I've always loved Disney's Mary Poppins. It was one of the first movies I actually watched when I was a kid. I remember my dad brought it home from the movie rental store one night along with Robin Hood. We had friends over, so we were having a night of fun. I was disappointed that it was a real people movie, but quickly changed my mind. Jane and Micheal had my attention right away. And then the mystical, magical wondrous Mary Poppins appears and changes everyone's life. I used to think it was because of her crazy antics, of who she was, but actually, she just changed them by teaching them to notice.
Last year I introduced my kids to the nanny extraordinaire movie. Watched it with my brother-in-law who hadn't seen it before, either. It was really entertaining. There are many parts that are hilarious to watch as an adult. Like how Mary Poppins makes a really funny face when she drinks her rum punch "medicine".
But what I realized watching this movie again, and listening to the sound track bonuses, is that this movie is about noticing the insginificant.
It's about a family with parents who are so asborbed in their own social standing and careers that they don't notice their children. They're too busy to see a little boy and girl who just want some time and attention. That's why the culminating moment, when the kids want to give money to feed the birds, is so poignant . The beggar woman sits on the cathedral steps every day,noticing the birds who want to be fed. She is overlooked by the general population. But Mary Poppins notices them. And she notices the kids and their needs. And all together, she teaches a set of self-centered parents that their children--that the world around them--is noteworthy, that there are things you should be noticing. The insignificant things that don't seem to matter, really DO matter.Like the people who clean their chimneys, and the lonely shut-in man who loves to laugh, and the people who draw pictures on the street. And birds.
I want to teach my kids to notice, too. So much of our lives and the culture around us teaches us to worry about ourselves and our needs and how to please themselves. We forget to notice the little things, like cold kids walking home in the rain, like flowers blooming and butterflies, and the poor people who need our help. The least of these. We'll always take time to feed the birds and fly kites, because it's those little things that build into a larger thing, the second greatest commandment about loving our neighbors and putting others first.
Saturday, May 04, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Help
I tried to push my stroller and get my two younger kids out the door that was trying to shut against me. You saw it and held the door for me. Thank you.
I just wanted to make it through the store and back to the car while the baby screamed loudly. You smiled sympathetically instead of judgmentally. Thank you.
I felt overwhelmed at the grocery store on the rainy day, trying to figure out how to get three kids into the car with the least amount of wetness involved. You offered to carry my bags. Thank you.
I hadn't had a break from home in two weeks because the baby needs me all the time and I felt guilty whenever I left. I'd already had to say no to three other social events. You told me it was OK to bring the baby along on this one. And you held her for me while she cried. Thank you.
You saved your advice for your own daughter instead of telling me that I was doing something wrong. Thanks.
You told me that my kids were behaving well, even though they'd just lost my coupon book and had been arguing with each other for days on end.
You noticed me with that overwhelmed look in my eyes, and you didn't just walk away, but you stayed and had an intelligent adult conversation with me.
You did what you could to help, reminding me that some day, I'll be in your shoes and wish for those days back.
Your smile reminded me that these babies are treasures.
You encouraged me when I felt tired and drained. You pulled my hand while I was sinking in despair.
Thank you, kind strangers.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Book Review
Today is "Finish the Book Day" in our house. WE finished 1A math book, read aloud Stewart Little, and I'm nearly done with The Hobbit. I also finished a library book from one of my favorite authors, Richard Peck. You may know him from the Newberry Award-winning book "A Day No Pigs Would Die". THe book I read today was called "The Teacher's Funeral", and like usual, Richard Peck delivered a great yarn.
He does a good job using local dialects and capturing the rural turn-of-the-century Indiana life in a charming way. I really enjoyed the story, told from the perspective of a 15-year-old farm kid set on escaping another year of school. It's a good read, as are all of Richard Peck's books that I've read. The other titles of his I've read this year are:
On the Wings of Heroes (my personal favorite)
A Year Down Yonder
A Long Way from Chicago
If you want some light-hearted, easy reading to pass your time, check it out.
He does a good job using local dialects and capturing the rural turn-of-the-century Indiana life in a charming way. I really enjoyed the story, told from the perspective of a 15-year-old farm kid set on escaping another year of school. It's a good read, as are all of Richard Peck's books that I've read. The other titles of his I've read this year are:
On the Wings of Heroes (my personal favorite)
A Year Down Yonder
A Long Way from Chicago
If you want some light-hearted, easy reading to pass your time, check it out.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Doubt
We sat across from each other with a backgammon game between us (who even knows how to play that!), hot tea in our hand, on old plush couches with coffee shop music filling the empty spots in our conversation. We were in The Living Room, a college student friendly cafe that had Christian bands preforming on weekends, and lots of tasty food and coffee to enjoy. But tonight I just felt a lump in my throat, and i didn't want to eat or drink.
I hadn't ever really told anyone about the dark plaguing doubt that had overtaken my heart that semester. It had been creeping in for a while, in different things, as I sat through Bible classes and scoured verses and listened to sermons and sang songs in chapel. I believed in God. I knew my faith was true, and yet, the more I read the Bible, the more questions arose, and the more I wondered if maybe there was a chance I'd made a mistake.
It was honest questioning, but I was afraid to ask the questions. I thought that the whole Christian community I'd surrounded myself with would shun me. I was engaged then and I was afraid my fiance would want to break up. I wanted everyone to believe that I was intelligent and spiritual and I was afraid to give words to those things in my heart that were pounding against in the darkness of night.
Doubt.
What I didn't realize then, as an insecure 19-year-old, was that doubt is part of faith. Without doubt, there can't be faith. If you never had to question your beliefs, they wouldn't really be worth believing in. But no one tells you that before you leave for college. No one warns you that you can get so absorbed in Christian college atmospheres that you can lose sight of your own faith.
Thank the Lord for my friend Nathan. He was a senior that year, so when I asked him if we could talk, he took me out to the Living Room and I spilled what had been hiding in my heart. He knew me well. We'd had a lot of talks that year, and he and I thought the same about so many things. When I told him what I was thinking, about the doubt and the questions, he told me it was OK. And he told me that he didn't know other people felt the same way he did. I was so relieved then. Not only because I gave voice to the fears and doubts and called them what they were, but then I knew I had a like minded person who suffered in the same way I did.
I'm not really sure what happened after that. I started writing my questions down like Nathan adised, and looking everywhere I could for answers. I knew a lot of philosphy back then, and I had a lot more time to read. And God always drew me back to the foundation I had in Him. Somewhere in the rest of that semester, I found Him again. He'd been hidden from me. Not the theology and written words and teachings and all of the things that men say about Him. But Him. Jesus, my friend, who knows me and loves me and cares for me. And the questions become afterthoughts when I remember His promises, the way He's led me.
They're still there. I think they always will be. It's the way my mind works, asking questions and wondering about origins and things. But no matter where I go in my wanderings, I just can't completely walk away. Because "he remains faithful when we are faithless", and I know, like CS Lewis said, He is Himself the answer.
Harder to Believe Than Not To - Steve Taylor
Nothing is colder than the winds of change/ when a chill numbs the dreamer til a shadow remains/ among the ruins lies your tortured soul/ was it lost there or did you just surrender control? You shiver with doubts that were left unattended. so you tossed away the cloak that you should have mended / you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to. Harder to believe than not to.
Some stay paralyzed until they succumb/ others do what they feel/ but their senses are numb/ and some get trampled by the pious throng/ still they limp along
And are you steady enough/ to move to the front/ is it nods of approval or the truth that you want/ and if they call it a crutch then you walk with pride/ your accusers have always been afraid to go outside
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended/ so they toss away the cloak that they should have mended/ you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to
Harder to believe than not to.
I hadn't ever really told anyone about the dark plaguing doubt that had overtaken my heart that semester. It had been creeping in for a while, in different things, as I sat through Bible classes and scoured verses and listened to sermons and sang songs in chapel. I believed in God. I knew my faith was true, and yet, the more I read the Bible, the more questions arose, and the more I wondered if maybe there was a chance I'd made a mistake.
It was honest questioning, but I was afraid to ask the questions. I thought that the whole Christian community I'd surrounded myself with would shun me. I was engaged then and I was afraid my fiance would want to break up. I wanted everyone to believe that I was intelligent and spiritual and I was afraid to give words to those things in my heart that were pounding against in the darkness of night.
Doubt.
What I didn't realize then, as an insecure 19-year-old, was that doubt is part of faith. Without doubt, there can't be faith. If you never had to question your beliefs, they wouldn't really be worth believing in. But no one tells you that before you leave for college. No one warns you that you can get so absorbed in Christian college atmospheres that you can lose sight of your own faith.
Thank the Lord for my friend Nathan. He was a senior that year, so when I asked him if we could talk, he took me out to the Living Room and I spilled what had been hiding in my heart. He knew me well. We'd had a lot of talks that year, and he and I thought the same about so many things. When I told him what I was thinking, about the doubt and the questions, he told me it was OK. And he told me that he didn't know other people felt the same way he did. I was so relieved then. Not only because I gave voice to the fears and doubts and called them what they were, but then I knew I had a like minded person who suffered in the same way I did.
I'm not really sure what happened after that. I started writing my questions down like Nathan adised, and looking everywhere I could for answers. I knew a lot of philosphy back then, and I had a lot more time to read. And God always drew me back to the foundation I had in Him. Somewhere in the rest of that semester, I found Him again. He'd been hidden from me. Not the theology and written words and teachings and all of the things that men say about Him. But Him. Jesus, my friend, who knows me and loves me and cares for me. And the questions become afterthoughts when I remember His promises, the way He's led me.
