Water Parks and Mother Hens

My little guy is 3. I grew up with 2 sisters. My first children were two daughters. I know I've said it before, but boys continue to be a mystery to me. I'm not saying that I think males are mysterious. In fact, I tend to like what I perceive as the way that they are basically uncomplicated. When they say something, they pretty much mean it. When they do something, there isn't a particular, unobservable motive behind the action. I often find myself looking for a motive of some type only to realize that there truly isn't one. This simplicity doesn't, by any means, equate to a lack of intelligence. It just makes them often more dependable and predictable. It makes conversations less complicated, because I don't have to wonder if there is something covert or implied. I don't have to "read between the lines". When dealing with the men and boys in my life, I just have to listen and trust.

Last week, we went to an indoor water park. It has become a tradition of ours to go on a Christmas trip to the water park, or, as Levi calls it, the "park water". I find the dynamic of the water park amusing. The lifeguards are always teenagers who range from very bossy and conscientious to very laid back and permissive. They have ambiguous rules. For instance, the sign near the children's slide stated simultaneously: "Single riders ONLY" and "young toddlers MUST be accompanied by an adult". As my husband was trying to coax our one year old daughter down the slide, he decided to take her up and let her ride down on his lap. I told him this was a "no-no" according to the rules and suggested that he take her on the side-by-side slide, holding her hand. As usual, he decided to do what he wanted to do. As he got to the top, he sat down and put her in his lap. At just this moment, a teenaged girl who was in charge of that area walked by the slides. Her attention was drawn to this major rule infraction. She blew her whistle at my husband and yelled that he needed to put her down, and that she couldn't ride with him. I watched in amusement as the turmoil churned within my husband. I could see that letting her tell him what to do was truly a struggle. After all, he didn't let his 32 year old wife tell him what to do, now he was supposed to let this teenaged girl tell him? Knowing the eyes of all the children around were on him, he reluctantly set Violet on the slide in front of him giving her hand to me and letting me guide her down the slide. We didn't speak about it. :)

This year Levi was able to go up to the bigger kids section of the park. I followed him closely, and he felt "big" as he led mom around the park. We stayed under the sprinklers mostly until I asked if he wanted to go down a slide. He said he didn't want to, but I asked if he would watch me go down one. He agreed and followed me to the top of the slide. I went down the short, tube slide and out of his sight. When I stood up at the bottom, I turned to look up at him, and he wasn't there. I started to wonder where he had gone when I heard a splash behind me. I looked, and there he was. He had decided to go down after me. I was proud of him. It was an exciting milestone that turned into his leading us down the same slide a dozen more times. Then we decided to try the medium-sized tube slide. He led me down that several times, and then we graduated to the big slide. I followed him down that slide 50 times if I followed him down it once. My arms were aching from hoisting myself out of the basin at the end of the slide, but he was thrilled to lead me around and find new adventures together. When I finally needed a bathroom break, he told me he'd show me where the bathroom was. When he led me into the women's restroom, I asked if he had to go too, but he said, "No. I just went already. I'll wait for you right here." (I wondered if he meant he had gone in the park somewhere or if he was referring to when he had gone when we had first arrived.) He stood outside my stall for my return, and he directed me to the sinks for hand washing. I found, during this outing, an interesting thing about Levi: the more I let him lead me, the more mature he acted. There was nary a tantrum or a lost temper or a disrespectful word. He blossomed under the weight of my trust in his capability to lead me. He rose to meet the challenge and then some.

A few minutes ago, here at home, Levi hollered from the bathroom, "Mom! Can you help me? I need more paper toilet!" I got him a roll of toilet paper, and helped him clean himself up. As I did, he said, "That's my girl. I'm proud of you." After I was done, he said, "I need to wash my hands." He stood atop the bathroom stool observing his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He said (half to himself and half to me), "I'm a big boy. I don't hit people. I don't say 'shut up', and I don't point at people - like this..." (as he proceeded to point at me about three, different ways). He said, "I obey my parents, because that's a good idea." I agreed emphatically with him - enjoying the self-involvement of a three-year-old.

Learning how to fall into my role as a mother hasn't always been easy. Fighting my selfish instincts is a daily task. However, learning how to mother my son has been more difficult than learning to mother the girls. I feel that I usually understand the feelings and motives of my daughters, but boys don't work the same way. Babycenter.com has sent me e-mails updates once/week for each of my children since they were in-utero - a "your baby this week" email, telling me what to expect of my fetus, infant, or toddler that week. It never ceases to amaze me that most of the time they have it right, down to the week, what the baby/toddler will be doing. In that way, most of my children have mostly followed what is apparently an accepted, "normal" pattern. In another way, they don't fit a pattern at all. Each individual is so unique - their personalities and quirks so completely distinct from one another - but it's my task to be consistent with each one... loving them the same, treating them the same, handling each situation that comes my way -whether they are reading quietly or climbing the walls - with consistency and fairness, no matter my own mood or feelings.

A few weeks ago, the girls had Matthew 11:28 as their memory verse. I have them write the verse out and tell them they can illustrate it if they want. As you see below, Sadie illustrated her verse the following way:

The illustration shows "mom" saying the words, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened; and I will give you rest," but, in the Bible passage, Jesus is the One who says those words. When I asked Sadie if she knew that, she said she did, but that she thought the best way to illustrate it was with a mom saying it to her family. (What look like pets in the picture are actually crawling babies.) The dad is yawning and hanging up his coat. Looking at this drawing was a defining moment for me in some ways. It showed me what she thought a mom's role should be... giving rest to her family - being a "soft place to fall".

Author John Eldredge states in his book Wild At Heart that he believes that men and women both display unique attributes of God and that one of the attributes of God that women display is nurturing. In Psalm 91:3-5, the Psalmist writes about God giving us refuge "under His wings" and covering us "with His feathers". In Matthew 23:37 and Luke 13:34, Jesus says of Jerusalem, "how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing." These passages say to me that Sadie's portrayal of Jesus's words in Matthew 11:28 are not all that far from God's feelings for us - that He longs to show us His tenderness - if we are only willing. He will no more force us to be receptive to His affection for us than we can force our children to accept our love. However, not unlike our children, sometimes our circumstances force us into a place where we are more willing to accept the loving kindness of God. Violet, for instance, is fiercely independent. However, a tumble off a chair or the presence of a stranger will usually propel her into my arms. Likewise, our own difficulties might be an opportunity to turn to safety in the arms of the One who promises "I will give you rest".

