Yesterday I went for a run with my five-year-old and my dog. I didn't want to run. It was Saturday. I wanted to sleep and eat and sleep some more. But the dog was overeager and the five-year-old was holding me to the promise I had made earlier in the week that he could ride his bike alongside of me while I ran on Saturday.
So, there we are, running along, only a few blocks from home when I realize I am falling toward the ground. In my head I'm thinking "Roll! Roll!" I finished with a roll, but my knees and hands took the majority of the beating. I lay there on my back at the side of the road in pain and humiliation with my dog and son hovering over me to see if I'm okay.
I was honestly hurt enough that I couldn't just get up and walk away. I lay there with my bleeding hands and knees in the air trying to figure out how to get up without using said hands or knees. A concerned elderly gentleman came out of his house to see if I was okay. It was kind of him, and I assured him I just had some scrapes and bruises, but I was embarrassed. I was just running along and I tripped over an uneven sidewalk.
Apologizing to Joshua, I told him mommy was too hurt to keep running, and we'd have to go home. He was bummed, but saw the evidence dripping down my leg and road home without complaining. As I walked I felt my knee swelling and my hands throbbing. By the time I got home I had two goose eggs on my knee with lots of gravel lodged inside. Ouch.
I hate falling. I hate looking foolish. And I hate feeling stupid.
Being a teacher, I think there must be a lesson in here somewhere. Maybe it's that I feel the same about tripping up in life.
I don't like it.
If I had my choice I'd be perfect. I'm not a perfectionist (I actually have an unhealthy fear of them), I just don't like to mess up. And I think I have some solid reasons for that.
1) Falling hurts - my knee is still sore to the touch, and hurts to bend or straighten. Because of the pain I can't do all of the things that I normally do. I have to rest and nurse myself back to health. I need help from others and patience. This annoys me, and I don't like pain.
2) Tripping is embarrassing - we all know that this was our greatest fear at high school/middle school graduation - that we'd trip and fall on the stage in front of everyone. Real life isn't any better. When people see me mess up, I get embarrassed. I don't want the whole world to know how imperfect I am, how often I mess up, and I don't want them judging me for it.
Even my five-year-old, who is used to falling and hurting himself (a lot) commented that mommies don't usually fall down. "I know," I said, "I just wasn't paying attention to my feet. See, we all trip and fall sometimes." Maybe seeing me fall makes him feel better about his record, but I fear that it opens his eyes to how weak and vulnerable I really am and makes him insecure (kind of like it does to me).
3) The evidence takes a while to clean up - I look like I had some sort of accident, but with no cool story to go with it, just some gross scabs. So, whenever I'm wearing shorts for the next few days people will likely ask me what happened. My response will probably be something like, "I'm a big dork." I keep thinking that this is not what God wants me to say, but that's all my embarrassment can come up with. Somehow I think that slamming myself first will preempt the obvious judgment they will come to.
But, as I was journaling this morning and talking to God about my fall I felt like he asked me, "Leah, who are you really?"
"I know, I'm not a dork, I'm still a daughter of the King."
Pretty cool that a banged up mess like me can still carry a title like that, I just don't know if I'll have the courage to use it when people look at my knee in disgust (or maybe sympathy) and ask what happened.
"I'm a dork" still feels more fitting. I guess that's what's so amazing about grace.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Gymnastic Dreams
Raise your hand if you have been staying up too late watching Olympians win gold this last week. Michael Phelps has rocked Beijing, but my favorite is the women's gymnastics.
Nastia Liukin is a picture of beauty and grace. Shawn Johnson is a powerhouse of perfection. And I am not a little impressed with their cool under pressure. Watching them go one, two in the individual all-around competition was fantastic, though my husband and I almost developed stomach ulcers as we literally held our breath through every routine.
You probably don't know this about me, but I once had dreams of Olympic gymnastics myself. When I was a little girl I begged my mom to wait in the hours-long line to sign me up for gymnastics at the park district. Thankfully, she gave in. This is significant because my mom is not a patient person. She made me wait with her, but I didn't mind. The line wound around the gymnasium, past the vault and near my favorite uneven bars. I was pursuing my Olympic dreams.
My body has a decently athletic build and ability, the only problem is my mind. It is filled with a lot of imagination, but not much mental toughness or tenacity. I once almost got a black eye when attempting a back-walk-over. My leg knew it was supposed to go over, but my brain had second thoughts and hesitated. My knee crashed into my eye socket and I went down. Thankfully no major bruise ever formed.
In second grade there was a girl in my class, Chris Adams, that could do flip flops all across the playground. I would ask her to do them again and again. I loved Chris Adams. I, on the other hand, could only do one flip flop when spotted really well. But I could run and jump over that vault, swing around the uneven bars and point my toes like no other.
One of my favorite, and most humorous, memories of my dad is when he pulled me aside one day and told me that if I wanted to he would support my desire to go all the way with gymnastics. He would support my Olympic dreams. I love him to death for the memory, but even at the time I think I knew it was a little unrealistic. You see, I never was able to progress past "advanced beginners."
I watched anything I could about Nadia Comaneci. I saw how in her native Romania they came into her school and picked her out to begin training at a young age. I waited, but no one came for me. Then she went into a gym with her own personal coaches and they formed her, not only into an Olympic gymnast, but into the greatest gymnast who had ever lived. She was the first to receive a perfect "10." I, on the other hand, watched as a select few walked into our room for "intermediates." These were the girls with potential. I was not one of them.
After filling my mind with all of these dreams, I had one of my own, while I slept. I can still picture it in my mind - leaping and flipping on the balance beam (the apparatus I feared most) and sticking every landing. I was sleeping over at a friend's house when I had the dream. I won gold. I was the best. And then I woke up. It had seemed so real that I cried when I realized it was just a dream. My Olympic hopes would never become a reality. I was 10 years old, already too old to hope.
Now I watch these girls twist and turn in seemingly impossible feats of strength and athleticism with my three-year-old daughter. She gets up and spins and says she wants to do "ballet" like them. And in the pit of my stomach I feel the hopes of a dream rekindle. Maybe I should sign her up for tumbling. She may have gotten her pole vaulter father's mental focus and ability to stay airborne.
But no, I don't want to be one of those parents putting my dreams onto my children. But I have to say, Olympic dreams die hard, even when you never get past advanced beginners.
Nastia Liukin is a picture of beauty and grace. Shawn Johnson is a powerhouse of perfection. And I am not a little impressed with their cool under pressure. Watching them go one, two in the individual all-around competition was fantastic, though my husband and I almost developed stomach ulcers as we literally held our breath through every routine.
You probably don't know this about me, but I once had dreams of Olympic gymnastics myself. When I was a little girl I begged my mom to wait in the hours-long line to sign me up for gymnastics at the park district. Thankfully, she gave in. This is significant because my mom is not a patient person. She made me wait with her, but I didn't mind. The line wound around the gymnasium, past the vault and near my favorite uneven bars. I was pursuing my Olympic dreams.
My body has a decently athletic build and ability, the only problem is my mind. It is filled with a lot of imagination, but not much mental toughness or tenacity. I once almost got a black eye when attempting a back-walk-over. My leg knew it was supposed to go over, but my brain had second thoughts and hesitated. My knee crashed into my eye socket and I went down. Thankfully no major bruise ever formed.
In second grade there was a girl in my class, Chris Adams, that could do flip flops all across the playground. I would ask her to do them again and again. I loved Chris Adams. I, on the other hand, could only do one flip flop when spotted really well. But I could run and jump over that vault, swing around the uneven bars and point my toes like no other.
One of my favorite, and most humorous, memories of my dad is when he pulled me aside one day and told me that if I wanted to he would support my desire to go all the way with gymnastics. He would support my Olympic dreams. I love him to death for the memory, but even at the time I think I knew it was a little unrealistic. You see, I never was able to progress past "advanced beginners."
I watched anything I could about Nadia Comaneci. I saw how in her native Romania they came into her school and picked her out to begin training at a young age. I waited, but no one came for me. Then she went into a gym with her own personal coaches and they formed her, not only into an Olympic gymnast, but into the greatest gymnast who had ever lived. She was the first to receive a perfect "10." I, on the other hand, watched as a select few walked into our room for "intermediates." These were the girls with potential. I was not one of them.
