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North Dakota

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After a 29 hour road-trip the Keller family reached North Dakota.
All I can say is…traveling non-stop is a bonding opportunity. We talk, the kids watch movies and we inhale America rolling by. I notice the land and the people and the places. And I always think could I live here?
The thing I love about the people here is a work ethic bar none. Farmers work their butts off and it gives perspective to my groans and moans when I think I have reached my limit. I just think of my cousins getting up in the middle of the night to feed the animals after an 18 hour work day.
I love it here. The friendly people, the open sky and the beauty of endless hills of corn.
I can’t think of a better vacation.

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Husband Bashing

The second the words left the woman’s mouth, floating in the air like a little bomb on the cusp of detonation, I knew I had to chime in.  While her comment was probably not malicious–if left unchecked –the game of husband bashing could do irreversible damage to the Christian ladies gathering.

I’ve noticed this sport usually starts with a hefty dose of female empowerment masked in affirmations and coy compliments… “Ladies, I have been so blessed by this group and by these AMAZING female friendships to the point where I feel like I don’t even need a man around anymore.  Don’t you agree?”

Subtle wink…dainty pout …lips parted with just a hint of an invitation.

And then each woman, happily married, bitter and single, or somewhere in between… makes an instantaneous but crucial decision –do I jump on the bandwagon and annihilate my husband’s (or ex-husband’s) character or defend him and take a stand against the crowd?

Unfortunately, I’ve learned this lesson the hard way.  I was the bitter chick for a few years after my divorce that turned tea parties into toxic parties and now I cringe at my past behavior. 

(Hurt people hurt people, right?)

Just as the first few lovelies dove onto the slippery slope of male abuse, I jumped in and loudly interrupted, “Look ladies…the beauty of healthy female friendships is how it enhances marriage –not replaces it.  When our uniquely feminine emotional needs are addressed by empathetic girlfriends who understand us then we don’t place false expectations on our man to decipher our complicated hearts.”

I paused and waved my arms around for emphasis.  “This allows our husband to operate as a real man who loves to fix and struggles to listen to chick-speak without the burden of fulfilling our every whim.  My husband is a tremendous man who both refines and compliments me.  And while I certainly love all of you, I am first and foremost my husband’s biggest fan and I refuse to act like he is big dolt or a Homer Simpson wannabe.”

The table went silent and tongues poised to launch a volley of verbal assault paused and retreated.  The claws went back in and then a chorus of agreement chimed in.  “Oh yes, we do need our men…they are so wonderful…I do love my husband.”

I sat back down in turmoil –glad I had spoken up but frustrated I even needed to.  Sadly, I see this happen all too often –women gossiping loudly about their husbands faults and complaining to whoever lends a willing ear.  I know if the shoe were on the other foot and I discovered my husband trash talked me in public I would be devastated.  So why do women act like we have a hall pass in this area?

In an ideal world there would be no double-standards in marriage.  And though I far from perfect in this area and still consider myself a recovering gossiper, I try to remember I can’t expect my husband or our children to act differently than the behavior I model.  So what am I teaching my son and two girls when they accidentally hear mommy dissing daddy on the phone to her BFF?

What if we –as wives –chose to affirm our husbands instead of nit-pick?  What if we saw the best and let go of the little irritants?  What about truly forgiving and FORGETING, instead of forgiving and then repeating the offense to the gals in Pilates to get a big laugh?

I want to be the type of woman who champions her husband at all costs.  I try to speak of him and about him in the highest regard.  And I’ve found, quite inadvertently, my words and actions are helping him become the man he wants to be because he feels supported–even when he makes mistakes and even when he struggles.  This allows him to take bigger risks and move towards the best in life because he knows I am his team-mate and not a passive aggressive opponent licking his face and simultaneously peeing on his leg.

Harold Macmillan –a British politician once said, “No man succeeds without a good woman behind him.”  I think Harold is on to something.  And I think starts by being an advocate of marriage and learning the art of keeping our mouth shut.

 

 

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No Money, No Honey

I’ve never really understood how “visual” men are when it comes to being attracted to the opposite sex.  Maybe it’s because I’m a woman and my metrics for measuring up a dude are vastly different.  Sure, looks played a part in my overall decision-making process but it was never a deal-breaker if the guy had other stellar qualities.

(*note: my husband’s hotness was a bonus on top of his other attributes)

But when I saw a new study in the OC Register the other day, I had an epiphany.  The article, titled –Women aren’t looking for an unemployed man, online dating service’s survey discovers, suggests single men without a job are lonelier than the Maytag repairman as 73% of women refuse to consider dating an unemployed man.

