Grateful

The tree that grew in Brooklyn
Cast its shadow on me
The hardship that visited one year
Dug deep and quite cruelly

I moved through life for a while
Like a ghost in tumult and pain
I didn't understand and lived in darkness
Wandering, it felt, as if in the rain

I was lifted, I was saved
In thousands of miniscule ways
I didn't realize the profundity
Until I woke up and smiled, freed in my days

None of it was due to me
All of it came from above
The promises were freely given
To me, a sinner, by His love.

Thankful

I appreciate the sentiment behind being thankful. There is so much to be grateful for. I think this is a common grace feeling that the Lord has granted us; both non-believers and believers have feelings of gratitude. Why do we feel gratitude? At the root of it, I examine my gratitude and I think there are many times where I am grateful because I really am thinking about how much worse I could have it. There are also many times that I'm grateful because of something I've done myself and I attribute it to the Lord because it's the right thing to do. Yeah, that's sort of the world's idea of being thankful.

I hope, I hope, I desperately hope...that I have more and more moments of true gratitude. True gratitude: giving thanks to God for saving me in the face of my total and complete depravity. True gratitude: realizing I have been adopted and am a daughter of the king and living confidently and humbly with this knowledge. True gratitude: knowing I deserve hell but seeing the narrow path before me and walking it because He led the way to know God with his death.

Heaven is not a place on earth

Belinda Carlisle sang a song in the 80s called "Heaven is a place on earth." I used to love that song. I was a fan of the cheesy pop in the 80s. But, I see things differently here, now, tomorrow, as a believer in Jesus. Also, I think I like better music now.

I think about what might be in Heaven. Here are some of the things I wonder if I'll ever know:

• That I might get to see a bit more, not as an omniscient person, but more about what's around me. I think about what my mom and dad were like in their twenties. Or even my grandparents. What was it like in India? What was it like having seven brothers and sisters?
• That I might get fresher memories. Holding my babies, nursing them, changing their diapers. I miss that sometimes. I miss being a girl scout leader. I miss telling the girls what to wear, giving them baths, playing Easy Bake Oven with them, even, which I didn't do enough. I sometimes even miss things like watching the Disney movies, watching Sesame Street "sing yourself silly." I don't miss Barney.
• That I might have restored continuous relationships with believers that I miss. My bridesmaid friends. My church family that has moved away. My ex-inlaws. Even my ex-husband, who I hope I can look at with eyes that extend forgiveness without trying.
• That my physical body would be perfected.
• That I'd know Jesus, in the flesh.

I could throw in something like who really killed JFK, but that seems a bit much.

K and Homecoming

My daughter K made homecoming court. There is something very hilarious about me, the biggest geek and anti-social student at both my high school and at UA, having TWO daughters that made homecoming court. So I am watching this procession with a bit of "take that" glee and appropriately humble gratitude. LOL.

This week was a whirlwind. We had Tacky Tourist Day, Career Day, Roaring 20s day, and finally Dress-up Day. Thankfully K is not overly conscious about the outfits, but she IS very conscious about what her friends think of her. So the stress came from discussions about friends. Plans were made and dressses were bought. And not bought. Thursday night, we start trying on the dresses for Friday (3, count em, 3), and one of them tore miserably. And the zipper didn't work. Then, we realized we had no shoes for her on-the-field dress. So what's a mom to do? I played the dance instruction videos on Comcast and learned the booty pop. Seriously. I mean, I'd had a couple glasses of wine, so it seemed appropriate. Then, I sat down and started putting hooks in the spots were the zipper was supposed to work. Up til midnight. Tried it on the next morning and it was kind of a disaster.

So, after working a half day, I rush to the mall and bought three pairs of shoes from some dude who seemed really helpful, but overly so. Then ran through Belk and found the perfect dress for the pep rally in, like, 10 minutes. What  was the point of doing all that shopping? Stupid!

I got to school. Pep rally was great. Homecoming parade was great. Went home, changed, and went to the game, and her dress and new shoes were gorgeous. Then I went home and passed out while she went to Applebee's.

Both of my girls are all that and a bag of chips.

Full Day of K Diddy Interest

I get a text at noon from K: "I got homecoming court." That's it. Nothing else. She'd told me she'd been nominated but was 100% sure she wouldn't get in. I just looked at my phone and said, "What? She DID?" Then I second guessed myself. Maybe it was just nomination-related. But after calling M and doing a bit of sleuthing, I discovered it was true. I was so excited for her. This, however, is not really her thing. She's a tomboy. She kind of takes pride in that. She's sort of anti-social sometimes. She's high stress.

When she got in the car, she said all of this to me. "Why did I get it? I'm not even sure I want to have it! I have no idea how this happened, it doesn't make sense!" Hilarious.

She had her last volleyball game today. She is very good. Still room to improve but she has pretty good form. We went to Hewitt Trussville, who were a bit obnoxious, and we beat them in three games. That was a very good thing. Then we went to the Cheesecake Factory and ate Reese's Peanut Butter Cheesecake. I think I'm going to need to exercise tomorrow. Still, we got to discuss the questions she had, the questions I had, and who she might ask as an escort for the pep rally. I can already tell she's stressing herself out over this. Again, hilarious.

It's pretty fun to be her mom.

Little smarty pants

"Why is it we understand what sin is but we can't stop ourselves from doing it?" K asked me this last night.

And this is Paul, from Romans 7:

18 For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. 21 So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. 22 For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, 23 but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. 24 Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself serve the law of God with my mind, but with my flesh I serve the law of sin

We are in a battle, one that is won for us, but we cannot see the final victory yet. It can be very discouraging some days, not to mention grievous and frustrating. Somehow K understands this. This is the kid who bought herself a trampoline, hates babysitting kids but volunteered at CHOM, and fights with me over rug vs carpet in her room.

Living unencumbered

This is a thought I had today: the gospel is not about trying to live unencumbered with Jesus and experiencing the joy that comes from this freedom. The belief that Jesus is my savior is key. What after that? Sanctification, as I've been struggling with, is about digging in and recognizing my sin, getting messy with fellow believers, particularly the church, and being unencumbered in your trust that God has the situation(s) under control.

It was a beautiful day, and I didn't have much that I HAD to get done. I had a lot of "I want to get this done" type of chores. That is utterly freeing. I was going to see both of my daughters. Again, the thought of that is just delicious. And finally, the promise of a good football game tonight. Wowza. And I thanked God for this. I was dwelling on the thought of that kind of beautiful day, and it dawned on me that while I'm grateful, this doesn't really point me to what I think is the gospel.

It's about humility.
It's about a dichotomy in understanding self.
It's about recognition that you are the worst of them all.
It's about love, but not yours.
It's about living with the mess and trusting God to make something of it.
It's about redemption.
It's about the fact that we can't do any of this on our own.
It's about Jesus.

