Amy Writes

A Training Mission

2011-04-28T09:55:00.001-04:00

Every morning I wake up, pledging that today will be different. Today I will take deep breaths. I will count to ten. I will remain personally disengaged. I will be calm, consistent, gentle but firm. Today things will turn around. Today we will work together. Tonight, I will not be so exhausted and ready to cry.

Then I step out of the bedroom. And it begins.

When I worked at the Happiest Place on Earth, as most places of employment do, we had a breakroom. In the breakroom you could be whoever you wanted. You could eat, slouch, swear, remove annoying costume accessories, grow facial hair if you had time, vent about the crazy guest who just asked when the rain was going to stop or just frown if you needed to get a frown out of your system...the breakroom was a place of rest. Just one door separated us from "the stage," and once we walked through that door, we had to be on, all the time.

Every morning, my bedroom door reminds me of that stage door. Once I walk through it in the morning, I have to be on. Little people are watching me do my job, all day long. And this job carries a lot more weight than that other one did. I didn't run the risk of scarring anyone for life if I messed up my script or leaned against a railing in public. I wasn't molding lives and shaping character and modeling grace there. I was playing, and other people got to watch.

I think about what that job would have been like if the guests were allowed to just barge into the breakroom before I'd had breakfast or coffee or a shower and start demanding stuff from me. "Can you get my breakfast? Do you know where my PE shirt is? My sister ripped my book!"

Or, what if I showed a guest to their seat, and they gave me 18 reasons why they'd like to sit in another seat, or not sit at all, or 14 requests in escalating levels of urgency to hold the microphone themselves. What if I was giving my 22-minute spiel and the guest tugged at my shirt and called my name the entire time? What if they did it all day long? What if the same guest showed up every day, argued with everything I asked them to do, every single day, and there was not a single thing I could do about it? What if they only did it to me?

I see two possibilities there. One: The guest would be asked to leave the park and never return (not real likely), or, two: I'd be fired or jailed for snapping one day.

Which leaves me with a conundrum. What do I do, when that guest lives in my house?

I know there are those who say it's a parenting problem. Just tell the child "no" or to be quiet or to go to their room or that they don't get to go to birthday parties or whatever. To those people I say: you don't know my daughter. I have done ALL of that. Over and over and over again. But this amazing, beautiful child is the definition of persistence. She is a criminal defense lawyer, a used car salesman, a telemarketer and a cruise director all wrapped up into one little package, dressed in the fabric of an entrepreneur and tied up with the thread of an actress.

Sometimes, my heart breaks for her as I watch her try to manage all of this stuff going on in her head - seeing how much she wants to please and serve, but how desperately she wants it done her way. And there are times when I think that letting her have it her way is okay...but without fail, that backfires on me. This child recognizes a crack in the armor from the other side of town and she will not miss an opportunity to exploit it. I really don't believe it's intentional. I truly think she just can't help herself.

So all day long, I am playing both offense and defense, trapped in a sales office in negotiations in which I don't plan to compromise, actively making plans that will take 3 times longer to accomplish when the haggling is factored in, eyeing the breakroom door and wondering when I will get bumped back there.

The hardest part - and this is where I broke into tears with friends last night - is that every day I realize that the very traits about her that make me crazy are the ones God's given me that allow me to accomplish anything. So rather than disciplining the persistence out of her (teaching her "not to be me" and demonstrating my unbelief that God has given us these "gifts" for a reason), my mission has to be to help her to learn to use her powers for good and not evil - and that is where it changes from a discipline issue to a lifelong training mission. There is no breakroom secluded enough to hide from that job. Thank God for grace, or I'd have been fired a long time ago.

Dear Harry,

2011-04-11T22:24:00.000-04:00

It was 1991. Wait, how is that possible? I was just a kid. You were just past being a kid. When Harry Met Sally had been looping on the CD player in Mom's Caravan for months and we were addicted. I'd been playing the piano for about 10 years by then and fancied myself an expert on amazing. I knew amazing, and you, Harry, were pretty amazing.

I'd seen Memphis Belle about a dozen times, too. It was a running joke in the family - someone was always bringing home the videotape from Blockbuster. Ha ha ha...hurryupandpushplay!

Once, thinking I could do what you do, Mom called "your people" to see if sheet music existed for your version of Winter Wonderland. We were told by a very nice gentleman that "No, Harry doesn't do sheet music," and I think he sent us some type of songbook instead. I cannot do what you do.

It was one of the most spontaneous things I'd seen my mom do - the paper said you were performing that night and she decided we would go, without tickets. While my friends were sneaking out to G'n'R shows, I was buying scalped Harry Connick, Jr. tickets with my mom. I've always been that girl.

We weren't so lucky with tickets - we found two, in different places. She let me have the one that was a few rows closer and I took my seat in an empty section. I'd not made myself comfortable before an usher approached me. I wasn't going to be able to see from there, she said. She wanted to take me to a place where I would be able to see better, she said. Somewhere like the front row, right behind the keyboard, no more than 10 feet from you.

So there we were, you and I. Getting to know each other - you with your band, me trying to keep the dumb smile off my face and play it cool. It was the Blue Light/Red Light tour, with songs from We are in Love, and I was, most definitely, in love. You probably don't remember.

Since then, I have sat in a few other audiences, still trying to keep the dumb smile off my face, still trying to play it cool. Never again in the front row - though my triumphant last minute crashing of the Pajama Game on Broadway landed me in about the 5th - but always, always, toe tapping & dumb grinning.

I do feel our history allows me the privilege of one little question: only 90 minutes on Saturday night? I know it was Boca, and aside from us you were the youngest person in the venue by 20 years, but please, next time, stay just a little bit longer. For me, and our 20 years together.

Sincerely,
Amy from the front row in 1991

Could this sound creepier? Harry, if you're reading, I don't still live with my mom and save my money to stalk you around the country. I promise.

A Bible Study Story

2011-04-07T13:30:00.002-04:00

Today is one of those days where I just walk around my house and look at stuff. I might actually pick something up and move it to another location, or I might straighten a pile of papers into a neat little stack, or I might kick some shoes out of a main thoroughfare. Or I might not. If I don't, it's because I am physically unable to make progress in any direction.

I hate these days.

One of the things I value most on a daily basis is my own productivity. When I effectively pair it with its sister value, efficiency, I am in my own little self-~~righteous~~-sufficient utopia. On the days when the opposite is occurring, I am miserable. Seriously, I feel like a flat-out, 100%, crawl-back-into-bed-and-hide-under-the-covers failure.

It's a totally fallacious sentiment, I know. That's one of the reasons why I find these days so frustrating. Regardless of how many times I tell myself that it's okay to take a day off, or to not be at the top of my game all the time...no matter how often I remind myself that my self-sufficiency is completely bogus anyway because I am nothing without Christ...I catch myself with my head swimming around a to-do list that is growing instead of shrinking and think, "I am failing."And then I feel like more of a failure for feeling like a failure.

You know how when you ask your computer to do something and that little flashlight icon comes up to tell you that the processor is searching for a way to do what you're asking it to do? That's how my head feels. I can see that little flashlight panning around while my brain searches for something that will satisfy this restlessness...I try exercise, cleaning, chocolate...all in vain, until my eyes light on the one thing that will calm me.

Opening to Isaiah 58, my assigned study for the week, I learn about - are you ready for this? - taking a Sabbath. Seriously. That was what my lesson today was about. Today, when I sat down, practically in tears about not being able to get my work done. Okay, now I'm in tears writing about it.

Isaiah 58 begins with God saying to Israel, basically: "Hey. Stop it. You wonder why I'm not hearing you? You are only trying to please yourselves. This "fasting" that you're doing? You're not getting it. You are going through some motions, but you are missing the point. It's not about you." The people would do these days of fasting where they would starve themselves and hang their heads and lay on sackcloth instead of cushy beds, but their behavior didn't change at all - they were still awful to one another, taking advantage of the people that worked for them and fighting with each other. Their self-denial was only a checklist, not a life of service.

God goes on to talk about what true fasting and Sabbath look like and there are all kinds of references to fighting for social justice, doing away with the yoke of oppression, sharing food with the hungry and clothing the naked. God says if we stop doing as we please and spend ourselves doing these things, then "The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." God's word doesn't promise that if I am faithful with sweeping my kitchen floor, straightening up after my kids, organizing my coupons and folding my laundry, then he will give me the strength I need to serve Him...He says it's the other way around. It's not about me. He doesn't want my completed checklist. He wants me.

When I find myself feeling like a failure, it is because I am making it all about me ("I am less valuable when I am not getting things done"). When I am overwhelmed, it is all about me ("How will people perceive me if I don't get it all done myself?"). When I am singularly focused on crossing things off the list, it is all about me. ("There is no room for God's derailment.")

The ONLY way for me to remember this is by allowing God to tell me, every single day. I think God lets me get into this paralyzed state to remind me, like he did today, that it's not about me. That he has different plans for me, and they are much bigger. I wanted to keep my house clean? He wants me to defeat social injustice. Clearly, we should talk more.

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This post is a roundabout way of participating in the Remarkable Faith series, at Giving Up on Perfect. I have been a student in Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) for eleven years and cannot recommend it highly enough for in depth, life changing study.

A Worship Story, featuring Steven Tyler

2011-03-31T09:32:00.000-04:00

I have decided to show a little grace to myself and allow a re-post of an older entry for this week's Remarkable Faith post. Now that Steven Tyler the Idol Judge moves me to tears almost weekly, I find this post to be maybe truer for me than before...enjoy!

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As I've said before, my mind tends to wander a bit on Sunday mornings. It wanders to the store, it wanders to the calendar, it wanders to the mismatched paint colors above the east door. Sometimes it wanders to scripture unrelated to the message - I consider that some kind of victory, although I'm not sure it's a point in my favor, since it's still evidence that could be used against me, should someone be peeking over my shoulder.

Anyway, one Sunday this summer, my mind wandered to the Aerosmith concert we were planning to "attend" the next night. I noticed that I was starting to feel giddy, which started me thinking: Why am I 187 times more excited about that concert than about being here this morning? Why can I already feel it in my bones? What is it about the prospect of Steven Tyler screaming on stage that excites me more than being here, worshiping my Creator?

So, as I followed my mind on this little sojourn, I came to a couple of possibilities, but I'm going to land on one.

I want to be moved.

God, the God that I serve, the God who spoke the heavens and the earth into being, the God who turned the Nile into blood and parted the Red Sea, who confused the languages of thousands, who tore the veil from top to bottom - THAT God is a God who moves.

God never does anything half way. He never plays it safe or takes the easy way. God's not concerned about what might be too loud or too quiet or too intimate or too intense. God is God, and He goes for it. He moves you. His Gospel is not tame. It isn't warm and fuzzy, clouds and rainbows - it is fierce, intense, bloody and passionate, a love letter for the ages, the kind of story that should make us weep just knowing it's been written.

I imagined that day in church that true worship might sometimes feel a lot more like an Aerosmith concert than our usual Sunday morning fare. A fully engaging, participatory, whole body experience, from which you are forever changed in some way. A point in time to which you can always return because you felt it in flesh and spirit.

I picture Steven Tyler on stage and - really, is there a better example of one who "goes for it"? Can you picture him singing dispassionately? It is impossible for me not to buy into that kind of performance - to not believe, at some level, that this crazy looking person means what he sings. And I don't know about you, but one thing I've discovered about myself as a follower is that I'd better believe the person who's leading me, or you might catch me wandering.

I know that my own personal spirit of worship is not the responsibility of the worship leader. I know my responsibility is to prepare my own heart to commune with my God, regardless of the style of worship being presented to me. I know God can move me however He chooses to move me, even if I am inclined more toward the electric guitars and passionate rock screams.

But that doesn't change my desire. I want to be moved. Be it loudly, quietly, intensely or intimately, I want to be moved.

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p.s., you may remember, the Aerosmith concert was canceled, so this is all speculation based solely on television performances and other concert experiences. :)

A Funeral Story

2011-03-24T11:30:00.003-04:00

This January, my grandmother celebrated her 90th birthday. She was surrounded by her three sons and 8 of her 17 great-grandchildren. With the exception of a few minor glitches that come after 90 years of living, she is in great health.

My grandfather, also in great physical shape, will turn 89 in April, followed closely by my other grandmother, Nana, in June. Nana is still driving.

Altogether, our children still have five great-grandparents living, four of whom we see on a regular basis. This, I believe, is remarkable.

This remarkable living legacy is the reason why, by the grace of God, I don't have a lot of experience with funerals.

There have been a few - my other grandfather passed away when I was in college, but only after losing both legs in WWII, surviving a major heart attack and quadruple bypass surgery and a pretty serious stroke, among many, many other trials. He was a fighter, and though we all miss him, his funeral was like a victory celebration - his fight was over and he had beaten more than any of us would ever face in our lifetime. It was the first time I understood that funerals were a time to show your respect not just for the person who died, but for the family who suffered the loss.

When thinking about how to write this post for Giving Up on Perfect's Remarkable Faith series, my mind returns to one specific funeral that taught me the importance of hope, because it was a completely hopeless ceremony. The person we were remembering that day was not a person of faith - not of any kind - so the service was devoid of any spirituality. To so closely watch a family suffer without having any hope of reuniting, or even believing the loved one was in "a better place"...it was painful and convicting.

My mom talks about how she wants "I'll Fly Away" sung at her funeral, because she wants people to know that she is gone to glory. I like the idea of one of those parades they do in New Orleans. I love the idea of people at my funeral laughing and celebrating and looking forward to partying with me again...but more than that, I love the idea of them laughing and celebrating and partying with me NOW.

I'm reminded of an episode of Little House on the Prairie where one of the Walnut Creek neighbors - and elderly lady - decides to stage her own death and funeral in order to bring her family together one last time while she can still see them. She figures that they are too busy to visit her while she's alive, but they won't be able to resist attending her funeral. Behind the curtain, she watches and listens as family reunites and sings her praises after they believe she's gone. Unable to conceal herself any longer, she appears in the middle of the room and gives them all grief for waiting until they believed she'd died to actually start acting like a family. And then they have a big party and love on each other - on this side of eternity.

I think it's a brilliant idea. Why do we wait for funerals and memorial services to convict us of not loving enough? Or not sharing enough? How could I let anyone in my family get to the grave before I tell them about Hope? God, give me the courage and belief never to attend another hopeless funeral...

Meanwhile, Gram tells me she'll be 210 on her next birthday. (I told you there were a few glitches.) And should anything happen to me before I have time to plan it myself, no somber, hopeless service please. I want a big ol' rock concert.

You want to use your stick? Or should I get mine?

2011-03-23T12:17:00.002-04:00

I am part of a very special group of friends. We love being together whenever possible. Almost all of us have kids at home all day long, so when we get together during the day there is a significant increase in the noise level.

As our kids get older, finishing a sentence - or sometimes even a whole conversation - is getting easier. But there are days when we are all taking our turns disappearing from the room to beat our children.

I'm kidding about beating our children.

But we do vanish regularly to have a word with this one, or to remove that one from a situation, or to exact some type of punishment for a certain unacceptable behavior. Sometimes, we have to disappear completely and go all the way home with a screaming child in tow. And no one looks twice. No one raises an eyebrow or tells us to take it easy or questions anyone's parenting decisions. We just shift over and start monitoring an extra kid or two while one of us is having to be the enforcer. And every now and then we play the enforcer with each other's kids.

The result? Well, here's an example: I was able to, in good conscience, leave one babysitter at my house with seven of these kids one day, knowing they'd not give her any trouble at all and almost nothing in my house would be broken when I returned.

Lately, I've been thinking about how grateful I am to be surrounded by families who have the same expectations of behavior that we have, and I brag a bit about it when someone compliments my kids. I use it a a chance to talk about how blessed we are to be a part of a group of people who help us keep them in line.

Yesterday, a friend of mine tweeted a quote from Rick Warren (is "re-tweeted" an accepted verb yet?) that said: "In the poorest slums on earth I've learned that gangs & violence are not created by poverty but by the absence of fathers."

Reading that, I was filled with gratitude that not only do these kids have moms who will keep them in line, but every single one of them has a dad who expects great things from them, and who also is completely devoted to their mom. And while we're not perfect, we are getting to see the benefits of doing this part of our life according to God's plan. When his plan gets broken and our kids grow up without loving parents who are going to hold them accountable to a standard of acceptable behavior, then our kids end up broken.

Today is just not happening

2011-03-21T17:07:00.000-04:00

Today is one of those days when I just can't...get it...together.

I can't. I have been back to bed twice, hoping that pushing the reset button will make it all better, but it's not working.

Today was supposed to be a kind of back-to-the-grind day, as we've been on "Spring Break" for about a month (yay, homeschooling!!) So I stuck to my (fading) guns and we got school & piano done, and even did some of the things that we don't do on lesser-motivated days. We took a series of photos observing our new garden.We planted seeds in our little greenhouse box, we went outside and tried out the new skateboard, we foraged through the fridge for lunch (instead of defaulting to PB&J).

I think one of the hardest parts of homeschooling is that (I feel like...) when I'm not at the top of my game, everything suffers. Or at least I'm surrounded by the evidence of everything suffering. I don't get to leave my house behind and go to work and just make it through a day, planning to deal with home later. I am reminded with every glance that my house is winning, and of all the things I need to do to get it back in order. (didn't I just do all of that on Friday??) And the kids who make the mess...I don't get to send them away for 8 hours so that I can tackle things while they're gone. So while wandering around the house being reminded of my shortcomings as a house elf, I am being pestered by the very creatures responsible for its chaotic state. And not only are they here, they are in need of an education - that I have vowed to give them. So if I choose to tackle the house, I'm neglecting school. If I choose to do school, I'm neglecting the house. If I choose to rest, I'm neglecting everything. Some days I have the right perspective and none of this gets to me.

Other days, like today, I need some chocolate, a babysitter, a housekeeper and a school bus.

A Wedding Story

2011-03-17T06:00:00.042-04:00

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3

The Guest List.

Any bride knows the importance of those three words. Whether the list be long or short, it is painstakingly created. It's the one chance we have to make a list of people we believe love us enough to spend the better part of a day - or in my case, a weekend - celebrating us.

That's right. My wedding was an out of town, weekend affair. Our guests were invited not to spend just a few hours with us, but a few days in the Happiest Place on Earth. Back then, I thought of it as a treat for them - who wouldn't want to spend a weekend ~~celebrating us~~ at Disney?

Now, eleven years later and with a family of my own, I am almost embarrassed at what a burden that would seem for us - regardless of our relationship with the bride and groom! To block out a weekend and go to the expense of a family vacation ... just to go to a wedding? Yikes.

But I am so grateful that every single one of those special people carried that burden and gifted us with their presence that weekend.

While thinking about my wedding for this week's post in Giving Up on Perfect's Remarkable Faith series, I couldn't stop thinking of the great cloud of witnesses mentioned in Hebrews 12.

We've watched our wedding video many times, so often that we have our "favorite parts." There's the part where the latecomers are caught sneaking in before my entrance. And the part where one of my bridesmaids winks at the camera during the ceremony. And the impromptu dance and lip sync performances to Backstreet Boys and Ice Ice Baby. Our videographer did a fantastic job of taking the focus off of us and spreading it around, making sure that our friends and family were well-represented on camera. There are tons of (pretty funny) interviews, crowd shots, sweeping views of the audience (congregation?) ...all of which serve to remind us of the people who loved both of us enough to serve as witnesses on the day we became one.

I think of my youth pastor, who traveled from Atlanta to perform the ceremony, and how special it was for him to be there with us. And of the old high school friends and newer college friends and roommates who partied all weekend with us. There were family members who'd driven and flown long distances - reuniting with us on the happiest of occasions. The children of my extended "family" toddled around, dancing with Mickey...in the video they were younger than my kids are now...now they have their driver's licenses.

Sometimes, I think that if we were doing it again, we'd be tempted to elope and save the money...until I think about that great cloud of witnesses who watched as my husband and I promised to run with perseverance the race set out before us. I used to think that we did those guests a favor, that they were on some privileged list that "got" to attend our soiree. Then I realized that this marriage "race" can be really hard, and those wonderful people believed in us enough to give their time to sit in the stands as we started running. They listened as we made those promises and set off with every intent to fix our eyes on the author and perfecter of our faith. What a tremendous responsibility to be a faithful representation of Christ's love for the Church - with all of those people on our wedding video and an ever-growing live audience...still watching.

Keeping in mind the strength we draw from the memories of that great cloud of witnesses on that Sunday eleven years ago, we don't miss a wedding if we can help it. And it never feels like a burden.

(If you were there, thank you - your presence was noticed, and treasured, and you are probably on our video!)

What do you remember most about your wedding?

The Organ of Adhesiveness

2011-03-16T18:26:00.004-04:00

"You must have become in some degree attached to the house, - you, who have an eye for natural beauties, and a good deal of the organ of Adhesiveness?"
- Mr. Rochester to Jane Eyre

"What would you say is your greatest strength?"

I remember getting that question about once a week near the end of college. Interview after interview, no one ever seemed to come up with another way of asking that or its tricky cousin: "What would you say is your greatest weakness?" ("Weakness? Well, sometimes I work TOO hard. I just don't know when to stop. I dedicate myself to a project and don't stop until it's done, sometimes at the expense of a good meal or a hot date. It's a real weakness." Did anyone NOT answer that way?)

My standard answer to the strength question was usually: "Well, sir, I am extremely loyal." I don't know how I proved it - I hadn't held a job for more than a summer at a time (and that was only once), didn't have any long time commitments to any organizations or leadership positions I'd held for longer than a semester...I guess I just hoped they'd believe me. It seemed not too braggy, and sort of endearing and I knew it to be true, so they just needed to trust me.

I realize now this may be why my mailbox wasn't overflowing with job offers. Should've gone with something like "proven results" or "experience."

But a little life experience has given me a chance to prove myself. Many of my closest friends have been my closest friends for 10 years or more. In fact, my best friend and I are celebrating our 31st anniversary this year. For 15 years, I have cheered for only one college team and if you cut me, I just might bleed orange and blue. This is my 11th year in BSF. I've served the same ministry in some capacity or another for more than 7 years. I've been married for 11 years, and have had kids now for 8 years. Stop me if you can't handle any more of my awesomeness.

Sometimes, loyalty hurts. I've had it backfire over the years. But today, loyalty kicked in and won me a victory.

I was trying to sign in to an online service and, as usual, couldn't remember my password. Apparently, I am not loyal to passwords. So I began the procedure of resetting the password and was startled to see that my security question - set a loyal 10 years ago - was:

Who is your ALL-TIME favorite entertainer?

Oh, sheesh. What kind of mood was I in when when I set the answer? Getting it wrong would lock me out of the system and require me to do battle with the phonebots. Did I really need online banking anyway?

I had to answer two questions correctly, and I knew I had the answer to the next one, because mom's maiden name hadn't varied in the last 10 years. So I had to give it a shot...and I NAILED it.

ALL-TIME was kind of a giveaway, because in my terms, ALL-TIME means from the time I was in elementary school and able to make these kinds of important decisions by myself. And ALL-TIME means now, to this day. Mark a 'W' for loyalty, or, in the words of Mr. Rochester - for the organ of Adhesiveness!

Do you have an all-time favorite entertainer? Would you get your security question right if you'd answered 10 years ago?

