NaNoWriMo

It's November, which means two things: 1. Christmas is less than two months away, and 2. It's National Novel Writing Month!

I had heard of this NaNoWriMo thing before and thought it sounded insane. The goal is to write a whole novel in one month, the month of November, no less, when you're also supposed to get ready for the holidays, buy Christmas presents and winterize the house (I have never winterized a house in my life, but it's on the to-do list, ya know).

50,ooo words in one month, that translates into approximately 1,667 words a day. Gulp.

So, this year I decided to try it. There's this story I've had in my head for years. I've written bits and pieces of it and developed characters in my head until they feel like real people, and I thought maybe this was the kick in the pants I needed to actually get it on paper.

It sort of reminds me of when I decided to run a marathon to reclaim my body after weaning my fourth child. For some reason I thought it would be great to celebrate that my body was now my own (and my husband's, but not my children's) by torturing it with hours long 10, 15, 20 and ultimately 26.2 mile runs. How'd that pan out for me? Let's just say I'm not the poster girl for why to run a marathon. Talk to someone else if you want to be motivated. Ask me for details if you'd like to cross that sucker off your bucket list.

Anyway, as of November 1st I actually started writing, everyday. Somehow it conveniently worked out that it was also daylight savings time and I've been waking up at 6 a.m. bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to write. This has been awesome. I have discovered that I really like writing every day. Unfortunately, I have also discovered that writing a whole story, in some sort of logical order is insanely difficult for me.

A lot of writers talk about this almost transcendental experience of having their characters lead them through a story, taking them places they never imagined and discovering new things along the way. I, on the other hand, feel the need to apologize to my characters for writing them into corners I have no idea how to get them out of. It makes me want to jump from one scene to another, randomly leaving my characters at odd places and hoping that someday, if this thing actually makes it to a publisher they'll think it's just my super cool oh-so-ahead-of-the-times story telling technique.

On the up side, our church had a fast this week that also started on Sunday. I fasted from food for a day, but abstained from t.v., movies, and people.com for the week. Those of you that know me understand the sacrifice it was to not be up to date on how Nicole Kidman and my boy Keith are doing or what new project Rob Pattinson is gearing up for. Yes, I have a very shallow side.

Anywho, I realize that these preoccupations are my way to avoid dealing with the difficult aspects of my life, particularly, going to a job four days a week to be verbally abused by middle school delinquents (whom I love:), and to avoid writing because I'm so terrified I'll be terrible at it.

I'm of the camp that thinks that sitting and dreaming is lots o' fun, but doing is kinda scary.

So this has been an exciting week of facing my fears and doing something with all the dreams in my head, instead of trying to live vicariously through someone else's (though, I guess I sort of do that with my characters). But what really annoyed me was that Thursday night I broke my fast from internet gossip sights and by the time I went to bed I was thoroughly depressed.

What I discovered is that if I want to be happy I need to do what God made me for, which seems to be writing, teaching, and using my creativity to communicate with others. I often watch movies because I crave a good story, but what I'm really needing is to write the story in my head.

This annoys me, but makes my husband very happy. I'm annoyed because it's a lot easier to lay on the couch and watch a movie than it is to sit and stare at a computer screen that taunts you with its blankness.

My husband is happy because since the day we were married he has thought I was a gifted communicator and has wanted me to use my gifts. (Have I mentioned how well I married?)

So, wish me luck or grace or inspiration. I have met my goal of writing every day and facing my fears, but I'm behind on my word count. But hey, if I just write 5,486 words today I'll be all caught up for the week.:)

Innocence Lost

The other day I had to explain abortion to my 10 year old son.

I'm not trying to make a political statement or create any sort of firestorm. I just have to say that this conversation was right up there with answering the question, "Why aren't grandpa and grandma married?" which was asked through such innocent eyes.

I had been avoiding this abortion conversation for some time. A few years back there was a newspaper article in which planned parenthood listed important things to talk about with young children regarding sex. There were obvious things like "good touch" and "bad touch." But one recommendation set my blood boiling.

They said that little girls, starting at age 5, should be told that if they become pregnant they do not have to have the baby. I don't know who recommended that specifically, but I could only imagine my five year old self playing with all my baby dolls, dreaming of being a real mommy some day, only to have my mom confront me with the cold hard truth that if I get into a bad situation there is a way out. Nothing like indoctrinating the young.

