, I had already resolved to forgive myself of anything each day except one thing... Not reading from the gospels. And so there I was praying about this botched friendship and reading the book of John. Sigh. Two times this week Jesus has told me to love my neighbors or love people. And that very thing is what has been called into question. It confounds me that I need to make resolution but yet all of the stars are aligning. Yes Bart, in answer to your fascinating question the other day, I would definitely say my life has a very common theme. Elizabeths big fat mouth... over and over until I seriously wonder why God gave me one. 

Dear God why is it still there?!?

So before I humbly seek a resolution with the person I offended which is something I have down to a science complete with calloused knees, (well actually they are more bruised from falling down at church while holding my two year old last Sunday in ridiculous heels but who cares)

I will make a very long and boring speech to my children who may someday read my blog because simply put after losing Dad... I wish he had written one for me. 

Dear children, 

we are a humble family. We have no leg to stand upon if we ever hope to be good enough people to someday meet Jesus. Our sins committed have been forgiven by the grace of God and that alone. They have been cast as far as the east is from the west. We are sanctified by receiving Jesus and the truth He shared. You will meet many "Christians" in this life who try to take their identity from declaring themselves clean of certain sins, like premarital sex, homosexual relationships, abortions and the list goes on. I promise you that if you avoid those sins you will have less emotional baggage stealing your joy but you will not be free of sin. Your identity as a Christian does not come from sins you avoided by self determination or luck but from accepting the confounding grace God extended to you with each sin you repented of as you pursued knowing Jesus and loving Him like there's no tomorrow. It's like taking off piece after piece of useless heavy armor to give your failures to Jesus and let him cast them as far as the East is from the West. Your character will be honed, your humility rooted and your peace established. So please remember you are no better than any man, woman or child. You are only forgiven by grace. But keep it in balance and remember everyone is a sinner so nobody is better than you or more capable of doing what God made you to do better than you either. You have no spotless heritage and it doesn't matter anyway. Your spiritual life is not measured by your sinful nature. It's measured by whether you personally believe Jesus is the Son of God love Him with all your heart mind and soul, engage in daily repentance and throw yourself into unabashed love for all people. You will know by your own behavior whether or not you have done those things each day. For it is a moment by moment choice, not a decision once made in a lifetime.

Romans 8:6So letting your sinful nature control your mind leads to death. But letting the Spirit control your mind leads to life and peace.

Your duty to other Christians is to exhort them in their journey knowing Jesus in every way you can. Do not worry about their sins unless you have prayed ceaselessly and feel that the Holy Spirit is drawing you to share truth. Don't use your own words though, use scripture. Let it speak to them. Keep your own words within the Philippians 4:8 perimeter.

Philippians 4:8

Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

Your duty to people who do not share your faith is to love them and pray for their souls. Be obedient to God and tell them about Jesus if the Holy Spirit ever nudges you and alerts you to an open heart. There is no need to judge them by any standards in the Bible or compare your sins to theirs or give them any reason to doubt that you love them just exactly as they are. News flash, Jesus loves you just the way you are too. We are all broken sinners, just some of us have accepted that fact and love Jesus and some haven't. 

And just my opinion here, don't argue with people about what is a sin and what isn't. If their hearts are hard, you are just making them harder with arguments. Their soul is in the balance, remember that every moment. If they are feeling convicted and you are too harsh, you might make them feel condemned which can be easily circumvented by accepting Jesus grace. Be gentle!!!

It is possible that you could follow those instructions and still be hated and labeled as a hater. Jesus warned us that will happen. Still persevere and never waver from truth. Love wins one way or another.

John 13:34
So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, so you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples. 

John 8:32 

And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

John 17:17

Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth.

