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Perk and Joe

When I was in the hospital a few weeks ago the nurse blew up a plastic glove, drew a carton face on it and handed it over to my two-year old Kolby who promptly named it “Perk.”

I like this name –Perk.

It’s chipper and cheery –rather an invigorating moniker. It reminds me of strong coffee and laughter and liveliness. In a sterile hospital ER, Perk just might be the perfect name for a balloon friend.

Perk had big eyes with long lashes and a five finger-hawk for hair. She was a bit edgy, unpredictable –as far as balloons go and slightly mysterious. In all the craziness of EKG’s and CT Scans, Perk and her friend Joe made my day a little brighter.

Joe was daddy’s creation. The first balloon/glove creature met an untimely pop, so Tim decided to pirate a hospital glove and make his own version.

(I love how both the balloons have coffee references –it’s like these people know me)

Joe turned out to be a survivor. After three weeks, he is still going strong although I do expect to come home one day and find nothing but fizzled plastic and a choking hazard lying where he used to be.

I will always treasure Perk and Joe because they brought me comfort on a scary blue day.

I love balloons!

Their sole purpose on this planet is to garner a smile (please don’t bring up landfills here and rain on my freaking parade).

Balloons are for celebrations and surprises and I don’t know what to say so get yo’ butt better soon!

They are a bundle of “I’m sorrys” in shiny cellophane, vibrant airbags of kisses, and a thousand floating prayers with curly strings.

Balloons mean something.

I imagine Jesus has a few balloons in the back pocket of his purple robe. He probably pulls them out and creates ridiculous balloon animals like rhinos and octopi. I bet he plays around and prototypes new animal creations before dropping them on a remote island to mess with Darwinian scientists.

And sometimes, he helps a little two-year girl in a hospital name her balloon friend Perk to cheer up her mommy.

Jesus is cool like that…

Who can you give a balloon to today?

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How to Talk to Your Kids About Sex

“We had the talk today,” said my ten year old daughter Faith nonchalantly as she climbed in the car after school.

“Oh right, the puberty talk?” I nodded and inwardly groaned as my heart rate started steadily climbing and beads of sweat formed on my brow. “So, do you have any more questions they didn’t cover?”

(Please don’t ask me about sex. Please don’t ask me about sex.)

I looked in the rearview mirror. Faith took a deep breath and glanced up under her long dark lashes shyly. “Mom, why do I have to get a period every month? I mean what’s the point? It seems so terrible? Why did God do this to women?”

Hyperventilating, I thought to myself how this was so much easier with my older son. No curse of Eve, no sanitary items involved. Boners and sex 101, although awkward aren’t as complicated as the implications of the Christian female experience. And while Kyle asked questions much earlier and we had a running dialogue regarding sex –Faith seemed quite content to remain in the land of innocence and childhood naiveté, avoiding the topic altogether.

I paused, prayed and tried to figure out where to start. I don’t actually recall even having a sex conversation with my parents, until after they found a condom in the back of my car my senior year in high school (maybe a little too late…just saying). Sex was a topic, in generations past, we avoided. My husband remembers his mom casually saying, “Make sure to wear a condom,” as he rode over to his new girlfriends house on his bicycle his freshmen year in high school. Nothing against our parent’s methodology, but in our current hyper-sexualized culture, a proactive approach might be the better option.

Being a storyteller, I thought about weaving a tale of great rebellion, the fall of mankind and Jesus’ ultimate redemption and then throwing sex into the mix. But the epic narrative didn’t translate when I actually tried to articulate it, so after a few false starts, I just began with Adam and Eve and tried to stick to the facts without wetting my pants.

Here is what I’ve learned from talking to my kids about sex:

KISS (Keep it Simple Stupid)

Depending on how old your kid is, try and stick to what they ask you about. The details of intercourse are not necessary for a four year old asking about how babies are made. “Daddy helped mommy to put the baby in mommy’s tummy,” is probably sufficient. If they press for more, explain it matter of fact and without laughing. After a certain point –before your kids start school, use real names for sexual organs. Peanuts and Ya Ya’s don’t translate real well into elementary school.

Timing

When I explained to Faith how Kolby was conceived, her horrified face was enough to make me grateful I had waited until she was more mature. The last thing you need is your kindergartner telling his friends, “daddy sexed/humped/nailed mommy and now she’s knocked up.” Choose your moment wisely and then periodically check in to see if they have more questions.