I do not label myself prolife or prochoice. I have never financially supported a prolife organization or walked a picket line. I have friends, who I'm sure, would look down on me for this. But the truth is that if one of my at-risk students came up to me and said that she was pregnant and asked what to do, I would do everything in my power to help, financially support, and comfort her. I also know that I would offer to raise her child as my own if that was what she wanted. I would not bat an eye, my husband would be on board, and my children would be thrilled. They don't understand why we stopped having babies in the first place. They believe that every human life is precious, and the more the merrier, no matter how cramped and chaotic that merriment may be.

So, I am pro-babies, pro-women working together to find a way, pro-love. One thing I know is that we could always use more of that in the world.

The way this whole topic was broached was because of Obama. Many of my friends had the abortion talk with their kids during the election letting them know how fervently Obama supported abortion, and thus encouraging them to vote against him. My son has revered Obama, along with a good portion of this country and my husband and I allowed it. We talked with him about the many good things that Obama stood for, and avoided this talk. We avoided it until one of our son's friends said that Obama kills babies.

I, personally, don't like to use inflammatory language like that, so when Lukas told me what they said with incredulity in his voice I tried to calmly explain that Obama doesn't actually go out and kill babies. Then the abortion talk began. "See, back in 1973 there was a law passed that allowed women to kill the baby inside of them if they didn't want it, if they didn't have enough money or didn't have a husband to help take care of it."

The look on my son's face broke my heart. I hate shattering his innocence with the harsh reality of this life. Tears pricked his eyes as understanding sank in. Mothers killing their own babies, inside themselves. I saw it through his naive eyes and loved him more as he said that he wished he could just make all the bad things in the world go away, selfishness, everything.

"Me, too, Lukas, I'm sorry."

And so I wonder if another hero has fallen in my son's mind.

Not realizing that my 6 year old was listening, I heard his little voice say, "I'm glad you didn't kill us."

Horror struck my heart.

"We would never have done that, honey, you are so precious to us!"

From the mouths of babes, to the ears of those of us hardened by so many years in this place.

Delighting in a Daughter

For years I feared having a daughter. I feared the inevitable mother/daughter conflict, I feared her turning 13 and into some sort of unrecognizable monster, I feared breaking her heart.

But when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter some years ago, I cried tears of joy, tears that knew that God had not withheld one good thing from me. He was blessing me beyond anything I could have hoped for and he would give me what I needed to raise this little girl. And that is why I named her Hope - to remind me that my hope is in Him, not in me, not in my ability to be the mom that I want to be to her, but in the fact that His love never fails - not me and not her.

When she was a collicky baby I feared that she already hated me, wasn't waiting until the preteen years, I was failing her already. But once a few nights of good sleep sunk in and she started smiling that sparkling smile of hers at me, I knew we'd be okay.

And this daughter of mine, that I feared having for so long, has become my delight. I look at her and well up with love and joy and wonder. She is a beautiful little girl, but I am stunned at how little that beauty really matters to me. I love when she is dirty and grimy, hair in her face, and wearing her brother's hand-me-downs (like in the picture above). I love her when she is petulant and snotty. I love her when she giggles at her own jokes and puts on a pretty dress with tights, sparkly shoes and a head band because she loves being a girly girl.

And I love the way she loves. She wants to give her brothers hugs and kisses every day, but they don't always want to be kissed on by their little sister. She worries that Joshua doesn't love her because he won't let her kiss him. I love that she crawls into bed with her daddy several times a week because she "missed him." I love that when she talks about loving me she has to mention her love for daddy and that he loves me, too. To her, our love is interconnected and inseparable.

I love her soft sweet skin, her tiny little dimple, the shape of her eyes and the sound of her voice. I love that she's just as tough as she is sweet and that she wants to be like me, though at times that worries me, too.

I am amazed at how unselfishly I am able to love her. I love her not for what she gives to me or does, for how she performs or what she says. I love Hope because she is my daughter, my delight. She is beautiful, but I don't care if there are a million little girls more beautiful than her. She is smart, but I couldn't care less if others are more brilliant. She is mine, and if you lined up all of the little girls in the world and told me I could pick whichever one I want, I would run straight to her, pick her up and hold her tight and never let her go.

Someone reminded me this week that this is how God feels about me, His daughter. It just doesn't seem possible, does it?

First Day Separation

I just dropped my three boys off for their first day of school.