All Male

Lately our youngest son, Levi, has been becoming more and more conversational. He is just 3, and, being a little tall for his age and quite talkative, often gets mistaken for an older child - that is, unless he throws himself down on the floor and wails... and ends up giving his toddler-hood away.

This morning, I was putting some designs on the walls of the room he shares with his nearly two year old sister. I was enjoying the work - despite the manifold interruptions - and the occasional "terrible two" who enjoyed peeling the vinyl back off the wall after I had applied it.

Levi is at an age when he likes to dress himself. He prefers, of all things in the middle of winter, shorts and t-shirts. This morning he was looking for a particular dinosaur t-shirt. I had found one with dragons on it, but it wasn't the one he "needed" to wear. As I had my back turned (working on the vinyl), he had, unbeknownst to me, emptied his entire shirt drawer onto their bedroom floor. Once I finally noticed this, I hollered that he needed to come in from the living room to clean up his shirts off the bedroom floor. I still find myself surprised, for some reason, when he is actually able to comprehend and complete a chore that I ask of him. He seems, in fact, to enjoy chores, and I often use sometimes meaningless chores to distract him or to keep him busy.

As it so happens, while he was cleaning up his shirts and putting them back in his drawer (considerably less folded than they had been before), his dad walked into the room. He looked at Mark and said, "Yeah, dad, I was in the other room and mom yelled to me (insert exaggerated, whiny, feminine-imitation voice here), 'Levi, you get in here and clean up these shirts!' So that's what I'm doin'." I was a little incredulous that he imitated my voice. This, evidently, is how I sound to him. I glanced back at Mark to see the wide grin on his face quickly fade to a smirk. I could tell he was amused, and I pretended to be a little annoyed at all this "making fun at mom's expense". However, I couldn't help but find it funny too... the little man he is turning out to be.

As Levi ran out of the room, Mark looked at me, and he said, "He's wearing shorts?"

I said smiling, "Yes. He promises he's not going outside today."

He said, "Those shorts are dirty too. He must have dug them out of the dirty clothes."

I said, "I'm not surprised. You know, I blame you for all this male-ness."

He said, "What?"

I said, "You know, all the male-ness: dirty clothes, shorts in the winter, dumping his dresser on the floor, the mock female voice... It's all your fault."

Mark responded, "Ah... okay."

I said teasingly, "He is half male, you know."

To which Mark replied, "Oh, no, honey. He's all male."

Last night, before I put him to bed, Levi told me that he had a dream. He said, "Dad was the little boy, and I was the dad. He said that, in his dream, Mark had gotten a "hurt finger". He said, "There was blood, and I looked at it, and it was cracked off." I asked, "Did you take care of daddy?" To which he responded, "Yeah, I went and got him a bandaid." I said, "Did that help his finger that was cracked off?" He said, "Yeah, we just threw it in the garbage and he felt a lot better." I guess, since dad's all male he can get a "cracked off" finger and, with a little help from a bandaid, just walk it off.

We get a good chuckle out of many of the things our children say or do... especially the youngest two at their ages. But, having had only sisters and then daughters for so long, I am constantly amazed at what my little boy does and says.

When Mark made the "all male" comment, we laughed, and, as he left the room, I started to think about the wonder of that. A male and a female got together, and, from their union, God made one or the other who is equal parts of both yet only either male or female. Now, if you ask anyone, they'll say that he's mostly Mark from the looks of things, but I can tell, from the temper and some other less desirable traits, that he is also me.

At this time of year, my thoughts turn to another little boy - One who was born of a virgin in a stable in Bethlehem a couple millennia ago. I've always had a little trouble with the concept, or maybe rather the visualizing of, the "fully God, fully man" that Jesus is. He was all Mary yet was all God. And in life, He was truly perfect - being all God. And this conversation, although completely obvious, made things a little more clear to me. Just as Levi, being born of both me and Mark, is fully male; Jesus, being born of Mary and God, was fully God in human flesh. Neither of those little boys would have ever existed, had it not been for the bond between the entities that combined to bring them about. Just as Mary's bond with God was something He used to bring forth life - vitality - from her, my bond with God is something He uses to bring forth life in me... not just living - but vitality, vibrance, and purpose. My own life is meaningless without that bond. Yeah, I could still exist, survive, and plod through my days, and sometimes I do... but I miss out on life if I don't stay connected to the life giver.

⁵"I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. - John 15:5

Hope Floats

I haven't blogged in a while. I'm feeling a little bit rusty, in fact, but here goes...

About three weeks ago, I started meeting with the dietician at our local hospital. I have been suffering from some back problems for a couple years now, and it was the pain in my back that motivated my trips to the dietician. I am hoping that if I lose some weight my back will feel better and I can avoid more long-term treatments and surgery. The dietician was quick to inform me that I am not "on a diet". I am, in fact, "living a new lifestyle". This makes it considerably harder to avoid a complex explanation when people ask me why I'm avoiding sweets or bingeing on rabbit food. "I'm on a diet" has a more noncommittal, less haughty, more slacker-friendly ring to it than, "I've chosen a new, healthier lifestyle." (Take it from a perennial slacker.) Anyway, I have only lost three pounds in three weeks, according to her scale, but I'm down from a size 12 to a 10. So I'm okay with that.

Along with my new lifestyle comes time-consuming tasks like reading labels at the store, hunting for foods that are healthier, and finding the time for exercise during busy days. I am discovering so many new types of foods that are quick, easy, and healthy. I didn't know there was a such thing as chicken sausage. I didn't know a person could make brownies using only a can of black beans and a brownie mix. I'm not saying that these discoveries have made my life more fun, but it is my hope that they will begin to improve the quality of my life.

I decided to make turkey chili this evening, and threw in some hot dogs and a chicken sausage for me. When it came time to put the hot dogs in a bun and turn them into chili cheese dogs, I had to search for the hot dogs - which had sunk to the bottom of the pot of chili. My chicken sausage, on the other hand, was floating on the top. I still can't tell you why it was less dense than the other entrails-based food products in the pot of chili. It just floated. I decided that's because it was "light", and I hoped it was going to make me light too. I mean, I already float just fine. But I guess I don't want to float so easily anymore. Anyway...

This is the week of Thanksgiving. We have decided to try to start a family tradition in conjunction with the upcoming holiday that involves making a strip of a paper chain each night - on it is written one thing for which we are thankful. Each of us writes on a chain link each evening at dinner time. We plan to keep doing this until Christmas and to use it to decorate our house for Christmas.