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Explain Puberty in Detail

Puberty is a scary place. Celebrate the changes with your child and make it a sweet passage not a time of insecurity. We had a Man Ceremony with Kyle when his voice started changing at age twelve. Tim also took Kyle away for a dudes camping weekend and used a curriculum called Passport to Purity to start some great conversations. It was a little cheesy but it created openness and a level of safety for Kyle. Many of my girlfriends have also gone to a Puber-Tea, which covers some of the same info for girls and moms in a more feminine environment. (Apparently tea and scones helps a young girl come to terms with PMS and hormonal bitchiness better)

Don’t be afraid to talk about God and Sex.

God made sex. God made us to be sexual creatures. This is your moment as a parent to talk about the beauty of sexuality in marriage. Don’t use shame based language or act as if your kid is abnormal for having sexual desires. Affirm and build up marriage as the place God intended to let us experience this bliss.

Make sure you beat their friends to the punch!

Talk about sex with your child BEFORE their friends do. Talk about porn and sexting and how blow jobs are a sexual act and not a party favor, and all the things they will encounter in Jr. High. Christianity is not a hall pass for avoiding difficult conversations and don’t expect the youth pastor to do YOUR job!

What advice were you given as a kid about sex? Do you have any tips for broaching this conversation with your kids?

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Potty Humor

“Mommy, I made Elmo sad,” called little Kolby.

I hurried into the living room of my neighbor Keri’s house where Kolby was playing in their tot-sized plastic kitchen.  “Why did you make him sad?” I asked.

Two-year old Kolby hung her head low and sheepishly whispered, “I peed on him.”

I looked down and realized I was standing in a trail of yellow liquid.  Then I too hung my head low as I told my good friend my kid just urinated all over her floor.  Fortunately she was cool with it and reminded me our other toddler neighbor recently pooped in her garage.  Keri is gracious like that.

I don’t think I would have even tried this herculean feat of diaper eradication if it hadn’t been for Ms. Maggie –Kolby’s preschool teacher.  Ms. Maggie is very loving but also very firm and when she tells you to do something with her I mean business look, you generally do it fast. 

(Clearly she has the gift to intimidate preschoolers and grown women)

 Ms. Maggie said it was time to go cold turkey on diapers on Thursday afternoon when I picked Kolby up from school, so I immediately hid all the Huggies, made a trip to Kohls for some new panties and bought Pull-ups for bed-time.  By Friday we were ready to go. 

But Ms. Maggie forgot to mention how inconvenient cold turkey can be.

Now some of you are thinking, Sam you have two older children.  You have already done this. 

True, true…but motherhood has a way of erasing the really BAD memories and apparently I blacked it out because it was too painful to recall.

In all truth, it took Kyle a full year to figure out how to aim, fire and pee and he was well over three before I could relax.  And Faith, being my fairy-like unpredictable child managed to navigate the potty in a week when she was twenty months almost effortlessly  So, I have two polar opposite experiences to pull from that happened over ten years ago.  It’s not much to go on and I’m still as clueless as every other mother.  All I know is we are running out of Jelly Beans and stickers and blue Brach bunnies to bribe Kolby with to tinkle.

On Friday I had to take Kolby to the baby potty every twenty minutes to empty her pee pea sized bladder.  Sometimes she actually peed in the potty and made it burst out in song (thanks to a musical chip on the bottom of the bowl) and then she would jump off the potty mid-stream and yell and clap.

*Note to self* musical potties SUCK

It’s a crap-shoot (literally) to see what will happen every twenty minutes.  Sometimes she pees on daddy’s leg, or on the floor, or right next to the darn potty.  I feel like I have a puppy. 

When I finally put her Pull-up on for nap on Friday, Kolby and I looked at each other with great relief and a unanimous sigh.  At least for a few hours we could stop stressing.

On Saturday evening, after destroying about ten pairs of Minnie Mouse and Elmo underpants, we headed to church where I got schooled by the volunteers about how I am supposed to stay home during this crucial pee period.  And then Kolby hid in a corner of the church and pooped on Elmo just to proove their point.