(For those too young to remember, Maytag had an ad campaign showing a lonely repair man in his shop insinuating their washers and dryers rarely break…)

And then it hit me why men date hot chicks who have the brain cell capacity of a flea – it’s because men are wired to be visual in the exact same way women are wired to seek financial security from a mate.

Tit for Tat.  Hot Chicks vs Cold Hard Cash.  Show me the Money vs DD Cup Size

Jokes aside, I have to believe it’s how God designed us.  Despite feminism and women’s rights, the truth is most women feel vulnerable when they are pregnant or raising small children and a husband  with an adequate income allows her to focus on nurturing and caring for her young without the burden of financial stress. 

I know this all too well because when I was single mom the financial stress was OVERWHELMING.  But once I got remarried, the burden lifted.  I still had to go to work and provide but it felt more manageable with a partner.  I don’t believe women are designed to carry the financial burden alone. We can do it (and some do it very well) but it doesn’t sit well on our frame just as most men struggle to get up at night with baby.  They can certainly do it but it mommy does it so much better with a smile and a song instead of bad words from a cranky and grumbling daddy.

The male focus on visual aesthetics is not just immaturity.  According to Dr. Phil McGraw, it’s a “psychosocial, biochemical and neurological gap—so trying to get a man to function according to female standards is like trying to get a pig to fly. It’s just not going to happen. That old but often accurate notion that men are hunters seems especially applicable here.”

 
Men need to be quick on their feet and act fast to bring home the bacon while women need to plan and store provisions for a long winter and hungry mouths to feed.
 
Terry – a reader from the Register article responded: ” A man is set up on a blind date, first question, what does she look like? A woman is set up on a blind date, first question is, how much money does he have?”
 
But here is the catch, although we are designed to operate in a certain manner, we, unlike our four legged friends, have a choice in the matter.  We don’t have to  take this”pre-wiring” to the extreme.  Not every woman needs to be a gold digger and not every man needs to be a skirt chaser. 

We let the world distort God’s standards of provision and beauty.  We let Cosmo and Maxim tell us what matters most and we tune out the simplicity and brilliance of God’s design for male/female relationships.

A man who can provide a roof over a woman’s head and put food on the table is a good catch.  A man who will take a job at Starbucks, or parking cars or get up every morning and apply for a hundred jobs in a bad economy is a treasure indeed. 

A woman who takes care of herself and others, has a sweet spirit and big smile (though she may not be a super-model) is still a beauty.  A woman who follows God, is faithful and true and loves without barriers is ravishing.  And a woman who is physically appealing on the outside but nasty on the inside is not worth the misery of a dreadful marriage, or worse yet, an expensive divorce.

I think it’s time we stop complaining how men only like hot chicks and women only want guys with a job and instead start redefining what real beauty and real provision actually are.

And maybe we need to fix our broken “pickers” so we spot the real jewels when we find them. 

Is your “picker” in need of some fine-tuning? 

 

 
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Epic Firework Fail

Last year the 4th of July was miserable.  My husband accidentally launched our baby into a sand volleyball court from her stroller (oops) and then the fireworks scared the spit out of her. 

I spent thirty minutes crouched in a stranger’s open garage hiding behind a suburban cupping my hands over Kolby’s ears trying to block the booming cracks of the Ladera Ranch fireworks extravaganza as she wailed in big gulpy sobs.

But as much as last year’s 4th stunk Twinkies, it couldn’t be worse than the epic fail of the firework show in San Diego that went awry last night.

My family parked on a high hill this year above the Ladera show to: (a). maintain a safe distance from the scary noise for Kolby, and (b.) to have a car to stash our toddler if she went into freak out mode. 

The awesome part about our perched spot was being able to watch ten different firework shows from San Diego to Newport Beach. 

About 9:00pm we were watching a show in the San Clemente/San Diego direction when it looked like a bomb went off.  Flashes rocked the sky more intense than any choreographed show I’ve even seen.

I joked to the crowd we better pack up and head out because San Onofre was exploding.  Everyone laughed nervously, but we all scratched our heads as the most intense explosion we had ever seen went off for about fifteen seconds.

This morning I opened my computer to read in the news how a San Diego barge full of fireworks accidentally launched all at once.

That’s right…ALL AT ONCE! 

EPIC FAIL!!!

