Thursday, December 30, 2010

Spiral of Apathy

This afternoon, my kids were sleeping and the only sound in the house was the dryer dragging zippers and snaps along its belly walls. I poured the last of my egg nog into a small cup and sat down with my Bible and some scratch paper.

I began praying through the things on my mind: friends having trouble, people in need of healing, etc. My husband passed through, so I prayed for him too. But it only served to remind me of how terrible our date night went last night. It wasn't "terrible" like an exciting movie. It was just full of apathy and disagreement. Not arguing even. Just irritating, stubborn, uncompromising back and forth.

"What do you want to do now?"

"Let's go to the mall and just walk around."

"I don't feel like walking. I'm too full from dinner."

"Well we could just go to the book store and chill."

"I don't really want to go to the mall at all."

"Okay, let's go grab a game and sit at Caribou and play."

"I'm too full to get anything from Caribou. We could go hang out at the office and watch Netflix."

On and on we went, wasting fuel and quickly losing any semblance of the needed "spark" that date nights can throw into the marital relationship.

So in addition to praying for my husband, I asked God to bless our marriage with a fullness. To take away my expectations that are so often the cause of our disputes. To let me truly be a help mate and be excited about it.

I started also to pray for the marriages of people around me. Couple after couple after couple I listed off to God. All of us living "okay" marriages. And I started to wonder what the deal was with that?

When we're first dating, we're excited to see each other-- to spend time together. It doesn't matter what our friends think or if we actually have the time or money to do it, we WILL be with that amazing person. And when we're not with them, we think and talk about them constantly.

If a couple dates long enough before exchanging rings, the relationship begins to have obligation tossed into it. The newness wears off, and you say things to "the guys" like "I'll be late tonight. My girl wants to spend some time with me." And while you may not mind it terribly at that point, there comes a time when the wife's desire to invade "Man Night" is an irritating nuisance.

At this point in my life, my husband and I have 2 nights a week that aren't scheduled with things. They are precious nights that only warrant a few options: 1) have people over/entertain guests, 2) one person can go out while the other stays home with kids, 3) we can both go out on a date, or 4) we can stay home and spend time with the kids together.

Who wants 4 options? When I stood at the alter and said "I do," I don't remember a part in there that said "I promise to make our lives too busy to enjoy each other."

Why do we live like this? When couples date, they mainly have evenings free to be together, right? And aren't some of those nights busy too? What about money? Were there not consequences to our foolish spending on one another back then? Why are we so afraid to spend it on each other now?

I really really want to know these things. If I'm writing a book about marriage, I feel like I need answers to basic things like this. So now it's your turn. What are you "two cents?"

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Joseph's Sacrifice

I'm on the worship team at church-- meaning I play the piano in the church band. Sunday morning, I wanted to review the music so I had an idea of what we would be playing. We had plans to do a new song that morning. So I grabbed my chord sheet, set up a YouTube video of the song, and sat down with my bowl of cereal and my 4-year-old daughter.

The song is called "Joseph's Lullaby," so it goes without saying that it's from the perspective of Jesus' daddy. It has lyrics like:

"Go to sleep my Son
Go and chase Your dreams
This world can wait for one more moment
Go and sleep in peace"

and

"Lord, I ask that He for just this moment
Simply be my child"

and the killer line

"Soon enough You'll save the day
But for now, dear Child of mine
Oh my Jesus, Sleep tight."

My brain inserted my son's name into the "Jesus" slot: "Oh my Jeremiah, sleep tight." I thought about the tremendous sacrifice Joseph had to make. It's something I haven't considered in a long time. When my son was a newborn, I thought (and cried) often about God separating Himself from the eternal bond with His Son. I wouldn't give my son to save anyone-- let alone myriads of people who would only reject him and spit in his sweet face. I do not love anyone enough to give that gift.

Sunday, I thought about Joseph and how he KNEW his precious boy was not his. That He would grow up and "save the world." He would only make it to about the age my husband is now.

Oh, to know with certainty that my child would die. Too many parents experience this news from somber doctors. I am so very blessed to be able to hold my healthy son, oblivious to what his future holds. Not that he's mine anyway. But I like to feel like he is :)

These thoughts filled my mind Sunday morning, and I began to cry. My very concerned daughter worked her way around the table to comfort me, all the while hosting saucer-sized eyes, and asking what was wrong.

She knows who Jesus and God are, but it's all vague. I tried explaining that they're the same, but that Jesus was sent here as a baby. He had to grow up and die. His mommy knew He would need to do this, and I was thinking about how sad that was, even though it was GREAT news for us. It's like explaining physics to a fly. She assured me that she wouldn't die.

It's such an amazing story, riddled with complexities and mystery. I am SO grateful that He came for me. That He was willing to put Mary and Joseph through what He did so that I could know Him. And if it's not enough just to know Him, He's given me freedom and a full life.

I cannot begin to comprehend the amount of work, planning, and sacrifice that went into giving me-- ME-- the ability to have the relationship I do with Him. Wow, You blow me away. Thanks :)

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Response

By now most of you know that I'm working through the process of writing a book. It covers infidelity in women: how to avoid it, what to do if you find yourself caught up, etc. I believe there is a void in the market of literary tools in this realm.

About 6 months ago, I put out a call for women to share their stories with me so I could use their experiences to help others. Unfortunately (and surprisingly) I have gotten very little response from people. I have a few theories about that, and I'm not worried. But as long as you're reading this. . . I NEED YOUR STORIES!!! :) I know they're out there. I've talked to enough of you to know that much. But I want them in your words.

Men too. I could really use your insight if you have experienced your wife's infidelity. How did you sort through it? What tips would you give other men or their wives on how to address the issue?

A precious friend of mine sent me her story this past week. It grieved me to hear all the things she has struggled with. I found myself pulling my way through the depth of pain in her past.

I was going to journal out my thoughts so they would be easy to add to the book's content with fresh feelings, but I thought I would "journal" them here in public. Why not share something that could possibly help someone now? And maybe my thoughts won't help anyone now, but it's worth putting it out there.

First, I want to disarm the theory that growing up with strong, male influences will stop a woman from seeking out the affections of another man. This particular friend, for instance has always had a solid, loving relationship with her father. Having only brothers elevated her almost to a position of royalty in her family. All of those men treated her right.

But once she got a glimpse of the power behind sex, she found it impossible to stop. Every relationship was empty and died.

It's that power that drives us. It's control, power, and security even. We like to know we're worth peoples' time and affection. That we could have someone "on the back burner" just in case.

It almost doesn't seem to matter that we're hurting the person we so deeply love. Or that we vowed to stand by his side through everything. The draw of "happiness" is a powerful illusion, masked in the term "love" in its most degradative state. We twist words and excuse our thoughts until we're wrapped so tightly in our own world that we can no longer see any relationship with clarity.

If we could just stay in the arms of our Creator Father and let all those insecurities melt into His infinite love and forgiveness. If we knew we were beautiful, cherished, important-- really knew. Like we know the sun will rise and set, we know the cold of snow and the wet of rain, we know the sound of a broken glass. If we understood our real value, would we still fall? Would we be lured away by empty promises of fulfillment?

This friend ran into an interesting truth while she was readying her story for me, and that is this. Her husband has forgiven her totally. It's a done deal. A closed case. It's not simply swept under the rug, growing and festering with the fertilizer of bitterness. He has forgiven her. It's the closest thing to Christ's forgiveness that she has experienced on earth.

I have another friend who has experienced the opposite. Despite her pleas for forgiveness and her squeaky clean record after her confession to her husband, he could not come to terms with his own fears and mistrust. He installed video cameras to spy on her and followed her to work. He began cheating on her and eventually came home drunk and pulled a gun on her. Needless to say, his lack of forgiveness drove them apart and eventually ended the marriage despite her attempts to secure it.

We have no control over whether someone accepts our apology. The hope is always that we'll get to experience an unimaginable sort of undeserved forgiveness like my first friend. The fear is ending up in a marriage where your efforts of giving and trying are returned with contempt and mistrust.

It may not be marital unfaithfulness you need to seek forgiveness for. Maybe you need to confront someone you've gossiped about. Maybe it's someone you've held a grudge against for years and have developed a tough shell of bitterness toward. Did you lie to someone? Did you say hurtful things in your anger? Whatever it is, ask forgiveness.

