I came home from a playdate the other day, and told my husband that the family who M was playing with had a servant. She took our coats and everything, I said, and unloaded the mom when she got home of all the stuff she was carrying in. She asked me if I wanted a beverage. Their house was spotless. So when I got home, I started whining that I wanted a servant too. And husband, Bible dork that he is, had to bust me on the fact that I do very much covet my neighbor's maidservant.

Damn. I thought I had that one under control.

We happen to go on playdates to houses that are much bigger than ours sometimes, since M goes to a school that is way out of price range but we get the "pastor rate" for. It's a great school and she has great friends, and I do really enjoy the moms who host these playdates. And their maidservants. But excuse me if it weirds me out a little bit that there's a servant there to take my coat when my house is, while not exactly squalor, not exactly not-squalor either.

I get embarassed about my house sometimes, but only in comparison to these other houses with the maidservants and such. If I don't compare it to anything, I love my house! I love how it's comfortable and how it's open, how the light hits my (dusty) kitchen, and as someone who moved 14 times before I was in high school, I love that it's mine. I worked on a shack one time for a family of six on a mission trip to Mexico one time, and whenever I'm tempted to think that my house just isn't enough, I remember that trip, and how grateful they were to be getting a bigger shack that had a tin roof, not cardboard, so the rain wouldn't leak in on them at night. But that little devilish voice gets me sometimes...the one that tells me my house isn't big enough, isn't nice enough, all of that.

According to this quiz, however, I'm not jealous at all! See if you are...

Not a Jealous Bone in Your Body

You're secure, trusting, and giving with friends and lovers And while you may have been hurt before, you've bounced back You're generally happy with your life - and no one's grass is greener than yours One word of caution: some may see your lack of jealousy as indifference!

Are You Jealous?

"It goes so fast...."

So, my husband is out of town. So what....nearly every mom I know practically rolled her eyes at my preparations, which including making sure we had a playdate or something to do every afternoon he was gone. A lot of husbands are out of town. I will say, though, that my particular husband is pretty great, and I really do feel like we co-parent all the time. Which is why I have been cranky this week, and will probably be until he returns this afternoon.

Monday and Tuesday were good days, punctuated by the occasional bad moment or meltdown. Yesterday, not so good. It started at 3:30 a.m. with a "mommy, I peed in my bed!" wake-up call. After the calming, changing of clothes (a stylin' outfit that involved, inexplicably, a belt and shorts), putting back to bed in the sleeping bag, I got another 20 minutes of sleep or so until baby J decided that it was time for him to get up. We nursed, and then he flopped over on the other side of the bed and said, "Dada? Dada? DADA!!!!!!!!" and then screamed for a while because his beloved dad was not there to rock him back to sleep as usual.

Fast-forward past morning baths, daughter to school, a nap for J but not me, and we're at Target in the bathroom. M decided in the middle of shopping that she had to go NOW and so we abandoned our cart. She took forever on the potty, J was pulling all the TP out of the roll and of course putting his hands all over who knows what nastiness, and trying to crawl out of the stall while, god forbid, I went to the potty too.

At the sink, I was holding a screaming, flailing, J while M was turning it into the most formal hand-washing ritual I'd ever seen, and I said, with a teensy bit of hostility, "Hurry up. Your brother is freaking out."

And that's when the woman at the next sink decided to give me her bit of wisdom. "They grow up so fast," she said, as J flailed and M sprayed. "I've heard that," I said, nicely. Oh, but then she decided to go on. And on. About how it was so fast and the second you turned around it was (scream, flail, spray) over! I looked at her and said, "You know, usually, I get that, but today, it's just not so fun." She looked at me like I had slapped her and went out of the bathroom without saying another word.

Now I don't know her situation. Perhaps she had a child who died. Perhaps she has children she misses terribly. Who knows! I tried and tried to excuse her...I felt bad that I wasn't nicer. But you know, it was a bad day. I love my children, but jeez, little kids make for HARD days, and I can't be patient all the time.