I generally struggle with the fact that Californians spend millions of dollars on fancy fireworks shows and yet continue to hose our schools, but this takes the cake. (and yes I know they come out of different budgets)

In fifteen seconds hundreds of thousands of dollars literally went up in smoke and probably scared the pants off the crowd in San Diego waiting for a glitzy show and getting Hiroshima instead, 

So, if you saw something weird in the sky last night you aren’t crazy and it wasn’t aliens, just good old California  blowing up our tax dollars.

Did you see the massive explosion? Thoughts?

Photo Credit: Travis Cass via Instagram

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Death by Tan

“Bend forward and pose like Arnold,” Maggie instructed.

In a grimace of sheer humiliation, I leaned forward and did my best body-builder imitation. 

Maggie pointed the spray gun at my shoulders and released a cool blend of brown shellac and air.

It was my first ever spray tan and I was standing in my underwear in a little tanning tent feeling like a big goof.  But then I thought about exposing my Colgate white butt cheeks at the pool this weekend in La Quinta I remembered my motivation.

I am what most people call a fair girl.  I have naturally blond hair and blue eyes with a spatter of freckles dusting my nose.  I burn, I peel and even after a summer by the pool I am at my best a gentle shade of cream.

Self-tanner is my friend in the summer.  Usually I do a mystic-tan for big events, but because this weekend is my fortieth birthday I thought I would go all out for the personal touch.

And Kolby’s pre-school teacher (also a spa owner) gave me good deal.  How could I refuse?

Maggie looked at me and smiled.  “Now go home and sleep and take a shower in the morning.  Half of this will come off and you won’t be this dark.  Don’t be scared when you look in the mirror.  It won’t be this dark.  I promise.”

I turned and glanced in the mirror and almost fell over.  My body looked smoking tan but my face looked like the scary tan lady who took her kid to the tanning bed.

I looked like an Aborigine with blond hair. 

How could I go home like this?  I put on my glasses, paid her and skulked out.

When I got home I ran up to my room and grabbed a wipey and tried to undo the damage to my brown face.  My daughter Faith came upstairs and in her usual Jr. High tactfulness said, “Ummm, do you think she did a good job?”

I ran downstairs as my son and husband returned home.  Kyle walked in and started laughing, “Mom, who screwed up your face?”

Kolby stared and looked confused.  And then I started crying brown tears of shame.

My sweet husband calmed me down and stared at my tan legs and arms. “I like it,” he exclaimed.  It will be better tomorrow. 

Leave it to my darling man to talk me off the cliff.

I woke up this morning at 4:45am and showered.  And fortunately, Maggie’s prediction came true.  All the icky brown washed down the drain leaving me with a pretty golden glow.

Score this round    Sam -10    Vanity +10

 

 

 

 

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The Last days of “Thirty-Something”

I have seven more days to claim status as a “thirty something” before I tumble over the ominous hill to reach forty.

Holy Cow…Me 40?  I’m only 32 (in my mind)

I’ve got some mixed emotions on the matter. 

On the downside, the big Four-O sounds old.  People start telling you look good for your age instead of you just look good.  My metabolism has apparently nose-dived again and all of a sudden I get body aches when I overdo it running or lifting weights at the gym.  My heart is getting cranky and gravity and I are in a fierce battle for my perky parts.

I have a son starting High School for crying out loud.  Somehow this really makes me feel really ancient.  I remember High School.  It was only a few years ago…right? 

But as my body slowly decays, fortunately my brain and spirit are just getting warmed up. 

Age has ushered in contentment, something that always eluded me when I was young.  I adore where I am at, who I am with and the people and relationships surrounding me.  It feels so good to stop striving.  I can retire the heels and stop killing myself to be the “hot girl, the perfect mom, or the super-dee-duper Christian.”  I think I’ll settle for simply being me –imperfections, quirkiness and all.

But I don’t think you just arrive in these places.  It takes about forty years (give or take) to get there.

It takes suffering and pain and heartache to appreciate the simplicity and beauty of life.  It means getting on your knees and crying out to God for understanding and then getting up the next day and the next day and doing it all over again. 

And then one day you wake up and you are thirty-nine and you realize God is everywhere around you and has blessed you immeasurably more than you could ever ask or imagine.

Every day I get to sit down and write which makes me deliriously happy.  I get to walk outside each morning and smile and chat with my beloved neighbors and on Sundays (and lots of other days) I can visit the church I helped plant with my husband. I have a glorious daughter with a sweet and happy nature like sunshine, a strapping son who has allowed me to be his biggest fan cheering him on from the sidelines, a toddler who takes Dora bubble baths with me every night and falls asleep in my arms, and best of all…a husband who would slay dragons for me.  I have a wonderful family and dear friends who would travel all the way to the desert to toast me on my birthday.