I now have one in 5th, one in 3rd, and my baby boy is entering 1st grade. Leaving Joshua in that 1st grade class was heartbreaking. Just a few days ago, at orientation, he was so excited that he kept running around the room, greeting all of his friends and talking way to loud. Today, as we walked down the hallway to his class, he started to rub his eyes. I didn't see any tears, but he kept rubbing both eyes to keep the tears from coming. "I think I'm just too excited," he said.

Or too scared, I thought.

But he put his brave face on, and went to his desk, ready to work. I said good-bye and then went to the door. The teacher was trying to get things started, but several of us parents were having a hard time leaving. I thought, this isn't kindergarten anymore, I probably need to go. So I stood at the door, lingering a bit longer, smiled at Joshua and then blew him a kiss. He stared back - no smile, no returned kiss, just a look in his eyes that said, "Don't leave me, Mommy."

I turned and walked away, my heart in my throat. I went down the long hallway, fighting back my own tears now. Remembering that I'm not just sad that summer's over, but that I don't get to play, read or snuggle with my kids anytime I want to now. They have to go to school and face things on their own. And for the first time, I have this urge to go back, snatch each of them out of class, tell them summer's not over yet, take them out for ice cream and then head back to the pool.

But I won't. And I'm pretty sure that they'll be fine. I think I will be, too. I'll be there to pick them up at 2:30, and then we'll go get ice cream and maybe even head to the pool. I may not get them 24/7 for a few months, but I'm thankful that they're still mine.

Reunions, Regrets and Apologies

I went home a little over a week ago for a reunion. My high school youth ministry was getting together after too many years apart. It was awesome to see everyone, to reconnect and reminisce, but every once in a while the reminiscing got a little awkward.

Like when an old friend told me that I stole her boyfriend on the bus on the way to camp in 8th grade. I hung my head in shame and embarrassment as she described what happened, and then I apologized profusely. Though, in all honesty, I don't remember knowing that he had a girlfriend, but I do remember dating him, and regretting it. I'm pretty sure that I had done her a favor.

Then on Saturday, my friend told me that after I left on Friday night, a guy came up to her and said that he had taken me out on a date once in high school. But he never came up to me. When I arrived at the reunion on Saturday I walked past a row of people and distinctly heard someone say, "Hi Leah." But when I turned to say hi, no one was looking at me and I didn't recognize anyone, so I kept walking. Later my friend pointed out that this was the guy that I had gone on that date with, the one that said hi without looking at me. Weird.

I ran into other guys there. The first boy that I kissed, there on the back stairs of the church, when my knees almost give out. Yeah, that guy was there, but I couldn't bring myself to say hi to him either. No matter how many years have gone by, or that we're both married now and each have our own families. He's supposed to stay part-imaginary, so I'm gonna leave him that way.

There was the guy that had fixed me this really nice dinner and I had talked about my ex-boyfriend the whole time because I didn't realize he wanted to be more than friends and this was supposed to be a romantic dinner. He was there, too.

See, I was not overly confident in high school (this is one of my excuses for being a serial dater). There were people in my life that liked to point out my flaws - everything from my big forehead and over sized lips, to my broad shoulders and big rib cage. A good portion of my life I felt like a walking freak show, the way some people described me. So if a guy asked me to go to a movie, to get brunch with him after church, or to a dance, I assumed that they just wanted to hang out as friends. Unless they spelled out that this was a date and they liked me, I tended to remain pretty clueless.

Unfortunately this resulted in me getting myself into trouble, like when one guy, who had taken me to an arena football game called me out and said he knew I was going out with another guy after church on Sunday. I looked at him dumbstruck, he looked at me like I'd been caught in a lie, finally understanding began to sink in. Oooh, they both viewed these hangout times as dates! I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes.

I like to blame my family for this.:) See, dad didn't live with me, so he had no idea how many guys I was hanging out with alone on an almost daily basis. If he had, he might have clued me in to what the majority of these guys had in mind. Secondly, my mom was a nun. Not when I was born, but the woman was in a convent through all of her high school years. She didn't have a lot of life lessons to teach me in the area of dating - not to mention the two jobs she worked however many hours a week.

My brother did try to help. He told me once I was going to get date raped if I wasn't careful. This scared me, and made me want to be careful, but if you don't think anyone is actually attracted to you, then why would they want to do that (naive little girl that I was)? Now, there were random guys that I would crush on and one in particular must have been very bad, because my big football player brother told me that if I ever mentioned his name again he would kill me and him. I got the message that time.

