Getting off [my butt]

So. Lately I've been realizing how "unmotivated" I've been. And realizing how Christians re-label things that are actually sinful, making them sound less so. Such as the aforementioned example. Laziness? Yeah. That's me. I'm freaking tired. And I hate how messy my house is and the general chaos around me, but I'm lazy and don't fix it whenI have the chance, and then I live with it longer, and it actually becomes a bigger problem and more exhausting to deal with.
And I've noticed that it seeps into every area of my life, when I let it take over in one. Like, if I'm too lazy to clean my house, I'm also too lazy to go do my Bible study or play with my kids. And when I'm too lazy for things like that, I get exhausted rather than energized by those things, and then I'm even more lazy about everything else in life. I stop putting forth effort in anything, actually. And then I sit and take naps and really don't get a lot done.
So. Here's the thing. I've been kind of convicted actually. To stop calling it "unmotivated" or "tired" and just call it lazy. And, in calling it that, realize that it's wrong to be lazy. Not only is it stupid and makes me into a more worthless person, but it's actually something God doesn't like. This "word of wisdom" came to mind:

Proverbs 6
⁴ Allow no sleep to your eyes,
no slumber to your eyelids.

⁵ Free yourself, like a gazelle from the hand of the hunter,
like a bird from the snare of the fowler.

⁶ Go to the ant, you sluggard;
consider its ways and be wise!

⁷ It has no commander,
no overseer or ruler,

⁸ yet it stores its provisions in summer
and gathers its food at harvest.

⁹ How long will you lie there, you sluggard?
When will you get up from your sleep?

¹⁰ A little sleep, a little slumber,
a little folding of the hands to rest-

¹¹ and poverty will come on you like a bandit
and scarcity like an armed man.

Of course we don't see it like that in our society. But I think I want to. I want to be industrious and useful and make the most of my time. Not with things that are outside of my abilities and desires, but with daily things I need to do and with things I do enjoy.

So that's all I have on that for now. Just felt like sharing. Maybe I will share my steps of action next. Because I have some. And one includes getting off the computer more often. :)

Innocence and Dreams

This was supposed to be posted last week, but I got busy and then I was sick so I'm just now getting a chance to say it. Sorry. I know you all hang on my every word.

On Infant Loss Remembrance Day, you get to think about the baby or babies you lost. It's a bittersweet thing, because it's hard to remember those few precious moments, and yet, it seems as if so many things try to push those memories out of your mind as every year passes.
When you lose an adult child, or one who's lived a few years, you have so many more memories. So many more unfulfilled dreams and mementos left behind. And no one expects you to "forget" or "move on". They don't tell you "at least you have other kids" or "God just couldn't stand to be separated from him, he was so special" or stupid things like that (they think of other stupid things to say in that situation).
When you lose an infant, what's mostly lost is innocence and dreams. You lose the innocence of sweet thoughts and baby bundles and all of the cute things you do when you're pregnant. You lose the innocence of a good night's sleep, and of daydreaming. Because you know all of that can be gone in just a few moments.
And you lose your dreams. When a baby is born, he is just a big bundle of potential. You get to wonder about what they'll like, who they'll marry, what their personality will be, which parent they'll look like. And, as they grow, you see those thoughts and dreams and questions fulfilled.
When a baby dies, you don't even get a glimpse of those things. You just wish, and wish harder for it all to come back. For the chance to wonder and imagine.
The site I pulled that butterfly from is dedicated to remembrance of little ones. She makes butterflies in the sand, because the beautiful creatures are never around for very long before they float away into the sky and you never see them again.
But a baby never truly goes away. Don't ever look at a woman who lost a baby and think, "She's probably gotten over it by now." Once a mother, always a mother. Once a dream, always a dream.

Lap of Loser Luxury

So... I really don't have anything to say. Two weeks ago and several weeks prior to that, I went into "work widow" mode because my husband started having to put in late hours at work. He had a big demo for the big military folks and other customers and they weren't ready so it was rush rush rush. Now that let up for a couple of weeks, but I think it will pick up again here soon.
So, I've been filling my time doing what any self-respecting housewife would. Eating chocolate, gallivanting around the city on random errands that really could have waited, and, at night, watching seasons 5 and 6 of "Little House on the Prairie" and "Star Trek the next Generation" while indulging in frozen cookies from Schwans. Don't hate. It's just wholesome entertainment.
So.
Today I went to Half-Price books and picked up a stack of books. Two in a series I've been reading over the last few years, and then, because of my aforementioned television interests, 4 Little House on the Prairie books. I've wanted to have them around for my kids anyway, but I thought it would be fun to read them. Takes like a day. I haven't read any of them since 4th grade, I'm pretty sure, so I guess it wouldn't hurt.
Today I amused myself by thinking of Douglas Adams quotes to insert into daily life. "LIfe. Don't talk to me about life. It's too depressing."
It isn't too depressing, in fact, it feels pretty good.

And this is a really random post.
I deemed this week "Significant other week" because we got to meet two of our siblings' "others". Brother #5 brought a girl home for the weekend and took her to a house-raising party that we were at (think 7 brides for 7 brothers. Only there were three brothers there and a dad. And then another family of 8. Yeah. We have a great time). So I got to meet that lovely lady, and again at a family meeting we held at Taco Bell on Sunday, in which we discussed Christmas plans. She didn't discuss. She just watched us. Fortunately (?) only 2/3 of us were actually there, so maybe it was less intimidating. She didn't seem intimidated, anyway.
My sister got home on Sunday with her boy in tow. I met him for five seconds when I visited her last spring. He impressed me then, and he seems like a pretty great guy in 3 hours time too. Tomorrow we're all going to the apple orchard together and having Chinese at mom's in the evening. It should be great.
That's about all I have to say. I just felt like it was time to check in and write something, since it's been a while. Now you know. Life just ain't too exciting around here.

Things I Don't Say on Facebook

Don't take this seriously, OK? This is totally tongue-in-cheek since I post a billion things no one else cares about. But, sometimes... often... I just have these thoughts:

Why did you just "like" that? What difference does it make to anyone if you "like" that or not?

No, my kids aren't my world. I have plenty more going on in here than just them.

I think we've heard enough about your health issues.

Yeah, I opened the door this morning and felt the weather too. Thanks, Captain Obvious.

You hate snow; you hate rain; you hate heat. Why do you live in Iowa?

Go to bed, you idiot. All you're going to post tomorrow is how tired you are.

I don't care what you ate tonight. Really, it just makes me feel bad that I only made mac and cheese for my kids.

Please. Keep that to yourself.

You do realize that all 452 of your so-called "friends" just read that?

Hey, depression is your own issue. Don't take it out on me.

Facebook is NOT a good platform for political debates. I'd actually rather not know your opinions. Really, it's true.

Poking is pointless. So very, very pointless.