So I've been thinking a lot about her, and trying to pray for her, and hoping I didn't completely ruin her day. But maybe nobody told her it's okay to have crappy days, to wish you could have a second by yourself, to not have to be so freaking NICE all the time, to know that Jesus is okay with me even when I'm snarky.

Feather Boas and a church trial

My son, the lovely baby J, is into feather boas. His sister got a bunch of princess clothes for Christmas (see below), one of the accessories being a pink feather boa. And baby J is really into it. I always hear my friends' husbands say something like, "whoa, you've got to watch out for that!" or some such...even if it's joking. But what it did the other day was give me tears in my eyes.

My friend, Bradley, is on trial by our church right now. Yesterday, I was privileged to host the prayer room provided for those who were a part of the trial or there for support of Bradley and Darin (his partner). There weren't a ton of people who came down, so I had a bit of time to pray and think (unusual in my world) about what was going on.

A circle of empty chairs was in the chapel room where I was, each draped with a stole. I looked at the empty chairs and I could not help but think of the feather boa. What if one of my children is gay? I hope and pray that as with all things I could support them, pray for them, tell them they could be and love anything and anyone they choose.

But as it stands in my church right now, I could not do that. I would have to tell my child that since he or she loves someone the same sex as him or her that he or she could not be a pastor in the church that I love and have served, and that they have been since before they were born.

I have known this for a while, but I guess it came home to me as a mother while looking at those empty chairs with their empty stoles. Bradley's mother is here with him, and I though that it is both wonderful and awful that she is with him through this. Wonderful, of course, because she's showing up for her kid as, in my opinion, a mama needs to do. Awful, because she has to watch him endure a trial for loving someone so much that he wants to spend the rest of his life with him.

So please pray for Bradley and Darin. Pray for his mom. Pray for our church. Pray that the Spirit would move in mysterious ways, in ways that we can't even think about yet. Pray that minds and hearts would be always opening, opening, opening, never closing, to possibilities and people.

Mostly, please pray that no more mothers and fathers have to watch their children be tried and rejected by the church that they love and to which they've given their life's work. Thank you.

Christmas Eve Sermon

What happens tonight?

What happens tonight? If you ask my three-year-old, she would say that tonight, Santa is coming. If you questioned her more, she might say that Jesus is born. Even more, and she might tell you that we finally get to light that fourth candle on the Advent wreath, the one that’s been bugging her for weeks now. It’s finally here. What happens tonight? Jesus is born.

What happens tonight? We’ve waited for this night for weeks. We’ve prepared our houses, we’ve baked our cookies, we’ve wrapped our presents, we’ve listened to the carols. Maybe we’ve listened to the stories leading up to tonight in the Bible…the one about John the Baptist and his mother, Elizabeth, the one about Jesus saying that the end times are very close, right around the corner, in fact, and the one where John the Baptist is giving us the good news that the Messiah is coming and will harvest the people of God. Just to stretch it out, we’ve lit one candle, then two candles, then three, and now finally all of them stand lit.

And after all that, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. I come to this night, and maybe you do too, full of expectation and hope but also full of all the things that bring us down in this world…everyday stress, the state of the world, war, poverty, sitting in traffic. I bring all those things with me to this night, and I bet you do too.

What happens this night? What happens when we come face to face with God? What happens when we see the God who lives in Jesus’ birth tonight?

We can see what happens when we look at the ones who were there that night. The ones who saw Jesus, face to face, and were touched and changed by his birth.