On Sunday we ventured out to a birthday party at a park.  Kolby was doing great and keeping her panties dry. But about an hour in to the festivities she tugged on my hand and asked to use the restroom.  I ran to my bag and pulled out her princess potty seat cover and we took off to the public bathroom in the park. 

I sanitized the nasty toilet, put her little pink potty seat on the lid and placed my tiny girl on top.  Kolby smiled and started to pee, and the birds sang and the doves cooed and we were so happy for about a minute and then the world came crashing down.

The toilet was an automatic flusher and as Kolby slightly leaned forward it exploded as if a jet plane was taking off under my baby’s rear-end.  Kolby’s face contorted in fear and she started screaming.  She reached for me with tears and pee streaming down her cheeks and legs.  I grabbed my baby and then I started crying too and cursing the toilet. 

And then we stomped out of the bathroom defiantly and I grabbed a Pull-up and lovingly placed it on my girl’s bottom and we both stopped wailing.

I now belive cold turkey as a method when potty-training is highly overrated.  Kolby and I are more than content to settle for lukewarm, though I’m a little scared to face Ms. Maggie at preschool tomorrow.

 

 

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Ewoks, Evil Citrus and Eight Boo-Boo’s

I’ve started to feel like a teenager again.

But it’s not because I’m full of energy, hormones or even indecisiveness. Nope, my teen spirit smells like ProActive and Benzoyl Peroxide this time around.

Basically, I have become a zit face and it ‘aint perty.

I’ve been baffled by my usually clear skin’s change of direction. Have I done anything different? Is it stress?

Does raising teenagers give you pimples?

Could it be too much hanky panky? (Ha Ha, just checking to see if you read this dear!)

Then one day as sweet little Kolby counted eight boo-boos on my face and kissed them to make them “all betta,” it dawned on me whom the culprit might be.

LEMONS

I recently read how a dash of lemon in your water make you lose weight so I have been adding a wedge of citrus to every glass of water I down. (If I can’t get to the gym enough I can at least drink myself skinny, or so my reasoning assumed)

Now my mom is probably laughing right now, because unbeknownst to many, I grew up with horrible food allergies. I was that kid –the one who couldn’t drink sodas or eat pizza or have anything good because I would blow up and turn into an EWOK. Seriously –it was hidious.

But sometime into my thirties my food allergies waned. I ate my first egg in fifteen years and I lived. My husband says it’s all due to his amazing love because most of my allergies disappeared around the time we got engaged.

(Honey, it must be time for a vacation!)

So now I’m in lemon recovery and my zits are drying up and peeling off. It’s so attractive.

And I didn’t reaIize how hard it would be to starve myself of my little habit. I cheated on Friday and had a lemon drop martini and a small margarita on Saturday(which is clearly a lime, but closely related to the evil lemon), but overall I’m making great progress.

I must admit at one point I was having a whole lemon daily and sometimes two because I was so incredibly dedicated to the lemon diet.

So the lesson I learned is this:

  • Lemons might make you skinny but they will also make you ugly.
  • There are no shortcuts to getting in shape and drinking myself skinny is delusional.
  • The love of a good man can eradicate many illnesses but the force of a lemon is very strong and Tim just might need to head back to the Degobah System for some more Jedi training on battling citrus.
  • Sometimes you can’t make lemonade out of lemons. You just have to move on to a new fruit altogether.
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Growing up Faith

As we sat down to dinner Monday night of last week, my daughter Faith was on pins and needles.  She wiggled; she squirmed and at one point actually ran out of the room to scream into a pillow.  Her anxiety hinged on the release of the cast list for the upcoming production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Sometime after seven,” she kept repeating like a robot.  Every second past the hour ticked by in pure agony.

After the meal was cleared, I heard the little ding on my iPhone indicating an email had come in.  I perused the cast list with anticipation, wanting to get first dibs before I shared the good news.  I glanced down and looked for my daughter’s name.  It wasn’t at the top, or the middle and then I started to panic. 

I scrolled and scrolled and somewhere near the bottom Faith’s name showed up as Snowflake and Popular Girl –both non-speaking roles I had never heard of.

What the BAD WORD?

I was more than confused –I was bewildered. I hadn’t been at the audition but I heard through the grapevine Faith had given a solid performance and sang beautifully.  With shuffling feet of regret I took the phone over to Faith and let her read it. 

Her smile was wide and her giggles ecstatic until she couldn’t find her name. 