They're still there. I think they always will be. It's the way my mind works, asking questions and wondering about origins and things. But no matter where I go in my wanderings, I just can't completely walk away. Because "he remains faithful when we are faithless", and I know, like CS Lewis said, He is Himself the answer.
Harder to Believe Than Not To - Steve Taylor
Nothing is colder than the winds of change/ when a chill numbs the dreamer til a shadow remains/ among the ruins lies your tortured soul/ was it lost there or did you just surrender control? You shiver with doubts that were left unattended. so you tossed away the cloak that you should have mended / you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to. Harder to believe than not to.
Some stay paralyzed until they succumb/ others do what they feel/ but their senses are numb/ and some get trampled by the pious throng/ still they limp along
And are you steady enough/ to move to the front/ is it nods of approval or the truth that you want/ and if they call it a crutch then you walk with pride/ your accusers have always been afraid to go outside
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended/ so they toss away the cloak that they should have mended/ you know by now why the chosen are few/ it's harder to believe than not to
Harder to believe than not to.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Dear Society (A frustrated rant form a mom who's having a bad day)
I'm kind of tired of you making it so difficult to have babies. While some of you make it into this big deal to try and market all of the things we "need" that actually just clutter up the house and make things more complicated, others of you try to tell us that having babies isn't "enough", that we should be working too or keeping house better or cooking amazing meals, etc. And then there are those of you who think it is SUCH a big deal that you can't really see anything as important as having babies and you're just as bad.
Here's the thing. I don't like being a mom all that much. Sure, there are parts I love, but do you know how many other things I'd rather do on most days? So, really, you're making my life more miserable with all of your expectations of me.
Also, while you have these opinions, there's also this belief that a mom should be able to leave her baby behind sometimes. I'm sorry. If I have a baby who needs me, I can't just leave her. Good for the people who can. I can't, and you shouldn't expect me to. Yes, I realize that I need to make sacrifices and sometimes I just have to decide not to do some things because bringing a baby won't benefit anyone else there. But you forget. Sometimes having a baby present does benefit people. And most of the time, who does it hurt? The baby is my responsibility. I'm not expecting the world to drop everything to accommodate her. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you, really, and I'd appreciate some flexibility on your end of it all.
Moms have a hard job and it only makes it harder when you shove your expectations onto them. It's not like they make their babies fussy. It's not like they want them to cry when you're trying to enjoy conversation with people. Moms do the best they know how to do, but moms don't like being excluded from society just because they have a baby with them. Maybe you forgot what it was like when you had a baby. Or maybe you never had one. Or, in either case, maybe this mom's baby just isn't like yours. You don't know her situation. You don't know if she's on the brink of a breakdown and just needed to get out of the house for a little bit and see people or get some milk and there's no other option but to take the crying baby along. You don't know if she hasn't slept in three weeks and her brain isn't working that well. You don't know if she cried all afternoon because someone made a remark about her baby or gave unsolicited opinions. You just don't know. But, whatever the mommy's situation is, she would appreciate support and sympathy a lot more than judgmental looks and unreachable standards and alienation.
Thank you for listening.
Signed, an exhausted mommy
PS Thanks to the people who "get" this. I know you are out there and I hope you're the majority.
Here's the thing. I don't like being a mom all that much. Sure, there are parts I love, but do you know how many other things I'd rather do on most days? So, really, you're making my life more miserable with all of your expectations of me.
Also, while you have these opinions, there's also this belief that a mom should be able to leave her baby behind sometimes. I'm sorry. If I have a baby who needs me, I can't just leave her. Good for the people who can. I can't, and you shouldn't expect me to. Yes, I realize that I need to make sacrifices and sometimes I just have to decide not to do some things because bringing a baby won't benefit anyone else there. But you forget. Sometimes having a baby present does benefit people. And most of the time, who does it hurt? The baby is my responsibility. I'm not expecting the world to drop everything to accommodate her. I'm doing the best I can to accommodate you, really, and I'd appreciate some flexibility on your end of it all.
Moms have a hard job and it only makes it harder when you shove your expectations onto them. It's not like they make their babies fussy. It's not like they want them to cry when you're trying to enjoy conversation with people. Moms do the best they know how to do, but moms don't like being excluded from society just because they have a baby with them. Maybe you forgot what it was like when you had a baby. Or maybe you never had one. Or, in either case, maybe this mom's baby just isn't like yours. You don't know her situation. You don't know if she's on the brink of a breakdown and just needed to get out of the house for a little bit and see people or get some milk and there's no other option but to take the crying baby along. You don't know if she hasn't slept in three weeks and her brain isn't working that well. You don't know if she cried all afternoon because someone made a remark about her baby or gave unsolicited opinions. You just don't know. But, whatever the mommy's situation is, she would appreciate support and sympathy a lot more than judgmental looks and unreachable standards and alienation.
Thank you for listening.
Signed, an exhausted mommy
PS Thanks to the people who "get" this. I know you are out there and I hope you're the majority.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Scarlet
Hers was a tragic life, a tragic story full of sad songs and broken desires, and people letting her down. She was abused, used and thrown away more often than any person ever should be. Yet she dreamed, and she dreamed full and bright. She took chances and she ran free, following whims that led her down dark streets and into studios in LA. We used to talk online, chat about philosophy and life and the people we'd known. And I loved her art.
We were so different, opposite in so many things. And yet she understood some part of me that I could never really explain to anyone else, and maybe I did for her too. Maybe she got tired of the things that made us different, or maybe she just moved on. I wish that she were still here, reading this. There was this beauty in her heart that appealed to me, amidst her brokenness and weariness and questionable lifestyle, this poetry that pulled out pieces of purity and bliss, and also a little bit of the ugly things no one likes to talk about. And it made her who she was, that honesty.
She knew darkness like few people do, yet she staggered toward the light so often, reaching her hands out in front of her, squinting straight ahead at the little glimmers that came and went, wishing from her depths that she could grasp it, yet always being evaded. She understood so many things, knew what was best, but still found comfort in a darkness, in the twilight between day and night.
Art poured out from within her, from those broken places that remembered abuse and misuse, from the whole places that saw heaven up ahead, from the heart where fires burn in love and hatred. She could be in movies, she could stand on the stage unafraid, all the while wondering if she was good enough for any of it. And if any of it was good enough for her.
So now she sings and plays piano, and I hope she never goes back to the life before that, where she wandered and questioned and fought. I hope she still fights, though, in searching for the truth and for shimmering things lost in the murk of lies, fights for herself against those who can't appreciate what she does and who she is. I hope she wanders back into my life, because I miss her and think of her often. Most of all, I hope we walk together in heaven and find the pure art, the way it was meant to be all along.
We were so different, opposite in so many things. And yet she understood some part of me that I could never really explain to anyone else, and maybe I did for her too. Maybe she got tired of the things that made us different, or maybe she just moved on. I wish that she were still here, reading this. There was this beauty in her heart that appealed to me, amidst her brokenness and weariness and questionable lifestyle, this poetry that pulled out pieces of purity and bliss, and also a little bit of the ugly things no one likes to talk about. And it made her who she was, that honesty.
She knew darkness like few people do, yet she staggered toward the light so often, reaching her hands out in front of her, squinting straight ahead at the little glimmers that came and went, wishing from her depths that she could grasp it, yet always being evaded. She understood so many things, knew what was best, but still found comfort in a darkness, in the twilight between day and night.
Art poured out from within her, from those broken places that remembered abuse and misuse, from the whole places that saw heaven up ahead, from the heart where fires burn in love and hatred. She could be in movies, she could stand on the stage unafraid, all the while wondering if she was good enough for any of it. And if any of it was good enough for her.
So now she sings and plays piano, and I hope she never goes back to the life before that, where she wandered and questioned and fought. I hope she still fights, though, in searching for the truth and for shimmering things lost in the murk of lies, fights for herself against those who can't appreciate what she does and who she is. I hope she wanders back into my life, because I miss her and think of her often. Most of all, I hope we walk together in heaven and find the pure art, the way it was meant to be all along.
Noise
Do you ever find yourself in a place where all of the usual noise has been removed, and you suddenly find that some part of you had been at tension the whole time, and you hadn't even realized it until the noise was gone? Like the washing machine with its droning, and finally it stops and you just feel like something inside of you was set free? Maybe it's just me.
I think with the usual noise around me, I find those rare silent moments so amazing, and there's some part of me that just breaks out dancing when I'm surrounded by silence. It's so rare, so very rare. Even now, with the baby sleeping and the older girls palying quietly upstairs, it's loud. The washer's running, the furnace. The occasional baby doll shouts something, one of the kids is listening to an audio drama. It's loud, even though it's quiet.
Over Easter when I took a break from media and distractions, I found myself surrounded by other distractions. I don't really even kmnow what they were, but it was hard to sit and meditate like I'd planned. It was disappointing, really. I had thought I would learn all of these new things about God, and that He'd honor my sacrifice and reveal Himself to me, and I'd have time to write poetry and read verses and... well, it just didn't happen. And I don't know if it was me and all of my sin or if it was just life and that's how it is, or if maybe I learned and saw more than I even thought I did. Whatever the case, I still long for that silence that seems impossible right now.