After filling my mind with all of these dreams, I had one of my own, while I slept. I can still picture it in my mind - leaping and flipping on the balance beam (the apparatus I feared most) and sticking every landing. I was sleeping over at a friend's house when I had the dream. I won gold. I was the best. And then I woke up. It had seemed so real that I cried when I realized it was just a dream. My Olympic hopes would never become a reality. I was 10 years old, already too old to hope.
Now I watch these girls twist and turn in seemingly impossible feats of strength and athleticism with my three-year-old daughter. She gets up and spins and says she wants to do "ballet" like them. And in the pit of my stomach I feel the hopes of a dream rekindle. Maybe I should sign her up for tumbling. She may have gotten her pole vaulter father's mental focus and ability to stay airborne.
But no, I don't want to be one of those parents putting my dreams onto my children. But I have to say, Olympic dreams die hard, even when you never get past advanced beginners.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Time Away
So, hubby and I had our first vacation alone, with no kids, in over seven years. It was wonderful and refreshing and bizarre (more on that later).
But first I must tell you about our trip to Chicago to drop the kids off at Grandma's house. We left in late morning and before our drive even really began we hit our first detour (an accident prevented us from entering our highway). On our alternate highway we hit another detour that took us half an hour out of our way. And then in 90 degree heat we hit construction in Chicago. Did I mention we don't have air conditioning?
So, here we are in the fifth hour of our four hour drive when hubby notices that the van is beginning to overheat. We pull over to the cramped shoulder of the Edens Expressway in downtown Chicago, turn off the engine and wait for it to cool down. Of course, every second we are getting hotter - airflow is the key to staying cool when a/c is lacking. Trying to stay positive I turn around and ask the kids what they are looking forward to about going to Grandma's house (thankfully this keeps them from whining and focused on why we are subjecting them to this torture).
After fifteen minutes we think the car is cool enough and decide to keep going. Unfortunately, just as we begin to feel a cool breeze again, hubby sees that the thermometer is going up. The van is about to overheat again. Being the ingenious man that he is, he decides to turn the heat on. This draws hot air from the engine and blows it on us. Did I already mention it was 90 degrees outside?
So here we are crawling down the expressway, soaking in sweat when my husband (always the empathetic man) looks over at a guy all dressed in leather on his motorcycle and says, "Wow, he must be hot. That looks really uncomfortable."
Removing my foot from the scalding dashboard I look at the delusional man driving our van and say, "You know, hun, I don't think I am exaggerating when I say that we are probably the most uncomfortable people on this highway right now. We are driving with the heat on in the middle of JULY!!!"
I try to be supportive. I try not to complain. But I cannot take it anymore. Call me a twenty-first century wuss, but I need air conditioning in my vehicle.
Our 4 hour drive to my dad's took 6 1/2. By the time we got to my mom's, my nine-year-old had prickly heat all over his body. As I walked up to our room I felt the temperature rising and realized that my mom did not have her a/c on.
I cried.
That was all I could take. I tried to be gracious, but I suspect mom noticed the tension in my voice when I begged her not to turn the ceiling fan off (she had been reaching for the light switch in our room).
Eventually she turned the air on, I took a cold shower and all was well in the world. I just needed to gripe a little. Thanks for listening.
But 5 nights and 6 days away with my husband is an amazing thing. We couldn't believe that we actually had 3 years of this before the kids came along. It was so strange to have numerous conversations without anyone interrupting, butting in or causing some sort of catastrophe. And then to have no one else pulling at me, asking me questions or invading my space reminded me that we are in a challenging phase of life. I wouldn't trade it for anything, but it is just plain hard some days.
We came home eager to be with the kids, refreshed and reconnected in the most wonderful way (did I mention the hot tub in our room? oh yeah).
Now we just need to set up our appointment with the mechanic...
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Our Own Version of Survivor
The other night my husband and I went out for dinner and got into the most interesting conversation about what kind of reality show we would do, if forced to. I'd like to note that I have no actual desire to be part of any show, reality or otherwise, and have found from my own thorough research that being a part of a reality show is the second leading cause of divorce in Hollywood. Right after sleeping with your costar.
But our conversation was so entertaining that I thought I'd share it with you. This is how the concept evolved:
We were at the Olive Garden eating gelato and my husband was becoming more and more critical of the gelato with every bite (I, personally thought it was quite good). The problem is that not only is my husband a picky eater, but the first place he ever tasted gelato was in Italy. I do not believe that many things would taste better than gelato in Italy, but my husband is on some sort of quest to find American gelato that equals the Italian counterpart. He ignores my pleas to just fly me to Torino to taste the real deal myself.
Anyway, I started saying how Joel should be a food critic, as I'm watching him taste and furrow and explain how it's just not creamy enough. But, I realize that since my husband is such a narrow-minded eater (i.e. picky) he would have to be a very specific kind of critic. Here's where my grand reality show idea was hatched...
I suggested that Joel could critique cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes (his favorite go-to meal). He could travel from Seattle to Sedona, New Mexico to New York on a quest for the best cheeseburger and chocolate shake combo in the continental United States. Now this may have been done before, but not like this. We thought, how fun would it be to load our family of six (plus puppy, of course) into a big 'ol Winnebago and travel cross country for the whole summer tasting cheeseburgers, drinking chocolate shakes and taking in the sights?! Tell me this doesn't sound like must see t.v.
There are aspects of this that I would really enjoy -
1) I love to travel
2) I love adventures
3) I love taking my family on adventures (though as we plan for said adventures they tend to have pained expressions on their faces and whine like tortured puppies).
But, isn't that what makes reality t.v. so entertaining? We like to watch people suffer. You don't have to admit it, but I know it's true. It makes us happy to turn off Survivor and go to our soft cushy beds feeling smug as we drift off into a good night's sleep.
As with any reality show, you have to place enough conflict into the show to make it interesting, and while the six personalities in our family produce plenty of conflict on their own, what would make our reality show so entertaining is that:
1) My husband hates to drive, or really to travel at all
2) My kids are even pickier than my husband (my oldest was once quoted as saying, while at his uncle's house, "I only like macaroni and cheese made in Indiana." We make the best don't you know? (see previous entry for Gabe's approval of Michigan apples)
3) I am a person who needs her space and alone time regularly (picture me abandoning the RV on the side of the road to walk a few miles in my own head).
4) My kids are prone to car sickness (we keep barf bags handy on all our trips).
We could be on the travel/food channel showing the sights and watching Joel slowly gain 50 lbs as he eats a cheeseburger a day, and the kids make faces at whatever food is put in front of them. But, hey, I'd get to see the sights!
So now, doesn't this sound like something that Mark Burnett would produce for the CW?
But our conversation was so entertaining that I thought I'd share it with you. This is how the concept evolved:
We were at the Olive Garden eating gelato and my husband was becoming more and more critical of the gelato with every bite (I, personally thought it was quite good). The problem is that not only is my husband a picky eater, but the first place he ever tasted gelato was in Italy. I do not believe that many things would taste better than gelato in Italy, but my husband is on some sort of quest to find American gelato that equals the Italian counterpart. He ignores my pleas to just fly me to Torino to taste the real deal myself.
Anyway, I started saying how Joel should be a food critic, as I'm watching him taste and furrow and explain how it's just not creamy enough. But, I realize that since my husband is such a narrow-minded eater (i.e. picky) he would have to be a very specific kind of critic. Here's where my grand reality show idea was hatched...
I suggested that Joel could critique cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes (his favorite go-to meal). He could travel from Seattle to Sedona, New Mexico to New York on a quest for the best cheeseburger and chocolate shake combo in the continental United States. Now this may have been done before, but not like this. We thought, how fun would it be to load our family of six (plus puppy, of course) into a big 'ol Winnebago and travel cross country for the whole summer tasting cheeseburgers, drinking chocolate shakes and taking in the sights?! Tell me this doesn't sound like must see t.v.
There are aspects of this that I would really enjoy -
1) I love to travel
2) I love adventures
3) I love taking my family on adventures (though as we plan for said adventures they tend to have pained expressions on their faces and whine like tortured puppies).
But, isn't that what makes reality t.v. so entertaining? We like to watch people suffer. You don't have to admit it, but I know it's true. It makes us happy to turn off Survivor and go to our soft cushy beds feeling smug as we drift off into a good night's sleep.