Forgiveness is a gift you leave at someone's proverbial doorstep. The apology releases you into their hands. It is up to the other person to accept their gift and free themselves from the burden of unforgiveness. Once the confession and apology have been made, your part is done. It is a difficult point to come to. I understand that. But shame and guilt from unconfessed wrongdoing cannot begin to drain from a heavy heart until light is shed onto the deed.

A wise Man once said "The truth will set you free." Seek it out and free your heart from anything you may be hiding. It may feel safer to hold to it, but the redeeming release of past faults is worth taking a risk to experience.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

A comforting, uniting thought for the snowy day

Wisconsin is giving us a blizzard today. I cannot see even a silhouetted trace of the bluff that's across my street. Nor can I see the street. I can make out dirty paths where my memory says the blacktop lays, but that is it. I love the mass chaos of it, and I always like to see God's power leave me powerless.

I've been thinking all day about an excerpt from a book titled "The Shack" by William P. Young. I can't get these thoughts out of my head, and I really like them. So I'm just going to quote the book instead of trying to blog as if they're my own ideas.

"There is something joyful about storms that interrupt routine. Snow or freezing rain suddenly releases you from expectations, performance demands, and the tyranny of appointments and schedules. And unlike illness, it is largely a corporate rather than individual experience. One can almost hear a unified sigh rise from the nearby city and surrounding countryside where Nature has intervened to give respite to the weary humans slogging it out within her purview. All those affected this way are united by a mutual excuse, and the heart is suddenly and unexpectedly a little giddy. There will be no apologies needed for not showing up to some commitment or other. Everyone understand and shares in this singular justification, and the sudden alleviation of the pressure to produce makes the heart merry.

Of course, it is also true that storms interrupt business and, while a few companies make a bit extra, some companies lose money--meaning there are those who find no joy when everything shuts down temporarily. But they can't blame anyone for their loss of production, or for not being able to make it to the office. Even if it's hardly more than a day or two, somehow each person feels like the master of his or her own world, simply because those little droplets of water freeze as they hit the ground.

Even commonplace activities become extraordinary. Routine choices become adventures and are often experienced with a sense of heightened clarity. . ."

Saturday, December 4, 2010

And then. . .

This story has two pieces.

First of all, you have to know about our "savings" situation. We are not both sacrificial savers, but we're Dave Ramsey fans. So we have our $1,000 Emergency Fund, and we're always working toward that 3-6 month savings account as well.

We are a one-vehicle family, and about 2 weeks ago, that one vehicle died. It was smoking and stinking and doing all the things that dead things like that do. We towed it in to our trusty mechanic who informed us that we needed a complete new engine. A month before Christmas, this was not the news we were hoping to hear.

We debated whether to fork out a little extra and just get a new vehicle altogether or pay up for the engine. We decided that the rest of our van was good for sure (unlike the uncertainty of purchasing a "new" one), so we went with the engine.

When the van was fixed, Rodney called me with a total of $2,800. So I went to our account to see what I could scrounge up. I was hoping to pull it all from our 3-6 month supply with some remaining, but I came up with only $1,800. That plus our emergency fund brought us to the exact amount needed. It was pretty sweet :) I felt very protected and provided for when I saw that God had given us our exact, EXACT amount. So cool!

So with bittersweet hearts, we emptied our savings accounts and drove our now-working vehicle home. No more borrowing other peoples' cars or asking for rides. Our van was home.

The second part of the story stems from a phone call I got last night.

Every Friday night, we have about half a dozen or so teenagers come over to our house. We play video games and watch movies mostly. Around 10 or 10:30, we drive them all home. Last night marked the season's first big snowfall, so the debate last night was whether to drive the "Sparta kids" home or let them spend the night. Rodney decided that he would drive the Holmen kids home first and see how he thought the roads were. He would then decide to either drive to Sparta or just take those boys back home with him.

And of course he forgot his cell phone at home. You can see where this is going.

About 11:45 my phone rings displaying an unidentified phone number. I don't know if you're as cynical as I am, but my first thought was that it was the police with unimaginable news. I was relieved to hear Rodney's healthy voice respond to my apprehensive "Hello?" I knew he was going to tell me he was in a ditch in West Salem, asking me to get someone's vehicle to at least pick them up. But it wasn't even that.

About a half mile after he dropped off the final Holmen teen (coincidentally also the last person with a phone), the van decided it would not brake or turn at a small bend in the road. Rodney, his teens, and our poor van slammed hard against a curb, bending the rim of our tire and breaking the coinciding hubcap. He tried driving it, but it would go no more than a few feet before stopping again.

A Good Samaritan stopped to check on them and lent Rodney his phone. I am grateful to that man.

Rodney informed me that our van was undrivable and suggested I call my brother-in-law Joe. He lives only about a mile from where our van was stuck, and his skills as a life-long mechanic seemed like a valuable asset to have on the site.

I made the call. I then laid in bed wide-eyed, thinking about how we could possibly afford to take care of this. It wasn't a feeling of "fear" so much. It was a freak-ish thing that had happened, God knew it was coming, and He also knew of our financial situation. It was more a matter of waiting to discover how He would "show up."

And as fun as it is to see Him use His creativity to blow my mind, it's usually not with timing that I would consider "convenient." :)

When Joe arrived, he and the Good Samaritan concurred that it could just be our bent rim prohibiting our van's movement. So Rodney went about switching out the crippled wheel with our spare and discovered that our spare is full-sized! With tread! We don't even need to buy a new tire!

We'll still take it in, since it is in obvious need of an alignment (which we had done with the installation of the new engine :( ), but it looks like that is all we will need.

What a sigh of relief.

We are blessed with the ability to continue use of our van. We are blessed to not be forking out another invisible sum of money from somewhere in God's account. And we are BLESSED with family who is willing to sacrifice precious sleep and run to help-- even when they have work in the morning. Thank you so much Joe.

And then. . .

This afternoon, I was sitting inside writing this blog, and Rodney was out clearing the driveway of our new snow. My writing was interrupted when he popped his head in and said something like, "I can't get any luck." I asked what had just happened.

Our snow blower had kicked a piece of our gravel driveway out. Not through the chute, but from under the blower's corkscrew wheel.

And into the rear windshield of our van.

It's still not as much as replacing a cracked drive shaft or any of the other many expensive possibilities the curb incident could have offered. But sometimes, it feels like God is trying to talk. I will tell you that at this point, I am listening :)

Friday, December 3, 2010

Improving the Christmas Card Task

Christmas cards. They're more expensive than I'd like. They're boring to most people who receive the cards and a real drudgery to the people who loathe Christmas letters. It's an obligatory tradition we put on year after year so no one feels left out.

Despite all this, I really enjoy doing it. I like choosing pictures, crafting a letter, and pulling out my very long list of people I treasure. I also love to give things to people. Not that I'm generous necessarily (I'm working on it), but when the opportunity arises, I embrace it, and it amps me up.

When I'm going through my address list and writing out names on envelopes, it makes my heart happy. I think with special fondness about the people I haven't seen in many years. I know some of them really love me, and I get excited to send them a sliver of my life to catch them up.

It makes me feel loved to think about the people that I know care about me.

Yes, some of the people on my list are obligatory, and that's not as much fun :)

But yesterday, I was going though my routine of folding the letter, laying the card inside, and stuffing the whole lot into an envelope with a special name on it. And it occurred to me that I could help pass my time by praying for the person's name on the next envelope.

And I LOVE it!!!

It's just another tiny piece to add to the gift of a card, pictures, and letter that I get to send people.

I tell you all this for two reasons: First, if you get a card from me, then you KNOW that you've been prayed for at least once :) Second, I want to recommend it. It turns what can be a tedious task into a meaningful and enriching time. So give it a shot. You have nothing else to do during that time. And if you do, then you're too busy :)

It's just a thought, but what do you have to lose?

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving 2010

I am SO excited that today is Thanksgiving!

At 7:30 I ran out to my local Kwik Trip and snagged a swollen LaCrosse Tribune before they were gone. Now it's patiently waiting on my counter for me to ooze over while my kids watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The parade alone brings on warm memories of sitting "criss-cross applesauce" beside my brother in front of the "tube" on Thanksgiving mornings. No doubt we watched the parade to the music of my mom starting our Thanksgiving meal.