Dismay spread over Faith’s lovely face.  Tears filled her almond-shaped blue eyes.  She looked up at me and her body started to shake with sobs. 

“Why mommy? Why didn’t I get a good part?” she wailed.

Faith ran up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.  I could hear her heart-wrenching cries and it ripped deep into my gut.  I felt so helpless.  Tim and Kyle and I looked at each other sadly but there were no words to make it better.

I ran upstairs and knocked on her door, slowly moving into the hot pink Roxy themed room she shares with her baby sister.  Faith was hiding under the covers crying with fluffy bunny, teddy bear and a Hello Kitty pillow covering her.  She unearthed her blotchy face and begged to quit the production. 

 
 

After a long drawn out conversation, Faith finally agreed to not make any big decisions until the morning.

Then we rallied.  I made her hot chocolate with a giant mound of whip cream and garnished with a warm Easter Bunny sugar cookie.  Tim ran to the store and came back with a cherry/lemonade Slurpee.

(When in doubt –always go with sugar to cheer up the child)

Eventually the tears stopped and Faith ate her treats quietly and went to bed.

In the morning I hesitantly walked in to her room and she turned and gave me a big confidant smile.  “Mom, I’ve decided to go to rehearsal today.  I’m going to talk to the director about their decision-making process and I’ll do my part to make the show better even if my role is smaller this time.”

I looked around to make sure I had the same kid.  No pre-teen diva in this room.  And then I choked up.

Maturity had descended into our midst.

I started hopping up and down, now energized and exuberant.  “Faith, do you know I am more proud of you than if you have gotten to play Dorothy? You are showing strength of character!  You are amazing!”

Faith’s face lit up like sunshine and she laughed and threw her arms around me. 

I sent her off to school smiling, even though I knew she would have a tough day telling her friends, struggling with emotions and dealing with the inevitable waves of disappointment.

But for a child who has always struggled with self-soothing this time Faith surprised us all.

And even though the play isn’t for a few months, I’m stocking away some funds now for opening night where I plan on having the biggest stinking bouquet known to mankind.

 

Because my Snowflake has STAR written all over her!

 

Flower: Source: google.com via Jess on Pinterest 

 

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Running, Falling and the Important Job of Mommy

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I have a dream. It’s reminecent of the Chariots of Fire triumphal entry. It’s of me crossing the finish line of a half-marathon. My three kiddos and hubby are waiting for me, arms raised and cheering as I sprint the thirteen miles like a bounding pup.

For a non-running type of person, this is about as big as my dream gets.

But even though I’m trying to reach my running goal by unofficially training with a few miles logged each week, my body is defiantly giving me the finger on this one. It’s not that I’m too achy, or injured or even a wuss -which I often am. The truth is I’m a little bit afraid.

Ok, I’m actually terrified to run.

On Sunday morning after a great workout, where I pushed myself and conquered a monster hill with the fifty lb stroller, I collapsed in the shower while holding the baby. One second I was on my feet and the next a freight train hit my head and I lost consciousness. I was aware of falling; of holding Kolby with a vice grip and then I heard in a far off place the thud of her bottom hitting the shower floor. I came to in a heap on my knees slumping over a hysterically crying Kolby.

Panic set in and all I could think about was watching Faith perform at church. It was Faith’s big day helping to lead worship in big church. No seizure or stupid loss of consciousness was going to stop me from watching my middle baby perform.

After drying off and getting us both dressed, I stumbled outside in shock and demanded my neighbors drive the baby and I to church. And then, only AFTER her performance did I let my husband take me to seek medical treatment.

(Thinking about that later, I can see how this might be a little irrational)

Despite the awfulness of it all, the baby (THANK GOD!) was unharmed and besides a few bruises on my knees and right forearm, which took the brunt of the blow, we are ok. After a slew of tests and a CT scan, my brain appears to be mostly normal –except for my usual social awkwardness, although I am on to some more rounds of tests with a cardiologist.

The doctor suggested I might want to add some water into my weekend regimen of coffee, tea, red wine, coffee, coffee and strenuous workout.

This makes sense unless you are a mother of three. I like water, I really do. I just forget to actually drink it.

When I called my mom from the hospital, her first response was hilarious. “Sam, you’ve finally done it.”

Me -“What did I do?”

Mom- “You’ve done too much.”