As with any reality show, you have to place enough conflict into the show to make it interesting, and while the six personalities in our family produce plenty of conflict on their own, what would make our reality show so entertaining is that:
1) My husband hates to drive, or really to travel at all
2) My kids are even pickier than my husband (my oldest was once quoted as saying, while at his uncle's house, "I only like macaroni and cheese made in Indiana." We make the best don't you know? (see previous entry for Gabe's approval of Michigan apples)
3) I am a person who needs her space and alone time regularly (picture me abandoning the RV on the side of the road to walk a few miles in my own head).
4) My kids are prone to car sickness (we keep barf bags handy on all our trips).
We could be on the travel/food channel showing the sights and watching Joel slowly gain 50 lbs as he eats a cheeseburger a day, and the kids make faces at whatever food is put in front of them. But, hey, I'd get to see the sights!
So now, doesn't this sound like something that Mark Burnett would produce for the CW?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Book Disorders
You may have noticed that the same two books have been listed over to the right for some time now. You may assume that I quit reading them long ago, or that I've forgotten to update my reading list (which is partially true). But in reality I have developed a strange condition that feels a lot like reading ADD.
Before having four children I would pick out a book, begin reading it, and then over the course of the next few days or weeks I would complete that book and then move on to the next one. Phone conversations were much the same. Pick up the phone, talk uninterrupted for five minutes or an hour and then hang up and move onto my next task. Not so much now. I remember after the birth of my third child I found that there was no longer any convenient time to talk on the phone. My oldest no longer napped, my younger ones always wanted attention, and in the evening I often felt so spent I wanted nothing more than to stare mindlessly at the t.v.
I don't know when it happened, but about a year ago I noticed that I was constantly in the middle of several books at the same time. And so, if I am to be completely honest, I am currently in the middle of six or so odd books.
Here is my actual current reading list:
Story (slowly, it is very large)
The Shack (quite good, but I keep waiting for a down day with no interruptions so I can slowly read and absorb every detail of it - my friend keeps telling me that day only exists in my imagination)
Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World (for a book study group I'm leading this summer)
Now Discover Your Strengths (my husband is reading it and said I'd like it, which is true), Discover your Spiritual Gifts the Network Way (notice a theme here? my husband and I are in a small group to talk about and discover more about our gifts and strengths)
and I am always reading My Utmost for His Highest (my favorite and only spiritual devotional) and the Bible (always so much more to learn and apply)
This probably sounds overwhelming, but to me it's actually refreshing. Like I said, I've developed a sort of reading ADD. The last book I sat down and read from cover to cover without picking up another book in between was Atonement. Then I proceeded to spiral into an unhealthy depression - I do not know if there is another more depressing book or movie. But I loved both the book and the movie (I also like the Cure, if that tells you anything about me).
So now I am a moody reader. If I've had a long hard day with the kids I'll read something quick and light. If it's been a fun goof off day, then I'm usually in the mood for something more heady and challenging. Whereas if it's been a long monotonous week, I'll pick up something to really inspire me and remind me that I'm living for more than laundry and 3rd grade homework.
I have actually finished my C.S. Lewis book and I have to say I rather enjoyed him. He is truly a brilliant man. I know the rest of the world is already aware of this, but I now see why so many of my friends are Lewis groupies. His intellect is stunning. His reasoning simple, but profound. And I love that he is an incredible example of what it means to love God with our minds.
And so, though my new reading habits are not the most efficient or logical, right now they work for me.
Before having four children I would pick out a book, begin reading it, and then over the course of the next few days or weeks I would complete that book and then move on to the next one. Phone conversations were much the same. Pick up the phone, talk uninterrupted for five minutes or an hour and then hang up and move onto my next task. Not so much now. I remember after the birth of my third child I found that there was no longer any convenient time to talk on the phone. My oldest no longer napped, my younger ones always wanted attention, and in the evening I often felt so spent I wanted nothing more than to stare mindlessly at the t.v.
I don't know when it happened, but about a year ago I noticed that I was constantly in the middle of several books at the same time. And so, if I am to be completely honest, I am currently in the middle of six or so odd books.
Here is my actual current reading list:
Story (slowly, it is very large)
The Shack (quite good, but I keep waiting for a down day with no interruptions so I can slowly read and absorb every detail of it - my friend keeps telling me that day only exists in my imagination)
Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World (for a book study group I'm leading this summer)
Now Discover Your Strengths (my husband is reading it and said I'd like it, which is true), Discover your Spiritual Gifts the Network Way (notice a theme here? my husband and I are in a small group to talk about and discover more about our gifts and strengths)
and I am always reading My Utmost for His Highest (my favorite and only spiritual devotional) and the Bible (always so much more to learn and apply)
This probably sounds overwhelming, but to me it's actually refreshing. Like I said, I've developed a sort of reading ADD. The last book I sat down and read from cover to cover without picking up another book in between was Atonement. Then I proceeded to spiral into an unhealthy depression - I do not know if there is another more depressing book or movie. But I loved both the book and the movie (I also like the Cure, if that tells you anything about me).
So now I am a moody reader. If I've had a long hard day with the kids I'll read something quick and light. If it's been a fun goof off day, then I'm usually in the mood for something more heady and challenging. Whereas if it's been a long monotonous week, I'll pick up something to really inspire me and remind me that I'm living for more than laundry and 3rd grade homework.
I have actually finished my C.S. Lewis book and I have to say I rather enjoyed him. He is truly a brilliant man. I know the rest of the world is already aware of this, but I now see why so many of my friends are Lewis groupies. His intellect is stunning. His reasoning simple, but profound. And I love that he is an incredible example of what it means to love God with our minds.
And so, though my new reading habits are not the most efficient or logical, right now they work for me.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
A Rush of Inspiration
I love to watch movies. I like to be entertained, but even more than that I love to be inspired.
The other day we rented August Rush. It is a movie that did not get good reviews. They said it was sappy, too many coincidences and blatantly pulls at the heart strings. I say it's a fairytale, and if you watch it as such, it can be a very cool movie going experience.
After watching it with my husband, we decided to let our kids watch it, too. It's rated PG and we knew they would love the music.
The story is about a young boy who has lived in an orphanage his whole life, and as most orphans do, he believed that his parents were alive and looking for him. But unlike most orphans, he believed he could hear them in the form of music in the world - in the wind, in the rain, in the sound of passing cars. And he believed that if he could play music, then his parents would hear him, too. And find him.
Some of you are thinking how ridiculous this all sounds, but for me this is exactly the kind of thing I would love to believe in.
So this kid becomes sort of a musical prodigy - first learning to play the guitar, then the organ and more. It's really cool to watch this kid discover his gifts and the music is pretty incredible.
Well, as much as I love to be inspired, I love to inspire my children to dream and attempt new things and to believe that they have something unique and special to offer this world.
I watched my kids as they took in this movie, their eyes riveted on the boy as he dreamed and played music and believed that he could make the impossible happen.
Halfway through the movie my 5-year-old got out his little guitar and started banging on it, hoping to evoke the same incredible melodies that the boy did. My 9-year-old's eyes lit up as they seamlessly melded a symphony into rock music. And when the movie was over my 7-year-old got out his notebook and started writing down notes, writing his own music, just like the boy in the story.
Now, unfortunately, they do not have two musically gifted parents as the kid in the movie did, so they will not likely be musical prodigies. If they want to play anything like that boy, they will probably have to take years upon years of lessons and practice for hours every day, which may be disappointing to them. But I think it's worth it.
I want my children to be inspired to attempt new things. I want them to dream and believe in the impossible. And I want to be there cheering them on every step of the way.
Though this movie may be the stuff of fairy tales, there is a reason that we love fairy tales. We already know how hard life is, we understand the struggle of it all. Every once in a while we need a little inspiration, and the mother of inspiration is hope.
The other day we rented August Rush. It is a movie that did not get good reviews. They said it was sappy, too many coincidences and blatantly pulls at the heart strings. I say it's a fairytale, and if you watch it as such, it can be a very cool movie going experience.
After watching it with my husband, we decided to let our kids watch it, too. It's rated PG and we knew they would love the music.
The story is about a young boy who has lived in an orphanage his whole life, and as most orphans do, he believed that his parents were alive and looking for him. But unlike most orphans, he believed he could hear them in the form of music in the world - in the wind, in the rain, in the sound of passing cars. And he believed that if he could play music, then his parents would hear him, too. And find him.
Some of you are thinking how ridiculous this all sounds, but for me this is exactly the kind of thing I would love to believe in.
So this kid becomes sort of a musical prodigy - first learning to play the guitar, then the organ and more. It's really cool to watch this kid discover his gifts and the music is pretty incredible.