I feel it creep over me all the time, driving in the car without kids, when the radio's on with music I like, but all I want to do is shut it off. Talking with friends whose company I really enjoy, I just wish we could communicate without talking. I long for it, for quiet, amidst the errands, the bills, the TV shows, the Veggie Tales playing, the siblings arguing, the husband telling me about his day, the laundry machines, the rain and wind outside, the lessons of life and the piles of things shouting for me to take care of them. I want it to be silent. I want peace to reign.
That's really what it is. The noise wouldn't be so irritating if I were resting in peace like I should be, like my soul wants to be.
Today the baby was crying like usual because she needed a nap. And I wanted so badly to make it silent for her so that she could relax and fall asleep. Just for ten minutes. It wouldn't happen, and the more I tried, the more upset she (and I) got. Eventually I went into her room and turned on this little music bear that plays white noise or music for 20 minutes. I hung it next to her in bed, and waited while she sucked on her pacifier. She let out one of those little baby sighs, like she was saying, "Everything's finally OK now", and closed her eyes. The music from her bear, replaying itself over and over, took her into dreamland. And when I went downstairs to sit and relax for a second, I thought about that constant noise, and how there's realy no way to drown it out right now. At least not physically.
But all of the voices in my heart that scream at me and tell me to get this done and stop doing that, and make the deadlines and accomplish whatever--those I can drown out. I can squelch them. I can tune into one thing, singing louder than the rest of those voices. Just like little Lois and the bear. I can listen for the voice of God, and if I'm listening like I should, the other voices get quieter and quieter and eventually, peace reigns.
I think with the usual noise around me, I find those rare silent moments so amazing, and there's some part of me that just breaks out dancing when I'm surrounded by silence. It's so rare, so very rare. Even now, with the baby sleeping and the older girls palying quietly upstairs, it's loud. The washer's running, the furnace. The occasional baby doll shouts something, one of the kids is listening to an audio drama. It's loud, even though it's quiet.
Over Easter when I took a break from media and distractions, I found myself surrounded by other distractions. I don't really even kmnow what they were, but it was hard to sit and meditate like I'd planned. It was disappointing, really. I had thought I would learn all of these new things about God, and that He'd honor my sacrifice and reveal Himself to me, and I'd have time to write poetry and read verses and... well, it just didn't happen. And I don't know if it was me and all of my sin or if it was just life and that's how it is, or if maybe I learned and saw more than I even thought I did. Whatever the case, I still long for that silence that seems impossible right now.
I feel it creep over me all the time, driving in the car without kids, when the radio's on with music I like, but all I want to do is shut it off. Talking with friends whose company I really enjoy, I just wish we could communicate without talking. I long for it, for quiet, amidst the errands, the bills, the TV shows, the Veggie Tales playing, the siblings arguing, the husband telling me about his day, the laundry machines, the rain and wind outside, the lessons of life and the piles of things shouting for me to take care of them. I want it to be silent. I want peace to reign.
That's really what it is. The noise wouldn't be so irritating if I were resting in peace like I should be, like my soul wants to be.
Today the baby was crying like usual because she needed a nap. And I wanted so badly to make it silent for her so that she could relax and fall asleep. Just for ten minutes. It wouldn't happen, and the more I tried, the more upset she (and I) got. Eventually I went into her room and turned on this little music bear that plays white noise or music for 20 minutes. I hung it next to her in bed, and waited while she sucked on her pacifier. She let out one of those little baby sighs, like she was saying, "Everything's finally OK now", and closed her eyes. The music from her bear, replaying itself over and over, took her into dreamland. And when I went downstairs to sit and relax for a second, I thought about that constant noise, and how there's realy no way to drown it out right now. At least not physically.
But all of the voices in my heart that scream at me and tell me to get this done and stop doing that, and make the deadlines and accomplish whatever--those I can drown out. I can squelch them. I can tune into one thing, singing louder than the rest of those voices. Just like little Lois and the bear. I can listen for the voice of God, and if I'm listening like I should, the other voices get quieter and quieter and eventually, peace reigns.
Friday, April 05, 2013
The Best Foods
This will be a rant. I will probably write something beautiful about spring coming next week, but right now I"m just in a mood. Husband's been working a lot, and I'm sort of tired out. Which is why I'm thinking about food so much.
Tonight I made this super healthy supper, which feels good. If you know me you know how much I hate cooking, and out of all of the things I'm "supposed" to do right now with my "job" as "homemaker" (Sorry for the excessive quotes, but they are all necessary), cooking is the worst. Definitely below cleaning toilets. Tonight we had stew beef, steamed carrots and red potatoes, and homemade cornbread with homemade gravy. The beef was grass-fed organic, the carrots were organic too. And it just felt good. But here's the thing that I'm getting SO TIRED OF lately. (And I should insert here, it's not because of things any of my friends or peers say or do). I'm kind of tired of feeling guilty about what I feed my kids. I do the best I can, and sometimes the best is really not... "good". Sometimes it involves crackers, or macaroni, or fish sticks from a box. But they aren't hungry, and they're growing and they aren't obese, and we have a pretty fun time together most days. So why do I feel guilty when I make them mac and cheese sometimes? Why does it bother me when I heat up some frozen veggies in the microwave? Why should I be wondering about the source of the eggs we eat?
I'm kind of fed up with the way our country makes food. How we actually EAT industry and commercialism every day. I'm kind of tired of hearing about it, too, though. I mean, if you really take all of the news to heart about genetically modified things, whole foods, intollerances, sprays, etc, there's really nothing left to eat. Uness I'm growing my own garden in some hyperbolic chamber that can't be cross-contaminated, with heirloom seeds that I spent $4 a piece on, with compost that I made out of last year's organic crop, in soil that I dug out from WHO KNOWS WHERE... I mean, how does this work? There's really no good way to stop the machine.
I try. I get organic veggies for the ones we eat a lot of. I've been feeding the kids grass-fed beef (thanks to my parents' christmas present to us). We play outside all the time. We don't use cans of cream-o-whatever soups. We bake our own bread. We don't eat out much, and I don't fry foods much. But it just doesn't seem good enough in this pinterest-loving society I live in. It just doesn't cut it.
When did eating veggies and taking a Flinstone become completely passe? Why is it all so complicated? Why can't they just have a PB and J and go out and play?
Don't get me wrong. I would love to feed them (and me) from the all-natural aisles, and give them those healthy super foods like kale and acai and whatever. But I don't have that much extra money sitting around. And I don't like cooking enough. And I don't want to make myself like it and take that much time to make it, and feel drained every day by the time my husband gets home because I was busy cooking some delicious all-natural meal. Because if I did, I would just resent it. I wouldn't be doing it in love. I would be doing it out of guilt and obligation and I would be miserable. And let's face it. Sometimes dealing with the whines and complaining and just getting kids to put their shoes on to get to school on time is about all we moms can handle before we're ready to pull our hair out.
This isn't a statement against people who do the all-natural thing. Some of my best friends are into that. And they do it really well. Really, I'm "into" it too, as in I've heard all the research and I know what's "best". But folks, as with all good things, there is a give and take at play here. I could make those really healthy meals, but I would be giving up energy and time that I put into the kids. I could pay double at the grocery store, but I would be giving up money we spend on extras and fun things like vacation. So, like with most things that we decide in our families, I've weighed my options and I've gone with what I think is best for us. Sure, I want to do better. But right now, in this preschool-crying baby, messes-all-over-the-house phase of life, "BEST" is taking a few extra minutes to play outside or read a book to the kids, and a little less time standing at the stove. Best is having a little bit of a smile left when Husbandy comes home. Best involves love, and giving sacrificially. Best is keeping myself sane by slowing down to play Scrabble on my Kindle for ten minutes. Best is choosing to place my kids' health and lifespan into God's hands after I've done what I can to follow the health rules, and trusting that He'll keep them here on earth as long as He wants, and knowing that, like Job said, "no plan of His can be thwarted". Despite what I do to ruin them.
Tonight I made this super healthy supper, which feels good. If you know me you know how much I hate cooking, and out of all of the things I'm "supposed" to do right now with my "job" as "homemaker" (Sorry for the excessive quotes, but they are all necessary), cooking is the worst. Definitely below cleaning toilets. Tonight we had stew beef, steamed carrots and red potatoes, and homemade cornbread with homemade gravy. The beef was grass-fed organic, the carrots were organic too. And it just felt good. But here's the thing that I'm getting SO TIRED OF lately. (And I should insert here, it's not because of things any of my friends or peers say or do). I'm kind of tired of feeling guilty about what I feed my kids. I do the best I can, and sometimes the best is really not... "good". Sometimes it involves crackers, or macaroni, or fish sticks from a box. But they aren't hungry, and they're growing and they aren't obese, and we have a pretty fun time together most days. So why do I feel guilty when I make them mac and cheese sometimes? Why does it bother me when I heat up some frozen veggies in the microwave? Why should I be wondering about the source of the eggs we eat?
I'm kind of fed up with the way our country makes food. How we actually EAT industry and commercialism every day. I'm kind of tired of hearing about it, too, though. I mean, if you really take all of the news to heart about genetically modified things, whole foods, intollerances, sprays, etc, there's really nothing left to eat. Uness I'm growing my own garden in some hyperbolic chamber that can't be cross-contaminated, with heirloom seeds that I spent $4 a piece on, with compost that I made out of last year's organic crop, in soil that I dug out from WHO KNOWS WHERE... I mean, how does this work? There's really no good way to stop the machine.
