Tongue Tied

So, this has been a very surreal few days for me. Full of some major lows, but also incredible lessons that will hopefully keep me out of the mire like this in the future. It's very difficult when someone thinks they have you figured out, and they don't like what they see. All too often, we are so quick to ascribe people motives or ideas that aren't really the case. We see what we want to see, we pick at what we think is a problem, we judge, and we break hearts in the process. I am not immune to this struggle. I have been judged. And I have judged. Double whammy. I'm not really into dramatics. I don't like petty arguments. I loathe heated discussions that are wrapped up in emotions. They never end well. They only make the problem worse. But hating these things doesn't keep me out of these situations sometimes. The other day, I found myself at the point of choosing how to respond to someone who was trying to pick a fight with me. Someone who has hurt me and the o

I have recently come to a very freeing conclusion. One that has deepened my relationship with the most important parties in my life, namely my heavenly Father, my husband, and my children. My conclusion is simply this: My kids don't have to be perfect. Stating the obvious? Perhaps. But you wouldn't believe some of the ridiculous struggles I've had just because I had some silly notion that my kids weren't meeting certain criteria--keeping up the appearances of a model Christian family. So often, we parent not for our children, but for the people watching. We allow others' notions of acceptable behavior to dictate our standards, our methods, our values, instead of looking only to God's Word for these things. But I'm through with parenting for the masses, with the constant comparisons of my children to others, of pretending to care about things I didn't really care about just so I look acceptable to others. I'll go so far to say that not only do my kids

Okay, I'm going to get all political. Fun, fun. Truthfully, this post kinda scares me. It's not that I'm ashamed of my beliefs, but with issues termed "political" there's usually the chance of offending someone. I'm not looking forward to any backlash. But this issue was posed to me recently by an acquaintance, and though I'd never given it a huge amount of thought, I promised I would study and blog about my conclusions. The statement I came across was not a new one, but definitely one I did not expect to see from a Christian. The idea was posed that it is hypocritical to claim to be both pro-life and pro-war. That if you value unborn human life as sacred, you should also be as strongly protective of the lives of those affected by a war. Not only that, but that as believers, we should always be against war. Well, before delving into a more spiritual side of the issue, right away, I see errors in accuracy in this statement. The term "pro-life"

Note: This is a short story I wrote recently in honor of my husband, the love of my life. Purely fiction and romantic fluff. Hope it's not too sappy for ya. It started out as such a good day. My favorite suit fresh from the cleaners. My hair laying exactly right. No traffic on the freeway. Annoying receptionist out sick. My out-box actually more full than my in-box. Not to mention the lavish praise from my boss on my latest project. Nothing like a pat on the back for a job well done to boost the ego and spirits. I probably looked ridiculous, walking back to my office with a big grin on my face, my heels happily tapping on the tiled floor. I was well on my way to that promotion I wanted so dearly. Nothing could ruin this day. And then I saw him. Had I not been so well practiced in wearing high heels I probably would have landed on my backside right then, files flying from my grip and floating down around me as I sat dumbfounded with mouth agape. Thankfully, that didn’t ha

Note: This is a long one…and a difficult one. I almost didn’t post this because it was just too personal for my liking. I don’t mind discussing any topic in the world except this one. But if I’m going to learn and grow, I have got to be bold and transparent, even when I don’t like it. Blah. However, I do mention the struggles of others in this blog, so if anyone I mention would rather this not be posted on the internet for all to see, just let me know. It’s not an easy thing, being perpetually in financial stress. Always wondering how you’re going to make it-how you’re going to meet those obligations and what you’re going to have to sacrifice. And always thinking that people will judge you no matter what you do. I should know. I cannot say there has ever been a point in my life where I was comfortable with my financial situation. Even as a little kid, I worried about money. My parents were in full time ministry, a.k.a. full time financial hardship. My sisters have told me when they wer

It's funny what you take for granted until you can't have it anymore. Like rain during the summer. Or sleep until you have children. Or electricity until a power outage. Or food till you're a diabetic....or married to one. This last Thursday (07-31-08), my husband was diagnosed as having diabetes. It came out of nowhere and surprises everyone we tell. He doesn't seem to fit into the nice little "categories" of people that we usually hear as having diabetes. He's not obese, inactive, older, and has no family history of the disease. It's only been five days, and yet so many things have changed so drastically, and a kaleidoscope of emotion is constantly whirling about. It's so easy to be frustrated by something that affects your health that you had no control over. Though he hasn't spoken it aloud, I'm sure the thought "why me?" has crossed his mind. It's certainly crossed mine. It doesn't seem fair that a 27 year old with n