Tonight was our first night of paper chaining. Austin insisted on a green strip with an "army green" marker with which he wrote, "DOG" with emphasis. Claire, who was sitting next to him, wrote, on her pink strip with her pink marker, "GOD". At first, I wasn't sure if she was just copying off of Austin with a little dyslexia rolled in there. But she was the first to tell me about what she wrote. Sadie and I also wrote something about God or Jesus, and Mark wrote, "FAMILY" on his red strip. Levi wasn't quite sure what the phrase "What are you thankful for?" even meant, but finally he succumbed to the power of suggestion and said, "DAD" (on whose lap he was sitting). So I wrote that down for him. Violet had disappeared from the table shortly after devotions and had wandered off from her plate. What had been a chili cheese dog (without the bun), on Violet's plate, had been reduced to beans, cheese, and tomatoes. We decided as a family that Violet is thankful for "MEAT".

Our supper table reading had to do with anchors and how they hold you fast to where you want to be - usually in safety. As Christians, our anchor is not down to the depths of the sea... He is up - enthroned in the highest of heaven. He, at the same time, holds us in one place (safety and security) and takes us beyond ourselves to an infinitely better place - a place where we not only answer to a Higher Power but to where we are able to enjoy deep relationship with Him. He is the fulfillment of our hopes.

This month (and always) I am thankful for thousands of things, not the least of which are chicken sausages, my Anchor, and other "Hopes" that float.

Killer Tree Branches and Smooshed Woolly Bears

Patience is a virtue... one that is oft times lacking in our household. Yes, we could explain it away that we live in a world of immediate gratification, but some of it is just personality.

Levi is 3 1/2 years old. He was born impatient. From his first days home from the hospital, it was painfully (literally) obvious that he did not have the patience to nurse for longer than 2-3 minutes. He didn't like the closeness. He didn't want to wait around for more food. This continued to his first highchair days - where he would turn purple screaming for more food - faster, faster... He also displayed tendencies that I called "picky", but his dad likes the word "particular" better. His cup had to be on the correct side of his plate. As you can imagine, before he could talk, this was most upsetting for us all. I remember nearly pulling my hair out as he would scream for an hour for no apparent reason - only for us later to find out that things in his world were not "just so". His impatience for us to catch on to his desires was exasperating us all. I've become thankful that he is now aged to a point where reason is at least a possibility and boundaries are much more easily set and goals achieved.

We still have our moments, however, (or whole days) when he loses all control. Where's Waldo, for example... for the rest of my children, this is a relaxing game... something we might play to settle down before heading to bed - not so for Levi. First of all, he is amazing at finding Waldo. He beats me, hands down, every time. I am amazed at how he can look at a book page or game card for less than 10 seconds - having never seen it before - and have Waldo spotted... along with whatever else we ask him to find. He beats everyone in the house - most of the time. It's that contingent - the few times that he can't find Waldo right away - that he loses his mind. It starts with faster breathing as the panic sets in. I watch as his fists tighten into hard, little, balls. His face gets redder and redder, and he starts to shake until he shouts, "I CAN'T FIND WALDO!!" If (and that's a big if) we manage to get him calmed down, we might be able to start over and help him out. Most of the time, however, thing deteriorate to a point where he throws the book or card on the floor, and that's the end of reason.

This afternoon, as I was helping carve and de-seed pumpkins and squash with the girls, Levi was playing with a branch that had come down near one of our evergreen trees. Somehow the branch ended up offending him, because I heard him screech and looked over to find him picking up the branch and trying to beat it against the ground. He was screaming and pounding it on the ground when it bounced back up and smacked him again. The gloves came off, and he went down on the ground screaming and pulling up fistfuls of grass by the roots, as though all nature was at fault. I may be less than sympathetic as (after ascertaining whether or not true physical pain is involved or not) I try not to laugh about it. I have just never seen someone go from zero to furious in .3 seconds like he does. It's shocking and funny all at once. A part of me is frustrated for him that he can't figure out what to do with all that rage, and then I know that it's a lack of patience with the perceived faults of the people, animals, and inanimate objects around him that drive him to the brink of complete mania. It's basically hereditary.

His tornadoes blow over just as quickly (if not moreso) as they arrived. Shortly after his fight with the pine branch, he decided he wanted a piece of the wretched Halloween candy that sits in a bowl atop our refrigerator. I told him that after lunch - if he ate all of his sandwich and fruit he could have a piece of candy. He said, "I want lunch right now." As I was covered in pumpkin guts and in the middle of de-seeding, I said, "It's not quite time for lunch yet. We'll have it in a few minutes when I'm done with this." He disappeared into the house. About 10 minutes later, Austin came outside to report that Levi was eating a sandwich. I asked if Austin had made it, and he said, "No, I don't know how he got it." I have never seen Levi eat a sandwich that wasn't lovingly cut into dino-shapes or at least de-crusted by myself or an older sibling. However, he had apparently made himself his own peanut butter sandwich. Further evidence was apparent when we went to make more sandwiches and found the peanut buttery knife back in the silverware drawer with the other butter knives. In the process of his impatience-induced independence, by the way, he completely forgot about the candy he had earned by eating his sandwich "all gone". We were all proud of him.

My days are also filled with many opportunities to practice (or lose) patience. If someone wasn't dumping dog food into the dog's water, licking the glass coffee table, finding a water glass on the counter to spill on the school books, scribbling across someone else's school paper, coloring tile grout with a permanent marker, or bringing the outdoor cat indoors to suffocate it with a stack of pillows that is supposed to be "its house" - I would begin to wonder if I was in the right house. Today, Violet brought a woolly bear caterpillar into the house, unbeknownst to me, and set it on the tile floor in the laundry room. While I was rushing from one thing to another, I felt his bristles under my bare feet, followed by a squishy, moist feeling... looking down to find that the guts squished right out the end of wooly and through my bare toes. Ugh... "Don't touch it!" I shouted over my shoulder at the kids as I went to grab a tissue. Sadie held a squealing Violet back until I returned moments later with the clean-up tissue. Life is interesting, and I don't always control my emotions and act with as much patience as I would like. It becomes just raw energy, so much of the time. I use that as an excuse, but what about those times when I do have time to think it through?

I finished the volunteer training for Ogle County Hospice tonight. The graduation ceremony was bittersweet. I was a little sad to see it over, because it has been eye-opening, educational, and perspective-rich. I have learned that, with direct patient care, one's primary job is to listen. This is something I have been trying to practice away from training - at home, with friends, at church, etc., and I am way worse at it than I ever knew. I am a sentence/thought-finisher. I am a quick-thinker, and it leads to being a poor listener. I have answers formulated before the questions are finished. I think I know what another is thinking before they fully communicate, and this is bad for relationship building. It is bad for conversation in general. So... even when I do have time to think - without the pressures of the needs of the children pulling me in five, sweet, little different directions - I still am impatient with others. I don't value them enough to be a good listener - to wait for them to communicate.