But here is the real purpose of this blog - confession. I have carried regret and guilt over the ridiculous way that I dated boys throughout high school for years. I used to think that God was just being good to me in bringing Joel into my life when I was only 18 years old, but now I think it was also to relieve the surrounding male population. They could all breathe a sigh of relief that I was no longer around to misinterpret their advances, lead them on unknowingly or date them only to break up a few days later.

So here is my apology. I am sorry, boys. I am sorry to all the Mike's and Chris's and Jason's, to the Matt's and Dave's and Gary's, to all the ones that I don't remember, and especially to Brian. I am sorry for being a confused, naive and flirtatious teenager. I really didn't mean any harm. I hope you can forgive me.

There. Years of guilt all out on the page. Now I can finish my 15th year of marriage in peace.:)

Summer Nights

I love going driving on cool summer nights. I love the feeling of relief as the heat of day melts away into a sweet, cool breeze. I love the twilight sky, somehow brighter and more hopeful than the heavy clouds of winter. But mostly I love that it brings back memories of cool summer nights of years past.

My favorite one, when I was eight-years-old inevitably comes back on every cool summer drive. My dad had stopped by unexpectedly, I assume to drop off a check to my mom, but he stayed long enough to offer me a ride in his Jensen Healy. With the top down we drove off down the road. I don't know if he had an errand to run, or just wanted time with me, but I remember stopping for ice cream at a shop I'd never been to. The cones held two scoops side by side, instead of one on top of the other. I thought that was genius.

I remember my dad telling me not to tell my mom, as I liked mint chocolate chip drips of goodness. I hadn't had dinner yet. . . a mid-summer secret. Somehow that made it even more delicious.

Just me and my dad, hopping back into his cool little convertible, wind blowing through my hair all the way home.

I love summer nights.



Other summer memories that make me smile...

Ghost in the graveyard until the moms called us home.

Fireflies!

Late night baths to cool our filthy, overheated bodies of the day.

Going to bed with wet hair on my pillow, the music of grasshoppers and frogs singing me to sleep from the field outside my window.

I love summer nights.

Poetry - Part Deux

Here are two more of my favorite poems to commemorate the last day of National Poetry Month. The first is about my constant battle against the depression that took my mom from me many years ago (thankfully she is still alive, just hard to reach). And the second is about making peace with my imperfections. Enjoy.


Sadness

When I'm sad
the sadness overtakes,
it leaves me lying in its wake.

I writhe and cry,
"Let me go! Set me free!"
But it holds fast, won't let me be.

I cry within my own soul
for help-
It echoes back, a pitiless yelp.


Wait it out,
I think I will,
Maybe joy will come home still.



Hope

Imperfect heart
that breaks my life in two.

Yelling and screaming,
loving and dreaming,
So much less than
I wish I could be.

Happy
Unsatisfied
Broken Down
My will defied.

I really thought I could create
a perfect world
where love and peace abound,
where souls are saved
and hearts are healed.

No more tears
Fullness
Life

But here I sit in this
rat-a-tat mess,
Loving and being loved,
but left in distress...

Get over it, girl,
you're not home yet,
HOPE.

Poetry Corner

I'm sure you are all very aware that April is National Poetry Month. You have probably been hard at work on a new collection of poetry to share with the world. Well, it was my birthday a couple days ago, and it has become a tradition of mine to write a poem every year on my special day. There has been nothing worth sharing over the last few years, but the one I wrote for my 32nd has been applicable ever since then, and is my personal favorite, so enjoy a little poetry with Leah today.

32 and...

I'm 32 and I'm in love. More love than I can give in so little time to so many.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Joel.
My husband, my partner, my friend and my lover. My sounding board and encourager, my heart and my life.
Without whom life would be empty, lonely, lost.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Lukas. My bright shining light who finds joy in Christmas and birthdays and celebrating life with me. My determined son, hard worker, good friend. Stubborn and willful, but bright-eyed and wonderful. I love my firstborn son.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Gabe. My bigger than life tender heart. One moment pressing and pressing until I can take no more, the next moment embracing everyone and everything around him as I watch in wonder. Getting soaked in the rain, covered in mud, he never does anything half way. I admire his ability to live life with no holds barred.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Brody. My baby boy with personality that pops. A stubborn will that refuses to be broken, except on his own terms. A sweet, pleasing smile and ornery grin that shows his understanding of everything around him. Bright blue eyes and too much cuteness that gets him out of many a scrape.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with Hope. My baby girl that changed my world. I don't know which way to turn. Bound by more than blood, by life, another bearer of life, femininity and hope. Beholder of beauty that shines on her face, but comes from her heart. Precious baby of mine, we're in this together. And I'm in love with her.