It doesn’t get much better than this.

I think I like forty.  Saggy earlobes and all…

Do you have a big milestone coming up?

 

 

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Christians and the Birth-Control Controversy

Two weeks before my wedding I paid a visit to the lady doctor.  She poked and probed me and then asked me, “What sort of birth control do you use?”

“None,” I replied.

“What?  Aren’t you afraid of getting pregnant?” she suggested in a horrified tone.

“Ummmm…no, I haven’t had sex with my fiancé, so it hasn’t been a big issue.”

The doctor looked at me and frowned.  “Well now that you are getting married, are we putting you on the pill?”

“Nope, we want kids.” I said.

“Ok, after the kids.  Then what?” she asked.

And then I shrugged and sighed and shook my head.   Because the truth is I get confused about the birth control issue and Christian evangelicalism.  It’s a big blurry gray area of dividing ideologies and as time passes even my own paradigm shifts with new revelations, not to mention my own painful experience with different approaches.

What I do know is abortifacient contraception is not an option for me anymore. 

Recent evidence suggests abortifacient contraception –the Intrauterine Device (IUD), the day after pill, and even the regular birth control pill distort the natural design of conception.

So if you believe (like I do) that conception begins when an egg and a sperm meet and a spark of life ignites, then who am I to play God and get in the way of his plan?

For a great in-depth look at this topic -read Albert Mohler’s, “Can Christians Use Birth Control?”

But even without this controversial argument, every method of birth control I’ve ever used (besides a diaphragm, condom, or family planning) has always screwed up my body so much, that if I’m honest, I innately knew it wasn’t good for me.

The truth is birth control is just like all of those drugs advertised on TV.  Your initial symptom might go away –but beware of the twenty more issues you will now have… Like all those poor Propecia guys, who tried to grow more hair but now can’t get an erection.  Personally, if I was a dude I’d rather be bald!

And so it goes with birth control and the promise of consequence free sex.

When I took the pill in college, I not only gained weight but got so depressed I hid in a corner curled in a ball weeping.  Then I tried Depo-Provera -a nightmare of synthetic chemicals injected in my behind.  The side effects were so bad it was questionable if I would ever even want to have sex again.  I gained weight, became severely anemic and could barely get out of bed for three months –definitely not sexy!

Then there was the abortion I hid (like all my friends did in their early twenties).  But ironically, Planned Parenthood forgot to tell me and thousands of other young women about the consequences.  They didn’t mention how almost fifteen years later the recognition of what I had done would hit me like a tsunami, drowning me with devastating waves of grief and sorrow I then had to process.  Somehow I repressed the emotions long enough to justify my behavior –until I couldn’t anymore and the pain seeped out like a hidden vault of toxic tears.

All of my efforts to play God with birth control and taking life had detrimental consequences to my body and my heart.  It’s the reason I champion life now and speak to teen moms and parents of unplanned pregnancy. 

Pain changed my paradigm about birth control and life.

Maybe if we saw sex in marriage as a gift and as a potential life creating union it would mean more to us.  Maybe if we looked at children as a unique treasure and not as an imposition it would alter our selfish tactics.  Maybe we should question the price of “sexual freedom” and think twice about destroying our bodies for the sake of promiscuity.

As for my husband and I, we have chosen to use natural family planning methods.  For us, this makes sense with our belief in God’s design.

But it hasn’t been an easy road to navigate and there are no pat answers. 

What do you think about the birth control issue within the Christian evangelical realm?

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One Thing

I expected to see thousands of screaming doe-eyed girls, long lines and expensive parking (a whopping $20) at the boy band concert I sold both my arms and legs to attend with my daughter Faith last night.  I knew I would be deaf by the time I drove home, cringe at the over-priced Diet Coke and delight in my little girl swooning over Harry Styles.

I brought an Advil for the headache I anticipated and psyched myself up to be the cool mom for one evening –difficult for me at best.

I laughed at the banners –“Snog Me Harry” and the glittery t-shirts saying “Mrs. Nials to-be.”  One clever girl threw a walkie-talkie on stage and got the band to chat with her.

I planned and expected many things for our girl’s night out, but the one thing I didn’t expect to encounter was a strong brush with humility –from the band One Direction of all places.

And even this morning it lingers.