I don't mean "music" in your typical fashion of a peaceful mother bustling around the kitchen in smooth efficiency. My mom sounded like a derailed train. We kids all think she used to take pans and bang them together noisily just so she could complain about how disorganized our cabinet was. Oh Mom. I love you. You've given us so many things to remember :)

This morning I got to watch my poor sister-in-law fight with her un-de-necked turkey. We're not sure if the neck was frozen in or if it missed the factory neck breaking, but after running water over it extensively, it was still pretty solid. So she snapped it off and tossed the chunk of vertebrae on the counter top. Not sure I'll ever laser that image out of my head. Go Julia!

I'm excited for the smells of Thanksgiving to permeate my house. I'm excited to stuff my belly and satisfy my pallet with the flavors of strawberry pretzel salad, mashed potatoes, gravy, my sister's grilled turkey breast, and so many other warm, wonderful treasures of flavor.

I'm excited to engross my stuffed self in football for the afternoon while the kids sleep and we await the evening feast at my sister's.

To top that all off, I got to start my day curled up on my couch with my Bible. Rodney had left the computer on the previous night, and our screen saver was playing through the slide show of my friends, family, and kids. It was the perfect way to start my day-- being reminded of the incredible blessings that surround me WHILE spending time with the One who gifted them to me.

My brain cannot process the good that God has blessed me with. I have food in my fridge, healthy, noisy kids running around my house, a husband who consistently comes home to me after work, change in the jar on my dresser, a car that starts in the cold and has fuel in the tank. On and on my list could go. I'm grateful even for the fact that my list is unending.

I would encourage you to begin thinking through things you can be thankful for-- and not just today. It will enrich your heart and fix your attitude every time. Start with obvious things like family. Move on to things like silverware and toilet paper. We have more than any other generation and more than most people in the world. God has been so good.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

If this was your last day. . .

Tonight, I drove to Eau Claire to attend a service called Substance. It typically ushers in the most meaningful connection God and I have for the entire month. It's mostly music, led by the amazing 513FREE, with a short 10-15 minute "message" thrown in. I could keep plugging Substance, but it's not the point of this post, and so I digress.

There's a guy in our band named Johnny, and he writes music. He's never written a song I didn't like. Tonight, he soloed a new song, and I got to sit in the audience and listen to it. The guy is only 20 years old, but God has heaped talent on him. The song he sang tonight was about living your life like it's the last day. What if it was the last chance you had? To do anything?

I can tell you I'd be a whole lot nicer to my husband and kids.

I thought about what it would be like if I could have the experience of Ebeneezer Scrooge. What if "The Ghost of Christmas Past" came and took me back to look at my Former Self? And what if it took me to any given day to observe my previous self with my children.

The image that came into my head is the very common picture of me standing at the stove cooking or at the sink doing dishes or at the counter chopping veggies for something. My hands are wet or dirty, my four-year-old daughter is leaning on my leg, repeating for the fourth time her desire for chocolate milk (even though I've told her I'm busy and that she'll need to wait). She reaches up maybe to grab a piece of cucumber I've just sliced, and as I nearly chop her tiny finger, I hear my two-year-old son open the fridge. He proceeds to dump a freshly-made pitcher of apple juice into the fridge and onto my kitchen floor, immediately soaking my cooking magazine that he was earlier tearing pages out of, even though I needed the recipe for dinner that very night.

My Former Self shoves the cutting board away, SLAMS the knife on the board, and lays into both kids. Shouting ensues, followed by children's tears, my own anger (not just at the kids but now myself for acting so childish), and a trip to the bathroom to grab a towel for the mess. I come back to find the two-year-old playing in the juice and to see wet, four-year-old-sized tracks leading to my living room. There's more yelling, some shooing, maybe an undeserved spanking, cleaning, and a little tear-streaked girl still whining for chocolate milk.

In all my Former Self's anger and haste, I completely missed both of my kids' needs. Not only that, but by ignoring their desires, I have hurt them. Every time I act this way, I'm pouring yet another thin layer on the foundation of how they will treat each other, their friends, their eventual spouse, and their own children.

It breaks my heart to look at this scene and see my selfish, knee-jerk reaction to the sequence of events. I want to reach into the vision and shake my Former Self and tell her to open her eyes.

Every day at some point, I put what I'm doing (which is usually as unimportant as cutting cucumbers) ahead of giving my kids the attention they request. Sadly, it's not just my kids that I do this to, but my husband as well. And how can I expect them to treat people any differently-- including myself? I don't allow my daughter to speak disrespectfully to me, so why would I use such harsh words and tones with her?

I do think that at times, these things are warranted. If my child is running into the street or cramming a key into an electrical outlet, I'm not going to calmly walk over and carefully explain the dangers of his or her situation. I will shout whatever words are necessary to immediately stop the behavior. It just happens to be too flippant in my day.

It occurred to me today that it's simple laziness. I don't want to set aside what I'm doing, and I don't want to take the time it requires to actually teach or explain things to my children in a way they can understand. It's easier and quicker to shout, the point still gets across, and they usually adjust their behavior properly.

And even if this method works now, it cannot work when they are teenagers or adults. When will I change how I talk to my kids? When they're 6? 10? 17? It needs to change now. I don't know how or what it will look like.

I feel like the only way to see victory with a step this drastic is to spend a whole lot more time on my knees. But since I can't just leave my kids to go kneel beside my bed all day, I will need to trust that He can change me while I'm living and not just while I'm praying.

I want to be able to sign my name at the bottom of the "page" of the day with pride. Like I lived the day the best I could. My children feel loved, my husband feels respected, and most of all that God is pleased. I do, after all, wear His name around all day, calling myself a "Christian" or "little Christ." It's His name I need to be able to sign at the bottom of the day's page.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

The Purpose of the Path

Tonight, I started reading Donald Miller's book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years." I've always envied the simplicity and humor in his style. He writes like a sort of 'soul whisperer.' It's on everyone's level and honest. Not a harsh sort of honesty. It's presented in a way so as to surface things we tend to keep subliminal. His writing evokes a desire to look at things with a genuine grit to them. He has a way of adding "realness" to life, but without the hoity-toity, artsy depth that so many writers try to spin. It's refreshing and lovely.

Since Rodney went on a last-minute business trip tonight, I prepared for bed alone. And I thought about how much more I could do if I was on my own. I imagined the level of writing I could achieve without my family to attend to. Not just my literary dealings, but think of the music I could write. And I could read a Donald Miller book every week. I could study my passions and really utilize my giftings.

That was when I had an epiphany. It's the kind that leaves you embarrassed in front of your own self because it's so obvious and dumb. I realized that everything I even have to offer or write about-- my Story-- is about my family. It's what I know. It is the passion I have chosen to pursue. And sadly, it's only a season. I will not always have to pick Cheerios out of the seats of my mini-van or jelly beans out of noses. Nor will my children bolt for the door and turn to Velcro when I come home. I will not always hear the tender, wispy "Love you Momma" before turning off their lights before bed.

And when this season does come to an end, I will have my time. Perhaps I'll have less passion by then too. But if I don't have it, I won't miss it. I don't think.

The cheesy cliche of "Life is an adventure" is true. And I hate cliches. The paradox is that while every day is different, I sometimes weary of the repetition. But what I do now is gaining me a wealth of knowledge, maturity, hopefully wisdom, and writing material. God has given me what I have now, and I am content. More than that, I am blessed. Thank You.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Can't

Yesterday was day one of my absence from Facebook.

In the beginning of the day, I felt an enormous pull toward the site. I was caught off guard by how strong the urge was. And with each conscious decision I made to uphold this deal I've made with myself, I felt a little more alone. Not in a lonely, forlorn sense of the word. But I couldn't see what all my friends or even "friends" were doing and thinking. It was more like isolation.

In addition to that, I couldn't share my world with those outside my house. For instance, I cooked pot roast yesterday, and it smelled so good that I wanted to eat my own arm. I utilized the method of oven bags, and I wanted input from other users and hear their experience with the bags.

Today I fried up cabbage and thought of my sister-in-law Erica the whole time because I know how much she loves it.

I also sat around in my jammies until 1:30 this afternoon, which hasn't happened in ages.

And I WANT TO SHARE!!! On the other hand, I realize how trivial these things are.

There's just something about the inability to do something I know I COULD do that makes it all the more enticing.