I'm 32 and I'm in love with a houseful of bare feet and broken toys. Lovers of life and whiners. Givers of joy and needers of comfort. At times I've nothing left to give, sapped dry...

and then I cry to my loving Lord, who loves them even more than I.

And He fills me up and sets me down in this imperfect life He's given to me and says,
"I'm enough."

So I'm 32 and I'm in love with Him,
I'm 32 and I'm in love with them,
I'm 32 and I am loved.

What more could there be?

Fear, Purpose & Public Speaking

This cartoon is one of my husband's all-time favorites. I think it's interesting because instead of fearing public speaking, I feel compelled to do it. Two weeks ago I had the opportunity to teach at a friend's church for a women's conference. 130 women of all ages came to enjoy some time together, several high quality seminars, worship, and me. It was especially strange to realize that my picture was plastered all over her church and was sent to hundreds of women, inviting them to come and listen to me share what was on my heart.

I always fear that it seems like pride to put myself out there, to think that I have anything to offer these women, to get up on a stage and ask for their undivided attention. It is a strange thing. And yet, since I was 18 years old I have believed that this is what God has had for me, this is what he has asked of me. He has asked me to lay down my fears, lay my reputation on his altar, and leap in faith. An absurd sort of faith that God is speaking things to me that he wants shared with others.

While trying to pursue what God has told me, I have feared everything from humiliating failure to delusional thoughts. How can we really know when God is speaking to us? We just have to jump. Jump out off the cliff that we fear most and hope that God will catch us and keep the word we think he has given us.

And he did. Two weeks ago I stood up in front of women of all ages and told them that I knew the purpose for their lives. I looked them in their aging eyes and told them that they are beautiful, and wonderfully made, and that they were designed for love. They were created to be objects of affection. Their purpose is, and always has been, to love and be loved.

We laughed and cried together as I walked them through the seasons of life that we face as women. I knew I was connecting with them and I loved it.

And as I shared these things, even as I think of them now, my heart swells with the love that I know God has for them, with the love God longs for them to know and feel and share and delight in. When I stand on that stage my one purpose is to get at their hearts and then to let God fill them up. When I do this time flies.

When I practiced my two teachings they both came out to 30 minutes. This was strange and troubling. I tend to be a person who can barely be kept to a 45 minute time frame, and I was supposed to fill 50, for each teaching. This made me nervous, but I thought, well, now I can slow down and share a few more stories, be ready to share something God spontaneously puts on my heart.

And I filled the time. I was nervous and insecure about what these women would think of me, and yet absolutely sure that this is what God had for me. I don't know why he chose me for this. I just know that he did. And I delight to speak of the love of God to anyone who will listen.

In one of the seminars I went to, the teacher asked what things we enjoy so much that time flies. What kind of things do we start in on and look up to find that an hour has passed in a blink? When I teach that certainly happens, probably why it's so hard for me to keep to a set time frame. When I read or write, time passes without me even knowing it. I used to draw a lot, and I remember getting lost in my charcoal and pencils and sketchbook, completely unaware of an outside world. I love those things. The things that we were made to do, that our whole being gets wrapped up in, that get our hearts and minds and bodies and souls all engaged at once.

I wonder if you've found something like that. If you feel that you know what you were created to do. I'd love to hear if you do.



Me and my chica's hanging out at the conference: Andrea (a.k.a. my rockin' guest artist who sang two powerful songs for the conf.) and Crystal the Beautiful (my dearly missed friend and MC for the conf.).

The Perks of Self-Control

I'm considering blogging about something besides what I eat at some point, but this is the primary occupation of my life right now (besides the husband and 4 kids, of course).

It has been just over two weeks without chocolate, though I do have to confess that I snuk some cake batter last night while making Gabe's cake. How am I supposed to get through this candy and birthday cake weekend without slipping? I don't know, maybe I need to pray more. But I do consider it a minor victory that it was white cake batter and not chocolate. Still no chocolate.:(

On the bright side, I have now lost 6 pounds. Let me tell you, this is one effective weight loss plan. I feel like I'm losing weight so fast I'll have to get the excess skin cut off by the time this is over, like the bariatric patients do. (Sorry if that was a gross image.)