Caring for Parents

Nothing I write here will be new or original. I know that.

Caring about and for my parents is different than I expected, and I just want to get off this adult bus. I came to my hometown to check on my mom last night, and I'm staying tonight too. I realized they needed help with cleaning and I don't want to see my mom doing any of it, if I could help it, this week. So I stayed today, watched the football game and spent time with them. After the game, laundry, vacuuming, mopping ensued. Then heating up dinner and clean up.

This is what I do at home. And I'm doing it here. And I still have to do it at home. But I don't feel angry about it, I am just doing it. This is what adult children who are caring for their parents do. This is what Indian children do. My mom would be doing it for her mother if she were in India. It's a curious thing, caring for people that cared for you. It's sort of like I'm in that Benjamin Button movie and it doesn't feel real. However - what I know is that God gave me this family, appointed this time for this purpose, and this is what I'm doing.

Ailing Mom

I've been struggling this week with my mom's surgery. She had knee replacement surgery on her right knee. It plain took her out. When she awoke from surgery, I was there. She said, "Prathima, is that you?" I nodded. Then she said, "I like your shirt. It's nice." I smirked. She's kind of wacky like that. I left that day for home two hours away, but after I left, she apparently got less coherent in her comments, and she kept having trouble recognizing reality. She thought the milk needed to be put back in the refrigerator, and it turned out to be a jug of distilled water. My younger sister stayed with her the past three nights, making sure she was being taken care of, making sure she did the right things.

It's really hard to describe how much this woman did for me in my younger years in terms of serving me. That's the way she has always been to me and my sisters. She was our servant. She was our mom, sure, and she did exercise some discipline, but she didn't know how to lead us in this country. We were in uncharted territory. How to deal with the "popular" kids in school? No way would she guide us on that. How to be fashionable? We bought out of the bargain bin. How to get good grades? That was my dad's territory. How to flirt? She told us to look away when boys looked at us when we passed them. LOL.

Now, to see her so incapacitated, so unable to take care of herself, it's a bit difficult. I know she hates it. I know she wants to "do" everything. She cannot. Just like I'm learning. I can't either.

waiting, waiting, anticipating

Sometimes I feel like I am in a holding pattern. Which is sort of a misdirection, because I do believe God has me where He wants me. This is the best He has planned for me, and I am content to a certain extent. That is a trick, learning that contentment. Yet, I wonder, what's next? What's going to happen next? I've had a lot of "what's going to happen next" moments this year. Girls growing up, mainly - kind of a big deal. I can't underplay that. It's kind of huge. When I look back at their little baby pictures and their little girl pictures, it seems like a lifetime ago in some ways, and just yesterday in others.

Why are we never completely content? Why do we think about what's going to happen next? The thrill of newness is exciting, the paleness of the stale status quo is less so. I think forward to my 40s, my 50s, my 60s; will I stop caring about newness? Can you have anticipation, still? I am hoping it's anticipation in the eternal, and not just the vapid idea of change that we have sometimes. I have bated breath in hopes of this.

Getting my priorities straight

I've got an exciting weekend coming up, the annual debauchery that is Dragon*Con, and all I can think about is...sports. Seriously. K's got volleyball games this week, and I'm hoping I see her put some more oomph in her playing. I want to see her attack that freaking serve, reach higher for that play at the net, dive harder to make that return of serve. She's got it in her. No mercy. However, I'm missing her Monday games because I'm in Seattle. For work. Damn it.

The flipside of that is my own play in softball. And I can relate to K's unconscious hesitance because I can see it in myself. I'm missing our season opener this week and I'm kind of down about it. The fact of the matter is: I am not as physically able as I was ten years ago. I can't sprint like I used to. I get winded a lot faster. But I love it. I can sort of watch myself on the field, and I see myself hesitate when I'm playing in the outfield or at second base. For crying out loud, I am not comfortable playing second, but I'm going with what our coach says. No mercy.

Then...there's the smell of football. Every year, I've been looking forward to football season more and more. High school, college, even pro football. The tailgating. The large screen TVs. The beer. The potato skins, cheesy bread, chicken wings, and on and on and on. The college football opener is Saturday night. And while some of the geeks will be running amok getting wasted at DCon parties, Lori and I will be watching Boise St vs Georgia. Geeks with wine and pizza, watching football in our hotel room. Hot damn, I can't wait.

Sorrow

Sometimes I wonder at the fact that Jesus may have felt the heart-clenching emotion I occasionally feel. That kind you get when you feel physical pain in your heart area and you feel like you want to cry. And Jesus felt something like this? Times 1000?

Man of Sorrows, what a name!

This was an incredible post on running to things other than the gospel for rest and comfort.

Winsome

M moved out on Saturday. We had a great afternoon and evening on Friday. I took a half-day and we want to Nancy Taylor Day Spa and got mani-pedi treatments. Then we sort of killed time and went shopping for some things for the dorm, got some Sonic drinks, and went home. For dinner, M and I made breakfast. I can't tell you how many times over the years that I've made breakfast for dinner. We giggled all the way through the eats, kind of knowing it was the last time for a while. M had some great quotes. To K, "get a twitter account and follow me. I talk about bacon a lot and it's really interesting." About a general topic, M said, "Let's all say a swear word right now. Go!" Then she proceeded to say, "Breakfast for dinner is the SH**!" and I proceeded to gasp melodramatically. We also decided to have an avocado because M happens to love them. I made K eat a bite, after paying her three dollars. That kid has some great faces.

Saturday dawned sunny and hot, and M's dad arrived. We packed up the van and got to UA promptly at 9:10 am. Moving went fairly well, although M left half her stuff at the house (why would she leave a TV for later, is she nuts?). We met up with Beth and Jim and their daughter who is going to be M's roommate. Great day setting up rooms and just being silly together. Like Beth said, it wouldn't have been as much fun without each other.

And now she's there. And I want to see what she's doing, who she's with, and ask her if she's being safe. I am trying not to. I think it's ok to ask, but I want to try to play this right. So I'm trying to leave her alone. I miss her. I have a lot of memories of her with me. She's been part of me for almost 19 years. It's hard to let that go. But it's right.

What we deserve and what we get

Strife in the soul, tearing at me,
Guilt, shame, failure; repeated offenses committed.
Dark vales, frustrated stinging moments,
Low points resulting from Sin and the Fall.

Inward promised light, renewing my faith,
Justified, sanctified, redeemed; saved in spite of myself.
Grace extended, unbidden and undeserved,
Beauty in the generously offered Word and Sacrament.

This yin and yang between what we deserve and what we get amazes me every Sunday. Its simplicity humbles me. Still, I often don't get it.

It's all about the hair

At my house, our heads of hair preoccupy us endlessly.