Well, as much as I love to be inspired, I love to inspire my children to dream and attempt new things and to believe that they have something unique and special to offer this world.
I watched my kids as they took in this movie, their eyes riveted on the boy as he dreamed and played music and believed that he could make the impossible happen.
Halfway through the movie my 5-year-old got out his little guitar and started banging on it, hoping to evoke the same incredible melodies that the boy did. My 9-year-old's eyes lit up as they seamlessly melded a symphony into rock music. And when the movie was over my 7-year-old got out his notebook and started writing down notes, writing his own music, just like the boy in the story.
Now, unfortunately, they do not have two musically gifted parents as the kid in the movie did, so they will not likely be musical prodigies. If they want to play anything like that boy, they will probably have to take years upon years of lessons and practice for hours every day, which may be disappointing to them. But I think it's worth it.
I want my children to be inspired to attempt new things. I want them to dream and believe in the impossible. And I want to be there cheering them on every step of the way.
Though this movie may be the stuff of fairy tales, there is a reason that we love fairy tales. We already know how hard life is, we understand the struggle of it all. Every once in a while we need a little inspiration, and the mother of inspiration is hope.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
A Little Love Lost
Yesterday I watched a friend lower her infant girl into the ground.
I watched as the father wept and was embraced by men who grieved over his 15-hour-old daughter.
Tears rolled down my face as the pastor spoke of Katie Joy's place in heaven. I could picture her in the arms of Christ, what a beautiful sight to behold.
And yet, if I could have I would have gone up to heaven, told Jesus they needed a little more time with their girl, and brought her back to the arms of her mother.
I struggle to understand. A little girl formed inside her mother's womb, with too little lung tissue to take a breath in the outside world. Nothing could be done. At a time when life was meant to be celebrated, they prepared for death.
How can it be? Why does God allow such pain and loss? Is it our fallen world? Is it to make us long to be home with Him?
The family sang the words, "it is well with my soul." Honestly, it is not yet well with mine.
I watched as the father wept and was embraced by men who grieved over his 15-hour-old daughter.
Tears rolled down my face as the pastor spoke of Katie Joy's place in heaven. I could picture her in the arms of Christ, what a beautiful sight to behold.
And yet, if I could have I would have gone up to heaven, told Jesus they needed a little more time with their girl, and brought her back to the arms of her mother.
I struggle to understand. A little girl formed inside her mother's womb, with too little lung tissue to take a breath in the outside world. Nothing could be done. At a time when life was meant to be celebrated, they prepared for death.
How can it be? Why does God allow such pain and loss? Is it our fallen world? Is it to make us long to be home with Him?
The family sang the words, "it is well with my soul." Honestly, it is not yet well with mine.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Ice Breaker Time
So here's a little audience participation exercise:
My all-time favorite ice breaker question (I can feel your excitement):
My all-time favorite ice breaker question (I can feel your excitement):
If your life were a movie what kind of movie would it be?
What genre? (i.e. comedy, action, drama, film noir...)
What genre? (i.e. comedy, action, drama, film noir...)
And who would play each important character? (you decide which characters are most important)
**Important note** if for some reason this question makes you feel hostile toward me, do not feel obligated to answer. I don't know why this question would make you hostile, but people have gotten angry about it in the past. If you have any insight into why that would be, please feel free to share.:) Thanks.
For all the rest of you, please play along, because it's fun!
So here's the movie of my life:
The genre of my movie would have to be a musical. I would love to live in a world where people spontaneously break out into song and dance, inexplicably knowing every word and move, though it was clearly spur of the moment and unrehearsed. I just think that song and dance are the most appropriate responses to joy, and nothing beats a really sad song with lots of violins during the low times.
My cast of characters:
Hubby - some sort of Brad Pitt/John Cusack hybrid (Brad Pitt's pre-Angelina boyish sexiness, combined with an early Cusack quirky, goofy earnestness)
Me - Elizabeth Shue (I don't look anything like her, but I think she has a natural beauty and warm intelligence that I like)
My 9 year old - Jesse McCartney (they have the same hair and love of performing)
My 7 year old - Jayden Smith (Will Smith's son, he doesn't have the freckles, but he's got all the attitude of my boy)
5 year old - the kid from Jerry Maguire (how many pounds is the human brain?) sweet and at times off-the-wall.
3 year old - the little girl from The Game Plan (we have a very racially diverse family). She's tough, but girly and sensitive.
Mom - Sally Field for her fierce mom qualities
Dad - a young Sean Connery/Harrison Ford hybrid (it's my movie, I can do what I want) for their classy intelligence and ruggedness.
My Big Bro - Tom Cruise on stilts (from his pre-scientology Top Gun days - cool and crazy)
Sister-in-law - Jenna Elfman (the girl from Dharma and Greg) for her bubbly effervescent personality.
Little Sis - Julia Stiles, different hair color, but same intelligence and grace
Littler Sis - Anne Hathaway - same big brown eyes and fun goofiness
Stepmom (now ex, but none the less) - Sigorney Weaver - they have the same awesome bone structure and beautiful brown eyes.
My friend, Crystal, would be played by an earthy Reese Witherspoon (beautiful and always capable), I can't figure out who would play Stephanie (if you have any suggestions for an athletic, fun and straightforward friend, let me know), and Andrea would be played by Rosie O'Donnell from A League of Their Own (tough, but with a big heart).
So, that's my movie. It would be a musical dramedy - you'd laugh, you'd cry and you might even spontaneously break into dance.
Your turn...
Friday, May 9, 2008
My Own Little Division of Hallmark
This time of year, the time when cards sing the praises of perfect mothers and ever present fathers, inspires the inner greeting card writer in me. If I were to create my own division of Hallmark it would be called: Reality - Sentiments for the Dysfunctional Family:).
My selection of cards would read something like this:
Mom
You worked two jobs for as long as I can remember,
raised us on your own with no help from family or friends.
I honestly don't know how you did it.
And though I cried many a morning when you had to leave before dawn,
I will be forever grateful that you came home after long days, made us dinner and then tickled us, and tucked us in every night.
Life has been harder on you than most, it seems, and though it knocked you down and out a few too many times, I know you loved me and I'm grateful for that.
Thanks for letting me lick the beater and climb into bed when the nightmares seemed too real, for giving me freedom to roam and play, and for sending me to church camp when I was twelve.
I love you, Mom, Happy Mother's Day.
Dad
I wish that I remembered living with you.
I wish you had kissed my cheek every night before bed
and scared away the boogie man while I slept.
I wish you had been there to scare away bad boyfriends
and to set a curfew for me,
but I know now that every other weekend is a lot for many dads to commit to,
and you were faithful to the end.
Thanks for ski trips and diamond earrings, princess dresses and great hugs. And thanks for dreaming big.
I love you, Dad, thanks for loving me.
StepMom (now ex)
While we may not have met under the best circumstances,
I'm glad you came into my life.
You were so young, too young for a 3 and 5 year old,
but you taught me about beauty and enjoying life in the moment, from you I learned to enjoy photography and gourmet cooking, I watched you put on make-up and delighted in the birth of my sisters.
I'm sorry for how things ended up, it was so painful to have my family split again,
but I don't know what title to call you now. So you're still, and always, stepmom - thanks for filling in the gaps.
I love you, Lori, thanks for loving me.
(ex)StepDad
I used to call you Anti-Christ (not to your face of course). You were always kind to me,
but I hated you for how you treated my brother and my mom and for what you did to my home.
I want you to know that I don't hate you anymore.
I forgive you.
Wherever you are in the world, Happy Father's Day.
Thanks for the kindnesses you showed to me.
And to the Father of all fathers and mothers I say Happy Mother's and Father's Day!
You were there when my parents couldn't be, when they didn't know to be. You walked with me through my darkest days and comforted me through many tears, you brought joy and peace and blessing when I didn't believe they would come.
And thank you for the grace I need as I live out my own dysfunctional life as a mom. Though my kids may need a few years of therapy one day, I cling to your words that "love covers over a multitude of sins," and that "love never fails." Thank you for the truth of those words that I've felt in my own life and thank you that I can have faith that they will be enough for my children as well.
I love you, thank you so much for loving me.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Perspectives
A few days ago my three-year-old daughter woke up, looked out the window and said:
"The sun gave me a hot kiss!"
"It gave you a kiss?"
"Yes, and then it blew bubbles!"