My jeans are a little loser, my shirts fall straighter, and I'm starting to feel just a little better about myself as Spring approaches. At Christmas time I had resorted to photoshopping out my belly rolls (specimen A to the right). You should hear my fat sound. It is a sound that I make to describe the excess fat on my body, but I can only do it spontaneously, like on an especially fat day. Joel thinks it's hilarious. He always says there's just more of me to love. Thanks, honey.

Anyway, I wanted to share with you some of my favorite new foods:

Pineapple - awesome dessert, even out of the can. My kids and I fight for the juice.
Kiwi - I got a bag of 6 at Aldi for $1.50 - cheap and sweet! Yummy breakfast food.
Whole Cashews - My favorite nut, usually don't splurge on them, but no time like the chocolate-free present.
Dried Berries - supposedly a health food, but when I read the label I saw that they added sugar!
GUACAMOLE!!! I was born in California, so this is my ode to the avacado.
Nacho chips with a hint of jalapeno - just enough kick to make the chip oh so mouthwatering.
Pickles and grilled tuna sandwich - the most satisfying lunch I've had on this fast.
Diet A&W - the least horrendous of the diet family. Thankful that something can meet my need for pop every once in a while (I'll let you know if any tumors form).

The interesting thing about this fast is that foods taste more intense now. When I bit into that pickle the other day my mouth exploded with flavor - it was awesome.

I read this article that said that overweight people don't respond to sweets the way thinner people do. The thin people trigger a release of seratonin when they have sweets, while the heavier people need more dessert to get the same pleasure response. It's as though their taste buds and brains have been dulled to the pleasure. I'm pretty sure this happened with me as I went from cookie dough to Cherry Coke to Dove chocolate trying to make myself feel better.

So, I've actually been enjoying expanding my food horizons, eating fruits and veggies instead of junk and losing weight while exhibiting self-control. My poor husband, on the other hand, has had the opposite response. He says that the longer he does this, the less any food has positive taste to him. Even his favorite meals don't taste as good. This man is a freak of nature. He also seems to be lacking endorphins. After exercise he just feels tired.

Pray for him. He needs it.

9 Days and Counting

9 days. I have gone 9 days without chocolate. It has been challenging and frustrating at times, but there have been some rewards.

I have lost 4 pounds. In 9 days. I know that's great, but it's also a little sad. Do you know how much chocolate that means I eat normally? I don't know exact numbers, but a lot.

It reminds me of when I was nursing my daughter. She was a very fussy baby, more so than any of my other babies, so I called the lactation consultant to ask if there was anything I could do. She started asking me a series of questions about Hope and then about my diet. It went something like this:
"Do you drink a lot of coffee?"
"No, I don't like coffee."
"What about tea?"
"Green tea."
"That shouldn't affect her too much."
"Spicy foods?"
"Some."
"You might want to watch that. What about chocolate?"
"What about it?" (defensive, much?)
"Do you eat a lot of chocolate?"
"Ummmm..." Wondering what her definition of "a lot" is.
"Can you fit it into a cup, one measuring cup?"
"Ummmm..." Let's see, brownie batter, then a couple baked brownies, magic shell on my ice cream, a few Dove chocolates here and there. Maybe if I melt it all down it would fit into a cup.

After long silence.

"Okay, just try to limit the amount of chocolate you eat in a day to 1 cup full. Then it shouldn't affect her too much."
"Got it." Sort of.

Yes. I have a problem. That's the first step, right? Admit that I have a problem. Going cold turkey seems to be working. But this morning I realized I still have 31 more days of this and I got a little discouraged. That is a long time to go without sweets. The only other time I have done this was during my first pregnancy when anything sweeter than a pretzel made me vomit. There's a reason I was able to lose all the baby weight so quickly that time.

I have also started to drink some diet pop. This makes me angry because I've had a long standing moral objection to artificial sweeteners. I'm not sure what my moral stance is based on, maybe some shady research about Diet Coke causing brain tumors or something. But I don't like it.

Just thought you'd want to know.