My girls have long, thick, luscious lengths of brunette hair. Their hair grows quickly. And when that happens, nature makes room for this new growth by shedding some of their existing hair. And it goes eeevvverryywhere. I find long brunette hair all over the floor, all the time. It's status quo here.

M's hair is what I call Breck girl hair. She's had it since she was born. Full head of hair that she might have lost a bit when she started rolling over. Then it came in like gangbusters. I can't remember a time when she didn't get envious comments over it. She can get up, throw it around a bit - not even brush it - and it's a go. That's her, and she's gorgeous. She actually straightens it when she wants to go out which seems so counter-intuitive because it looks great without it. Still, when M goes to her dad's or grandparents' house, they always know she's been there from the amount of hair on the bathroom floor. And it's not something she's proud of, but it's her!

K's hair is curlier, a bit coarser, and she talks often about it. Frankly, all the time. At least once a day, usually more. "Does my hair look good? Do my bangs look ok? Should I wear it straight or curly? What can I put in it? Can you buy me x to make it better?" Today she actually asked me if I thought it had gotten shorter. What?! She has put all kind of products in it to try to get the curl to do what she wants it to do. I think she's finally settled on an (expensive) one that seems to work for her. Through all of these, though, it looks amazing on her. She doesn't believe it, though. She stares at her hair constantly, and loves to put it up when she's frustrated with it.

My hair is...sort of insanity. I never really feel like I have full control over it. It's the curliest in my family, including my own sisters' hair. When I was little, it used to be long, to my waist, and it was so bushy. I had to have it braided everyday by my mom. She used to tell me stories while braiding my hair. She told me one very similar to Caps for Sale, and also I remember vaguely something about a monkey and a drummer. Funny things to while away the time. When we got older we didn't really have time for stories, but I still had my hair braided. I was a regular Laura Ingalls all through elementary school. Right before the seventh grade, I had it cut to my shoulders. I was excited, but who knew how to style it? Not me. And, even better, my mom used to take me to a cosmetology school to get it cut because it was in her budget. Those students used to BUTCHER my hair. Not too many people know how to cut curly hair. So I basically lived with bad hair throughout high school. Next thing I know, it's college, I'm married and nine months pregnant. I went to get my hair cut...and it was the worst one I've had since high school. I cried for three hours until my husband came home, and he took me somewhere to get it fixed. "Fixed" meant it was cut off. Interestingly, I went into labor that very evening and I'm convinced the haircut and my crying precipitated it. M was three weeks early. And, I had the shortest hair of my life. Eventually when she was three I grew it back out, but it was nice to have while it lasted.

These are just some of my stories about hair.

Some beach memories

I'm already starting to lose them...but here's what I've got.

• The endless "that's what she said" remarks by the adults...and then K finally asking, "Mom, do you know what that means?"
• The HEIGHT of the penthouse suite. As tall as the parasailing parachute!
• The smell and the heat of the elevator, and the especially awful heat after running.
• Getting the gasoline in my car pumped by a man for the first time in years.
• Internet & wifi troubles! And calling them up and demanding an immediate fix.
• Doing jumps with Beth on the beach and OWNING a C jump while she barely got her feet off the ground! She's still talking about it.
• Getting sloshed and slurring my words the first night there in front of M's friend. Whoops.
• Harry Potter 6 part 2 premiere and wearing the Gryffindor cape!
• Sitting under the stars with K, talking about boys and the purpose of it all.
• Dancing with my girls but not getting to learn the wobble :(
• Reading part 3 of Stieg Larsson.
• Being in control of the out to eat choices by knowing how to use urbanspoon.com and using my coupons!
• Not having to make lunch for my girls because Beth did it!
• Watching the Justin Bieber movie.
• Being with the girls that I love.

Vacation's all I ever wanted

We got back from the beach today. It was pretty darn amazing. Went with one other family, and then one other set of daughters. I love going on vacations with other families. There's a comfort in knowing there are other parents are there, others to just help take care of the kids and the stuff that goes along with going on vacation. They do things like put beach umbrellas in the sand, bring down heavy coolers, loan my children sweatshirts, cut up fruit, toast sandwiches, give them kisses. Even though my girls are 14 and 18, there are still things we do to take care of these girls. Make dinners, check on them, make sure they're applying sunscreen, try to make sure that they take care of themselves. I learn a lot by watching these other parents.
I love seeing my girls have fun. I love seeing them enjoy their friends. I love seeing them relax. I love them.

On these trips, I also realize sometimes that I don't do enough for my girls in a family unit sort of way. I don't know if they feel a comfort in being "home" and appreciating "home." What do we do, after all, to do special things together? Not enough. We go home, do chores, work, watch tv. I need to learn to enjoy them and their personalities. Enjoy the art of verbal conversation. Enjoy being silent together. We don't do this enough. Maybe I'm the one that hasn't taught them to do this.

How to apply the gospel in my life

I really don't know the answer to that. That's just what I need to learn.

beautiful beautiful concept...Jesus dying on the cross. for us. really, for His glory. we reap the benefit. not because of anything we've done, but just because. not because we're smarter, prettier, put-together, more righteous, more acceptable. not because we home school our children. not because we've come from the most horrendous of childhoods and made something of ourselves. not because of the children that we've raised and how we've done that. not because we're in successful marriages. not because we're in successful re-marriages. not because we're the lowest caste. not because we're missionaries. not because we're more eloquent. not because we're unpreposessing and humble. not because we're the redeemed prostitute.

it's only because of Him, Yahweh, the first and the last, the alpha and omega, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. And this is the truth. That I can't be any more accepted because of anything I am. I can't be loved any more, or any more in His kingdom, because of anything I do. I can't pray more, I can't worship more.

do I live like I have been freed? that I don't need to worry? that I am confident in the life He has planned for me? that it doesn't matter who loves me because I am loved by the King of the Universe? that it doesn't matter that I may not be the best and brightest? I don't live like this.

How do I apply this truth? Please tell me.

Give me a ticket on an aeroplane

My baby didn't write me a letter, but I really would like to go places. And I don't want to go for work.

I wonder how much of my life is spent waiting and looking forward to the next vacation. I wonder if that's part of why I've been off. I didn't really have one planned. But now I do! Beachiness, second week of July.

This is not what we should strive for. This is not what we should hope for. This is not what we should put our trust in. Sigh.

Longings

I wish I could title this post, Leggings. For something innocuous. Something silly. Something that really represents lightness of heart.

I've been thinking quite a bit about Heaven. Hopefully not in a morbid way but I wonder if as we grow in our sanctification, if the Lord develops in us a longing for it that makes this life easier to bear. How can we not, really? We're not to become mired in the things of this world, shouldn't we become entranced with what we've been promised? Is it possible that the things of this world become less satisfactory, more tiresome, less able to please, because we are awaiting the glory of the next? I don't know if it's partly getting older, or the kids growing up, or if it's stress at work, but I find that my comfort my rest my happiness my needs don't seem to be satisfied here.