I try. I get organic veggies for the ones we eat a lot of. I've been feeding the kids grass-fed beef (thanks to my parents' christmas present to us). We play outside all the time. We don't use cans of cream-o-whatever soups. We bake our own bread. We don't eat out much, and I don't fry foods much. But it just doesn't seem good enough in this pinterest-loving society I live in. It just doesn't cut it.
When did eating veggies and taking a Flinstone become completely passe? Why is it all so complicated? Why can't they just have a PB and J and go out and play?
Don't get me wrong. I would love to feed them (and me) from the all-natural aisles, and give them those healthy super foods like kale and acai and whatever. But I don't have that much extra money sitting around. And I don't like cooking enough. And I don't want to make myself like it and take that much time to make it, and feel drained every day by the time my husband gets home because I was busy cooking some delicious all-natural meal. Because if I did, I would just resent it. I wouldn't be doing it in love. I would be doing it out of guilt and obligation and I would be miserable. And let's face it. Sometimes dealing with the whines and complaining and just getting kids to put their shoes on to get to school on time is about all we moms can handle before we're ready to pull our hair out.
This isn't a statement against people who do the all-natural thing. Some of my best friends are into that. And they do it really well. Really, I'm "into" it too, as in I've heard all the research and I know what's "best". But folks, as with all good things, there is a give and take at play here. I could make those really healthy meals, but I would be giving up energy and time that I put into the kids. I could pay double at the grocery store, but I would be giving up money we spend on extras and fun things like vacation. So, like with most things that we decide in our families, I've weighed my options and I've gone with what I think is best for us. Sure, I want to do better. But right now, in this preschool-crying baby, messes-all-over-the-house phase of life, "BEST" is taking a few extra minutes to play outside or read a book to the kids, and a little less time standing at the stove. Best is having a little bit of a smile left when Husbandy comes home. Best involves love, and giving sacrificially. Best is keeping myself sane by slowing down to play Scrabble on my Kindle for ten minutes. Best is choosing to place my kids' health and lifespan into God's hands after I've done what I can to follow the health rules, and trusting that He'll keep them here on earth as long as He wants, and knowing that, like Job said, "no plan of His can be thwarted". Despite what I do to ruin them.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Triumph
Day of Triumph (Simon the Zealot)
They called me a zealot, and even
though I am
I’ve found a new way to freedom
He called me to follow him and at first
I was afraid to leave my fight.
But there was a kind of heaven in his call, a hope of glory
So I found him, my hands still stained with vigilante
justice, ready to leave it all behind
My brothers riding away into the night
their battles,
their fears,their hateful eyes
the scars put there by an empire
unjust
whose only goal is to oppress.
These are who I left.
and I joined Jesus despite my reservations, I followed with the end in mind,
waiting for revolution, for freedom and peace
He spoke of days to come and the Word of God
with authority like a man who knew
something we’d all missed.
He
preaches about peace and swords and speaks in riddles
Things that can’t be ignored
He challenges those who ask
questions,
He angers the officials,
And he worries those in power.
yet he loves the ones with bruises and scars,
yet he loves the ones with bruises and scars,
The rejected and broken, the
unloved and unclean
And I think he loves even me.
So I walked with him into Passover, with tree branches and
coats laid out before us
With songs being sung by the children
on the corners of the street
With Hosanna ringing in my own ears
The daughters of Zion and the donkey’s colt
And all of the longings, all of my hopes, all of my fears
Cast aside, watching him triumphantly ride
But amidst that triumph, I saw that sadness in his eyes
The sense of hesitation in every stride we took toward Jerusalem
I thought about that quiet way he said the things he thought
and how none of us knew what he meant
and how none of us knew what he meant
Things about suffering, carrying a cross, going ahead and
leaving us behind.
And I remembered the prophesies: setting
his face like flint, crying out to the crowds,
The misunderstood man, acquainted
with grief.
Still I saw a savior, a hero, a
cause not to abandon.
Then He’d used the word crucified.
And a sensation of dread crept into my heart
Because I wondered if maybe I’d been wrong
And I’d followed him, only to watch him die.
and then where would I be? Where would any of us be,
and then where would I be? Where would any of us be,
Except running away again, afraid for our lives?
I had been waiting for him to show his power
to start a fire
I had been waiting for him to show his power
to start a fire
That would ignite the whole nation to stand up and fight
He would redeem us from this murky world of injustice and
lies
And then all of the battles I’d fought, even ones that had
been lost
Would be worth it, would prove to the world my zeal had not
been in vain.
He threw over their tables in the temple
And shouted about his father’s house
Those gentle hands turned violent against those I’d once
hated
We stood with him while he whipped the vendors
And cast their money to the ground
Watching from the distance, the priests and authorities
Watching from the distance, the priests and authorities
The religious ones amidst the tax collectors and sinners
And Jesus, purging the temple of everything unclean
I surveyed the scene: my brothers, the Pharisees, and the vendors on the run
I surveyed the scene: my brothers, the Pharisees, and the vendors on the run
And that look in the Master’s face, his eyes burning, his
face like flint there in Jerusalem
Inside I laughed.
The revolution had begun
Monday, March 25, 2013
Holy Week
When I was a kid, we had a closet where we kept most of our toys. With four kids, you can imagine that it might have gotten a little cluttered over time. We'd just shove whatever toy hadn't been cleaned up in there, close teh door and forget about them. Over time it would begin to overflow, full of notebooks, crayons, things laid sideways and upside down and perched on the edges of the shelves, things on the floor, misplaced train tracks and game pieces that never made it back to their boxes, dolls and clothes, and thousands of other things that maybe didn't even belong in the closet.
Mom was finally declare ENOUGH, and we'd spend a day organizing. I loved days when we did that. I would run all over the house putting things back in their proper places. We'd stack up the game boxes with all of their pieces back in place. We'd put the little people all together, the matchbox cars back in their buckets, the crayons in the desk, the books on the shelves. Everything went back into place, and if it didn't have a place, it went in the giveaway pile. Sometimes we'd unearth something that had been missing for months. Sometimes we'd find nasty things at the bottom of a pile and pitch them. At the end of the process, we'd have a newly organized, tidy toy closet. Something I always found so refreshing and wonderful.
This week is "Holy Week", in which we remember the last week of Jesus' life on earth. I'm not from a litergical church so we don't do lent, but this year I decided that my life has become like a cluttered toy closet, storing up things that don't need to be there, disorganized, full of trash and misplaced articles. So I thought I'd take holy week to reflect and see what things I should take out, put in their places, and sort. I'm fasting from entertainment as a reminder, and as a way to renew my mind. Our culture is full of things that are fine in small doses and lethal in large doses. And I've been discovering how much of my life is sucked away by things like facebook and TV shows and movies and music, and how many of my thoughts are directed toward those things. Again, fine in small doses, but with too many, they clutter out the things I claim are the most important. So this week, I will be writing and reflecting and reading a lot, and hopefully not sitting around zoning out. I want to be intentional about my relationship with God and my family, not just shoving it into the closet with all of the other things in my life and hoping it stays on the shelf where it's supposed to be. I want to find all of the misplaced items that don't belong in my life and get rid of them. I want to pick up the things that have fallen off of the shelves and place them where they belong. ANd I hope at the end of the week I'll have found a better balance. I hope that God refines me and uses the time to teach me things I need to know.
So here goes. Maybe you'd like to join me in focusing more on Christ this week leading up to Easter. If not, maybe you'd be willing to pray for me and my heart, that I can "be transformed by the renewing of [my] mind" and "redeem the time, because the days are evil."
Mom was finally declare ENOUGH, and we'd spend a day organizing. I loved days when we did that. I would run all over the house putting things back in their proper places. We'd stack up the game boxes with all of their pieces back in place. We'd put the little people all together, the matchbox cars back in their buckets, the crayons in the desk, the books on the shelves. Everything went back into place, and if it didn't have a place, it went in the giveaway pile. Sometimes we'd unearth something that had been missing for months. Sometimes we'd find nasty things at the bottom of a pile and pitch them. At the end of the process, we'd have a newly organized, tidy toy closet. Something I always found so refreshing and wonderful.
This week is "Holy Week", in which we remember the last week of Jesus' life on earth. I'm not from a litergical church so we don't do lent, but this year I decided that my life has become like a cluttered toy closet, storing up things that don't need to be there, disorganized, full of trash and misplaced articles. So I thought I'd take holy week to reflect and see what things I should take out, put in their places, and sort. I'm fasting from entertainment as a reminder, and as a way to renew my mind. Our culture is full of things that are fine in small doses and lethal in large doses. And I've been discovering how much of my life is sucked away by things like facebook and TV shows and movies and music, and how many of my thoughts are directed toward those things. Again, fine in small doses, but with too many, they clutter out the things I claim are the most important. So this week, I will be writing and reflecting and reading a lot, and hopefully not sitting around zoning out. I want to be intentional about my relationship with God and my family, not just shoving it into the closet with all of the other things in my life and hoping it stays on the shelf where it's supposed to be. I want to find all of the misplaced items that don't belong in my life and get rid of them. I want to pick up the things that have fallen off of the shelves and place them where they belong. ANd I hope at the end of the week I'll have found a better balance. I hope that God refines me and uses the time to teach me things I need to know.
So here goes. Maybe you'd like to join me in focusing more on Christ this week leading up to Easter. If not, maybe you'd be willing to pray for me and my heart, that I can "be transformed by the renewing of [my] mind" and "redeem the time, because the days are evil."