Last summer, for instance, I was scheduled to play with my band 513FREE at an outdoor event. Everything was set up and ready to go when it started to rain. We hustled around wrapping up cords, disassembling the drum kit, and so on. My keyboard was tossed into the back of someone else's nearby vehicle where we decided it could stay until I would meet back up with the band the following week.

I have not ever wanted to play my piano as badly as I did that week. It wasn't there, I couldn't do it, and it left a void. A longing.

It's the same way when Rodney goes out of town. When he's home, I don't care that he's at work all day and even out with the guys some nights. But when he's gone and I can't have him around, I want him here all the time.

There's just something about the word "can't." In teenagers, it stirs up rebellion. It caused Adam and Eve's fall. It motivates men to overcome things. The word seems to trigger the response of a sort of panicked grasping for control.

Anyway, today has been better. I'm learning to rest in the "quiet" of my mind without all the thoughts of my Facebook friends cluttering it up. I'm trying to direct my thoughts more toward the task of working on my book and being efficient with my time. And while I can't yet see finite results of this huge time-taker's elimination, I am beginning to feel a sense of my ability to move past it.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Facebook Hiatus

It's been a long time coming. Nearly a year ago, our small group went through a study that asked each us to voluntarily give up something that "consumes" us for one week. At the time, I was scrap-booking like a mad woman with every second of my free time. And so I gave it up for a week. Secretly, I was glad I was so delved into my hobby, because it meant I wouldn't have to give up Facebook like so many of my friends did.

It's been on my mind since then. I think about it every time I almost burn a meal, my kid nearly falls down the stairs, or when my daughter wants to dance with me, and I "just need to finish this quickly." All of those have resulted from my head being stuck in my Facebook account-- which OBVIOUSLY can't wait a few minutes. Ever.

It's ridiculous how much of my attention goes to that single website.

I was sitting on the floor, playing with my little boy a few days ago when my husband was home for lunch. It happened again the next day, and I thought to myself, "Rodney must think I'm a great mom and just do this all day every day." And that was when I realized that the only reason I was sitting on the floor with my boy was because my husband had taken my spot in the computer chair, and I needed to pass the time.

That should NOT be the reason I play, dance, color, build with my kids.

There are a few other contributing factors to my break from Facebook, but those are some big ones.

I have often thought that I couldn't take time off from it. As if I would in some way cease to function without it at my disposal. There are always excuses-- as dumb as they may be. But the excuses stop now.

I'm nervous that I'll miss some sort of crucial information (like Thanksgiving updates, major changes in peoples' lives, etc), but that's a risk I'll need to take. I think it'll be freeing, I think it will be boring, I think it will be scary. But I think, ultimately, it will be a great thing for my parenting, writing, musicianship, and anything else I can pursue with my new-found time.

Or maybe I'm overly optimistic about it. Oh well. We'll find out.

I will continue to blog. My site auto-feeds through to my Facebook "notes" if anyone's interested. Everyone on Facebook has access to my e-mail address, and all my friends have my phone number. I will not be "off the grid" :)

I will see you all on Tuesday, November 30.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Husband vs God

In eight years of marriage, this is a first. When we were first married, we both worked third shift. One of us would occasionally take the last hour off work, head to the house, and prepare a surprise breakfast for the other to be welcomes home to. But always having lived with other people and now having kids. . . tonight's agenda seemed like a stretch. But by jove, if everyone else in the world can have the occasional quiet, romantic night in, why can't we?

I started by finding someone outside of the house to keep our kids. Overnight. On a school night. Check.

I swung into Wal-Mart and picked up some of our favorite snacks and beverages-- including the fancy-feeling sparking grape juice. I smile just thinking about sipping our plastic wine glasses with their bubbly purple contents-- pinky up :)

If you don't already know, we own our house with my husband's brother and his wife. They also have two kids. So to try having a quiet night, we would need to "gate" off our side of the house, and lock ourselves in our basement.

Anyway, once Rodney was done with lunch and back to work and the kids were down for their naps, I scurried around finding candles, a good picnic blanket, bowls to float my candles, a cup to fill my bowls (since my sink is too tiny). I gathered the snacks and wine glasses. I hauled down the TV and XBox with all the appropriate cables . . On and on I went. Running up the stairs and down the stairs.

Finally, everything was as ready as it could be. I cut out arrows to clearly direct my ADD husband as I waited for the kids to wake up so I could whisk them off to the babysitter's house. When they were finally awake, I discovered that Rodney had my only set of car keys on him.

*sigh*

No biggie. The babysitter was able to drive out and pick the kids up, and Rocky Rococo's (Rodney's favorite pizza joint) delivers. Crisis averted. EXCEPT that he happened to be working at our company's warehouse at the time, which is right next door. He didn't see the kids get carted off, but he did catch me with the pizza delivery boy (so scandalous!).

I knew I had been spotted, so I rushed back down to our room, lit the remaining candles, set up the meal, put on soft music, threw on my best black dress, poured our "wine," and prepared for his arrival. I grew so anxious waiting, that I decided to pass the time journaling my excitement.

As I wrote, I could hear the distinct "fizz" of candles burning themselves out. But I was so excited that I didn't even care :) I just journaled away, writing about the movies we'd watch, the conversation we'd have, the thrill of trying to be sneaky about everything. I felt like I was a fifth grader again, writing about how dreamy Patrick Kenny was (and yes, I've been journaling since I was 10. There's some pretty lame stuff in there).

I finally heard the front door open and footsteps cross my paper arrows. Not just one set though. No, he had brought two employees over to the house. I heard one of them say something about "romantic night," to which Rodney replied, "No. No romance. The little ones are here." I just smiled at his ignorance, thinking about how pleasantly surprised he would be to come downstairs and find just a wife waiting for him.

The employees did leave, and he did come downstairs. He walked past me, sat on the bed, and, in reference to the warehouse, he asked, "Do you know what's going on over there?"

I could feel this was bad. "No."

He went on to explain to me about an extremely time-sensitive, several-thousand dollar item that he still needed to finish before he could be home from work.

I was stunned. All the giddy excitement rushed from my chest as I grasped for words that wouldn't be hurtful or destroy all I had worked to achieve. But instead of words came hot tears.

I told him I understood and that he could go. I could tell how miserable he felt about the whole thing. He was torn. He compared himself to a bad, CEO husband on a TV show who abandons his wife for petty work. And while I understood his inner struggle, and I sincerely didn't feel like he was being a "bad husband," I felt tremendous disappointment.

He left, and I sat alone in the candlelight sobbing. To the point where I didn't even understand why I was still crying. But the tears kept coming, and I let them. It's no good to hold things in at a time like that. There's no room in our relationship for me to harbor or to grow bitterness.

It was then that I was reminded of something I had read earlier in the week and had been trying to put into effect since. And that is that God isn't human (how's that for an epiphany?).

People, in general, desire to be fulfilled by other people-- especially in the case of our spouses. Whether we admit it or not, we have certain expectations. I expect to feel loved, appreciated, protected, valued, and so on. Men typically have the expectation to feel respected, cherished, honored, etc. When those things aren't met, we feel any variety of emotions: disappointment, sadness, anger.

What I read was encouraging me to think more along the lines of how unconditional God is. He always loves me. He appreciates that I keep the budget, because I'm taking care of what He's given me. He appreciates my making dinner every night, because I'm caring for the people He's put in my life.

When my husband is late, God isn't. When my husband unknowingly makes me feel abandoned or unloved, God doesn't. When my husband overlooks something I've gone out of my way to do, God sees it.

When I remembered all of this, I began to smile through my tears :) I decided to go back upstairs to snag my laptop while I wait, and share this with all of you. I hope in some way, it helps you in your daily walk with other faulted humans. They will fail. All of them. But God can't.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Simple Humility

I read this question tonight: Why is it so difficult to be humble?

The first thing that came to mind was the drilled-in, "Christian-ese" (pronounced similar to "Japanese" if you don't know-- we tend to make our own culture and language at times. I'm not sure it's a good thing, but I digress) answer of "Because we have a sin nature."

While this is true, I felt the need to dive a little deeper. And deep is where I found myself.

God quickly led me down the path of True Motives and opened the too-familiar door of Selfishness.