Me -‘Valid point mom. I’ll work on it.”

Now that I’m home and recovering, I realize the biggest problem (besides not having another episode) is that I’m slightly scarred (emotionally) from the experience.

I realized I have a tremendous fear of leaving my kids motherless. I mean let’s be honest here, who could love them like I do? Who would sing I love you forever to Kolby or get the knots out of Faith’s tangled locks or encourage my strapping son to dominate the football field with one look and our special sign?

Mommy is a very important job.

It was hard to get back in the shower today. I was scared. It was also hard to drive alone. I feel like a first timer quaking in my flip-flops at doing the most normal of things. And I didn’t want Tim to leave for work even though I knew he had to go.

Today I will be doing a lot of things with trepidation. And maybe, if I can work up the courage, I might take a walk.

And tomorrow or the next day, I’ll get back in the saddle, tighten my laces and try to run again and reach my dream.

I’ll just do it afraid.

And I’ll think about hearing “Go Mommy” at the finish line.

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On a side note, Tim received this e-mail last night from a lady I talked to in the waiting room at the hospital. It was so touching and a gentle reminder, no matter where we go or who we meet, God is always with us.

FYI…I’m Courtney in the scenario below. And Mary, I think you are cool not creepy!

Hi Tim,

This email is pretty random but I was so happy to have been able to track you down through Mariners Church.
We’ve actually never met but yesterday my mom and I sat beside you, your girls, and beautiful wife in the E.R. at Hoag…for a long long time. After you left, your wife and I began to chat a bit. (I believe her name is Courtney but forgive me if I’m wrong. Ever since we left Hoag last evening, I have had Courtney on my heart so strongly. I have been praying for her that her tests results came back with nothing abnormal, and yesterday’s episode proves to be a one time glitch.
It was so nice to pass the time with you guys. After spending just a short period of time with you, I felt pretty certain you were Christians. I love how the Lord’s shows himself in and through the lives of people we come in contact throughout our days. The family of Christ is an amazing thing!
I hope I’m not creeping you out by pretty much stalking you on google but I just really wanted to check and see how Courtney is doing.
I hope you and your family have an amazing Holy week, and celebration of our Risen King!
Love in Jesus
Mary

“Live the life God created you to live.”

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9 Blogs Worth Reading

About a month ago I got tagged in a favorite blogger dealio and now it’s time to return the link love.  So here is my shout out and THANK YOU to my nine favorite bloggers who inspire me every day.  Please check out their very unique sites and I hope you enjoy them every bit as much as I do.

9 Blogs Worth Reading

These Bones Cry Out  This young lady –Katelyn Beth reposted one of my purity blogs and I stumbled upon her website.  I was instantly hooked!  Like Starbucks, Pinterest and for the love of Target hooked.  Katelyn is an untraditional blogger, more of an idea catcher really, but this gal ignites the internet with her flow of thoughts.  She is raw, passionate about Christ, and whimsical.  Katelyn posts pictures, articles and quotes throughout the day and I can’t wait to open up my RSS feed for more. 

Donald Miller  This dude is one of my favorite writers and I love the dialogue on his blog. The community and buzz following him is entertaining in and of itself.  Miller’s site is geared for smart people who love Jesus, those who fight against religious mumbo-jumbo and strive for artistic excellence within the Christian paradigm. 

The Very Worst Missionary Jaime Wright is an unconventional and ridiculously funny writer who resides in Costa Rica with her missionary husband El Chupacabra.  Jaime is passionate about Jesus, promoting redemptive ministry that actually leads people to Christ, and uses colorful words (like douche and dumbass) that I so get into trouble for.  Jaime is a riot and she will steal your heart and force you to consider what it means to REALLY reach people with the love of Christ.

The Bloggess  This blog is my secret little habit.  Jenny is irreverent, slightly deranged, and so stinking loveable.  Warning: This site is not for the kiddos mainly because of foul language and references to colons.  If you have any sense of humor: you will die laughing, but be careful reading this while at the office.  I have had co-workers ask me what’s wrong as I’ve been gasping for air and snorting like a pig at the feeding trough.

Stuff Christians Like  Another satire blog.  I know, I know…but I do love to laugh.  This site is snarky and clever and the author –Jon Acuff, has branded the concept of self-deprecation towards the uptight and religious spirit.  I love the guest bloggers he showcases and it’s always worth a peek to see what he is up to.