Facebook is also not a good platform to promote your business. Unless you want to make a business fan page. Then it's OK. An occasional post is fine. But I'd rather hear about your life. Oh wait, that's your kids. I read that on one of your random "likes" that I didn't care about.

Why are we even "friends" when we ignore each other in real life?


OK. The sarcasm must stop. I have to reign it in or it gets out of control. Anyone want to add something? I think it's funny.

Losing friends (angry rant. I apologize ahead of time).

I can't really think of any old friends who I stopped liking. Plenty of them have stopped liking me, though. I don't really know how it happens, but I think somewhere along the line they realize how boring I actually am and find someone who they like better.
i mean, I can remember all of the times it happened through the years with almost all of my "best friends". And I hate it! I just want to complain about it, so don't keep reading if you don't want to know.
I know it's the natural course of relationships to move on and make new friends and whatever. What bothers me is how easily I'm replaced. I hate being the back burner friend, but so often I'm the one people put off, knowing that I'm lame enough to always be available and want to pick up where we left off. But eventually I think they realize that life is going fine without me in the picture, so... on to new and better things.
Before you tell me I'm imagining, let me just lay out some scenarios. True stories from my life.
1) Third Grade: Best friend is in a different class and actually asks me if it's OK with me if she plays with other kids during recess.
2) forth grade: They made a new class mid-year by taking out kids from every class. The only kids from my class that I was friends with were moved, and they really never talked to me again.
3) Seventh grade: My whole group of friends close off the lunch table to me and stop inviting me to do things with them. True story.
4) Eighth grade. Friend who has been close friend and family friend since third grade decides to be popular, thus leaving me in the shadows and completely ignoring me thereafter.
5) Ninth grade: the only friends I had from middle school both wanted to seek their fame in high school. After hanging out a little first semester, they made better friends and never talked to me again.
6) Ninth grade: I left the church, and the one guy I ever really liked and probably would have dated eventually called me up to argue about it. Unresolved argument. He never called again.
7) First year of college: Best friend, very best friend I ever had, has some biff with me that she never shared. I'm kind of dense and didn't realize it, and kept trying to call her and chat online, and i think she actually started hating me all the while. She came out of the closet and didn't tell me, and I guess i did something terribly wrong that year because I think she truly hates me. It breaks my heart because I really loved her.

Those are real examples, completely unexaggurated. I don't know what the "thing" is about me. I can't tell if it's an ideal problem, because a lot of clsoe friends I had shared the same values and then moved away from them. What pisses me off about that the most is that I WASN"T THE ONE WHO CHANGED yet they put words in my nmouth and thoughts in my head and decide what I think about them, personally, just because I might not agree about some new idea they've adopted. Yes, I'm opinionated. No, I'm not a hater.

Or maybe the problem is what I've always suspected. That people find me dull on almost every level. Or that no one gets me. And really hardly anyone really does, but I'm not a picky friend. I just like to be called once in a while or sent an email, or invited to do something. I don't mind being the one to initiate even, but after about six tries, I get discouraged and just can't get myself to be rejected again.

So if you ever wanted to know what my deepest source of insecurity is, that's it.

Whole and Wholly Loved

To scarlet, my lovely friend with a broken heart:

you go home and cry yourself to sleep
aching from the loneliness
and all of those scars that keep burning, even when day is done.
You know how alone you are
even when you're with the people who know you best
and you hurt.

Then for once in your life you met someone
who saw past the outside
into your soul, knew your true beauty came from within
rather than just the painted smile and intellectual eyes
you felt the connection
because he was the only one
who really knew all of you
but let you be OK there anyway
and didn't mind the mess.
He valued you for all of you
not just pieces or parts of the whole.
but saying goodbye is all you can do
when reality hits home.
and there you are
picking up the pieces
painting your masks
wishing that for once it would have worked.
you mourn losing him
when you never had him
and what you really miss is who he made you be
and what he saw in you that no one else could.

The loneliness consumes you
in the darkness of day
and you chase shadows of what's real
because it's all you think you deserve
but the secret of love is uncovered with patience
and some day
there will be someone who sees all of you
and likes what he sees
the mosaic of heartache and strength and loveliness and longing
and maybe then you can take off the mask
and be the beautiful you
with all of the creativity and depth you were meant to show.
but for now, you have to hold on to the one who couldn't have you
because it's the only glimpse you really have
and that's the shame of these broken lives
missing pieces of their heart
you shouldn't be one.
You should be whole and wholly loved.

Who is Chew?

For starters, he's the guy in the back left of this picture. (And that's me in the front right. Seventh grade. Bad hair day. Great day in the annals of Kristin time.)
He was also my Bible quiz coach, a man who noticed me and appreciated me, and just one heck of a man. We celebrated his work in the church today at a retirement party. While I was there, reminiscing with friends and looking back at the history of this great program, I came to appreciate Bill Chew in an even greater way. Because he made Bible quiz what it was when I was there.

I hated youth group in middle school. I was at best, completely ignored. One night we broke into small groups to do some stupid worksheet, and I was in Bill Chew's group with another quizzer. I wasn't in Bible quiz yet, but when I answered one of the questions, he invited me to join the team. I'd wanted to ever since I'd seen the 1988 team do a sample match in church before they went to nationals. I jumped on board, and had no idea what I was getting into.

What I got into was amazing. For once, I was good at something. What I did on the team mattered. I mattered. And that was what I loved the most. I happened onto a banner year with a good team of two who needed a third, so I got to be third. For two more years after that, I stuck around, memorizing the Bible and competing with other teens in the state and region. I loved it. I have those trophies up in the attic in a box, and whenever they resurface, I spend a moment reflecting on those great times with my friends. And how Bill Chew didn't care about winning and losing and who had the most points, but about kids studying the Bible and falling in love with it. How his big goal was to teach us to learn it for ourselves. How he knew that God's word would not return void.

What sticks out to me in my memory was how people--especially kids, mattered to him. Even the ones who weren't on his team. You wouldn't meet a friendlier guy. I always felt welcome on the team and encouraged, yet still challenged to keep working harder. Today one of the moms spoke about how he was a role model, a solid, grounded man of God who cared and sympathized. I think when I was quizzing I took it for granted. Because he was a great coach. We all agreed on that today.

He will be marked in the pages of my life as a significant part of my spiritual growth. The things he taught stay with me. And so does the Word of God.

This was my team the last year I was there. A great group of gals, so fun to hang out with. I miss it so often, and I can't wait until my kids can join the ranks of Bible geeks!