Monday, March 18, 2013
Christians Don't Talk About Money Enough
When it comes to personal finances, I have opinions that probably make people mad. I'm probably judgmental about it and I probably just need to stop worrying about it. But today while I was thinking about another acquaintance of mine who I think has gotten in over her head with debt, and who spends money on things she doesn't have money for (who doesn't read this blog so don't go imagining this is all about you), I just got annoyed all over again. Why does "society" insist that it's OK to spend money you don't have?
Some days it seems like almost everyone around me doesn't realize that our country is on a sinking financial ship full of inflated money that isn't backed up by anything but empty promises from capitol hill.
And some of the problem has come from the whole LIE that you can spend money you don't have.That you have to keep up with what everyone around you has.
What I'm thinking about today is the taboo involving money. We don't talk about it. You might say, "We're having some struggles". Or "We're pretty situated". But people don't really share numbers. Like how much in debt you are, or what your salary is, or what percent of your income you give away. And maybe that's OK. But maybe it's created a whole culture full of people who are willing to take more risks than they should. Maybe if they knew they were going to have to talk about it, they wouldn't want to spend unwisely.
Or maybe it's the opposite way. Maybe people don't talk about it, because in general, we know that it will expose our foolishness, our selfishness, our lives that are not fully in alignment with God's word.
I know that you don't want to sound like you're bragging, or make anyone feel bad because you make more money than them. And I know it isn't socially acceptable. But Christians aren't really socially acceptable, and I think maybe they should be called out on some of their spending.
I attend a very affluent church. They are very generous too. But my heart kind of breaks when I see couples trying to "keep up" with the the Christian Jonses around them when they honestly can't afford to. I wonder what would be different if we just knew upfront what kind of income a person made. If that guy who lives in the 300,000 home made triple digits it wouldn't seem as foolish for him to spend that much on his home. And if the person who is just barely getting by lives in a mobile home, maybe the church would have more compassion on them rather than making them feel inadequate with all of its collective wealth.
I know it's an ideal, and it probably wouldn't work out that great. I know that the class structure in America and social norms make things like this impossible. I just wish that it weren't such a taboo subject. Everyone hates dealing with it, everyone is burdened by their money and how to spend it wisely, so why not just share the burden with each other? I think we could gain a lot of wisdom from each other and be very encouraged by having some accountability. I'd share with you if you asked.
Some days it seems like almost everyone around me doesn't realize that our country is on a sinking financial ship full of inflated money that isn't backed up by anything but empty promises from capitol hill.
And some of the problem has come from the whole LIE that you can spend money you don't have.That you have to keep up with what everyone around you has.
What I'm thinking about today is the taboo involving money. We don't talk about it. You might say, "We're having some struggles". Or "We're pretty situated". But people don't really share numbers. Like how much in debt you are, or what your salary is, or what percent of your income you give away. And maybe that's OK. But maybe it's created a whole culture full of people who are willing to take more risks than they should. Maybe if they knew they were going to have to talk about it, they wouldn't want to spend unwisely.
Or maybe it's the opposite way. Maybe people don't talk about it, because in general, we know that it will expose our foolishness, our selfishness, our lives that are not fully in alignment with God's word.
I know that you don't want to sound like you're bragging, or make anyone feel bad because you make more money than them. And I know it isn't socially acceptable. But Christians aren't really socially acceptable, and I think maybe they should be called out on some of their spending.
I attend a very affluent church. They are very generous too. But my heart kind of breaks when I see couples trying to "keep up" with the the Christian Jonses around them when they honestly can't afford to. I wonder what would be different if we just knew upfront what kind of income a person made. If that guy who lives in the 300,000 home made triple digits it wouldn't seem as foolish for him to spend that much on his home. And if the person who is just barely getting by lives in a mobile home, maybe the church would have more compassion on them rather than making them feel inadequate with all of its collective wealth.
I know it's an ideal, and it probably wouldn't work out that great. I know that the class structure in America and social norms make things like this impossible. I just wish that it weren't such a taboo subject. Everyone hates dealing with it, everyone is burdened by their money and how to spend it wisely, so why not just share the burden with each other? I think we could gain a lot of wisdom from each other and be very encouraged by having some accountability. I'd share with you if you asked.
Thursday, March 07, 2013
The Best Days
There have been a few days in my life which I would call pretty much perfect. When I look back on them, all I think about was how good of a day it was. A perfect kind of experience that's written in the memory just like that--with every detail painted there in pretty colors and sounds.
There are a lot of them from when I was a kid. Once my brothers and I spent the whole day mucking out the old chicken coop and turning it into our own personal fort. We worked so hard. We found a can of orange spray paint and made our own signs. And we cleaned and prepared. When we finally went up to have supper, we were so hungry. I think it was the best meal my mom ever made. It was a great day, because we'd spent it together, doing something without arguing.
Another day I remember was in the summer, the dog days. During the drought of 87. Mom let us play outside in our cattle tank turned swimming pool all day. We had popcicles and ran around like wild chickens doing things kids do, screaming and playing make believe and making up dumb games to play in the water. When I changed my clothes that afternoon, I imagined that this must have been what camp was like. That night Mom decided it was too hot to sleep in our un-airconditioned bedrooms, so we slept with blankets and pillows in the sectioned off living room with the window unit keeping us cool. The smell of freon and the quiet rumbling of the fan with the crickets and cicadas outside lulled me to sleep, and I still think of that day on the long summer nights I have.
Yesterday I drove by the sign to Indian Creek Park and I remembered this amazing day. I don't know what made it so great. We had a family picnic on Memorial Day, my family and Daniel's family. The end of my junior year of high school, just hanging out at a secluded park with some of my favorite people.
That day Daniel's dad told me that they'd decided that Daniel would leave for college in the fall instead of graduating like normal people. It was because he'd decided he wanted to marry me so he wanted to get a jump start on things.
We hiked through the woods. Daniel's oldest brother was engaged then, and his fiancee was with us, along with the next oldest and the next youngest. We ate food from the fire and spent the day laughing and hanging out. It was a most ordinary day, and yet it was a most perfect day.
Another perfect day was a canoe trip I took with my brother and his friends when I was fifteen. We started the day laughing. We ate together at the K-Mart diner, and then we drove up to the river and canoed all day. When we finished we did a little caving and then we drove home, cleaned up, and went to see a movie together. Everything fell into place. The company was great. The weather was great. It was just a great day. A perfect kind of day.
When I look back, the monumental days, in which big things happened, those huge memories like having a baby or graduating... those days are different than these perfectly perfect days. They're special and they're memorable, but the best of days seem to end up being strangely normal.
On Tuesday we had another snow storm. We got about 8 inches of snow overnight. My husband was out of town for work, so I spent it home with the kids, playing games and reading books. They played outside, and I did some shoveling. We watched a movie together and had supper and when I put them to bed, I realized that it had been another one of those Best Days. The kind that pass in such a normal way, but when you look back, you see how everything just fell into place. And it was beautiful.
I wish I could freeze time sometimes, make these girls stay little and wonderful and innocent forever. But I can't. So, since I can't, I just have to keep these memories, store up the best days. And hopefully they'll have a few that they look back on and think about how amazing they were, just being kids, enjoying the simplicity of everyday perfect.
There are a lot of them from when I was a kid. Once my brothers and I spent the whole day mucking out the old chicken coop and turning it into our own personal fort. We worked so hard. We found a can of orange spray paint and made our own signs. And we cleaned and prepared. When we finally went up to have supper, we were so hungry. I think it was the best meal my mom ever made. It was a great day, because we'd spent it together, doing something without arguing.
Another day I remember was in the summer, the dog days. During the drought of 87. Mom let us play outside in our cattle tank turned swimming pool all day. We had popcicles and ran around like wild chickens doing things kids do, screaming and playing make believe and making up dumb games to play in the water. When I changed my clothes that afternoon, I imagined that this must have been what camp was like. That night Mom decided it was too hot to sleep in our un-airconditioned bedrooms, so we slept with blankets and pillows in the sectioned off living room with the window unit keeping us cool. The smell of freon and the quiet rumbling of the fan with the crickets and cicadas outside lulled me to sleep, and I still think of that day on the long summer nights I have.
Yesterday I drove by the sign to Indian Creek Park and I remembered this amazing day. I don't know what made it so great. We had a family picnic on Memorial Day, my family and Daniel's family. The end of my junior year of high school, just hanging out at a secluded park with some of my favorite people.
That day Daniel's dad told me that they'd decided that Daniel would leave for college in the fall instead of graduating like normal people. It was because he'd decided he wanted to marry me so he wanted to get a jump start on things.
We hiked through the woods. Daniel's oldest brother was engaged then, and his fiancee was with us, along with the next oldest and the next youngest. We ate food from the fire and spent the day laughing and hanging out. It was a most ordinary day, and yet it was a most perfect day.
Another perfect day was a canoe trip I took with my brother and his friends when I was fifteen. We started the day laughing. We ate together at the K-Mart diner, and then we drove up to the river and canoed all day. When we finished we did a little caving and then we drove home, cleaned up, and went to see a movie together. Everything fell into place. The company was great. The weather was great. It was just a great day. A perfect kind of day.
When I look back, the monumental days, in which big things happened, those huge memories like having a baby or graduating... those days are different than these perfectly perfect days. They're special and they're memorable, but the best of days seem to end up being strangely normal.
On Tuesday we had another snow storm. We got about 8 inches of snow overnight. My husband was out of town for work, so I spent it home with the kids, playing games and reading books. They played outside, and I did some shoveling. We watched a movie together and had supper and when I put them to bed, I realized that it had been another one of those Best Days. The kind that pass in such a normal way, but when you look back, you see how everything just fell into place. And it was beautiful.