From 1 Peter 1: "3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4 to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, 5 who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. 6 In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, 7 so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

Fire. I shudder. That part of it is scary. The other side to this coin is that as I am longing for Heaven, I don't want to open up. I don't want to share. I don't want to be real. I don't want to get messy with anyone. It's too hard. It's easier to pretend that things are ok, great even, and lie through my teeth. The problem is, even if I tried, I can't even express what's off.

Pray for me.

Bright spots

I didn't have the easiest of weeks, but it certainly wasn't without its bright spots. Namely...

Knowing my daughters were being cared for or were independent enough to care for themselves.
Starting and finishing The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Feeds the mystery-lover in me.
Starting and finishing Blue Shoe. Feeds the wordsmith and storyteller that I wish I could be.
Eating Indian food two nights in a row.
Getting to be left alone at work in Indy without having to make nice to the higher ups.
Balancing my numbers and achieving the goal set out for me this week! Oh, baby!
Getting re-booked on another flight almost immediately after mine got cancelled on my way out of Indy.
Spending today with my girls after having a nomadic sort of lifestyle for three weeks.
Eating a Thai-inspired dinner together tonight that we loved and I actually made.
Sometimes our moments together are quiet, laced with perusal. Today the time was laughing, bouncy silliness.

We've led sort of separate lives over the past few weeks. It's been a little disconcerting. But I'm trying to get used to it.

My sister exclaimed when I told her about our schedules and how crazy things have been for us. She reminded me that as a child, our summers were spent closing the blinds and watching Days of Our Lives. Sometimes we used to get out the Slip n Slide and get out in the heat, and occasionally we'd go to my neighbor's pool. I used to throw pennies down into the deep end and get chlorinated eyes looking for them. I remember walking to the little trailer library about a half a mile away so I could just read something; it was part of my lifelong obsession with books which began in Wisconsin when I was a wee elementary school student. I also remember lighting little sparklers on July 4 at the bottom of our driveway while my dad would supervise (when he could still see). Our driveway was a hill; we used to skate down it in roller skates and ride down on our bikes. I had a really cute Huffy pink bike that I was so proud of because it wasn't my sisters' - it was all mine. I also remember going to a large number of parties with our Indian friends, which deserves a topic unto its own. Indian parties were a little wild.

All in all, my childrens' lives are definitely busier and more exciting than mine was when I was their age. Still, I think back on that time knowing it was good. Actually, it was better than good. It was lazy, glorious summer.

Disgruntled by jealousy

I'm in Indianapolis. For work. I worked all day today and I need to work tonight. I worked all day yesterday after getting up at 3:30 am.

I'm irritated because everyone else in my family has been on vacation this past week except for me. A lot of my friends went on vacations. Disney, beach, you name it. Don't remind me that I went to Minnesota for a weekend.

Welcome to jealousyland and my pity party, which is so unpleasant that the only reason I'm going to post this is to look back and see how irritating moods really can be.

Holding on to what I know is true

I'm in a lost and overwhelmed place this Saturday and I'm not sure how to get out. A turn of phrase struck me while I was trying to focus on the book of Matthew today; from Matthew 24: "abomination of desolation." What an image the turn of phrase evokes.

Humility

It's humbling how I learn, every day, that I am not in control.
It's humbling how the Lord provides when we are at our lowest, or at our highest.
It's humbling that He works out our messes for His glory.
It's humbling the call that He places on people's hearts; people that don't know one another; but He works out these relationships and provides in His own timing.
It's humbling that while we feel inept, inefficient, and even worthless, He's able to use this.
It's humbling that we have seasons in our lives that prepare us for the next, and He is ready.
It's humbling that my story is really His.

Gagging, hurling, vomiting, violence

Someone I know posted on facebook about how the best gift in the world is the pure, unadulterated love of a child. For whatever reason, this induced my gag reflex and made me almost hurl. I'm hoping in these maudlin posts about my daughter growing up that it's clear that my first problem is that I'm going to miss her and worry about her, but it should be made clear that she's also completely human, ridiculously taciturn, and occasionally quite moody. Secondly, I'm worried about living in my house alone with my OCD second child who can be a pill particularly when she orders me around about what things I need to work on that day. And typically her list is at the end of mine. We might kill each other next year. Thirdly, I'm thinking that after the second child graduates, I might end up getting a lot of pets and being that weird neighbor that people try to avoid.

I think these are all very good reasons for me to not want my children to get older. I am not a big fan of the whole "my life is wonderful and my kids are the best" facebook picture that seems to be prevalent. The only reasons I post pics on FB is to make sure my family knows what we look like and also to make my children look like the most popular kids at school. This is what pure, unadulterated love on this side of heaven is: take, take, take from each other and make ourselves look better than the next family. Women bloggers and facebookers that tell me only about their perfect children without discussing that the children are also pains in the asses really make me want to vomit and be violent.

Having now made it clear that M is not an ideal child, she did send me this text yesterday, on her last day of high school: "Thanks for those muffins you made me for breakfast!!! Thanks for birthing me that was nice too. And for taking me to kindergarten.... just awesome"

I am still suspicious that it was actually M that typed this.

Heard in my car this morning

E is one of K's good friends.

E: "We found a cocker spaniel last night. It's so cute and sweet, but it has a tag, so we're trying to find the owner.  We have an illegal number of pets, anyway, so we can't keep it."
K: "I didn't even know there was an illegal number. Maybe we can keep it at my house."
Me: "No."
K: "When I graduate, I'm getting a dog." (when she leaves, I might get one just to annoy her)

E: "It must be so hard to be an old person. You can't do things anymore."
K: "Yeah, really, when you think about it, these are the best years of our lives."
Me: "Wait a minute. How old is old?" (no response)

E: "There's a chicken! A baby chicken on the road!"
K: "What? Where?"
Me: "It's weird that two times in the last week we've seen chickens on the road. Except last time they were all dead and skinless." (road closed due to chicken truck losing its contents. disgusting)

K: "My grandpa went to Walmart one time, and when he left, some people yelled at him, 'Hey chicken legs!'"
E: "Well, my grandpa's fat. But still, he's not as big as my dad...but I'm not calling my dad fat."
K: "Um, fail."

Then I dropped them off and pondered the vagaries of middle school girls.

Memory and the Lack Thereof

Over the last two weeks, I've really been struggling with remembering stupid things. I've forgotten my work badge a few times, which means I can't even get into the damn office. I forget my phone/backpack all the time by leaving them in conference rooms, and it's kind of a running joke at the office, but lately it's been downright embarassing. I've been forgetting too many items in the girls' schedules. I've been forgetting things I've promised people in casual conversations. I've been forgetting if I sent an email, or a text, or returned a phone call.