I don't go out of my way for people often. I think of it, and I want to, but I simply don't. Sometimes there's a financial reason, but usually it's straight up laziness. Occasionally I will actually act on something. I'll see a need I can meet, and I do it. I do my best to keep it under wraps-- partially because I'm not a huge fan of the awkwardness of attention, and partially because God says:

"So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." (Matt. 6:2-4)

And not for the "reward" part. I don't know what that would even look like (aside from joy), and I would feel overwhelmingly unworthy.

Anyway, so I do these things "in secret." But I still harbor this underlying longing to be noticed. It's so backwards. Part of the awesomeness of meeting a need secretly is the excitement of the secret itself. I don't know how things work for you, but it's a sad truth in my world.

I thought about all this with the "humility" question. And I came to this simple, but profound conclusion.

We seek our worth from people.

If God was really the closest person to me, if my self esteem was determined by what He thought of me, I would have nothing to brag about. I would be whole and complete in His eyes and arms.

But I am not in that place.

And since I'm not, I seek instead to be filled with what other people think and say about me and my actions. The only way to have that desire met is to let people know how "great" I am (in a sneaky way of course), so I can have pride in myself. If that pride is extracted or annulled, I'm left with humility, and that means I may never get noticed. And that, my friends, is scary.

Our pastor said this:

God + Nothing = Everything

God + ________ (<---- anything you can think of) = Fear

Lord, help me to quit trying for peoples' approval and to look solely to You. Blanket me in the natural humility that comes from a closer walk with You.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Is the Lord's arm too short?

People say God is a crutch. I think they mean it to be cruel, but without Him, I know I'd spend a lot more time lying around on my face than I already do. And with the daily use of that crutch comes a sort of addiction.

One way I get my "fix" is through prayer-- just talking things out. "Gossiping" to God about all the stupid things in life, complaining about my own selfishness, just an overall venting. The bonus to blabbering it all out to Him (instead of a tangible friend) is that not only can no one get hurt, but sometimes He fixes the problem then and there. He's so cool and such a powerful friend to have.

Anyway, sometimes my prayers can become repetitious, and I have trouble saying what I'd like to say. I can't think creatively, and while I'd like to go deeper, I just can't. And so I have a few of Stormie Omartian's books, "The Power of a Praying _____."

This morning I was sitting down with her "Power of a Praying Wife," and I came across this prayer:


Lord, help me to be a good wife. I fully realize that I don't have what it takes to be one without Your help. (**There's that crutch again!)

Take my selfishness, impatience, and irritability and turn them into kindness, long-suffering, and the willingness to bear all things.

Take my old emotional habits, mindsets, automatic reactions, rude assumptions, and self-protectiveness, and make me patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled.

Take the hardness of my heart and break down the walls with Your battering ram of revelation. Give me a new heart and work in me Your love, peace, and joy (Galatians 5:22, 23). I am not able to rise above who I am at this moment. Only You can transform me.


It's so simple and straight-forward. Yet I cannot digest it. I slowly took in each of those words: patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled. In the sincerest, most honest part of my heart, I had to bare my emptiness to Christ and admit that I have none of those attributes. Not one. It's hard to even type that kind of authenticity. Because I don't want to admit it. I like to think I'm at least good. But I know my heart.

And so I sat there in complete humility, knowing He is the only path to the kind of change I need. But it's impossible. Since somewhere in elementary school, I can remember trying to be kind. Less sarcastic and harsh. It's ongoing, and I see no potential for victory. My selfishness blocks pretty much any of those wonderful traits. But I LOVE it. I like my world to look exactly as I want it to look. In raw truth, I don't want to give up my focus on myself.

In short, I see no end.

Then I looked to the next page in the book, where there's always a quaint little verse printed. And it read this:

"Whatever things you ask for when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them." Mark 11:24

And it lead me to question how much I really believe God. Do I think He's not strong enough to change me? Do I think He doesn't love me enough to care? I know the answers to these questions.

In the Old Testament (Numbers chapter 11 to be exact), when the Israelites were in the desert, God provided miraculous manna to feed them. Every day. They got sick of it, which is understandable. But then they complained and whined about how they'd rather be in slavery. God heard about it (of course), and got a little ticked off. So He pulled Moses aside and said this: "The LORD heard when you wailed. . . You will eat meat. . . You will not eat it for just one day, or two days, or five, ten or twenty days, but for a whole month—until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it."

Moses, being the human he is, basically said, "Yeah, okay. Whatever. You couldn't feed meat to all these people if you killed every sheep they had."

*Laura shakes her head in pity for Moses*

God responds with something I can never forget. Instead of sand blasting Moses' face off, He simply answers with a question followed by a statement. He says, "Is the LORD's arm too short? You will now see whether or not what I say will come true for you."

How can I come before the Being who thought up the universe, and think He can't or won't change me? God, show me up. Your arm is not too short.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Not to Be Cliche

Nine years ago this morning, I grabbed a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats and sat down to watch the morning news on Chicago's WGN. As far as I knew, it was a normal morning. The news showed a smoking building. Between my crunches, I heard them say something about a "plane accident" and one of the "Trade Buildings" or something along those lines. At that point, I had very little knowledge of the towers. I gathered that it was in NY, but nothing more.

Before my bowl of cereal was even gone, the newscaster became very disoriented and was stammering. I realize now that what he was trying to do was to somehow cover the fact that the second building had just been hit (Wow, tearing up as I type this. Didn't expect that one). There was confusion and chaos in the newsroom for sure.

I considered calling my boyfriend Rodney. But he worked third shift and was sleeping. I figured it would still be news to him when he woke up in the afternoon, so I let him sleep. One of his coworkers called and woke him anyway.

Well I got ready for school, and off I went. By the time I got into the car, they were already mentioning terrorism and Osama Bin Laden. I thought everyone was a little fruity for pulling out the big "T" word. I mean really? They called the Oklahoma City bombing terrorism. Some planes got on the wrong course and hit some buildings.

But just during my short trip to school that morning, one building had fallen, and they had convinced me that it could indeed have been a terrorist act. But seriously "terrorist"? I didn't even fully understand the meaning of the term.

I felt like my mom,listening to WBBM on my drive in to ECC that morning. On the walk from my car to the building, the parking lot was not filled with the usual thump of bass from peoples' rap music, but the buzz of broadcasters' voices. Every car.

The almost constant sound of jets flying overhead in and out of Midway/O-Hare Airport was gone. Never in my entire life had I heard silent morning skies in the Chicago area.

Walking into school was even more sobering. People rushing to and from classes and couples snuggling together were all replaced by the bulk of the student body standing in front of the large, dingy-pictured television. Everyone watching for something new. Something redeeming. Instead there was more coverage. More NY, and now the Pentagon.

I found a guy I had gone to high school with but had never talked to. I stood by him. Partially because he was big, and it gave me the first feeling of safety I had had in the last hour, and partially because it was just a familiar face. I remember saying to him "I don't want to go to war." He calmly shook his head-- still staring at the TV screen.

Breaking away from the television, I began the trek to my class. Many people were crying in the hallways. I came across one friend of mine who was just a total wreck. Her mom worked in the Sears Tower. The news told us that it was being evacuated, but cell phone reception wasn't a usable thing at that point in the day. I remember thinking about my own parents who worked about 30 miles from the city. What if it changed from planes to bombs?

I found out later that the daughter of my mom's boss had been living in NY at the time and working downtown. She reported seeing bits of body parts and lots of paper flying in the air. It's funny the things you remember when you're in a situation like that. I imagine there was so much more to see and hear and feel. But that's what she told about.

Anyway, to class I went. Our professor came in with a straight face and told us that we were going to go on with our day as if nothing had happened. "These are terrorists," he started. "Their intention is to mess up our lives. And so that's what we're not going to let them do." Something like that anyway. One girl was sobbing. I wanted to hurt him. I didn't like him before that, but man oh man he's lucky I love Jesus and needed to keep a good example in front of my peers. I understand his intentions. And none of us knew how to react. I just think he chose poorly.

I got home and started journaling about the day's events. In fact, I remember writing that even though this was impossible to process "now," I knew that it would one day be "just a page in Aspen and Jeremiah's history books." It's funny now to think about my kids being named that long ago :) Anyway, I couldn't even remember Bin Laden's name to journal it. Which is also funny now, since it's a name we'll never forget.