I wish I could freeze time sometimes, make these girls stay little and wonderful and innocent forever. But I can't. So, since I can't, I just have to keep these memories, store up the best days. And hopefully they'll have a few that they look back on and think about how amazing they were, just being kids, enjoying the simplicity of everyday perfect.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
My Valentine--the one who plays guitar
He led music that night when we first left Mexico, all crowded
together in a hotel lobby, singing and reflecting on the things that
we'd learned that week. I sat beside him and the admiration and wonder
at this amazing person grew. He knew any song they asked him to play.
Occasionally, he'd look over at me, and I'd listen to him singing harmony and get lost imagining that we were leading together.
I had a list at that point. I was fifteen, and I'd planned out my future like this. If I ever dated someone, it would be so that we could get married. Clearly, age fifteen was not the time to make decisions like that. But clearly, one cannot tell one's heart to stop falling for someone. And there I was, stuck between feelings and resolutions, and sort of figuring that neither one of them were going to work out.
I'd had crushes, that was for sure. I had a list of guys I liked, but most of them didn't know me and probably none of them liked me that way. But this one was different. He was better than all of those ones. He'd already shown me amazing gifts--and I had a list then, a list of everything I wanted in a guy. Coincidentally, it was his uncle who had passingly advised me to keep a list of what I wanted so I could have it prioritized when I met someone to know if they were "the one".
I don't even know what all was on that teenage list of mine, but whatever was then, he fit them all. He was "the One". And that night, watching him play guitar, took the cake. He was so perfect, and he was my friend already, and I completely loved him by then, even though we'd only known each other for the summer.
When
we were at the youth group reunion in December, we had a little
flashback music session, with an overhead projector and Pastor Mark
plunking away on guitar, and then it built up through the years. So
Daniel and his brother played guitar and his cousin sang with Angie, the
piano/worship leader from that time. (He's in the red shirt in the
pictures). And while I watched him up there, sounding amazing on guitar
having not practiced a lick, smiling, that excitement and happiness
falling out of him all over the stage and audience, I remembered all of
those first times we had together in youth group. Singing in the
musical, riding the bus, working together. And mostly, those nights in
Mexico. Me, fifteen years old and falling in love with the skinny
energetic guitar player.
Here I am today, fifteen years later, still admiring him. Still in love--more in love than I ever knew possible. Still wondering why someone so amazing would ever pick me.
Occasionally, he'd look over at me, and I'd listen to him singing harmony and get lost imagining that we were leading together.
I had a list at that point. I was fifteen, and I'd planned out my future like this. If I ever dated someone, it would be so that we could get married. Clearly, age fifteen was not the time to make decisions like that. But clearly, one cannot tell one's heart to stop falling for someone. And there I was, stuck between feelings and resolutions, and sort of figuring that neither one of them were going to work out.
I'd had crushes, that was for sure. I had a list of guys I liked, but most of them didn't know me and probably none of them liked me that way. But this one was different. He was better than all of those ones. He'd already shown me amazing gifts--and I had a list then, a list of everything I wanted in a guy. Coincidentally, it was his uncle who had passingly advised me to keep a list of what I wanted so I could have it prioritized when I met someone to know if they were "the one".
I don't even know what all was on that teenage list of mine, but whatever was then, he fit them all. He was "the One". And that night, watching him play guitar, took the cake. He was so perfect, and he was my friend already, and I completely loved him by then, even though we'd only known each other for the summer.
Here I am today, fifteen years later, still admiring him. Still in love--more in love than I ever knew possible. Still wondering why someone so amazing would ever pick me.
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Everyone Else
"Everyone else's babies don't fuss like this."
"Everyone else's baby wears new trendy clothes and we're stuck with these ones that are 6 years old and outdated."
"Everyone else's husband gets home in time for supper."
"Everyone else fit right back into their pre-pregnancy pants and I'm stuck in ones three sizes bigger!"
These are thoughts that keep creeping in, and I've been realizing how foolish they are. It's sort of the trouble with having a billion friends who all had babies at the same time as me. I don't usually compare so much. I try not to think about it. And I don't usually get jealous. But because I've been repeating these things to myself, I'm seeing all kinds of ugly results. The truth is, I don't even know everyone else. And even if I did, "Everyone" doesn't always anything. I'm not the only one in any single one of my problems. And even if I were, they would have problems of their own to deal with.
So. No more "everyone else" thoughts. Except for "Everyone else wishes their baby were this cute." :)
"Everyone else's baby wears new trendy clothes and we're stuck with these ones that are 6 years old and outdated."
"Everyone else's husband gets home in time for supper."
"Everyone else fit right back into their pre-pregnancy pants and I'm stuck in ones three sizes bigger!"
These are thoughts that keep creeping in, and I've been realizing how foolish they are. It's sort of the trouble with having a billion friends who all had babies at the same time as me. I don't usually compare so much. I try not to think about it. And I don't usually get jealous. But because I've been repeating these things to myself, I'm seeing all kinds of ugly results. The truth is, I don't even know everyone else. And even if I did, "Everyone" doesn't always anything. I'm not the only one in any single one of my problems. And even if I were, they would have problems of their own to deal with.
So. No more "everyone else" thoughts. Except for "Everyone else wishes their baby were this cute." :)
Friday, February 01, 2013
The Frozen Midwest
Not too long ago, it was pretty cold, like -12, and we were talking
about winter weather. My dad said, "It hasn't even gotten cold yet." I
said, "It's something like -12 out there." And he said, "That isn't that
cold." Because he's from the most northern part of the continental US,
where wind and snow and -30 are pretty darn normal. It made me laugh.
Most people complain about this weather, when it's negative something with a windchill of minus thirty or more. Most people feel the need to announce it on facebook, as though most of their friends aren't experiencing the same thing. But like it. I like putting on four layers and stepping out into the frozen night, completely immune to the wind for a few minutes, still insulated enough to just look around and see that the earth and its movements have all stopped. I like that people feel like slowing down, and staying in a little more. I like the warm fires and sweaters and scarves. And the way the sun fills up the whole world around you because of the snow's reflections, how cheery it looks even though it's bitterly cold. I just like it.
Most people complain about this weather, when it's negative something with a windchill of minus thirty or more. Most people feel the need to announce it on facebook, as though most of their friends aren't experiencing the same thing. But like it. I like putting on four layers and stepping out into the frozen night, completely immune to the wind for a few minutes, still insulated enough to just look around and see that the earth and its movements have all stopped. I like that people feel like slowing down, and staying in a little more. I like the warm fires and sweaters and scarves. And the way the sun fills up the whole world around you because of the snow's reflections, how cheery it looks even though it's bitterly cold. I just like it.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Pastor Mark
As mentioned in the previous post, we just finished celebrating our high school youth pastor, Mark, for 20 years at church. I know that so many people who went through youth group have the same things to say, or even more than I do, about how Pastor Mark changed their lives. But while we remembered all of our glory days in high school youth group, I think everyone was giving due credit to Mark, who made a place for us to become who we were, to grow spiritually, and who invested so much into our lives. You have to know the guy to really know how great he is, how he can look at situations differently than anyone else, how he teaches by example and by using your own life, how he speaks truth without judgment.
My husband and I both hold great respect for Pastor Mark, who, in different ways, influenced us and changed our lives. He was part of a healing process for me, and for my husband, he was a friend through a really dark time.
I could never share every memory I have that Mark was responsible for, directly or indirectly. But because I've been thinking about it this weekend, I will share some of my favorites. In no particular order.
1) Driving home from Chicago on the bus, in a construction zone. Mark, deciding to see how close he could get before hitting the cones. (Many of them did not survive).
2) Mexico. 1998. Sand, sun, building houses. I was 16, and I did not sleep more than 3 hours a night the whole week. On the way home Mark told me he would never let me get that little sleep ever again. But he was the only person I ever saw fall asleep while STANDING.
3) Worship time. Our youth group was really into music. By my senior year, we had formed bands that would lead the music time every week. That year, before school started, Mark invited me to discuss how I thought the worship time should look. I remember, we sat in his office eating salsa out of cups (he didn't have any chips), and he listened to me. And I think that was the first time I really felt like an adult valued my opinion. Also, the salsa was really tasty.
4) When I was still really new to the church, they were doing a banquet for the graduating seniors, and I didn't really feel like I was part of the group so I planned to just sit out in my brother's car the whole time. Mark noticed, and sent my brother out to get me to come in. He also invited me to go on their work trip that was coming up. I didn't go, but it just meant a lot to me that he noticed. There were at least fifty other kids in the group, and he had all kinds of other responsibilities, but he noticed me when I was in the loneliest, darkest time of my life. And it made me know, in some small way, that God had not forgotten about me.
5) We were at a youth conference and by the middle of the week, I'd hit my limit of social interaction. I was hauling around a big burden of unforgiveness and confusion from the church my family had left almost two years earlier, and I just wanted to spend the large group session crying. Actually, I did. I went out and sat on the sidewalk alone and cried. When I composed myself, I went back in but I couldn't get to my seat so I stood in the aisle by Mark. He turned to me while everyone else was busy singing, and asked if I wanted to talk. We went into a stair well/landing thing away from the crowd and I cried more and he hugged me and then I told him about how badly I wanted to forgive and how I didn't know how I could. Then we sat on the stairs and he told me his own forgiveness story from his life. And somewhere in the whole exchange, after he prayed for me and gave his advice, something inside of me healed a little. The conference went on and people had their own personal experiences with God, but for me, that day in the stair well was life-changing because it was a huge bend in the road to forgiveness. I don't even know what Mark said exactly. I just remember that he understood and he listened, and no one else had been able to really do that for that particular subject.