What happened to the shepherds that night? What did they feel when they saw the face of God in the angels? They felt, we hear in the story, fear and trembling. The old translation says that they were “sore afraid.” Very afraid. Insanely afraid. Because the night had become as day…the night got lit up by the presence of these angels, and I can’t imagine that the song they were singing was quiet. They were afraid. And that’s how we feel too, sometimes, when faced with the presence of God. Afraid, when our life is lit up to show what we have done and left undone. Afraid, when we hear the voice of God telling us even good news in our life. Afraid. That’s what happens first tonight…we feel afraid. But thanks be to God…the first words out of the angels’ mouths was “DO NOT BE AFRAID…WE ARE BRINGING GOOD NEWS OF GREAT JOY!” Do not be afraid, even though the presence of God means nothing is done in secret. There’s good news of great joy for all people, even people who are afraid, even people like us. Do not be afraid.

What happens this night to the people who were afraid, the people who lived in darkness? What else happened to those shepherds? Well, in the words of the movie Forrest Gump…they just ran! They didn’t walk to the manger, they went with haste, meaning, they RAN. That’s how meeting God affected them…they ran to the manger to see this baby. And this people, who had lived in darkness…then they praised and gave thanks to God! These shepherds, these common people who didn’t have anything, really, ran to see the baby Jesus, and then they ran back out again, praising God, preaching, prophesying, and telling everyone who they met what had happened to them. That’s what happens this night. Even people like us…people who don’t have any special qualifications…people who have walked in darkness…people who aren’t even expecting ANYTHING…these people become the ones who spread the good news about the birth of Jesus, because they can’t imagine doing anything else. Seeing the face of God so changed them, so touched them, that their lives have become all about running, not walking, to tell people who haven’t heard about the grace of God.

What happened this night to Mary? What happened to this important disciple, this servant of God? Mary gave birth to Jesus. In the Orthodox church, her title is God-bearer. She brought God into the world in Jesus. And that might have been enough, her saying yes to God, when an angel came to her to ask if she would be the one, her giving birth. But she becomes more than that. After these things happen to her…all these things, can you imagine? An angel visits you and tells you that you, if you agree, will become the mother of the Messiah, and you’re a teenager and not even married yet? You carry the baby, agree to your husband and the government’s crazy idea that you, nine months pregnant, should take a three-day trip to Bethlehem on a donkey so they can count you, and then give birth in a stable. I think that would be plenty for me, thanks, for one lifetime.

But Mary is special. Mary knows that these things that have happened around her son’s birth will affect everything. So she looks at all these things…the angels, her strange pregnancy, the shepherds, running to her side, the bright star over the place where she gave birth, the beautiful baby boy in her arms. She looks at all these things, and she holds them dear, she holds them to herself. She keeps them inside, even though she’s not sure what they all mean at the time. But she preserves the memory of this night, of all that happens to her in this night.

And we preserve it too, don’t we? It’s Christmas Eve, the night we waited for, the night that the herald angels sing and the faithful come and the night is silent, at least for a little while. We treasure the moments and we remember them in our hearts, even if they’re not perfect, because we have brought our tired selves here to worship the baby in the manger and his face is the face of God.

So we, with Mary, remember this night, and all that has happened. We carry it with us when, like Mary, we have terrible things happen to us, when life is not so wonderful and magical by candlelight. Mary must have carried the memory of this night with her when she saw her son on a cross, so many years later. Although there was pain and struggle and death she carried within her the memory of a night, this night, when the star shone and the angels sang and a baby was born who would save us all.

Amen, and Merry Christmas!

You can't always get what you want...

I'm a big believer in the magic of Christmas. I think that kids should go downstairs to see presents wrapped under the tree, and I think that at least one of them should be something that they "oh please oh please oh please" asked Santa for, even if it's of questionable value.

But I am not buying princess shoes this Christmas.

M insists that she wants princess shoes and a bride dress (among other things) and I am not doing it. She is getting some lovely creative play dress-up things that can become anything she wants. She is getting a lavender princess dress with matching hat. But I am drawing the line at the shoes, and I have to admit that I feel kind of bad about it. The girl loves shoes. She already has two pairs of princess shoes, and I can't, in good conscience, buy her more.