I went to Lone Star that evening to work. Understandably, not many people came in for steak that night. Something about cherishing family, yadda yadda :) So the bartender, manager, and I sat for most of the night watching the news and video footage of Iraq getting the heck bombed out of it by "an unknown assailant." Ha! You don't kick the shin of the biggest kid in class and expect him not to retaliate.

The few guests that we did have come in were very authentic. There wasn't the usual small talk and useless upselling. We talked about the obvious things.

I don't remember much else from the day. I'm sure my journal would enlighten me, but that would require finding it :)

What I do remember is going to bed that night. It's the only time I've ever been afraid that I may not wake up the next morning.

I wish I knew someone personally that I could thank for helping all the victims of 9-11. I can thank the troops who have spend the last 8 years (or whatever it's been) fighting for not only our freedom, but the freedom of the citizens of terrorist countries. I can hardly imagine such selflessness. Thank you.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Echos of Footsteps

I run. While that could easily branch out into any number of deep thoughts, today I am referring simply to the action of running. Running as in marathons, expensive shoes, dogs chasing you, awkward encounters with cars and intersections. Old fashioned burn-off-your-legs running.

The route I typically take brings me under two sets of overpasses. One of these sets shadows a wider, more open section of road. But the other is built into a hill with the road lying closer to its cement legs.

Gosh I am sucking at writing today. "Cement legs?"

Here's the jist. When I'm running under the tighter overpass, I can more easily hear my footsteps. It used to annoy me because it made me self-conscious. My right foot falls louder (which I assume means harder) than my left. And since I don't know what that indicates, I don't like it.

I've come to accept the fact that one foot is louder than the other, and I don't care anymore. In fact, I almost find solace in the sound of my footsteps. To the point where I feel a sense of loneliness once I'm past the bridge. I'm back to being all alone. Just me and the road. For miles.

It occurred to me today that the echo is like God's daily presence. I'm not talking about Him moving or speaking or doing amazing things-- which He does :) But His simply "being" in my life. It's quiet. It's barely noticeable. But once I'm out from under it, I'm lonely. I want the echo. I want to hear and to know that someone's there. I can't see it. I can't touch it. But it's comforting, and I KNOW when it's not there.

Ha, another aspect of it that I just thought of is that we can run to it and run from it :) We all do one or the other. In fact, I'd venture to say that we're all choosing one of those options at every moment of our lives.

It's certainly not the strongest analogy I've ever run across ("run" get it?), but it was interesting candy for my brain this morning.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Summer Lovin'

Reasons I am deeply in love with summer (in no particular order):

- Feeling the sun's oven-breath on my skin

- Fireflies

- Shoelessness (and socklessness. C'mon)

- The beach

- The beauty of sunburned cheeks and highlighted hair

- The task of "folding" laundry is simpler when it's primarily dresses/skirt to be hung.

- The sound of wind rustling leaves. Oh, I love that sound.

- I became a wife in the summer

- Freezy Pops

- The smell of freshly cut grass

- The look of freshly cut grass

- My kids can play OUTside

- Fires in the pit out back

- Park visits, repetitive as they can be at times

- Longer days

- Summer nights

- Star-watching while laying on a warm, country road

- The pond by my house has frogs that fill the air with their sounds

- Packer fans are on the DL

- Picnics

- I fist earned the name "Mom" in the summer

- The sound of rain

- Playing in the rain

- Playing in the ensuing mud

- Washing the car outside with someone and soaking each other

- Humming birds

- Fresh vegetables

- No need to scrap ice from the car, shovel the driveway, or risk frostbite

- Hammocks

- Cook-outs

- The soothing hum of box fans

- Laughter and screams from children running through the sprinkler

- The blueness of the sky

- The smell of gasoline from a lawn mower, boat, ATV. . .

- Air show

- All the good movies come out

- Taking my kids out for ice cream and watching them eat it too slowly to stay clean

- Spending so much quality time with good friends

- The temperature

- Everyone has their vitamin D, so they're generally happier

- Outdoor coffee dates

- Because of the nice, even heat, I can pick out my kids' clothes for a whole week straight

- Grass under my feet

- Big, dumb June bugs

- Sitting on the front steps to paint my toenails

- Fireworks

- Thunder storms

- Dewy grass

- Sunflowers

- An even layer of sand coating the carpet in my mini van

Monday, July 26, 2010

The Root Note

I attended a 2-hour meeting today. With my kids. Do I have any takers on guessing how much of the actual meeting I listened in on? You get the idea. And since they were basically ignored (with the exception of course of the constant "Knock it off" or "Don't do that again" kind of thing) for the 2 hours, they came home needing even more attention. Making lunch proved difficult with constant demands. Demands like start the movie, chocolate milk please, no, I wanted strawberry milk, pick me up, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, I want to go outside, I need to go poopy. On and on it went. Add to the demands about 200 gigga-Jules of energy (per child), and it was a quick run to my cell phone to text the husband and ask what my chances were of possibly getting out of the house tonight. His response was that he took the night off specifically to spend it with me, but that I could go anyway :) He's my favorite.

I was bragging about this privilege to a friend of mine, and she asked where I was going. I gave her the typical "Caribou" to which she responded, "Have you ever been to The Root Note?" I had never heard of the place, but she said it's "a hippy place," which is a turn-on for me. So I tried unsuccessfully to find it on-line, called to check on the very important "free wi-fi" info, and began my journey to the place.

It must be newer, because even though it's store front can't be found on Google Maps, it's easily found on 4th Street across from Coney Island and Deaf Ear Records.

Off subject a bit, I took a walk around down town a few weeks go with my kids that jump-started a love for this city that I've hated for so many years. I like the artsy, quaintness of its age and it's old, dingy, knick-knacky stores.

Anyway, you walk in the door to an ordering counter, inlaid with natural stones. There is an herb garden growing to your immediate right. A pleasant, very "chill" guy walked up to take my order. I tell him I'm usually a coffee drinker (since their chalk-board menu says nothing about coffee), and he offers me tea as a change-up. My fear was that hippies have outgrown coffee. Thankfully, I was wrong. So I unconfidentally ordered a "mocha-minty thing," completely spacing that I need it to be decaf if I intend to sleep any time in the next several days. Oh well. At least I ordered a small. He says he'll deliver it to me.

So I begin to stroll the lengthy cafe, trying to stay inconspicuous-- like I'm not a nube, but am instead a cool, sophisticated regular. Down with the times. I see several people lounging in the squishy couches. One guy with a fanny pack and beret covered a couch with just his "stuff" but was sitting away from it. I was almost to the end of my loop, so I slid into a table against a wall behind a thin, hat-wearing, multi-braceleted, multi-pierced maybe 18-year-old guy who was writing away in his leather-bound journal.

I unloaded my laptop only to realize I had chosen one of the only tables without an outlet nearby. Of course, the journaling, decorated teenager ahead of me had one just above his head. Another option was directly beside what would be a distracting table of yappy, yuppie businessmen. They turned out to be having a meeting about a play one of the men was evidently writing and possibly directing. Though their clean, dressy appearance put them as out of place as my grandparents at a Metallica concert, they were very much in their own element.

I began my move toward the men and noticed that my movement had attracted the attention of the teenager-- who was actually a woman in her late 30's. Oops. Anyway, I broke the awkwardness and answered her unspoken question with "I need a power outlet. I can't believe I forgot." Without blinking, she offered to pick up all her things and move so I could take the table. "I'm low tech tonight," she assured. I graciously took her up on it, apologized, and moved in.

A few minutes later, a pleasant, "chill" young lady with dreds, uniformed the same as my cashier glided to my table and smoothly, jokingly apologized for accidentally making my coffee a large instead of small. Thinking only of the amount of caffeine I was about to ingest, I returned her demeanor and jested that I wasn't sure I could handle that kind of mess-up, but that I'd let it slide this time.

For the record, it is g.o.o.d. coffee.

Right now, I'm listening to "Stairway to Heaven" on classical guitar, and it's incredible. Just a side note.

The table in front of me has a single, waxy leaf in a vase of water. The entire length of ledge above my head is lined with syrups for coffee. There's a hot-tub shaped wooden box in the corner by the playwrights with big rocks and plants over a black tarp-- as if to make a pond but missing the water. The lighting is accomplished with typical cone-shaped, naturally colored, down-facing glass fixtures.