6) My wedding. When Daniel and I got engaged, there was no question who we wanted to perform the cerimony for us. We'd met because of Mark (another long story). We'd basically fallen in love in youth group. ANd Mark meant so much to both of us at that time. We were the first couple he married, which I think was pretty cool (he's done a ton of weddings since then). He and his wife mentored us through our premarital counseling, and then he did the most awesome thing a pastor could ever do at a wedding. In his charge to the couple, he made each point an acrostic that spelled Batman. Because he's cool like that.
Annd there are probably a thousand more stories I could tell, but I guess most of them just aren't as interesting to everyone else as they are to me. So I'l leave it at that. And I'll say the cliche, how privilidged I am to know Mark.
This song was in my head this weekend as we reflected on all that he's done in 20 years. It's Cheer Up Church by Charlie Peacock, and some of the words don't really apply (especially the past tense part) but here are the ones that do:
His was a voice, fueld by truth
spoke to us/ of God's love
In a way/ we could understand
and take hold of.
His was a life/ defined by grace
for a time/and for a reason
so we bow/and give thanks to God
for the life/of our brother
My husband and I both hold great respect for Pastor Mark, who, in different ways, influenced us and changed our lives. He was part of a healing process for me, and for my husband, he was a friend through a really dark time.
I could never share every memory I have that Mark was responsible for, directly or indirectly. But because I've been thinking about it this weekend, I will share some of my favorites. In no particular order.
1) Driving home from Chicago on the bus, in a construction zone. Mark, deciding to see how close he could get before hitting the cones. (Many of them did not survive).
2) Mexico. 1998. Sand, sun, building houses. I was 16, and I did not sleep more than 3 hours a night the whole week. On the way home Mark told me he would never let me get that little sleep ever again. But he was the only person I ever saw fall asleep while STANDING.
3) Worship time. Our youth group was really into music. By my senior year, we had formed bands that would lead the music time every week. That year, before school started, Mark invited me to discuss how I thought the worship time should look. I remember, we sat in his office eating salsa out of cups (he didn't have any chips), and he listened to me. And I think that was the first time I really felt like an adult valued my opinion. Also, the salsa was really tasty.
4) When I was still really new to the church, they were doing a banquet for the graduating seniors, and I didn't really feel like I was part of the group so I planned to just sit out in my brother's car the whole time. Mark noticed, and sent my brother out to get me to come in. He also invited me to go on their work trip that was coming up. I didn't go, but it just meant a lot to me that he noticed. There were at least fifty other kids in the group, and he had all kinds of other responsibilities, but he noticed me when I was in the loneliest, darkest time of my life. And it made me know, in some small way, that God had not forgotten about me.
5) We were at a youth conference and by the middle of the week, I'd hit my limit of social interaction. I was hauling around a big burden of unforgiveness and confusion from the church my family had left almost two years earlier, and I just wanted to spend the large group session crying. Actually, I did. I went out and sat on the sidewalk alone and cried. When I composed myself, I went back in but I couldn't get to my seat so I stood in the aisle by Mark. He turned to me while everyone else was busy singing, and asked if I wanted to talk. We went into a stair well/landing thing away from the crowd and I cried more and he hugged me and then I told him about how badly I wanted to forgive and how I didn't know how I could. Then we sat on the stairs and he told me his own forgiveness story from his life. And somewhere in the whole exchange, after he prayed for me and gave his advice, something inside of me healed a little. The conference went on and people had their own personal experiences with God, but for me, that day in the stair well was life-changing because it was a huge bend in the road to forgiveness. I don't even know what Mark said exactly. I just remember that he understood and he listened, and no one else had been able to really do that for that particular subject.
6) My wedding. When Daniel and I got engaged, there was no question who we wanted to perform the cerimony for us. We'd met because of Mark (another long story). We'd basically fallen in love in youth group. ANd Mark meant so much to both of us at that time. We were the first couple he married, which I think was pretty cool (he's done a ton of weddings since then). He and his wife mentored us through our premarital counseling, and then he did the most awesome thing a pastor could ever do at a wedding. In his charge to the couple, he made each point an acrostic that spelled Batman. Because he's cool like that.
Annd there are probably a thousand more stories I could tell, but I guess most of them just aren't as interesting to everyone else as they are to me. So I'l leave it at that. And I'll say the cliche, how privilidged I am to know Mark.
This song was in my head this weekend as we reflected on all that he's done in 20 years. It's Cheer Up Church by Charlie Peacock, and some of the words don't really apply (especially the past tense part) but here are the ones that do:
His was a voice, fueld by truth
spoke to us/ of God's love
In a way/ we could understand
and take hold of.
His was a life/ defined by grace
for a time/and for a reason
so we bow/and give thanks to God
for the life/of our brother
Reunion
This last weekend, we celebrated our high school youth pastor's 20th year at the church with a reunion and reminise time for all of the people who had passed through youth group with Pastor Mark. As I wandered around and looked at the pictures of events, all of my peers hanging out together, remembering the hours I spent at church and on trips and retreats, I just felt... happy. They were great memories.
I think with the past, you pick out the best parts and they become sharper in your mind and the bad parts become duller so that you're left with these shining gems that become your memories. Unless you're bitter, and then it probably works the other way. The youth group compartment of my teen memories is full of really wonderful times.
There were tables labeled with each year Mark had been a pastor, filled with pictures and mementos from that year in youth group. I wandered around and purused, remembering. Talent shows, work trips, service activities, friendships, music, joy. And so many moments not caught on film that shaped who I was. SOme of them were hilarious, some tender, some were just part of every day life. Some of them happened when they were supposed to, at a key moment, like a speaker at a retreat or a worship song. Some of them were on the outside, and everyone saw. And some of them were quiet moments that fashioned my heart and drew me closer to God. Conversations with one of the leaders, a lesson about some spiritual principle, or just watching the authentic way people lived their lives in front of me.
So many memories on those tables, and in my own photo albums. So many treasured in my mind, chapters written in those high school years that are part of who I am.
I loved youth group, having spent my freshman year in a not-so-healthy group of people who cared more about their shoes than about the Bible, it was so refreshing to become part of a group who genuinely cared about each other and about their relationships with God. I look back at those times, those three and a half years in youth group with Pastor Mark and the other friends I had (including my husband), and cherish them. I am so thankful God took me to that place. And I'll be thinking about that reunion for a long time, because there was something really special about it.
I think with the past, you pick out the best parts and they become sharper in your mind and the bad parts become duller so that you're left with these shining gems that become your memories. Unless you're bitter, and then it probably works the other way. The youth group compartment of my teen memories is full of really wonderful times.
There were tables labeled with each year Mark had been a pastor, filled with pictures and mementos from that year in youth group. I wandered around and purused, remembering. Talent shows, work trips, service activities, friendships, music, joy. And so many moments not caught on film that shaped who I was. SOme of them were hilarious, some tender, some were just part of every day life. Some of them happened when they were supposed to, at a key moment, like a speaker at a retreat or a worship song. Some of them were on the outside, and everyone saw. And some of them were quiet moments that fashioned my heart and drew me closer to God. Conversations with one of the leaders, a lesson about some spiritual principle, or just watching the authentic way people lived their lives in front of me.
So many memories on those tables, and in my own photo albums. So many treasured in my mind, chapters written in those high school years that are part of who I am.
I loved youth group, having spent my freshman year in a not-so-healthy group of people who cared more about their shoes than about the Bible, it was so refreshing to become part of a group who genuinely cared about each other and about their relationships with God. I look back at those times, those three and a half years in youth group with Pastor Mark and the other friends I had (including my husband), and cherish them. I am so thankful God took me to that place. And I'll be thinking about that reunion for a long time, because there was something really special about it.
Friday, December 21, 2012
New Baby!
I don't know if there are readers out there who I don't know in real life, so I figured I should update about the baby. She's one week and one day old today.
The surgery went really smoothly, and I felt great through the whole thing. (Last time I had some pain and then I got a spinal headache which really sucked). The only hiccup was when they did the spinal block, he couldn't get the needle in between the vertabrea because I have a curve, but they fixed that easily by having me sit on a towel to straighten it out.
I cried when the baby came out and I heard her little scream coming from the corner. She was so cute and tiny and I was so relieved that everything had gone smoothly.
She was 7 pounds and 2 ounces and 20 inches long. Born at 7:57 AM
We hadn't nailed down a name yet, so when we got back to the hospital room, we kept trying to figure one out that would work well. We had a lot of different choices we'd been considering, but none of them ended up being the name. THe ones we picked became options just that morning while we'd been in surgery prep.
She's Lois Svetlana
We always liked Lois but we didn't think it worked well with our last name, but then we realized that she's not always going to have this as her last name (probably) and I never cared that much anyway. It means "agreeable" or "desireable" which I thought was fitting for a baby I tried to have for two years. So far, she has been pretty agreeable, too!
Svetlana is a RUssian name that means light. We want her to be a light that draws people to Christ, and brings brightness into the dark world.
And that's how we picked the name. And that's the baby.