That is the root, I think, of most of our impatience - at least in our home. It isn't the perceived deficiencies or exasperating behavior of others (as it sometimes seems) or even just annoyance or frustration at having to wait for someone or something - that throws us into a bout of impatience. It is love of self and putting that self-love as a priority over those around us. It is not only the devaluing of others - it's the promoting of self.

The truth is that I know I am definitely not the most special person I know. I'm not even close. So why do I act like I am? I am looking forward to practicing patience more and hoping that I can make that difficult jump from being patient with strangers (which somehow is often infinitely more easy for me) to being patient with those I live with every day.

Therefore, whatever you want men to do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets (Matthew 7:12).

Gender Confusion and Other Problems

Yesterday, I decided it was a fine day to clean out Nibbles' hamster cage - if there is such a thing as a good day to clean rodent habitat. Maybe it would be a little more animal friendly to call it an environment. "Cage" just seems so confining. Make no mistake though, it's a confinement made of wire. It's a cage. During her cage cleanings, Nibbles has to vacate the premises for about 20 minutes. She has a variety of hangouts - her ball, a shoebox with holes in the top and rocks on it to keep the lid from sliding off, an old suitcase/playground, or simply the hands of one of our children. Today, Claire held her for a while, only to return to me with a look of concern on her face. "I saw some of those hangy down things on the back of Nibbles. You know, the things that Lucky has?" (Lucky is our male Boston Terrier.)

I have never been one to try to investigate the gender of an animal if it's not readily obvious. I had just taken the kids' word for it that Nibbles was a girl. In fact, we took our cat Klaus into the vet a couple weeks ago to be neutered, and I was so afraid they were going to call me and say, "Um, Mrs. Slagter, Klaus doesn't need to be neutered. She needs to be spayed." The extra cost aside, I knew I would be embarrassed to have been found not knowing my own cat's gender. Thankfully, Klaus did turn out to be a boy, and we have the neuter bill to prove it.

Back to Nibbles... My husband, who grew up on a farm, was called in on this gender confusion issue, and quickly put it to rest. "Yep," he proclaimed following a quick examination, "he's a boy." Claire seemed a little proud of herself having been the one to discover the discrepancy. I must say, she is a tad more observant than I am when it comes to the pets.

Tonight, Claire and I were in the car alone together, and she said to me, "Does Nibbles sound like a boy name to you?" I replied, "Well, I think it could go either way." She said, "It sounds like a girl name to me." I asked her what she thinks a good boy name for a hamster would be, and she said she didn't know, but she remained unsettled just calling him "Nibbles", as if he might have been finding it emasculating all this time.

This made me think of "Arry Carlson". I sometimes listen to a radio station here in our local area. From time to time, a person named "Arry Carlson" will come on to give us the latest in local news. I don't know what kind of name "Arry" is or if I'm even spelling it correctly. However, after thorough listening, I have become quite certain that there is no "H" at the beginning of that name (which, by the way, would make him decidedly male, as I'm certain I've not known of any females named Harry). The disturbing part is that this person's voice sounds very high-pitched for a man or very low-pitched for a woman. This leaves me thoroughly confused. I know I shouldn't sweat it, but I like to be able to picture the person talking on the radio, and I have no idea if I should picture a man or a woman in this case. I wonder if anyone has heard him/her and could give me some insight here. I'm always afraid to ask anyone locally, thinking someone might say, "Yeah, that's my Uncle Arry or my sister's best friend Arry," and be offended that I asked the question. I guess I could just picture a "Pat"-like character. If you remember the 90's Saturday Night Live skit with the androgynous character named "Pat". In these maddening skits, there was a character who was impossible to pin down as one gender or another. I have started taking votes within our family though, and I think the general consensus is that, with regard to "Arry" - he is a boy.

These issues are very important in our house. Maybe it's because there are so many girls and so many boys and a competitive spirit between the two. Levi likes to introduce himself to strangers, and he also likes to introduce his sister Violet. He says, "This is my Violet. She's a grill." (She's not actually a grill, mind you, but rather a female g-i-r-l.) This never ceases to bring out the laughter of his siblings. A few weeks ago, I thought I had killed our male cat, Klaus. I shut the garage door, and he ran out at the last second getting pinned beneath the door. As I watched him squirm and struggle while trying to get the garage door button to work, my heart sank in despair that we would lose yet another kitten in a macabre accident. Happily, he ended up no worse for wear, but I think he is down to 8 lives now. However, a week later, our female cat, Wolfy, drowned in our pool on a rainy Saturday morning. This was heartbreaking for most of us. This means that the boys are winning now in our house. We have 3 human males, 1 male dog, 1 male cat, and, as it turns out, one male hamster. I'd put money on the fish being male too at this point. That leaves us females outnumbered at least 6/4.

As some of you know, I have been struggling through some health issues lately with regard to my back. I have been advised not to lift things or bend too far over, etc. I have had great difficulty with these "rules", because I have two children whom I lift several times a day. I lift them into bed. I lift them onto the counter. I love to hold and snuggle them. I think it's become even more difficult for me, because I'm realizing that I have difficulty relating to very young children any other way. I am ashamed to admit that I have minimal imagination and similarly minimal motivation to try to think of ways to engage my toddlers meaningfully. I am very focused on the schooling of my oldest three children, and I am often absorbed in that task to the near exclusion of much else. I have never felt particularly able to engage babies and toddlers or tend to do so on a level too mature for their level of communication. I do, however, have the ability (usually) to lift, hold, and snuggle the toddlers - which makes me feel more "able". Lately, however, as a good deal of that ability has been taken away from me, I have started to feel that sadness creep in - mother guilt - that I'm not having enough fun with Levi and Violet and that I am not a good mother to our littlest ones. I really want to relate to them better. I just have no idea how to get there from here.

Like so many other people, I am a perfectionist about certain things. I hate to even use that word, because I think pretty much every person has perfectionistic tendencies in one way or another. Perfectionists are always frustrated perfectionists. There is no one who can attain the standard for which they strive, if that standard is perfection. God alone sets and achieves that standard. However, I am admittedly an "all or nothing" person. If I can't get it all right, I don't want to try. If I can't believe in something 100%, I am all out. This translates into my relationships also. If I can't attain a high level of mutual satisfaction in a relationship, I am tempted to retreat from it, in order to not feel like a failure. I hate this about myself, because it has definitely entered into my relationship with my children.