The Blah Blah Blahger I met JJ at a blogging conference and out of the myriad of bloggers I eagerly checked out as soon as I got home, this is the one I keep going back to.  JJ has a unique ability to illustrate the ups and downs of single life with transparency, humor and perseverance.  I love hearing about her relationships, the trials of dating, and the joys of fixing up her home.  JJ and I don’t hang out (other than an email here and there) and yet I honestly feel like she is my girlfriend.  (That sounds so cheesy and groupy but its true)

The Cute Conservative  Dani Nichols tells it like it and dishes conservative political rhetoric with grace and pizzazz.  You can almost hear her sassy voice when you read and I can just picture Dani shaking her dark blond curls and stomping her cowboy boots over the political goons in Washington.  Dani keeps me up to date on real issues and her insight is smart, spot-on and always hits home.

A Fine Day for an Epiphany– Gretchen O’Donnell went to the University of Oregon with my hubby Tim and ministered alongside him through Campus Crusade.  Somehow through the realms of social media and Face Book we became bloggy friends.  I really enjoy this woman’s heart.  I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t live in corrupt southern CA or what, but Gretchen from Minnesota comes across as a refreshing breath of serenity.  Her blog is encouraging, engaging and feminine and I am constantly drawn back for refreshment.

Rage Against the Minvan:  This minivan swaggering mama of four munchkins is my idol.  Kristen is the queen of the mommy-blogs because she breaks all the rules and redefines them.  Kristen is a gifted writer, an advocate and mother for adoption (specifically Haiti) and a witty satirist.  I love getting lost in her blog and reading and chuckling as a few minutes’ slip into an hour.  It’s that good!

Please check out these tremendous writers and enjoy!

 

 

Picture: Source: piccsy.com via Samantha on Pinterest

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The First Tutu

There is something magical about a tutu.  It’s the fairy tale, twirly princess, cotton candy dream all rolled up into one.  It’s the artistry of Degas, childhood innocence and whimsy in a poufy skirt. 

Add in a two-year old girl with blond curls, sturdy toddler legs and a laugh like the tinkle of angels’ wings –and the essence of the tutu becomes iconic.

My two-year old Kolby has yet to show interest in the Disney princess or flowing gowns.  She prances right past the Cinderella section straight to the stuffed animals and cuddly monsters.

Until today –today was an EPIC girly moment.

Kolby ran to her closet and reached for a lovely ballerina frock her sister wore around age three.  Little hands tugged on the dress.

“Please mommy, I wear this one?” my baby pleaded.

In an instant I had the gown over her head and Elmo t-shirt.  I pinned up the long straps in the back and she stepped into the leotard.  I glanced down at her cherubic face and my heart exploded into spasms of mommy ecstasy.

Kolby carefully stepped down the stairway and made her grand entrance before her awaiting father.  Visions of prom and bridal gowns danced in my head.

She twirled around with a huge smile and exclaimed, “I’m so pretty daddy.”

Daddy agreed with gusto.

Tim and I laughed with glee as my eyes filled with tears while we snapped her photo –and for a brief moment time stopped.

My baby was glorious! 

I’ve thought about it all morning and I can’t get the picture of her out of my head –maybe because it’s more than just a precious little girl, a tutu and a pretty princess day.

I think Kolby captured the heart’s desire of every woman from age two to eighty. 

“Am I lovely?  Do you cherish me?  Am I worth fighting for?”

Questions we strive to find the answers for in all the wrong places.

My heart aches for the journey Kolby has just begun.

But today, for this moment, Kolby found the answer in her daddy’s eyes.

I think I might a need tutu too!

 

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Recalibrating God’s Plan

People keep asking my husband and me if we are knocked up yet.  I’d bemoan the lack of modern civility but since I did post our intent to procreate to the entire internet universe –I might have to own this one and take the hit. 

So, in all honesty I’m a little conflicted now about birthing another child. 

After our recent miscarriage and the most difficult season of parenting I have ever experienced, another baby –even a blond chubby cheeked cutie –represents a future teenager.  And it’s enough for me to hide any atrophied eggs at age thirty-nine I have left when my husband gets that gleam in his eye.