Love

What's that? Did I just go to bed and get up crying again? Oh! So I did!
I'll tell you what though. This Independence Day is so special to a girl like me. There's all these little corporations in America breathing a sigh of relief that they won't have to have innocent red baby blood on their hands because Hobby Lobby fought a fight they could never have afforded against abortion pills. Yes that's right, not contraceptive pills, but abortion pills. Although we have all laid down and allowed ourselves to be forced to include contraceptives as health care, somebody said OK enough when it came to killing babies. So on this splendid 4th of July I stand and give the slow clap to Hobby Lobby. What they did was brave, unpopular in our self serving culture and truly American. I'll tell you, my dad would have called it a sweet Independence Day for sure. He was a patriot and I know that he would have been proud. The semantics of how it won is questionable I agree with Ron Paul but still, freedom of religion holds a light clasp on America and I know why. Because of a heritage of faith.
Hazel pulls my hands from her tangly hair and compellingly leans on my chest and says "just hold me Mommy, I love you." I hold her. A moment later my hands helplessly reach for the snarl on the back of her head and again she says "just hold me Mommy." I love that patience. She's got time to love me around my busy mind.
I see my husband snapping at the kids and think to myself that he's not reaching them for a change in heart. Then in less than a heartbeat one complains about salmon for dinner and I lash out.
My heart wants more. It wants to do right but oh how temptation lies at every corner. Carefully and artfully laid out to draw me away from the voice of the Holy Spirit. I wish when I'd had time that I'd laid my head on the heart of Jesus as a child and young adult. Just let his heartbeat consume me and surrender to Him. He has a perfect way.
I enjoy all my people. Adults. We think we have things so pat. So straight. Our opinions define us. We feel confident in our positions. We argue or we accept. We stand our ground in all things or we consider ourselves open minded. We look inside ourselves to find the capacity to accept all or dwell on how to change all. We take pride in speaking truth or holding our tongues. And always we live by cliches.  Like not spanking. Or not yelling. Or not saying stupid stuff online. Or not getting drunk. Or not not not not not not not not not. But what if I said... I'm starting to think none of it matters. What if I said that if your action was guided by self it's spiritually irrelevant? If you bake cookies for someone because you think it's the right thing to do and you weren't guided by love, you just baked nothing and delivered nothing and received nothing and nothing nothing nothing. What if... you were content to pray? Can you imagine finding contentment in prayer? To pray for that person and never take an action until the Holy Spirit prompted you if ever whether to bake them cookies or share a verse or have coffee. This is a developing thought. I have not lived this yet and my examples are too extreme I'm sure. I'm just tired of feeling like a clanging gong. And the more busy I try to be to give my kids experiences or do good things for people the more like a clanging gong I feel.  Busy is the death knell of love in my life. When I hear the word busy my heart crashes. And yet it defines us. And we all hope busy is changing hearts and changing lives and doing good and sharing Christ but unfortunately it doesn't seem to be having that effect on the world. No it does not. So I can only conclude, we need to be less busy and more available to the Holy Spirit. 

It's ok

I'm I

I am six months in to grief whatever that means. A bit longer than that since Dad and I had a long meandering conversation that only ended when someones phone was dying. Things are supposed to start getting easier. They aren't of course. I'm focusing on it too much for that to happen which is totally ok. I planted 11 year old watermelon seeds Dad gave me and had nightmares for two weeks about them not germinating. Real dreams about watermelon seeds. I'm ok with that. I don't have much that was his, much that he held in his hands and wrote on. I have my watermelon seed envelope though. They did germinate. He was so excited for me to plant them so long ago when I lived in Littleton that he mailed them to me.  I found them sprouting last night on the eve of six months gone. Sometimes I cry picturing his face and sometimes I cry just because my heart hurts and that's ok too. I still go to bed and get up and cry and blow my nose just like six months ago but now I'm not begging for it to stop I'm just literally ok with it. I wish I could say I have changed and grown and become a bigger better person. I'm not. I'm pretty much exactly the same. I offend people constantly. My lovely thorn in the flesh. The only improvement is that I have kicked self reproach to the curb. I don't care about trying to be more like Jesus anymore. (gasp). I care more about being with Jesus. We all yak yak about trying to be more like Him. When He was here people followed Him around to listen to Him say things they couldn't even grasp, to watch Him perform miracles beyond their wildest dreams, to touch Him because He was God, to know Him and feel His love and to ask Him questions only He was wise enough to answer and learn from Him secrets only He could teach. His Apostles ran around telling everyone about Him so people could know Him and His consuming love, not so they could copy Him and postulate. And what is the refrain again? Allow Him into your heart. If He's there the change He wants is part of a natural process. That's why I'm focusing on letting Him in. No more self help. I'm just going to let Jesus make me into whatever He wants... and I'm gonna be ok with it. Even if people don't like me or look down on me for not being more Christ like. News flash world. We're all stinky sinners and that is not going to change in this lifetime. Moreover, if you have things you don't like about yourself and you sit around poking at it saying "I want to be more like Jesus" like some kind of robot, its not going to help. I know this for a fact. So if  you want to pull sin out of your hearts by the root? Talk to Jesus more. It's my new strategy. I'll keep you posted on whether or not it works. (wink wink)

Ahhhh! Say this to me over and over Jesus! 

“Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “Get up and pray, so that you will not give in to temptation.” (Luke 22:46 NLT)

I'm so jealous of these guys in this moment. I can't imagine what it would be like to have Jesus explain all of the prophesies.

They said to each other, “Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:32 NLT)