Like other things, I decided to commit it to prayer. After all, I am certain that if I have a desire to have fun and/or relate meaningfully to any of my children, God has given me that desire. It's a right desire. I hadn't really thought of praying about it before, because I guess I just thought that if God wanted me to be good with kids, I would have been born that way. When I think about that, it seems silly. After all, I'm a lot of things God didn't make me to be - selfish, proud, impatient, etc. Sometimes, it's easy to believe that if we don't take to something immediately though, God just didn't intend for us to be good at it. Or, if we struggle with something difficult about ourselves, we should just let ourselves off the hook, because if God had wanted us to be perfect, he would have made us that way.

Anyway, I guess the good news is that tonight I sat on the floor with Violet. She brought me two bouncy balls, and we played with them for a long time. Levi joined in, and then Claire joined too. Before I knew it, we had played until bed time. I knew that it didn't have to be as difficult as I was making it, but I didn't know it could be so completely effortless.

Psalm 37:4-5 says, "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord. Trust also in Him, and He will do it." I knew that God would give me the desires of my heart, but I didn't know that He would give me the desires of my heart. What I mean by that is that He took the desires of my heart - being comfortable, being selfish, being lazy... and gave me different ones. He gave me the desire to be a better mother, and He is showing me how to do it. It won't just fall in my lap. I partner with Him. We do it together, but I am so glad that He isn't just letting me keep my selfish desires - walking through life missing out on the joy of truly loving my children - grills and boys - with more than just my heart, with my actions too.

For the Love of V8

A few days ago, I was in the car listening to a local radio station, and I heard a commercial for V8 juice. In the commercial, a woman's voice said something to the effect of, "Isn't it funny how nature knows just what types of food to grow to make us the healthiest people we can be?" My immediate reaction was, "Yeah, funny how 'nature' is brilliant like that." I guess if you grab the obvious, "nature" - or God - made the food that our bodies were best off to eat. (Or if you grab the not-so-obious, nature also grows poisons, poppies, coca plants, and magic mushrooms - none of which are particularly healthy for our bodies.) Now, this is not a blog about food. I guess it kind of is. It's a blog about V8 juice, and whatever else my brain wants to stick in there.

V8 juice brings back a couple childhood memories. First, for a little background... I'm not fond of processed tomato/veggie products in general - especially cold and in drink form. I did, however, like most children, love my mommy. I also thought my mom enjoyed flowers. When I was probably around 5 years old, I just happened to find some beautiful flowers in our neighborhood that I just knew my mom would enjoy. I picked them carefully, so proud of my find... imagining how much joy they would bring my mom and the rest of the family as they were displayed beautifully in a glass vase on our kitchen table. I brought them through the kitchen door to be met with a look of shock from my mom. This wasn't exactly the look I had been expecting. She asked in surprise, "Where did you get these?!" I probably said something to the effect of "over there" - pointing to our neighbor's front yard. The Geigers were our elderly neighbors. They seemed ancient to me, but they were probably only about 60 or so. Their house was always neat as a pin, inside and out, and their front yard was landscaped with some lovely tulips. Keyword here being "was". I was right that my mom did love the flowers I brought her, but it turned out that she would have preferred to admire them in the ground in front of the Geigers' house instead of in a vase on our table. I remember my mom explaining to me that they were planted there by the Geigers on purpose, and that they weren't meant to be picked. They were for yard decoration purposes. She further explained that I had technically stolen the tulips (a scary word to a youngster), and that I needed to take them back over to the Geigers and explain why I had taken them.

I don't remember how long it took me to get up the courage to go over to the Geigers' house, but I know it was the same day. I timidly knocked on their door, and they invited me to come into their home. They had me sit down at the table, and I explained what had happened with the tulips. They smiled warmly and offered me the usual... some cookies (the kind that come in the round, blue tin with the paper circle in between the layers of cookies) and some juice or water. After a few visits to their house, a kid learned never to say "yes" to juice at the Geigers house. For, alas, it was always V8 juice. My grandparents always had apple cherry berry juice or this other juice called "Kool-Aid". They told me their grandchildren didn't come to visit very often, and, after finding their selection of grandparent beverages wanting, I didn't wonder why. As an adult, I can imagine now that, after the first time that glass of V8 juice sat there at the end of our visit having had only one sip taken out of it, she was telling me that the reason they didn't have much for juice flavors was because they didn't have children visit very often. As a kid I just thought, "Yeah, no wonder those kids don't want to come over." In a "what came first, the chicken or the egg" sort of way, I had assumed that the V8 juice had precipitated the lack of grandchild visits, not the other way around. Anyway, the tulip theft was forgiven in a flash. The Geigers were always wonderful and gracious to our family.

It made me think though about all those foods that "go down easy". They aren't the foods that will make my body healthy and my bones stronger. The foods my flesh inevitably craves are the ones that aren't as good for me. Sure, I love a nice piece of broccoli, some carrots, apple slices, and many other naturally-derived foods. But I'm not likely to "overindulge" on them - as if that were even possible. Overindulge on polish sausage and double cheese pizza, and you're looking down the barrel of a triple bi-pass. Overindulge on broccoli and apple slices, and the worse thing you'll get is an extra couple trips to the bathroom the next day. Now, I am certain that there are people who have developed a deep love for carrots, tofu, plain yogurt, and getting up before dawn to run 10 miles. Some would call them masochists, but I just think of them as the standard people... the ones who give those of us who just try hope for the possibility that it is indeed possible to make it to that level. I don't believe they just get there by sudden revelation though. They get there through years of sacrifice... making themselves eat a diet of healthy foods and exercise... until they no longer crave junk food and rest to the point of overindulgence.

Our tendency though, rather than to sacrifice, is to try to manipulate our foods into something with less calories by adding artificial ingredients. Do these make me healthier? Certainly not. Am I better off drinking a zero calorie diet pop instead of a 150 calorie loaded one? The scale may say so, but it isn't telling the whole truth. The chemical manipulation is not good for my health in general. Diet pop is just the beginning of trying the "have my cake and eat it too" attitude that ends in the manipulation of food to try to make it more diet friendly.

It's the same in other aspects of our lives. The things that "go down easy" when I'm sitting on a church bench or listening to the radio or reading a book or blog aren't the things that are going to change my life for the better or grow me in an area of immaturity. In fact, if my flesh likes it, it's almost certainly junk food. In effort to make myself feel better, I tend toward surrounding myself with people who are like-minded... spiritually speaking. I want to surround myself with teachers, mentors, and friends who believe what I think is right - thoroughly avoiding and dismissing any opposing truth.

