A Need to Belong

I recently signed up to be a sales representative for a popular makeup company. I paid the registration fee and was given a truck-load of brochures to begin my campaign. My confidence has soared as I have collected sales and pondered on the extra income that is sure to come in. There is only one problem. My online account has not been activated. For some unknown reason, we have been unable to get me signed into the database. Without this critical aspect, I am a representative without a place do a business. My restlessness grows because I feel largely incomplete. Without a direct line to the corporation and an account with my name on it, all the sales I have accumulated will not matter and my time spent will have been useless. Have you ever felt that incomplete sense of needing to belong?

Someone once asked me, “Why do I need to go to church if I already believe in God? Why does anyone need church?” I have noticed that having a church is a lot like having a central database. I can wear a cross around my neck and do all the things that good Christians do. I can read my Bible for hours and quote scripture perfectly by chapter and verse. (I haven’t actually gotten this far yet, but I’m trying!) Yet, without a home base, a place to gather and be accounted for, I am nothing more than a representative without a place to do business. Much like selling the merchandise in my catalogs, going to church makes me feel useful. I have a job to do. I am productive and people are in need of my services. My fellow brothers and sisters are so valuable to me! They give me purpose, incentive to keep doing what I am good at, and encouragement when I feel insignificant. I have also noticed that in the process of getting out and selling my wares I am more focused on those around me. Suddenly I am more interested in the needs of others and am looking for ways to add a little something more to their life. A central meeting place is vital to my well being. Not only am I using the gifts that God gave me, I am fulfilling a command straight out of scripture.

When Paul was speaking to the Hebrews, this issue must have been pressing, even back then. “And let us consider one another in order to stir up love and good works, not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as is the manner of some, but exhorting one another, and so much more as you see the Day approaching.” Hebrews 10:24-25

Meeting together on a regular basis is good for our souls. As a corporate body, we are bound to each other like a marriage. We can lift each other up, spur on another on toward greatness, and hold each other up when we don’t have the strength to stand on our own. For many of us, our church may be the only real family we’ll ever have. Broken homes seem to be more the rule rather than the exception in today’s society. Fifty years ago, it was unheard of take a relative to court. Today it happens all the time. People are unscrupulous in their dealings and seem to have no regard for morals, even within their own families. The one thing I have noticed about being rooted in a church is that it is a place that is safe, free from judgment and ridicule, and very, very forgiving.

Of course like any family, the church is not without its share of freaks and weirdos. Dishonesty is no respecter of race, religion, size, shape, or building. Like visiting the girlfriend’s relatives for the first time, one may wonder what kind of whacked out, nutcase mess they’ve stumbled upon. The plain truth is that sometimes we all have to sort through a few rotten apples before we find the good, tasty fruit hidden beneath. It may take a while but the right family is out there.

So what are some things to look for if you are seeking to find a good church? According to a Dr. Richard Krejcir, there are twelve key characteristics of a healthy church. Here are just a few of them. First and foremost, you need to find a church that preaches the full Gospel of Christ. Watered down or compromised will not cut it. A good church preaches the truth, plain and simple. If you happen to be unsure of whether they are preaching sound doctrine or not, bring your Bible. If they are reading straight from the text and the preacher’s words line up with the scripture read, all is well. Another thing to look for is powerful, impacting worship. Worship does not have to be an elaborate setup. As long as it comes from the heart and stirs the spirit within, it qualifies. The word that comes to my mind is passion. If the worship team or the music itself is full of passion, that is a good sign.

Speaking of passion, a church that is passionate for Jesus is another characteristic of health and wholeness. Look for a place that genuinely loves the Lord and spreads that love to its members, its visitors, and to its Creator. Love, joy, peace, and all the rest of the fruits of the Spirit must be present in order to signify a healthy church. Prayer and discipleship are also important. The old cliché still rings true. A church that prays together stays together. A healthy prayer life, a thriving discipleship program, and good, strong leadership are all signs of a healthy and vibrant church. To read the complete article by Dr. Krejcir, click here.

Looking for a church home can be a daunting task, especially if one has been severely wounded in the past. The idea of setting foot inside a place that may or may not welcome you or accept you can be unnerving to say the least. The thing to remember is that God loved you first. If you are honestly seeking after Him, He will reward you for your efforts. He will guide you to the place that is right for you. Never give up in your searching, always believe that He has your best interests at heart, and know that His love covers over a multitude of sins. He is waiting to receive you. Are you ready for Him?

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Vapor

Since I got the news on Friday I have been haunted and saddened ever since. While I would not have called her my friend, she was someone I saw once or twice a week for years. She was friendly and treated me like a person instead of just another customer. The last time I spoke to her she was smiling. I don't know what her life was like at home, who she was close to, what she liked and disliked about working at the grocery store. I do know that her end was tragedy and for those that loved her, heartbreak will be their companion for the foreseeable future. In my mind I wonder why it had to be her time. Was she ready for her eternal dwelling, wherever it is now? Did she have a chance to say a final goodbye to those she loved, never expecting that she would not come home? Did she in her last moments, call out to a God that loves her and did they embrace each other as she breathed her last? Every day that I ponder these questions I am forced to look at my own life. I am a vapor- so easily extinguised and here for such short time. Is my light reaching into into the darkness or is it hidden beneath the worldy distractions and obligations that clutter up my existence? What message am I sending to the world around me? Am I Bible that people would choose to read or just another ordinary paper back book- easily read and easily discarded? How am I impacting the world around me, for better or for worse? If today were my last, how would people remember me? Have I tried my hardest to make a difference in my life and those around me or have I simply taken up space? As I move through my day, these are the questions that assault me. I can only hope and pray that as the answers come, love will conquer all and the mistakes I've made will not be as significant as the steps I've taken to overcome them. I am a vapor, easily extinguished and here for such a short time...