Part of the reason I've been writing more is to remember what it's like to focus, to craft a sentence/paragraph, and put real thought into what I'm saying. Part of the reason I think it's good for me to play word games is to keep my brain active and not on autopilot. Part of the reason that my forgetting things is so discouraging is that I guess I thought with the kids getting older and less busy, I might be able to remember more about these stupid things.

So either I'm expecting too much of myself, I'm getting old, or I don't give a flying fig. Might be all three.

Joy

In my Sunday School class and in our sermon today, there were references to joy. I know these are not coincidences. Can we find joy here? Can we be joyful, in spite of the wreckage, the staleness, the putridness of our sin? I think we can. I think we can long for heaven in such a way that we appreciate the fact that we're already in, even though we're still here. I don't think it's an easy battle, though, nor can we manufacture a "feeling" out of thin air or memories. Still, our pastor's analogy today was about that temporal joy you feel when you see your team win a critical football game; when you see Frodo make it to Mount Doom in spite of Gollum's efforts; when you see Luke saved by Darth Vader at the end of the third Star Wars movie. That gut-wrenching excitement is a window into the joy we might feel in the presence of the most High, but it's not momentary. John Piper said in Sunday School (we just watched a video, he didn't just show up): being in His presence is SO much better than the best meal with the best wine, it's so much better than sex. I also love this article.

I want to ask myself what I must DO to know this everlasting joy and to be able to know it visibly, in spite of the ugliness of the world. In this week where my boss is going to be here, in this week where I'm trying to figure out if I need to throw a graduation party but I don't know what to do, in this week that I'm frustrated that I can't seem to do any planning in my personal life, in this week where I can't seem to do anything to help my town because I work from 8 to 5...I will be in earnest prayer over joy.

Looking back and looking ahead

The little girl on the left went to her first day of public school, excited and slightly fearful. She had a great first day, but her teacher noted that she needed to watch her usage of glue. She's now approaching her last week of high school. She seems to be doing much better with glue.



She spent most of the day with me. We cleaned, shopped, and were generally lazy. As an aside, she told me I was an embarrassment to the couponing community, and she brought me burnt cookies for dessert. I wouldn't trade her for anything.

Questions from Special K

Questions over the last couple of days from my girl and my abbreviated answers in parens.

In heaven are there trees and beaches? (yes)
In heaven do we think the same way? (no)
In heaven will we remember our lives here? (um think so)
Do you think I'm pretty? (yes)
Do you think I'm annoying? (sometimes)
What is looting? (sigh)
Why did you guys get a freakin divorce? It makes everything so complicated. (big sigh)
I can't trust you, Mom, I've decided. (oh wait, not a question)

Sweetness

I stared at blogs for hours last night. It's like I want some peace from external sources; like pithy, emotion-inducing, witty comments might make it better; it's like I can't focus and want some words to draw me back towards sanity. I don't want to do that tonight, so I'm writing now, while I'm finishing up work, so the only thing I do tonight is shop for M's graduation computer. Which definitely needs to be purchased!

Some sweet things I want to remember....
1) Doing backbends with Beth on tornado day, and surprising myself that I could still do them;
2) Doing ab exercises with K and her friend J on tornado day, again surprising myself that I was actually pretty decent;
3) Praying with sweet friends at church in a small group, including Jimmy, Lowell, Monica, and the girls;
4) Mom and Dad pretty much begging me to visit them while I had no power;
5) Getting help from the ex and from my co-worker while working at Sandra's house;
6) Being fed by a church that had its building really jacked up in the storm;
7) Getting texts, emails, IMs, and phone calls from so many friends starting the day of the storm through the weekend. I got phone calls from my ex-mother-in-law, my sisters' two mothers-in-law, and then got made fun of by Beth because I have no mother-in-law of my own - have to laugh about that;
8) Seeing people drive carefully and with patience, knowing our town's upside down in that regard;
9) Witnessing the giving of time, money, and love in mass proportions; and being able to help my friends Allen and Diane who went above and beyond last year helping me move;
10) Knowing I was with my girls through much of this, and when I wasn't, Beth had them well in hand.

1 John 3:23

And this is his commandment, that we believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us.

The week that was, part 2

On Thursday night, Beth and I drove around I-359 and then Hargrove/Hackberry; we also went to the hospital to view the damage from the 6th floor. Broken car windows. Fallen trees. People walking everywhere.

On Friday, we got up at 5 and watched the royal wedding. We were so excited to realize we had cable at Beth's. She and I just wanted to see the silly thing. She woke me, and we got in her living room and spoke in British accents and made fun of hats. Seemed so frivolous, yet something I needed to do at the same time. I left for work early, and spent the whole day at work, doing who knows what. The one thing I do remember is going up to the roof at 10 am and watching Air Force One fly in.

I worked this weekend at different houses. Rosemont. Cedar Crest. Claymont. All neighborhoods I've driven by or through. Devastated beyond belief. I spent time assessing devastation, dragging tree limbs, packing up personal belongings, moving bricks, seeing people take care of one another.

I've been blogging about this to help me. However, this "healing process" from the tornado seems kind of shallow for me. My house lost power. I got it back on Saturday and almost cried at the supermarket while buying groceries. WTF, really. My sense of normal has changed, but my house is still here. So is my family.  I still feel a sense of heaviness. And powerlessness. And a need to do something. Even though I did stuff this weekend, the loss is still there. Being at home for a few days now makes me realize that I miss the companionship in sharing with another adult and talking through emotions, experiences, and silly things, too.

We heard on Sunday from the pulpit - several verses from the book of Job, chapter 38.

25 "Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain and a way for the thunderbolt, 26 to bring rain on a land where no man is, on the desert in which there is no man, 27 to satisfy the waste and desolate land, and to make the ground sprout with grass? 28 "Has the rain a father, or who has begotten the drops of dew? 29 From whose womb did the ice come forth, and who has given birth to the frost of heaven? 30 The waters become hard like stone, and the face of the deep is frozen. 31 "Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades or loose the cords of Orion? 32 Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season, or can you guide the Bear with its children? 33 Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you establish their rule on the earth? 34 "Can you lift up your voice to the clouds, that a flood of waters may cover you? 35 Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go and say to you, 'Here we are'? 36 Who has put wisdom in the inward parts or given understanding to the mind? 37 Who can number the clouds by wisdom? Or who can tilt the waterskins of the heavens, 38 when the dust runs into a mass and the clods stick fast together?"