I wish I could live inside that little mind sometimes.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Dance Fever
Okay, so here's the low down on the party. It was FANTASTIC!
Here are my top 5 moments at my over-the-top, super-fun 35th (yikes!) birthday bash:
5. Walking in before everyone arrived to find that a few of my friends had already set out their beautifu
l desserts, gorgeous center pieces, and candles. It looked fabulous and made me feel so loved. And all of my anxiety about how the party would go immediately melted away.
4. Watching all of my friends walk in looking dapper or beautiful and excited for a night of fun and then learning to waltz and rumba together (Dancing with the Stars, here we come!).
3. Listening to my friend Andrea sing like the song bird that she is with a little band that she put together at the last minute. I felt like I stepped into a 1940's night club. Andrea was up on stage crooning the way God made her to as her husband accompanied on trumpet, it was beautiful. Here's a little sampling:
2. My brother and sister-in-law and Joel's brother and sister-in-law coming down for the big event made it even more special as we danced the night away together. I especially appreciated them sticking it out when some country songs came on and everyone else cleared the floor - apparently blood is thicker than water. And then when my all time favorite early 90's new wave music came on and we hummed along to I Melt with You, I was so thankful to have them out there with me bouncing up and down like a bunch of lunatics - as all late 80's/early 90's dancers were taught to do. I was laughing so hard I started crying.
1. Getting to dance with my hunka hunka burning love all night long. He's still the best looking man I ever laid eyes on and the fact that he was willing to throw me this party and dance the night away, even though he is not, shall we say, rhythmically inclined, meant everything to me.
After the party I sat up taking it all in for several hours. It was one of the most incredible nights of my life. I feel so blessed to have friends and family that would help to
make it happen.
Thank you!
In conclusion, I'd like to quote Footloose and Ecclesiastes simultaneously, "There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." This was my time to dance, and it was awesome!
**This is me...joyful>>>>>
Thanks to Jayne (j.ro photography) for capturing some awesome images.
Here are my top 5 moments at my over-the-top, super-fun 35th (yikes!) birthday bash:
5. Walking in before everyone arrived to find that a few of my friends had already set out their beautifu
l desserts, gorgeous center pieces, and candles. It looked fabulous and made me feel so loved. And all of my anxiety about how the party would go immediately melted away.4. Watching all of my friends walk in looking dapper or beautiful and excited for a night of fun and then learning to waltz and rumba together (Dancing with the Stars, here we come!).
3. Listening to my friend Andrea sing like the song bird that she is with a little band that she put together at the last minute. I felt like I stepped into a 1940's night club. Andrea was up on stage crooning the way God made her to as her husband accompanied on trumpet, it was beautiful. Here's a little sampling:
2. My brother and sister-in-law and Joel's brother and sister-in-law coming down for the big event made it even more special as we danced the night away together. I especially appreciated them sticking it out when some country songs came on and everyone else cleared the floor - apparently blood is thicker than water. And then when my all time favorite early 90's new wave music came on and we hummed along to I Melt with You, I was so thankful to have them out there with me bouncing up and down like a bunch of lunatics - as all late 80's/early 90's dancers were taught to do. I was laughing so hard I started crying.
1. Getting to dance with my hunka hunka burning love all night long. He's still the best looking man I ever laid eyes on and the fact that he was willing to throw me this party and dance the night away, even though he is not, shall we say, rhythmically inclined, meant everything to me.
After the party I sat up taking it all in for several hours. It was one of the most incredible nights of my life. I feel so blessed to have friends and family that would help to
make it happen.Thank you!
In conclusion, I'd like to quote Footloose and Ecclesiastes simultaneously, "There is a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance..." This was my time to dance, and it was awesome!
**This is me...joyful>>>>>
Thanks to Jayne (j.ro photography) for capturing some awesome images.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Mattering
You matter to God. You MATTER to God. YOU matter to God. You matter to GOD.
I can picture it in my head, the woman on stage at Willow Creek Community Church pantomiming the words, pointing at me, clutching her hands to her chest and then pointing up to the sky while the words "you matter to God" reverberated through the auditorium. It was the crux of Bill Hybels evangelistic message, and I thought I knew it already.
Anyone who believes in the creator God knows that we matter, why else would he have taken the time to form us? But have you ever learned something that you thought you already knew? I seem to be doing this a lot lately. Things as simple as "God loves me" have become deep and profound and new, like I never really got it before. That I am forgiven and covered by grace, not just for the big things that I gave up long ago, but also for the little things that add up day after day and make me feel inadequate to call myself a Christian has made grace new and shiny and deep as I dive into its depths again and again and again.
And now in the last few weeks, these words: "You matter to God," have struck their mark. I knew that my body, my gifts, my talents, my obedience, my soul all mattered to God. But now I see more.
The other day my husband and I were talking about my lifelong desire to own a dog. My whole life (except for three brief years) having a dog has been too messy, inconvenient, expensive or impractical. My pleading, my tears, my overwhelming desire did not matter in comparison to these. But as I lay in bed the other night my husband looked into my eyes and said, "Leah, if you need a dog, I'll get you a dog tomorrow."
My heart was overwhelmed. (I remembered that it is good to marry well.) And I thought how amazing it is that my heart's desires matter to somebody.
I felt silly, too. Clearly I don't need a dog. But I want one and I desperately want my children to have one as they grow up, as well. I began a search online for the perfect puppy, and low and behold, I found it!
She is part labrador retriever and part golden retriever and she is sweet and beautiful, and as my 7-year-old says, she has made life better, "life is just better with a dog."
I know that just because I have a desire, does not mean that God or my husband will meet it, but this year I'm feeling pretty spoiled, and maybe that's okay.
God communicates with each of us in different ways, and this year He's given me a puppy and a crazy dance party with (almost) all of my favorite friends, just to let me k
now that I matter to Him.
Pretty cool.
Just in case there was any doubt, you matter to Him, too.:)
I can picture it in my head, the woman on stage at Willow Creek Community Church pantomiming the words, pointing at me, clutching her hands to her chest and then pointing up to the sky while the words "you matter to God" reverberated through the auditorium. It was the crux of Bill Hybels evangelistic message, and I thought I knew it already.
Anyone who believes in the creator God knows that we matter, why else would he have taken the time to form us? But have you ever learned something that you thought you already knew? I seem to be doing this a lot lately. Things as simple as "God loves me" have become deep and profound and new, like I never really got it before. That I am forgiven and covered by grace, not just for the big things that I gave up long ago, but also for the little things that add up day after day and make me feel inadequate to call myself a Christian has made grace new and shiny and deep as I dive into its depths again and again and again.
And now in the last few weeks, these words: "You matter to God," have struck their mark. I knew that my body, my gifts, my talents, my obedience, my soul all mattered to God. But now I see more.
The other day my husband and I were talking about my lifelong desire to own a dog. My whole life (except for three brief years) having a dog has been too messy, inconvenient, expensive or impractical. My pleading, my tears, my overwhelming desire did not matter in comparison to these. But as I lay in bed the other night my husband looked into my eyes and said, "Leah, if you need a dog, I'll get you a dog tomorrow."
My heart was overwhelmed. (I remembered that it is good to marry well.) And I thought how amazing it is that my heart's desires matter to somebody.
I felt silly, too. Clearly I don't need a dog. But I want one and I desperately want my children to have one as they grow up, as well. I began a search online for the perfect puppy, and low and behold, I found it!
She is part labrador retriever and part golden retriever and she is sweet and beautiful, and as my 7-year-old says, she has made life better, "life is just better with a dog."
I know that just because I have a desire, does not mean that God or my husband will meet it, but this year I'm feeling pretty spoiled, and maybe that's okay.
God communicates with each of us in different ways, and this year He's given me a puppy and a crazy dance party with (almost) all of my favorite friends, just to let me k
now that I matter to Him.Pretty cool.
Just in case there was any doubt, you matter to Him, too.:)
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Counting Down (and Up)
Well, the countdown has begun! Only 15 shopping days until my birthday.
My mom has already taken me shopping for my birthday and it was no small miracle that I found three pairs of capris that fit perfectly. We agreed that we must buy them all, as this may not occur again until the next passing of Hailey's comet.
But I must say this birthday feels like a big one to me. It's not the looming 4-0 and I've already passed the momentous 3-0, but getting to the midpoint between the two seems significant. It means that I am getting older. . . still. Does it seem odd to anyone else that time never stops, never even slows down for us? I keep expecting it to, especially when my kids hit phases that I really love. But, in fact, it feels like time speeds up a little bit more every year.