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Just Three Weeks Left

Recently I had the pleasure of reading a book that had the power to change my life. Jill Smolinski’s "The Next Thing on My List" not only captured me from page one, it did something that ordinary novels rarely do- it challenged me to live my life to its fullest and make the most of every opportunity. The story revolves around June, the lone survivor of a tragic car accident. When Marissa, the acquaintance in the seat next to her fails to regain consciousness, June is left with feelings of guilt and complacency in her own life. Quite by accident, she recovers a partially completed list of things that Marissa was planning to accomplish before her 25th birthday. Born out of a sense of duty to the victim’s family and a need to appease her own guilt, June vows to finish what Marissa started and complete each item on the list. With each item checked off, June discovers that it is possible to make a difference in the world around her. She learned how to take risks, have fun, and be open to new possibilities she would have otherwise avoided. Despite the profanity and questionable content (this is not a kid’s book) I was drawn into the story because it aroused questions within my spirit that begged to be answered. Are there things in my own life that I would like to see accomplished? Am I living every day to its full potential? What inspires me and gets me excited? How will I be remembered after I’m gone? Immediately after I read the last word in the last chapter, I set about constructing my own list. Starting on August 1st, I am giving myself one year to complete my own 20 things I want to accomplish before my next birthday. Just as June realized that she would need help and encouragement, so I will as well. I encourage you to check in with me frequently to see how I’m progressing and offer help if you are able. I doubt that I will be able to do everything all by myself. I have three weeks to prepare for this monumental task. During this time I plan on keeping my mind open to the possibility of revisions to the list (will I add any more tasks to it?), enjoying the freedom I have to eat chocolate before it’s completely written out of my diet for a year, and coming up with creative ideas to outsmart my neighborhood pests. More to come, so stay tuned! In the meantime, if you happen to come up with any suggestions to add to the list, let me know. I have 20 but I’m not opposed to new additions. I will post the final draft in three weeks. Stay tuned!

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Letting Go

June 1st, 2010 Lamentations 3 I remember the years of fear, uncertainty, judgment, and depression. Every day was challenging but still filled with the miraculous. While my life is drastically different than it was back then, God is still providing for me, still giving me what I need, and still patient in the midst of my battles and struggles. Every day I see evidence of His love, despite my failures. Whatever pain I am experiencing is either the result of bad choices or simply life in all its beautiful, disastrous glory. I cannot change what is done, I can only change myself. I cannot make someone be anything other than what they are. I can only change myself. Every day is a chance to take inventory and make necessary steps toward maturity. What am I holding onto? What do I need to get rid of? How am I allowing God to mold me into something beautiful?

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Cobwebs and Cramps

Forgive me as I claw my way through through the fog. I have a really good story to tell, I promise. I wanted to explain to you how the manzanita tree is just like a Christian. There are so many ways in which we parallel and I wish with everything in me that I could share my newfound knowledge. I have been talking with God and he's been talking with me. Unfortunately, I just can't make my mind and thoughts cooperate. The endometriosis is returning and I have had better months where the pain wasn't quite so severe. Torn between trying to preserve my estrogen supply and sticking to a diet that does not feed this hateful disease, I am sort of in limbo. I want to slow down the aging process but I don't want to be in pain. I want to avoid hot flashes but I don't want the monster to continue to grow inside me, unmercifully. It is such a vicous cycle and I am exhausted. Try and hang in there with me. I have a story to tell- many stories, actually. There are so many ideas inside that are waiting to be formed. When I am able to clear the cobwebs and the cramps, I will be back and I will share with you how God is speaking to me. Fighting...I will overcome.

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Fan Letter

Dear Miss Holly Chamberlin,
On Thursday morning I went to the library and picked up Tuscan Holiday. It is now 11am on Saturday and I have to tell you- that was the best read I've had in ages! Where have you been all my life? I've especially enjoyed your vivid detail of the Italian countryside and added yet another destination to my growing wish list of places to visit. The answer lady has become my new hero. I was up all night sharing her wealth of advice with my husband who has decided she's pretty much a female version of Simon Cowell. I'm going to miss that crazy psychopath. Coincidentally, at this very moment I'm having a lull in my own whacked out relationship with the demon who gave birth to me. The mother/daughter dynamic continues to fascinate me, especially now that I am raising my own future ungreatful drama queen. I suppose I should be thankful for surgical menopause. She's only seven and I'm already seeing faint traces of her mother and grandmother. When she gets her period only one of us will have to be bound and gagged. The other, I assume will either move out or just kill herself. By the way, were those mom quotes from actual books? Good stuff!

I have seen myself mirrored in the struggles both women have faced on this journey. (Does that make sense?) From young Marina, forced to make difficult choices about life and love and finally choose to live her own life to Elizabeth who eventually chose to leave her past where it belongs and move forward with gusto, I have been there. More than all of these, I saw the relationship between Marina and her mother and for the thousandth time wished that I could have known the depth of love between these two women. What is it like to communicate with a mother who chooses sympathy or empathy over martyrdom? What is it like to speak freely without fear of condemnation, verbal assaults, or self-pity from either side? In this book I had a rare glimpse of how it could be one day with my own child. I've also recognized the truth for what it is in yet another one of a million different ways. Dysfunction is more often than not a choice rather than unplanned circumstance. We choose how people treat us and we choose how to respond to that treatment. The result could be liberating or debilitating, depending on our level of maturity. As I was following Marina and Elizabeth through the streets of Tuscany, I decided that I'm quite comfortable with the mutual silence between my mom and I, but thanks for giving me some things to think about. I'm sure this subject will come up again in a few months when I'm forced to deal with visitation issues. I wonder what Answer Lady would say about all this...