This is God. We must hold Him in awe. We must realize we are NOT in control. He has the power to giveth and He has the power to taketh away. And that is the way it must be, if anything in this world is His. Help me, Lord. I desire to be held, to be protected, to be comforted right now. I do not often feel this way for a long period of time; I've learned to block that, so I usually only feel it for moments at a time. But I've needed a long hug for days now, but my heart knows it needs You in that hug. Lord, draw me to You and only You. Help me desire to worship You first and foremost rather than the "work" that is so draining. Help me to do the work when I'm called, but only in gratitude out of what You have done for me.

The week that was, part 1

K woke me up on Wednesday, April 27, at 5 am and said, "Mom! It's so scary outside! It's crazy weather!" I groggily asked if she wanted to get in bed with me. She said no, so I told her to go back to bed. What was there to worry about? Straight line winds and rainstorms. When we awoke, power was out and I knew schools were closed, and I'd worked til 6 the day before, so I went into work late. Several people worked from home. I went home at lunch because my power was back and I wanted to be with the kids; weather forecasters were saying the tornado threat looked bad. "Highest level of tornadic activity" is what I heard. OK, got it. We'll get downstairs. No need to panic.

Found out M had to go babysit a friend's child because the University wasn't closed. The mother was taking clases. I felt unsure about that, and thought about calling to tell the mom we were going to cancel and she needed to stay home. But, I thought, it would be fine, at least M was with a kid and providing support. She's 18, she needs to learn about these situations. No big deal. Then my power blinked again. Decided to go into work since I had a big demo for a billing system, which is my specialty. So I dropped K at our friend Beth's and went in to the office. James Spann was on all afternoon while I got ready and got my script for the demo ready. Again, no big deal; I knew people were leaving but I was planning on leaving right at 4:30.

We started 20 min late and I got nervous, I really needed to leave on time to try to be with one of my children. M called me during that time and said she was heading home, that someone had come to take care of the child she was sitting. I told her to go to Beth's, which she did straightaway. I really did the demo on autopilot, and I went as quickly as I could, explaining that I needed to leave right at 4:30. And at 4:30, the other VP on the call said, "P needs to leave." The other VP was already at home. Easy beasy, right? I saw a few people were still at the office, and one of them confirmed that I had time to get home. So I left for Beth's, we went to the basement, and camped out. I beat it by about 15 minutes.

And then I really watched TV. We watched James Spann announce a twister on the ground of Tuscaloosa. And we saw it. My mouth dropped open. It was huge. I looked over at M, and she knew, too. It was so large, a mile across, they said. It was a "black monster" surrounded by debris balls. And I realized...the debris balls were cars, houses, businesses, and possibly people. I couldn't take it in. It was near the hospital. And within 10 minutes, it was over. We lost power briefly but it came back on; but cable was off partway through the storm, so we'd gotten the weather radio out. I'd left my phone at work, and so M called Mom and Dad, texted several friends, and we found they were ok. I went back to work and got my phone. Lights were out at several intersections, but I knew downtown was ok. That was it.

Two hours later...found out M's friend's dad had died in the storm. I found out that 15th street was not so hot. I was devastated.

I didn't know how bad 15th was until the next day when I went in to the office...Hobby Lobby, Milo's, Krispy Kreme - all gone. My coworker's Sheila's house was obliterated, which was on Crescent Ridge Road, and she made it out by the skin of her teeth. Her neighbor didn't. My coworker's Jennings' apartment, which was on 15th Street. Found out Forest Lake had a lot of damage. 25 deaths. I couldn't concentrate and I left.

Letting go of what you think you know

An F4 tornado hit our small city this week.

Loss. Destruction. Despair. Fear. Catastrophe. All of these words encompass what I think has been my constant refrain over the past two days. I can't make sense of this, but that doesn't matter. What does matter is this: Strength. Unity. Caring. Miracle. Grace.

I could play the what if game so easily. And it's important in some ways because it reminds you of what's important. It makes you remember to count your blessings, share love with those you care, those that you haven't said it to in a while, and maybe those that you've never said it to. It makes you want to act decisively, do what's important, but also to consider that even the small actions matter. Folding clothes. Cleaning a kitchen. Packing a box. Hugging a friend.

I am struggling with places I know being devastated and changing. I am struggling with not doing enough to help. I get emotional when I think of lost lives, and all I have lost is power. The empathy I'm feeling for my coworkers and friends who've lost everything is overwhelming.

By God's grace, we survived, and so did many of our friends. I pray for those that need strength in the coming days. I pray for those that lost loved ones. I pray that our fair city will recover. I praise Him for who He is, and for His sovereign mercies.

It's the Little Things I Want to Remember

The cold hard aluminum stands.
The smell of clay, gravel, and dust.
The excitement in the air if a pop fly goes up.
The frustration when the ball is overthrown.
The sounds: the ball hitting the glove; the bat crack as it makes contact with the ball; the shouts of the girls in the dugouts, encouragement from the parents, disparagement from the parents and coaches, and general disgust with empires in the stands.
My pose in the stands, ready to jump if a great play is made.
Patty making wisecracks about the umps and margaritas.
Gabe screaming, "Come on Riverside! Let's get some excitement out there!" in his raspy voice.
Lori, continually repeating the rules for me but also ever-organized, getting the next event together.
Papa Spud, cheerful but serious, telling K to use her hips when hitting.
Coach Boatwright, smiling but ready to lay into the girls for laziness.
Someone shouting, "Lucky number 13!" and Justin saying, "Boo-yah!"
Sara pitching. Aryan pitching. Kailyn making the play at shortstop. Catie stopping one and throwing to Katie. Blanca and Hayden getting the out at home. Aryan making the grand slam. K catching one at center. K missing one at center. K hitting in the infield, not making it to first ("she's a hefty lefty!"). K hitting harder and outrunning the throw to first. K running like the wind around the bases.

I'm going to miss this. What a season.

Holy, Holy, Holy

Been thinking of the part in italics all day; from Phillippians.

1 So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, 2 complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. 3 Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. 4 Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. 5 Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, 7 but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant,being born in the likeness of men. 8 And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Lovely, tragic, grace-filled, inerrant truth.

Curry or Bust

My friend Aimee invited me to the Indian place in town for lunch tomorrow. I feel a disproportionate amount of excitement about that.

Last week I made some great Chicken Parmesan with fresh sauteed squash (new recipe). Another night, I made my usual cajun-spiced burgers. The week before, I made Thai noodles with chicken (new recipe). M commented, "Mom, why haven't you always cooked like this?" Um, thanks, I think.

Sadly, food and liquor are both things that really get me consistently excited nowadays. I noticed a Vodka mail-in rebate and spent at least a few minutes today reading the fine print (vodka mail-in rebate? Smirnoff must be hurting for cash). These few minutes were more time than I spent actually testing some new code.

I think I need a snack.

poem per usual

Starving and parched
Identity stripped away
Bowed and beaten
Humility steps in
Waiting and wondering
Grace received freely
Adorned and undeserved
Day is done.