Serve

This morning I felt clever and ambitious for a morning with my girls so at 8:30 I yelled upstairs asking if they were ever going to get up proclaiming it was 10:30 already. They tumbled downstairs and had some eggs and muffins then my petulant 11 year old asked what we were going to do today. I felt irked at the expression on her face but ignored it and asked her to put pandora on Adele for me. She said she was sick of Adele and all of her songs and she wouldn't do it. I narrowed my eyes and pointed out that I haven't had Pandora on one of my stations in weeks. She ignored me. Then her sister chimed in with a sentiment that if she never had to listen to my music again it would be too soon. I glared at them and asked exactly why every request I make in life is too much for them to give then turned my Adele on. I turned on Eden and asked her if she's proud of who she seems to be trying to become. She sulked. My heart twisted. I felt like a toddler who had just thumped down on my bottom to think. I felt cantankerous and summer had just begun. I missed my people like crazy all school year and now look at us. I realized this day was still young and threw the whole feeling off like a cloak and began going around the house gathering up nail polish and remover and all of the other stuff I needed. Eden still sulked on the couch. Finally I was ready and I sat on the ottoman in front of her with my stuff. She perked up and said "oh what color are you doing?" I said "purple" and pulled her foot into my lap. She looked shocked and said "oh I thought you were going to do your nails." As a side note, I went and got a pedicure over a month ago from the self proclaimed best pedicurist in the Denver area and they still look awesome. So I just started clipping her nails. They were jagged and full of dirt. She talked about the mud pit at camp when I observed the dirt and I resisted commenting on how she could still have dirt in her nails three days after she got home.  I got a pot and filled it with steamy water, a nail brush and soap. I soaked and scrubbed and clipped and soaked and scrubbed and clipped. I talked about how girls usually do this at the beginning of summer and usually before camp and she laughed. Then I removed bits of about four colors of nail polish. She excitedly ran upstairs for her little toe separators. I labored over her nails for quite some time and honestly they needed my attention. The hard edges between us melted away. We chatted about everything. Then I treated Hazel. She giggled wiggled and smudged and chattered. Then I treated Kait who reclined like a princess and patiently waited. Eden loaned her the toe separators which turned her poor tiny toes blue but she didn't want to take them off. Haha. They basked in my loving service. I reveled in serving them in a different way than doing laundry and making meals. It was very refreshing. At 11:00 we were about to head to Longmont and Eden looked at me suspiciously and said "Exactly what time DID we get up this morning anyway?" I blandly replied "8:30." She looked like Sherlock Holmes and incredulously said "you lied!!!!!" I smiled beatifically and headed out the door. The rest of our day has been amazing. I really believe it's because I decided in my heart what I wanted out of this day then I took a physical time consuming approach to accomplishing it. So to all you Mommy's... when you hit your last straw, maybe every tenth time it happens, just turn that old devil flat on his back and do something unexpected for the one's you love. For me it was more rewarding than taking a treat for myself.

Butterfly

Little thoughts, feelings, memories flit through my mind like a butterfly. Some land and rest in my mind, they unfurl to show me all of their beauty. Some stay tightly closed too painful to look at the beauty and flit away to come again another day. I'm thankful I have the painful beauty. I am. But equally thankful my appendage is always here. She takes all of the change from my purse, hides in a fake log at the play area and repeats to herself "I like monies!" 

She arranges them on a log bench and drops one "oh I dropped my monies mommy!" She puts her monies back in my purse and extracts a small mirror. She smiles at herself and picks bits of food off her face. She smooths her hand over her cheek and practices a cheeky grin.

 It's such bliss to bask in her chatter. It's beautiful and beauty I crave every minute. Present beauty.

I embraced Fathers Day for my honey yesterday.

 But of course my kids take it for granted. Forcing them to get up, forcing them to help make breakfast, forcing them off the TV and out to the garage to watch Daddy make a chair. I always hung around watching my Daddy work. Why does this moment need to be orchestrated? Why are their privileges not a delight to them? Can you hear my teeth gritting? I'm often reminded that they are children and so they are. I wish I could be that blogger I was 5 years ago when I documented every magic moment with the thrill of fresh and new parenthood. I was watching a rose called family slowly open. Now I water, prune, fertilize and rinse and repeat. It still has marvelous rewards but it's sometimes tedious. 

What I am truly thankful for is that my frustrations and doubts and exasperations do not translate into pictures. They are just beautiful and I do love simple beauty.

Dear boy

Nick, I love you so. You were my little buddy always offering loads of love and cuddles. You were my first confidant when I found out I was pregnant with Hazel. We had adventures, cuddles and sweet memories as you bursted through life. I'm blessed to have you for seven wonderful years. I can't tell you how incredibly blessed your dad and I feel to have you in our life.

Now what did Jesus say again?