So I guess I'm just hoping, even though I'm convinced that I'm doing the right thing by not buying her any more of the plastic-y, foot-pinching, made in Japan craziness, that she still finds Christmas to be magical. And I keep reminding myself that you can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.

Goodwill to me.

I've been thinking about Goodwill lately. Not "peace on earth, goodwill to all ('men' is a poor translation, by the way!)" but the Goodwill. I went through sort of a thing in the spring, and by "thing" I mean some sort of revelation or life-changing epiphany.

I love clothes. Always have. We have pictures of me at two, three, four years old, looking happy to be wearing my own spiffy concoction of skirt, lacy shirt, cowboy boots, bikini top. You know what I mean. I still love clothes...I often had though that if I had kajillions of dollars, I would buy myself some obscenely expensive shoes first of all, and then a suit that was made just for my own self by some fabulous person in Italy.

But...the epiphany. I had known of this little thing called "justice" and another thing called "child labor" for quite a while, but I was in denial, being a person who loved clothes with little funds. I felt like I had no choice but to buy things with labels that say, "Made in Bangladesh" or "Made in Myanmar" although I have childhood friends who came from there, and I know that almost certainly a woman or child getting paid not much made them for me to buy for an unfairly cheap price.

This all sort of started crashing down on me, at the ripe age of 30.

What to do? I have less funds, having gone from part-time to extremely part-time, and sometimes not at all. I still love clothes and can't stand to look bad at things that are important to me...weddings, preaching gigs, parties, etc.

A solution came to me, and it is the only solution I could think of that encompasses all of these: my love for clothes, love for shopping, cheapo budget, saving the earth, and not causing my buddies and their children across the sea (or here at home) to make clothes for me for an unfair wage.

GOODWILL. It helps that I live in an affluent area, so the Goodwill harbors treasures that are just amazing. I try to only shop there, actually. I don't talk about it too much, hence the blog, because truth be told, I don't always want to explain that I'm not just a cheapskate...it's about so many other things. So I shop there for my clothes, and I'm dressing just as well (or better) than I ever have. And I feel like, in a teeny way, I'm doing more of my part to bring justice on the earth. When I grow up (or my kids do) I'll be an activist, but today, I'll just shop at the Goodwill.

Four

My daughter is almost four.

This sounds like, I bet, NOTHING, to someone who doesn't have kids, or maybe who doesn't have a girl child, or, just to take it further, it probably sounds like nothing to someone who doesn't have my particular daughter.

Three has been a little rough.

Three has meant something like ten tantrums a day at some point, for reasons such as "I didn't want YOU to tie my shoes, I wanted DADDY to tie my shoes!" and "I didn't want my food TOUCHING on the plate!" and "I wanted to pick my spoon out myself!" and oh, the list goes on and on. Melting down is a nice way to describe what would then happen. We tended to call it "losing your mind," which seems to me to be more accurate. Many times a day, this. I took deep breaths. I went running. I did my best to reflect her feelings. Sometimes I yelled or did things that would not put me in the mom hall of fame.

But I'll be honest...I prayed the other day, the other month, maybe, about all of this. I said, "God, you've given me this little person whom I desperately love. But I don't like her. I don't like being around her a lot of the time, and that makes me want to cry. Please help. Please, please, help."

Now there are some prayers that I've prayed and prayed and prayed, every day for years, and after a few years it seems that there might be the teeniest of dents in what I wanted to happen with the prayer. But there are other prayers that the second it comes out of my mouth God is falling all over Herself to dump the request on to me, like, "I was waiting for you to ask!" This whole enjoying my kid thing seems to be one of the ones where God couldn't wait to just shower me with all kinds of good kid moments. Or it could be just that she's nearing four. Whatever it is, I am supremely grateful for this hilarious, creative, dramatic, active, little girl, and that feels like a pretty huge miracle.

Thankful, kid-style

My poor neglected blog! To all my faithful readers I say...I have DSL, and I will return!