One Direction –the boy band de jour –was surprisingly, one of the more grateful groups of young men I’ve seen in a very long time.

These boys don’t take their success lightly.  They weren’t ego-maniacs despite their Beatles-like power to hypnotize little girls.  Even while panties and bras were flying on to the stage –they laughed and poked and teased each other with sweet self-deprecation. 

And fortunately for all of us parents who chaperoned –these lads had pipes and could dance and wail and brilliantly light up the stage.

But most importantly –they thanked the crowd no fewer than thirty times.  Each young man (five in all) took multiple opportunities to dote on their fans, appreciate their fans, encourage, affirm and edify their fans…over and over and over.

In a world of people pushing and striving for the spotlight, it was deeply refreshing to see rock stars who willingly give it away.

And their startling humility made an impact and made me think about my own personal thank-o-meter.

Do I thank people enough?

Probably not.

Maybe it’s time for a tune-up.  The truth is I want my life to be less about me and more about others.  I want to diminish (my ego) to allow others to flourish.  I want to be thankful for every friend, fan, like and reader.

I want it to be less about me and more about you.

So, here we go.

Thank you.  Thank you for reading the words I write.  Thank you for giving me a chance to pursue my dreams.  Thank you for commenting and loving and encouraging me on the overwhelmed days, the achy heart days and all of the ordinary underwhelming days.

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you!

I think One Direction has really figured out the “One Thing” –HUMILITY.

Do you have someone in your life you need to thank today?

 

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Muno’s Heart

“OK Kolby, what does daddy for a job?” I asked my two-year old in an attempt to teach her some basic family information.

“Ummmm…daddy make pants!” Kolby replied earnestly.

“Close sweetie!  Daddy’s a pastor.”

“Dat’s wright.  Daddy tells people bout Jesus and he fixes hearts.” Kolby said with a smile that could melt butter.

“Mommy, can Da Da fix Muno’s heart?”

“Of course he can baby!”  I ran and got Kolby’s red monster doll –Muno from the series Yo Gabba Gabba and we sat him in front of daddy and I told Tim very firmly he needed to tell Muno about Jesus.

Tim looked at me with mirth, shaking his head and laughing, but he played along with us .

“Muno, Jesus loves you very much,” Tim said in his best pastor voice.  “He knows sometimes you bite your friends and it makes him sad.  Jesus sacrificed his life for you on the cross because he loves Muno so very much.  He wants Muno to live an abundant life and have a strong heart. “

I whispered under my breath, “Abundant…seriously?  She’s two.”

Daddy frowned at mommy.

Muno then squeaked out, “I do want to follow you Jesus,” only it sounded a bit like daddy on Nitrous Oxide.

So daddy led Muno through a simple prayer.

Kolby sat quietly the entire time taking it all in.  Then she picked up Muno, thanked daddy and fell asleep in my arms shortly thereafter. 

I woke up this morning clutching Muno’s hand in mine.  Seriously.  Maybe the little guy was mourning his life of sin and needed some cuddling.

I rolled over and opened one eye sleepily gazing at my husband.  “Hey PANTS-tor…what’s up?” 

 

 

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All Fleeced Up

Check out my beret...

For the last twenty-one months I have been hustling –writing early in the morning, at lunch, during baby’s nap and at all sorts of odd times.  I have been jotting down notes in the car, at church, on scraps of paper and sometimes even tapping away on my iPhone to pen some fabulous tale of awesome I might otherwise forget.

And it’s all been for this day. 

Today, I am officially a full-time freelance writer.

I wrote a while back about a big decision we were praying over and how Tim asked for fleece from God and God provided the fleece by miraculously placing a white van on the freeway with a “Got Fleece?” license plate right in front of my car.

God is so stinking creative!

Well, this was the big decision –to go all-out for my dream or stick with the safe and secure route.  In all honesty, moving from a full-time steady pay-check to a life of an eccentric beret wearing writer/artist just scraping by didn’t sound too appealing to my husband. 

But God provided the fleece.

I secured a couple of steady writing gigs and negotiated a deal to do a little contract work for my tech job.

We won’t starve, although I still may wear the beret and start mumbling in French, and read all of the works by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway and maybe 50 Shades of Gray (if they offer a PG version).

I am pinching myself this morning and blown away by the grace of God and his mercy. 

Sometimes our dreams do come true with plenty of hard work and spit and gumption.

And a loving God who provides the fleece and doors of opportunity no man can shut.

What is your dream job?  What can you do today to move towards a career that resonates in your spirit and makes you feel alive?

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