I've always been the hammer. Hammer that truth in til it hurts and then cut them off at the knees and wonder why they are just screaming bloody murder instead of saying "you're right, I get it, I'm a completely changed person forever thank you for opening my eyes". Um... yeah. So while some of us literally revel in the glory of truth others revel in the freedom of interpretation. Awkward! So then Dad would say "you know you'll catch more bees with honey than vinegar Boogle." And I would say "sometimes the truth hurts." And he would say "I've been at this a little longer than you and you have to ask yourself what result you want, not focus just on being right." Then I would say "I don't have patience for that kind of approach." And he would chuckle. And it didn't bug me because he's my dad and naturally he knew what he was talking about even if I wasn't interested in accountability at that moment. Time to talk to Dad stretched on my horizon as far as I could see. How quickly things change. After losing Dad all of the fight just drained out of me in a puddle. And I asked myself who was Dad? The answer was the sound of a beautiful Irish Ballad or the sight of a beaming proud smile or the aroma of sweat and hay or the taste of sweet honey or the touch of rough perfect hands. The thought of who he was blesses me. And I asked myself what will I leave and I found myself reaching for more. I've rarely ever reached a persons heart with truth even though I know it well and it came so naturally to him. I'm on a new mission to find that tenuous balance between defending scriptrual truth and being guided by empathy and love; specifically to Christians who struggle with embracing the whole message of The Word. I think pride is my primary foe. If I long to make myself look good or right or smart or better or the best or PERFECT I've already lost. I've done that and it makes me look... pompous and arrogant and full of myself and a lot more like someone else than Jesus. I used to drive around and around a hayfield daydreaming of my dad allowing me to use a walkman so I could listen to Sarah McLachlan which would be a huge hazard and never allowed. Ironically he did compromise on my daisy dukes and tank tops and flip flops. Now I wish I'd used that calm productive vacuum of time to reflect on the beauty of first loving someone then sharing truth after they are secure in that love. What a gift that would be, to naturally style my life after Jesus and to do His will with a pure heart. I was reading about how to help a narcissist feel empathy. Apparently it's a real clinical disorder. through that article I gained empathy for narcissists. It was a crazy five minutes. I thought about everyone I've ever debated and what it would be like to reach a point of empathy with a struggling sister or brother in Christ before I ever utter a word of debate. To actually try to understand them. I wonder if I could ever go deeper than rhetoric like "well I know gay people and I like them" all the way to a heart message which might be "I have a deep fear of rejection from my very wonderful gay friend if I accept the Bible at it's word and try to live by it." That's transcending a roadblock and understanding fear. Then we might talk about the incredible personal spiritual significance for a Christian in living by the Word of God without imposing expectations from it on those of different beliefs. Then we could even talk about how important it is to be able to trust your gay friend, your agnostic friend, your atheist friend, your liberal friend, your Muslim friend to love you even if you believe in the Bible, just as you are called to love them exactly as they are. I see real peace in this for every Christian to truly live unconditional love with truth. We could probably even reach to the uncomfortable point of discussing the fact that gay marriage infringes on religious freedom because marriage is a religious practice performed by clergy and should never be dictated by government in compliance with separation of church and state.  Then we would have to come to a point of completion by discussing how lawmakers could go about protecting both interests because we all know that one group of people and their rights should not rank higher than another. Does that make sense? I used to want to bang people over the head with the truth and tell them to stop messing up Christianity and making us look like wimps but I was... well crap... I was WRONG and I got nowhere. 

On an extreme end of the love/truth spectrum, my friend debates her extended family's mormon faith regularly. She researches facts and squares off ready for battle. The fact is she found her way out of that heresy and I think it drives her crazy that any of them still hang on to it.  Recently she told me she's been left a copy of the book of mormon with notes for her read to help clear up her doubts and restore her to the mormon faith. She asked me the other day should she read the notes, should she set for another round and put on her religious boxing gloves? After all my years of churning my wheels trying to proudly say something just clever enough to throw someone off their high horse, I just weakly say no. It goes against all of my old habits. I am reluctantly coming to the conclusion if you get drawn into a debate on the semantics of another persons faith you have already lost. You are on the defense. It doesn't matter if you gather up verses and facts and knock them down to a count of three over and over, if you never reach their heart. It's as pointless as eating paper. It's a clanging gong. I know. I do it all of the time. Any victory you claim will not be the victory you wanted. I do know you can reach the heart of the mormon debater through prayer and patience and timing and love, lots of love. Ugh, sooo hard! But I'm inspired to think we can simply look to the amazing Jesus we so fortunately know. If we focus on an end goal of setting a heart free to be loved by Jesus wholly and completely unconditionally we will persevere. I really believe with a pure heart we will not err. Then we are wind chimes or a flute. Because Jesus didn't really seek indifferent people. He sought hungry people and his love was palpable. When he spoke, he lifted the heart, healed the body, nourished the person and he set them FREE. So I encourage my friend to love her Mormons for now and wait for them to get thirsty for Living Water.