I was doing some figuring in my head the other day, and if my math is correct, I will be turning 50 in just fifteen short years. That is a scary thought. I miss the days when fifteen was a lifetime (back when I was a 15 year-old). Of course, the reverse is that just fifteen years ago I was 20 - unmarried, childless and 20. It's clear that a lot can happen in 15 years, but the problem is that it is going by too quickly now.
To a 15 year-old, fifteen years is a lifetime, but as a thirty-something it goes by in a blink. I'm afraid that I will go to bed one night and wake up to find my nine-year-old towering over me and telling me he's found the love of his life - because he's become a 24 year-old man. And then I'll look in the mirror and see my sagging face and wonder what exactly happened while I slept.
I don't intend to turn into Rumpelstiltskin or anything, I just wish I could push the pause button on my life and take the time to really enjoy it.
I guess that's why I feel the need to have a huge party for my birthday this year. We are going way over the top, and I think it's because I need to remember that life is meant to be lived and celebrated and treasured, not just muddled through, cleaned up and survived. I can't make time stop, but for one night I can gather all of my friends, get dressed to the nine's, turn up the tunes and dance the night away.
And if I wake up the next day to realize that my life is half over and my kids are growing foot by foot, at least I'll know that I've taken the time to live.
**This has been deep thoughts with Leah, thanks for stopping by.**
My mom has already taken me shopping for my birthday and it was no small miracle that I found three pairs of capris that fit perfectly. We agreed that we must buy them all, as this may not occur again until the next passing of Hailey's comet.
But I must say this birthday feels like a big one to me. It's not the looming 4-0 and I've already passed the momentous 3-0, but getting to the midpoint between the two seems significant. It means that I am getting older. . . still. Does it seem odd to anyone else that time never stops, never even slows down for us? I keep expecting it to, especially when my kids hit phases that I really love. But, in fact, it feels like time speeds up a little bit more every year.
I was doing some figuring in my head the other day, and if my math is correct, I will be turning 50 in just fifteen short years. That is a scary thought. I miss the days when fifteen was a lifetime (back when I was a 15 year-old). Of course, the reverse is that just fifteen years ago I was 20 - unmarried, childless and 20. It's clear that a lot can happen in 15 years, but the problem is that it is going by too quickly now.
To a 15 year-old, fifteen years is a lifetime, but as a thirty-something it goes by in a blink. I'm afraid that I will go to bed one night and wake up to find my nine-year-old towering over me and telling me he's found the love of his life - because he's become a 24 year-old man. And then I'll look in the mirror and see my sagging face and wonder what exactly happened while I slept.
I don't intend to turn into Rumpelstiltskin or anything, I just wish I could push the pause button on my life and take the time to really enjoy it.
I guess that's why I feel the need to have a huge party for my birthday this year. We are going way over the top, and I think it's because I need to remember that life is meant to be lived and celebrated and treasured, not just muddled through, cleaned up and survived. I can't make time stop, but for one night I can gather all of my friends, get dressed to the nine's, turn up the tunes and dance the night away.
And if I wake up the next day to realize that my life is half over and my kids are growing foot by foot, at least I'll know that I've taken the time to live.
**This has been deep thoughts with Leah, thanks for stopping by.**
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Mealtime Practices
Ahhh, dinnertime. That joyous time when we gather together to eat a meal and enjoy the company of our family. Or is it the chaotic time when I throw some food on the table, beg my children to eat it, and then plead with them to use silverware and eat with their mouths closed? Maybe it's a little of both.
All of the statistics say wonderful things about families who eat together (particularly around a table in their own home). What do they say again? The family who eats together stays together? 4 out of 5 children who grow up in a home where they meet together for meals at least 3 times a week grow up to be well-adjusted, emotionally stable, college educated, financially viable people? Yeah, that's the statistic I like, I could swear I read that one in Ladies Home Journal the other day. Anyway, whatever it says, it makes me feel smug as a parent - cooking meals, gathering the family and sitting down to pray over our food.
But then the smugness evaporates as my 9-year-old insists on using his fingers to eat everything from applesauce to spaghetti, my 3 and 5-year-olds pick at their food like birds only to beg for dessert and complain about how starving they are five minutes after the table is cleared, and my 7-year-old makes every sort of obnoxious noise known to man during the course of the meal. (If you've ever seen Dumb and Dumber - the most annoying sound in the world, my boy's got it down!)
I once heard a man talk about how at their dinner table he and his siblings' goal was to get their parents laughing so hard that milk shot out of their noses. While disgusting, it made me think. What if this goal I have of raising my children to be polite and proper at the dinner table is stifling their inner comedian? What if we're missing out on laughter and fun, all in the name of a peaceful atmosphere to digest our food?
This is another place where I like to blame mom and dad for my confusion. I remember the casual atmosphere of mom's little round table for three. We were expected to eat with our mouths closed, but other than that I don't remember being corrected or prodded in any way. We ate Steak-ums with relish, talked and goofed off.
At dad's formal dining room table we were to eat quietly, with mouths closed (I am thankful for that suggestion), elbows off the table, napkins in our lap all while trying every strange and exotic food they put before us. (I remember sushi and seaweed before it was "cool" to eat.) At dad's it got to the point that we assumed they plotted and planned a new ridiculous rule for each weekend visit. Seriously, how many rules can you come up with to torment a child? Of course, now I understand a little better.
And I am glad that if I were invited to the White House I would go in pretty well prepared, etiquette wise. That's a useful skill, I think.
But is it so useful that I need to torment my children in the same way? Should we allow Lukas to collapse to the floor in giggles because he tooted again? Should we let Gabe try out every new noise on the family to see which one gets the best reaction? And how important is it really, that my little ones actually consume the food I put before them? Okay, that last one might not be optional.
So what do I choose, or will it choose me? As our children age and their personalities become even more irrepressible, will they guide our mealtime rituals for us? Maybe some day Gabe's noises will cause fluids to eject from our bodies, and maybe, just maybe, Lukas will be using a fork when it happens.
All of the statistics say wonderful things about families who eat together (particularly around a table in their own home). What do they say again? The family who eats together stays together? 4 out of 5 children who grow up in a home where they meet together for meals at least 3 times a week grow up to be well-adjusted, emotionally stable, college educated, financially viable people? Yeah, that's the statistic I like, I could swear I read that one in Ladies Home Journal the other day. Anyway, whatever it says, it makes me feel smug as a parent - cooking meals, gathering the family and sitting down to pray over our food.
But then the smugness evaporates as my 9-year-old insists on using his fingers to eat everything from applesauce to spaghetti, my 3 and 5-year-olds pick at their food like birds only to beg for dessert and complain about how starving they are five minutes after the table is cleared, and my 7-year-old makes every sort of obnoxious noise known to man during the course of the meal. (If you've ever seen Dumb and Dumber - the most annoying sound in the world, my boy's got it down!)
I once heard a man talk about how at their dinner table he and his siblings' goal was to get their parents laughing so hard that milk shot out of their noses. While disgusting, it made me think. What if this goal I have of raising my children to be polite and proper at the dinner table is stifling their inner comedian? What if we're missing out on laughter and fun, all in the name of a peaceful atmosphere to digest our food?
This is another place where I like to blame mom and dad for my confusion. I remember the casual atmosphere of mom's little round table for three. We were expected to eat with our mouths closed, but other than that I don't remember being corrected or prodded in any way. We ate Steak-ums with relish, talked and goofed off.
At dad's formal dining room table we were to eat quietly, with mouths closed (I am thankful for that suggestion), elbows off the table, napkins in our lap all while trying every strange and exotic food they put before us. (I remember sushi and seaweed before it was "cool" to eat.) At dad's it got to the point that we assumed they plotted and planned a new ridiculous rule for each weekend visit. Seriously, how many rules can you come up with to torment a child? Of course, now I understand a little better.
And I am glad that if I were invited to the White House I would go in pretty well prepared, etiquette wise. That's a useful skill, I think.
But is it so useful that I need to torment my children in the same way? Should we allow Lukas to collapse to the floor in giggles because he tooted again? Should we let Gabe try out every new noise on the family to see which one gets the best reaction? And how important is it really, that my little ones actually consume the food I put before them? Okay, that last one might not be optional.