And this is Grace

So I'm writing tonight. Not here, well... here, but I'm also working on my story. And in the midst of it, I realized that this has become a theme in my life the last couple of weeks: Grace.
I was talking with a friend about meds for mood disorders and other mental illnesses. Some people think you shouldn't take them, and just have more faith that God will heal your sore sick mind. I'm more under the impression that you can't always control what your hormones and chemicals are doing, btu if you can use some synthetic chemicals to help balance things out, you'll be more of who you were made to be. and when you're who you were made to be, you're fulfilled and whole, and God can use you for what He always planned.
It doesn't sound like the two thoughts connect, but I think I can make them. See, what i'm discovering while writing this story (which personally I think is going to be really good) is that God's grace is intended to be a part of every aspect of your life. Not now, but the past as well. And the future and the daily boring things and the big events that change who we are, and all of the in betweens that may or may not seem like they matter.
They matter.
Because every one of them is an opportunity for us to see God's grace at work.
On top of that, if we can understand how His grace saturates our own hearts, then it is easier to extend grace to others. Our pastor talked about this a couple of weeks ago. How you can't go and help out people living in poverty unless you understand that without God's grace, we are all doomed to poverty. Because poverty isn't lack of funds or things or abilities. It's the lack of relationships.
I like to think that my life is pretty much perfect. That I do things right and I deserve the good things that happen. And when I get in that mind set, I forget that I owe it to God. He's given me so much more than I deserve (grace). When I'm in that mindset, it affects how I see others. And when I deserve what I have, others deserve what they have, good or bad. When I'm not worthy of God's grace, neither is anyone else.
And when I realize that it is a gift to me, then I can freely bestow it on others, realizing that it all comes from God, who gives without ho9lding back.
A Sara Groves song says, "this is grace, and invitation to be beautiful".
I think, when we see Grace for what it is and how it fills our hearts and lives, we become who God wants us to be. We become more whole. We become free. Beautiful.
But it's an invitation, because, the very nature of grace demands that it isn't forced upon you.

So what's that mean for me? Constant reminding of God's gift, and the sacrificing love of Christ. What's it mean for you? You decide. Are you going to accept the invitation to be beautiful?

Old Thresher's Reunion

Every Labor Day since I've known him, my husband talks about going to the Old Thresher's Reunion. It's basically a big museum of old farming equipment that is assembled by thousands of different owners who bring it to the grounds once a year. It's sort of got the atmosphere of a fair, with funnel cakes and a crafts hall and a grandstand with shows. but it's mostly centered around old machinery.
I'll say, it was better than I expected. but the parts I found interesting were NOT the parts my husband likes. But we took the kids and picked up my folks on the way down and spent half a day there for fun. We had a nice time. Here are some pictures.


Arlene liked looking at the steam powered tractors. Daniel liked them more.
We rode one of the trains. There are two that circle around the premesis. It looks like one from the old west, and they do a train robbery show every hour. We weren't on one of the robbed trains because we figured it would scare the kids.

This is just a sample of the crazy things there are to see there.

Long walk back to the van after a long day. Arlene loves Grandpa.

Leadership

Have you ever wondered what it is about some people that always gets them appointed to be in charge of things? Is it good leadership skills that are some how obvious to everyone they meet? Being likeable?
I don't know why, but it bothers me sometimes. Why are certain people chosen over others? Do you have to be flashy to make the right impression?
I'm thinking mostly in the church, but it happens everywhere. I think a lot of the reason it bothers me is because I'm jealous. But partly because I feel like I have gifts that are completely overlooked just because I'm not outgoing or showy. And I get it. Especially in "real life" like working. Flashy beautiful people get chosen, even if there's someone just as qualified.
But it's not supposed to be like that in the church.
I've been thinking about it way too much. And I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, because I go to a really great church. Maybe I just don't say enough when I should, or know the right people or talk to the right people about what I want to be.
Or maybe I come across as boring and plain and that isn't what people prefer when they're choosing leaders. I get it. I was usually one of the last kids picked for the team. But I don't want it to be that way my whole life.
Nor am I willing to be someone different.
If I ever get a book published, I bet I'll get chosen for all kinds of things then. Because then people will know that I'm actually really articulate. And I love public speaking. And I'm artistic and witty and sarcastic and deep and spiritual. Oh, Someday, come soon, will you?

Growing UP

I just read an article about how young people today are hesitant to "settle in" and get married, and even when they do, it's all about how they feel and how happy the other person makes them. Wondering what people think about that?
i had a thought about how that works. Why young adults these days have no work ethic, are irresponsible and in general would rather not settle in and become a productive member or society (speaking generally, of course). Of course there are a billion factors and exceptions to those generalizations, but research is showing these trends.
I wonder. If the reason young adults don't want to "grow up" is because they didn't have happy childhoods. I think kids these days "grow up" too fast. They take on a lot of responsibilities because of absentee parents, and whatever expectations they have. They seem to be ruling the roots, as it were, and so as they grow up thinking they're the one in charge, the reality of "real life" comes as a shock. They're already tired of feeling responsible and in a backwards way, raising their parents and family, so they're ready to let loose and play for a while.
It's just something I wonder about. I'm interested to know what others think. I'm not speaking of specific individuals or families. Just general trends that I've noticed and read about. I have lots of opinions about it, but I'll spare you.

At Grandma's House

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As I mentioned before, this does no justice. But I loved her.

At Grandma’s House

8.31.2010

In my mind’s eye
I always remember you
there on the porch in the middle of the night
passing out blankets and telling us where to sleep
and me tucking myself under that scratchy wool
inhaling the coal dust and warmth
In the morning there were pancakes
for lunch we had soup
and always, forever, homemade bread

You kept your little poems and articles
and letters from the war
and piles of paper in that office
that smelled of newsprint, rubber bands and books
And your stories of people you’ve met
and days gone by
the childhood you had
not colorful, but still interesting all the same
your words enthralled so many
and I was your granddaughter
sitting at the table
listening while you told
the past so alive in your sharp memory

Your voice was so gentle
your words were so kind
and I remember you there, holding my baby
singing softly “rock a bye”
the same voice that sang to me
and all of your offspring
four generations there.
How I miss those moments
and those things

All the ways I remember you
It’s so hard to say goodbye
because it seemed, I never knew you well
you weren’t a peer or really a friend
you were my cherished Granny
who traveled a thousand miles to visit
by train by bus or car
who gathered us in under the wing of prayer
and kept us, no matter how far.

You didn’t have a lot of things to give
but I cherished every gift
and you gave your love so fully
so gracefully you lived
always thoughtful of others
taking time for even the least
the mark you made will carry on
living deep inside of me.

stress

I was thinking about going to the doctor to find out if I'm having anxiety issues. Then I decided that maybe I should just take care of them myself. Way to add another thing to the plate, K.
I've been trying to exersize and eat healthier. I had my thyroid tested and it was normal (just had to check).
But I still feel like crap. Like I start my tank at a quarter full every day and then there's nothing left when I get done. By supper I'm ready to pull my hair out.
I think part of it's the teething toddler who likes to throw fits and make everyone feel her pain. and the whiney 3-year-old who seems to be having teenage angst all of the sudden. And my husband's stupid job with stupid managers who keep making promises to customers that no one can keep.
And me and the bad attitude and negative thoughts that swarm around me all the time. It's a little overwhelming these days.
Tonight we were visiting with a friend who's a missionary with the Navigators. And through the course of the conversation, I just realized how un-focused I am. How self-centered I get and how that makes the stress mount up to unbearable amounts.
Tomorrow's goal: Renew my mind. Put Christ back at the center of the universe where He belongs and stop worrying so much about my heart. Absorb His grace. Be transformed.