To sum up, I have become an addict of your work. I think you are absolutely brilliant and can't wait to get my hands on another of your books. I may have to pace myself though. At this rate, the housework will be ignored, the fridge empty, and my appearance- well I think you get it. Well done, Miss Chamberlin. You had me at the graduation party.

Sincerely,
Sherry Castelluccio

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Contrast

January 23, 2000
Every drive home is the same. I hold her face in the dirty toilet of unforgiveness and anger. I force her to breathe the stench of rage as it blinds her eyes. She has no choice but to succumb. I can’t recall when it started, surely before I got out on my own. It’s been a routine for as long as I can remember. She tries to free herself from my grip but my hands are strong. She squirms beneath the weight of my depression but only gets pushed harder into the filth. “You hideous creature!” I scream at her. “You don’t have the right to breathe like a real person!” Her tears fall like Niagara Falls into the well and she becomes weak and tired from the powerful force. The harder she tries to fight off the attacks the worse they get. No wonder she’s always tired. She spends her days being the abuser and her nights wrapped up in tears that refuse to go away. I see her there, her little body crushed and broken and I cry my own tears, the haunting lullaby of a soul that fights for attention and loses over and over again. When will I love her? When will she accept my broken pleas for mercy?

June 22, 2009
Still Standing
I am wounded but I'm ok
I've been beaten but I'm not afraid
You may catch me in a moment of weakness
Knocked down for a time or a season
But I'm still here and the gloves are still on

Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise

You think those little jabs are wearing me down
Can't wait 'till I give up and hit the ground
One day I'll cave from the weight of your hate
and you'll win

But what you fail to understand about me
Is that I'm trained to live in victory
My strength may wane but I'll come back again
Because I already know how this ends

Your lies, they can't hurt me
Your games are just annoying
Care to re-load for your next attack?
Don't worry, I'll still be here when you get back

Cause there's still a lot of fight left in me
No, I will not go down so easily
You may have won this round but I'm not backing down
Hang on for the fight of your life
Cause as soon as you turn in for the night
That's when I'll rise

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Free

He writhes in agony. Pouring a glass of milk is five minute task. His muscles constrict and contort, often causing him endless hours of pain. He is a prisoner in his own body. During the years since he was diagnosed, he has given himself two black eyes, several punches to the stomach, and bloody swollen cheeks. He has a rare form of Tourette Syndrome. He literally beats himself up day in and day out. He lived through much of his childhood believing that there was no hope, that he would spend the rest of his life behind the iron bars of his own flesh. His eyes were empty, devoid of light or peace. The strange thing is that I understand his pain. I have been there, if only inside my mind. I too have constant spasms of self inflicted abuse.

While my bruises and scars are not visible to the outside world, I see them every day. Every day I am reminded of the terrible deeds I’ve done, the hateful words I’ve spoken, the bad choices I’ve made. Each memory is like a punch to the stomach, the eyes, the mouth. I am a prisoner inside my own mind. Like the young man, I am my own worst enemy, held captive by the demons inside that attempt to destroy the life I’m trying to make for myself. I have had days like he has- despair and agony threaten to overtake me and I am left writhing on the floor, begging for release of my chains.

For people who suffer with Tourette Syndrome, there is good news. Recently scientists have discovered a way to slow down the frequency of the tics, offering hope to millions. Doctors install a device deep into the brain that gently “speaks” to the area causing the tics. This process slows down the attacks, causing much needed relief for the sufferer. Since having had the surgery, the young man is no longer in despair. He is a husband and a new father. He is hopeful. The tics have not left his body; they cannot because there is no cure for this disease. However, they have significantly slowed enough for the young man to live a meaningful and enjoyable life. Finally, he is at peace. He has found a way to overcome the demons in his own flesh.

I too have found a remedy for the brutal attacks that overtake my mind, soul, and spirit. While I will not be cured, I can be made whole again. There is a Book full of hope, promise, and peace. It speaks to the inner parts of me that are bent on destruction and failure. It softens the blows of the enemy, speaking Truth to the innermost parts and silences his threats of death and hatred. Every time I read this Book, I hear words of encouragement, love, and acceptance. I am reminded that every foul thing I have ever done has been forgiven. This gives me strength to go forward one more day. Like the young man, my condition is incurable. Also like the young man, I have found hope and new life through a device that speaks directly to the very places that held me captive. I am free.

"The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly."
John 10:10

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Somber Reminders

Last Friday I went to a concert. I saw Chris Daughtry and Lifehouse on the same stage! So much fun. Those guys put on an amazing show. When we got there and found our seats I was a little disapointed. I don't particularly like the way that arena is set up. It just feels so impersonal. I can't explain my logic so if you don't understand, it's ok. Moving on. Soon after the show started I began to appreciate our location just a little bit more. The lead singer from Lifehouse walked right past us and sat down just a few feet away. I guess it pays to get seats right next to security! My husband and step-son got to briefly meet the band and shake hands with each member. The girl behind me got a hug! Then the drama happened.

I saw an unfortunate incident unfold right in front of us. People in our immediate family who also happened to be there were escorted out by the police. My step-son was in tears and one thing kept running through my mind. Praise God that I am not the person I used to be. While the concert was incredibly awesome, nothing takes the place of good old fashioned worship. I've seen Third Day live. Those guys not only rock out, they rock out while they praise God. That is the kind of enviornment I enjoy being in. 10,000 screaming fans enjoying good music while lifting up the name of Jesus- that is my heaven.

I am so thankful that I worship Jesus and not Jack Daniels. It was an amazing night but it was also a night full of drama and sadness. My step-son saw things that no child should have to see. While it pains me that he was so hurt on his birthday, it is also a somber reminder of where I've come from and where I never hope to return. It is a reminder that everything we do affects everyone around us. Every day when I wake up I ask God to show me how to do it right. Show me, Lord how to be the mother you created me to be. I want to avoid making choices that reflect poorly on you, I want to show my child what the love of Christ really looks like, and I want to stray further and further away from the life I left behind when I turned to Jesus and away from Jack Daniels.