For now, I'd like to share with you what I did for my daughter's preschool chapel today, in honor of giving thanks. It's my paraphrase of Psalm 67, mostly ripped off from the Message. If you've got a little person in your house, or a dog, or a life partner, give it a try.


PSALM 67

(A Thanksgiving Psalm for Children)

1 God, mark us with grace and blessing! Smile at us, God!
(bless your neighbor, smile up at God so God smiles at you)

2 The whole country will see how you work, all the places will see how you save.
(spread arms out wide for whole country)

3 God! Let people thank and enjoy you. Let all people thank and enjoy you.

(say loudly THANK YOU GOD for…..list things)

4 Let all people everywhere become happy and shout their happiness because You help them.
You even help people who are far away!
(spread out to fill the whole room and say THANK YOU GOD!)

5 God! Let people thank and enjoy you.
Let all people thank and enjoy you.
(point to everyone around the room)

6 Earth, show us how happy you are! You mark us with blessing, O God, our God.
7 You mark us with blessing, O God. The whole earth, THANK GOD!
(arms out for the whole earth,
yell THANK YOU GOD!)
AMEN!

then end with a bunch of hugs and a rousing rendition of "He's got the whole world in His Hands." Or maybe a dance party in honor of Jesus. Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

"You look happy and proud."

so said my fortune in the cookie I got today at the excellent buffet down the street. "You look happy and proud." At first, I thought, what a dumbass fortune, as usual. But then I looked around, and had the thought that if anybody did see me today, they would think I looked happy and proud. I was with my kids and my husband, and we four were having a pretty good time. Baby J was chowing down on chicken and those noodle-y things, Big Girl M was trying out the trainer chopsticks, and I was eating my share after nursing Baby J through a growth spurt this weekend and running five miles this morning.

I felt happy and proud.

This is exactly the opposite of how I usually felt as I drove to my church or did anything related to it, with a very few exceptions in three and a half years. I usually felt like a failure, and unhappy.

And so I am happy to report that since the actual demise of my church last week I am feeling, in my new occupation (s) of mama at home, slingsewer, and supply preacher, both happy, and very proud. Finally.

"This number is no longer in service...."

Well, my church is dead.

Yes, it was technically over about two and a half months ago, but it has been like when someone dies. They're dead, but you still get the bills. So I've been slowly sorting out the bills, making sure all the checks are in, everything's accounted for, everyone is paid and receipts are filed, before handing it all in to the big ol' church governing body in the sky. Literally. As in, on the 16th floor, that me and baby J made a trip to this morning, me, sweaty and dressed up, he, damp and in the backpack. Long story.

So I'm not going to lie...this ending's taken longer than it probably should have. If I really would have scrambled, I could have had it done a few weeks ago, but something in me resisted. I just didn't want to say goodbye yet. I didn't want it to be final, although if you would have asked me, I would have said, oh yes, of course, I want it to be over.

But today, it's over. Earlier this week, I got an email from a person (see my post below about casting out the demons, etc) demanding a final accounting as he was "promised."

The good thing about this is that it finally got myself into gear to deal with the last few faxes and phone calls and get it done.

The bad things....well...they're legion. What it boils down to is that I have such anger about this person asking me to answer to him after he was the one who made my life at this church pretty bad, maybe even setting me up to fail, although that's debatable. So I decided to treat him exactly how I treat my three year old when she's demanding something. I did exactly what I promised and nothing more, and I decided that if I get questioned any more as if I had done something wrong then I will do what I do with the three year old again and repeat in a calm voice the same phrase, over and over, as if I was a recording...."I'm no longer a pastor at that church. Please ask (my boss) for more information."

I'm still working all this out, but I've recently figured out that I have felt like a person in an abusive relationship...that I look around at some friends with good churches with more or less people who like and support them, and don't even believe it could be like that, and sadder still, that maybe I don't even deserve it.