I'm thinking of starting a new blog. Call Bad Rap. And it will be a collection of bad poetry, written by myself and others. I think it would be hilarious, although insulting. But people like Doctor House, don't they?
Here's my first sample, written by me in about 3 minutes. Because I obviously have nothing profound to say today.

Sore Throat

I don't want to gloat
but it only took 3 days
to rid myself of the sore throat.
And in that time I spent on the couch
laying there, saying "ouch ouch ouch"
The house became a mess
the weather got nice
and yet I felt the bed entice.
Now my back is sore
my kitchen smells like blore
and I have chores galore.
But it only took 3 days
for the sore throat to go away.

Sick

Went to the doctor today and found out I have strep throat. So I might not write for a few days, since I feel like crap-e-ola. I haven't had strep since I was 18. I used to get it two or three times a year, but it hasn't been so bad lately. I'd forgotten how terrible it makes you feel. So this is me. Signing off. Have a good weekend.

More Writer's Block. And More Mitch McVicer too.

Does anyone else have this problem, where you want to write something meaningful about a significant event, but because it means so much, you can't ever get what you write to say the right thing? I've had that problem a few times. Usually with poetry. I want to write something about my kids, and it never comes together.
When I lost Grace, my creativity re-awakened in a new way, but I could never write a good statement like I wanted to, a beautiful poem that did honor to it all.
Same with my grandma's death. It doesn't help either that she was such a fantastic writer. I wanted to write something in the style she used, but it hasn't quite come out. The idea's there in my head, but the words get tangled and mushed.
I know I'm not the only one who has this problem. I think Mitch McVicker did after Rich Mullins died. He put out a couple of albums before he wrote the song for Rich, and I think it was because he wanted it to say just the right thing, honor Rich's music and memory. I love it because in the background you can hear a hammered dulcimer through most of the song, but not until the end does it become really prominent. It just reminds you or Rich then.
I know you probably hate me posting lyrics, but I'm going to anyway. Because one line in this song reminds me so much of my grandma that I cried the first time I listened to it after she died. And it's the best I've got, since I can't seem to get it together just right.


Rich's Song

If you chase the horizon long enough,
Then you just might lose the dark
And you found the light or maybe it found you and I'm sorry you had to part
Until I think about where you are
You stepped behind a veil and then you just went on in
But you were here for awhile and that was such a gift
Do you know what I'm meaning?

Chorus
I'm sure you smile a lot more than you ever did before
And I can hear you laughing and carrying on from here
But this world took it's toll so you went on through that door
And I could tell it all was drawing near
I just had no idea it was so close
But He was always calling you home
He was always calling you home

And I've never known who heard His voice
But I'm almost sure you did
You had a way of hiding it,
But you walked along with Him
Oh, do you know what I'm meaning?
As I put words to your life they seem to come up short
Words meant a lot to you,
But you are so much more
Chorus (twice)
From the day that you were born
He was calling you home
From the day that you were born
He was calling you home
He was calling you home
He was calling you home
You finally made it home

Coffee Talk

last night i went to the women's ministry kick off at church. I hate the idea of a ton of women gathered together, but my friends were going, and I like having a chance to meet older women in the church too. So I went and sat.
There was a lot of talk about helping each other and passing along our skills and knowledge to younger women. That was kind of the theme of the night. It got me to thinking, though. I really have a desire to do that. I love the idea of teaching, and I think I'm a good teacher. I don't have a lot of skills or knowledge, but I've always wanted to be a "mentor" to younger women. I love kids, especially teenagers, and some day I'd like to be involved with teaching and leading them.
But I don't have a lot of chances to do the things that I really want to. And I think it's mostly my fault. I'm not really outgoing and I'm slow in conversation. So the words that flow so eloquently out in writing don't come to my brain until after the conversation's over. But when I'm talking with other girls and kids, the truth that comes out in my heart doesn't come out in words until it's too late. I wish I could just speak the truth and make it sound more appealing than I do. Instead, I just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind (which is usually right) but I think people blow me off becuase of how I talk. I don't know. I think that my thinking that people blow me off makes me less eager to say what I want to, too.
But that's my problem, I guess.
Sometimes, though, I feel like the "prophet without honor" in her home. It's probably just my imagination, but sometimes I feel like people at church have a hard timet aking me seriously because they knew me when I was a kid. Or because they know my parents, they think that they know me or assume (subconciously) that I don't have as much to offer as my folks do, so I'm not worth taking seriously.
Last night, they talked about how everyone is an "older woman" who has something to share or give to others, and I feel that I do, butthere just haven't been opportunities for me like I wish there were.
And that's about all I have to say. It's mostly complaining. I think I need to take this to heart, though, and look for those opportunities to share. To be quicker to say what i think, but maybe say it slowly. I don't know really. I guess maybe I just need to wait until I actually am older.

the universe laughs [angsty rant to follow]

Do you ever feel like the whole universe is saying, "You suck! You just suck and there's nothing you can do about it."
Yeah. I guess this will just be an angsty post about the problems I'm having. I'm hormonal. Let's just get that out there. I'll feel better tomorrow.
Tonight, I'd like to have a couple of drinks and go to bed. I can't even flipping mow the lawn right.
You know, when you are all stressed out about something, and then when that something happens, you think it will fix your stress, but then it just makes it worse? I'm feeling like that now.
I've been stressed lately. I'll admit it. I was already short on extra time because i helped with camp, and then all that stuff happened with my grandma, and I still don't feel like I'm over that even though I should be. And then there was that gun test, which was supposed to be recreational but it stressed me, and I felt better when it was all over. But i've been waiting for this "procedure" at the hospital for months, hoping it would give some answers to what's causing the pain I'm having. I've been to three specialists now. Had a surgery and physical therapy, and I'm still getting vague answers.
and, I might add, in the last year, I've been told I have THREE life-altering health issues, and all three times I've felt ill-informed and left completely alone with the information. Getting pretty sick of it. I don't want them to keep finding OTHER things that are wrong. I want them to fix this one problem before I have babies again.
So I'm discouraged tonight. It's the kind of thing people with health problems experience all the time. But I don't want to be one of "those" people. I just want to have a normal life and not worry about these stupid little things that keep popping up.
That's all I have to say. Good night.