So what do I choose, or will it choose me? As our children age and their personalities become even more irrepressible, will they guide our mealtime rituals for us? Maybe some day Gabe's noises will cause fluids to eject from our bodies, and maybe, just maybe, Lukas will be using a fork when it happens.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Mrs. Michigan and Other Noble Pursuits
So here I am posing with the lovely and talented Mrs. Michigan - tiara, sash, and all! (The beautiful girl to her left is my friend Crystal, who I was blessed to stay with over the weekend.) One thing that I found out about pagentry is that the women who enter them are fiercely competitive. I always thought they were just pretty, freakishly tall and skinny girls with an assortment of interesting talents - but apparently the will to win is key.In all honesty, I enjoyed hearing Laura Loveberry (the crowned one) share her heart for women and passion for the love of Christ to be shared. When she got into the story of how she went from fun-loving cheerleader to "big Bible toting Jesus Freak" (which she had specifically prayed not to become), the room was riveted. I love seeing how God has gifted each person so uniquely, with their own story and passion.
While the conference was great, the highlight was getting to visit my friend, and bring my son along to play with Crystal's oldest boy. I remember when Crystal (above) got married and her sister gave the perfect toast when she said that Corey was getting Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart and Elle McPherson all rolled into one. Now, after peering out into their backyard (read: farm) where chickens roam, baby goats play, and all sorts of foods grow, I see that he also got the wife from Green Acres as well.
The only problem we ran into was that my 7 year old is used to mostly prepackaged food bought from a grocery store (preferably Aldi). So when he was offered their variety of truly whole wheat bread, goat's milk or raw cow's milk, he basically chose not to eat for a day. He had agreed to mac and cheese, then decided no. He was offered other food, which didn't appeal to him. Finally he asked for an apple and water, thinking he couldn't go wrong there. He ate the apple, but then after taking one sip of water he blurted out, "What is wrong with this water?" Corey explained that it comes from a well in the ground. Gabe wanted to know where our water comes from, so Corey explained that process. Then Corey offered to mix the water with grape juice to make it taste better. Gabe took a drink and then said, "It still tastes like dirt."
We will be working on graciousness and how to be a guest in someone's home this week.
Thankfully, Corey told me the whole story with a smirk on his face. I'm glad he found my son mildly entertaining. On the way home I was talking to Gabe about his pickyness when he said, "But they have good apples!" It was Michigan, I'm glad they can't mess up apples.
Getting back to the conference - my part went better than I expected. I went in prepared for these women to be shocked and maybe even put off by my idea of this God of Romance. What amazed me was that in my first seminar everyone had tears in their eyes as I spoke of God's passionate love for them. They were ready and eager to hear it. And then I was encouraged when several women came up to tell me how it impacted them. But I was overwhelmed when two women from the later sessions, who have been on this journey for some time, came up to me with a gleam of hope and excitement in their eyes and said, "I've never thought of God's love like that."
I was humbled and speechless and overwhelmed. God was clearly doing something so much bigger than me. I felt honored to be a part of God speaking to their hearts and pray now that this knowledge goes deep into their souls. I am thrilled that God is still alive and active, his word sharper than a two-edged sword, dividing joints and marrow, and able to make an aging woman blush because of the passion of His love for her. Amazing.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Shout out to ISU
I wanted to give a little shout out to the girls of ISU, in case anyone decides to stop by. I had a great time last weekend at the Illinois State women's retreat. It is so much fun to get to know people from different campuses and see the unique personality of each church.
These girls - they know how to have fun! I have never seen anything like the Friday night Pirate Booty game we played. It was a high speed scavenger hunt, and I'm still amazed that no one was seriously injured and there were no major squirmishes as they fought to get back to the hostess/game god with their booty.
I don't know if it's the Chicago competitive influence going on or what, but here in Indiana our girls tend to be a little more laid back.
Thanks for inviting me to teach on The Walls of Jericho. As I said before, I got so much out of my preparation that I was praying that God intended this teaching for you, too. Thanks to your responses, I was able to see that God did speak to you throughout the weekend. Thanks for welcoming me in and allowing me to share the things that God put on my heart with you.
I'll be praying for your walls to come down.
Oh, and I am still struggling to find any more specific definition of "heap." I'll let you know if I get a better picture of just what God did with the waters of the Jordan when the Israelites walked across on dry land.
This weekend I head north to do my God of Romance seminar at a women's conference. I'm excited for my first opportunity to teach women in a different age bracket (30-50 year olds) and see how God speaks to them through His word.
And I get to meet the reigning Mrs. Michigan (she's the main speaker). You can all look forward to a picture of me posing with royalty next week.;)
These girls - they know how to have fun! I have never seen anything like the Friday night Pirate Booty game we played. It was a high speed scavenger hunt, and I'm still amazed that no one was seriously injured and there were no major squirmishes as they fought to get back to the hostess/game god with their booty.
I don't know if it's the Chicago competitive influence going on or what, but here in Indiana our girls tend to be a little more laid back.
Thanks for inviting me to teach on The Walls of Jericho. As I said before, I got so much out of my preparation that I was praying that God intended this teaching for you, too. Thanks to your responses, I was able to see that God did speak to you throughout the weekend. Thanks for welcoming me in and allowing me to share the things that God put on my heart with you.
I'll be praying for your walls to come down.
Oh, and I am still struggling to find any more specific definition of "heap." I'll let you know if I get a better picture of just what God did with the waters of the Jordan when the Israelites walked across on dry land.
This weekend I head north to do my God of Romance seminar at a women's conference. I'm excited for my first opportunity to teach women in a different age bracket (30-50 year olds) and see how God speaks to them through His word.
And I get to meet the reigning Mrs. Michigan (she's the main speaker). You can all look forward to a picture of me posing with royalty next week.;)
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A Little Oscar for Once
Well, I for one stayed up far too late last night watching the Academy Awards. Ever since reading about some fun and creative ideas for hosting an Oscar party I have dreamed of throwing my very own night of Academy Awards fun. Unfortunately, I do not have enough friends with the same shallow obsession with Hollywood that I possess, therefore I watched them alone (okay, hubby was in the room but typing away on the computer). I explained to him that this is like the Super Bowl of movies and therefore I must give it my full attention.
I love seeing all the famous people arrive in their beautiful dresses and dapper tuxes, it's as close to royalty as we seem to get these days. I was so eager to hear all of Ryan Seacrest's mind-numbing interview questions that I actually shushed my children and attempted to send them off to bed without their good-night kisses. Don't worry, I caved, and only missed a few minutes of the festivities and was back on the couch as what's his name took the stage.
I did not make any Oscar predictions, I didn't much care about best actor or actress this year and it appeared that the only real contenders in the movie category were two terrifying movies that I refuse to see. (My imagination is wild enough, I don't need anyone else's horrific visions adding to what goes on in this head.) But I am so glad I saw the show for one main reason - the music!
As you know, Once is a gem of a movie and you can't help but fall in love with the main characters who appear to be much like the actors themselves. After watching the two lackluster performances from Enchanted (one without Amy Adams), I was glad to watch two truly talented musicians perform their own song with such beauty and emotion. The fact that two relatively unknowns even got to be up there was inspiring.
When they won their oscar I was clapping and screaming along with them. Though it was heartbreaking to watch as Marketa wasn't even aloud to say her thanks to the audience, but what a classy thing for what's his name to invite her back up for a proper acceptance speech - if you've ever watched before, you know that is never done. So if you missed it, enjoy!
I can't help smiling every time I watch that, I just almost started cheering again.
Also so glad that the score from Atonement won for it's category. What haunting music to carry you through such a heart-wrenching story. I thought the acceleration of the typewriter keys being punched throughout was brilliant.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Nothing Like a Good Humbling
I am so often humbled by my children. They are my humblers, as my friend, Stan, would say. A couple days ago I was driving my 5-year-old home from preschool and becoming frustrated with my 3-year-old daughter's endless crying. Her crying seems to be a response to everything these days.
"Mommy, can I have a cookie?"
"No, honey, you haven't had any breakfast yet."
Big pouty lip, large tears begin to fall, then the grand finale - she runs to her room crying and screaming and closes the door. (I forget, is she 3 or 13?)
So, on this particular day I had asked my little girl to wait in the car, as she always does, while I ran out for 5.2 seconds, grabbed her brother out of the cold and pouring rain, and got back in the warm dry car. Well, though she opposed this plan, mommy insisted. My punishment - by the time I returned to the car the full-on wailing was underway. She had clearly been abandoned on the side of the road and left for dead.