Another friend has funny stuff happen. Her life is an amusing education to me. She lives in Jerusalem and hangs out with a bunch of ex-pats who are mostly Palestinian sympathizers and even has a Bible Study with several of them. So she has people try to lead her into convoluted debates which is torture for her. She hates to debate.  I think she has an advantage just being someone who dislikes conflict. I think it gives her the restraint to wait for the thing worth saying and I really admire how she channels Jesus and shows grace. She has plugged away for two years, sometimes gritting her teeth and sometimes wanting to lay in the floor and laugh hysterically for a release from the vise grip of conflict and verbal sparring. All this time she patiently sowed seeds of truth into each person who came into her life and asked God if this was the one she was to reach possibly even for the kingdom of Christ. I know there were two non-Christians she really hoped to reach. One time she even took some of her Bible Study friends to the Temple Mount Institute to see all of the things the Jewish people are making for when they rebuild the Temple and one lady asked four times why the Jewish people want a temple again since Jesus came.  She took each interaction seriously and one day she called me undecided on whether to reply to an email sent from a Palestinian sympathizer filled with biased propaganda. I think it's just crazy so I told her I'd just walk away. Why cast your pearls before swine? Right? From my limited vantage point it appears that she is dealing with hard hearted uninformed people opposed to Israel which is not even Biblical. Regardless of whether they are Christians, they appear to be missing out on a pretty fundamental piece of truth that could give their lives in Israel context and dimension. And it seems to me they are very deliberate in maintaining that doctrine. And that is where I err. I am so human indeed. After all her time there and confounding stories, I found her position so daunting I told her it sounded pointless. And then today... she told me that in the time she has been there... she's seen a softening a changing of heart in one of her Bible Study ladies and it was all confirmed just today. Yes she got to watch some scales fall off of a pair of eyes and it was EXCITING! She was already a Christian but all that time, regardless of what was perceived she was sifting through and searching for new truths. And that woman was the one I so scorned for asking why the Jews want to rebuild the temple. I felt so chastened. My friend said she felt blessed to know her time there had some spiritual impact for one person. She was used by God to open a window for someone to see more of Jesus and God's plan. Soon she will fly home from her grand adventure but she has patiently sown seeds of love and truth. I can see already that some has fallen on fertile ground. Honestly, that is all I aspire to be.

The wake up call

I had a snowball three days of personal crisis culminating with a movie night to see "Mom's Night Out". It was with two other stay at home moms who happen to be some of my dearest friends.  They spent days planning this night and at the last minute I jotted off an email giving my regrets for missing the show and explaining that I'm on a never ending crying jag when I hesitated then hit delete and typed a whole new email and just said yes. Thank you Jesus. I laughed and cried so hard at that movie. Thank goodness we had the theater to ourselves. Then I processed for about 24 hours and this is what I concluded. Who would think that a movie could speak to me on a level that no human ever has, personally, from the pulpit, in a conference, through a book... They jut nailed me. They nailed my problem and this is my conclusion:
So I've rolled around in my messes wondering why I'm so awful and tried a million fixes and fallen into the same sins. It's the human condition. I'm actually so acclimated that I was well on my way to hating myself in spite of the fact that God made me and he loves me. The one's who knew me and loved me best got that and always tried a gentle redirect after reading one of my self recriminating blogs. "You're so hard on yourself" was the gentle refrain. It actually made me angry. Because anger is my crutch and I wanted to fight my way out of situations and blame myself for every bad thing that happened, every relationship breakdown, every forgotten school event, every missed bill. It took coming to the point of being willing to let it go just like the movie we all love to hate "FROZEN"(solemn face). So, I've let go of hating myself. It's a much more logical reset button than focusing on steps to avoid life's pitfalls. I hated myself so much I let myself agonize and self recriminate for things I honestly did not care about. I used them as examples of how bad I am. It was miserable, why didn't I realize I was creating my own misery? So, that's done, I'm just going to enjoy being me and enjoy my life and enjoy the one's who love me and love them back. I'm done dissecting myself to death and feeling guilty for not taking perfect care of my health needs, worrying about things I will never be good at, agonizing over people who will never completely love me with my faults included. None of it matters. Yesterday, I accepted that nobody is more perfectly loved by God than me so who cares. The never ending mantra that you have to love yourself to receive love always drove me crazy. It sounded narcissistic. I get it now. How disappointing for God to be beaming down and loving me and trusting me with his missions while I roll around crying over spilled milk and missing His call entirely. It took a really bad day with a little mission from God that I somehow thankfully picked up on for me to turn my life over and see it from another perspective and I'm excited. I'm blessed. I'm free. That need for acceptance from everyone is gone. I'm ok with some people not liking me. Maybe God made me for a special group of people. LOL! I'm ok with my social faux pas. I'm ok with my depression. I'm ok with my grief. I'm ok with my muffin top. I'm ok with whatever I get. It's my lot in life and it's not a reflection of my mission, my calling, my purpose. It's just stuff. So, I'm done with accepting all of the blame for relationship failures, and beating myself up for being forgetful and dumping loads of drama on my faithful friends created by my insecurities rooted in self loathing. I am suddenly thinking... uh yeah, I'm pretty sure God can work in all of those problems if I just love Him, love me, love people and read His word.  It's not coincidental that loving myself makes me less judgmental and unloving towards other people. God loves me this way and He can use me, I know it because He is and he can change me too if he wants, that would be great.

Is it worth it?

I met my chum for dinner the other night.