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The Beginning

I've been going through my old journals lately and stumbled across this one by accident. I find it fascinating that as sick as I was, I still have a tendency to hang on to wrong thinking. I am allowed to forgive myself because God already did.

January 9, 1998

Hi Patty-
It was really nice to visit with you last night. You are such a warm, caring person. You’re also very thoughtful and I loved the presents you gave me. I’m looking forward to seeing you today even though I am exhausted. I requested for them to change my medicine for the morning. Maybe I shouldn’t have switched roommates so fast. My roommate snores and she sleeps all the time. I don’t know how much sleep I got but it wasn’t much.

I talked to a nurse today and told her how I got in here. She said it was very smart of me to call. It shows intelligence because I know it’s wrong to kill myself and I made the necessary steps. I was writing about all the things I miss about home- my perfume, my music, my jewelry. These are all things that I value. They’re signatures of me. I think there’s a part of me that is so stubborn, I refuse to admit that there is good about me, even things that are lovable. I think maybe I don’t want to admit it because then I’d have to deal with all the bad things I’ve done. It’s all really complicated. Anyway, I hope that while I’m here I get the help I need. If I don’t I’ll go crazy.

I talked with a nurse a few minutes ago and learned something really interesting. She told me that because of the abuse, not having a middle ground and not being allowed to make mistakes it would be natural for me to beat myself up when I do screw up. I knew this but what was interesting was what she said next. I am at a fork in the road and I am starting to realize that it is ok to make big mistakes. It doesn’t mean that I am not worth something or that I have to lay down and die. I’m starting to understand that I’m still a good person that is allowed to make mistakes and be forgiven. I can forgive myself because this is not the person I am or want to be. There is a gray area and I’m finding it. Maybe getting here has taught me that I am not going to quit because I happen to be human. I’m going to live and I will be ok.

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S.O.S.

This morning she asked me if we are dolls in his show. As in, "Is God like a puppet guy and we are his dolls? He pulls us in a direction and we just go?" Yikes. She's seven years old and already showing signs that we have an uphill battle ahead of us. I freely admit that I am shaking in my fake cowboy boots. One child has already made the choice to serve self rather than God. He walked away without a backward glance. What if the other one follows after him?

It's hard not to be afraid but what else is there? She's already admitted that she doesn't like going to church, doesn't pray unless her dad does it with her at bedtime, and that the only reason why she thinks she's a Christian is because she doesn't want to get in trouble. We've gone in circles about what Jesus has done and why he died on the cross. She knows the meaning of Easter and Christmas and why we take communion on special Sundays. The one area I falter in is scripture memorization. I stink at memorizing them myself and I'm even worse at trying to teach them to my kids. Will God hold this against me?

I can't help but feel like there is an urgency to continue praying as fervently as I know how. Not only for all my kids, but for everyone who has wandered away or is sitting on the fence. It's not too late for them. God can change a heart in an instant. It would be so wonderful if that instant would come soon so that I can have peace knowing that they will be ok. I feel like King David today.

"Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider my meditation. Give heed to the voice of my cry, my King and my God,
For to you I will pray, my voice you shall hear in the morning O Lord; in the morning I will direct it to you, and I will look up."

Psalm 5:1-3

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First Things First

I am not a morning person. When the alarm goes off, I am the lady burrowing deeper beneath the covers until the last possible second. I am the one with the bed-head, fuzzy slippers and the “don’t mess with me for at least an hour” face upon waking up. Recently when I was in Disneyland I saw a t-shirt that I almost bought. It had a picture of Donald Duck with his fists pumped like he was getting ready to face Mike Tyson. The caption underneath said, “I failed anger management.” Whoever it was who designed that shirt must have been thinking of me. I don’t do mornings.

Because I have such a hard time getting up, I got in a dangerous habit of checking email first before I do anything else. For some reason it’s comforting, like I’m reconnecting with friends and family before my day gets underway. I have a chance to see what I missed while I was making dinner, spending time with the kids, and sleeping. The funny thing is, most of the time I haven’t missed much of anything because everyone else was doing the same thing I was. What makes this habit so dangerous is that I made it a priority before doing anything else.

Through experience and life lessons I have learned that God is going to make himself first in my life one way or another. Somehow, some way he is going to remind me that He should be the most important thing in my life and when I lower him to any other status I am only hurting me. I realized this past weekend how true that is.

On Friday my laptop crashed. Saturday was non eventful but Sunday gave me a run for my money. I got up and checked email like I’ve been doing. Then I got in a spat with my husband and we both went to church angry. I stayed that way throughout the day. Little annoyances that normally would not be a big deal sent me through the roof with my fists balled, duking it out with Donald duck. By the time I got home I was angry, cranky, and exhausted. It was a day I was more than thankful to put behind me. I promised God that from now on, He was going to be first.

Yesterday I woke up early and the first thing I did was read my Bible. Not surprisingly, God noticed. My laptop got fixed and a huge prayer request turned into a bigger praise report. It’s amazing how little He asks of me and what happens when I finally surrender and make him the Lord of my life. Prayers get answered and peace returns to my soul. As long as I keep my priorities in order and make God first, Anger Management should be a breeze. That t-shirt looked a bit big on me anyway.