Christian "Music" Rant

I don't keep it a big secret that I don't like listening to Christian radio. I get so tired of them playing the same three songs all day long, and I don't really like the style of music, which is either:

"dark, depressing guy with a scratchy voice singing about all the things the church does wrong but offering no solution"

"Dark depressing guy with scratchy voice singing about how terrible his life is and it's a good thing he's got God tucked away in there"

"Flighty teenage Miley/Britney/whoever copy who sings ditzy songs with cliches about Jesus or about how great her life is now"

"Rock band with nothing to say who can play five chords"

"dude singer who actually writes good lyrics but has a bad voice and can only play five chords"

"Praise music that all uses the same phrases/clauses/words as the other songs"

"Praise music that has absoultel no theme, but is rather a stream of conscious thoughts on God with no melody for the verses and a decent one for the chorus, which you have to repeat three times"

Okay, I guess I could go on and on. And I guess these categories fit any genre of music. But lately I've just been so put out with the shallowness of "Christian" music. On both accounts, lyrics and/or music. I know there are talented people but the ones who are actually good dn't usually get air time. But maybe that's just me. Who am I to argue with radio executive and producers? And hoards of screaming fans.

At the lastconcert I went to, Mitch McVicker said he knew that the world didn't need another Christian musician. "What they do need is truth, so I'm just trying to put those together and reach out."

There's music that I like. There are musicians that I like who even get played on the radio. But it does seemlike the majority of what I hear in church and on the radio fit into the "annoying" category. And annoying doesn't glorify God.

There is no point to this. I just wanted to vent about the radio lately. I was raised on "oldies" and that is my default (although, I could complain about those stations too. They need to get their labels figured out. If it was written in the 90's, it isn't classical rock.)

Success!

I passed my permit qualification! You need 80 points, and I got 80. Barely. But I did! (Thanks to the great instructors who had extra time for me this morning in practice since I was the only one there).

Quitting and Failing

I'd rather quit than actually fail at something. I've heard that's an attribute of a middle child. I don't know, and I guess I didn't realize it about myself. I don't like failing. In high school, this evidenced itself in slacking. Because if I didn't try, I didn't look like I was trying to get straight A's, and then I wouldn't fail if I didn't get good grades. (They were fine; not as good as they could have been).
In the Spring, my husband talked me into excersizing my second amendmant right to bear arms, and we signed up to get our concealed carry permits. [Side note: I hope this doesn't piss anyone off. I'm not doing it to make a point or push an agenda. I'm doing it because a) I believe we should exersize what rights we have or they will more easily be taken away b) it was something to do with my hubby and he would have done it without me anyway c) If you're going to be near guns, you oughtta know how to use them d) I want to be familiar enough that if I ever am in a situation where I need to protect my kids, I won't endanger anyone unnecessarily. Hopefully that keeps anyone from jumping down my throat. Don't worry. I won't run out on the streets shooting whatever moves, and I won't try to push my opinions on anyone (and please don't try to push yours)].
Anyway, we took a four hour safety class together, and then I took a written test and passed. Then all that was left was qualifying by shooting 8 out of 10 rounds at a target 30 feet away. It's really not that hard. We've been practicing, but it turns out, I'm not super great. I have a left-hand problem, because it tries to take over, and my left eye tries to take over too, and it just doesn't work out great. We went in to practice and qualify on Saturday, and of course my husband scored perfect because he's like that and does perfect at everything he ever decides to try.
I am not perfect. I do not have a burning inner determination that gets me through whatever I want to do. I'm not that smart, and I'm not talented at much of anything, so... naturally, I did not pass my test. (I also missed out on a lot of practice time I could have had because of my grandma's funeral, not to make excuses).
Anyway, it really bothered me. My left hand took over in my nervous subconscious and I started firing with my left finger instead of my right, even though I was holding the gun with my right hand. So all of my shots went to the left, and it sucked.
I want to quit. I don't ever want to go back to the stupid range or put on the stupid earmuffs again. It's really bothering me that I suck at everything I try.
And I know that it's because I don't practice enough or learn well enough or whatever. But it's just crap for me. I don't know why it's depressing me so much. I only have one try left to get my permit, and it's this Saturday. So there are some options that might increase my chances, but really, it's a lost cause at this point. And quitting would be so much easier. Because then it wouldn't look like I failed. And I wouldn't feel that dark, overwhelming sickness that comes when I can't preform as well as I should. I hate that feeling, and I've spent a good portion of subconscious brain effort avoiding it.
Now I need to just face up to it. Because really, I think quitting is a bigger failure than just failing. That probably sounds pithy, but I don't know. I think my generation is full of quitters, and I don't want to join ranks with those who could have, should have, and would have. I'd rather fail legitimately. So I will next Saturday. And maybe, by some miracle or grace, I won't fail. I don't even care if I get the permit. I just don't want to look stupid.
For the record, I will have achieved my goals for doing the course, but... it just ain't the same without the little card to carry around.

I miss her

I'm home from Montana. My heart is so sore from being at my Grandma's house without my grandma there. I'd like to have a day to myself to brood and mourn and think everything through, but that won't happen. I've hardly had any time alone in the last week, and everything's been so busy.
But. That's just me. On to her.

My grandma was a writer. She wrote a lot of poetry and stories. And I'm glad she left it behind for us, so we could always have those parts of her.

On Thursday my girl cousins and I went through some of my grandma's jewelry boxes. She had a lot of old and new things all mingled together. She liked to keep things. My cousin thought it was because she was a pack rat, but I think it was partly because she cherished things, sort of like I do. Things that seem like junk, really aren't, when you realize she kept it because a grandkid gave it to her as a gift, or because she wore it on a special day.

I wrote a poem, trying to use the same style she always did, and it's not great, but I thought I'd share it anyway.

Grandma's Jewelry Box

Grandma's jewelry box was filled with many things
pins and brooches, watches beads
and pretty little rings.
What delight her granddaughters found
in trying on each piece
along with her old hats and gowns.

And now, the time has come for us to inherit these treasures
and as we look, we discover Grandma's life
was full of simple pleasures.
She loved the elegant along with the bold
so she kept all of those pretty things
and cherished the the stories they told

Grandma's jewelry box,
saved through generations
the great and small, she loved them all
as she did her grand children.

So much to say, so little time.
I would love to share all that's been happening these last few days And I will, but right now I'm enjoying time with my cherished family, savoring our time together. I haven't seen some of them for almost 15 years!
Sitting here on the couch with my aunt and enjoying some peace and quiet now that the busy funearl day is wrapping up. My cousins went to the bar, and some of us stayed behind and did music stuff with my cousin, second cousin once removed, and hubby and all who cared to watch. It's been a good day, but a sad day too. I miss my grandma already.