 I admit I was nervous on some level. Not because we hadn't seen each other in nearly twenty years, more because I became a housewife with four kids and she became a high powered business woman. It's scary. Sometimes women get competitive... and sometimes when their lives take different paths... (whisper) they judge or worse yet think they will be judged which is just as miserable. Don't tell the guys I'm labeling girls because they will totally run away with that train. Overwhelming those little nagging fears was a bursting excitement to see my giggle snorting, never ending sleepover five nights in a row, bosom buddy, kindred spirit... wait for it... twin. Yes, she's my twin. I had a lot of friends who had never-ending sleepovers and giggle fests but she's the only one Dad ever called my twin and after the other night... I finally understand why. He was cagey, always making little jokes to himself without anyone realizing it. We shed a little tear for him and it was nice. But that's kind of another story.
Anyway, she selected our wine with ease and gave our pompous waiter a subtle set down just so he knew who knew more about wine which made me snicker and perhaps feel sorry for him. She told me about how God is working in her life and using her career and freedoms and just basically wowed me to death with what a little dynamite she is. I was fascinated and impressed and amazed but not jealous. That was the beauty of our time together. We weren't comparing to see who has it better so far. We were literally talking at warp speed to tell each other all about our lives and drinking it in faster than that amazing cabernet she picked.  She asked me at one point in our dreamy fairy tale wine and cheese gab fest if Jody and I have the perfect marriage. Let me just say it stopped me cold and sobered me up in a hurry. Because let me tell you honey, after four kids, 12 years of marriage, cancer, financial duress and moving 7 times... there's nothing perfect to see other than the beauty of those four little faces. We are battle scarred. I thought I might chuckle... then I thought I better not because after all a successful single friend seems to think maybe the stay at home mom who lives in sweat pants, reads goodnight moon by rote, rerolls toilet paper "clouds" (yes for real, that stuff is pricey!), mops up hershey's puddles, coaches kids to puke on their covers so you can just wash it and be done - might "have" something enviable. I realized I can't chuckle it off or play it up for Celly. She looks right into your soul and waits for the truth. I closed my mouth. I squeaked "perfect?" She smiled encouragingly like she'd enjoy a good brag and said "yeah, it looks so perfect on Facebook." Then I stumbled for words. I said, "perfect no... good, solid, forever, stable... yes." Her face fell like she was waiting for bad news. That's when I realized... single people want to know. They really want to know. And the reason they want to know is because they aren't sure if it's worth it. I didn't want to just throw a wet blanket on things and nobody does... A perfect analogy is you want to have a baby so people talk about spit up and newborn liquid poop and sleepless nights like that's the whole story. That's all you hear because deep down... we all want you to have the baby and we know you have enough bravado to decide to soldier through that... If we actually told you what it's like to try to get them through 12 years of school then figure out college without stabbing your hand with an icepick to distract you from the stress... it could be a game changer and then we might get so baby sick that we talk ourselves into having another one and that is freaking hard work... WE KNOW! So we just talk about babies crying at night. By the same token, deep down, the married people for some reason want the single people to get married. So we might try to make it sound like something it isn't or more simple than it really is. Which is not what the single people want. But to describe it to a single person is nigh on to impossible anyway so it's moot. I believe with all of my being that being married to Jody is the best. It's not the only thing I could have done with my life and it's not always happy and it's never really perfect. But it's good, strong, full of love and grace... and yes - worth it. For the single people out there I have only one piece of advice. If you're going to try to handle picking your spouse... all I can say is don't worry about their faults and imperfections, just know your own and find someone with different one's so you truly can be one flesh and you truly can carry each other through the storms, someone worth it like Jody. Besides a perfect spouse would be so ANNOYING!!! My mom's advice is "God knows more people than you, so just let Him handle it."
On the flip side...well gosh... even I think that family looks pretty perfect. LOL!

The Present

In the present I'm sitting in church. I'm writing the school principal a scolding letter. I'm with friends for an Easter dinner. I'm making Hazel a lovely plate of fruit. I'm surfing Facebook for something to pick me up and finding crap! I'm making a lunch for school. I'm drinking a cup of tea with a bit of honey. I'm being hugged too tightly by Jody or having him pop my toes. I'm cradling Hazel. I'm smoothing Nick's hair. And in between all of this present reality, tears slip out and I roll my eyes. I wipe at them with the hankie Gin gave me at Dad's funeral and I'm tired. Tired of salty burning eyes, tired of headaches, tired of things falling through the cracks because the present can't seem to hold me. I slip back to standing by his hospital bed at a loss for words to tell him how I love him. Instead I tell him thank you for bringing me cedar for my fence. He gently nods his head. His pain is unbearable for him and even more so for me. He and I stand in the foyer of the Hospital and he says "you've always had such a presence, when you burst into a room everyone sits up expectantly, you're so graceful and beautiful." I sit in the back seat of Gin's little car and we are stuck in traffic, Ginny sighs explosively in frustration that she can't just whisk him home to rest. He lifts his hand and puts it over Ginny's. Tears slip down her cheek. No words. He knows we are all at a loss. I hug him again and say I have to catch a plane. His eyes look at me searching. He says he loves me. I know he wonders if he will die before my next visit and my heart wants to explode. Because I know he won't and wish he could in a way. My constant fear being not only that we can't save him but if we can't how long must he suffer. He's sitting at the table, so frustrated. He wants his brain to clear but he can't muddle through the drug fog. He says he's frustrated that he can't think and he knows I'm leaving. How he wanted to just spend the morning with me. Oh Daddy. How your thin shoulders and sallow skin break me. How did this happen? Why did this happen? I sit and read to him from Acts. He closes his eyes to concentrate. He is happy. He loves the words that fall over us. They are miraculous, beautiful and poetic. He won't eat. We try everything. He takes so many pills at our behest and I rack my brain for something to break the cycle. I get his pill bowl and put in a nut, a pea, a cranberry, and some other tiny items and announce it's time for his pills again. He sighs then I hand it to him. He sits and stares, then his wry smile breaks out and we all chuckle. He calls me Boogle and I wish wish wish that every memory from the end were those of us all trying to make him smile and make him feel loved. No I know we couldn't have. Anyone losing someone so suddenly feels that they must fight, it's too hard to believe you've lost the battle before it began. So we cajole, beg, argue and do everything we can to save him. And he watches us silently knowing the futility but without the heart to ask us to let it all rest. I know it's not the present but it feels like it is. It feels like it's all happening every day. Little pieces slip in as each action of my life reminds me of him. It's a treasure and a curse that I can't go to the grocery store without thinking of him always getting his cart from the parking lot instead of at the cart return. He's everywhere making each simple action of life unique and different. I think maybe some people grieve when they see a place or a thing to remind them of someone but I grieve seeing each action he coined. I can't go anywhere or do anything without seeing him. 