II Timothy 4:2-4 clearly states, "²Preach the Word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. ³For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. ⁴They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. In other words, we will try to manipulate our surroundings in order that we don't have to "feel the burn" of conviction or give ourselves a spiritual workout. We will feel better in a bubble of pride, and we will know we are certainly right, because everyone who surrounds us agrees with us. Scripture clearly states that its purpose is for correcting, rebuking, encouraging, training, and instructing (2 Tim 3:16 and 4:2). However, few of us really want to be rebuked and corrected, or even trained or instructed. We don't want to feel the burn. Our ears "itch" for things that make us feel good about ourselves. So we take our spiritual placebo - our diet discipleship and feel good about making the effort - even though, like my Coke Zero, it might actually be contributing to our own demise.

Hey, when I'm in good shape (which isn't all that often anymore), I like a good workout. It's refreshing and helpful. However, when I'm out of shape, a good workout is still good, but it's not something I want. It's taxing, and it leaves my muscles sore. It's something I avoid. Spiritual life is the same way. The more I go without it, the more comfortable I am living in that void. It becomes an acceptable way of life.

There are people who actually enjoy sermons, worship time, and Bible studies... the standard people again. They didn't get there overnight anymore than a Mr. Universe contestant gets on stage by sitting in a bean bag chair eating Cheetos, but they certainly didn't get there by feeling comfortable where they were. People who enjoy the spirit life don't get there by balking at conviction and spurning correction and rebuke.

I am thankful, at this point in my life, to have a few good friends. I know they are true friends to me, and I can tell by one hallmark: they tell me the truth - even when it hurts. They tell me when I'm wrong. They tell me when I'm out of line. They tell me when I'm missing the mark. They use Scripture to do it. Do I think they are preaching at me from a self-righteous soapbox? No. I know they are acting on my behalf... to help me out of sin - whether it be anger, self-pity, gossip, pride, etc. Could they be acting in pride? Maybe, but that is for God to know and correct, and it certainly doesn't mean God can't use their scriptural rebuke to produce a right spirit in me. Proverbs 27:5-6 says, "Better is open rebuke than love that is concealed. Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy." One of my greatest joys at this point in my life is that God has blessed me with friends who leave faithful wounds, and I pray for a heart that yearns for truth and a spirit that desires conviction - so that I can be all of that for which I was created.

I may never enjoy a nice glass of V8, but I can hold out hope that I will enjoy feeling a heavenly "burn".

Praying in the Port-A-Potty

Matthew 6

Giving to the Poor and Prayer

¹"Beware of practicing your righteousness before men to be noticed by them; otherwise you have no reward with your Father who is in heaven.

²"So when you give to the poor, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be honored by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full.

³"But when you give to the poor, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,

⁴so that your giving will be in secret; and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.

⁵"When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full.

⁶"But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you.

⁷"And when you are praying, do not use meaningless repetition as the Gentiles do, for they suppose that they will be heard for their many words.

⁸"So do not be like them; for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.

⁹"Pray, then, in this way:
'Our Father who is in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
¹⁰'Your kingdom come
Your will be done,
On earth as it is in heaven.
¹¹'Give us this day our daily bread.
¹²'And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
¹³'And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. [For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.]'

¹⁴"For if you forgive others for their transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.

¹⁵"But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.

This was a portion of our Scripture passage for reading and discussion today with the girls. For children, who often take things very literally, it was not the easiest passage to explain.

I usually start out by saying, "If either of you have any questions when I'm reading, please raise your hand or tap me on the arm, and we'll see if we can figure out an answer."

We started out by reading the last portion of Matthew 5 in which Jesus states, "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you..." It didn't take long for Claire's little hand to shoot into the air. I glanced sidelong at her, hoping she might just be fidgety. She looked at me, her eyebrows flexed in doubt. I asked her what her question was, and she said, "That doesn't make any sense." I told her that's exactly why Jesus said it, because everyone else listening to him thought it didn't make sense either." They had never heard of such an absurd idea. Nobody could possibly argue that choosing love and kindness over hate and anger, as difficult as that would be, wouldn't make the world a better place.

With that question pretty much laid to rest, we moved on to Matthew 6:5-6. As you can see above, it's about praying in public. The Bible also tells us to "pray without ceasing" (1 Thes. 5:17). So this was another one that was a little harder to explain. Yes, we should pray all the time, but we shouldn't let it be known or obvious that we are doing so. Basically, we shouldn't pray obnoxiously. We shouldn't pray "at people". Instead, we should pray "for people". In any case, if you're going to pray, do it quietly and respectfully.

Sadie said, "Like maybe we could go into a phone booth to pray for people." This made me smile, as I wondered how on earth they could know what a phone booth even is. (I haven't seen one of those, myself, for probably at least 10-15 years.) I said, "Like Superman?" Claire piped in, "Yeah! Like Superman. Hey, why doesn't Superman just change in the port-a-potty? There's more room, no windows, and a lock on the door... oh, and a potty." Aces, Claire. The child with difficulty focusing can always be counted on to bring a little levity to any conversation. However, I had to admit that, at least Biblically speaking, praying in the port-a-potty would be preferable to praying on the street corner.

This turned my mind to another amusing memory. Probably about a year ago, my husband's parents came to visit our house. They live in Iowa. When they arrived, he, being the good host he tries to be, offered them something to drink. To preface, my husband had a thing for orange and grape pop for awhile. He liked the most generic forms of orange and grape soda, which, frankly, make me want to hurl. Aside, never had he asked me to purchase any form of Coke product for himself, although I usually keep diet/caffeine free for myself. He said to his dad, "We have water, milk, pop...(glancing at me), what - we have Coke, Diet Coke, orange, grape?" I said, "We don't have coke." He said, "We don't have coke?" (As though I had committed the cardinal sin of wifedom.) I said quietly, "No. We've... never... h-had Coke." He promptly replied, "Well... I'd like to see a little more Coke around here!" Outside me said, "Um, okay." Inside me was saying, "Um, exqueeze me, King Henry VIII? Shall I also bear you a son immediately or be banished to the Tower?"

When I retold this exchange to my husband later, he laughed incredulously and said, "I didn't really say that. Did I?" I said, "Um, yes you did! Were you just trying to impress the guests?" He honestly still doesn't remember saying it, although it has become quite a joke around here and at his parents's house (as they remember it too) - the "bring me my hasenpfeffer!" joke.