"Chill" is the best word for The Root Note. I feel as though I should drop my voice low and smooth it out like hot fudge in order to speak here. I should also have sun glasses and a beret. It's a sweet place, and I recommend it.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

On the Offensive

Every now and then, one or both of my kids makes the decision to amp up their energy level. Sometimes it's caused by a lack of sleep. Sometimes it's too much sugar. It always happens to my daughter after bath time. I have yet to fully understand this anomaly. Whatever the reason, my daughter picked tonight as her night to surge our world with electric energy.

It took no time at all for us to decide that our evening plans would include a trip to our local McDonald's Play Place. Of course that room is always a grab bag for who your kids will get to play with. Age, temperament, size, shyness are all unpredictable and uncontrollable variables.

I sent Rodney into the den with our little lions while I ordered a cone-in-a-cup and smoothie to share (which our 1-year-old quickly confiscated). Yes, obviously sugar isn't ideal when the 3-year-old is already off the chain, but I figured she would be playing so hard that it wouldn't matter.

Upon my arrival at our table, a little girl in tears who I would guess to be about 8 rushed past me to her unsympathetic father. Also in tears and on her heels was what I assumed to be her little brother. She complained that "that kid" punches really hard. The dad simply argued that she had been laughing and playing just minutes before and that she was fine.

The only other table in the area was one with a man in his mid to late twenties with the physique of a UFC fighter, a man probably in his early sixties, and four kids-- three beautiful, blond boys and one pudgy little girl. They seemed well-behaved enough. I suspected the man in his twenties was the father, but he said almost nothing the entire visit. It was instead the grandfatherly man (who actually looked a lot like the guy on History Channel's show "Mail Call") who asked if "his kids" were doing anything wrong.

The crying girls' father brushed it off, but the older man forced a little boy to apologize anyway. Fair enough, I guess. Sometimes kids hit, right?

This particular Play Place has several "windows" that allow visual connection between children and adults. And only a few minutes after the kids had cheered up and gone in to play again, I saw one of the blondies punch the previously-crying boy twice. From where I was, I could not tell whether it was provoked, but I began to feel very uncomfortable. I considered heading home, but I figured I was the only one who had noticed, and maybe there was some sort of rivalry going on in the tubes.

A little after that, our kids finished up and joined the other awkwardly playing children. All the girls followed each other and seemed to have fun. Then I noticed again, the same little boy (probably only about 5 years old) leaning over his sister and just letting it go. I saw about 4 punches before she got away. No crying, no screaming for help. Just fleeing.

About this time, our one-year-old decided for the first time in his short life that he too could conquer the tunnel system all on his own. I was so proud that he had done it! He challenged those tubes of pink and yellow and had found himself in a little box with a "window" that faced our table. Beaming with excitement, he yelled for us and, as every kid does, slapped against the plexiglass to get our attention. We returned his excitement, waving, smiling, and blowing kisses to our proud adventurer.

One of the blond brothers (no older than 2) popped his head into the window beside our little guy, and we waved at him too. He quickly stepped back and shoved our boy into the window. My heart stopped. Over the next few half seconds, I convinced myself that maybe it was an accident.

I was wrong.

Our little guy bounced off the plexiglass and staggered backward a few steps only to be shoved again, this time cracking his forehead against the corner by the window and proceeding to smash his face into the window again.

My heart sinks into my chest, causing a physical heaviness just remembering these events. Rodney stood up to offer our baby boy any possible support as he was now crying. The other little boy was still standing by him.

What would you do?

We have no power to discipline the offending toddler. I was in a skirt and unable to crawl through the tunnels. I think Rodney was just too stunned to know what to do, and on top of it didn't want to disappear from our son's line of vision.

Again the grandfatherly man asked if "his kid" had done something. I didn't learn until later that Rodney hadn't noticed our son's head hitting the corner before being met with the window. So he assured the man that although his little boy had pushed ours, our son was exaggerating it with all his crying. The older man sent his girl in to investigate. She found our little guy and brought him down to us.

Rodney and I agreed that we thought it best to head home, but our daughter wanted "5 more minutes" that we reluctantly gave her. Much less than 5 minutes later, she too came out of the tunnel maze in tears complaining that her head hurt. I didn't bother to ask why, but instead gathered up our things and kids and headed out.

The short ride home was full of our emotions. I grew up in a home with parents that spanked, but beyond that, there was no physical touch of any kind really-- good or bad. Rodney grew up in a very different environment.

He pointed out that while we don't know much about those kids' lives, we can logically deduce that violence is the norm for them. And it breaks my heart.

I think about the little boy who was less than 2 years old and about how, unless he gets out of that family and life, he is doomed to live that way. Not only him, but any children he may have after him as well. No woman will be safe with him. Obviously, these are big conclusions to jump to. And even if they're not true about those little boys (and the poor girl), it IS true about others.

My heart is sad and heavy.

When we got home, I threw my kids in the tub. As I was washing my son's hair, I noticed a large knot that had formed from the assault. And at the risk of sounding cheesy, I thought of Jesus.

First of all, my son was completely undeserving of the treatment he underwent. He was innocently joyful to see people he loved dearly. But he was blocking more of the window than the other little boy wanted. So he hurt my pure, sweet son.

Secondly, by the time I had noticed the knot, according to the nature in children, he had completely forgiven the other little boy. My son was playing and laughing. There was no grudge, no attitude of defeat. It was as if he had never been offended.

It makes me indignant to think about someone carrying out an unprovoked attack on my innocent, non-offending son. But God did it on a much larger scale. Wow.

"I'll never know how much it cost to see my sin upon that cross." Thank you.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Ham

Today was around 90 degrees. It was sunny and perfectly matched for a trip to the beach. Thankfully, some friends invited us to theirs. Yes, their own beach. We got to ride in a "lift" to go down to it. It was beautiful, sandy, shallow (which is great for our little kids). The tubing was a blast, no water-skiiers were able to right themselves, and the water was fine.

My husband's brother Timmy was out trying his luck on the skis. I was on shore, insuring that my one-year-old didn't feed all the Doritos to the dog. And I began to hear the word "pig" being tossed around.

"Pig!!!"

"Pig?" Yelling across the lake, of course.

"Yes, pig! Like p-i-g!"

Now Timmy wouldn't fit the description of "thin" or "lean," but pig? Really? But it just kept flying back and forth in our group.

"Pig? What do you mean?"

"It's a pig!"

My mind scanned over every possible meaning of the word. If it's not a demeaning name for Timmy. . . could it be the basketball game? Maybe someone's lake shore cabin has an inflated pig with water lapping at its feet? Are there police scanning the lake? It even traced my mind that there could be an actual pig in the water.

Sure enough, I look out by the boat, and there's a pink-ish thing clumsily jutting in and out of the water. So the guys reached out of the boat, and scooped up the exhausted baby. They were quite literally in the middle of the lake. We have no idea from where it emerged or how long it had been fighting for its little life, but there it was.

They got back to the dock, and my sister-in-law held him on her lap while quickly becoming surrounded by kids and curious adults. It pooped on her lap, thus ending it's relaxation period.

One of the teenagers nearby took it up to the house and found a dog kennel for it to stay in. She proceeded to try convincing her dad that she should keep it.

I called my best friend who happened to grow up on a pig farm. She informed me that given its cat-like size, it may not be weaned yet. And if it was, it would eat more than we could ever imagine, dig huge holes, and completely eradicate any trace of grass in our yard.

My husband wanted it something fierce. It's free Thanksgiving dinner, he argued. He also called our chef friend to ask if he knew how to cook the thing.

At the end of the night, we found a kind lady who takes in every kind of living thing and has a hobby farm of sorts. So off he went to be loved on. Tomorrow we may find a spider web that reads "Terrific" or "Some Pig." Who knows? But a pig that can swim that far for that long would most certainly be deserving of that kind of title.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Unrequited

I love you.
You are the warmth in my days.
Without you, I'm certain my world would end--
not in the proverbial way
most lovers mean.
I would die without you.

Your very face warms
rivers and draws flowers to bloom.

You have kissed my face,
shoulders,
feet,
and left me
more beautiful.
Strangers even can tell when we've been together
your effects are so striking.

But now this?

I have known you my entire life.
I have pledged my allegiance to you.
My undying love.
I boldly defend you against Cloud-Lovers.

I curse the planetary rotation
that takes you from me,
leaving me cold
every day.