Dreamy hopes

I am not in a very deep thinking mood tonight. I am having trouble focusing on blogs that I read and paying attention.

K asked me tonight what she should write a sonnet about for school. I said that a lot of people write about love. But I told her to write about hopes. Dreams, even. She said, "What about dreams? 'I have a dream.' What else?" Kind of a literal thinker, that girl. She asked me to write it for her. I said, "Um, no."

So here's me writing a poem about both, for me.

Dreams have been shattered
Unwelcome, still they persist
Changed and small, yet forward-thinking
Delicious, secret, with a bit of unbelief

Hopes arise out of the ashes
Lurking and peeking and mischievously grinning
Risen expectations, with fear
Wondering, waiting, and yearning

Faith, bold and uncompromising
Leads one to remember
The beauty of sweet anticipation
In something outside of ourselves

H20 and Me

I spent an hour outside in the rain tonight shoveling both with an actual shovel and my hands today (the hands were necessary). I created a small trough outside my basement door. Because water was, well, pouring in through the back door. Water enters the basement, unwelcome but unstoppable, again.

I had gutters put in after my first leak. On the front of the house. Tonight, it's coming in from the back of the house. Of course.

I do not comprehend the Japanese tsunami. At all. Utterly tragic, and cannot fathom having lost family, a home, or all of my clothing. But I am tired of water. In my house, that is.

Men and Women

What a struggle. Men, women. Women, men. Our roles are so messed up in today's culture. Men don't want culpability. Women don't want it either, but so many have to deal with it through single motherhood, then we botch it up too. Men are leaders at work, classic aggressors. Women want to be, but lead through manipulation. Then you have those who swap roles. We base love on looks and feelings. We both have sex freely, in the name of love.

Read this post at desiringgod.com today, and thought it had a great quote about men and women:

"So should we try to rewind the tape and try to squeeze every woman back into the “Leave it to Beaver” mold? No. We can’t hope to get womanhood right until we understand the ultimate object to which it points. When God created male and female, He provided an object lesson—a parable, as it were—of His entire redemptive plan. Men are to reflect the strength, love and self-sacrifice of Christ. Women are to reflect the character, grace and beauty of the Bride He redeemed. Ultimately, womanhood exists to help display the masterpiece of God."

That is amazing. What is womanhood? It can't mean what I think it means because my definition is so twisted based on my own failings as a "woman" (whatever I define that as). It MUST be defined by God's definition, and how true to use the example of the Bride and Christ. The bride, in many circles, is defined as the church, but it seems to me that marriage itself should reflect this relationship as well.

Character, grace, beauty. Which I don't have (as myself), but through Christ...I have it all.

No Soliloquy in Softball

My poetry is weird. Basically I slap words that sound good on a page.

The kid is doing ab exercises again. What is wrong with her? Justin-bieber-playing, neat-freak-loving, athletically-fit and sensitively-smart kid. Nothing's wrong with her, that's what.

She had a good softball game tonight. Three hits: first two she got a double with, the last she hit straight to the pitcher and didn't get to first in time. There's not too many people that can beat her, though; she runs like the wind. In the outfield, she missed a fly ball at center, but she was trying to make a running catch. Still, I think that got her a bit. The game itself though...a nail-biter. We won, 14-13, against a very good team. They were up 6-1, we caught up and pulled ahead, then they tied, and in the 7th inning, we held them after getting that extra run. What a game!

I LOVE softball season. And no, there's no soliloquy in softball, it's all team.

Heaviness and avoidance

Not wanting to admit
Hiding from probing eyes
Wearing a sanguine mask
Industry occupies

Running and avoiding
The encroaching twilight
Praying for lifted burdens
Pressing in their might

Show me Your sovereignty
Fill me with Your grace
Not my will, but thine
Rest found only in Your place.

Tiredness = Whacked

I kept thinking "Ima gonna cut you" today. And I wanted to poke toothpicks in eyes. I need to sleep. Still a bit of funk from yesterday. I was pretty mean (for me) to some folks in email. I could have passed for Dwight Schrute, almost.

Got to spend some time with some sweet little girls and mine tonight for K's softball game. Little girls talked about softball, funny parents, Justin Bieber, and divorce. Leave off the last topic and it's ideal.

Funky Cold Medina

I used to listen to Tone Loc. A lot.

I'm in a bit of a funk tonight. Thinking about my girls graduating and moving on. I am going to miss them desperately. I pretty much do everything I do, for them. What's next? Too hard to contemplate in the haze.

When I'm in this mood, I just want to be left alone. I don't want to talk. I don't want to socialize. Trying to keep from biting people's heads off.

Dark density envelops the heart
Pain clouds can't be pushed away
Hidden and suppressed enemies lie in wait
Maudlin desperation at the forefront

Deliver me, O God
Focus my thoughts on You
Draw me near and embrace me
See in me Your Son and not my sin

Alternate Universe

I had a few days off last week where I was basically a mom. I didn't have to do my traditional 8-to-5 gig. I actually made dinner. I wrote a few cards. I read two books and read magazines. I cleaned the kitchen. I played with my kids.

This was, of course, a vacation. I know there is more that's going on when you're a stay-at-home mom, particularly if you have young children. But let's say I became independently wealthy. What would I do with myself? Would I keep the same stress levels because I want to stay busy, feel important, be somebody? Would I teach my kids about those things that stay-at-home moms seem to know how to do? (becuse I certainly don't right now) What are those things anyway, lol? Cooking, sewing, gardening? I maybe cook two meals a week. That's kind of stretching it. The girls know I hate to sew and have resorted to asking their friends' moms for these favors. Gardening is something I want to do but I'm so sporadic, and kind of have no knowledge on what needs to happen in a garden. I'm telling you, though, my girls know how to do some chores. They're workers.

Would I pray with my kids more? Would we talk more about literature? Would we talk more about music? Would I take them to more plays or concerts? Would we play chess? Or Scrabble? Would we volunteer more? Would we actually have time to scrapbook?

All the things I want to do...but haven't made time for.

What Were They Thinking

Every work day for the past year I drive to work on a fairly busy road. Today I looked over to my left and happened to notice a business called "Frigid Service and Sales." Wouldn't you think twice before choosing that as the name of your business?

Hunger games

Finished reading the first Hunger Games novel (written by Suzanne Collins). It was addictive, literally. Read it in less than a day. It's sort of a Lord of the Flies meets Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (competition-wise, anyway). Easy read and an interesting commentary on government, and how it can turn murder to sport given the right sort of persuasive tactics. It made me think of early Christians and their public maulings by lions and vicious animals. That type of sacrifice with a pure lack of bitterness could only happen with the Holy Spirit present.

Celebrity mania

Various conversations this week.