Fasting (Sort of)

So, yesterday I began a 40 day fast. I know it sounds extreme, but I've been thinking about it for a while and decided that I need to do this. I talked to my husband about it and he's on board. I'm hungry and craving things, but otherwise okay.

Technically I'm not abstaining from all food, just my favorite food - chocolate mostly, also sugar, but the chocolate is the most painful part. Some people say that I'm just giving up sweets for lent, but I'm not catholic and I've never fully understood lent, so I'm not calling it that. I consider it a fast because I normally eat inordinate amounts of chocolate and sweets in a day. Going without is a great sacrifice and will only be successful if it is viewed as a fast.

I know a lot of people who eat to make themselves feel better, I am one of these people. But I keep finding that on the days I feel the worst I eat the most chocolate, cookie dough, brownies and other sweet treats, hence making me feel even more disgusting.

I'm the worst at lunch time. I eat the same thing every day for breakfast - cereal and orange juice, and then I plan every dinner meal for a family of six, which takes some coordination on my part. But lunch, unless I'm going out to eat, just does not appeal to me. Sandwiches are not that exciting, I make a decent salad now and then, but in my post morning, pre-work mindset, lunch just takes too much energy.

So I grab what is appealing. For example, one day I had potato chips, sour cream and onion dip, Cherry Coke and cookie dough for lunch. I was feeling sort of down before the well-balanced lunch, but afterward I felt nauseous as well. This started me thinking - maybe I need to NOT go to these foods for a little while and see what happens.

There is, of course, another motivation. I hear that spring may actually come this year and if it does, then summer will follow, and we have a pool pass, which means I'll have to wear a bathing suit in public and the 15 pounds that I have been unable to lose since having my daughter will be bulging out at all sorts of odd angles.

But I must point out - this is not a diet! I fail miserably at diets. This is a fast. From chocolate, from sugar, from soda. Apparently I can eat as many potato chips and dip as I want, but it's just not as tempting when I can't wash it down with some yummy pop. Same with movie popcorn, darn it! I really wanted some last night. But I do feel thinner this morning and not nauseous from the ridiculous amounts of butter I usually add to the corn. (Thank you, Stephanie, for teaching me the fill-the-bag-half-way, add-butter-then-fill-the-rest-of-the-way-and-add-more-butter technique.)

So, wish me luck, or pray for self-control. I'll keep you updated on how it goes.

By the way, what do I do with all the chocolate still left in my house? Give it to charity? Put it in a safe until Easter and then gorge on it? Hmmmm...

Dreaming

So, I have very realistic, but off the wall dreams at times, and last night was no exception. I dreamt that I was supposed to marry these two guys, not at the same time, but you know, in some dreamy alter-reality. Anyway, one of the guys was an old friend from high school who I never had any attraction to. The other was Vince Gill.

Don't know why. Again, no attraction to Vince, I don't even think about Vince Gill or listen to his music. About all I know is that he is married to Amy Grant, whose music I used to listen to. Anyway, I woke up a little freaked out, told Joel about it and felt the need to reaffirm my commitment to him. I really am happily married and don't want to be married to anyone else.

It's strange that most of my romantic dreams are with people like this that I have absolutely no attraction to in real life. The weirdest one was a few months ago when I woke up freaked out that I had made out with Al Gore in my sleep. I'm not even a democrat! I chalked it up to my passionate desire to be more green and save the planet.

In my wakeful state my dreams can be just as troublesome. I have this overwhelming desire to save the world. But I don't even know what that really means. I'm not some superhero who can fly around saving the day, though I guess I wish I could.

I want to make things better for people. Like in my job. I teach at an after school tutoring center for at-risk kids. I started this job last fall hoping to somehow save them from their troubled lives, from their anger, their poverty, their loneliness. I ended the semester feeling like an absolute failure.

During my time off between semesters I spent a lot of time trying to figure this out. How had I failed so miserably? I went in with good motives and left exhausted, frustrated and hopeless.

After much consideration and prayer I came to the conclusion that my goals were too lofty (no big shock to you, I'm sure). God is not asking me to save anyone. He's the only one who can do the saving. All he wants from me is to offer them some love, help and hope in a safe place for a few hours a day. It's not earth-shattering stuff, but it's what I have to give.

I just finished my first week of the new semester and feel not frustrated, not exhausted, but peaceful. I have that peaceful easy feeling (can you hear the song in your head?) I get when I do what God asks me to do, and leave the rest to him.