Royalty

You descended from royalty
and high-classy folk
yet you chose the simple life
of praying for your daily bread and scraping and saving
and you lived there all those years
finding contentment in something outside of
home and garden and family and life
outside of the way people viewed you or how you were treated
Blossoming like a rose in the thorns
and all who came into your presence
found solace and rest
and comfort of down-to-earth and being liked just as you were
Those who met you out of context
knew you were beautiful and full of class
you who could have lived among royalty and riches
who took the way of the worker
and it probably wasn't all you thought it would be
there in the Montana desert
hanging laundry and baking bread
but you pressed on
growing your garden of peace and honor
in your trail, all those who felt your care
And you found the value in simple things,
and looked for stories in the everyday.
You lived a noble life, like those you knew who went before
and you painted the stories of so many folks, of family and friends
and years gone by.
the words you wrote meant a lot to us
And you mean so much more.

No Compromise

Ever since I met my husband, he has raved about Keith Green. I didn't know much about him at all. He happened to have written a song I really liked, "There is a Redeemer", but that was about all I knew. Over the years, I've put together details to know a little more. I didn't really like him. His music is abrasive and his voice is annoying. He was an amazing pianist, but I just haven't been a big fan of his. But a couple weeks ago, I picked up his biography in the church library. I thought I should read it to know a little more, and I recently found out that they're making a movie about him, so i wanted to read the book first. [editor's note: having read it, I can see why my husband respects him so much. He's so similar!]

It was a really good read. I think everyone should read it (especially you, Scarlet because the beginning half reminded me a lot of you). He has a really amazing story. Starting with his childhood popularity and fame, stretching through his teen years of searching and seeking the "Truth", and then into his married life and the development of his ministry and music.

He set aside music for a while to see if it was what God wanted. In the meantime, he'd tell people about Jesus and pray with them to be saved, and if they needed a way out of what they were stuck in, he'd have them move in with him and Melody. He and his wife adopted an 11 year old girl when they'd been married a year. They eventually picked up songwriting and music again, and picked up a record label. He rose to popularity so fast, despite his controversial opinions about things. As his housing of new converts and seekers overtook the neighborhood, they became official, calling themselves "Last Days Ministries". As the ministry spread with more music, preaching and newsletters and literature, they decided to move to Texas, where you can still find them. Of course, if you hear anything about him, you know he died after 7 years in ministry in a plane crash. So the book talks about all that time.

I'm the same age he was when he died, and I have very little to show for it. He had so much. But that was his personality and his calling.

Now, coming from someone who's never been a big fan of the "Jesus Movement" (but whose parents were saved because of it), but who's facinated with history in general, this was really fun to read. I had so many challenging thoughts during all of it. Keith was a person who decided what was right and went with it all the way, hard core. He wasn't always right, and sometimes he had to correct himself, but he was honest.

It's made me think, looking at his life and the things he said, how much have I watered down what I believe to fit into the mold? WHere have I compromised my passion? What would a person like Keith Green think of my life, and what would that reflect about what God sees and thinks? The album art for his second album was really cool. It's a picture of Mordecai from the Bible, not bowing to Haman (and apparently I copied a bad quality version but I'm too lazy to change it).

I can't really explain everything I've thought while I've read the book, but it has endeared a person to me who I didn't like before, and reading it has caused me to think about what I'm sharing with others. How lost the world is, searching for their answers, but not finding them. And what responsibility I have, if I claim that I hold the truth in my heart, to share it. I'm not going to camp out listening to Keith Green albums any time soon, but I really enjoyed discovering the story behind his songs, and the way God used one man so profoundly.

Sweet river Roll

I listen to this song sometimes when I'm in the right melancholy mood. It's in my head tonight. I listened to it on repeat when I lost Grace. It's sort of depressing, but when I hear "Sweet River Roll" it's just like Jesus is there, and I know He rolls all over over. FYI, I am NOT a big waterdeep fan, but sometimes they pull off a good tune.


"Sweet River Roll" by Waterdeep
Homebound Henry's got a tumor in his head
He wakes up every morning after dreaming he was dead
He used to think that life was boring, but now that's not the case
He turns to his wife in the evening, he says "Honey I'm afraid I'm gonna lose this race."

Sweet River, roll all over me
Sweet River, roll all over me

Soaking wet Juliet- she lives in a well full of tears
Her husband left her for some bimbo after twenty-two years
Now she's got to start all over, but she's just so terrified
She thinks it woulda been so much easier if he woulda just died

And I'm lookin out my car window sittin' in the pouring rain
Although your house is fifteen miles away, I can still feel your pain
I've thought and prayed and worked it through about a hundred times or more
How your soul just cries to everyone to help you get up off the floor
Right now it's morning, you're probably totally unaware
of the flood of kisses you hold back by the way that you despair
It ain't me I'm talking about here, or anybody else you can touch
That's all I want to say right now, I don't want to say too much

except Sweet Jesus, roll all over me
Sweet Jesus, roll all over me...
You gotta come down and just set me free

Old Friends

When I was a new person in youth group, my brother and I decided to go on the welcome new freshmen canoe trip at the beginning of my sophomore year. While I stood in the lobby with other kids, amongst sleeping bags and tents and backpacks, waiting awkwardly for someone--anyone---to come talk to me, my brother disappeared with his friends.
Then came Rachel. She just walked over and said, "hi." I was relieved anyone was talking to me or standing with me. she was never great at making conversation, but we found enough to talk about. Her friends had all graduated so she told me she needed to meet new people. Perfect. She was a year older than I and went to a different school. But she became the friend I needed to be part of the youth group. We got along really well, and always sat together and sang on worship team and roomed together on trips. For the next two years, she was my real youth group friend. The other kids talked to me and we all got along, but Rachel was my mainstay. I always felt comfortable with her, even when neither of us had anything to say.
We had great times. And we lost touch as we went our seperate ways.
Tonight we met up again because she was in town (her folks still lvie here). We sat at chili's for two hours just talking and catching up. It was great. Because, when so many of the people I knew back in those days have changed and become completely different people, she hasn't. It was just like that first camping trip (where, insodently I got sick and threw up and had to go home early, but the thing with Rachel stuck nonetheless).
As I drove home, I wondered about what makes some friendships stick and be able to pick up even after yaers apart. And why some just go away. I think it's partly personality. And it's partly just true fellowship that comes from Christ. Rachel and I shared developing years together, and because our relationship with Christ was what we had in common at first, we could still connect these years later. Of course, a lot is personality too. I'm always open to meeting back up with old friends and catching up, and in fact I really like doing it. Not everyone does, and that's fine too. That's what we have facebook for, right?

The Way

A kid from our church died today. He had an asthma attack on Sunday and went into cardiac arrest. They put him on life support at the hospital, and we all prayed and prayed for three days. He was 16, and like I've said before, death is such a hard thing to grapple with. It's part of life, but it's still hard. Especially someone who had so much to still give to the world. So I wrote this, because that's how I process things like this.