The point is that sometimes, maybe we all like to look a little better than we are... a little more impressive. I'm so glad that God sees the heart... good, bad, prideful, weak, hurting, helpless, raw... and that He's never shied away from our humanity. On the contrary - He has embraced it fully in giving us His Son - who was fully God and fully man - in order to reconcile us with Himself. An encouragement would be to ask God to help us make the choice to be authentic, but to learn, in the process, to authentically love, pray for, and give to others, yes, even our enemies, maybe even especially them. That should make loving everyone else seem like a piece of cake... even if you're just praying for them in the port-a-potty.

Am I Cut Out for This?

Week 3 of Hospice training, and I have only cried 2 out of the 3 weeks. After about a half hour lecture on the virtues of hand washing and flu shots - handouts courtesy of the CDC - talk turned to a more serious topic. Our class of about 15 volunteer trainees consists entirely of women. I know there are many male volunteers for Hospice. Our class just happens to have none. Several of my fellow class members are widows whose husbands received Hospice care prior to passing. Tonight they got a chance to share the stories of the passing of their husbands. One of the ladies was a younger widow, and the two others were older. They told touching stories ranging from the holding of a hand, one last kiss, and a missed opportunity for "proper" goodbyes. One of the ladies in the class told of losing her 3 year old son - who had also received Hospice care. She shared also of a lady she knew who, only two weeks ago, lost a 4 year old daughter.

On my way home, a flurry of thoughts consumed me. For one thing, I momentarily found myself in an odd sort of selfish regret - regret for all of my deep relationships. How odd... to regret forming close bonds with other people. In evaluating my regret, I realized it was caused by one thing: the fear of the inevitable moment when I will lose one of those beloved people. My grandparents are all still, by God's grace, alive and well, and we have always been an extremely close-knit family group. I am not naive to the fact that they will not live forever, but when I'm listening to my favorite radio station or thinking about what I'll have for a bedtime snack or how our school day will go tomorrow, all of us seem immortal.

A second thought that has overwhelmed me is that of how unduly blessed I am. I have never experienced the death of a close loved one. I have never known that kind of intense pain. I don't know how - in 32 years - I have managed to escape that, but I have. The other fear that accompanied that thought was that now, because my grandparents are all aging at the same time, I'll likely lose them in succession that will be even more difficult to bear. Even the thought is overwhelming to me - in an emotional sense.

And then I start to wonder if I am "cut out" for this type of volunteering. After all, I have cried twice, and I've never even seen a single patient. However, if anyone had ever told me in my younger years that I would be divorced, be a single mom, get remarried, move to another state, move back, be a step-mom, and have 5 children - whom I would homeschool, I would probably have lost my mind prematurely (as opposed to gradually, day-by-day, like I am now). I'm no feminist, but I have to say that I have seen myself and hundreds of other women handle life-altering situations - from birth to death and everything in between - with grace and poise and beauty that might even make the angels marvel. In contrast, I have also seen us do some of the most petty, ridiculous, silly, and temporal-minded things on earth. We wrap ourselves up in these tiny, little worlds where trivial things are of the utmost importance. We pressure ourselves and each other to be our own version of perfect. We convince ourselves that somehow these little issues and arguments are "life and death". That becomes less possible to do when you're sitting around a table of widows and moms who have lost children. When you sit with people who have fought cancer... who have lost a child... who have watched a spouse walk out the door... who have held the hand of a dying loved one... perspective isn't just a possibility - it's a guarantee. It slaps you upside your head.

After I came home, I sat on my youngest son's bedroom floor with him. We opted for the washcloth wipe down - which, at our house, is somewhere between the spit bath and the full bath/shower power wash. As I took out a cloth and began to wipe down my son's feet and legs with it, I was magically transported back to his infant massage class. That squirmy, little, baby boy who was so ticklish from head to toe that he had a hard time sitting still for his infant massage... he's now a 3 1/2 year old, rambunctious (still ticklish) guy who now enjoys a few minutes of toddler massage with his mom. He doesn't even crawl away anymore. The sad part is... I don't do it every night - not even close. I don't take the moments nearly as often as I could. I take them for granted. We all do.

I doubt very much that anyone initially feels that he or she is "cut out" to sit by the bedside of a dying person and that person's family, but people sign up to do it every day. Each one of those people has a unique reason for doing it. My reasons are also unique and varied, but the one that I discovered tonight is that I need, not only to grow up, but to grow out. I have to get outside of myself... my e-mails, my phone calls, my daily grind. I have to get out of my selfish, small world - into someone else's small world. The difference is that they actually deserve to have a small world - a narrow focus. It's not only deserved; it's needful for them. I have no right or reason to feel sorry for myself or to pamper or baby myself along.

If you've read my blog much, you may have noticed that our family is day-to-day chaos. Someone is coloring the tile grout with a Sharpie or eating copious amounts of raisins to the point of impending diaper doom or combing their hair with a wet toilet brush, or shaving their eyebrows off (okay, this one hasn't happened yet - fingers crossed) on a semi-daily basis around here. Sometimes, that's enough excuse to feel sorry for myself, but I hope that this training (and the volunteering that follows) changes me into someone who doesn't fall into self-pity as easily as she has in the past. I want a broader perspective.

Maybe that's even partially (subconsciously) my motivation for taking the opportunity to volunteer at Hospice. I need to be made aware - in a very practical sense - that, for the most part, death is as much a gift as life is. It's a transition from one part of eternity to another. I have hope that, for me, it will be a more beautiful life than I'll ever know here.

"Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened." But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." 1 Peter 3:14b-15a.

Life is Just a Terminal Illness

Tonight I attended my first Hospice training. I am not even sure what prompted me to do it, other than that I generally enjoy caring for people, but I don't especially want to go to nursing school. I've had several people try to talk me out of volunteer work for Hospice - because of the fact that it's "emotionally draining" and "terribly difficult". Not that I doubt either of those things, but I guess that's life - and death - for most of us anyway. Isn't it nice to think that there will be someone there to go through it with me when I am suffering? I've suffered great loss before with no one there to comfort me, and I don't wish that for anyone.

Hospice training apparently offers great perspective on life in general. The lady who was conducting the training this evening said something that stuck out to me. At a certain point she said something to the effect of, "People often feel such heartache for the terminally ill - treating them with great fragility, as though they are dying every moment. But I have news for you: LIFE IS A TERMINAL ILLNESS." The obvious implication is that, for the most part, someone who is terminally ill wants to talk about life in general - maybe punctuated by moments of personal reflection - but we're all dying from the day we are born. So the terminally ill patient doesn't want to talk about his or her impending death anymore than you or I want to talk about ours. I found this to be great perspective.