Jelly Beans, More Abundantly

2011-03-15T15:34:00.004-04:00

"I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10(b)

That's Jesus talking. Let me give you a little background on this verse: according to every Sunday school clip art graphic ever created, we know that Jesus was wearing a white flowy robe at the time of its utterance, and the words were spoken with arms gently and warmly outstretched. Scholar/artists disagree about whether the white robe featured a purple or blue shoulder sash or a nauticalish rope tied at his waist. His shoulder length, Northern European hair had definitely just been brushed and there'd been a special on whitening at the dentist that week because his pearly whites are sparkling.

I think, because it's such an easy one to remember, I immediately associate this verse with Sunday school - where we specialized in easy-to-remember verses. And I immediately associate Sunday school with Clip-art Jesus. So for me, this verse - John 10:10 - is a clip-art verse. It can be used over and over again, in whatever capacity you need to use it, but its effectiveness wears off over time when it makes too many appearances or starts showing up in weird places. And, it's not really art. It's kind of a reflection of art. A tiny little piece of a much bigger work of art.

What? Not really art? Am I saying that this scripture is not really scripture?

Well, I guess, kinda, I sort of am. Not in that form, at least.

There's this invitation, over at (in)courage, where bloggers were asked to write about what it means to us to live life to the full. I felt up to the challenge and started thinking about that verse, John 10:10, and realized... I have no idea. Life to the full? Who says that?

I looked up other translations - King James says "more abundantly," and ESV says, just, "abundantly." The Message, which is sometimes helpful in getting the gist, swings for the fences and says "I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of."

I like the word "abundantly," and I like "more and better," but I was still having trouble applying it to my own life. I'm not sure I really could handle "MORE" life - I have quite enough to handle right now, thank you...

But then I stopped looking at the clip art version and read the rest of the verse. It goes like this:

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." John 10:10

Wait, there's a thief? Now the story is getting good. Putting it in context - reading the entire passage from where the verse is taken - we see that Jesus is in the middle of a sermon declaring himself to be the Good Shepherd. Presumably speaking to people who lived and breathed sheep, Jesus is making himself relevant, redeeming what they know and revealing to them the Gospel in a language they can understand.

The thief first shows up in 10:1, when Jesus is reminding his audience about how anyone who enters the sheepfold by any way other than the gate is a thief and a robber. But the one who enters through the door - that guy is the shepherd. He's the one who knows the sheep, and whose voice the sheep will answer to and follow.

Jesus then turns the story on them to say: "Listen up: I am the door. I am the gate. I am the shepherd. Anyone who came before me and told you how to get to God? Thieves and robbers. Come through me, and you get safety and pasture."

And here we pick up 10:10, where Jesus says essentially: Anything Else: Bad. Jesus: Good.

I love this picture of restoration - how we used to know only thieves who would take rather than give. But now, Jesus gives us life and he is in the business of making it better and fuller every day. Here's what I'm picturing now: let's say my life is a giant jar of jellybeans that God has given me. And right here, in my own home, is a ginormous jelly bean dispenser. Any time I want, I can go have Jesus refill my jar of jellybeans to over flowing. But I seem to forget to visit the dispenser - instead getting distracted by activities or voices or opportunities that each cost a few jellybeans to experience - slowly but steadily emptying my jar...robbing me of the life that Jesus intended for me to enjoy.

I guess life more abundantly has to do with how full I allow Jesus to keep that jar. Will I listen to all of the voices telling me that I have to earn my keep? Or that I have to be perfect? There are no shortage of life-stealing messages - even well-meaning ones - for me to be distracted by. So maybe life, more abundantly, means staying so close to Jesus that my jar stays full and I have more to give. Maybe the closer I stay to the Shepherd, the more opportunity I will have to be everything I was meant to be. Every bit the wife, every bit the mother, every bit the daughter, the sister, the granddaughter, the friend, the servant, the teacher, the musician, the writer. Listening so carefully and recognizing so acutely the voice of the shepherd that no thief can sneak in to steal, kill or destroy my jelly beans.

It's not forgetting. It's remembering.

2011-03-14T14:32:00.000-04:00

I think, the older I get, the more I remember.

Taking the clothes out of the washer, I remember that I have been meaning to clean that little rubber seal thing for like 3 months. Putting the clothes into the dryer, I remember that I need to sweep the area in front of the dryer where the used dryer sheets seem to go to die. Heading back into the kitchen, I pass the shelf where we keep the soda and remember that we need more diet coke, and then remember that I would like a diet coke right now.

I open the fridge to look for a diet coke and remember that I need to come up with a dinner plan. Digging through the freezer for meat, I remember that I froze those strawberries from last week and was meaning to have a smoothie this morning. Reaching for the blender I remember that someone asked me for a drink - did I ever do that? I don't remember, but both children are otherwise occupied so everything must be fine. Although, I do remember something about asking them to clean their rooms.

Checking on the girls, I remember that I was going to vacuum in there last week. I also remember that I told them we'd have naps today - but it's a little late now so we'll do some reading instead. Reading. That makes me remember that I'm in the middle of a really good book, and I do remember promising myself a little more reading time.

Picking up my Kindle and seeing it fully charged, I remember that my phone needed to be charged. So heading back into the kitchen to plug in my phone, I hear the buzz coming from the laundry room and I remember that there's laundry ready to be switched over again. Which reminds me that I wanted to clean that rubber seal thing...

Dory Image copyright DWW

The Gospel According to Daddy Warbucks

2011-03-11T06:00:00.005-05:00

Hooooow many times have I seen Annie? It must be a number in the hundreds. Add to that the number of times I've listened to or sung the music, seen the play...and, oh, yeah - there was that time I DIRECTED THE SHOW IN HIGH SCHOOL. Well, technically that was the sequel, but still, I was immersed in the story for like 4 straight months.

So imagine my surprise when tonight, I'm just sitting here, minding my own business, being mom of the year by ordering pizza, cuddling up with the girls and having an Annie-watching pajama party - singing along with every single number and... what? Tears? What the...?

Tonight, I saw a completely different story.

See, there's this girl. An orphan. Let's call her...Annie. She's a pretty good kid, looks out for others, sings very sweetly. She's living in hell, but it's all she's ever known. She can imagine something better - she just doesn't know how to find it. She makes a couple of attempts at escape, but finds that she is unable to save herself.

Then on a very dark day, when Annie finds herself trapped and essentially a prisoner, someone knocks on hell's door and singles her out. Through no power of her own, she is given a ticket to a new life. A free pass. Leapin' lizards!

It's a little hard for Annie to understand at first. Standing in a comparative heaven, surrounded by angelic servants who are dancing and singing and celebrating her arrival (they really think she's going to like it there), she reaches for the sponge, ready to clean the floors, expecting to have to earn her keep. She is immediately informed that she is not to lift a finger. The work is done for her.

Fast-forward a few days, through a visit to the movies and the White House, and the man who has taken her in is completely smitten. Oliver Warbucks the Billionaire leaves his palatial estate and enters Annie's hell to make the adoption official. He survives a harrowing visit with the seductive mistress of the orphanage - remaining in control of the situation the entire time.

Presenting her with a new locket and signed adoption papers, Mr. Warbucks offers Annie complete access to relationship with him and everything he has.

And they live happily ever after.

Wait! Not yet. It gets better.

As it turns out, Annie isn't quite sure that she's ready for, well, everything yet. She's not ready for her broken heart locket to be replaced with a whole one. There still might be something better out there. So, ever the gentleman, Warbucks gives Annie the freedom to try to find it. And when "something better" turns out to be bad guys chasing her up a train bridge? He's there, ripping her out of the arms of Punjab and into a father's embrace.

The tears started tonight when Annie reached for the sponge, because I spend all day with a sponge in my hand, trying to earn my keep. But like Annie, I need to understand - every day - that the work is done. And not by me. My all-powerful father has entered my mess, done battle with my enemies and presented me with adoption papers because he couldn't imagine a life without me. And when I'm carried off and find myself hanging onto a train bridge for dear life, he's there to rescue me...every single time.

A Baptism Story

2011-03-10T06:00:00.004-05:00

I rolled over and looked at the clock. I expected it to be somewhere in the late 7s or early 8s...giving me plenty of time for a leisurely shower, a big cup of coffee and the Sunday circulars before heading to church.

Almost eight years ago we joined the church we still attend, and this past Sunday marked the end of a chapter there. Even though my family was out of town and I had kind of a free pass to skip, I didn't want to miss the last Sunday we'd have there with our friends, who had served as beloved youth pastor (and beloved youth pastor's wife) since joining the church on that same Sunday, almost eight years ago.

We'll see them again. A lot. So it wasn't so much that I felt like I couldn't miss being in the same building with them, although there was a twinge of that. It was baptism Sunday. I didn't want to miss the last baptisms he'd be performing up there.

Eight years ago, I chose to be baptized at our church. I'd been sprinkled after confirmation classes in middle school, but it was kind of just how sixth grade Sunday School class finished the year. Fifteen years later I joined a Southern Baptist church and assured them I was a Christian. They asked if I'd been baptized, so I told them my little sprinkling story and got a raised-eyebrow response. "Um, well, we'll talk about that," they said.

I saved them "the talk" and dove in, publicly acknowledging my faith in Christ, with my husband right beside me. Buried with Christ in baptism, raised to walk in new life.

Over time, the baptisms would come to be my favorite part of the church service. I love them for several reasons...I love how vulnerable the believer is, standing there soaking wet in front of hundreds of people, at the hands of someone who is about to throw them under water. I love how powerful it is, how it is evidence of a conviction strong enough for a person to willingly undergo such a mysterious ritual in such a public place. I love the symbolism of being buried with Christ and rising again to walk in new life. And I love what it does for a community of believers who come together to celebrate that new life. For that brief period of celebration our differences are set aside and we are truly one body. I also love how weird it is. Jesus could've just created some kind of membership card or secret handshake for new believers, but he went Big with this one.

So when the clock said 9:22, I actually said, out loud, something along the lines of "Oh, my gosh." Might not have been that. Church starts at 9:30. I'd planned to go. I don't change plans real easily.

But I made it through the doors at 9:39, slipped into the back row and watched my friend baptize four people whose lives will never be the same, looking forward to the day (coming very soon) when he will baptize my children - one of whom is already planning a big ol' beach party so that everyone can attend.

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Immediately he stood up in front of them, took what he had been lying on and went home praising God. Everyone was amazed and gave praise to God. They were filled with awe and said, “We have seen remarkable things today.” Luke 5:25-27

Remarkable things. The passage above takes place after Jesus had forgiven the sins of a paralyzed man brought before him by some friends that loved him enough to carry him into the presence of Jesus. The Pharisees in the room were indignant: "Who can forgive sins but God alone?," they said to themselves. Jesus had done the humanly impossible, and to prove that he had the authority to do it, he told the man to get up and walk. And he did.

That encounter with Christ would be the beginning of that man's story of faith - a remarkable beginning to a story that he would undoubtedly tell every day for the rest of his life.

Though not many of us begin our faith stories with a miraculous physical healing, it doesn't make what Jesus did for us any less remarkable. Romans 5:8 explains it this way: "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

I am excited to be sharing parts of my faith story over the next several weeks as part of a series entitled Remarkable Faith. Check out more stories over at Giving Up on Perfect.

Affirmation comes in the funniest places.

2011-03-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

From one of my favorite songwriters, Ken Block. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to write a song about the transformative work of the Gospel. But he did. I have known this song for awhile. I have been loving this song for a couple of weeks. Enjoy...

Morning

2011-03-08T08:52:00.000-05:00

In the morning, the Eastern light pokes through the blinds above our bed and dances around our comforter - but my eyes are rarely open enough to enjoy it. It's not until I've dragged myself to the shower and let the water run over my face for a minute or two that I am treated to this little bit of happy.

With the bathroom door positioned just so, the sun shining through the blinds creates a vertical line of oval dots on the door that I can see from the shower and I decided this morning: I adore morning light.

I know it's cliche. Who doesn't love morning light? There are countless songs and poems written about morning light. I think, probably, you have to be a pretty grumpy person - or a teenager - to not love morning light.

I'm fascinated by how the softness of the light in the morning immediately transports me back to childhood Saturdays. I associate the streaming sunshine with lazy days, full of potential. The house moved slower on the weekends. We'd maybe have an early game, but the same light would follow us to the park - now glistening on the dew-covered outfield. The morning light would have woken up the birds whose songs seemed only to be heard through the family room window, as background noise behind Saturday morning cartoons.

What a cool God we serve, who would choose such a tender way to wake up his world every morning. Rather than a blinding flash or physical jolt or whack on the head, he gently rolls the earth over and allows the sun to creep above the horizon. It spills over the oceans, climbs up the trees, transforms mountainous darkness into illuminated peaks that point to the Creator...every. single. morning.

If you ask me what I like about homeschooling, I will tell you: I like morning. This light, these lazy-but-potential-filled mornings are not mere weekend perks but every day realities for my kids right now. They have time, every morning, to allow God's light to wake them...to hear the birdsong and to wonder what is in store for today. Right now, we don't have to wake up every morning already on the hamster wheel - before the light creeps in, too busy to hear the birds. Right now we can wake up and be reminded of his mercies, which are new every morning.

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
   for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
   great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
   therefore I will wait for him.”
                              Lamentations 3:22-24

Defensive

2011-03-07T01:52:00.007-05:00

As I tossed and turned last night, sleep eluded me. I'd had kind of a busy day, had stayed up late and tried to wear myself out preventing a sleepless night, but I still found myself studying the clock at 2:42...3:17...

The problem wasn't that I had taken a long nap or had a lot of caffeine or couldn't get comfortable. The problem was that something was missing. A six-foot-2, sandy-haired something that belonged on the other side of the pillow.

I've never had a problem sleeping while Matt's out of town. Well, I've just never really had a problem sleeping (she writes, at 12:36 a.m....) I get numerous invites from people with extra beds who are concerned for my safety/health/sleep when they realize I'll be solo, but I have always been just fine, thank you.

But last night, for some reason, it wasn't happening. My defender wasn't there.

We laugh about this, because he says he feels the same way when I'm not home. As if I'm the one who's going to grab the Louisville Slugger and chase out the burglar. Technically, if either of us are actually hoping to be defended in such fashion, we'd better buy a bat.

My point here is that we are programmed to want to be defended. And we are programmed to defend.

Today, Pastor brought up the Biblical account of Jesus' arrest. Peter, James and John were supposed to be keeping watch in the garden while Jesus prayed, but they fell asleep - comfortable enough in each other's presence to drift off. Jesus returns to check on them, wakes them up - three times - and tells them the time has come.

The time, of course, is the moment when Jesus is being handed over by Judas. We read about how a groggy Peter comes to, decides NOW is the time to keep watch, pulls his sword and swings for Malchus's neck, missing and cutting off his ear instead.

This is what struck me this morning (other than Why on earth was Peter carrying a sword?):

Jesus doesn't need us to defend him.

In all four accounts, Jesus rebukes Peter and one of them actually records Jesus undoing what Peter did to defend him. Each author chooses to highlight a unique part of the rebuke, but the main idea is: "Come on, Peter. Have you learned nothing? Don't you realize that I have all of the angels in heaven at my disposal and could call them if I needed them? And you're going to fix this with some sloppy swordsmanship? I don't need you to defend me."

I tried to recall any passages of scripture where Jesus does, in fact, call us to defend him, and I came up short. Then I thought about how much of my time might be spent trying to defend Jesus. And then I thought about how any time I do spend trying to defend Jesus is time spent not actually believing Jesus.

I defend Jesus when I hesitate to talk about him to a friend "who I don't think is ready for him." (Wouldn't want Jesus to experience that kind of rejection.) I defend Jesus when I try to put a nice, shiny bow around a friend's life-crushing problem. "It's all part of his plan, you know. Don't give up on him." (Wouldn't want Jesus to get any bad publicity, you know.) I defend Jesus when I am so careful not to give up too much of my time, my resources, my body in service. (Gotta be the best "ME" I can be - Jesus needs that from me.)

Isaiah 48 records just one place of many where God is addressing Israel who was relying pretty heavily on themselves and their created idols, rather than on their Creator and Deliverer. God is ready to wipe them off the map but he checks himself in verse 9:

For my own name's sake I delay my wrath;
for the sake of my praise I hold it back from you,
so as not to cut you off.

and in verse 11:

For my own sake, for my own sake, I do this.
How can I let myself be defamed?
I will not yield my glory to another.

God is saying here that He doesn't need our defense, because everything he does is for his own glory. It's his plan that will prevail, not ours. Peter's defense of Jesus? That was for his own glory. My defense of Jesus? That's for my own glory. God will protect his own name at any cost, because He is faithful and true and what he says he will do, he will do. Fortunately for us, God's name is Rescuer.

It's another manifestation of grace and freedom, really. God releases us from the obligation of being some kind of earthly bodyguard, freeing us to spend more time doing the things he's actually called us to do. And He's given us plenty to defend - just not Himself.

There's Nothing Broken Here? Really?

2011-03-03T10:47:00.001-05:00

So, like the rest of America, I know far more about Charlie Sheen than I do about Libya, the government or New Zealand's devastating quake.

Kind of shameful, really.

But I will say Charlie has brought much laughter to this house this week. Come on - tiger blood? Adonis DNA? Warlocks and F18s and exploding bodies... there's almost nothing he's said that hasn't been laugh out loud funny.

Except for when he described his home life by saying: "There's nothing broken here."

Um, reality check, Charlie. EVERYTHING is broken there.

It's around here where I stop laughing, and start getting a little choked up. Lay aside Charlie's own madness and very, very bad choices and the fact that his kids are in the middle of it. Those "Goddesses" he's living with? Those are someone's little girls. At some point they were innocent pig tailed cuties who played with dolls and put on shows for their parents and dreamed of being princesses. But somewhere along the line something got very, very broken.

Somewhere, they stopped believing they were beautiful, special, talented, full of potential - and started listening to the Mess. Maybe no one at home told them enough. Maybe no one at home held them enough. Maybe their parents made all the right choices and did everything they could but the Mess was just too loud, and just too fun and just satisfying enough to forget the truth. Whatever happened, life broke for these two beautiful girls who have been in the hands of a predatory world and are now mixed up in Charlie's Mess.

The truth is that everything is broken here, too. And everything is broken next door, and around the corner and at your dad's house and, well, everywhere. That is, it is broken until the Fixer gets his hands on our individual messes. And the only way for the Fixer to get his hands on our messes is for us to be the Church. We have not only our own little girls to worry about, but all little girls, everywhere.

God, forgive us for letting so many of your precious children slip through the cracks. Please empower us to be your voice, louder than the Mess.

Discontent, or, Sometimes I Just Need to Write it Out

2011-02-27T15:45:00.002-05:00

Here is a question I've been asking myself this week:

If I am not content with my life - is it because God is asking me to move, or because I am asking Him to move?

This question came up as I was studying Isaiah this week, and it comes at a time when I am not particularly discontent. This gives me cause for alarm, because usually when something is playing on a loop in my head, I am given the opportunity to apply it in the not-too-distant future.

So I am asking a few follow up questions. Since the life of a Jesus follower is not generally marked by "contentedness," would the inverse also apply? If I AM content with my life (which I am, thankyouverymuch)- is it because I am where God wants me to be, or is it because I am NOT where God wants me to be?

Does God even desire contentedness? I know he's not especially concerned with things like "comfort zones" or "safe places," as he is always calling people out of the boats and whatnot. So doesn't he actually encourage restlessness; a stirring inside that wants something more? If our restlessness or discontent draws us closer to him, if it causes us to want more of the Kingdom, then isn't "spiritual discontent" a good thing?

Let's just assume, then, that spiritual discontent - which I will define here as a "desire for a physical manifestation of heaven on earth"-is a good thing. A God thing. And let's say that the lack of that discontent means that God would like for me to be somewhere else. So if that's true, then to be obedient, I need to pick up and leave a place where I am physically and emotionally content (but spiritually apathetic) in favor of a life that has the potential to be physically and emotionally exhausting yet marked by a voracious, but healthy, spiritual discontent.

Sounds kind of upside-down - which is how I know it must be true.

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone...

2011-02-20T17:16:00.001-05:00

God and I have this funny little arrangement. It's like he knows me or something. He knows, for example, that I like ideas. He knows this, of course, because He puts them there. And He knows that I have an - let's call it "ironic" - sense of humor. I'd venture to say He put that there, too. He knows that I like to hear from him, but that I sometimes have a hard time being quiet enough to listen. And he knows that I don't really look forward to going to church, but that I know I need to be there.

So this funny little arrangement is this: He gets me to church and lets me sit with friends who make me happy. Then He makes me be quiet through a sermon with a Bible on my lap, and He starts whispering. I think He knows I'll find it tremendously amusing that He chooses to speak to me while someone else is trying to speak to me about Him. I'm sitting there, trying to pay attention, and God is there making all of this racket and distracting me throughout the service. "Psst, Aim.... Look at this. Go here. Turn to this page. See what I did here? Ooh, did you hear that? That should remind you of this... Get your sermon notes out. Use that blank space - ready? I'm about to give you a list of ideas...hurry! Where's your pencil?"

And by the time the service is over I have spent 30 minutes writing notes back and forth with this guy who seems to know me better than anyone else in the room.

Today, Pastor was reading from Hebrews 11, about how we can learn from the example of those who live as if they are longing for a better home - because heaven is, indeed, a better home. I locked in on these verses:

"People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them." Hebrews 11:14b - 16

I've always had a hard time with the idea of heaven being a reason to trust Christ. I don't mean to say that heaven isn't real, or that it's not a really good reason to give the gospel a try, I just mean to say that there is so much more than that - so much more that begins immediately. Right now. And if we are only focused on that golf course in the sky, then we are tempted to look around and compare earth with our ultimate destination and start counting down the days until our departure - missing all of the beauty that God wants to share with us from the moment that we trust Him for salvation.

We are part of a group of friends - our chosen family, really - who can get giddy & excited about the work that God wants to do in our city. We may live in a physical paradise, but it is more of a spiritual wasteland than heaven on earth. We have spent time together and individually, dreaming and praying about God's redemption and restoration of this city, and how He would use us to help bring forth His Kingdom, on earth as it is in heaven. I believe that most of us are at a point where we are ready to be moved - we are indeed longing for a better country. So imagine how affirmed I felt when my Church Partner nudged me with that verse today - Hebrews 11:16 - And God is not ashamed to be called (our) God, for he has prepared a city for (us).

What is the gospel, if not an epic love story? It's the story of a man so desperately in love with his bride that he would stop at nothing to be with her for all eternity. I've been spending a lot of time with Pride & Prejudice lately (a blog for another time), and it is arguably one of the best love stories ever written. I have been replaying Jane Austen's dialogue over and over again in my head, marveling at its honesty and complexity and simplicity all at once - but I still don't believe it to be greater than this line from my favorite romantic movie of all time...

"I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Harry knew Sally the way that God knows me. God knows when I'm ready to listen to him and when I need to talk, He knows what I'll think is funny or beautiful or sweet or tragic. He loves that I cry at live music or anytime I try to tell a story with a redemptive theme. And if he went to sleep at night, I'd be the last person he'd want to talk to before he did.

And because he knew from the beginning of time that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, he wants the rest of his life with me to start as soon as possible. Not when I die and get to heaven, but now. Here. He has prepared a city for me - for us to live together in - and I'm right smack in the middle of it already.

Shortcutting the Details

2011-01-14T15:00:00.008-05:00

Weeks have passed - maybe even months - since I have felt "inspired enough" to write something. Well, something greater than 422 characters.

I did think once last week that I should write up a little piece on my admiration of root beer.