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Cow Tipping

I had a conversation on facebook earlier that was so entertaining I decided to share it. I’m from a big city. I grew up on a busy city street and went to sleep to the sound of cars whizzing by my house at all hours of the night. There were four different shopping malls and high rises fifteen minutes away in any direction. As a teenager, public transportation was a way of life for me until I learned to drive. When I moved to my current home town at 17 years old, I don’t think I was prepared for the culture shock. I went to one of the only high schools in town (the third one hadn’t been built yet). I eventually resigned myself to the fact that on the way to and from school I was going to see roadkill. Even worse, that roadkill was probably not a dog or a cat. The public bus came once every hour, not once every fifteen minutes. The slower pace, the unique clothing styles, and the bizarre quiet left me feeling like I had unwrapped a new present- only to find Grandma’s old underwear.

Eventually I got used to my new surroundings and learned to feel right at home. I enjoy the quiet so much now that I really can’t imagine living in a big city. All the extra noise would make it hard to concentrate and I like the fact that the grocery store, the mall, and the high school are no more than 30 minutes away combined. When the police get a burglary call 5 cops show up at the residence with guns drawn. The guy at the video store can ring me up by name without having to look in his computer and if I don’t show up at Raley’s on Monday, all the baggers want to know where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. Most of my surrounding area is farmland. On the way to church I see cows every morning and now when I drive past a road pizza I can tell you exactly what it was before it met its demise.

After more than a decade of country life, I thought I had conformed pretty well until today. Then I drove Alice home. I was doing 50 miles per hour on a two lane road when suddenly I had to slow waaaay down. There was something big and black smack in the middle of the road. I looked at my aging companion and said, “I think that’s a cow! I think that’s a cow in the road!” She quietly nodded her head and said yes that was cow. I slowed almost to a stop thinking that the animal was going to get the hint and mosey eastward. Yeah, that didn’t happen. I cautiously swerved around the beast still staring at it in the rear view mirror. After I made sure Alice arrived at home safely, I drove a little slower going home. Thankfully, Clara the Cow had decided to lunch elsewhere by then and I didn’t have to try and avoid a collision. My conversation with my more countrified friends is as follows.

(Me) I was shocked- the guy just stood there and if I hadn't slowed down I would have hit him. Stupid cow. I should have gotten out and tipped him over. I think it was a girl anyway.

(Deb) LOL.. I think cow-tipping is illegal as well as running them over. Although.... I am thinking it would have been awesome to be a fly on a wall and see you tip a cow.

(Me) Here's how it would play out if I were actually dumb enough to attempt such thing-

Me: (walks cautiously toward inconsiderate beast) "Um, hey would you mind moving your big, fat behind? I'm trying to drive here!"
Cow: "Yeah, I don't see that happening. I was here first. You move."
Me: "Well, see I have a grandma in the car with me and I need to get her home. I don't want this to get ugly so please just kindly move out of the way and nobody will get hurt."
Cow: Like I said. I was here first. If you are in such a hurry, you will get back in that big metal thing and go around me. I'm having my third lunch here and I'd like to eat in peace."
Me: "Ok, you leave me no choice." (Walks over to inconsiderate beast and slowly extends right hand toward stomach area.
Cow: Gives me the stink eye.
Me: Softly nudges beast and jumps back ten feet.
Cow: Gives me the stink eye. Takes one step forward.
Me: Extends right arm, turns around to see Alice laughing hysterically in front seat, and gets back in car.
Cow: Takes another step forward for posterity. Is that thing laughing?
Me: Guns the engine and burns rubber. Cow is a small, smiling dot on the horizon.

(My baby sister, Kristina (born and raised here) haha...try going for a run through Contra Loma and encountering one of those....trust me, cows run cross country too.

So while I may have tried to convince myself that I have acclimated to country life, there are still some things that I will never get used to. Driving around a stubborn cow in the middle of a two lane road is something I can’t wrap my city-minded brain around. I’m just glad I don’t run cross country.

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Victorious

We were tied at 0 in overtime. During the entire 60 minutes of play we absolutely dominated. It looked like an easy win. This series was ours. Success was just one goal away. Then tragedy struck. One mishandled backhand landed the puck in the wrong net. One misplaced goal rendered us powerless. The Avalanche had won. How could this have happened? How could something we worked so hard for be handed over to the enemy so quickly? It just didn’t seem fair. How would we ever live down this moment? The entire NHL had just witnessed history and at that moment, history stunk. Mr. Boyle went to his dressing room stunned and defeated. His team had worked so hard. Now they would have to work harder. On the morning after that fateful gaffe, Boyle had been asked how he was going to recover from his devastating loss. With fierce determination in his eyes, he answered, “I have to get back out there and I have to play again.” He knew that the story wasn’t over, that he had a job to do, and that his team needed him.

As luck would have it, the Sharks bounced back almost immediately in the next game. Less than two minutes into the fist period, Boyle himself scored the first and only goal in regulation. The game went into overtime and the puck sailed into the net to score the winning goal. The Sharks had overcome their adversary with a seething vengeance. I am absolutely certain that their win can be attributed to Boyle’s perseverance and resilience. He knew that his blunder was not the end of the story, that his victory would not be stolen by a mere fluke, and that all of his team’s hard work would not, could not be in vain. The San Jose Sharks returned home champions. They had outplayed their opponent again.

There was a man who spent his entire life fighting for his cause. He worked so hard for so long and then one day it happened. The enemy won by a fluke. A crowd that had praised his name 24 hours earlier was now condemning him to die. Hell laughed in his face and flaunted its victory. All the saving lives, saving souls, healing diseases- all of it had been stuffed into the enemy’s net with a misguided backhand. The hero hung on the cross stunned and defeated. Then the curtain tore, the earth quaked, and the entire world trembled. The man stood up and walked out of the tomb. He wiped off his hands, shook the dust off his clothes, and emerged triumphant. Out from the ashes he climbed, beaten, bruised, and bloody and silenced his opponent with one simple act. He got back up.

“Yet in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”
Romans 8:37

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Stuck in the Twilight Zone!