I was raised to believe in the God of the Bible. I was raised to sing songs that said, "My God is so BIG - so great and so mighty there's nothing my God cannot do." I heard things like, "God loves each of us as if there was only one of us." I believed it. After all, as I grew and learned about how big the universe is and when I looked out my window at the beauty around me, I couldn't help but be drawn to the truth that I am loved. I was part of the "privileged planet" - the one that was singled out to bear life. I am special to One infinitely greater than myself.

Cynical thought of the day puts many Christians in the camp of the idea that maybe God didn't create - or, if He did, He must have taken billions of years to do it. It also puts God as a far-off entity that cares nothing for the daily life of any individual person. However, the God of the Bible tells me something strikingly different:
Jeremiah 29:11-13 (New King James Version)

¹¹ For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. ¹² Then you will call upon Me and go and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. ¹³ And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.

God tells me (in the only Book He left me, by the way), that He THINKS THOUGHTS TOWARD me... and not only that, but that they are for my benefit.
Jesus Himself said,

John 15:16-17,19 (New King James Version)

¹⁶ You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain, that whatever you ask the Father in My name He may give you.¹⁷ These things I command you, that you love one another....¹⁹ If you were of the world, the world would love its own. Yet because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you.

Jesus said he chose and appointed us to bear fruit - loving one another.

Romans 8:31-34 (New King James Version)
God’s Everlasting Love

³¹ What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? ³² He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things? ³³ Who shall bring a charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. ³⁴ Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died, and furthermore is also risen, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us.
God is for me. He justifies me, and Jesus intercedes on my behalf.

Isaiah 41:10 (New King James Version)

¹⁰ Fear not, for I am with you;
Be not dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you,
Yes, I will help you,
I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.’

Hebrews 4:16 (New King James Version)

¹⁶ Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

God helps me in times of need. He strengthens me and upholds me when I need it. He sees my needs and meets them.


Jesus Himself prayed in The Lord's Prayer: "...give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors... and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil..."
He knew His Father better than any person knows God. However, He seems to pray as though God sees and meets our daily needs - also seeing our sins, our trials and our temptations - with the intentions of delivering us out of them as we ask.

Romans 14:7-8 (New King James Version)

⁷ For none of us lives to himself, and no one dies to himself. ⁸For if we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. Therefore, whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s.
This verse clearly states that we are the Lord's. We do not belong to ourselves, and we are not autonomous creatures who have no responsibility to a higher power - as much as we would all like that sometimes.

1 Peter 5:6-7 (New King James Version)

⁶ Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, ⁷ casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.
And, last but not least, He cares for me. These are just a few verses that state overwhelmingly that God is a loving and cares about me - yes, even my daily events.


I could get into verses on the fact that He created, but that would take a lot more time than I want to take. However, the Bible states overwhelmingly from Genesis 1:1 - Revelation 4:11 that God created everything, and it only states one way that He possibly could have done it. Yet, we have a way of trying to make God seem more "bite-sized", more "me-like". We try to think like Him or try to imagine in our tiny minds how he could or couldn't have done something or how he did or didn't do something. However, when I look out at the wonder around me, I can truly say that I cannot imagine or even come close to fathoming the thought processes of a Being that could create what I see. In fact, God clearly states that truth:


Isaiah 55:8-10 (New International Version)

⁸ "For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the LORD.
⁹ "As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts..."

If I believed in - let's say - Santa Claus... If I believed that he and his reindeer flew around the sky on Christmas Eve delivering presents to all the children of the world, would I put limits on that? Would I say, "Well, maybe he could deliver presents to some of the kids, but not all of them," or "Maybe he only delivers one present to each child," as if adding any of those stipulations make the possibility of this man and his reindeer more plausible. Yet, people do that - to make a lie more settling. We tell our children that Santa has "helpers" who look like him who help visit all the houses. We tell them that he has one special reindeer with a red nose that will help him see in snowstorms. We tell them these things for one reason: to make a lie more believable.


As far as I can tell, that's the only reason to make creation into a billion year event or to make God into one who takes very little stock in our everyday affairs - to make a lie believable. It's so that our minds can process, in light of modern science or popular thought, an utter "impossibility". These same people would berate an apologetics ministry for trying to make sense of how things possibly could have happened, but that's exactly what they're doing: apologizing for the Bible - the way it's written - and making excuses that make it sound less ridiculous. My question has to be - WHY? Why have faith but only to a certain degree?
After all, faith, according to the dictionary is: 2 strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof. What's that again? "rather than proof?" If I believed in Santa Claus, I'd go WHOLE HOG. Santa can do anything, anytime, any place. Why look half stupid? Of course, I'm an "all or nothing" kind of gal. I don't believe in the modern day myth of Santa, because I see convincing evidence that he is a myth. I have never seen any proof that he might actually exist today.


However, if you were chosen (John 14:16, Matthew 22:14, Mark 13:20, Luke 18:7, John 15:19, Romans 8:33, Romans 11:5, Romans 16:13, Ephesians 1:11, Colossians 3:12, 1 Thessalonians 1:4, James 1:18, James 2:5, 1 Peter 1:2, 1 Peter 2:9, 1 Peter 5:13, Revelation 17:14) to have faith, you were chosen to seem ridiculous (John 15:16-19) to the world. If you don't like this and are trying to apologize for it, you're wasting your time. If you don't fully compromise or fully stand, you're not fully accepted by the side with full faith or the side with full disbelief. And you have no place to be trying to convince either side of your point of view, because you don't fully have one.


James 1:16 - 18 (New King James Version)
¹⁶Don't be deceived, my dear brothers. ¹⁷Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. ¹⁸He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of all he created.


Oh, and in case you mistake my zeal for anger, it isn't. Passion is such a lost gem that people often see it as offensive or wrong. It's just what it is - a strong feeling that evokes strong emotions. I have seen God work. I see it every day. Hospice lady said, as we were touring their facility tonight, that a lady had come there to die and that her dying wish was to see a deer. She said that they worked for days and days to get a deer to come to the patio - by putting food out, etc. She said that mere days before she died, a deer showed up on the patio and spent four hours in front of the dying patient's window. She said, "It was as if God was giving her the miracle she hoped for." Hmmm... I guess it could have been just coincidence. I guess I've had to come to the point at which I have to decide that I'm either okay looking foolish for having a full, living, vibrant faith or compromise that to a half-hearted, apologetic, questioning faith - if you can even call it "faith" at that point. I figure, I suppose, that if I'm going to look like an idiot - why not look like a BIG idiot. I'm okay with that, because, if God's Word is any indication, I'm a chosen idiot.