K: "Mom, I really want to meet Ludacris. When is your sister going to invite us to meet him?" (my sister lives in Chicago and has been to a party with Cris).
Me: "I have no idea."
K: "I want to meet him. He would totally love me. Black kids love me!"
Me: "bwahahahaha"
K: "Mom, Justin bieber wants 4 children like I do. He is totally copying me. Maybe we're just meant to be together."
Me: "Lots of people want 4 children. You are not meant to marry him. Ugh."
K: "If I can't meet Justin Bieber, I want to meet Cris. I can see me and him riding in his pimpin' car, drinking root beers."
Me: "um. What kind of world do you live in?"

In the still of the night

In the dark silent moments
Noiseless thoughts glide
Heavy, ponderous, indicting
Attack from within

Desperate for guidance
Redemptive searching begins
Frantic, grasping, fretful
Paranoia sets in

A rock stands alone
Unconscious secret pulling
Steady, unmoving, strong
Grace offered, regardless of sin

Gratitude with caution
Curiously frightened reaching
Chagrined, humbled, released
Joy with tears, and we begin

What Occupies

I think about my girls quite a bit. They occupy many of my daily thoughts. What they are doing, what I have not done for them, how special they are, how special they don't THINK they are, what they will be like next year, what they were like 10 years ago, and about what I need to do to make their lives better.

I think about work a good bit. What we must do to survive, my brainiac co-workers who I am in awe of, the ones that drive me nuts, the ones that I can laugh with, and I think about problems I need to solve in code. I admit that sometimes I like to mull a problem over in my mind for good while before I realize what I need to do. I like mulling.

I think about my parents. I think about their age, and how I will be there one day, how they are not believers, how I may not see them become believers (and how I might), how they raised me and did the best they could.

I think about my sisters. They are so different from me, yet they are like me in many ways.

I think about my church. I am so at home there, and it is such a family, yet I also at times I feel left out and alone, and I think about how all of us members must feel that way occasionally, and I think about how I love the men and women that I learn from there.

I think about my friends. I think about the ones that were in my life for a season, the ones that I rely on, the ones that I miss, the ones that I want to just visit with, the ones that I would go dancing with, the ones that make me laugh. I have such amazing friends.

I think about my marriage. I think about how lucky I was to have it and how things are ok now.

I think about my future marriage. I await it with great expectations even though I haven't dated since my divorce. I still approach the throne of grace knowing that it will happen again someday.

I think about myself, my sin, my gifts, my faults, my life in 10 years, and my life 10 years ago. I am blessed.

These are the things I pray about.

Unexpectedness in the Normal

I was watching Parenthood tonight. I typically have an emotional crying moment at one point in each episode. For some reason, I just love that show; the families, the real fighting, the frustration, and even the funny happy moments. Anyway, it dawned on me tonight how much I identify with the single mother on that show (Sarah). She's funny, has made mistakes, fights tooth-and-nail for her kids, and has fears and dreams like I do. I am not a carbon copy of her by any means. However, 20 years ago, if you'd have told me that I'd identify with the single moms in TV shows, what would I have thought?

"How sad!"
"Did my husband die?"
"I have kids?"
"I don't believe in divorce. What are you talking about?"

Yeah, that was me. I didn't really have a mapped out life like some people, but I knew I was heading for a good career, probably in a big city, and I wanted adventure. I wanted to meet people, travel, and learn about different cultures. What the hell did I know? I was kind of an idiot. Completely sheltered. Unaware of crude jokes. No knowledge of boys, men, or boyz-to-men. Not much knowledge of what it took to raise a kid. Pretty unfamiliar with taking care of a house.

I love, love, love my kids. Unquestionably. I just never expected to be in this position of being a single mom. I never expected that my marriage wouldn't last. I never expected to identify with characters like Sarah Braverman, Lorelai Gilmore, Kate and Allie, Alice...and the list goes on. There is heartache in this place, but there's also sweetness. There's hardship and worry and a lack of self-esteem. There's also self-confidence, grace, and forgiveness. There's jealousy, sometimes, over other people's seemingly working relationships. There's also no-holds-barred glee, sometimes, that I get the remote. There's scary decisions to make by myself. There's no one to run these by, so there's a reliance on prayer.

I wonder, sometimes, what I would be like if none of this had happened. But I don't think about it long. I think about what an innocent I was 20 years ago.

Princesses

I went to Disneyworld for four days this past week. What I realized while I was there is that girls desperately, desperately want to be princesses. We love the ornate ball gowns. We love the hair updos or braids or flowing waviness, whatever fits the occasion. We love the jewelry: diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, or pearls. Sadly, we also want the hourglass shape, the clear skin, the pouty lips, the gorgeous eyes. We love the idea that is espoused by Mr. Disney, that there is a prince out there for us and he will recognize our special-ness because he, too, is just that special. We want to feel valued, we want to feel taken care of, we want to be told that it's all about us.

And it's just not real. It's just not going to happen. We might like mani-pedis, pretty dresses, an ab-crunched stomach, but it's fleeting. We still have hangnails, we still have to shave our legs, and we still get poochy stomachs after having babies (well, most of us, anyway). We cannot rely on a man to make us feel valued. We can't have it be all about us or we will suck as mothers.

What can we have? We can be loved. We can give love. We can know that our special-ness doesn't come from without, but from within. It's not easy to remember.

I still sometimes want to be a Disney Princess with little rabbits and birds frolicking around me.

Law and depravity

Over the last two months, I've found that Sundays tend to be emotional for me. I go to church and find myself confronted with Leviticus and what God expected back in the "olden days." What is great for us on this side of the coin is that everything in the law defined in Leviticus has been satisfied; it all points to Jesus and as my pastor says, if you don't understand Leviticus, you don't fully appreciate Jesus. Makes sense.

It's that darn law that kills me. I know Jesus defines me, I know it's been done. Intellectually I know this. However, I can't sit in that service though without realizing the depths of my sin. The judgement I harbor. The desire to look outwardly and make fun of others rather than inwardly and seeing what I am. The desire to be in control. The desire to lie, cheat, make idols, lust, undermine, expect too much, it's all there.

Sometimes I just want to run. Run run run from myself. It's not about running from the responsibilities, that's something I can "do" and accomplish and use to make myself feel better than others. It's about wiping the slate clean and starting over and trying for that second chance at making it right like I mentioned in my angry phase. The thing is, I can't. I can't, I just can't. We're not meant to make it right. Yes, we're meant to have infinite chances with the God of the universe - with a contrite heart, I think. But not with the people here. We don't have infinite chances with others. How depressing. But still...for believers I suppose that's the point? Here is not our home. Here is littered with the scabby, slovenly, sad, sin-filled messes we've created. I can't even properly love my servant-hearted mostly deaf arthritic mother, for pete's sake.

Total depravity? Oh, yeah.