I have to say that as far as weird weeks go, this one tops any that I’ve ever had by far. I feel like I’ve stepped into a Twilight Zone marathon and I’m the main character. What the heck is going on? It started with the beginning of the week. I read an article that talked about people who photograph their food before eating it. Does this really happen? Apparently this is a huge trend that I knew nothing about until now. It turns out that countless individuals have made a lifestyle out of snapping pictures of their main dish before they even take out their fork. Why? The reasons vary. Some do it as a means of controlling their weight which I find very clever. If I’m on a mission to lose 50 pounds and I happen to glance at a picture of the Jumbo Jack and fries I ate yesterday, there’s a good chance that I might reach for a carrot instead of a cookie next time. Others do it for social interaction. Meh, ok I guess. If a guy can’t meet women the normal way, I guess there’s worse things that trying to meet them through Flikr. What fascinates me, though are the ones who choose to photograph their food because it’s a hobby. I read about a guy who literally left his wife at the restaurant for an hour because he didn’t have the right lens for his camera and needed to go get it. Is it just me or does that border on obsession? Weird! Or is it? Do you take pictures of your food and why would you do such thing? Food is food, people! It’s meant to be eaten, not digitally documented and posted on social networks for the whole world to see how obsessive we can be. Is it narcissism on overload or just another way to meet people and appreciate the wonder of a good Chicken Marsala?

Let’s see, other weird happenings this week…there’s the estrogen pills in the baby bag I mentioned in my previous blog post, the wedding engagement of someone I never suspected in a million years, and finally, the one that I may never recover from. A person that has been nothing less than obvious in her hatred toward me during the last 8 or 9 years has suddenly come out and asked to reconnect with me. Other minor incidents that I really can’t mention here have also intertwined with everything else this week causing me to shake my head in wonder. A friend asked me, “Was your week weird in a good way or in a bad way?” Honestly, I’m leaning toward all of the above. I’ve cried, I’ve laughed, I’ve shaken my fist in anger, and I’ve stood utterly bewildered. I can’t explain why the home loan mod guys can’t get their act together and just cooperate with my husband. I can’t fathom why someone who has very obviously chosen to be my enemy would suddenly want to talk to me again. I certainly cannot begin to understand the fascination and obsession people have with photographing food. (Maybe someone can help me out with this one?) Above all, I can’t explain the peace that washes over me every time I think about the complexities of life and all the little things that don’t make sense. I know someone who has all the answers. For some unexplainable reason, that’s enough for me. Weird, huh?

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Unlikely Ally

I find it strange how as people we are able to relate to each other so well, even though we might be complete and total strangers. A bad hair day, a horrible break-up, or even a best loved recipe can draw us together and close the gap between stranger and potential B.F.F.
Today I am relating to Keith Urban. While I’m quite sure the song in my heart has nothing to do with the lyrics he wrote, the words and the meaning behind them are very much the same, if only for today.

I went in to see my doctor this morning for a quick check up and a refill on estrogen. Ever since my hysterectomy a year and a half ago, I’ve been learning how to function as a woman in her 30s on menopause. It’s been interesting to say the least. There are the obvious things that I don’t miss and won’t bother explaining. Besides, if you’re a woman you know what they are anyway. Then there’s the not so obvious things that have a way of blindsiding me when I least expect it. Our pastor’s daughter had a new baby a couple of weeks ago. While this whole process might have sent me into a mild depression a year ago, lately I’ve handled it all pretty smoothly. I’ve been to a couple of baby showers, walked through the baby aisle at Target, and even held a newborn without a single tear. All of these things I have counted as small victories to be celebrated. I have fully accepted the fact that my child rearing days are over and I can praise God for the miracle that He gave me in my daughter. Every day is a gift.

This morning however, I was blindsided. I came home and dumped my six month supply of estrogen on the bathroom counter. As I picked up the bag, I noticed the words beneath the pretty colors and designs. “You’re having a baby.” Right then I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. If I chose laughter, I have more than ample fodder to feed my appetite. For instance, I don’t know any women my age who can give advice about hot-flashes, belly fat, and incontinence to their mothers. I can talk at length with my step-mother, grandmother, and the crazy cat lady up the block about memory loss and ways to regain all the missing brain cells. A trip to the grocery store can make me chuckle simply by walking past the “feminine hygiene” aisle. If I happen to hear an older lady at the hair salon talking about her wrinkle cream, suddenly I’m all ears. I want to know what she’s using and how often. These are not typical discussions of young mothers barely over 30 and I think it’s amusing that my new sisters are also my grandparents.

Then there’s the flip side, the crueler aspect of my condition. On a regular basis I am forced to muddle through brain fog, the pea soup-like thing (sorry, I can’t think of a better word at the moment) that is at times a constant thorn in my side. It steals my memory, jumbles thoughts in my head so severely that it’s like I have a giant etch-a-sketch that’s been shaken to oblivion. I can’t concentrate, I can’t put a sentence together that makes sense, and it takes me twice as long to write anything. I get exhausted, cranky, and weepy. Along with the brain fog, my mind wanders to places it shouldn’t go and then I have to pray and ask for help so that I can steer it back to safe terrain again.

I should have been prepared for the punch to the gut I got this morning but for some reason I wasn’t. I should have known that a quick trip to my OBGYN could cause emotional turmoil. I don’t think I was expecting it because I really thought I was past this part. So while Keith and I have absolutely nothing in common and would not be able to relate to each other in the smallest of ways, we do understand sadness. While most of the time I am my happy, deranged self, every now and again I feel like Keith Urban. Tonight I just want to cry.