But lately, in my ever-accelerating life, every passing essay idea of merit ends up as a facebook status. It's lazy man's writing.

I got a Kindle for Christmas. I didn't want a Kindle for Christmas. But now I can't put my Kindle down. At first, I was delighted to find that I could use it to play games. The compulsive, addictive kind of find-a-word games with levels enticing you to go ever faster and ever higher and think of oneself as ever superior, engrossed in your book-sized screen while the kids in the other room maim each other with their Christmas toys.

This was not an activity that I could feel good about. But then, glorious day! I discovered that I had access to everything that my parents - the bestowers of the Kindle - have downloaded. It was like being handed 95 free books, without having to explain to my husband where I was planning to store them. Even if I'm only interested in half of their choices, I have material for months.

And THEN...halleluyer!...I found the real treasure chest. Public domain. All the good stuff is free. Capital F-r-e-e. Library free, but without the due date, the questionable library smell or the petri dish-book jackets. You name the old dead writer, and he (or she) is there. Jane Austen. Conan Doyle. Shakespeare. Elinore Pruitt Stewart.

Elinore Pruitt Stewart?

Aha! I'm glad you asked. Elinore Pruitt Stewart wrote a little book that I found ON MY KINDLE called Letters of a Woman Homesteader. Technically, I suppose she wrote a collection of letters that was published as a book. Either way, had I not, while downloading Little Women, "also been interested in Little House on the Prairie," (my friends at Amazon know me so well...) I would have missed out on this little gem.

Elinore Pruitt was living in Denver with her small child at the turn of the century when she decided she was going to be a woman homesteader. That is, she was going to pack up her life as a paycheck-to-paycheck laundress, move west and stake her claim to a piece of land in Wyoming.

And she wrote letters about it. Really, really good, hilarious, detailed letters. The kind of letters that make you think, "no one writes letters like this anymore." And it's true, most of us don't. Because it wouldn't fit into 422 characters.

My shortcuts are depriving me of the details of my memories.

My facebook status this week is "Amy is declaring 2011 to be the Year of the New Sofa." It's a little amusing. A little informative. But a little vague. In 80 years, if my grandkids are reading some holographic scrapbook of the collected thoughts of their grandmother, they won't get it. They would miss out on the stories of this old sofa, of the friends it has given a good night's sleep. Of the kids it has comforted through sickness. Of the laughs it has given Matt and me as we have tried to dress it up and allow it to stay a part of the family. They wouldn't know about how we had to take the window out of our condo bedroom in order to heft it up and through, since it wouldn't make the turn in the hallway, or how it had once been a prized piece in my childhood home.

They're not important things to know, or even inspiring things, but they are MY things, and as I get a little older and my brain gets a little more crowded, I'm starting to feel like if I don't record it, maybe it didn't actually happen.

And it certainly would be a shame to get to the end of life and wonder if it ever really happened.

My Thankful Blog

2010-11-24T12:02:00.002-05:00

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, His love endures forever." Psalm 136:1

...to him alone who ordained this marriage,
His love endures forever.
...who knit together these children,
His love endures forever.
...to the God who created sunny days and beaches,
His love endures forever.
...to the Holy one who sends the cooling rain,
His love endures forever.
...to God on high whose eye sees, whose wing protects, whose heart forgives,
His love endures forever.
...to Abba, Father, provider and sustainer,
His love endures forever.
...By his sovereign hand we are placed in a free nation, a land of plenty,
His love endures forever
...surrounded by beauty,
His love endures forever
...rescued from death through Amazing Love,
His love endures forever.
...resting in Amazing Grace,
His love endures forever.
...hoping in Amazing Jesus,
His love endures forever.

A Lesson in Politics - BSF Style

2010-11-04T08:54:00.006-04:00

Whenever I feel like I am unable to do anything consistently, I need to remember BSF. If you don't know what BSF is, go here and find a class near you and sign up. It will change your life, I promise.

Though life as a young married person and then a parent of babies and now a parent of elementary-age kids is anything but consistent or predictable, and though I have lamented over and over again about how hard it is to maintain friendships, keep commitments or complete tasks, I must remember that BSF has been a constant for the last ten years of my life. God has faithfully opened doors and created ways for me to be in class weekly for ten years.

That's pretty consistent.

Consistent, but never boring. Now that the girls are old enough for the School Program, Matt and I have the privilege of studying with them. We try to begin each day by helping them do their lessons - which are every bit as challenging as ours are. How many other 5 & 7 year olds are going word-by-word through Isaiah this year?

So, as the girls and I were studying Isaiah 11 this morning, I had a startling revelation. Ready? Here it is...

Everything in life points to Jesus.

The funny thing is that it's the same realization I had yesterday...and the day before...and last week...

As I'm sure you're aware, it is election week. For months, I have been visually processing signs and banners all over town. I've answered (or not answered) phone calls, listened to promises, considered ideas and formulated opinions. I have watched as people have rallied around this candidate or that party or that comedian. On TV, at special events, in front of Target.

And though, admittedly, I'm pretty excited about the week's outcomes, I am discouraged by how divided we are as a people. When people I care about post something that is opposite of my views or disparaging of a candidate or cause I believe in, I can't help but take it a bit personally, at least for a minute. That one minute is usually just enough to put that little knot in my stomach that reminds me that we will never, ever be truly unified.

Not ever.

Until That Day.

Isaiah 11:10 says "In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples; the nations will rally to him, and his resting place will be glorious."

Banner. Peoples. Nations. Rally. Sound familiar? Like a FoxNews headline? One day there will be just ONE candidate, to whom all the nations will rally. One banner under which we will all stand. One campaign. One slogan. One unified people.

But there's more! Verses 1-3 address some of His qualifications... He is wise, understanding, powerful, he knows the right people. Verses 3b-5 are his platform: He will judge with righteousness, attend to the needy, care for the poor - even national defense is in there - "with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked."

And finally, verses 6-9: His promises. A world so turned upside down that all nature is acting out of character. A peace and restoration so profound that it affects the entire earth.

It's hard to argue with a candidate like that, especially one who has been the incumbent for, like, eternity.

As Christians, we're inclined - or maybe trained - to apply Jesus to life. But when I read passages like this, I think it's the other way around. We are supposed to use life...to see Jesus. When we see disunity, imperfection, even corruption, maybe we shouldn't be discouraged. Maybe we should just be reminded that That Day hasn't come yet. None of these candidates or parties can give us what we truly need. These rallies, banners, signs - they should point us to Jesus, who will one day host the last and biggest rally of all time.

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Isaiah 11

The Branch From Jesse

¹ A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse;
from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.
² The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him—
the Spirit of wisdom and of understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and of might,
the Spirit of the knowledge and fear of the LORD—
³ and he will delight in the fear of the LORD.

He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes,
or decide by what he hears with his ears;
⁴ but with righteousness he will judge the needy,
with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth.
He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth;
with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked.
⁵ Righteousness will be his belt
and faithfulness the sash around his waist.

⁶ The wolf will live with the lamb,
the leopard will lie down with the goat,
the calf and the lion and the yearling together;
and a little child will lead them.
⁷ The cow will feed with the bear,
their young will lie down together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox.
⁸ The infant will play near the cobra’s den,
the young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest.
⁹ They will neither harm nor destroy
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.

¹⁰ In that day the Root of Jesse will stand as a banner for the peoples; the nations will rally to him, and his resting place will be glorious. ¹¹ In that day the Lord will reach out his hand a second time to reclaim the surviving remnant of his people from Assyria, from Lower Egypt, from Upper Egypt, from Cush, from Elam, from Babylonia, from Hamath and from the islands of the Mediterranean.

¹² He will raise a banner for the nations
and gather the exiles of Israel;
he will assemble the scattered people of Judah
from the four quarters of the earth.
¹³ Ephraim’s jealousy will vanish,
and Judah’s enemies will be destroyed;
Ephraim will not be jealous of Judah,
nor Judah hostile toward Ephraim.
¹⁴ They will swoop down on the slopes of Philistia to the west;
together they will plunder the people to the east.
They will subdue Edom and Moab,
and the Ammonites will be subject to them.
¹⁵ The LORD will dry up
the gulf of the Egyptian sea;
with a scorching wind he will sweep his hand
over the Euphrates River.
He will break it up into seven streams
so that anyone can cross over in sandals.
¹⁶ There will be a highway for the remnant of his people
that is left from Assyria,
as there was for Israel
when they came up from Egypt.

Two Forevers

2010-10-24T13:40:00.015-04:00

Though my original, circa 1968 kitchen windows have proven to be a major obstacle to any kind of kitchen remodel, I still owe the designer a thank you for giving me such a wonderful distraction. From my sink, I look through counter-to-ceiling picture windows onto my screened porch and then out into my backyard. If the kids aren't playing out there, the birds are - or the wind is blowing or the purple flowery vine is peeking through the hedge or the blue sky is meeting the (mostly) green grass in a perfect contrast, like a child's painting.

So, one day this week as my hands were washing dishes, my brain was wandering. I have been musing about friendship lately - often frustrated at how impossible it seems to maintain a meaningful relationship with anyone shoulder-height or above who is not living in my house. With so many of our resources directed toward our kids, it seems that none of us have much left for each other - and so many of us have so many "each others" that it feels like we're trying to split a dime 12 ways.

And that's just the friends who live in town.

My mind wandered to my brother-in-law, who is graduating from college in a few weeks. The thought initially made me sad, feeling like it was just one more relationship that was going to change - now that he would be officially done with school and having a new job, we wouldn't get to count on spending time with him when we were in town anymore. That he, too, would have to begin the grownup task of dividing up the resources and we'd have to get in line to get our twelfth of the cut.

Until I was thumped in the head with a word: Forever.

Because my brother-in-law is family, he is connected to us forever. He's not a college friend who is graduating and moving on; he is someone that we can lay some kind of claim to, that we can expect to make appearances throughout the rest of our lives. Distance will always make it difficult, but on some level, we will have a priority status ... hopefully, forever.

Encouraged - (and let me point out that this conversation was had with myself in the space of about 24 seconds) - I began to think about Forever, and how it changes relationships.

For all of us, there are two forevers - the forever that ends in death, and the capital-F Forever that begins in death. The reality is that the majority of our closest friends won't be our closest friends forever. Seasons will change, circumstances will get in the way, distance will grow between us, and/or our humanity will make messes that will require time to heal. But the other reality is that it's okay, because the majority of our closest friends will spend capital-F Forever with us, because of their belief in Jesus who gives them "eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand." (John 10:27-29)

I think it's the second Forever that removes the stress of relationships between believers - it eliminates the time crunch and allows us to focus on knocking whatever opportunities we do get to be together out of the park. Like family, we're bound together, destined to continue making appearances at each others' tables. Remembering to keep an eternal perspective allows me to lighten up and treat every get together like a joyful family reunion.

Forever also encourages me today as I think about one of my sweet friends. Though our relationship has undergone quite a bit of change at the hands of children and distance, her family remains a very special part of our "eternal family." She is delivering her fourth baby girl today - Josie. Josie has Trisomy 18, a genetic defect causing multiple, life-threatening problems. The Doctors' best prognosis for a baby like Josie is that she will live for a couple of weeks, but our friends are praying that - aside from a miracle - she simply will live long enough for everyone in the family to hold her while she's alive. Josie won't live forever, but our friends know that, bathed in prayer, when she takes her last breath and they hand her over to Jesus, Josie will live Forever - and one day we will all have a great big Princess birthday party for Josie, in a place where no one can snatch her out of her Father's hand.

New Ministry Opportunity

2010-10-24T13:40:00.013-04:00

I don't spend a lot of time in other states, but my assumption is that South Florida is kind of an alien place - a place where the rest of the world visits and thinks, "you're kidding, right?" I mean, it's weird to have an entire transaction at a movie theater box office without a single word being exchanged, right? Or to see a unicyclist riding down the sidewalk of a six-lane thoroughfare? Or to see a license plate like this?

Or...this one?

Technically, we spotted both of those in CENTRAL Florida, which is a different kind of weird, but I'm willing to bet these were South Floridians visiting Orlando for the weekend. Because of all of the things South Floridians have in abundance, self-importance is at the top of the list.

I wasn't able to snap a photo of the tag that inspired this post, so you'll have to take my word for it. It was one of those rare moments where I actually noticed the weirdness and thought, "you're kidding, right?" I spent too much time contemplating and not enough time grabbing the camera to get it before the light turned green.

It said "BORED."

It was on a very expensive car.

It was one of those moments (and there are many) when I wish I had Don Miller or Shaun Groves on speed dial. I debated following Mr. Bored, asking him a few questions and maybe giving him some ideas of ways to spice up his life. But I didn't - though that probably would've made a better story.

One of the service projects we intend to do with the girls is to create "love bags" to keep in the car to give out to wandering homeless people - a bag stocked with things that will help them get through a day or two. But maybe we also need to keep a box filled with giveaway copies of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years to attend to the needs of those South Floridians who have a home (or two or three), but are still wandering.

The Last Play at Shea - Almost as good as the real thing, but not quite

2010-10-22T08:22:00.006-04:00

By the grace of God, I don't live with a lot of regrets, but last night I spent about 90 minutes regretting one day of practicality.

The story goes like this: I'm kind of a Billy Joel fan. I've written about that before, like here, where I told you why. Or here, where I boldly declared that he would not be getting my money in 2009.

But two posts from 2008 are replaying in my head, causing a little heartache this morning. This one was before, still hopeful, and then this one, where I allowed myself to wallow in youtube despair.

One of my best friends and I share a common Billy geekdom. We each have our favorite Billy experiences - hers is way cooler than mine - but over the last seven years or so, we have shared a few together.

Two years ago, when we heard about The Last Play at Shea, a Billy Joel mega-concert closing down Shea Stadium forever, we conspired for about 24 hours. We entered the game late - the concert was just a few days away - but we weren't daunted. We considered all kinds of options, including skipping the cost of a hotel and spending the night at JFK. There were tickets and flights available, but responsibility got the best of us. Did it really make sense for two young moms to drop everything, leave the kids and husband for the weekend and spend a small pile of money ... for a concert? Even if it would've been a ONCE IN A LIFETIME EXPERIENCE?

Turns out: yeah, for us, it would've.

Wednesday morning Billy sent me an email announcing a one-night only showing of the documentary he made about the show, because we're email buddies. Immediately I located the closest showing (Miami) and alerted my Billy soulmate. No question, we were going. The two of us, getting crazy, going to a movie theater in Miami on a Thursday night.

For a Billy fan, or maybe for a Mets fan, The Last Play at Shea is pretty close to perfection. Not a suitable replacement for actually being there - no, in that regard it was more like lemon juice on a paper cut. Each segment of concert footage stung a little more, wrapping up with Paul McCartney closing the show - a poetic ending to Shea's concert legacy which the Beatles began in 1964. (See, it was a documentary - I learned something!)

"We should've gone" turned into the theme for the night, along with a couple of declarations that never again would we be so practical. I wonder, if I'd been trying to "live a better story" back then - would I have hit "buy tickets"? Is that the kind of experience that would count? It would certainly give me a better story to tell about what I did on July 18, 2008.

Thursday Morning Scenes

2010-10-21T09:07:00.007-04:00

Thursday mornings bring to light an inner struggle, because I am given three, free, ME hours. It sounds delightful, but it's proving to be almost too much for me to handle.

I am torn between productivity and play, between responsibility and self-indulgence. On one hand, it's a perfect opportunity for me to write or create, to practice the piano in peace or to crochet gifts until my fingers bleed. On the other hand, it's a great chance for me to organize shelves and drawers, to clean house without little voices asking why I'm throwing away that broken pencil. I could scrub the shower without having to get out and unbleach myself to serve a sandwich, I could pull weeds in the front yard without having to police bicycle traffic.

If I had a third hand, it would present me with options like laying around without having to explain myself. I could put on a favorite movie or turn up the music or read a book. I could get dressed and go shopping - for myself. I could go for a long walk through Barnes & Noble. I could go for a long walk on the beach. Or I could just go sit on the beach, no walking involved. I could try to meet a friend for coffee. Or I could just go get coffee, no friends involved. I could give myself a pedicure. I could have someone give me a pedicure.

When I think of my life as a story, which I've been trying so hard to do, these three hours seem monumentally important, but I can't figure out why. I stare at them and think, "they MEAN something," but I don't know what. Is it during these three hours a week that I'm supposed to write my book? Start some type of ministry? Or are these my Sabbath - 3 pure, dedicated hours?

Whatever scenes do unfold during my Thursday morning sessions, I'm challenged to make them interesting - to keep them off life's cutting room floor. But I'm learning that maybe they need to be written before I show up on the set - Improv doesn't seem to be one of my strengths, instead I seem paralyzed by the options when I don't have little people to lead (or follow.)

Stage fright, I guess.

Is it working?

2010-10-06T15:36:00.002-04:00

When I talk to other homeschool moms, I hear phrases like "We're learning about Ancient Egypt," or "Susie is studying botany," and I panic. In my mind, there are scores of kids out there ACTUALLY learning real subjects. I begin to assume elaborate projects, dioramas, costumes, microscopes, textbooks, online tests, written reports, oral reports, television interviews about how brilliant homeschool kids are and I think..."well, we read a chapter about Sacagawea today."

Then I start obsessively questioning my kids.

"Tell me about Sacagawea," I plead. "Who was she helping? Where were they going? What was her baby's name?"

Chloe always gets the baby part right.

Then I get obnoxious. I become one of those parents.

"Tell Nana what you know about Sacagawea," I hear myself say, at the lunch table. "Sacagawea was..." and I nudge.

Because I am afraid of what I think is going on in other homeschool families, I pester my kids to prove to me that they are retaining something; ANYTHING.

But then I come back to my senses, and I realize that it really is the moms who are studying and learning this stuff. And because we're studying and learning it with our kids, we're talking about it with them more than we would if they were just being taught at school. We're asking follow up questions, we're connecting dots, we're making observations in life - at the grocery store, on a walk, in a book - that apply to the lessons.

And when the moms are that involved, the kids can't help but absorb and retain the information, at least a bit of it.

So, I have a kindergartener and a second grader who know that Sacagawea helped Lewis and Clark find the Pacific Ocean with a baby named Pompey. It's more than they (or I) knew before we started, so I figure we're on the right track.

A Lesson in Community

2010-10-04T19:59:00.012-04:00

Today, the girls learned about practicing hospitality in a way that we would not have been able to, had we been in school.

A few weeks ago, while sailing the high seas with our friends, we met a new friend. There are several things to note about this friendship - beginning with the fact that this was our 4th cruise with this group and we had never connected with any other employee to the point of sharing a phone number.

The story goes like this: Matt and I were up kind of early Sunday morning (that is also of note) and, having spent a considerable amount of time in the ship's piano bar, were intrigued by the scheduled "Praise and Worship Music" led by the piano bar entertainer we were enjoying so well. Would it be obvious that he was just someone being paid to provide "Praise and Worship Music" - or was he actually one of us?

We made our way to the lounge for the service and were excited immediately to recognize an authenticity and sincerity to his songs and prayers. We introduced ourselves, chatted a bit, thanked him and promised to see him that night in the bar.

In the time that has passed since we left the boat behind, he has spent time with us twice - both days that the ship has been in port. For a Christian, community is vital - and completely lacking as an employee living on a ship. So we've been happy to provide it, in whatever small capacity we're able.

We knew the ship was in port today and there were plans to check in, but not to hang out. But there was a different plan in place - one that started back when we were up early, wandering around a ship on a Sunday morning. As it turned out, today he really needed a community - a local one - and we were around to provide it.

He said to me today, basically, "If I wasn't a Christian, I would have no way to understand why you are doing all of this for me," and I understood, but was still struck by how true that was - how, to an unbelieving eye, what was happening today probably looked pretty extreme.

The way I see it, there are two factors at work. First, we're supposed to take care of each other. Romans 12:13 tells us to "practice hospitality." That's all that command says. There is no who, when or why. It's just imperative.

Then we're compelled to take care of each other. "...we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to the others." (Romans 12: 5) The faith that binds us together as part of one body is what makes it community. As believers, we understand that there will be times of giving and times of receiving, and if we allow ourselves to participate in both, then we are blessed in ways that cannot be otherwise manufactured.

Our new friend understood that authentic faith gives us a framework in which to place our every experience. Sometimes, the pieces slide right into the frame, and sometimes I have to remind myself to get that frame out of storage. At other times, I am frustrated that there aren't more pieces to add to the frame. But always, the frame is there, removing coincidences, drawing us to one another, adding depth to relationships and giving meaning to acts of kindness.

So far, so good

2010-09-23T10:06:00.002-04:00

I guess the fact that my "Day 1" post was a month ago is an indicator of how we're doing so far.

We're busy.

But then, again, we're not that busy. We're not nearly as busy as we used to be. We're not rushing to get out the door in the morning, rushing to get home and do homework before an evening activity, rushing to get into bed on time because tomorrow's a school day. I'm not running from drop-off to drop-off or pick-up to pick-up, racing to get to a volunteer commitment or a school party.

Maybe the word isn't "busy." Maybe the word is "together." We're just together. All the time.

I get one, three-hour window a week completely to myself while the girls are at P.E. This is the first time I'm getting to take advantage of it and I've been practically paralyzed by my array of options. Should I exercise/cleanthehouse/dolaundry/write/read/dobiblestudy/practicepiano? Should I shop/planmeals/cutcoupons/getcoffee?

So far, I've found that my challenges as a home school mom aren't what I expected. I came in prepared for battle - expecting to butt heads with my strong-willed one and to be pulling teeth from my laid back one, but we've had no relational problems thus far. Zero. Instead, I've found that the question isn't "will my kids be disciplined enough?" or "will my kids be social enough?" but "Will I?"

Reading, Writing, Bible and Math are filling up the mornings nicely. We're also getting in daily piano practice and plenty of PE. (We start as many days as we can with a visit to the park - add soccer, dance and free play to that and we've got that requirement covered.) I'm finding that history, science, Spanish, etc - basically anything that would come after lunch - is where my lack of discipline as a teacher is evident. Because really, who wants to do anything after lunch, besides nap?

The bigger issue, most of the time, is my lack of discipline as a productive individual. I am going to have to be intensely deliberate about my use of free time in order to maintain or develop any sense of identity other than "homeschool mom." I am going to have to make dates. Call (not text) friends. Make (and accomplish) exercise goals. Enforce quiet times. Set up "office hours."

We have a lot to learn, but my answer to the "how's it going?" question remains: so far, so good!

Day 1

2010-08-30T19:58:00.004-04:00

I lay in bed last night, wide awake. So physically anxious that sleep was out of the question. Had I planned enough? Would the girls be interested? Could I fill a day - or even just a morning - with activities that would engage them? Or had I planned too much? Would I be rushing to get through my lesson plans? Did we make the right decision? Should I get up and work some more on the bulletin board?

Knowing that the alarm was set for our early-family-exercise session, I desperately tried to shut down. My level of anxiety was a complete surprise. After a scalding, almost-midnight shower by eucalyptus-mint candlelight (I pulled out all the stops...), sleep won at last.

The girls, on the other hand, were super-excited to get started. Eden found me on the playroom floor ripping apart perforated calendar numbers right before bed.

"Mom. I need to ask you a question. About homeschooling."

"Yes? Ask away."

"What time should I meet you? And where? And what should I be wearing?"

She wrote it down. "7:00. Play clothes. Living room. Wake at 6:45." She took her note to bed with her.