As I attempt to ignore said wailing I am actually getting more and more annoyed. Finally I say, "If you cannot stop crying it means that you are tired and need to take a nap!" I am using tried
and true parenting logic/scare tactics now.
Then, my 5-year-old, who has apparently been bearing the shrill sound of 3-year-old abandonment issues much better than I, says, "No, mommy, that's just how God made her."
I stop for a moment, the sound of grace and acceptance lingering in my ear. He's right. He's used to this. From the time my little girl arrived on the scene she has cried. I never actually called it colic (I have friends whose children actually cried for 12 hours a day), but this little creature of mine has cried - a lot.
Maybe she's just sensitive, maybe she's emotional (like me, huh, my brother did call me a cry baby quite often when I was young), maybe this is the way God made her.
I grab my Sesame Street CD and pop it in. Soon the tears subside as Elmo sings along with Hootie and the Blowfish and all is well in the world. Elmo always seems to make everything all better. Even mommy feels better as I realize that I've been humbled and given just a little bit of perspective by my 5-year-old.
"Mommy, can I have a cookie?"
"No, honey, you haven't had any breakfast yet."
Big pouty lip, large tears begin to fall, then the grand finale - she runs to her room crying and screaming and closes the door. (I forget, is she 3 or 13?)
So, on this particular day I had asked my little girl to wait in the car, as she always does, while I ran out for 5.2 seconds, grabbed her brother out of the cold and pouring rain, and got back in the warm dry car. Well, though she opposed this plan, mommy insisted. My punishment - by the time I returned to the car the full-on wailing was underway. She had clearly been abandoned on the side of the road and left for dead.
As I attempt to ignore said wailing I am actually getting more and more annoyed. Finally I say, "If you cannot stop crying it means that you are tired and need to take a nap!" I am using tried
and true parenting logic/scare tactics now.Then, my 5-year-old, who has apparently been bearing the shrill sound of 3-year-old abandonment issues much better than I, says, "No, mommy, that's just how God made her."
I stop for a moment, the sound of grace and acceptance lingering in my ear. He's right. He's used to this. From the time my little girl arrived on the scene she has cried. I never actually called it colic (I have friends whose children actually cried for 12 hours a day), but this little creature of mine has cried - a lot.
Maybe she's just sensitive, maybe she's emotional (like me, huh, my brother did call me a cry baby quite often when I was young), maybe this is the way God made her.
I grab my Sesame Street CD and pop it in. Soon the tears subside as Elmo sings along with Hootie and the Blowfish and all is well in the world. Elmo always seems to make everything all better. Even mommy feels better as I realize that I've been humbled and given just a little bit of perspective by my 5-year-old.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Top Ten Reasons to Rent the movie, "Once"
10. It's a really cool love story with some semblance of morality.
9. You'll feel cool because you are watching and supporting a cool independent film.
8. The music is awesome (you'll want to download it).
7. The actors are musicians that can only half act (according to the director), so it feels like a true story.
6. The lead actor is the lead singer of The Frames, his bassist is the writer/director.
5. The title characters are called "guy" and "girl."
4. It's a low budget film (made for 160,000) so they had no permits to film on the streets of Dublin, Ireland.
3. It was filmed with a long lens, so the extras don't even know they're in the movie.
2. You get to hear the first ever song written about a "broken-hearted Hoover fixer sucker guy" (you can even download it on iTunes - I get a good chuckle every time I listen to it).
1. It's an awesome movie going/musical experience. Trust me, it's worth your time.*
*It is rated R due to the F-bomb being dropped frequently (but it's with a happy Irish accent;)
Let me know if you like it...
9. You'll feel cool because you are watching and supporting a cool independent film.
8. The music is awesome (you'll want to download it).
7. The actors are musicians that can only half act (according to the director), so it feels like a true story.
6. The lead actor is the lead singer of The Frames, his bassist is the writer/director.
5. The title characters are called "guy" and "girl."
4. It's a low budget film (made for 160,000) so they had no permits to film on the streets of Dublin, Ireland.
3. It was filmed with a long lens, so the extras don't even know they're in the movie.
2. You get to hear the first ever song written about a "broken-hearted Hoover fixer sucker guy" (you can even download it on iTunes - I get a good chuckle every time I listen to it).
1. It's an awesome movie going/musical experience. Trust me, it's worth your time.*
*It is rated R due to the F-bomb being dropped frequently (but it's with a happy Irish accent;)
Let me know if you like it...
Monday, January 7, 2008
The God of Romance
During Christmas break the hubby and I headed down to Indy for our ministry's national conference. Somehow I misread the map and we ended up driving through a part of Indy that made me realize we weren't in Kansas anymore. The highlight of the drive was passing a pimp on the street. I admit that I am not that street savvy, but this guy looked like he just stepped off the set of Starsky and Hutch. He had on a purple velvet blazer, bellbottom pants and a hat tilted to the side. Weird.
Thankfully we made our way back to the heart of Indy and to the conference. It was great to see people from all over the country that have been serving in full-time campus ministry for many years. I love getting to worship with the people that I love who also have a passionate love for God.
While at the conference I had the opportunity to teach a seminar I titled, "The God of Romance." It was based on the idea from the book of Ecclesiastes that says that "He has also set eternity in the hearts of men." That God has set eternity in our hearts and that He is the one who gave us our desire to be loved and romanced.
I think that this intense desire we have for romance is actually a desire that God put there, a desire that cannot be met by any person on this earth. My husband is great at loving me every day, telling me he loves me, showing me affection, but sometimes struggles with the grand gestures, the things that might help a woman feel special and swept off her feet. But I know other women with the opposite problem. They have husbands who make sweeping gestures every once in a while, but struggle to show consistent affection on a daily basis. As we learn in marriage, we can't have it all - one person cannot be all things to another - not my husband to me, nor me to my husband. Eternity has been set on our hearts.
Honestly, I think this is part of God's plan to keep us searching. Of course many of us go off searching in the wrong places, assuming that this desire must be earthly, I mean, it's the desire for romance after all. But as I watch romantic movies and read my old classic love stories I sense that God is calling to me, beckoning me to come and drink deeply of His love. He challenges me to see that His love is more than the distant fatherly affection many of us imagine, but it is passionate, jealous, pursuing, ardent love. He wants me to be consumed by it, much like I was by my husband's when we first fell in love. I remember floating through my day filled with joy and awe that I was loved, that I had found someone I couldn't live without. It thrilled me.
Why is it that we think being loved by God is nice? Nice is boring. Isn't everything else just an imitation of all that God has to offer? I think that He has set eternity on our hearts, and I believe that He doesn't put anything there that He doesn't fully intend to realize.
Thankfully we made our way back to the heart of Indy and to the conference. It was great to see people from all over the country that have been serving in full-time campus ministry for many years. I love getting to worship with the people that I love who also have a passionate love for God.
While at the conference I had the opportunity to teach a seminar I titled, "The God of Romance." It was based on the idea from the book of Ecclesiastes that says that "He has also set eternity in the hearts of men." That God has set eternity in our hearts and that He is the one who gave us our desire to be loved and romanced.
I think that this intense desire we have for romance is actually a desire that God put there, a desire that cannot be met by any person on this earth. My husband is great at loving me every day, telling me he loves me, showing me affection, but sometimes struggles with the grand gestures, the things that might help a woman feel special and swept off her feet. But I know other women with the opposite problem. They have husbands who make sweeping gestures every once in a while, but struggle to show consistent affection on a daily basis. As we learn in marriage, we can't have it all - one person cannot be all things to another - not my husband to me, nor me to my husband. Eternity has been set on our hearts.
Honestly, I think this is part of God's plan to keep us searching. Of course many of us go off searching in the wrong places, assuming that this desire must be earthly, I mean, it's the desire for romance after all. But as I watch romantic movies and read my old classic love stories I sense that God is calling to me, beckoning me to come and drink deeply of His love. He challenges me to see that His love is more than the distant fatherly affection many of us imagine, but it is passionate, jealous, pursuing, ardent love. He wants me to be consumed by it, much like I was by my husband's when we first fell in love. I remember floating through my day filled with joy and awe that I was loved, that I had found someone I couldn't live without. It thrilled me.
Why is it that we think being loved by God is nice? Nice is boring. Isn't everything else just an imitation of all that God has to offer? I think that He has set eternity on our hearts, and I believe that He doesn't put anything there that He doesn't fully intend to realize.
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