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Incense and Insanity

There is a reason why Easter only comes once a year. It is afraid of me. The reason why is because I make roasted lamb for dinner. Lamb on any other day may not seem like such a big deal but on Easter? Let’s count the ways it’s just a tiny bit uncomfortable for me. In every hymn book in America you can find some sort of reference about Jesus being the sacrificial lamb. (Think, “Oh Lamb of God”, "Jesus, the Lion and the Lamb”) Song titles and fragments of songs about the cute, cuddly creature bounce off the corners of my mind as I mix together the ingredients for my homemade marinade. As I fire up my oven, it isn’t long before mouths are watering and we’re inhaling the scent of Bambi meeting his demise in my 20 year old G.E.

As the brown sugar, vinegar, red wine, and ginger bubbled and boiled over the main course, I would be reminded later why this particular Easter seemed to outdo all the others. Easter might be afraid of me, but it sure gained my respect this year. We’ll start with the church service. Normally I provide the special music for Sunday worship. This year I had to hand my torch to a more worthy voice, compliments of my companion of late, Bronchitis. (Come to think of it, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. My song choice was “Worthy is the Lamb”) From Sunday service we’ll move on to meal preparation. I should have known it was a bad idea to wear white without an apron. Score a point for the kitchen demons and grab a clean, non mustard-stained shirt that isn’t white. Here’s where it gets interesting.

The San Jose Sharks are winning and everything is coming together perfectly. Score one for Momma. Two hours later the Sharks are down by one and the meat still has another 30 degrees until we can eat it without threat of disease. By the third hour, everyone is starving, the Sharks are losing by 2 points, and the smell of that dang meat is starting to get nauseating. Finally, it’s time to dig in. While everyone raves about Bambi, I am less than impressed and decide that next year I’ll be serving Porky Pig instead of our beloved Disney character. With the passing of dinner and the hockey game I remind myself that even though it’s another loss, we’re still in the playoffs and the other guys aren’t. I turn my oven up to 425 and prepare for peach pie. The kitchen demons are plotting away…

Suddenly an otherworldly stench fills the air, smoke billows through my living room and I am forced to open every window in the house. As the kitchen demons set up their next play, I carefully remove the broiler pan with charred marinade in the bottom and remind myself that next year I will remember to take it out of the oven before turning up the heat. By now I’m exhausted, high from Bambi fumes and depressed from the pitiful performance of my guys in teal. I can hardly think straight as I stuff the charcoal mixture down the garbage disposal. Nice slap shot from the kitchen demons. It will take another hour to get my sink unclogged, the floor mopped up, and the pipes put back together before we can enjoy my frozen peach pie from Claim Jumpers.

Fast forward 10 hours. I fully believed I was back in this game. I had once again opened every window in the house as the heater blasted and upholstery cleaner covered every inch of carpet and furniture. Wickless candles, carpet spray, and burning incense should do it right? I took the kid and the dog to the park expecting to find the charcoal marinade smell had finally found an escape route. It is now 24 hours later. I have a headache from all the incense, the heater is still blasting charcoal marinade smell, and my carpet and upholstery now reek of generic Febreeze. I can’t get that smell out of my house and the brain fog is jumping on the happy train from various scents in the air. The kitchen demons may be celebrating today but tomorrow I will remind them that I married a pastor and there’s a whole year before Easter comes again. I have plenty of time to plan. Next year’s meal won’t come with a shred of guilt. Bambi will be safe, Jesus will still be glorified properly, and I never liked Porky Pig much anyway. I am so looking forward to Christmas.

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Order Out of Chaos

Since coming home from Disneyland I’ve been a bit lethargic lately. Bronchitis has had a stranglehold on me and our home mortgage situation is less than optimistic. My mother in-law is back in the hospital with more heart trouble. To say that we are living in a time of uncertainty is an understatement. We are very much waiting on God and trusting and believing in His promises. He is the only One who can make perfect sense out of the chaos.

When I got up this morning I headed straight to my Bible in the hopes that I might hear from the One who gives me hope and strength. My devotional didn’t seem to be speaking to me so I turned to the first chapter in Genesis. There in the notes, was the message God wanted me to hear. “God makes order out of chaos.” My mind went back to all the times in history when this was true. In Exodus, He parted the Red Sea so that Israel could escape Pharaoh’s army unharmed. After finding their way to the Promised Land, God provided Israel with written commandments and rules to follow, thus making order out of their chaos. He sent Jesus into the world to bring order into the lives of every living person corroded with chaos. Thousands upon thousands of stories confirm this truth. God is a God of order.

A little later I came across a story of a woman who witnessed a miracle. She was on a mission to raise funds for her best friend who was fighting breast cancer. At 4am on the day she was set to standup-paddle for 40 miles, she prayed and asked God to reveal himself and His creation. Once again, God heard and answered prayer. Read this amazing story here.

I might not understand everything that is happening around me but I serve a God who still performs miracles and still hears and answers prayer. He brings order out of chaos, restores hope, and reveals himself in mighty, fantastic ways. I have nothing to fear or worry. My God is alive and still making himself known amidst the chaos.

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Life is like a trip to Disneyland

So last week my husband and I took our two kids and two of their friends to Disneyland. We had such a good time! My seven year old daughter had never been there and I was fortunate to get a couple of "first time" looks on my camera. The best picture of the bunch was when she was on the Small World ride. The utter look of enchantment, wonder, and pure joy is priceless. It was a magical time for the young ones and those of us who were young on the inside. Of course, the best part was coming home and resting our feet.

While we were away in the Magic Kingdom, I got to thinking how much this while trip sort of imitates life. All of us are on a journey toward somewhere. Some of us run full steam ahead to all the best rides, ignoring the little things in our efforts to see the big stuff. Others glide on a more even pace, taking in our surroundings and enjoying the view for what it is. Life is an adventure, a trip to Disneyland and how we prepare ourselves for the journey can make all the difference. Here are a few things I discovered.