We sensed God telling us to try for another munchkin and we obediently tried.  It didn’t work.  So my thinking is maybe the whole scenario might simply be about listening to God and following his direction.  PERIOD.  And maybe this is where it ends. 

Maybe tragedy can also be MERCY and maybe it doesn’t have to make sense.

Might I need a new equation?

God+ direction=obedience

(Results not guaranteed)

Sometimes the Christian life doesn’t lead to happily ever after and little bow tied Jabez-y blessings.

What if God is more interested in my knowing him and following him than the places and circumstances he leads me to? 

They say life is about the journey and not the destination.  I think it’s about staying on the heels of the trail guide no matter where he takes you.

I think Jesus is more interested in us saying YES to him when he calls, but it doesn’t guarantee what we say yes to will ever come to fruition.  

And isn’t this the mystery, frustration and beauty of the Christian life?

 

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What Not to Name Your Kid

My middle child’s name is Faith. I thought I gave her this moniker because it affirmed God’s grace and our double fisted faith for her safety during an arduous pregnancy.

But God has a sense of humor.

I’ve now realized naming your kid Faith is like praying for patience. You never pray for patience because then God will give you opportunities –terrible, brain numbing opportunities to develop your patience.

Holy Cow! I am so dumb!

I inserted some sort of weird blessing/prophecy on my kid –and now I am getting the chance to get faith like Abraham as my daughter hits puberty.

Like this weekend for example when I headed into the land of Canaan –I mean the Mission Viejo Mall.

We ventured over to Macy’s after church to pick up an Easter dress for Faith. It had to be Macy’s because I have a gift certificate from my parent’s for Christmas and I’m strapped enough to tap into all available resources. I know, I know…what I sacrifice for my kids.

Faith picked out a few dresses and went to try them on. Tim, Kyle, Kolby and I waited outside the dressing room to view the frocks on display as Faith came prancing out.

First dress –It was ok, nothing to write home about.

Second dress –Youza! It was a beautiful color –a sky blue number, silky, and way too grown up. It was seductively subtle, a little too short with tiny spaghetti straps and just a smidgen too low in the chest.

My daughter is already beautiful but in this dress she was dangerous.

And here is where I screwed up.

Faith-“Mom, what do you think?”

Me- “It’s really pretty.” (Rewind and take this back you idiot)

Tim- “It’s too sexy. No way. She is almost eleven not twenty. Not an option.”

Me- “You’re right. Sorry sweetie.”

Faith- “Waaahhhhhhh! Then she ran into the dressing room and sobbed for ten minutes. “You said it was pretty! It’s all Tim’s fault.”

When in doubt, always blame the step-dad.

Me- “No Faith, it’s my decision. It’s a lovely dress but it’s a very sexy dress and not the best one for you.”

Repeat tears and howling wails for another twenty minutes.

I storm out of dressing room with my eye twitching.

During this time I go and purchase a pair of jeans with my son. When I come back Faith is moping and half-heartedly looking for another dress with Tim.

The boys go home and Faith and I continue to look. Finally, about three hours into the shopping nightmare she tries on a gorgeous and modest dress we both like.

Despite it being more money than I want to spend, I buy the darn thing and escape home.

Next time I will bring:

  1. Imitrix for the migraine headache I will leave with.
  2. Anxiety medicine
  3. A Flask
  4. A team of prayer warriors who have previously fasted and have experience with pre-teen demons.

(I’m kidding about the first two)

Upon arriving home, Faith runs up to her room, puts on her new dress and models it for the family.

She twirls in front of us like a lovely princess.

The Compromise...Lovely Faith

Faith- “Isn’t it the most beautiful dress you have ever seen?”

I am staggering, on the edge of tears, frustrated and overwhelmed, “Sure sweetie,” I choke out.

Can someone tell me how to defend my daughter’s honor without going freaking CRAZY?

What I want to say is, “Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Have the confidence to rock your inner beauty. Don’t buy into the world’s lies that sexy defines your worth.”

But it never comes out the way I want and it gets all stuck in my throat. I don’t sound like cool mom I sound like lame mom. And even though I think we have these awesome mother-daughter chats –nothing sticks. She ignores me and forges her own way. I wonder where she got this stubborn trait?

So my friends…this is how I develop faith. I am tested beyond all sanity.

Want to know the really scary part? Kolby’s middle name is Grace.

I can’t wait to develop this muscle.

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