The Way

and we prayed all night that you would change what events had set in motion
that you would stop the train
turn it around
because we knew you could.
But instead you chose your way, with thoughts that dwell in clouds beyond our understanding
the way of Wisdom that reaches beyond man's mind
the healing of hearts that hurts, the fatal cut
And it felt like you left us there
our requests laid bare before your throne, but you stayed far away
listening and waiting, with some kind of impeccable timing only you could explain
and you chose not to explain anyway.
We wondered if you were there, but you were all along
with your eyes that watch each sparrow fall
and count the hairs on our heads.
With a heart big enough to encompass all pain and questions and doubt
and a Way that brings life and healing
even in death.

To My Dad

A lot of girls grow up wondering if they're loved, if they're beautiful, if anyone cares about them. Wanting to be cherished and treasured, hoping to find someone who will treat them like a princess.
Well, I didn't. those were not questions that went through my mind. Because my dad was there for me. It wasn't that he told me all of the things I wanted to hear. I just knew. He didn't grow up in a relational family who talked about feelings, and I'm not the sort who spills life out on any blank canvas, so I guess Dad and I didn't always have a lot to talk about. But he was there. He was home for every supper. He played baseball and soccer with us and went on bike rides. He prayed with us at night and read us stories before bed. He came to concerts and ceremonies and took us on vacation.
He was there at night when I had bad dreams, after work and supper when we'd play in the yard, and every morning, when I got up, I found him downstairs, reading his Bible or finishing off breakfast.
He set an example of hard work and diligence and discipline.
And he loved me. He didn't always have time for me. I'm a typical overlooked middle child. But I never wondered if he loved me or even if he liked me. He just did.
I'm thankful that I inherited so much of his personality. I strive to live in wisdom and discernment, to dedicate my life to God and to work hard. I'm thankful that he is who he is now, a grandfather with time for his grand kids. A dad who serves his family still, even when they should all be grown ups.
In a world with so many hurts and battles, I'm glad I had a dad to walk with me through them. Because a lot of girls don't. And, even though he isn't perfect, he's perfect for me. And I love him with all my heart.

Bomb Shells

You know how it is when you're going about normal life and things seem really good, and then out of nowhere, a bomb hits? Like your dad calls you to tell you your grandma's in the hospital and it's not looking really great?
Then all of a sudden, life goes into slow motion and you have a hard time really focusing on anything else? The bomb just consumes your thoughts and energy?

So it's finally happening. I've known for years that my grandparents didn't have much time left, but... but I don't want that to be true. So I've been juggling worries and thoughts and anxiety and memories, wishing that life were easier to live, and death weren't part of it.

On Sunday our pastor preached from Daniel 10. After he had a vision, an angel came to explain it to him and he said, "I am overcome with anguish because of the vision, my lord, and I am helpless. ¹⁷ How can I, your servant, talk with you, my lord? My strength is gone and I can hardly breathe."
The pastor talked about how in our lives we experience things that put us in that position, and of course, GOd is present there. He gives us a way out. The angel's response to Daniel was that he strengthened him and said, "Do not be afraid O man, highly esteemed. Peace! Be strong now! Be very strong."

So there I am. I"m sure there will be more to say about this in the coming weeks. I'd appreciate prayer if you're the praying sort.

June 6, 1944

So few of us actually have a chance to be part of history. Witness it, sure. I'll always remember where I was when OJ's verdict came out, when Oklahoma City was bombed, and when the towers got attacked, when presidents were elected, etc. But to have been a part of it is something different.

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. It seems to be a forgotten day 66 years later. I remember the 50th anniversary. It was a big deal then. What happened on D-Day turned the war around and became the beginning of the end. When the troops invaded at Normandy, there was such a slim chance they would succeed. But they literally bit the bullet and tried anyway. I think God was on their side. I know God was on the side of so many soldiers.

You probably know I like to brag about my Grandfather, who got to be part of history that day. For years, he never talked about it with us grand kids. Lately he's started sharing details, and it's amazing. He shouldn't have made it. His friends on each side were shot to death. He was hit as well, close to his stomach, and he ran around on the beach for quite a while before he lost consciousness.

The thing about being part of history is that it usually involves something traumatic. Something that changes your life forever. For the folks sitting at home in the states, D-Day meant a well of hope. Hope that the long days and nights would soon end. Hope of seeing their loved ones again. They can tell you what they wore that day and what they did when the news came. As generations have come and gone since that day, it has become little more than a question on a history test. But the guys who were there, who witnessed death and evil and pain and terror, it was never a passing moment. They can close their eyes and relieve it. Their young lives were shaped by that single day, for better or for worse. I hope that I never become callused enough to believe those moments in history don't matter. Because the course of history changed, not only from a tactical standpoint, but from the heart of one soldier, who before the war had never seen outside of his Montana farm, who had a beautiful woman waiting at home for him, who went on to raise five kids and have 21 grand kids, some of whom followed his way in the army. The way his life changed that day could never be explained or spoken, but for whatever outcome we found, he became who he was. And he matters. It all matters to me.

Anniversary Countdown

We've been married nine years now, so I thought I'd put it in numbers:

9 times moving
8 Weddings we've been in
7 Trips to Montana and beyond
6 Years in our first house and living here.
5 Wonderful anniversary trips
4 Trips to the hospital, funerals
3 Babies, Guitars, Drives to California
2 Endless house projects, RV's, Times singing together at church
1 Faithful God, Wonderful life together.

Forth of July, 1995

Last night I started thinking about the summer coming up, and all of the great things that we can do in the warm weather. I thought about things I did as a kid, and my favorite thing was going to a lake and hanging out with friends swimming and being on the beach and riding boats. These were rare occurrences, actually, but always my favorite.

Got me thinking about one year when I was fourteen. In the thick of weirdness at my church, we had this group of friends. My parents did, that is. So, for the Forth of July we went out to one of their places. Out on a farm, with a lake and a big yard and lots of buildings. I didn't know the people very well. My sister was friends with the little daughter. I loved that place. It was beautiful. We had a great day, full of all of the things I loved. They had a pinball machine in one of the sheds that we could play, and of course, all of the lake stuff.

They had a son Calan too. He was a year older than me, tall and skinny with a sad smile and crooked teeth. He had an obsession with comic books. he was an artist. And he had a friend there that weekend so I hardly saw him most of the day. I knew him from church but hadn't hung out with him much. He was in this crowd of fringe people, who didn't put on the church face and try to impress everyone, who weren't popular at school, who were just themselves and let everyone see them for who they were. That weekend, at his house, seeing where he lived and the way he'd decorated his bedroom and the things he liked, I caught a glimpse of his soul. It sort of creeped me out. But he was a nice guy too. we talked a little that day, but I don't remember much about it.