The surgery went really smoothly, and I felt great through the whole thing. (Last time I had some pain and then I got a spinal headache which really sucked). The only hiccup was when they did the spinal block, he couldn't get the needle in between the vertabrea because I have a curve, but they fixed that easily by having me sit on a towel to straighten it out.
I cried when the baby came out and I heard her little scream coming from the corner. She was so cute and tiny and I was so relieved that everything had gone smoothly.
She was 7 pounds and 2 ounces and 20 inches long. Born at 7:57 AM
We hadn't nailed down a name yet, so when we got back to the hospital room, we kept trying to figure one out that would work well. We had a lot of different choices we'd been considering, but none of them ended up being the name. THe ones we picked became options just that morning while we'd been in surgery prep.
She's Lois Svetlana
We always liked Lois but we didn't think it worked well with our last name, but then we realized that she's not always going to have this as her last name (probably) and I never cared that much anyway. It means "agreeable" or "desireable" which I thought was fitting for a baby I tried to have for two years. So far, she has been pretty agreeable, too!
Svetlana is a RUssian name that means light. We want her to be a light that draws people to Christ, and brings brightness into the dark world.
And that's how we picked the name. And that's the baby.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
December 13th
There are now going to be 3 people in our extended family with December 13th birthdays. My baby being one of them! That's the one nice thing about having to have c-sections. You can know ahead of time. (Although I still secretly hope I'll go into labor on my own. It could happen).
There are still so many things to organize and a lot of things I want to do. Christmas shopping hasn't happened whatsoever (and realistically won't). I need to keep on top of normal house work and school and every day life too. But I don't feel panicked or overwhelmed. At least not yet.
Just sitting around waiting for baby to pop out. (That's what the kids say happens anyway. They have no idea.)
Today I had my third to last OB appointment.
The count down has been going for a week now. Mostly because my hips hurt and I'm tired of having to pee all the time. And I sort of feel like I should be running around and finishing things and panicking. But it's reall all good. Because babies don't need new curtains and clean walls and cupboards or a well-organized routine. They just need Mommies and Daddies and love. And i think I'll be able to pull that off.
There are still so many things to organize and a lot of things I want to do. Christmas shopping hasn't happened whatsoever (and realistically won't). I need to keep on top of normal house work and school and every day life too. But I don't feel panicked or overwhelmed. At least not yet.
Just sitting around waiting for baby to pop out. (That's what the kids say happens anyway. They have no idea.)
Today I had my third to last OB appointment.
The count down has been going for a week now. Mostly because my hips hurt and I'm tired of having to pee all the time. And I sort of feel like I should be running around and finishing things and panicking. But it's reall all good. Because babies don't need new curtains and clean walls and cupboards or a well-organized routine. They just need Mommies and Daddies and love. And i think I'll be able to pull that off.
Friday, November 23, 2012
My way or the highway--I mean loony bin.
It was supposed to be a great week. I was going to go to Bible study with the kids, then meet a friend to play Scrabble. I was going to get some maternity clothes to fit me for the last three weeks.
Didn't happen.
We were supposed to spend the holiday with my family, and then go out to the farm with the in-laws for the evening and relax and sing and play board games, and do all of the things we usually do. I was going to get in some target practice. I had it all scheduled out in my mind. My cousin and my sister were visiting, and it was all going to play together beautifully. WE were going to take a family picture while we were all together too.
And I was so excited for a friend of mine to join us for THanksgiving at the farm, singing songs and playing games. My kids were going to play with their cousins and the visitors and they'd all get along. My family was going to join us out at the in-laws and hang around for the whole evening and be there with us.
And it turned out OK. There was food. There were songs. (No board games though). The kids sort of played together and I think my friend had a good time even though things were weird. My family left really early. BUt they were there for some of it. I got to visit with a few people. But it was just off. Everything was off. I felt like my head was cut off, to use a familiar phrase involving a chicken...
I was going to go shopping early this morning and find the perfect bedding for my bedroom, which has long been waiting for "grown-up" bedspreads and curtains. I was going to enjoy some time shopping with other ladies in the family and find some Christmas presents.
Due to no one's fault, I didn't find a bedspread I liked, and I ended up not buying anything at all, and aside from a nice lunch together with my cousin and Mother in law, I wouldn't have really missed anything if I hadn't gone in to town to shop today at all.
Wednesday morning Bible study didn't happen because we were at the doctor's office (Third time in two weeks and today made a forth). I got strep last week. Then Wednesday Jayna woke up with a fever and vomiting. We got our antibiotics and we went home and she has been slowly recovering. But not enough that we could really relax on Thanksgiving. I slept on the couch in case she threw up that night before. I was exhausted the next day. The holiday that I love. The day I'd been looking forward to all month. And I had no control over it.
I thought she'd get better, but she spent the evening here at the house with various adults while i tried to enjoy myself at the stranger-than-usual family Thanksgiving.
Then, we made it home late last night, right in time for the eldest to start complaining about an ear ache. And crying. And screaming. And if it weren't for leftover ear drops from her last infection, we would have been at the ER last night. Thankfully we made it through to today.
Anyway, all of that long-windedness is just to say, nothing's gone how I wanted/planned this whole week. And it has me really stressed out. It shouldn't because none of it has been really drastic or catastrophic. But I think that the last month I've been noticing how much I want to control things. I want it my way.
I didn't used to be like that, but I think it's a new way of handling stress. And it's driving me nuts. It's making me unhappy. And I'm sure no one else really likes it either.
I just want to live in peace and be content and not worry about where the towels go or how the laundry is done. But it isn't happening. And sometimes, the more I try to fix it, the worse it gets.
How can I make things go "my way" before I throw someone out the window?
I don't know. I guess it has to do with letting to more, trusting God more, caring about people more. Worrying about meeting needs rather than deadlines and reaching out to others rather than reaching for unrealistic standards. This month, with a new house, has unveiled, somewhere in my heart, a part of me I didn't realize was so consuming. Maybe it's just been growing this time, or maybe it wasn't there before. Or maybe it's been here all along--the desire to control. To have things the way I want them. And it's starting to get ugly, this battle I'm fighting. So I'm going to say it now, hoping it will happen. I'll lay it down and let God be the ruler and the peacemaker and the standard for everything I desire. Because it's more important that my family feels loved than that I get all of the towels folded.
Didn't happen.
We were supposed to spend the holiday with my family, and then go out to the farm with the in-laws for the evening and relax and sing and play board games, and do all of the things we usually do. I was going to get in some target practice. I had it all scheduled out in my mind. My cousin and my sister were visiting, and it was all going to play together beautifully. WE were going to take a family picture while we were all together too.
And I was so excited for a friend of mine to join us for THanksgiving at the farm, singing songs and playing games. My kids were going to play with their cousins and the visitors and they'd all get along. My family was going to join us out at the in-laws and hang around for the whole evening and be there with us.
And it turned out OK. There was food. There were songs. (No board games though). The kids sort of played together and I think my friend had a good time even though things were weird. My family left really early. BUt they were there for some of it. I got to visit with a few people. But it was just off. Everything was off. I felt like my head was cut off, to use a familiar phrase involving a chicken...
I was going to go shopping early this morning and find the perfect bedding for my bedroom, which has long been waiting for "grown-up" bedspreads and curtains. I was going to enjoy some time shopping with other ladies in the family and find some Christmas presents.
Due to no one's fault, I didn't find a bedspread I liked, and I ended up not buying anything at all, and aside from a nice lunch together with my cousin and Mother in law, I wouldn't have really missed anything if I hadn't gone in to town to shop today at all.
Wednesday morning Bible study didn't happen because we were at the doctor's office (Third time in two weeks and today made a forth). I got strep last week. Then Wednesday Jayna woke up with a fever and vomiting. We got our antibiotics and we went home and she has been slowly recovering. But not enough that we could really relax on Thanksgiving. I slept on the couch in case she threw up that night before. I was exhausted the next day. The holiday that I love. The day I'd been looking forward to all month. And I had no control over it.
I thought she'd get better, but she spent the evening here at the house with various adults while i tried to enjoy myself at the stranger-than-usual family Thanksgiving.
Then, we made it home late last night, right in time for the eldest to start complaining about an ear ache. And crying. And screaming. And if it weren't for leftover ear drops from her last infection, we would have been at the ER last night. Thankfully we made it through to today.
Anyway, all of that long-windedness is just to say, nothing's gone how I wanted/planned this whole week. And it has me really stressed out. It shouldn't because none of it has been really drastic or catastrophic. But I think that the last month I've been noticing how much I want to control things. I want it my way.
I didn't used to be like that, but I think it's a new way of handling stress. And it's driving me nuts. It's making me unhappy. And I'm sure no one else really likes it either.
I just want to live in peace and be content and not worry about where the towels go or how the laundry is done. But it isn't happening. And sometimes, the more I try to fix it, the worse it gets.
How can I make things go "my way" before I throw someone out the window?
I don't know. I guess it has to do with letting to more, trusting God more, caring about people more. Worrying about meeting needs rather than deadlines and reaching out to others rather than reaching for unrealistic standards. This month, with a new house, has unveiled, somewhere in my heart, a part of me I didn't realize was so consuming. Maybe it's just been growing this time, or maybe it wasn't there before. Or maybe it's been here all along--the desire to control. To have things the way I want them. And it's starting to get ugly, this battle I'm fighting. So I'm going to say it now, hoping it will happen. I'll lay it down and let God be the ruler and the peacemaker and the standard for everything I desire. Because it's more important that my family feels loved than that I get all of the towels folded.
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