Joy

Thump, thump, thump. The urgent patter of feet. She runs on her heels with her shoulders thrown forward in the least fluid motion possible but everywhere she runs. "Doin Mommy? Doin? Whatcha makin? Where's Daddy? Kids! Come on kids! Come on! Let's go to Costco Mommy! Hazel want to go swimming. The zoo!?! We go to the zoo today? Candy!? Candy?! Mommy cuddle Hazel!" The list goes on and never ends. She rushes from building trains to doing puzzles to playing with her babies with an urgency I've never seen.
Her sweet breath is on my face. Her soft little hand twiddles my necklace and she is with me. We spend day after day alone just the two of us and she is my shadow. In the kitchen I hear the harsh dragging as she pulls a barstool to whatever I am doing and hangs at my shoulder, offering encouragement and constant wheedling for tastes of whatever I'm making and taking every opportunity to dip her finger in the sugar bowl. She unfolds the towels and makes a bed. She begs to scrub the toilets. She jumps in the middle of the bed as I make it. She pulls every ounce of my energy from me even as she refills me with peace.
We read books, spend hours at the library, go to art class, to swimming, to the park... to whatever she asks for.  And though it shouldn't, it feels like a path worn too deep. Each moment that I give her joy and watch her learn, I am thrilled but through the process I sigh. I wonder why I'm still walking a track that I've never mastered and has gone on much longer than I anticipated. She doesn't deserve such a sentiment but there it always is.
She sees her sister's homework and says "Hazel color KK's homework?" I say "do you think she would like that?" She smiles smugly and says "yes".
She shadows down the stairs stealthily and softly enters my room past bedtime. Her hand is on the door, she tips her chin down and lifts her eyes and says "poopy Mommy." Jody rolls his eyes and says, "she's playing that card again." I say "show me" she rushes to my bed throws her arms across it and says "Hazel cuddle you."
She lays on the couch with me and asks me to make my leg into a triangle which she thinks is so clever. Then she smooths her hand over my neck back and forth and says "think Mommy, think." I say "Think what?" She says "think Sota" After all of those flights to MN and AR she isn't quite sure where she went but she wants to go back so bad. She mentions it every day.
She is there when I cry. She lightly brushes her fingers up and down my arm and says "sad Mommy? miss Poppy? Poppy in heaven with Journey." Yes, she's my gift from a gracious God and I can't help but call her my best friend. And as she comforts me, I remember being at my Granny's funeral and holding my dad's hand. I watched for tears too. And I wanted to comfort him. As her little hands hold me, I know that I did comfort him and it's a small balm on a raw wound that I can't imagine will ever heal.