And we did it! We were out the door around 7 for a walk to the park, beginning our day with family exercise. By 8 we'd had breakfast and Bible study and kept going from there, with minimal resistance. Eden memorized a poem, Chloe read a few pages in her reader. We did math with beads. We set up our calendar. We practiced piano. We made it to dance class.

I'm not expecting all of our days to run as smoothly as today - I'm not even really expecting tomorrow to run as smoothly as today. But I am expecting to sleep tonight.

Unmasked

2010-08-12T09:10:00.003-04:00

I remember talking to a mom who was taking her daughter out of private preschool after one year. She was telling me all about how excited she was about homeschooling, how she couldn't think of anything better than spending all of that time with her child, and why would she want to continue to let anyone else raise her child and on and on. It was a hard sell, and I could tell she was selling herself on it as much as she was trying to sell me. We were doing the same thing - pulling E out after one year in favor of a free program - so I just said something like, "oh, really? right. well, we just didn't want to pay anymore."

I didn't have a good feeling about homeschooling after that conversation, and I've met plenty of other moms who have given me similar pitches. I don't appreciate those pitches. I like the ones where the moms hesitate for a minute and then say, "well, we love it, but..." Honesty, please.

So, lest anyone think I have it all together after the last couple of posts (ha!)...a list of things that "concern" me about this new venture, in no particular order.

1. Exercise. It's not so much an issue of how or when I will fit it in, but where will I find the discipline to fit it in? My track record here is not so good, it is far too easy to use the girls as an excuse already ... I know I need to build something into my daily schedule, but the challenge is coming up with something that excites and interests me AND gives me the workout that my body needs. And preferably, it would be free and involve some type of ball.

2. Patience, or, shall we say, Creative Parenting. I have a very strong willed child. She's not strong willed in the I'm-going-to-play-in-traffic-just-because-you-tell-me-not-to way, which is good. She's strong willed in the I-already-thought-of-that-and-in-fact-I'm-3-steps-ahead-of-you-and-don't-need-your-help-because-my-way-is-better kind of way. (I don't know where she gets that.) One of the reasons that we are homeschooling is to foster her learning style, which seems to be exploration and self-teaching. How will I learn to set aside my own goals and objectives and give her the freedom to figure things out on her own? But also, how will I get her to sit and finish her work with excellence when her brain has already completed it and she's ready to chase her next rabbit?

3. Skill level. So there's that child, but then there's the other one, who will be relying on me to teach her how to read. I know parents all over the world teach their kids to read, so I'm not worried about that...I just want her to love it. I'm not convinced I have the skills to teach her well enough so that she'll love it.

4. Stewardship of time and resources. It is already proving tough to make decisions about activities. We want to do PE, which takes up a full morning and a substantial amount of money. But we also want to do private or small group sports lessons - more time & money. There's piano, to which we are already fully committed, and dance, which is a passion for one of them. I have ideas in my head of Spanish and art classes. We are all enrolled in weekly Bible Study, and then there are the church activities. If part of the appeal of homeschooling was to jump off the hamster wheel for a bit, then we need to be disciplined about what we sign up for. But when you want to do everything, that's really hard.

5. My time. I don't need much of it, really. But there are some things that I would really like to get done. This is another discipline issue for me - how will I build this into my schedule and actually use it wisely? How do I prioritize the things I want or need to do and make sure that I am using the gifts I've been given? How do I keep from scheduling orthodontist appointments during "my time"?

I know these concerns aren't unique to me or our homeschooling experience, and believe me, there are plenty more. But I'm looking forward to posting about how God has removed all of them. Soon.

Mission Statement

2010-08-10T08:00:00.001-04:00

Several writers have suggested that home school families have a mission statement. Mission statements can serve as a filter when deciding what activities to add & subtract from our daily schedule. This seems like a good idea, so we wrote one.

The Wright Family Mission Statement, 2010-2011 School Year

We aim to honor God as we live a better story by learning, playing and serving together.
We will focus on 3 main values:

Creativity- We believe that, according to Psalm 150, God has given us many gifts, all of which are designed to bring him Glory. We will praise Him in creative ways.
¹ Praise the LORD.
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty heavens.
² Praise him for his acts of power;
praise him for his surpassing greatness.
³ Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,
praise him with the harp and lyre,
⁴ praise him with tambourine and dancing,
praise him with the strings and flute,
⁵ praise him with the clash of cymbals,
praise him with resounding cymbals.
⁶ Let everything that has breath praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD.
- Psalm 150

Compassion - We will seek out ways to honor God by offering our lives in service to others. We will sacrifice for one another and for those in need of compassion.

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Colossians 3:12

Commitment - We will complete tasks and honor commitments, no matter how hard they are. We will persevere through trials, including piano, school and athletics, knowing that our cheerful commitment brings honor to God.

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. James 1:12

There's No Turning Back Now...

2010-08-09T09:35:00.003-04:00

Seriously. Make one little decision, tell a few people and WHAM! - the inbox is filled with insights, advice and formerly-irrelevant-but-suddenly-spot-on marketing messages. It's like the universe, or at least MY universe, has been waiting for us to decide to homeschool. With a collectively breathed "at last," sources across space and time are unloading the wisdom that they have been courteously holding back for a few years.

Focus on the Family sends me regular emails, which I regularly delete before reading. But I was physically unable to delete this week's, which had the words "effective" and "homeschool" in it. I figured maybe God had pushed Dr. Dobson aside and was trying to get my attention. My theory was confirmed when 2 other people forwarded me the same email. The article was encouraging and included a link to an entire series of practical, how-to-start-homeschooling posts.

Over the last couple of weeks I have alternated between reading books, meeting with other new homeschool families, sitting with experienced home educators, denying completely that anything needs to be done and focusing on the obstacles standing between me and an effective home school.

One by one, those obstacles are being "mysteriously" removed - the girls were invited to sleep over with some of their favorite babysitters, allowing Matt and me time to clear out the house and make room for school. We happened to pass a couple of garage sales and found some great buys that have helped us create space. I had just enough of a bug to stay home from church, allowing me time alone to sort through materials and make some curriculum decisions. Then I found some of the curriculum on ebay, which is great because this stuff adds up.

So with books on their way, closets organized and kids ready to start tomorrow (their plan, not mine), I'm feeling pretty good today.

Living a Better Story, with Muppets

2010-07-15T21:09:00.009-04:00

Twenty years ago, I was a middle-schooler sneaking episodes of 21 Jumpstreet. A look at the walls of my bedroom would write the story I planned to live: I would complete astronaut training. Between missions, I would grace Broadway stages in New York or visit the set of my husband's current film. My husband Johnny Depp, that is.

Now the walls of my rooms tell a very different story - one of food-covered grins, tiny, sandy toes and sun-kissed pigtails. I watch shuttle launches from my backyard and catch Broadway tours from Left Orchestra. My husband, Not Johnny Depp, and I are watching an episode of 21 Jumpstreet right now. Seriously. We bought it at Wal-Mart for $5.

One day, a few years ago, I realized I was living every girl's dream. I'd had some fun jobs. I had a wonderful husband, two healthy, beautiful children, a house with a backyard...and a full helping of boredom. The dream I was living was not mine. In fact, I had stopped dreaming altogether.

My life - my story - was getting lost in the details of managing a family. It would have made for the most boring movie ever, like a 0.5% on Rotten Tomatoes. Don Miller says that a great story is a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it. Hmm.

I'm pretty sure there's no good story to be found with the elements being a bored housewife who doesn't know what she wants and avoids conflict at all costs. People would fall asleep just watching the movie trailer. I guess the most boring part was that I didn't know what I wanted. While living The Dream, I had lost the dreamer.

But then I learned about Abraham (again). I read about how Abraham was not the obvious choice for world changing. He wasn't a young, single guy with a seminary degree. And Sarah wasn't the polished wife of a prominent local citizen, with the kind of pull necessary to get things done. The more of the story I read, the more obvious it became that the less likely the character, the greater the story.

And as a young, married mother of two school aged kids, I started dreaming again. I began to see myself as Abraham or Sarah or Joseph or the woman at the well - one singled out by God to do great things. I wrote business plans. I staged events. I began to speak up. I found my voice again. I, I, I, me, me, me.

Still boring.

Disagree with me if you will, but one of the greatest movies ever is The Muppets Take Manhattan. The story is this: A character, Kermit, wants something - specifically, to put his variety show on Broadway. When the quarters run out and he can no longer afford to support his friends living in the lockers at the train station, Kermit must overcome the great conflict of loneliness. Throughout the film Kermit is convinced that the show is still missing something. When his friends return with new friends at the end of the story, our little green hero figures out the missing element: community.

Kermit, without his community - without his family - wasn't himself. He wasn't able to be who he was created to be.

And neither am I. Realizing this has totally rewritten my plot line.

As of right now, today, we are deciding to homeschool our kids. Remember that earlier post about how we felt the need to ask ourselves which decision would enable us to live a better story?

We could send our kids back to school. School is great. And there's no question that it would free ME up to write more of MY story. By MYself. And Not Johnny Depp could write his. And the girls could each write theirs, in their classrooms and activities. We could live four sort-of interesting, parallel stories.

Instead, we are diving into this new experience praying for one, great story. We want to be a family who is completely available to be made amazing. We probably won't go to Africa, but maybe we'll change the lives of the single moms in our neighborhood. We're not likely to take the stage, but maybe we'll start an art or music school for underprivileged kids. Whatever the story is, we will be an ensemble cast living it out together.

When Fozzie asks Kermit if their new friends can watch the show from backstage, Kermit has his "aha" moment: "What? No! No, they cannot watch the show from backstage. That's it! That's what's been missing from the show! That's what we need! More frogs and dogs and bears and chickens and... and whatevers! You're not gonna watch the show, you're gonna be in the show! Come on, everyone!"

My story was missing my frogs and dogs and bears and chickens...and whatevers. It was a boring show, because it was just me.

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So here's what inspired this post. Don Miller is hosting a conference about living a better story, and there is this contest. I would love to go, if for no other reason than to ask Don what it means to specifically tell him what I'm hoping to get out of his seminar without being detailed. (see Rule #2) I also want to learn more about the elements of story and how to use them in making decisions for my family as well as effectively communicating the Gospel. And I'm just going to say it - it would be a much-needed break from my bears and chickens and whatevers after our first month of homeschooling.

But even if I don't go, I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to get this in writing. So, thanks, Don!

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

A tip of the scale

2010-07-14T10:03:00.004-04:00

So, maybe I shouldn't have waited until summer, when my kids are home with me all the time, to make a decision about whether I want my kids home with me all the time. I've found myself dipping into the cons of homeschooling quite a bit - particularly the ones that affect my ability to get anything done. I am trying to find the line between selfish and practical. Is it selfish to want some time to read a book, write a book (or even just a blog, for goodness sake!), exercise in peace, see some friends or just plan a dinner? Or should I embrace the challenge of getting those things done WHILE pouring my own life into my kids?

And as they run through the house yelling at each other at this very moment, I am asking myself: When does school start?

But yesterday I was reminded of why this debate began again this year - not because there was anything wrong with our school experience, but because the school experience itself is simply exhausting. Mornings spent racing out the door + afternoons balancing play (for a kid who has been in school all day) and work and dinner and activities and bedtime = no time to enjoy each other or these days that are flying by.

With two kids in school, that's not going to get any better. I will now have 2 children that need to get fed, dressed and piano-practiced before getting in the car every morning. I will feel the need to volunteer in 2 classrooms and go on 2 sets of field trips. We will be balancing two sets of activities in that short after-school window and doing two sets of homework, washing two sets of uniforms and packing two lunches every day.

It's not that we can't do that, or that we wouldn't do it well. It's simply that, for us, there is another option, one that provides us with all the time we want to develop in the areas we'd like to grow.

So today, in spite of the child on my lap who has now asked me 72 times to do something other than what I am in the middle of, the scale is tipping in favor of homeschooling.* And with all due respect worthy of Him who will get me through this challenge, I plead: God help me.

*subject to change. :)

Quality vs. Quantity

2010-06-27T17:03:00.004-04:00

I don't really want to say that I am not concerned about the "quality of my children's education." But the truth is, I'm not really concerned about the "quality of my children's education."

See, in spite of having some relatively high quality educational experiences of my own, I believe that a very high percentage of the education I've received didn't happen anywhere near a classroom. I had a handful of inspirational teachers, but I don't remember the mechanics or details of what they taught me - instead I remember that they taught me how to learn, how to read for story, how to appreciate, how to believe. Also, in spite of receiving a pretty high quality education, I had some extremely low quality teachers - the kind who made "learning" excruciating.

Regardless of whether I was studying under the good or the bad, I had (and still have) excellent parents who were there, always. They were involved. They followed up and they taught us all day long. It was their commitment to my education and their efforts to foster a love of learning that made the difference for me. I remember learning early on that old, historical things were cool by the way my mom would get excited pointing something out to me for the first time, and that every vacation is an opportunity to learn new things. (I'm not your girl for a shopping getaway, unless we're shopping in a medieval castle or restored tenement building...) I am fascinated by the elements of strategy because my dad has weaved it into every game we have played for 32 years. Mom and Dad turned the measure of our education from quality to quantity.

So, when I say that the quality of my children's education isn't really a factor, I mean simply this: as committed parents, we have (at this early level) the power to fill in the gaps. We are more responsible for flipping those switches than any teacher, and I believe that wherever they are, if they are learning to love to learn, by learning all day long, then together we will find ways for them to meet their potential.

It's probably easy for me to make these claims because of the excellent experience we've had in the public school so far. It has its drawbacks, sure, but they don't come near to outweighing the positives. And so, we find ourselves choosing between two excellent options - a wonderful public school and a home school experience that would probably go pretty well. For us, "quality" of education isn't a factor right now, but would I drop my kids anywhere and hope to make up the difference? No, of course not. I'm just saying that maybe, if we as parents would give ourselves some credit and believe that our input into our children's lives carries some serious weight, then we would feel less pressure to chase the mythical "best."

******************************************************************************

(I've just read over this post and there are already about 10 disclaimers in my head - regarding safety, special needs, social development, upper level learning, team sports and all kinds of other reasons to seek out opportunities offered by some of the "higher quality" schools. No two families are the same, nor are any two kids even in the same family...this is just my explanation of why the "quality education" argument doesn't hold water with our family right now.)

That Day is coming...

2010-06-24T13:56:00.003-04:00

I was entering appointments and dates and commitments into my planner this morning and it seemed as if I'd reached the end of summer with just three page flips. With great hesitation, I entered the last four words of Summer:

"First Day of School"

Although it's only June and we're just finishing up our second full week of freedom, That Day looms ahead, taunting me with its reminder of a decision that needs to be made.

I've been using the word "if" a lot. IF we decide to stay where we are. IF we homeschool. IF we this...then that. "We haven't decided yet" is also buying me some time. But I am a person who doesn't cope well with indecision, so these ifs and haven't yets are starting to stress me out - so much so that on June 24, I am already dreading That Day, 8 weeks away.

We're trying to come at this decision from a number of different angles, and hopefully I'll get a chance to sit down and write more about each of them, if only just to make it clear in my own head.

First, of course, is: What does God want us to do? Well, we believe that God would have us to love mercy, to do justly and to walk humbly with Him. (Micah 6:8) So which of these options - home school or public school - gives us more of an opportunity to a) practice those things and b) teach our children to practice those things?

Secondly, which decision is best for our family? How would our individual children benefit from each option, and where would they best grow and develop into the counter-cultural, compassionate, creative and committed young women that we desire for them to be?

Third, which decision is best for the Kingdom? Where can our family best be used by God to make an impact on or even to transform our community? What opportunities does each option offer us to serve others?

Finally, which one will enable our family to live a better story? Read A Million Miles in A Thousand Years by Don Miller if this doesn't mean anything to you.

And with that, we're going to enjoy summer at the water park...with the decision postponed at least one more day.

The reason for the pause

2010-06-17T14:21:00.004-04:00

Hi!

Thanks so much for reading - I so enjoy your comments and look forward to catching up on all of your writing as well!

Just wanted to pop in and say that this week is VBS at church, which, although it only takes up our evenings, is messing with my entire day. So I haven't written anything. I haven't cooked anything, either, because we have been eating at church every night. While we're at it, I also haven't cleaned anything, organized anything or completed anything this week.

Hope you're all having a great week - I'm going to take a nap and return with stories to tell!

Alabama Broccoli Casserole

2010-06-11T08:53:00.005-04:00

I needed a dish to bring to a meal where "comfort food" was being served. It was our second attempt at a dinner with friends - a reschedule that took more than 2 months to work out.

We'd decided to repeat the menu: macaroni and cheese and broccoli casserole. Two months ago, they would've been great "late winter" foods. Last week, they were great "braces foods."

We were responsible for the broccoli casserole, which I'd made before by sort of blindly reaching for cans of soup and boxes of crackers in my pantry. This time, with time on my hands and a blog series in mind, I opted to look for a recipe.

But where on the shelf to begin?

I figured that no one knows how to fatten up a vegetable like the South. And since about half of my cookbooks are from south of the Mason-Dixon line, I knew I'd have a few choices. I landed on one that was on a page between Braised Collard Greens and Broccoli Cauliflower Au Gratin. It was bound to be good.

The Book:
"Favorites from our Table, by The Whosoevers of Eastminster Presbyterian Church" in Birmingham, Alabama.

Why I Have It:
My roots in Alabama run deeper than the Civil War, and as long as I can remember, my Birmingham family have been members of Eastminster Presbyterian Church. It may seem weird to know what church your out-of-town extended family attends, but 1) we are a relatively close and well-connected extended family and 2) having grown up at WESTminster Academy, I always thought it was amusing that there was an EASTminster. What's a minster? And how do they come to be geographically divided? I should look that up. Anyway, a cousin who comes to stay several times a year brought all of us a copy of this handy volume which overflows with Southern favorites that real people actually make and serve to their families.

Why it's Special:
First of all, I love that the name they came up with was "The Whosoevers." I can hear my great-aunt, Sissy, saying it. I can hear my grandmother sharing the news - that Sissy's church ladies call themselves "the who-so-ev-ers." She would probably write it in the air with her hand. Some of the syllables would be stretched out, because she's from Alabama and that's what you do.
Secondly, I love my Alabama family. I love the memories that I have of Sissy and Papa making it to our wedding and dancing together, of visiting their home and snapping green beans from Papa's garden as a kid. I love that I am in touch with almost all of my second- and third-cousins, that being connected by a grandparent or great-grandparent means that no matter how our geography or accents or stature (in spite of Papa's height, they are all tiny people...) differ, we are family. I am related to the Whosoevers of Eastminster Presbyterian Church, and that makes me happy.

The Recipe:
Broccoli Casserole
2 (10 oz) pkg. Frozen Chopped Broccoli, cooked & drained
3/4 c. Mayo
1 c. Grated sharp cheese
1 *(10 3/4-oz.) can Condensed Cream of Mushroom Soup
2 Eggs, lightly beaten
2 c. Crushed Crackers (I used Ritz)
2 T. melted butter (I needed 4 T.)

In a large mixing bowl, combine broccoli, mayonnaise, cheese, soup and eggs. Mix well. Place mixture into a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking dish which has been sprayed with vegetable oil cooking spray. Top with crushed crackers and pour melted butter evenly over the crackers. Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes or until set and browned.

**Thanks to Joanne West of Eastminster Presbyterian Church. I don't know you, but your casserole was delicious.**

Let it Begin!

2010-06-10T12:25:00.002-04:00

I guess it's a good thing that I woke up to little girls demanding to begin their summer project at 7:15 this morning!

With great diligence we wrote, folded, licked and stamped letters to begin our "virtual" tour of the U.S...and, to amp up the effectiveness of our campaign (or the geekiness, whichever you prefer), we created a blog!

So, I hope you'll follow along with Chloe & Eden's Adventures! Send us a card!

Summer Plans

2010-06-08T14:06:00.004-04:00

We're almost there! With just half a day of school left, I find myself frantically trying to plan for a summer of fun at home.

I'm putting this "on paper" for the accountability provided by the knowledge that a few people read somewhere that I'd be doing this or that. So, here we go...

1. That New Blog Series:
It's true! It's actually underway, though none of it has left my head for the screen yet. I'm hoping to get it going this week. Look, I wrote a synopsis for you:

"Join stay-at-home mom and kitchen illiterate Amy Wright as she chops, dices and sautees her way through every cookbook on her shelf. Rather than allowing them to collect dust any longer, Amy will spend this summer trying out at least one new recipe from books collected and received throughout 10 years of marriage. You'll learn just how reluctant of a cook Amy really is, laughing along with her as she showers herself with graham cracker crumbs and googles simple kitchen vocabulary. You'll also learn why the shelf holds recipe collections from places like The Dillard House, the Garvin Family and the Whosoevers of Eastminster Presbyterian Church. And, maybe she'll even post recipes and pictures."

2. Kids' Plans
Once again, I will be running Camp Mom. This year's theme at Camp Mom will be "Road Trip!" We'll be learning all about the 50 states - I just placed an order for all kinds of fun stuff, hoping that I can instill in my kids my love of maps, geography, US History and other forms of geekery. And if I can't get them excited about it, here's hoping Wakko can help:

3. School Decisions
As wonderful as our school experience has been, we are considering homeschooling the girls for the next school year. I hope to write my way through that decision (again). So be on the lookout for that, as well.

And there you have it! See you soon. :)

Coming Soon...

2010-05-17T19:45:00.003-04:00

I have a plan! New blog series for the summer...

Stay tuned.

I did NOT carry a watermelon

2010-04-29T18:41:00.005-04:00

I would like to report that Donald Miller and I are BFFs and that he invited us to climb Mt. Hood with him this summer.

Or maybe that part happened after I finally got to go to bed on Tuesday night.

I do think we could be BFFs, though. If I ever could think of something coherent to say to him.

After partaking in Taco Tuesday at Tijuana Flats, a small group (eight) of us climbed the stairs to Rocketown about 15 minutes before "show time," to find another small group of people waiting in line. Turns out, that small group and our small group made up about half of the audience.

I felt like the show had been underpromoted, but the "crowd" of 50 was surprising. I felt a little embarrassed for South Florida, and a little sad, and a little awkward for Don because speaking in front of an uncomfortably small audience is, well, uncomfortable.

But it made it really easy to get a front row seat. I wasn't really after a front row seat, but that's where we ended up. The front row, in all of its squirmy, eye-contacty glory.

That's right. Eye contact was made. I was hoping that my eye contact said "I think your writing is brilliant and I really appreciate you being a voice for this segment of our generation who is learning how to merge our evangelical upbringing with the actual teachings of Jesus and thank you for inspiring me as a writer and a Christian to hope for something bigger..." but I think it probably said something more along the lines of "I really need to switch my crossed legs again but will that distract you and can you tell that I am actually shivering because it is so bloody cold in here?"

His presentation was, in my opinion, pretty incredible. I know he's been touring and giving the same talk every night so he's had time to perfect it, but from a technical standpoint, it was one of the most well-crafted lectures I have ever heard. His books do the same thing - he has this way of jumping all over the place and bringing it all back together, like putting a puzzle together in chunks and letting you find that last, connecting piece under the table.