I just finished reading “Get Out of That Pit” by Beth Moore. I picked it up at the library the other day, not because I knew I needed to read it, or even because I knew I was in a pit, but for no other reason than I happen to like Moore’s books and thought I’d give this one a whirl. Boy was that a good call. I wasn’t sure when I began reading what this whole deal with a “pit” was. But it soon became evident that I was indeed in one right now. Moore defines a pit as coming to a place in your life where you “feel stuck, you can’t stand up, and you’ve lost vision.” We can find ourselves in pits for various reasons. Perhaps someone pushed us in by their sins against us. We can stumble in by accident and then have no idea how to get out. Or we can jump in willingly by our sin. I think I found myself in this current pit by stumbling in. It didn’t begin with sin, but I certainly wasn’t looking where I was going and what started out as innocent led me to the bottom of a slimy cavern. Once I wa

"As far as why I've never practiced a specific religion, I think I'm just too pessimistic to just wholeheartedly believe in faith, to not examine and question the Bible, or any other religious text's veracity. Frankly, I think I'm too ignorant about different religions to subscribe to one specific one. I also have a hard time trying to be part of a religion that tells me that I am not 'good enough' on my own..." "I think the reason why *I* don't have religion is because I don't feel like I NEED to believe in something or have faith in anything other than myself..." "Many religions require members to believe in things I just cannot get behind--like a resurrection. My world, which is pretty heavily-bound by hard facts and science-would not allow such an event to occur." I came across these statements on a website I occasionally visit that's geared for moms and parenting. These were responses to a question posed by a young

Today would be my Grandpa's 87th birthday. We miss you!

We're thinking about getting a new computer, so I've been going through a lot of my old files on this one, printing things out or deleting things of little value to me. It's kind of like a treasure hunt, finding long lost poems and stories that I have written and forgotten about. And I can't help but notice that I used to write A LOT before I had children. It was a passion of mine. In fact, in highschool, I was certain if I ever had any sort of professional career it would be in writing. But somewhere along the way, in the midst of having babies and life as I know it, that passion slipped away a little bit. I don't feel as creative as I used to, but I do know I miss writing whenever an idea hit me. When we were newlyweds, I can remember just sitting down at the computer late at night and words would just fill the screen as if they'd written themselves. Now, late at night, I'm sleeping or holding a baby. And if I do have free time I like to read. Bu

A video that was shown in youth group last week has kindled my thoughts. In it, the narrator spoke of all the different hats we like to wear, all the personas we give ourselves in our lives that may or may not reflect who we really are. As he was speaking, a montage of people’s backs played, each person wearing a label on the back of their t-shirts giving reference to their persona. Some were labeled with a profession, some a religion, some a political affiliation, and some with emotions or personality traits. The point of the video was to encourage teens to understand that God loves them regardless of what shirt they’re wearing, and that at the heart of it, they are God’s children. But it fueled a question that has been buzzing in my brain ever since. Who in the world am I? I am somewhat ashamed of the fact that I have often fallen into the trap of portraying a persona to others so that I fit in. I say somewhat ashamed because, of course I don’t want to always be promoting my own idea

He's home now. He's young again. He's no longer hurting, or laboring to breathe. He is at peace. He's with his Savior. But we are here, still tethered to our earthly bodies and the sorrow that comes with them. We miss him. We can't help but cry in our sadness. I've been thinking of my Grampa a lot lately, knowing this day was not far off. Memories of him keep flooding back, swirling around in my head in fragments, trying to make a complete thought. The sound of a basketball hitting blacktop. The smell of grass and sweat. The promise of another chocolate popsicle if I do another trick, sing another song for the video camera. The game of trying to slap his hand before his fingers could catch mine. Seeing him sitting in his chair, munching on cashews and cracking jokes with Gramma. I only knew my Grampa for 25 of his 86 years. I can't help but feel cheated. Like I should have had longer with him. In selfishness, I wish he could have been here for my children to

So, I've been told I need to update my blog. I've been a bit distracted lately, what with a new baby and all. I don't have anything of great depth or creative insight to share, but I'll try thinking of something soon. Instead, I'll just update you on my oh-so-exciting life. Son number 2 arrived November 30, 2007, three weeks early but not a moment too soon. He is a wonderful baby, very happy, easy going, and fat. Thing One has adjusted nicely to having a baby brother and asks frequently when Thing Two will be big enough to play with him. Potty training has finally been successful. While not perfect yet, we're definitely through the worst of it I think...I hope... I'm getting an antsy kind of feeling about my house. Like things need to change. I get that feeling every so often, like I've just been looking at that paint color for too long. I have the urge to paint everything. And rearrange furniture. And take a sledge hammer to the bathroom. Ho