Little pops and bursts

I feel little blog bursts inside me. Things I'm learning that I want to write down so I don't forget. Things that happen that make me happy. Instead, I read books to the kids, search for my perfect couch all over the internet, read books to myself a luxury I've denied myself for years most of the time and recently when I was too sick for any of that... I watched the first two seasons of "Call the Midwife." Such a conundrum that show. It's perfectly poignant, humorous, dramatic and romantic. But it makes me want to be a midwife. I am certain it's because the midwives always show up wipe a brow and then the babies pop out. I know that's not what home birth always looks like. LOL!
Moving on.
Recently I read the book of Job. I was literally swaying to the words and feeling myself pulled in every direction as the speakers argued all the while knowing that none of them really had the answer and then it came like a rush at the end. It was like a two day tutorial on how to believe. I came away refreshed and thankful again. I found truths that I think I've never known and never would have known without Dad going to heaven. I felt like my dad picked me up put me back on the horse and told me to try again. Life takes focus. You can't be distracted or you will certainly be taken off guard.
Today Hazel woke up and burst into the kitchen like a ray of sunshine screaming "Daddy! Donuts! Daddy! Donuts!" It had to have been a very vivid dream. She never gets donuts. I've always loved when my kids get to an age that they beg for certain foods and she has arrived. Every single night she wants me to make a pot pie for dinner. It's adorable. "Chicken! Chicken pot pie!"
Kaitlyn had her hair cut in a bob and is donating the braids to locks of love. I'd like to say that her heart was full of generosity but she misses that hair. That crazy wild unbrushed mass of gold. Can you tell I don't really? Anyway tonight she was crying over that darn hair. I handed her my phone with all of the rejoicing comments on instagram, congratulating her on her generosity. I saw a spark of happy then her face darkened and she handed it back. I pulled up an email from Nana about how proud she was of Kait's donation and she read it and I saw acceptance. I have no idea why I hadn't thought to show her all of her accolades. I mean that kind of cheering really helps. Anyway, too cute.
Eden is growing into a young woman wearing 00 clothes from outrageously expensive and outrageously named stores. I look at her and see the excitement of change warring with the nostalgia of childhood. It makes me kinda sad.
Nick is Nick. He's cute, smart and tiny. Man I need that kid to grow. I'm going to start researching. He can't be tiny like me! I forbid it! It's hard enough being little when you're a girl. How I love my sweet boy. I am truly a thankful wife and mother. I have more than I ever could have asked for. 

They keep me in the game

I cried a lot today. I try not to most days but I think it creates explosive cloudbursts. I dealt with serious issues. Taxes. Meeting with the principal. Painting my bedroom lamps. Ok that wasn't actually serious. My sister forwarded me a voicemail of my dad wishing her a happy birthday that I couldn't possibly listen to. I made chicken pot pie and cried all the way through it. Jody crowded me in the kitchen trying to figure out why I was crying and what he could do. I pressed on and tore the crust in half and pressed it together and rolled it again. Then I took a bath and cried while it cooked. 

I prayed, cried, fretted, cried, fretted.... I thought about my dad. I yelled at my kids and comforted myself with the fact that Dad yelled too.  I had too much wine. I bemoaned the lack of chocolate in my house. The three big kids happily and raucously made blondies. They made me smile and pointed out to me that I was smiling. I handed Hazel her special blankie with her name on it. She wrapped it around her like a cape and curled on my chest and fell asleep by the fire. I laid her in my bed and of course thought about how my dad loved it when his babies slept with them.  I stared at her perfection and imagined my dad with one of us when he was missing his dad. I wish it had comforted me but it just made me cry for mommies who have babies with cancer or no food to feed them. I cried for moms and dads whose little girls have been stolen for sex slavery. I cried for widows and widowers. I cried for kids with no parents to love as I loved my dad. I cried for caregivers watching a precious loved one slipping away and I tried so hard to find my happy place. Instead I found a headache and a heartache because in this moment I'm wrapped up in the pain of this world not eternity. This world really hurts when it's not looked at from a birds eye view. 

The figurines

I sat all of my relationships up like a set of figurines. I arranged them carefully on the top of a piano for Jesus to inspect. I wasn't satisfied that he could see every detail of damages done so I turned them this way and that describing each permanent mark. I took the arm of a female one and wiggled it disjointedly. I felt dejected but always hoped that doing inspections like this would motivate me to take better care of future ones as well as the ones I had. But deep down inside I was pretty pessimistic. And so were all of the figurines. They were all sizes and colors and had all different apparel.

A couple had wings. I cried when I touched them.

Some I never touched, never cleaned, never broke anymore because they had been deemed irreparable and basically destroyed.  I kept them to the far back of the piano and mostly used them to shame myself but occasionally I would attempt to revive one and maybe one time out of 20 it would work.

Some were faded and worn and broken from overuse and abuse. They didn't want to be in my collection but had gotten stuck there and couldn't think of a way out. They sat in the front center always under my scrutiny, my doom filled negative eye on them confident they are about to suffer a fatal wound and be shuffled to the back. It made me cry to look at them, so obvious what their future is.

Others were damaged by neglect. ignored, taken for granted, used at my whim then put aside like an old tshirt you always loved but got stained and you can't part with it but you rarely seem to use.  They sat off to the left. Present but under utilized and undervalued.

There were several in the middle that I had just wound up with and always complained about. i complained if I broke them, complained when I cleaned them, complained about the way they looked and complained about how much room they took up. Unappreciated.

There were a couple in fairly decent condition but I couldn't really believe it. I would periodically pick them up scrutinizing them for an irreparable damage fretting that I would find it then I  would put them carefully to the right and sit and look at them for reassurance. They smiled placidly looking straight into my soul. One with wings. Oh that he didn't have wings. I wished I could break them off. They scared me the most. All of the rest were so messed up. How would I ever take care of them all and what would I do if more showed up? 

Jesus looked at them and he looked at me. Then he took my shoulders and pressed me back propelling me backwards until we were far away. Then I saw the piano resting in Gods hand.