I still want to save the world, but I guess I'll leave that up to Al Gore for now.

Cold Tangerines

I just finished reading Cold Tangerines by Shauna Niequist, and am so glad I did. It is a memoirish book of Shauna's thoughts on the trials and celebrations of life. And it is just what I needed.

It was an interesting read in part because Shauna is the daughter of my pastor from my home church. I met her once at camp and remember observing her closely and later wondering if scrutiny like that was a little annoying at times. I have two clear memories of Shauna - one is of her praying a very deep and meaningful prayer and the other is of her explaining how her dad taught her to pop zits without leaving a mark - an important skill for any teenage girl. Of course, I remember this because her dad is an internationally known author and pastor of a mega church, and I love the image of him popping zits in the mirror.

The only reason I don't mention this pastor's name is because in her book Shauna never did. She never used her maiden name, made reference to her parents' names or said where her dad was pastor. I find this particularly interesting because I've learned a thing or two about the publishing industry. One of the things I've learned is that they really like to sell the books they print, and the best way to sell them is to have a famous name attached to them. I can only imagine the fight Shauna had to put up to not publish her maiden name on the cover. It would have guaranteed thousands more sales, I'm sure. But I love that she wanted to make her own name and not just be associated with the legend that is her dad.

But as I was saying about this book intersecting with my life, I just couldn't put it down. I loved Shauna's reallness and openness, sharing her flaws and fears with the world. One thing that struck me early on is how opposite our spiritual journeys were. She was the pastor's kid, being picked out as the church lady no matter where she went. I was the girl from the dysfunctional family just trying to hang on.

So when Shauna started to rebel against her faith in college, wondering if it was really worth all of the hassle, I was clinging to mine for dear life. It was all I had. It was my only hope (to quote Princess Leigha).

A few months ago Joel and I baptized our two oldest boys. In our church we don't baptize infants, but when a person has chosen to follow Christ, then we dunk 'em as a symbol of that decision. My ten-year-old was so eager to be baptized that he told everyone he knew. When it was time for the baptism I found him playing with his friends and said it was time to get ready. His whole face lit up and he literally jumped up and down and screamed, "It's time to get baptized! Let's go guys!"

When he went back to school he told his whole class that he was a Christian and started carrying his Bible with him wherever he went. In case you wondered, he does not go to a Christian school. This is so interesting to me because my faith has always been so intensely personal to me. I've never been very good at defending my faith because all I want to say is, "You know, God loves you." And then I want them to know it and feel it to the core of their being. But I've found that it doesn't exactly work that way.

Once in a class debate over the existence of God someone said that religion was just a crutch. I was hurt. I had no argument to contradict the statement. In some ways I thought it was true, I certainly leaned on God in hard times, I guess that's a crutch. But the way he said it, as though it were an insult, as though it was bad to not have all the strength I needed within myself to get through life, it confused me.

I didn't have the strength then and I don't have it now. I lean into God all the time. He is my strength, he is my hope, his book determines how I live my life and the choices I make. When I think about it I realize that religion is not my crutch, but that my relationship with God is my bone structure. It is what holds me up, what keeps me going, what leads the way. And it is the only way I've found worth living for.

As I think about how the outside world may think about me indoctrinating my children with Christianity, it causes me to pause. I am trying to give my children a more stable upbringing than the one I had. And yet I know that the instability of my life is what caused me to cling to God so tightly. He is the one who comforted me when I was sad, the one who spoke truth to me and brought people into my life to love me and care for me, to hug me and make me laugh until I cried.

My hope is honestly that my children will learn about the love of God in a different way. That they will see it and feel it in my marriage to my husband and in our love for them. That they will witness it at church when we worship God and at house church when we share one another's pain, bear one another's burdens.

The unfortunate truth, though, is that one day they will need God desperately. Whether their heart is broken by a cute little girl, or tragedy strikes our family or a friend, or whether a dream is crushed to pieces. I know that one day they will need God with every fiber of their being, just the way that I do every day.

And in the mean time, I can find no better way to tell them to live their lives - selflessly giving of themselves to help the homeless, comfort the lonely, give hope to the hopeless. But also being in a community of people who are committed to caring for one another's needs. That way, when I'm not there to care for them, I know that someone else will be.

Shauna's book made me cry and mourn for a lot of things that I never had, but also helped me remember all that I did.

I didn't have much, but I had God, and thankfully he had me.