For example, about halfway through the lecture after several anecdotes and inspiring little soundbites (which caused me to wish that I was taking notes, and then to be self conscious about the fact that I was in the front row NOT taking notes, and then to wonder if the people in Portland take notes and we really were the ignorant South Floridians that he was kind of joking about us being), it became apparent that he was presenting the Gospel. Using the elements of story, he made a case for Christianity that was interesting, engaging, relateable, funny and pretty indisputable. None of this "I'm going to tell them what I'm going to tell them, then I'm going to tell them, then I'm going to tell them what I told them." And it was completely, believably authentic, which was my favorite part. I love the idea that someday we'll see Don again, when the Story reaches its climax.

Because we were such a small group, he opened it up for Q&A. In the absence of paper and pen, my sleepy, starstruck, writer's brain could not formulate a question in time to be confident enough that it would come out coherently. Then, also because we were such a small group, he treated us to some hang out time, which meant that we could sort of form a line and awkwardly hand him our books. Which we did. Here was my watermelon opportunity - but I sailed right by it. He was very gracious and truthfully, I have no idea what was actually said because I was literally so tired at this moment that I could have just laid out under his merch table and gone to sleep. I did thank him for coming, and I thanked him for signing my Blue Like Jazz book for my birthday 3 years ago, and we took a picture and it was over, stammer-free. Just like that. Not because there were a lot of other people waiting or because he shooed us along, but because I really wanted to go to bed.

I've been processing it for a few days - trying to explain and reconstruct the talk (with great difficulty - MUST remember notebook from now on) - and my main take away is that I am inspired. Inspired in the way that watching the big kids play makes you want to practice harder, so that maybe, someday, you can be a big kid too.

For the Sake of Putting Pen to Paper

2010-04-27T08:24:00.005-04:00

We're going to see Don Miller tonight. I'm pretty excited about that. I'm looking forward to putting a face and a voice to the words that have spoken so clearly to me over the last few years. I'm thinking about the prospect of meeting him, probably having him autograph something (else) for us, and my stomach actually fills with butterflies at the thought of my one chance to say something grateful and not ridiculous. He's kind of a hero of mine, and I don't want to have an "I carried a watermelon" moment. You may know that I've built up a pretty good immunity to celebrities - there are a scant few that would get a second look from me, and even fewer that would get the butterflies flapping. To discover this morning that Don was one of them was a little surprising.

I'm also looking forward to going to Rocketown for the first time.

But mostly, I'm looking forward to going back to bed when we get home.

I think I'm writing today because I'm going to see Don Miller tonight. Because if I ever start writing books, I want them to be books like Don Miller's books. So today, I am inspired to write, like how you floss diligently the night before a dentist appointment.

Back to that part about going to bed. We have had such a wonderfully crazy couple of months and I feel like our time is now careening ahead, full speed toward May 7.

Since late March, we have had 4 house guests at different times, visited with 6 other visiting family members at different times, we have been to Disney and Gainesville, had Spring Break and Easter, family birthday parties, school events and all of the other things that we do on a regular basis.

And there's this. I have been on the committee running the First Priority Auction for several years now, but this year, with our numbers depleted due to a baby boom among the staff and committee, I was tapped to lead this fabulous group of ladies. We're in great shape, everything is going wonderfully, and it's been a lot of fun, but after May 7, I get to stop thinking about it. Hey, if you're local, you should come. It's a very, very fun night.

But for now, Chloe and I will finish watching the Berenstain Bears, hit the pool with her cousin, pick Eden up from school and head to her piano lesson. And all day, I will subconsciously try to formulate the perfect non-pithy comment for Don. Maybe I'll just give him a big hug and call it a night.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming

2010-03-02T17:47:00.004-05:00

You might be wondering why it's been 3 weeks since I've written anything.

I'm wondering the same thing.

I mean, really. I wrote that fantastic post about celebrating little victories, and then I fell headlong into a spiral of defeat. Sort of.

What really happened was life. And some defeat.

It seems that, no matter what I tell myself, or what God tells me, or what my friends and family tell me, regardless of how rational I can be, in spite of digging to the core of my being to dredge out any bit of patience and determination I can find, I am downright frustrated.

So, there you have it.

My goal date came and went. I suppose I should be thrilled about the victories along the way - like being able to run more than 2 miles, losing a couple of inches, becoming familiar with yoga and the miracle that I actually look forward to spinning classes now... but my reality is that I'm not where I want to be, and I am having trouble seeing any progress. I want results that I can see. And feel.

I'm having a hard time with the "do it to be healthy" mindset. I'm such a child. I want rewards. I want "do it and your body will look fantastic in those cruise photos."

Cruise photos. Now that it's out, I'll tell you: that was the goal. Well, that was a reason for setting the goal for that date. I knew I was going on a cruise. I knew I'd be in a swimsuit. I knew Matt would take 371 photos. I wanted to look at those photos and think, "I did it!" Instead, I look at those photos and I think... ugh. Not what I expected.

So, with that goal date come and gone, it's time for new goals, new dates and new rewards.

Gimme a V!

2010-02-10T23:25:00.004-05:00

When asked how someone could pray for me this week, I asked for victory. I just wanted to see some victory, somewhere.

I was feeling a little defeated. A little beat up.

I'd had a rejection or two in Auction World. Some frustrations with the kids. Some disappointing results on the scale and with the measuring tape.

But sitting in spin class this morning, I was convicted. I was convicted because I was sitting in spin class, at 6 a.m. That was a victory over my sheets and snooze button. And I finished the spin class strong. That was a victory over my pounding heart and burning leg muscles. I caught a glimpse in the mirror and noticed that I was wearing tight-ish yoga pants and a clingy tank top. That was a victory over insecurity.

I came home to two sweet kids and a wonderful husband who were feeding themselves breakfast with lunch already made. Victory over martyrdom. I swept the floor. Victory over crumbs and that feeling that I get when I step on them barefoot. I showered, a long, hot shower and dressed in clean clothes. Victory over poverty. My arm slid nicely into my jacket sleeve, no stuffing or pulling required. Victory over my hot dog-into-drinking straw clothing complex.

My child didn't stop talking for 45 minutes, straight. Victory over ... um... laryngitis. We drove to Bible Study. Victory over car trouble and snowbirds on the roads. Enjoyed time discussing Scripture with beautiful ladies. Victory over loneliness, victory over stagnancy. Had lunch with my grandmother. Victory over those things that drag families apart, victory over bad genes (she's 87), victory over turkey sandwiches at home.

Learned to use auction website. Victory over technology. Kids read quietly. Victory over noise. Got excited about auction website. Victory over anxiety. Had dinner with good friends. Victory over those things that drag good friends apart. Had a salad. Victory over french fries, burgers and wings.

Baked a cookie cake, unloaded the dishwasher, prepped cookie dough for tomorrow. Victory over television. Organized auction meeting in time to make necessary copies. Victory over the last minute.

So I revised my prayer request. May I always focus on the victories, for they are many.

Goals this Week

2010-02-07T20:11:00.002-05:00

1. I will drink at least 8 full glasses of water each day.
2. I will exercise 5 days, including a 6 a.m. spin class on Wednesday.
3. At least 2 of my snacks each day will be fresh fruit or veggies.

Dangling the Carrot - or something

2010-02-05T12:37:00.002-05:00

With all of this talk of goals - training goals, fitness goals, shape & measurement goals - I must be careful to remember that goals met = rewards. Or at least it should work that way.

So I need to be prepared! And it must not be something edible! I cannot reward myself with Ice Cream when the next jeans fit.

This seems like it should be easy, but I'm coming up short. My inner administrator would like to create a chart illustrating the reward schedule. I would like the option to forego smaller rewards and roll them into bigger rewards. I would like to devise some type of point plan where I receive instant rewards for passing up empty calories... (i.e. passing up ice cream = 3 points; 15 points = an hour of "me" time.)

But I haven't done that yet, because I can't come up with enough appropriate rewards. I think this is because I am not very good at rewarding myself, at least not with the universally accepted "mom rewards." I loathe shopping for clothes and accessories. I paint my own nails, thankyouverymuch. Spa treatments make me generally uncomfortable.

Your thoughts? Always open to suggestions!

And then it hit me...

2010-02-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

I had an epiphany today.

I realized why I have never been successful at staying fit.

It's going to seem like a no-brainer to you. But here it is:

I have never made it a lifestyle. Ta-Da!

And what's more - I realized today that I have never made anything a lifestyle. At least not permanently.

I always have this sense that there are so many things in my life that I would be really good at ... If I would just commit myself to them. But my pattern isn't one of commitment. My pattern is one of distractedness. I learn to do something, I do it compulsively, then I place it in the "tried it" column and move on. In my head, I am still a pianist/volleyball player/tennis player/avid reader/writer/ancestry buff/crocheter/baker/cake decorator/scrapbooker... but if I'm truly honest with myself, I can really only say that those are things that I can do. Some of those activities see a little more time in my schedule than others, but none of them are a part of my day-to-day lifestyle. Therefore, my expectations for performance when I do pick one of them up are realistically low. And that's okay.

As I look back, I see the same pattern with exercise. I decide to get fit, compulsively work out for a month, get bored/sick/distracted/frustrated, and find something else to focus on. But my expectations don't change. I still want to be fit, still expect to fit into the same clothes, still hope to feel good about what I see in the mirror.

The only way for that to happen is to make this an actual lifestyle. For the rest of my life. Not for this little deadline or blogging project or until my skinny jeans fit. As daunting as that seems, it really takes some of the pressure off of my fast-approaching goal date.

Good news!

2010-02-03T08:21:00.003-05:00

My watch is loose. Well, loose-er. This is great news, of course, because it means that somewhere, finally, some of me is disappearing.

And, just like every girl out there, I've always been very self-conscious about that unsightly fat that gathers around my wrists.

I am impatient. So to show my impatience who was boss this week, I decided NOT to weigh in on Monday. I decided I would relax a bit, give myself another week or so before weighing and measuring again. The truth here is that I just didn't want to be disappointed again. I wasn't feeling particularly victorious this week, in spite of walking 112 miles through Disney this weekend and passing up every Mickey Ice Cream Bar, Churro and french fry on property.

So I gave myself a break. And I didn't hop on the scale. Until after lunch. AFTER lunch, which is also AFTER breakfast (that's 2 meals now in my belly) and AFTER a considerable amount of fluid consumption. And guess what? The scale was lower. Surprisingly lower. I assume that this means that if I'd weighed myself before the two meals and 64 oz of water, I would have been pleasantly surprised, instead of grouchy that I hadn't "earned" myself the right to weigh in.

I get it, God. You're in charge. But if you're accepting suggestions of where to take the next few ounces from, I have a few. I wouldn't have started with my wrists.

I'm a Runner! I Run! With the shoes and the road and everything!

2010-01-29T06:00:00.001-05:00

While running through the neighborhood this week, (I know, right? I ran through the neighborhood! Alone! I'm awesome!) I kept huffing something to myself.

Over and over and over again, with the rhythm of my heavy breathing, I huffed:

"Not by might (gasp!) nor by power (gasp!) but by my Spirit, says The LORD." It's from Zechariah 4:6. God is talking to someone named Zerubbabel but I didn't know that when I was running. Okay, let's call it jogging.

I think it pops in there because it was written somewhere on a wall at my Christian school. Maybe in the gym. And because it seems appropriate, especially when I'm running. Jogging.

Speaking of jogging and my Christian school, I remember having to run the mile in 8th grade PE. I was an athlete, albeit not a fast one. But I was still pretty confident in my abilities. The Varsity basketball coach was an 8th grade teacher and I guess we saw him right after PE. Assumedly scouting out his upcoming talent, he asked us our times. When I reported mine he said, "Are you sure?" I answered affirmatively, only to receive the dejecting comeback, "I could walk it that fast."

I knew I was slow. I knew I had come in last, or maybe next-to-last. But obviously those words hurt, because I remember them twenty years later. And I never became a runner. I've run a bit here and there, and since then I've been able to build up some endurance and bang out a few miles at a time on the treadmill, but I have never been comfortable running with people, or alone in public for that matter.

So as I braved the busy road to begin my "training" for whatever goal I'm going to choose, I had instant remorse. I pictured my 8th grade teacher walking beside me, his words taunting me, as I labored to put one leaden foot in front of the other on pavement instead of conveyor belt. I suddenly felt all alone, as if the rest of my class was so far ahead that they'd already made the turn at the end of the road, and I really, really wanted to turn back. Admit that I'd made a mistake and overestimated myself. Come home and pop in an exercise DVD.

But I didn't. Not by might, nor by power, but by God's Spirit I finished my run - about 1.75 miles - without stopping to walk or die along the way somewhere.

The subconscious recall of that verse was a really good reminder for me that no matter what challenge I undertake, like my friend Zerubbabel learned, it will not be accomplished by my own might or power, but by allowing God's spirit to take over and do it His way. One leaden foot at a time.

Watch out for Flying Dishes

2010-01-28T14:00:00.003-05:00

There are some days when you just want a cookie.

Then there are some days when you just want six cookies.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I heard it said in Weight Watchers one time that if you drop a plate in your kitchen, and it breaks, you don't open up the cabinets and proceed to break all of the rest of the plates because you'd already broken the one.

Well, I do. Except that the plates are cookies. And I'm not breaking them, I'm shoving them in my mouth. My brain actually justifies: "Well, since you've already had the one, may as well have that one too. And that one. And now would be a good time to try that one. Who knows when you'll give yourself this chance again? Grab that one while you're at it."

I don't know how to explain this phenomenon other than to say that it is an addiction. In the same way that a person can be addicted to anything else. My relationship with food, and/or eating, has all the symptoms of an addiction. Secret binging. Massive guilt over relapse. Fear of situations presenting me with the temptations of delicious treats.

So yesterday, in spite of having had cottage cheese and strawberries for breakfast and a grilled chicken sandwich (from which I scraped the mayo and replaced with mustard) and water for lunch...in spite of not touching Chloe's fries or tasting her ice cream sundae - I caved. First, I decided that I was being pretty hard on myself. Then I convinced myself that I would never be happy if I couldn't eat a little cookie every now and then. Then, somehow, I concluded that the key to my weight loss would actually be to relax and have that cookie. So I ate the cookie. And then another one, and another one. Moderation be darned, frantically, my hands searched for something else sweet to follow the last thing...until I calculated and thought, "oh goodness, what if someone - one of my supportive friends - walked in and saw me right now?" So I stopped, but the dishes were already in pieces all over the floor. At dinner, I ordered fried instead of grilled (Crash!) and grabbed a cookie on my way out. (Crash, crash!)

But were they good? Sort of. The first one was. The last few were just calories - the addict in me trying to take advantage of the window of opportunity I'd opened.

I don't know where this leaves me. I would like to get to a point where I really can have just one cookie. Or whatever the treat of the day is. Maybe I should just keep stuff around that's REALLY worth it, so that if i blow it, at least I've blown it on the good stuff, rather than old shortbread cookies. Or maybe, like a person in recovery, I really can't have a taste. Or maybe I just can't have a taste alone.

Having said all of that, today was the first time that someone who hadn't seen me for awhile said I was looking skinny. I almost bear-hugged her. Maybe the cookie-binge diet IS actually the secret.

Yoga Dancing with Jillian

2010-01-26T06:00:00.000-05:00

At last! The long awaited reviews of my varied exercises.

1. Dancing with the Stars - Dance Off the Pounds
First, allow me to clarify: I am not a dancer. NOT. AT. ALL. I am out of my element in aerobics classes and on dance floors. So I was a little concerned that I would spend 45 minutes with my ankles wrapped around each other, worried that some hidden camera was broadcasting my attempts to all the internet
But no worries! The dancers teach at a mercifully slow pace and pick it up as they move through the routines. After 45 minutes - 15 minutes each of Jive, Swing and Quickstep - I am sweating, but not out of breath. The dances have me spending a lot of time on my toes and jumping around a bit, which does provide a nice calf- and core workout.
I think my favorite part about this one is that it is not cheesy! The dancers are perky, but not annoying. My recommendation: This one is great for those "I don't feel like working out" days, because of its fun factor.

2. Jillian Michaels' Banish Fat, Boost Metabolism.
Holy cow. I'm not sure I ever actually finished this workout. Yes, because I couldn't. Jillian, The Biggest Loser's feared personal trainer, means business. That said, I reeaaally like this DVD. The workout is broken into 7 circuits, with one set of repeated exercises per circuit. So you do 5 or 6 exercises, twice, and then you move on to a new set of exercises. And these are the types of exercises I understand: Punch. Kick. Lunge. Kick some more. And until Jillian tells me I did an "amazing job" at the end of the 50 minutes, it is also not cheesy. I can feel this one working while I'm in the middle of it. My recommendation: Good for an indoor butt-kicking.

3. MTV Yoga for Beginners
My previous experience with yoga is kind of like dancing. Awkward, tied in knots, not understanding. But I've tried this one, at the recommendation of a friend, and I think I'm a fan. The instructor moves me through the poses clearly enough to keep me from getting frustrated, and quickly enough for it to be a pretty good workout. I can feel my muscles lengthening as I sweat through pose after pose, and I'm aware that if I keep at it (I've done it 3 or 4 times), I might see some pretty good results. My recommendation: Good for an extra workout or when in need of a good stretch.

4. EA Sports Active Personal Trainer for Wii
Who would've thought that a video game would have my number? I selected a 40 minute "Hard" workout and after about 30 minutes I had to ask my husband for a towel so that I wouldn't slip on the sweaty floor. In my family room. The floor that was wet from the sweat dripping off my body. From a video game. This game had me running, jumping, lunging, punching, curling, kicking...for a solid 40 minutes. And when I finished, I was sore. My recommendation: Good and fun.

This is How it Happens...

2010-01-25T15:59:00.003-05:00

After about four weeks, the scale showed virtually no change today. And the tape measure wasn't too generous either.

I would've sworn that over the last two weeks, I have lost at least 10 pounds of sweat. I know I worked off at least 4 inches from my hips and butt at spin class on Saturday. I have passed up at least 8 pounds worth of sweets and french fries.

But the numbers would say that it's not working.

AARRGGGH.

I'm surprised at how easy it was to sink into the despair of helpless frustration. I know I'm doing the right things, and I know that in time it will pay off, but right now I want to eat an entire sleeve of Thin Mints, because it just really doesn't seem to matter. May as well enjoy it.

Fortunately, I'm focused enough this time to recognize this as the pattern that has kept me in this place for the last several years. I get frustrated, and I decide that God wants me to stay just the way I am. It's a powerful argument when I'm feeling discouraged... but not this time.

I have a couple of theories, one being that I actually need to eat more. So I'm going to work on that this week.

Choosing a Goal

2010-01-24T19:31:00.000-05:00

I have always said that I have no desire to run a marathon. It's just not something that I have cared to add to my list of accomplishments. I really can't think of anything that sounds less fun than that. Except, maybe, for a triathlon.

But now, at the suggestion of at least three people, I have been challenged to set a goal beyond "just getting in shape" or "losing weight." It seems that selecting some type of event that involves some type of training is a recommended form of built-in accountability. That makes sense. And, since it is a suggestion, I will do it.

And so I am faced with a decision. What's it going to be?

Previously, my goals have been things like "fit into the clothes in the back of the closet," or "buy a new swimsuit and enjoy wearing it." I'll keep those goals - there's a red dress back there and a suit buried in one of my drawers - but I like the idea of pushing myself toward something.

But...a marathon? Ick. I'm starting to be able to stomach the idea of a half-marathon, and if I plan it well, I can get a trip out of it. Seriously, it looks like I could pick any city that I'm interested in and run 13.1 miles through it.

I've always wanted to do the Amazing Race, but that one involves being away from the family for 2 months.

So, I guess I'm saying, I'm taking reasonable suggestions here. Any ideas?

Discouraged

2010-01-22T08:02:00.002-05:00

Today I grabbed a dress from the back of the closet. It was one of those times when I was fully expecting to be pleasantly surprised at how much room I had in it.

That didn't happen.

Instead, it fits exactly the same way that it did a few months ago. Hugging the hips a bit. It may fall a little better through the middle, but still, I'm surprised at how discouraged I am that the results aren't coming faster.

I know it's only been a couple of weeks, and that I don't have a lot of control over where the inches come off first. That doesn't make it less frustrating. I want results...NOW.

Excuse #5: No, really, for me, it's reaaaally hard

2010-01-20T07:28:00.006-05:00

Once upon a time, I was an athlete. This means that my body still thinks we are athletic. Hidden inside this sometimes-fluffy shell is the core of a hardened athlete. Really.

I once was a 3-sport athlete, sweating through two-a-days and chasing fly balls and running endless suicides. And though those days are far behind me, my body remembers them well. So well that it laughs at the standard "30 minutes a day." Low- or Medium-impact workouts? Worthless. Nope. My body is a workout snob.

My heart rate only elevates if I am running as if being chased or doing lunges while carrying a small person. As if protecting itself for what must be coming, my body keeps its cool.

This brings us to excuse #5: No, really, for me, it's reaaaally hard.

My body is not going to spring back into shape with a 30-minute walk a day (unless maybe I'm walking straight uphill at 4.5 miles an hour). It is going to take serious time, sweat and commitment. That's what it wants, so that's what I'm trying to give it.

But I'd like to at least partially erase its memory.

Excuse #4: A Misspent Life

2010-01-20T07:28:00.005-05:00

Before my oldest was born, I was a teacher's assistant in a preschool. Morning after morning, I would welcome an assortment of precious children out of the arms of tennis-skirt-clad moms. Or moms in yoga pants, back when you only wore yoga pants if you were going to yoga.

And I would wonder - why are these mothers leaving their children in my care, every day, just so they can play tennis or go to the gym?

Of course, that was before I had children and understood that sometimes, placing my children in the care of others is an emotional necessity. But, still. These women provided the evidence that I needed to formulate irrational Excuse #4: Really fit bodies are evidence of a misspent life.

See, statistically, really fit people spend a lot of time exercising. (Imagine that!) A LOT. And when they're not exercising, they're talking about exercising. Or planning their next exercise. And if their entire thought life and all waking hours are spent exercising, well, then, think about all of the things they're not doing. Like spending time with their kids. Or helping widows and orphans. Or rescuing sea turtles. I mean, really - how does working on my BMI do anything to address injustice or poverty?

And did I really want people to think of me that way? As someone whose physical appearance was an all-consuming part of life?

Moderation.

As it turns out, I can add fitness to my schedule without allowing it to consume me. I can exercise and still spend time with my kids. I can exercise and still volunteer for causes I care about. In fact, I have more energy for those things now. And I can exercise and talk about things other than exercise. (she says, having devoted a month of blog space to exercise and fitness.)

Weigh In Day

2010-01-18T18:50:00.003-05:00

Well, it hasn't been my best week.

Which, I think, means that I have turned a corner. Because this "not so great week" still contained at least 4 days of cardio and the majority of the eating decisions I made were wise.

AND we had company in town.

So, though I should be feeling pretty good about surviving the week, I'd like to be a little more "in control" this week. Confession time: I didn't enter one thing on sparkpeople. Not one exercise or food. That may seem trivial, but not seeing the calories being counted makes it really easy to throw an extra spoonful of dinner on my plate or an extra handful of snack in my mouth. I also didn't blog consistently, which distanced me a little bit from my plan.

That said, this week's results were still okay, if not slightly encouraging. I seem to be down another pound, to 2% gone. I say "seem to be" because I am convinced that my scale needs to be replaced. If that's correct, I'm a little off my ideal pace, but I'm not concerned.

The scale may be bad, but I'm fairly confident that my tape measure is in good working order. If it's to be trusted, then I am pleased to report that while I may not be noticeably lighter, there is less of me to see. So, hooray for that.