I spend time with you,
only to be left hurting more.
Alas, I am left with this unrequited
passion for you.
I will always burn
for your burn.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Outrage

I do not even know how to start an entry like this. I'm emotional. I realize that's not the best time to do anything, but I cannot get on with my day. So I'm sharing it here.

My writing mentor sent me an article about infidelity. It stated that there is "a website" that teaches people how to cheat without getting caught. "The story is, that on an average Monday 3,000 women sign up for the site, but on the day after Mother’s day that number soared to 31,000, ten times the normal amount!" The article goes on to talk about how to overcome feeling unappreciated, since that's one of the major pushes toward infidelity in women. It was a really good article. I've actually already included some of the information in my own material.

But I was curious about this alleged, unnamed website. So I went to Google and typed in "How to hide my affair." My blood is beginning to boil just thinking about those words. Anyway, the first site that pops up is called alibinetwork.com. For $75 a year, you have someone to sweep behind your tracks. They give you an untraceable number, counseling (on how to properly cheat), even doctors notes.

I am completely floored.

What kind of person makes up their mind to take peoples' money to "help" them trash their lives? The idea of the pain this has caused evades me. I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that someone actually started this company. It's like some kind of cloud or mist that I realize is there, but I can't grasp or actually see it.

It's so intentionally hurtful. I don't even have the words.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Social Norms

The impact a simple flat iron can have on my self esteem amazes me. I can get dressed up as cute as I can be, but if my hair is waving and frizzing like Einstein, I feel like a child who cannot be taken with any hint of legitimacy. Why?! It's hair. And it's only named "hair" to be nice. If we were honest, we would more rightly title it something like "lengthening fused dead skin cells." Yet we put time, effort, and a great deal of money into maintaining it.

We (women at least) want hair on our heads, but not on our faces, legs or armpits. Arms are okay. A few other areas may be acceptable. Who made these decisions?

It would be awesome if I could write this cute little entry and add that I don't care about those things. No, I look at people and see their hearts. I look past the missing teeth or the hairy mole and only see passion and love. But that is not true.

I know of one person who can look at people like that. One. And I'm not even sure He actually sees exteriors. Okay, that's not true either. Girls, put away the mini skirts, and pull out some modesty. He does care about the outside :) But even that stems from love. He loves His sons enough to ask His daughters to cover up.

Anyway, I was talking to Him just this afternoon about how hard it is for me to get past appearances. I asked Him to show me people like He sees them. I cannot imagine what that would look like. Shallow Hal presents the only scenario that even skims how I could see that going. But I don't think God will let me off that easy.

So I am publicly vowing-- at least for a day-- to try seeing people for who they may be instead of who I assume them to be. Wish me luck.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Sweetly Broken

It's been a while since I've stumbled onto here. Blogging was never a daily commitment, but it feels good to do. There's something about being at a website demanding my writing that pulls thoughts from coves in my brain.

So here I am again. I have lots to write and nothing to write all at the same time. What a whirlwind of intrigue.

I've been feeling deep in thought for a few days. Maybe that's what brought me here today. I don't know. What I do know is that God is currently pulling me in a few different directions. And, as is predictable, it's uncomfortable. He seems to like us there sometimes. In a place where we're confused and can do nothing more than hold His big hand. Oddly enough, sometimes I still want to let go and grope in the darkness-- as if I could find a "better" way out of the hole He knows so well and is willing to guide me though. Why do we do this? Pride I guess.

Anyway, I know I'm where He wants me, and so I will choose to rest in this disconnect. He's given me a better life filled with better people than I ever could have deserved or earned. He is nothing but good.

I went to a Women of Faith conference once. The only thing I really remember (besides being able to use the mens restrooms in Chicago's United Center) is a lady's story about her son's health. I of course don't remember any real details, but there was substantial testing involved, and she was up all night waiting for a phone call about results. After much pacing and understandable anxiety, the call came, and the news was good.

She told about how she had used that story at a previous conference to show how God's grace is good. A lady came up to her afterwords and said she had undergone the exact thing with her own child. Only in her case, the news was not what she wanted. Her child's life had even come to an end. And through tears, she said, "God's grace is good even when the answer is 'no.'"

That quote will never unstamp itself from my memory. He really is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. There are so many things I will never "get" about Him. But if I was able to understand all He does, wouldn't that make Him no better than I? He is big, He is steady, and His grace is enduring.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Research = Encouragement?

Well it would seem that I can't write a book filled with only my opinions and insights. They say I need so-called "sources" to back up and legitimize my spewings. So I've been studying and researching the Bible a lot today (by the way, if any of you come up with a verse about how people always fail and God never fails, please send it my way).

I don't know about any of you, but I hate researching. I hate typing things into the Google search bar to get random, unrelated topics. I hate it when I finally find snatches of info that I need, only to read it over and over again in different articles on the web.

Even back when I was in school and was required to use "books" (God bless it all), I hated it. I hate searching. I want things fed to me on a platter. My husband can sit all day long looking at different news articles. I would prefer plopping comfortably down with a bowl of ice cream in front of the TV to just watch news. And I don't mean CNN for hours upon hours. I mean the 10 o'clock news. Half hour, and I'm on my way.

But today I was surfing all over Biblegateway.com for verses on God's unfailing love for us and how He delights in His children. He really does say some wonderful things about us. It makes me feel like a secure little girl knowing how He adores me. I don't understand it, but I trust that it's true. And I'm grateful.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Rough Beginnings

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James 1:2-3

It's probably coincidental that this passage has popped up every single day of this last week in one way or another. Coincidence, ha. As if.

I didn't know this would be the week I would start writing a book that centers a bulls eye over the tender scar tissue of my heart. Someone else did. And He's not the only One, I don't think. Given the dreams I had last night, it would seem Satan has taken no hesitation in beginning his efforts to thwart my endeavor to cast a tool to further the Kingdom. Simply put, he's smart, he's quick, and he's a real jerk.

I had a mild anticipation of some spiritual heaviness coming with the topic, but I was not braced for an attack. It was a foolish oversight on my part. But now I'm here with corrected thinking, feeling more ready than before to take on this challenge.

Monday, June 14, 2010

I Need You

This is my very first official blog. I feel a little hoity-toity and like I'm suddenly on a soap box for the world to hear. And while I realize that my posts will be followed by few if any, it is a position that leaves me feeling rather exposed.

I'm using my first blog as a serious cry to people everywhere. I am in the very beginning stages of writing a book. As the title of this blog indicates, the book is about infidelity. It's not your normal book about how we women can cope with the world of pornography or how prostitution and easy sex has cheapened marriage. It's not about the trials men face and how women can be supportive.

No. It's about women cheating. And not just sexually, though promiscuity on our part is on the rise. But we cheat in our hearts and minds long before there's ever any touch-- sometimes before there's even a conversation with a man. We are more emotionally needy than we typically realize. When those needs aren't met, for any variation of reasons, we (often inadvertently) seek out fulfillment. This can bleed out in a variety of ways.

The point is that we are not alone. I have talked to too many women who have had affairs who think they're the only ones-- especially Christian women. They think "A Godly wife would never do this. There must be something wrong with me. I could never talk to anyone about this." These are lies meant to keep us alone and ineffective. Ineffective as mothers, wives, friends, and essential parts of the body of Christ.

Thus the idea of the book. What I need to make this book effective is you.

I need your stories. I don't only want women to share what they have experienced, but it would be invaluable to hear the take on husbands whose wives have been through this. Also, if it's at all possible, I would like stories from grown children who were either affected by their mother's infidelity or even conceived in it.

I obviously would assume you would write me privately. For that purpose, I'm posting my e-mail address: Ltraine@gmail.com.

Some of you have already told me your story. Please take the time to write it out. I may not remember all the details, and it could blur with new stories I'll hopefully be getting in.

I am not asking for this as gossip. Please hear my heart in that I want to provide healing and comfort to women now and future who experience the trap of infidelity. Confidentiality is key in this. You can trust that I will not "spill" about your life. And I will certainly change all names when writing. I realize the trust this is requesting and the vulnerability I'm asking you to have.

I also realize that I'm asking you to relive what may be the most painful part of your life to date. It may give you a sense of relief to know that sharing your pain may stop someone else from experiencing what you have.

Please be a part in helping me create a tool to bring healing and stop destruction.