After dark when the folks settled in to watch the fireworks from miles away in their lawn chairs, and my brothers went to light illegal fireworks, some how I ended up following Scott over into a pasture and up a fence and then up onto a rooftop, where we could see the fireworks just perfectly. I snagged my favorite shirt on a nail but I didn't really care. We just sat there and watched the fireworks, and I don't even know why. Maybe we were just two misfits finally connecting on some weird level. Maybe he was lonely like me and like having the company of the opposite sex. It would have been the perfect moment to say or do something romantic, but we just sat there together. And I'll remember it forever because I felt like myself and it had been such a good day and I was safe there.

About a year later, my friend called me to tell me Calan had hanged himself in his bedroom.

I don't know why it mattered so much to me. I didn't ever know him that well, and we left the church before Calan and I became good friends. I think we might have. Maybe that's what haunts me about it. Or maybe it was just that in a lot of ways, I was so much like him. Or maybe it was because it just wasn't right. Because he was a gentle spirit with good to offer the world, who struggled just like anyone else. Who bothered to talk to me. I think about that forth of July sometimes and wonder if things had been a little different, what could have happened with me and Scott after then. And when I get to heaven if he's there I'm gonna ask him what tormented his soul in that lesser world where we once lived where good and bad walked on a tight line, and simplicity and beauty held hands, and horrific and terrible intertwined with every day.

My Friend Mitch

Last night I went to see Mitch McVicker perform. I like him, not as much for his music as for his essence. He does a really cool concert using a loop box and all kinds of weird percussion pieces and household items. He talks like Rich Mullins, earthy and poetic all at once, with a new perspective on things you think about all the time. He sings songs that mean something.
If you've read my blog for a long time, you know I like him. I saw him the first time after Grace died, in March, and I bought the album "Love Will Rise". The title track kept me going. I listened to it almost every day, sometimes I'd just let it go on repeat. The world felt so dark and wrong, and the song comforted me and encouraged me to keep going.
He didn't sing it at the second concert I attended the following year, but I (using all the courage and guts I had) went and told him about it (because he's awesome and stays afterward to sign CD's and talk to people). He just smiled this humble smile and nodded his head. He seemed so honored to be used like that.
He sang it this time. And I, having healed so much since that first time i watched him sing it as a brand new song, smiled through it, lost in thoughts of pain and healing and God's mightiness and tenderness and love. For a minute I think Mitch looked out at me, maybe remembering what I'd told him last year. Maybe not. But he did look, and I smiled because God is so good to me.
I think that's the awesome thing about music. You can connect with people on so many different levels. It matters. And I liked what he said at this last concert about how the world doesn't need more Christian musicians. It just needs truth, so he's just trying to merge those. I think he does a good job. (And his link is on my blog if you feel like checking him out). Some day in heaven when we're all sitting around recounting God's hand in our lives, I'll point at Mitch and say thanks.

Weeds

I've been waging war in my yard against weeds. It's pretty much a hopeless cause, but I sort of enjoy pulling them up anyway. There's this satisfying thud sound when you actually yank out the roots. And this annoying rip sound when you don't get it.
We've got creeping charlie, which is about the worst yard weed I can imagine. It crawls around the grass and weaves a foundation in the dirt, suffocating the grass sprouts and eventually taking it all over.

As I was yanking strings of charlies out of the dirt, digging deeper to each level, I thought about weeds in our lives. How they grow underneath and you don't even see them until they've taken over. How sometimes they're big and ugly and take over the whole lawn, but sometimes they look like flowers. And sometimes they're easy to yank out by the roots, and sometimes it's nearly impossible.

They're kind of like the lies that take root in our hearts. Some lies are easy to find and pull out. Some sound good and make us look good, but they're still lies. Some of them are so deeply embedded in our personality and thinking that it's hard to even know where to start uprooting them.

So. I've thought about what lies have grown in my heart. I think we try to pull our weeds in a lot of different ways, but often those aren't pulling down to the roots. Sometimes I think I've pulled a whole weed out of my heart, only to discover it's growing up again, stronger and harder. I know this is vague but of course, weeds arent things people like to display for the whole world to know.

I sprayed parts of my lawn, and as I watch the charlie and clover and crabgrass wither away into brown nastiness, I consider God's word and how it works the same way on those lies in my heart, exposing them for what they are, dismantling them, and making the soil good for what's supposed to be growing.

My Life is Full of Interruptions

Grrrrr. I've been wanting to write so badly lately. I've gotten some good ideas for pieces of stories and plans for new ones, but nothing is coming together. The ones I was working on are stuck. Every last one of them. i need to write devotionals for the theatrical camp and I can't even do that.

Reading a good book makes me want to write even more. I just finished one that i liked and it made me really want to get back to the keys. But tonight I sat and typed two paragraphs before I was interrupted. If I have a good idea of where i'm going, I can slam stuff out with things going on around me and concentrate later when the house gets quiet. (Which seems to be never these days). But when I barely have the inspiration, then it takes all of the concentration I have, which isn't a lot. But now the distractions are full force. The attic project, preparing for a garage sale, theatrical camp, and playdates are taking up all of my free time. It comes in waves. But i apologize. I got nothing.

Mother's Day 2 years later.

This year May 9th was less painful than the previous two years. I think it will be that way with every passing year. And I'm glad, but at the same time, it makes me sad that Grace will become more and more of a memory and less and less of a reality. I missed her. Sitting there at church, realizing that today I could have had a little two year old in my arms while we sang "Blessed Be your Name". I cried a little bit during that song, and then I clung to Arlene.
Jayna was sick so Daniel stayed home with her.
My friend whose baby died the same year as Grace stood on stage for child dedications with her family. Her husband admitted the difficulty of it being his first time on stage since the funeral of their little baby. I cried then too.
Then I didn't cry the rest of the day. The sad part about the due date birthday being on Mother's Day was that I was really conflicted. Part of me wanted to tell everyone and remind them about that little girl I should have been holding. But the considerate part of me just wished everyone happy Mother's Day and got on with life. I'd hoped my church would take my recommendation to have memorial flowers available for mothers who had lost children. They didn't. My family didn't even mention it. But we had a nice time anyway. My sister came home for a few days so we hung out and had ice cream and pizza. Real Mother's Day-ish.
We went to the greenhouse with my mother-in-law and then stopped at the playground and visited for a while. It was nice.
They didn't remember. And I shouldn't expect anyone to. And what would they say even if they did?
One thing that has turned into a little blessing, though, is the friends who were pregnant at the same time as me. There were a LOT of babies born that spring. Two close friends had their due dates a week on either end of mine. They always remember, and I'm thankful. Because even if it's just one person, it matters. It matters that my baby isn't lost forever in the annuls of time and horrific events that everyone's glad they didn't have to experience. Because I love her, and I can't forget and I can't let go. It's all I have to hold on to.
Mother's Day will always be that way for me, I think. Joy and sorrow. Mingled there in my heart, both reminders of Grace. Both reminders of God's faithfulness and goodness and love.