I'll be back this week with a couple more excuses and some other great posts I've got floating around in my head.

___________________________________________________________________
Victories:
1. Exercised twice with company in town. This morning, I actually ran on the road, not on the treadmill. Conquered three fears here: running in public, running with people, and running on a surface that isn't moving beneath me.
2. Still no french fries. The victory here isn't that I don't order them, but that I don't grab them from someone else's plate. You'd be surprised how absent-mindedly that can happen.
3. There is half of a sheet carrot cake in the fridge and a whole batch of peanut butter candies on the counter. I am not, at this moment, eating any of them. Nor do I have plans to. I do, however, need to get them out of the house as soon as possible.
4. Smaller portions seem to be coming more naturally.

Time Out

2010-01-15T13:15:00.005-05:00

I don't know that I can add anything new to the Haiti discussions, other than just to say "Oh... Haiti."

That's what I said when I saw the first headline on Tuesday afternoon. "Oh...Haiti." The "Oh" is really more of a throaty gasp, and I stop after "Haiti" because I cannot think of one appropriate thing to say, and I'm usually swallowing back tears.

It seems petty and voyeuristic and even disgusting to read the stories or look at the pictures, as if I'm participating in some kind of media exploitation, but to remain disconnected or uninformed doesn't seem right either. I'm annoyed by the hundreds of facebook status updates that have nothing to do with Haiti - the thought of all of America just going on with their lives as if a quarter of a population hasn't just been wiped from existence makes my stomach turn. But I don't blame people for moving on. What, really, are we to do? I don't like feeling helpless.

These faces may seem distant and unrelated to your life, but here in South Florida, they are our neighbors. They are members of our church. They are classmates at my daughter's school. He is the produce guy at my Publix - the one with whom I couldn't make eye contact today without tearing up, wondering if he knows where his family is.

Money doesn't seem like enough to give, but it's what we have. It's what God has given us to give in this circumstance. This is our opportunity to be God's distribution system - and I'm ashamed that it takes a catastrophe like this to call this much of my attention to the least of these. The very, very least of these, innocently born into an impossible situation. The least of these, for whom everything just got infinitely worse.

I believe that this is where the rubber hits the road for the American church - how many of us will make major purchases in the next few weeks, while relief organizations see a slow down of funds but not a slow down of need? We know God calls us to a life of sacrifice - I think that's pretty much universally agreed upon, regardless of denomination. But what if God really is saying "My people in Haiti need that money more than you need that new sofa?" (the next thing on our list.) What if that really is His voice you're hearing as you head to the mall? And what if, we as a church, actually listened? What if our purchasing power was taken away from big box stores and instead used to buy Haiti's recovery?

So here are some opportunities to listen, if you hear that little voice, like I do. Relevant Magazine's Reject Apathy campaign has a dedicated website. There you'll find updates on the relief efforts of various aid workers as well as opportunities to give to several trustworthy and reputable organizations, including Compassion International, which you can get to from this page. You can also text "disaster" to 90999 to donate $10 to Compassion's disaster relief fund. I did that earlier today, and it worked beautifully. For more information, Reject Apathy, Click here.

Excuse #3: I don't have time

2010-01-14T20:23:00.001-05:00

Whatever.

Excuse #2 - Family History, Part 2

2010-01-13T06:00:00.000-05:00

I don't know if I've mentioned it here, but two of my grandmothers and one grandfather are still with me. Very much with me, as in, I sometimes see my grandmothers multiple times per week. They are all in their late 80s (one turned 89 last weekend!) My other grandfather passed away about 11 years ago, but after losing both his legs in World War 2, suffering a couple of heart attacks and, I believe, 2 strokes.

That is to say, I have a family of fighters. Healthy, hearty fighters.

So, unlike some people who look back at their family history and see disease, heart problems and cancers, I see actual faces, smiling across the dinner table. Faces of people who are still living in good health, in spite of some very Southern diets.

This has led me to say, at times, "look at my family history - I could eat nothing but butter for the rest of my days and still be alive when I'm 90."

And there is Excuse #2: I have no family history that requires me to eat well.

I didn't say they were rational excuses.

Truthfully, this isn't one that I've fallen back on often, but it certainly has served to take some of the pressure off at times. Really, without diabetes or heart disease or even obesity in the family, I've got nothing to be afraid of. So eat on, I've told myself.

Obviously, that rationale omits the reality that my grandparents - and their parents - lived very active lives, had little money to spend eating out, and did the majority of their eating before the middle aisles of the grocery were stocked with monosodium glutomate and polyunsaturated fat.

It also leaves out the fact that regardless of family history, extra weight on my body is not good for my body. So, since family history suggests that I may live to be 100 regardless of my food choices, maybe I ought to prepare my body to live well for the next 68 of them.

Excuse #1: Family History

2010-01-12T13:05:00.005-05:00

I come from, on one side, a long line of hearty, Scottish stock. On the other side, it is a long line of hearty, Southern stock. We've got a whole lot of farming in our background. And I think I know why.

We're built like farmers.

Okay, I say that not having spent a lot of time around farmers, and I'm sure they don't all adhere to one specific body type. But I think that this body type, the one I inherited from my Scottish/Southern ancestry, would be good for farming.

Maybe it's the broad shoulders that are good for carrying things to and from the fields, or the long torso that's good for bending over to plant or uproot. Then there's the short, stocky legs that are perfect for powering through soft, dusty fields. (Clearly, I'm picturing Little House on the Prairie farming, where Pa was always powering through soft, dusty fields.)

Bottom line is: You want speed, you pick someone else for your team. If it's power you're looking for, then we're your family.

I have grown up understanding that no one looks at our family and thinks "skinny." Not that they think "fat," but, if they see "skinny," then they need their prescription adjusted.

And there you have it, excuse number 1. My inherited body type won't let me be skinny.

At first analysis, there are at least two things wrong with that statement. One, who says? and Two, why do I care about skinny? Why not just focus on fit?

My inherited body type will absolutely let me be fit. My body will respond to healthy eating and exercise, because that's what it was created to do. Maybe I have done it a terrible disservice over the years - giving up on it without giving it a chance. Because, if I'm being honest, no one would look at my family and think, "healthy eaters," either. Again, not unhealthy, per se, but, we enjoy our meals. And each others' meals. And their desserts.

So, now that I've come clean with that one, I can't use it anymore. It's wiped from the repertoire.

but...but...but...

2010-01-12T11:08:00.005-05:00

This week, I was planning to write about the various excuses I have used to hold onto this extra weight.

Ironically, I keep coming up with excuses that get me out of writing.

For instance, I can't find the paper where I jotted them all down. It would be inefficient to start without finding that paper.

Also, work has begun on the annual fundraising auction for one of the ministries we support. Since I'm leading the committee this year, computer time should be spent begging for stuff. Or organizing stuff. Or administrating stuff.

And it's been really cold here, which means the heat has been on for what seems like weeks now, and my body is not made for these conditions, so I have been battling a headache and sinus pain for a few days.

And, really, if I have time to sit and write, shouldn't I use it to exercise instead?

While all of those are valid reasons for a slow down, they do not excuse me from what I need/want to do. So stay tuned for "Excuse Week."

Weighing In

2010-01-11T16:45:00.002-05:00

The scale showed no change this week, but the tape measure came through for me!

I'm down an inch to an inch & a half in several "key" measurements. Woohoo! Apparently, the exercise is working.

Some victories:
1. I ate out an embarrassing 3 times on Friday - but enjoyed an egg white & veggie omelet, dry grits and dry english muffin at Dennys, a grilled chicken salad at McDonalds and then a salad at Outback. No fries anywhere along the way.

2. This morning I Danced with the Stars again, this time with friends! It's more fun with friends.

3. I have a dangerous time of day, which is right around 4 p.m. I gave in a bit - grabbed a few fritos - felt myself starting to lose a little bit of control, stopped and made some hot tea. Making the tea gave me something to do and it is helping to keep me warm, which is a losing battle these days.

4. At a birthday party on Saturday, I had no cookies or chips that were on the snacking table. Instead, I had some orange slices and half a peanut butter sandwich. (it was a tea party)

Slow and Steady Finishes the Class

2010-01-09T11:01:00.004-05:00

Any struggle worth struggling through requires the help of good friends. That is, people who are good at being friends.

So, yesterday, a friend who is helping to see me through this little adventure handed me a couple of articles she'd torn out of a magazine for me. One was about workout foods - what I should be eating before, during and after I exercise - which was helpful. The other was called "No More Excuses."

Some friend, right?

I read through it and related to every single one, which I have used at some point - and she's probably heard from me at some point - and I agreed. I'm done with excuses. In fact, I've hardly made any this week, except that there really were just those two days where I couldn't find the time...

I got home to find an email from her, encouraging me, providing some tips and suggesting that I come to her spin class the next morning at 8:30.

No excuses.

So I made excuses all night - It's my one day to "sleep in," we need to clean the house, the girls have a birthday party to go to at noon which will have us out of the house for 3 hours, it's supposed to be freezing...

But I woke up, refreshed, at 7:15. Earlier, really. I laid there, thinking about the class and about that miserable bike, thinking about how, really, I had no excuses. And then I remembered my pledge - my very public pledge - that I would take any suggestions offered for 2 months. I had to go.

My previous experience spinning was okay, except that she keeps the room so ice cold that my teeth hurt and it aggravated my "exercise induced asthma." Well, and it hurts. In multiple places.

So I set low goals for today. I would manage my breathing so that I didn't feel the cold in my teeth, and I would not stop. I may not stand up for as long (or at all) or go as fast as the triathletes in the room, but I would not allow myself to stop moving. And, whenever I felt like I could, I would increase the resistance or pedal faster.

And Ta-DA! I did it. I kept my eyes down so I wasn't discouraged by how fast everyone else was going. I even pedaled through the bonus song at the end. I didn't chime in with the "YES! ONE MORE SONG," but I didn't stop, either. Hooray for me.

The moral of this story is that if my friend hadn't cared enough or understood enough what it will take, then I would still be in my pajamas, rather than celebrating this little victory. So thanks, friend. You are good at being a friend. I only cursed you for a minute, around 7:30 this morning. And it might happen again this afternoon when I can't sit down. But I'll get over it, and I promise to come back.

The Delivery

2010-01-07T07:40:00.000-05:00

God delivered.

Not only several scriptures to remember when I want to cheat - which I plan to share in the coming weeks - but also some pretty evident truths and applications.

For example, I tend to silently judge people who are obsessed with their weight. But I am obsessed with my weight. Being a little overweight is part of who I am, it's a part of who I've always been. I've seen Jillian yell at the Biggest Loser contestants about hiding under their weight - and I understand that. Maybe not for the same reasons, but I get it. What if I lose the weight and then I have to work at maintaining it - what then? What if I lose the weight and then I have nothing to pity myself over - how will I get my affirmation then? Obviously, missing from those thought processes is the One Who Delivers.

Why do I not believe that God will help me maintain a healthy body weight? And why do I choose to rely on other people telling me I'm "not fat," rather than just not being fat? Am I so insecure, so faithless that I would rather carry 20 pounds around than discover other, truer ways to be affirmed?

So there's that.

Another struggle I face when approaching weight loss from a spiritual perspective is the balance between freedom and rigidity. i.e., If God made it and it's good, shouldn't I be allowed to enjoy it? To its fullness? I think that's in there somewhere...right?

Of course, the balance here is moderation. Jesus said that we may have life to its fullest, not that we should eat 'til we're fullest. God started teaching us this lesson in the desert when he fed the Israelites quail and manna and instructed them to take only what they needed for one day. Here was this bounty, delivered straight from heaven, and they were told to exercise portion control. Or face the maggots.

Maybe if maggots were involved, I would be better at portion control, too.

But that's not my story. My story is one where God gets to show off - not by sending manna from heaven - but by being glorified in every choice I make that shows my belief that He WILL provide a meal tomorrow. I don't have to eat 3 days worth of food today just in case He doesn't.

Something Bigger

2010-01-06T06:00:00.000-05:00

If there is any area in which I want to succeed, I must make it a part of my spiritual life.

I cannot be a good wife, a good mother, sister, daughter, granddaughter, friend, teacher, volunteer, or Temple Janitor without acknowledging that I am, ultimately, not writing this story. At the hand of my own pen, I would be one of the most boring, despicable failures imaginable. Only surrendered to Another am I capable of greatness, of being a memorable character in this epic tale.

So if I am to succeed at this weight loss thing, if I am to create a healthier Temple, I am going to have to be motivated by Something Bigger than guilt.

Enter my Pastor with the timely reminder.

I opened my Bible to Luke 4 to follow along as Pastor covered Jesus' temptation in the wilderness. I smiled to myself as I saw God winking at me from the page. Jesus hadn't eaten for 40 days. Jesus was hungry.

Pastor went on to talk about temptation, give some strategies for dealing with it, etc., and I went exploring. I'd realized (again) that Jesus answered the accuser with scripture. At his hungriest and most vulnerable, Jesus was in tune enough to spout off some verses to help Him remain strong. This is a good idea, I thought. I will find some scriptures to memorize.

And as I explored, God delivered.

The Temple (under construction)

2010-01-05T06:00:00.000-05:00

"Don't you know that you yourselves are God's temple and that God's Spirit lives in you?"
I Corinthians 3:16, NIV

Oh, if I had a donut for every time I've heard that.

(Wait a minute...I think I HAVE had a donut for every time I've heard that. Because most of my donut eating has been done at church. Hmm...maybe that's a blog for another time.)

As a kid growing up in the church and Christian school and then after that in semi-weekly Bible studies and fellowship groups populated by kids who struggle with temptations of all kinds, I seriously must have heard that verse quoted a thousand times. Your body is a temple, don't smoke. Your body is a temple, don't drink. Your body is a temple, cover it up. God's living in there, He doesn't want to hear your secular music.

It wasn't until after college that I started hearing "Your body is a temple, don't eat that." At least, in my own brain I heard it, because I haven't heard a lot of sermons on eating. So from time to time, I'd be staring down a donut and hearing "your body is a temple," and I would think, "well, if I were living in someone's house, I would want a donut." And I'd eat it. And then I would feel guilty, because I'd covered God's house in trans fat.

Guilt is not a motivator for me. Rather, the thought process goes something like this: "Well, since I've already blown it, may as well go whole hog and enjoy it..." and Boston Creme is followed by Chocolate Glazed and a promise of a new tomorrow.

So in the past, approaching weight loss as a faith issue, I was only able to see that one angle. The temple angle. And it has never worked.

Here's why: I am not able to take care of this temple on my own. I am a terrible janitor. Have you seen that show where people are up to their eyeballs in stuff - old hockey trophies, toys for kids 20 years younger their own, pizza box collections, every back issue of People Magazine since 1975 - so a professional "organizer" comes in and does some tasmanian devil thing on their house and in 30 minutes it's the cover of a Real Simple magazine? Well, my temple is in need of that kind of professional attention.

I've tried on my own, and I've failed. Many times. I've lived in that cycle of guilt for maintaining an unhealthy temple. And I know that's not what God wants for me - not the guilt, but also not the unhealthy temple. So....where's the balance?

Some quick updates & victories

2010-01-04T09:53:00.004-05:00

Monday is Weigh In Day!

(drumroll, please...)

And, according to the bathroom scale, I am down 1.6% from where I began. Hooray!!

Some victories:

Went to a baby shower yesterday and had zero desserts and about 3 sips of punch. Took bite-sized portions of everything. Had hot tea instead of fancy coffee drink.
Went out to lunch, ordered a grilled mahi sandwich and only ate half of the bread. No fries.
Ordered (and ate!) only soup at Chick-fil-A.
Took copious notes in church. This would be a victory in itself, but on this occasion it was a double victory because the sermon topic was "Temptation." That blog will come shortly!
Just finished the Dancing with the Stars workout DVD, didn't break anything and had a large amount of fun.

The Plan

2010-01-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

I mentioned in my last post that I had told a lot of people "my plan."

In fact, I don't know if I've ever spoken as recklessly as I have in the last week. Somehow, I have worked it into every conversation, posted it on facebook and, obviously, am blogging for the "world" to read.

I'm used to saying things like "when I fit into the rest of my wardrobe..." or "I'm trying to eat better." Sometimes I'll publicly deliberate between a salad and a cheeseburger. I'll complain or commiserate with girlfriends and throw a number out there - "there's just this extra 20 pounds..." but this week has seen the new, honest, vulnerable (and reckless) Amy.

"I'm going to lose 15 pounds in 2 months," I've heard myself blurt out to anyone within earshot. It's an approximation, but girlfriends, their husbands, family, and everyone on the internet is now privy to my struggle. The immediate follow-up question, I've found, is:

"Great! How are you going to do it?"

Well, thanks for asking. Here's my plan:

1. I am going to eat less and move more. I know how to make good choices. I'm going to make them.

2. I will make exercise more of a priority and push myself harder.

3. I will use sparkpeople.com to track my diet and fitness accomplishments, including their "bootcamp" plan that starts on January 3. (Today!)

4. I will try any tip suggested. So far I've increased the incline on my treadmill to its steepest grade and eliminated french fries from my diet. Next, I will do the Dancing with the Stars DVD workout. Feel free to throw your suggestions at me. For two months, I'm yours.

5. I will tell the world my plan. First, because nothing (besides air travel) frightens me more than failing publicly. Whether anyone actually cares if I succeed, I will know that someone might be watching. Second, I have some great people in my life, and I plan to rely on their support and accountability. This part includes blogging tirelessly.

I realize this doesn't sound that specific. But it's what will work for me.

The Numbers

2010-01-01T18:32:00.003-05:00

I did learn a few things from my experiences as a Weight Watchers frequent drop out.

For example, I learned to call this process "getting rid of weight," rather than "losing it." Because, you know, you don't want to find it again.

I also learned to set manageable goals, to start easy and achievable. "This week, I will drink 8 glasses of water a day..." or "I will write down everything I eat..." The first goal that Weight Watchers thrusts upon everyone who walks in the door is to get to 10%. Forget the target goal weight for now, just focus on getting rid of 10% of your body weight.

Usually, 10% is very close to my goal weight anyway. If I lose 10% of my weight, I will be hovering about 6 pounds over my "ideal weight."

Ten percent will have me just outside the healthy BMI for my height. I cannot tell you how frustrating that is. Four years ago, during a period of intense stress, I found myself at my thinnest since high school, feeling great about my body and still, precariously near the top of the "healthy range." I could not imagine getting myself any smaller than I was at that point, and yet...the wall hanging at the doctor's office was telling me I was bordering overweight.

I don't know who came up with the BMI, but I'm pretty sure they didn't have my body type in mind. However, I will play their little game and aim for the middle of their "healthy weight range." But that will be the fight after the 10%. I will probably have to become a master Yogi or marathon runner or something to maintain residence in the middle of the mysterious and demanding BMI.

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Some little victories in the last few days:

Turned down Publix cupcake, Publix icing, chocolate birthday cake and a piece of chocolate in one night. Actually picked up the chocolate and then put it back down.
Brought my own cereal, milk and a banana for breakfast and didn't eat the donuts, cinnamon rolls or sausage rolls. Had one munchkin instead of several.
30-45 minutes of intense cardio 3 of the last 5 days.
Consumed a considerable amount of water
Logged almost everything on sparkpeople.com
Blogged 3 times! Told a lot of people my plan!

The Target Date

2010-01-01T12:00:00.001-05:00

All good weight loss programs will encourage their participants to set a target date.

My target date is usually "3 years ago." This probably has something to do with my chronic frustration. I want it off, and I want it off 3 years ago. Even if I have an arbitrary future date set, my reality is that this extra baggage shouldn't be here in the first place, so I shouldn't even be having this argument with myself, and having to spend time and effort getting rid of something that I never asked for in the first place goes against all of my efficiency instincts.

People say weight loss is a journey that I have to take with myself. Starting a trip with someone you're mad at it is not an auspicious beginning.

So this time, I am putting what's past behind me (technically it already is...behind me), giving myself and my extra 20 a great big hug and packing for a great trip. Destination: February 25.

February 25 isn't as arbitrary as my usual target dates. We'll just leave it at that, for now.

The Idea

2009-12-31T15:54:00.004-05:00

"What if you blogged about your weight loss, Ame?" he said, like always, doing his best to support his fluctuating and frustrated wife. "I mean, blogging seems to help you organize your thoughts and you're good at it, and..."

I saw where he was going. I didn't like it.

Bravely ignoring my scowl, he continued. "It might provide that extra accountability you say you need. You know, apart from me."

Agh! He said it. Kill switch: Engage.

"Nope. I don't need accountability. If I'm going to do this, it has to come from me," I snapped.

"Well, but, you like to wri-"

"I know I like to write. But who wants to read about what I did and didn't eat today or whether or not I exercised? I'll lose my entire readership!" Snapping again. But I knew that one wouldn't fly. I don't have a readership.

That was sometime last year. The idea of blogging my way through weight loss sounded a little like letting the public read my journal. And THAT idea is so horrifying to me that I go to extremes to prevent it by not even keeping a journal. So no way, mister, was I going to put my struggle on the interweb for all of my middle school nemeses to find.

But then, while on the treadmill earlier this week, I had a brilliant idea.

"What if I blogged my way through weight loss?"

Intuitive readers now know two things about me that maybe they didn't know before:

1. I am ridiculously insecure, likely because I was relentlessly taunted in middle school.

2. Anyone submitting an idea for my approval must begin the process approximately one year before its expected commencement. It will take about that long for the idea to cycle back through as one of my own.

And so, here I am. Blogging my way through weight loss. Hopefully, at the end of this little "series," I will be blogging my way through "maintenance."

I hope you'll be patient with me, or maybe even join me. Weight loss, for me, encompasses more than just getting rid of a few pounds, so some of my posts may sound a little like therapy. Feel free to hold me *ahem* accountable. That's the idea.

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Here's The Skinny:
Today's Date: December 31, 2009
Target Date: February 25, 2010
Target Loss: 10% of Body Weight

A Really Big Birth Announcement

2009-12-23T16:38:00.003-05:00

To you.

This week, those two words are ringing in my head as the most important words in all of Scripture.

I get birth announcements all the time. My friends just can't seem to stop reproducing. So at any given time, there is at least one photo of someone else's new bundle-o-joy on my fridge. The verbiage hardly ever varies: Fred and Wilma proudly announce the arrival of our daughter, Pebbles...

And there is, invariably, a photo. Usually of a wrinkly, sleeping baby. Sometimes with close-ups of tiny toes or feet, because everybody loves baby feet. Sometimes big brother or sister make it onto the card. I love those.

I love birth announcements, but they don't change my life. I love babies, and I particularly love the babies of friends who know me well enough to send me an announcement. But aside from a general warming of the heart at the photo and the scheduling of a post-hospital meal, birth announcements are not meant to alter the lives of their recipients. They are every parent's one chance at acceptable bragging.

"Look what we did! We made this beautiful child. We are introducing this beautiful child. This beautiful child is ours. Ours. Ours. Ours. Not yours. Ours. All other children are now also-rans, because look at this child of Ours. This child that was born to Us. We just wanted you to see this child, but let there be no mistake that this child was born to Us. That's why our names are on this announcement. Because this baby is Ours."

But there was one birth announcement that differed.

I noticed it this week while reading the announcement of Jesus' birth. Of course, all the usual baby announcement stuff is there, minus the part about the parents, his height and weight and a photo, although it did include information on where to visit him. But in the absence of digital printing capabilities, the creator of this child opted for a celestial singing telegram to get the word out. This is where it starts to sound a little different.

"Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord." Luke 2:11

Maybe this is one of the passages that I know a little too well, in its poetic beauty and majestic visual imagery. I hear it in Linus's voice. I am distracted by pageant angels that soar back into my mind when I come across this section of scripture.

But here it is again:

"For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given..." Isaiah 9:6a

Those two words - to you, or, to us - that's what makes this one different. It's the only birth announcement in history where the baby not only is introduced, but also is presented as a gift to the recipient of the announcement. Can you imagine? What if the next birth announcement you receive comes attached to a baby? Or...(go with me here)...What if you needed a kidney to live, and you receive a birth announcement attached to a baby who is an exact match?

The Gospel is right there, in those two words. He came...to you. God sent Him to us. It was the plan, from the beginning, for that child to be a gift to us. God didn't use that Angelic Host to say "Look what I did! Here's the King of the World!"

No, he commissioned a mass choir to announce the arrival of a life-giving gift - Messiah, come down, to you.

My story in song

2009-11-20T15:46:00.004-05:00

You know how, in cartoons, the characters are running full speed ahead when they see something interesting and try to stop? You hear screeching and see dust billowing and watch as they hop-hop-hop on one foot while the upper torso tries to head in the other direction? Well, it was kind of like that.

I was moving quickly (running would be inaccurate, here) past an auditorium toward the lobby bathroom when something caught my attention. Wafting out of the auditorium were the familiar strains of a tune I know well. My peripheral vision picked up a sleek black shape on stage and two men studying it - one seated, one standing. Involuntarily, my body shifted directions and I froze in front of the open door, mesmerized. For a second, until I remembered where I was running. Or not running.

I returned to the lobby to hear pages 5...6...7... still being pretty flawlessly performed on a beautiful piano to an audience of none. And I thought: 'I can do that.'

I can play Rhapsody in Blue. All of it. I can tell you where on the page this part is happening or what's coming next. I can finger along with the music that's floating in the air. I can hum the orchestra part. Or at least I could. At one time.

At one time, I memorized and performed a 20-minute concerto, more than 30 pages of music. And not just any concerto. It was Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue. You may remember it from the American Airlines commercials. I remember it because it is burned on my brain, and lingers in my finger memory. It's now filed away under "glory days."

Sitting in that lobby with strangers, I felt really special, like a celebrity in disguise. No one in that room knew my secret - that a long time ago this frumpy-feeling housewife crocheting in the corner stood on stage and took a bow after performing the awesomeness that they were listening to at that moment. So, naturally, I started wondering if I could still do it. And I started wondering what secrets the other people in the lobby were keeping...what were their stories? Were they concert pianists, too? Or maybe Olympic gold medalists? Or alligator wrestlers? Instantly, everyone in the room became people of interest.

Too often, I undervalue myself, or at least my gifts - and oddly, that's usually because I don't feel like I fit the physical mold of a successful, worthy South Floridian. My clothes are generally beat up and old, my body is carrying a little extra right now. I drive a mom-mobile and I get really excited about good deals. Oh, and I'm wearing a bulky mouthguard right now that is impairing my speech. (Think Gopher from Winnie the Pooh). But I know I'm not alone. How ridiculous it is for people, with these incredible stories and amazing hidden gifts, to have our identity so closely tied to our physical appearance? What must God think when I forget the fact that he gave me so very many abilities and whine about the body (and sense of style) that I didn't get?

I believe God put me in that lobby at that time to remind me of my story, and of who He made me to be. He put me there to remind me that everyone has a story, and story is so much more valuable than labels, price tags or clothing sizes. He has given each of us a gift - how much more fulfilling would our lives be if we developed those instead of chasing a flawed measure of success?

So I came home, and I tried to play Rhapsody. With a little fiddling, I got the first measure back - with the music, I'm sure I can do it all... but the point is that music is a part of my story, the secret that those closest to me know about. And those are the ones who help complete that story. If you're one of those people, thank you for the role you're playing!

At what point does this become a "disorder"?

2009-11-05T14:41:00.003-05:00

At 9:30 every Thursday, I enter my daughter's classroom.

A few of the students (including my own daughter) look up to subtly acknowledge my arrival. Then they keep working.

I love this.

Then the teacher quietly gets up, hands me a stack of projects to complete, and returns to her group of reading children.

I love this, too.

I survey what needs to be done and my brain immediately starts putting things in order. These need to be pasted. These need to be cut. These need to be laminated. Staple these. Copy that. Put that stack away. Within seconds I have a plan that maximizes efficiency, and I go to work. I don't know if anything satisfies me more than busy work done efficiently.

Or, for that matter, anything done efficiently. Today I got to visit the school's reading book room and I found it magically soothing. Shelves and shelves of neatly labeled bins containing books ordered by letter and number. Nothing out of place. Nothing sloppily shoved into a spot where it doesn't fit. I enjoyed putting those books back so much that I contemplated offering my reshelving services to all of the other teachers. It was then that I wondered if I had a problem.

Well, it might have been when I left the library that I noticed an imbalance. Getting from the library to the classroom involves crossing a courtyard using paths that require me to walk the long sides of a triangle to get from A to B. That makes me grouchy. All that work to be efficient, and I lose 20 steps because of poor sidewalk planning.

My errands are done in geographical order. If I can't fit one efficiently into my route then it waits until I'm heading that way. My chores are completed the same way. If I'm vacuuming, I'm vacuuming everything at once. If guests are coming, cleaning gets done at the last possible minute, because I know that's when I'd do it anyway, and it's inefficient to do it twice. I don't exercise unless I know I have time to finish an efficient workout in which my heart rate is elevated for the right period of time. And I try to do it when the girls are wanting to play outside, because it's more efficient for me to exercise while watching them, than to exercise and THEN watch them.

And I'm always the one with a suggestion - "why don't you..." or "you know if we did it this way..." and I'm unsettled when they choose the less efficient option.

So, I don't know if this makes me crazy, but i do know that it increases the amount of pressure I feel to get things done. When "down time" registers as "wasted time," it is pretty hard to enjoy.

Am I alone? I know Cool Dad is with me...

Evolving...

2009-11-02T16:35:00.004-05:00

Well, it happened.

Everyone warned us that it would. It is the concern most widely expressed by most of our Christian friends when we have the "Public School" conversation.

Our daughter was exposed to (you might want to be sitting down for this...) evolution. (cue dramatic ba-ba-BUUUUHHH music)

Technically, she was introduced to something akin to the big bang theory.

It didn't happen in the way we would have expected. It wasn't a teacher reading from science curriculum or another student engaging her in a heated debate about faith or telling her she was stupid for believing in a Creator God. It was sneakier than that: she brought home a reading book. It explained the origins of the earth.

As she read Earth: The Water Planet aloud to us my mind started racing. First, I was annoyed. "Come on," I thought. "She's a first grader. It's a reading group book, for reading. Not a science lesson. Couldn't the teacher have chosen something less controversial?"

Then I started planning my attack. How would I appropriately express my concerns to the teacher? Did I want to become THAT mom? What are my rights in this situation? Can I request that my child read a different book if this particular science isn't a part of first grade curriculum?

When I heard these thoughts in my head, I changed course. We knew this would happen. We expected it. We weren't afraid of it. Maybe we didn't expect it this early, or this covertly, but it did, and my up-in-arms mentality was sounding too much like the image we are trying to overcome by simply being Christ-followers in a public school in the first place.

So, we talked about it. I pointed out phrases like "scientists think" and "scientists are not sure." We talked about why they "think" life began 3.5 billion years ago, or why they "believe" the earth is 4.6 billion years old. I asked her what she knew about the beginning of the earth, and what might be missing from this book.

And guess what? She got it.

We read Genesis 1 and discussed how maybe God DID use exploding gases and compressed matter and whatever else the scientists think was involved. We talked about how, if you don't believe in God, you have to figure out some way to explain how we got here. We held up the Bible, and we held up her book, and we asked her to point to the one that is always true.

And she understood. She was able to grasp that man tries, but cannot always be true - and so when man's word disagrees with God's word, we go with God's word.

I don't think she's scarred for life. I don't think she experienced any kind of crisis of faith. If anything, I think it was a tremendous opportunity at a very young age to experience a little testing. She had a chance to think critically about something important, and to learn to respect differences of belief while still sticking to her guns.

Crisis averted.

Chloe, before

2009-09-22T08:20:00.007-04:00

As a teacher - or teacher's aide, which was my position - you're not supposed to have favorites. But I did, of course.

I had Chloe.

Chloe was this goofy, smiley little 3-year-old. She was sweet to everyone and intentionally funny. She had a gorgeous head of dark wavy hair that framed her precious little heart shaped face. I never could decide whether it was her huge, round brown eyes or the smile that stretched from ear to ear that most enchanted me.

Chloe came from one of those too-good-to-be true families. Her parents were a little bit older and seemed to have plenty, which, in this particular school usually meant that pick up, drop off and most other parental duties were performed by a member of the family's staff. But not Chloe's family.

Chloe's tall, thin, beautiful mommy was at pickup every day, squatting down to greet her baby as if it had been days since they'd seen each other. Chloe would see her mom and virtually explode with joy, jumping up off the circle carpet to run into her arms. The scene was the same first thing in the morning, but with daddy and Chloe sharing special morning rituals.

In addition to them just being the nicest people you could hope to know, Chloe's family were Gators. BIG Gators. Bull Gators, in fact. They never missed a home game, because Chloe's dad had his own plane, which he'd had painted orange and blue. We made the Gator connection early and I couldn't help but feel like that made me one of their favorites - just like Chloe was mine.

When I left late in the year to have my first baby, Chloe's mom was one of few parents to present me with a gift - a beautiful smocked dress from a store that I have dared to enter maybe twice in my life. It's in the box of baby things I just can't give up.

I haven't seen Chloe in 6 years, but her family's infectious happiness still inspires me. In fact, when we named our own Chloe, I hoped that a little of the name would rub off. It was impossible for me to think of Chloe as just a name. No, Chloe was a word that called to mind my favorite preschooler, and that meant so much more.

So when Matt came home last night and asked if I'd heard about "the plane", my heart sunk into my stomach. He went on to say that a Bull Gator's plane had gone down in the Everglades on the way from Gainesville to Ft. Lauderdale.

Not the Barbers, I said, with tears instantly filling my eyes. Please not the Barbers...

But it was the Barbers. All of them lost, presumed dead in a fiery Everglades crash.

All, except for Chloe.

Chloe, now 10, stayed home to go to a sleepover while her mom, dad & brother went to the game. It was a decision that left her behind, forever.

I have to be honest, I am wrestling with this one.

In The Eye

2009-09-14T19:38:00.003-04:00

In the last few weeks, 3 friends have had their first babies. Two others are closing on their first house tomorrow. Two more are marrying each other in a few weeks. One made it through major surgery today.

One close friend started a new job this week. One close friend has been fighting to keep her job for two weeks. A third lost her job this week.

Two more are pregnant, and, closest of all, my sister is within weeks of being matched with her daughter from China.

But me? Well, today I trimmed Chloe's hair and sold stuff for Eden's school fundraiser. (need anything? if she sells 300 items we get a Wii.)

Clearly, this is not my season of major life change - but I can't help feeling like God has me in the eye of the storm for a reason. Not experiencing the tormenting winds and driving rains, but in the eye, where everything is still, but swirling madly all around.

I could see it as an opportunity to serve, but with the exception of providing a meal or two, I'm really feeling powerless.

I could see it as an opportunity to rest, be grateful and be content with stability and health.

I could relish the chance to live vicariously, facing change alongside them but without personal sacrifice. There's nothing like giving a crying infant back to his mommy, right?

No matter how I choose to look at it, I'd better keep my raincoat handy, since the calm surely won't last forever.

What Steven Tyler Taught Me

2009-08-25T16:06:00.007-04:00

As I've said before, my mind tends to wander a bit on Sunday mornings. It wanders to the store, it wanders to the calendar, it wanders to the mismatched paint colors above the east door. Sometimes it wanders to scripture unrelated to the message - I consider that some kind of victory, although I'm not sure it's a point in my favor, since it's still evidence that could be used against me, should someone be peeking over my shoulder.

Anyway, one Sunday this summer, my mind wandered to the Aerosmith concert we were planning to "attend" the next night. I noticed that I was starting to feel giddy, which started me thinking: Why am I 187 times more excited about that concert than about being here this morning? Why can I already feel it in my bones? What is it about the prospect of Steven Tyler screaming on stage that excites me more than being here, worshiping my Creator?

So, as I followed my mind on this little sojourn, I came to a couple of possibilities, but I'm going to land on one.

I want to be moved.

God, the God that I serve, the God who spoke the heavens and the earth into being, the God who turned the Nile into blood and parted the Red Sea, who confused the languages of thousands, who tore the veil from top to bottom - THAT God is a God who moves.

God never does anything half way. He never plays it safe or takes the easy way. God's not concerned about what might be too loud or too quiet or too intimate or too intense. God is God, and He goes for it. He moves you. His Gospel is not tame. It isn't warm and fuzzy, clouds and rainbows - it is fierce, intense, bloody and passionate, a love letter for the ages, the kind of story that should make us weep just knowing it's been written.

I imagined that day in church that true worship might sometimes feel a lot more like an Aerosmith concert than our usual Sunday morning fare. A fully engaging, participatory, whole body experience, from which you are forever changed in some way. A point in time to which you can always return because you felt it in flesh and spirit.

I picture Steven Tyler on stage and - really, is there a better example of one who "goes for it"? Can you picture him singing dispassionately? It is impossible for me not to buy into that kind of performance - to not believe, at some level, that this crazy looking person means what he sings. And I don't know about you, but one thing I've discovered about myself as a follower is that I'd better believe the person who's leading me, or you might catch me wandering.

Now, I know that my own personal spirit of worship is not the responsibility of the worship leader. I know my responsibility is to prepare my own heart to commune with my God, regardless of the style of worship being presented to me. I know God can move me however He chooses to move me, even if I am inclined more toward the electric guitars and passionate rock screams.

But that doesn't change my desire. I want to be moved. Be it loudly, quietly, intensely or intimately, I want to be moved.

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p.s., you may remember, the Aerosmith concert was canceled, so this is all speculation based solely on television performances and other concert experiences. :)

But it goes so fast...

2009-08-21T16:24:00.003-04:00

I know the day is going to come. I know it. I live and breathe expectantly, anxiously.

There will come a day when they won't want me around. I know that. I will be dropping off and picking up, instead of parking and hanging out. I'll be knocking before entering. I will have to call them to the dinner table rather than asking them to get out of the kitchen.

I know there will come a time when they won't want to breathe my air or share my allotted cubic feet of space. They won't interrupt me to tell me they need to go to the bathroom/need a drink of water/heard a funny joke today/that they love me. They won't interrupt me at all.

They won't come barging in to our bedroom before sunrise on Saturday mornings just to ask if they can put a movie on or start breakfast. They won't spill the mix while crowding me at the counter. They might not spill anything at all.

We probably won't hear the same DVD playing over and over again. They probably won't enjoy (or tolerate!) our music anymore. We will no longer be the authority on what is cool. We will probably cease to be right all the time. We will have used up all our answers. We won't have to pick out their clothes, their shoes, their hairstyles.

Soon, their homework will be too hard for us. Their activities will be competitive. Their hearts will be fragile, and probably a little private. The phone will ring and it will be for them. We will hear from others what is really going on.

There are few things I hate. I hate knowing that.

I hate it because it's sad, and I hate it because of the pressure it puts on me to live in every. single. moment. I want their life with mom to be a series of perfect moments. I want them to know in every moment that I appreciate them, I love them more than they can imagine, I think they're beautiful and brilliant and creative and funny...I want to help them to learn to love God, to find truth and beauty everywhere, in everything, to be well-mannered and grateful. I want them to know they are wanted and needed, they are important, they are inestimably valuable.

That's a lot to pack into a moment. Especially when there are LOTS of moments, and I am LOTS of kinds of tired. Tired of being stepped on, climbed on, interrupted, whined to, negotiated with. It's in those moments that I have to remind myself that one day, the moments will be gone.

I wish I could say that made it easier instead of harder. I wish it was some kind of magic switch - that we could say "it goes so fast" to each other and voila! parenting is a joyful piece of cake again. But it's not. It's the most wonderful position in the world, yet it has a looming, definite end, and the quality of your work is of, quite literally, vital importance. P.S. You may or may not be rewarded. How's that for a job description?

What I have been wishing for this week is that, instead of them entering a "time" in their lives when they don't want me around - why can't they just be programmed to have short times like that every day? I guess that's what naptime is for?

Ask me what I did last night.

2009-08-14T10:19:00.005-04:00

A few of us have been wrestling a little bit lately with what it means to live in the grace of God. What does it mean to live fully covered by the Gospel? To embrace the freedom Christ secured for us on the cross?

For me, last night, it meant big hair and hard rock.

See, over the summer, I'd started to get a little self-conscious about my holiness. I was part of a study at church that consisted of mainly older, wiser, more conservative and traditional women. While I still felt largely like a voice of dissent - a raging postmodern compared to this crowd - there was a certain feeling starting to set in. An old nemesis. I can't believe I didn't recognize it, as we' spent so much time together in the past.

Guilt. Guilt that I wasn't the teetotaling, perfect homemaking, gentle-speaking mother that I was being mentored to be in this class. I used my powers of wit and sarcasm to mask and suppress it, but with each chapter and interaction the guilt seeped deeper...without me noticing.

This week the topic of freedom entered a few more of my conversations and even though my tongue could speak the words of freedom, my actions betrayed my guilty spirit. I hid the bottle of wine on the counter from visiting eyes. I kept my facebook status silent about my plans to attend the concert last night. I disclaimed before telling people where we were going... 'oh, it's just a silly concert, sounded like a good idea a few weeks ago...'

I actually had kind of a pit in my stomach in the car on the way there, until we remembered that we'd read somewhere that one of the bands' lead guitarists had become a Christian. Oh, okay then...we were going to watch a brother on stage... I could share that with people if they questioned my choice to attend... (guilt makes you irrational).

But at some point - maybe watching the groupies in front of us and the stoners they'd attracted - it hit me. THIS is living in freedom. Guilt by association does not apply in the Kingdom of God. In spite of what is going on around me here, in spite of what is going on on stage or behind it, in spite of the drink I am drinking or the food I am consuming or what I have chosen to wear, I live in the righteousness of Christ. God may look down on this event and see total depravity - I sure did - but speckled throughout the crowd he sees people who look just like Jesus.

Oh, the freedom. To stand in that crowd and love them, to love their wackiness and their passion and to pray for that energy to be directed one day toward Christ. To sing along with these meaningless lyrics and know that my hope is in something other than this, that I believe in a love that doesn't bite, and a kingdom where no roses have thorns. For a few hours last night, in that crowd of old rockers and former groupies and 20-year-ago middle schoolers finally living their concert fantasy like me, I felt more relevant than I have in, well, maybe ever.

So, ask me what I did last night.

I saw the Rock of Ages at a Cheap Trick/Poison/Def Leppard concert.

Exclusive Interview with Reclusive Blog Author Amy Wright

2009-07-14T15:40:00.004-04:00

Hi, Amy. Let me be the first to say welcome back to Amy Writes. The blogosphere has seemed dark and vacuous in your absence.

Wow, dark and vacuous? Well, I don't know about that - but I do appreciate the kind words. It's nice to be back.

How about we start at the beginning: Where have you been since May 4?

May was a pretty crazy month for us. At least, I think it was. I have trouble remembering back that far. After the auction I was craving a change of scenery, so we spent Mother's Day weekend in Orlando. Nothing says "Happy Mother's Day" like SeaWorld at 92 degrees. The rest of the month just started spinning out of control after that - all of the end of the year activities piled on top of each other. You know ... last week of Bible Study, last week of piano, last week of school... everything involves some kind of preparation and multiple parties. Oh, and I taught Chloe how to swim, which was basically me holding her in the water for 6 consecutive days, waiting for the Department of Children and Families to show up inquiring about the screaming child. But, we made it through and (as far as I can remember) had a great couple of months.

Didn't you take a road trip in early June?

Yes, yes we did. Boy did we. After a couple weeks of preparation, involving meticulous packing and snack planning, we snatched Eden out of school and drove 9 hours to middle Georgia, where we got to spend about 36 hours with Matt's wonderfully awesome family. We dragged the girls away from their cousins there to head north to the Atlanta area, where we attended my cousin's wedding. In Atlanta we were able to visit with numerous friends and other family members before heading on to Greenville, SC for a long-overdue stay with my best friend of 30 years. Greenville is a beautiful city! You must get there sometime.

Having picked as many berries as possible and enjoyed a fantastic visit at Chez Mason, we ventured south for our first trip to Savannah, where one of Matt's cousins and his family have taken up residence and are opening a Melting Pot. Can't wait to get back there! Savannah is old. I adore old.

We landed in Gainesville for the final weekend, partying with family and friends until it was time to head home. 10 days, 1800 miles, 40+ family members... it's nice to be home.

So how are you spending the rest of the summer?

It seemed really daunting at first, to have this whole blank calendar in front of us. How was I going to entertain these children for 12 hours a day? But, it's been falling into place. We've been hitting the beach as much as possible - Eden has taken up snorkeling and Chloe is becoming a mermaid, so it's a crowd pleaser. We also take advantage of the free movies, spend a lot of time at the library, go to the pool and do art and science projects. The days go better when the girls know the schedule, so last week we made a big calendar and they held me to it.

But not blogging?

No, apparently not. Just in the course of writing this one blog I have been interrupted 127 times. I have, however, taught myself to crochet, which is easier to put down and pick back up than a blog.

I'm sure that you're not spending ALL your time with the kids. I mean, they have to sleep, right?

Yes, yes of course they do. We've spent some time with friends, which is always lovely. We were supposed to go see Aersomith last night, but Steven Tyler strained his leg - occupational hazard of being a 60-year-old rockstar. But mostly, Matt and I have been ravenous film watchers this summer. Between Netflix and the library, we've been catching up on the last 75 years of Hollywood glory. Did you see John Adams? We obsessively changed our facebook statuses regarding where we were in our John Adams consumption. It was like we were hearing America's story for the first time, we wanted to tell everyone. That has been a highlight of our summer on the couch.

Your summer on the couch? Sounds healthy.

I know, right? Lethargic gluttons that we are. No, after 6 years of trying to figure out how to exercise in Florida heat with children, we "invested" in a treadmill, and it is one of my favorite things we have ever purchased. I love a good sweat, and running on a treadmill in a Florida garage is a good way to experience one. Furthermore, it has an ipod dock, so we can just plug in and go. No pesky earphones.

Furthermore?

Furthermore. Really. Who says that? But seriously, it is cool. I've been listening to sermons by Joel Hunter, the pastor at Northland Community Church in Orlando. He is thoughtful and funny and intelligent and they are all about 30 minutes...exactly the right length for a good run. I think when I get through them, I'm going to start an audiobook.

Speaking of books, have you been reading much this summer?

Not exactly "much." I read The Shack out of curiosity, and I read The Time Traveler's Wife on a very strong recommendation. (Loved it!) I just finished The Friday Night Knitting Club, which I think inspired the desire to crochet. Well, it inspired a desire to knit, but after a little research I determined that crocheting would be more practical for my "needs."

Finally, how do you feel about Michael Jackson?