1. Get up early and eat a good meal. Well, in our case get up early and eat. I guess when breakfast is free, there really isn't much room to complain is there? We've all heard the doctrine. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Eating right first thing in the morning fuels the body with energy and nutrients it will need for later. If you're a Christian, it is imperative to get up early and make time for the meat of God's word. Taking in a good meal first thing in the morning prepares us for the tough challenges we'll face later in the day and fights against exhaustion when we need energy.

2. Protect your body- wear sunscreen. Anyone with fair skin is well aware of the benefits of a good sun block. Sunburn is painful. 'Nuff said. As with life, we need to protect ourselves against the harmful rays of the enemy. Guarding our hearts against things of potential danger is just common sense.

3. Wear good walking shoes. As I learned on the last leg of my trip, wearing flip-flops all day is bad for the feet. The fact is, on the road of life each of us is bound to get a blister or two. Something or someone is going to rub us the wrong way. Our feet will ache from all the endless traveling from here to there and waiting for hours for the next big ride. Wearing good shoes helps to soften the hurts when (not if) they come. In life we are going to experience pain. Growing a thick skin and choosing to let stuff go is just as important as the sunblock. Sometimes you just have to be prepared for anything.

4. Follow your guide and don't argue. Our two older boys, Zach and Derrick have been to Disneyland more times than they can count in their short lives. They know where all the best rides are, which lines have the shortest wait time, and where the best food is. It pays to listen to someone who has been there. I think older folks really don't get the credit they deserve. Too often they are looked down upon because they are slower or less adept. The truth is, listening to someone who has been there and knows their stuff can save us a whole lot of time and blisters in the end.

5. Stay together. Disneyland is such a big place with so many people. It is easy to get lost in the crowd and lose our sense of balance or direction. Just as in life, it's important to keep a close eye on our loved ones and know where they are and how they're doing. This serves two purposes. One, it reminds us that we're not alone, that though we might be surrounded by people, we don't have to feel isolated. Two, it reminds us that we have a job to do. Our loved ones need us and if we're off by ourselves lost somewhere, someone is missing us and needs us back. To keep everyone close to me, I packed water in my backpack and offered it frequently. Could you, perhaps have a bit of water someone might need?

6.Make time to rest. Just yesterday I was discussing with someone how fast paced America really is. We rush through our days working to pay the bills, getting to meetings, picking up the kids, getting to here, there, and everywhere. Where has all this rushing gotten us? Knee deep in debt and obesity! Mexico is slow and easygoing. During the day eveything closes at 12pm and does not open until 4 hours later. Those people take time to rest and it shows in their appearance. They are younger looking, full of energy and vibrant. Everything they eat is made from scratch with time and careful preparation. Taking time to rest is vital for good health and truly helps us enjoy the road ahead.

7. Take lots of pictures. It is a sad fact that if you never go anywhere and never do anything, you won't have any memories to look back on later. I have learned that if I want to enjoy my life I need to be proactive and I need to have a good camera. My kids aren't always going to be here and someday I will need good stuff to talk about with my husband when it's just the two of us.

8. Spend your money wisely. For anyone who has been to Disneyland more than once, this will be old news and I apologize. However, I learned something new on this trip. Those 20 dollar mouse ears are a complete waste of money. The strap itches and unless you have a child sized head, the hat doesn't fit and just looks silly. While we're here on earth, it's probaby a good idea to spend our hard earned money on things that matter and ignore the stupid mouse ears.

9. Prepare for the road home. As stated earlier, all of us are on a journey toward somewhere. For me, I am preparing myself for eternity in Heaven. How I pack now will make all the difference when I finally get there. I am in a constant state of preparation. I want to be ready when it's finally my turn to go home. I can't wait.

10. Remember where you came from. Upon coming home I had so many pictures of our journey and everything that was wonderful about it. Each picture tells a story and if I look hard enough, I'll bet I could find a mistake or two. These are great reminders of where I started from, what I learned, and how much I've grown as a mom, wife, and friend. In life I am learning what to do and what not to do and trying to pass those things on to my loved ones. All in all, it's been an amazing ride and I am thankful for the honor of being on this journey with so many who love and pray for me.

Thank you for the joy, the memories, and even the blisters. It's been fun!

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Alive

The most beautiful thing about spring is its newness. Everywhere I look the world has come alive again. Frozen landscapes are giving way to lush green grass. Trees are blossoming as bright, glorious color emerges. Rivers and streams are thawing, revealing the chatter of living water coursing through the valleys. After a long, icy winter the warmth of spring is inviting and welcoming.

I have spent much of my winter in one long, endless battle. The enemy has matched me blow for blow and until recently, I had no comprehension of how utterly exhausted I have been. My arms are weak from holding my sword and shield. My legs are buckling from the weight of standing strong for so long. My heart is heavy as each strike from the enemy courses through my skin, reminding me that I am still human in every sense. It’s been a long winter and finally, the Son has broken through the clouds and blinded the eyes of my hateful foe. Finally, I can rest. As I sit down and adjust my armor, I see his shapeless form retreat back into the darkness. I am safe for now.

Spring is beautiful because it reminds me that new birth is found with the changing of the seasons. From winter I came, frozen, depraved, and sin-stained. Into spring I arise, cleansed, whole, and free from condemnation and washed by the blood of the Lamb. I am a new creation, born again and saved. My sins are nailed to a dead tree and I am redeemed and made alive by a living God.

I remove the heavy garments that cloaked me in sorrow, guilt, and shame. I twirl around and around in the Son as his living water splashes onto my feet, my hands, my head. Spring is glorious, invigorating, and liberating. It is saying good riddance to old dead things and embracing life renewed and inspired. I dance around, happy to rest my shield for a time and feel the love of God’s army holding my hands. I am alive.

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