Oh, MJ! I am very, very sad. Not so much because I was a superfan (I wasn't), but because I think it's such a powerful example of what our celebrity-worshiping culture combined with the generally judgmental spirit of the Church can do to a person. We killed him, really. Sure we can blame his dad for throwing him on stage too young or his own weird personality or whatever, but if we don't stop this idolatry, we are going to devour all of the genius that God sees fit to bless us with. Michael was a genius, and I think he was probably a pretty nice guy, whose lyrics often expressed a clear understanding of the role of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

Woah. Tell us how you really feel!

Sorry. I keep doing that. I'm in a Bible Study this summer with 3 other girls my age and about 10 women my parents' age, and I keep hearing myself saying what I really think - which is almost never what anyone else is thinking. My gut feeling is that these women find me unnerving. There may be a few that would say "refreshing," but I'm betting the majority is unnerved, and sorry to have invited me to the "invitation only" study. Ha!

So will you be blogging anymore this summer?

I hope so! It's nice to finish a sentence. We'll see what kind of response this gets, and if I can fit it into our calendar, so that the girls will let me do it.

The results are in!

2009-05-04T20:17:00.002-04:00

Friday was a pretty incredible day in the hangar.

And a pretty incredible day in the body of Christ, too.

It started a few minutes before 9, when I arrived at the facility to find the rental company already unloading the tables and chairs. All of them. A perfectly completed order - or at least, exactly what we needed.

Then a group of 10 (or so) guys showed up and started manhandling 8 foot tables - setting them in place as we requested, then moving them as we requested, all the while saying please and thank you and smiling and stuff.

There was another group of ladies who couldn't work hard enough...lugging item after item out of our storage office and into the hangar...then putting them in order...making them look pretty... just generally being amazing.

At some point, I became aware of the sound guys who were capably setting up - needing nothing from anyone, just doing their thing - and doing more than we expected.

In the lobby, my precious Mandi stared at her computer all day - masterfully organizing and graciously receiving last minute donations, registrations and various other requests. Her volunteers finished the gluing, pasting, stuffing and labeling required for a well-run event.

Back in the hangar, the decorating committee arrived. With masterpieces. They cheerfully decorated 30 tables, having schlepped all over town for weeks collecting vintage suitcases to turn into amazing centerpieces. Amazing.

By 3 o'clock, setup was complete. We actually had time for finishing touches. The caterers arrived shortly after that, again, not needing anything - just working, working, working.

Never before have I been a part of an event that ran so smoothly. (and I have been a part of a lot of events) No ego. No crises. No visible stress - though I'm sure we all felt a bit. This was God doing what He does best - using people to do His thing. It was the Body of Christ, being the Body of Christ. We were different people, of different churches, of different ages, using different gifts to work toward the same goal, and it was pretty incredible.

Oh, and we raised 35% more than last year. Because that's what God can do.

As the pendulum swings...

2009-04-27T19:54:00.005-04:00

I don't know how things look in your corner of the bubble, but here, orphans are very "in" right now.

Growing up in the church and in a Christian school, I was not aware that we had orphans here. Like, in America. In the late 20th century. Just didn't know. Orphans lived in orphanages with crazy ladies who made them scrub the floors until they shyyyyned like the top of the Chrysler Building, not in East Ft. Lauderdale.

I also didn't know anything about Africa. Well, I remember seeing pictures of malnourished people in Ethiopia, but I certainly didn't know that Jesus wanted me to do anything about it.

Didn't really know that I should care about homeless people either. Unless I was telling them about Jesus. And it would be nice if I told them about Jesus while handing them a sandwich.

No, when I was growing up in the church, I was made to understand that Jesus was the answer. We even sang a song about it! Join in if you know it! Jesus is the answer...for the world today...above Him there's no other...Jesus is the way...

Well, now I hang out with a whole bunch of Jesus people, and this new group of hip, cool Jesus people are all about orphans. And Africa. And homeless people. Helping homeless orphans in Africa is pretty much the mission of almost every Jesus following person I know down here.

And that's awesome. I get it. But I don't have access to homeless orphans in Africa, outside of the one we sponsor through Compassion. We don't feel called (yet) to foster parenting, so we're kind of limited in our care of orphans here, too.

What I do have access to is a ministry that works to empower student leaders to start and lead Christian clubs on their public school campuses, opening up opportunities to share the Gospel in their schools.

(crickets...)

It makes me sad to report that the large majority of fellow Jesus followers my age tend to blow that off, as if it's not an important ministry. So much so that I even hesitate to ask for support from them. As I spend hours working on the upcoming dinner auction, even I find myself questioning whether it's an actual Jesus-mission, since it's not meeting a physical need. We're not feeding homeless people or housing orphans or stopping the AIDS pandemic in Africa.

But over these last couple of weeks, as I've poured quite a bit of time and energy into this organization I have been reminded that Jesus really is the answer. That HE alone can change the world - and that maybe, by introducing a generation of middle and high school students to the life changing Gospel, we CAN prevent a generation of orphans, stop the spread of AIDS and bring the Kingdom to earth, as it is in Heaven.

And so, for now, that's where the pendulum is hanging for me. If you think about it, pray for the ministry on Friday, as we host our 5th Annual Dinner Auction and Golf Tournament!

I Love Old Rockers

2009-04-23T10:48:00.004-04:00

You probably know by now that I'm a music lovin' girl. An aficionado of the concert event. A live performance snob.

My many years of arena shows have been fulfilling. Not in a Jesus-replacing kind of way, but in a "talent like this is evidence of God" and "emotional response this powerful is evidence of a soul" kind of way. Regardless of who is onstage singing about what, and what they did before or after the show, I have that kind of affirming experience.

Now, you know how I feel about Billy, and the decision I made regarding his last tour. We've been through that. And you know how I feel about Third Day, and how I got way up there on my high horse about their ticket prices at their last show here. I'm becoming far more protective of my live music budget in my old age, which makes these upcoming decisions kind of difficult.

So I seek your advice.

First, you should know that I am in possession of a very hot ticket for the end of May. VERY hot. And not "hot" as in "man, it's hot in South Florida at the end of May." No, ladies, this one's for you...I will be shrieking it up for Jordan, Jon, Joey, Danny & Donny. I really wish I still had my T-shirts, hats, etc., but it gives me an excuse to buy the one that says "Too late, Jon! I'm married now..." I could write this off as a fun girls' night out, but the truth is that I'm a fan. Was a fan. I'm not expecting that "evidence of God or a soul" response, but I do expect to have a pretty awesome time.

Now, if I wouldn't pay for Billy...should I pay for Steven? I love Aerosmith, and I am absolutely fascinated by Steven Tyler. Fascinated. I don't really know how to process him. If I catch him on TV, nothing else has my attention - I just watch and listen, in some kind of trance. Here's an example. Watch that and try to find a place to file it away. There's no place for that, and I love it.
But I have never seen him live, and I think I would like to. Plus, they're coming with ZZTop.

And THEN... we've got Def Leppard, Poison and Cheap Trick on their way, too.

I see what's happening here. I have an affinity for bands or artists who have not had a hit in 15 years or more, and they are all on their "we need money" tours. Should I do my part to keep their children fed?

Hmmm...Perhaps I can start a new ministry that buys concert tickets for people in order to feed the hungry children of aging and fading rockstars who have misspent their millions...

Someday...or never...

2009-04-20T20:49:00.003-04:00

Woke up at 4:30 this morning, studied the Word for about 30 minutes, prayed for another 30. Tied on the sneaks and jogged two miles, returning in time to start the coffee for my beloved husband. Jumped in the shower and dressed - today was a Lilly day...skirt, heels, great matching tank. Applied makeup while listening to the family beginning to stir.

Produced a fresh, fluffy towel for Matt and crossed the hall to rouse the girls, who were already awake, dressed and cheerful. The three of us headed to the kitchen where I'd laid the skillet out and made the batter last night. Over a breakfast of whole wheat, organic pancakes, vegetarian eggs and fresh strawberries from our garden, we read our devotional book together and prayed for a peaceful day of loving Jesus as a family.

I cleaned the kitchen while the girls brushed their teeth and then took my spot at the piano, where Eden and I spent 20 minutes happily but intensely focusing on things like hand position and dynamics. I handed her lunch over - lettuce wraps, hummus and organic yogurt, of course - and send her on her way to school. She and daddy sing praise songs all the way there.

The day is spent in various ways - gardening, sewing, ironing, laundering. I also volunteer, call old friends and write a chapter in my book. Chloe and I fingerpaint and do puzzles together before meeting some friends at the park. We've packed a picnic - I'd put together some chicken salad sandwiches (I baked the bread overnight) and a vegetable crudite for us to share. We share the brownies with our friends and give our leftovers to the homeless man on the corner. We stop at the library to exchange our stack of books on our way home.

I always freshen up before Matt comes in the front door - I've been preparing dinner for an hour and I'd hate for him to find me smelling like those scallions and rosemary from the garden. Dinner is on the table when he arrives, the girls are bathed and Eden is finishing up her homework. We eat together and tell jokes. It's Chloe's turn to pick the board game - she chooses Boggle, Jr. and we play until it's time for books, prayers and bed.

----------------------------------

Who says being a mom is so hard? Especially a Christian mom! Who cares about her kids' health! And her appearance! And her husband!

Most of my days, I spend beating myself up in some way or another for not having a day like that. And it's absurd.

One for the underdogs

2009-04-14T21:14:00.002-04:00

Let's talk about why this is beautiful.

Seriously. Go watch it, and come back and let's chat.

2009-04-06T20:35:00.002-04:00

You'd think it wouldn't be all that hard to find the time to post a paragraph or two every day. Even every other day.

But, it is.

Rather, it's hard to line up the time to write with the moment of inspiration.

Like, right now. Time, but little inspiration.

I could write about the duck family that's living in the yard, or how I think I should have been a doctor, or about how Chloe was the bravest kid ever or about falling off the Weight Watchers wagon and trying to hitch a ride again...but, I don't have it. Stay tuned!

Grace - 1, Amy's Bad Attitude - 0

2009-03-27T20:15:00.006-04:00

Yesterday morning, I was grouchy.

First, I woke up with a headache. A shower always lightens my morning mood, but I didn't shower first thing because I was planning to a) exercise or b) clean house or preferably c) both, but when I emerged from the bedroom the housework for the day seemed an insurmountable task. Both kids woke up whining. Neither kid was moving at a pace adequate for making it out the door before noon. Matt was not home to help. My eyes brimming with tears and my head pounding, I sat in the rocking chair and held my face in my hands - reminding myself to breathe for a few minutes. Knowing that nothing in the world was wrong, except my attitude.

Having (sort of) collected myself, I made it into the kitchen to get lunches made. Here I found Eden, silently marching past me holding this sign she'd been working on while I was having my silent little tantrum:

Instead of snapping back at me, or just robotically doing whatever she had to do to stay out of the way of my "wrath," she showed me grace. Instead of making me hit my head on a cabinet or stub my toe or step on a lego for my bad attitude, God used my little girl to show me grace.

God, please let her keep this heart full of grace.
I know she doesn't get it from me - it has to be all you.

Reentry

2009-03-24T20:29:00.002-04:00

I'm sure you know how it goes...

"MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!!!!! Mommy's Back!!!! I missed you!!!...

What'd you bring me?"

We were still standing on wobbly sea legs when the girls demanded their gifts from abroad. We were prepared, but barely.

See, before we leave our daughters, we ask what they'd like for us to bring them. This is a good strategy for a few reasons. One: it gives us direction as we scour gift shops. Or, it keeps us from having to scour gift shops because we can just reach for the first candy/coloring book/art project/(but it's always candy) that we see. Two: It gives the girls something to look forward to about our return. Let's face it...mom & dad are no grandparents. But mom & dad with gifts - that's something to anticipate.

There's one more reason that asking for suggestions is a good plan: The suggestions can be pretty darn funny. Por ejemplo, from this cruise, Eden requested "a picture of a ship" so that she could draw and color herself on it. Passive agressive, or just wishful thinking? Of course, she also requested Mexican candy. From Mexico.

Well, this time, we struck out on their requests. We decided that our kids didn't need any overpriced cruise line logowear, or a $12 box of candy that they wouldn't eat, or any unidentified lollies from a shady "farmacia" in Mexico. There were no coloring books or bath toys to be found. The "Cruise Barbie" was interesting, but we knew she'd head straight for the Barbie drawer - soon to find her body naked and her hair matted.

What we did come home with were two frequent-cruiser free hats that would never see the tops of our own heads and two precious, beautifully embroidered shirts purchased in a Mexican market.

I'd already broken the news to Eden that I couldn't find a picture of the ship for her to color (yes, she asked where it was), and that the candy selection was terrible. But I assured them both that they would love what we'd picked out for them.

So when it was time for the big reveal, Matt handed over the hats to their mild amusement. They politely acted excited about the hats being "from the big ship", but clearly they were waiting for the Big Show. I produced the tops with a little exaggeration ("It's just like what the Mexican girls wear!!") and they were thrilled. Chloe stripped immediately and put hers on.

Eden's won't go over her head.

After a few minutes of stretching, wiggling, forcing, she stepped away, put the hat on and said,

"It's okay. The hat's enough."

Man, I love that kid.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2009-03-17T15:25:00.000-04:00

...but what if they say "yes"?

2009-03-09T19:42:00.002-04:00

I fear very little.

At least, I think I fear very little.

Flying. I fear that. My children making self-destructive decisions. I fear that. Spiders. Showering at home alone.

But the normal stuff - the stuff that all the "no fear" sermons are about - no sweat here. The future? Nope. Change? Bring it on. Public speaking? Not a bit. (okay, maybe the sermons don't address public speaking, but it's always at the top of all the lists). Failure?

(ahem) Failure? ...

(...crickets chirping...)

Well, er, uh, that's the thing I am trying to figure out. Do I fear failure, or do I fear success?

As I've mentioned before, I am full of ideas. Full of them. And every last one of them is brilliant. I'm sure of it. As I've also mentioned before, I would like to write a book. I even have an idea for one. It's brilliant. And it is brilliantly lodged in my head.

Recently, the prospect of attending a writers' conference has entered my thoughts. Just a fun weekend where I could make some new friends, learn a few tricks and, hopefully, be inspired to put pen to paper. Or, where I could schedule an actual meeting to pitch "my book" to an actual person with actual power to actually get it published. Me, who has never written a chapter of fiction in her life. In front of a publisher. Transferring my ideas from brain to paperback.

I rarely catch myself off guard. I know what to expect from me. But the panic that entered my psyche at the possibility...the possibility... of that transpiring was startling. As I trudged through the deluge of brainwaves, I tried to determine what pushed my panic button and I think it was this question: "... but what if they say yes?"

What if I trick someone into editing and publishing my book? Then what? How will I write a whole book? How could I stand for someone to edit it? What if the public hates it? What if they love it, and I have to write another one? Where will the next idea come from?

One thing was certain: I needed to start writing more. Back in the saddle, ol' gal. So I took a suggestion from Matt, my superfan, and thought about writing for a magazine. I even took the first step, requested an interview from "a source," who, of course, agreed, because he's cool like that. Now it's time to pitch the magazine...but I am paralyzed. What if they say yes? What if they assign the story and I have to write a feature for the first time in 10 years? Then what?

I know I am exposing myself as a basketcase here, but I know I'm not alone. Right? Please say I'm not alone?

This is Me on Weight Watchers

2009-03-08T21:04:00.004-04:00

Today, I had squash for lunch. Hamburger for dinner, light bun, no cheese. No chips, potato salad or watermelon. Extra corn and tomatoes. Yogurt and granola for breakfast. Yesterday, I baked a cake and didn't have one lick of batter. Or icing. Not. One. Lick. I had a spinach and egg white omelet in the morning and pea & barley soup for dinner. Strawberries for dessert, instead of ice cream. I made a tuna salad for lunch last week. Not a tuna salad sandwich. Tuna. On Salad.

Last Tuesday I started Weight Watchers (again), and this has been me ever since. Bragging? Not really. Just...mystified.

Here's the deal. My body is involved in some kind of intense love affair with about 20 pounds. No matter what I do to separate the two, destiny brings them back together. I'm so used to these stowaways that I sometimes believe that they belong there. In 9 doctors' appointments last year, not once was I told to lose weight. I can run a mile (or more, but I get bored) without getting winded. There are even some photos of me in the last couple of years that I don't want to delete.

But once every few months I catch a particular profile view in a store window, or I get tired of waiting for half the clothes in my closet to fit again, and I head back into Weight Watchers. I must have 10 sets of "Welcome Material."

I never learn anything new. Once you're a POINTS counter, you're a POINTS counter. They switch up the program once in awhile, but it doesn't change. A cookie is always 3 points. A banana is always 2, and so on. It's nothing that I can't do on my own. Really.

Except that it is. Why I have to pay someone for the privilege of getting myself to a meeting and a scale once a week in order to make wise eating choices I will never know. But I do.

Matt says it's because I make a game out of it, the way I do with the grocery shopping. Maybe. I do come from a family of intense competitors.

Now if I could make a game out of housework...

Positive Post Tuesday - Go visit Raquel!

2009-03-03T14:08:00.003-05:00

Several months ago a few of us bloggy people got together weekly for some bloggy chats, and we made some wonderful bloggy friends. Like Photoqueen. And Scott the Crazy Disciple. And Brenda. And, of course, the Cool 'Rents.

There was a lot of silliness (we are a funny bunch, if I do say so myself), but from time to time, we were able to encourage each other and, even help one another out.

Enter Raquel. Raquel was the youngest of our cool chat regulars - a high schooler who held her own with a chatroom of mostly thirtysomethings. (I'm sounding geekier and geekier, aren't I?) Without saying too much more, let's just say that God had Raquel and I in the same virtual place at the same time for a reason.

PLEASE, go read Raquel's post and see what God is doing through the ministry of First Priority in South Florida!

I Heart Faces - Messy Ones!

2009-03-03T13:38:00.004-05:00

There's something about that second child. Something that is just...so...different. You think you've got this parenting thing all figured out. You've analyzed your firstborn, figured out where all of her traits and quirks come from. You fully expect your second one to follow suit, because it is so obvious that "we have strong-willed/compliant/gifted/accelerated/laid back children." And then #2 makes her entrance, and God shows you a thing or two about how much you really know.

So here is our second one. Our little scene stealer. Why smile for a photo, when you can SMILE for a photo? Her older sister is all about the mechanics - Making the s'mores. Counting the s'mores. Serving the s'mores. This one is all about enjoying the s'mores, and anything else she can find to enjoy.

Photoqueen posted a link to this Messy Faces contest (along with a precious picture of Photobaby!). I'm sure you understand why I felt compelled to enter this photo. Visit www.iheartfaces.com to check out the other entries!

Wednesday Warm Fuzzies - The Return!

2009-02-25T21:10:00.003-05:00

I shuffled into the bedroom, carrying my enormous hospital water cup and climbed into the bed. Reaching for the remote, I pulled the covers up over my aching body. I was tired of TV, but my 4 days of miserable illness had drained so much life that all I could handle was idle channel surfing. It would just be a few minutes before Matt would be finished with his Bible Study and come back to keep me company.

I met channel after channel of static, until it happened. The Warm Fuzzy. The remote fell from my hand as I settled back against the pillows and felt just a little bit better.

It didn't matter that I own the DVD of the concert I'd stumbled across. Billy was on TV, and it made me happy.

So, I thought I'd write about it. I may have mentioned my "affinity" for Billy Joel before. But I don't think I've ever explored just what it is about The Piano Man that elicits such a reaction in a girl 30 years his younger. Here we go.

When I was growing up, Billy was huge. Remember Uptown Girl? What MTV-era kid didn't grow up with Billy the mechanic, drooling over Christie Brinkley? Okay, maybe the ones who didn't have older sisters. Well, I did, and I could sing almost all the words to all the songs on the Greatest Hits collection by the time I was like 10.

One of my first concerts would be the Storm Front tour, sometime in 1990. It was my first experience with the lights/noise/action of a big rock show. I have no idea why I was allowed to go, but I felt instantly cool, and I bought the T-shirt.

Later in high school Billy would return and I would see the River of Dreams tour. Twice. Each experience deepened my appreciation. Each performance would include a new (to me) song that would blow my mind. I'd have to find it on CD (in the "value" rack because it was 20 years old) and wear it out. I think, as much as I was drawn to the music, that I was drawn to the discovery. There weren't a lot of other 15-year-old girls rocking out to The Ballad of Billy the Kid. Billy was uniquely mine. I felt like I understood something on a different level, like a Trekkie appreciates Shatner over Stewart or whoever those guys are. It gave me something to talk about with my friends' parents.

At this point, I've seen him live 8 or 9 times, including this really cool Q & A show he did while I was in college. Each performance has been different, each has had its own character, as if Billy is completely incapable of separating life from music. He is so intimately connected with his art that it bleeds through his setlist. He's not feeling it? He won't play it. It's hard not to connect with that kind of authenticity.

And as a musician, there is not one Billy Joel song that I cannot completely lose myself in. The haunting melody of The Stranger. The brilliant orchestrations of Miami 2017. The faster-than-all-get-out opening of Angry Young Man. I don't like books that I feel like I could've written. I don't like music that I feel like I could have composed. Never, in a gazillion years, will I ever come close to the brilliance or complexity of just one of his pieces. Never.

Finally, as a Christian, Billy's lyrics are a window to the hopelessness of a lost and hurting world. And while I am rocking out to Only the Good Die Young, I really, really do pray that God will capture Billy Joel and redeem his abundant talent, soon.

So, now you know the answer to the question..."What is it about Billy, Amy?"

Now, who's your Billy?

A while back, I started a "feature" called Wednesday Warm Fuzzies. Not sure what happened to it, other than life. Here we are again.

No Question about Who's in Charge Around Here

2009-02-25T17:40:00.002-05:00

This was posted outside the kitchen this morning.

Translation: Do not make my lunch, because it is Hot Dog Day.

Update: School

2009-02-13T15:29:00.004-05:00

There's a certain time of day when the sun's rays enter our family room at just the right angle. When the floors and counter tops are clear, the light bounces around a little and gently warms the room and it feels like summer. I love summer.

Today, that time of day was early, while Eden was still in school, and my heart felt a little sad - just a little - that she couldn't be home to walk through the family room and feel summery with me. The thought crossed my mind that, if we home schooled, every day could feel like summer. The girls could play outside in their own backyard in the middle of the day whenever they wanted - not just for 10 oppressively hot but miserably short weeks in the middle of the year.

This morning was the volunteer appreciation breakfast at Eden's school. I didn't know what to expect other than "tons of food," and that only because I'd been given a heads-up by some teachers the day before. What I encountered was one of the sweetest little events I've ever attended. Yes, there was a lot of food - all of it provided by these overworked and underpaid teachers. Someone took a LOT of time to decorate the media center - sweetly set tables with centerpieces made by students. Balloons. The breakfast spread was painstakingly displayed - Egg casseroles. Beautiful fruit bowl. Donuts arranged on trays, no boxes, not a hint of smudged icing, no stacking. The principal spoke. The volunteer coordinator spoke. The mayor spoke. The chorus sang. The poetry club read a poem. Seriously, the only difference between this and any of the dozens of similar Christian school events I've attended is that they didn't open in prayer. Well, and the part about the mayor.

So there's the struggle. As happy as we are and have been with this school choice, there's a part of me that wants my kids home, where I can watch them be kids all day long. But I think I've maybe just been dwelling too much on the "you're gonna miss this" idea. (as I try to shoo them outside to play and they protest...)