But something in me just won't give up hope that there's a little church out there that's perfect for me. So I'll take this year as a gift, and I'll keep hoping. Okay?

Baby J

So, my sweet baby boy is one year old today.

One year ago right now I was snuggling his long-awaited self at the hospital, where they never even mentioned the nursery and made it so that either me or his dad could hold him all the time. After 43 weeks of pregnancy (that's nearly 10 months, for you counting) I was ready for ANY baby to appear but not ready for his round, squinchy little delicious face, so much like his big sis, to come out yelling into the world that really, he could have stayed in there a few more weeks. I saw him right away, all goopy, held him, nursed him, named him, introduced him to his Nana, all before he was an hour old.

His life so far has been sort of a blur to me of a ten pound, eleven, fifteen, twenty pound weight on my hip or my back, his face looking up at me eager and smiling, nuzzling my chest when he wants to nurse, beginning to move around and have a personality.

He is a funny little thing...he says words like, "my dada!" and "All done!" and "hi!" and "thank you" and his favorite, "MAMA!"

Perhaps it's because he's my second baby and I could relax with him a little more, or that he's not so much like me that we clash as much as my daughter and I. Whatever it is, sleep deprivation and all, I have truly enjoyed this year with him, and I look forward to seeing his little face each day.

Blessed are you, baby J. Blessed was this year with your sweet self in it. Peace be with you, let the Holy Angels have charge of you so that the Evil One would not overcome you. Amen, and I love you, sweet boy. Happy Birthday.

Divorce Court

So, I went to divorce court the other day.

I went with a friend of mine, a good friend, one of my best friends, in fact. This divorce had been a long time coming, and I don't want to give too many details because the point is the experience of divorce court.

So we walked into the courthouse, and I started to get nervous, the way you do when you have a big exam coming up. We got security checked and went up a big set of stairs. Their names "Smith vs. Smith" were on a video monitor along with ten or so other couples' names who were divorcing that day. We sat on a bench to wait for her lawyer, who was wonderful...very matter-of-fact and compassionate, and wanting to make sure all the details were included and we knew what to expect.

We waited in this hall. Now, it was a normal looking hall, but there were about ten or fifteen well-dressed people there, women, men, and their lawyers. Every time the door would open to this hall the air would just tense up, and everyone would look up to see if it was HIM or HER coming in the door.

Her soon-to-be ex showed up late, as is typical of him, and was dressed like a slob. But that's beside the point because then we proceeded into the courtroom. It was a real courtroom with a judge (a lovely woman with a kind face), benches, a witness stand, bailiffs (the dudes with the badges and earpieces, inexplicably), and then us...the two lawyers, my friend, her ex, and me, sitting on the benches in the back. This may sound dumb, but I hadn't pictured the courtroom to look so, I don't know, REAL.

I was freaking out, and more so when her ex's lawyer looked at me and said, "you're going to be a witness, too" after he called the ex to the stand. I thought I was going to throw up. This was not in the plan, but whatever I needed to do.

They had to establish the case that they had actually been apart for a year, because that was the grounds for the divorce. His lawyer asked him some questions, and then called me to the stand. I had to raise my right hand, swear to tell the truth, and then sat down. The lawyer asked me my name, profession (!), place where I live, and how I know my friend. He asked how often we talk on the phone, and then he asked "if they would have gotten back together, would she have called you?" I said, "probably." It was so bizarre, like being asked to testify at a Jerry Springer show. Then he asked some more questions, such as, was I surprised to hear they were separating? I just wanted to make sure that I didn't mess it up...I didn't...but I was so scared I was going to say the wrong thing. But it was fine, and then I got excused and they called my friend to the stand.

Then the questions started coming for the two of them. Did they understand the agreement? Were they coerced into signing it? Did they think it was in the best interest of their minor child? Did they understand that it was effective now (meaning, ex, pay the child support already!) And then the kicker...was there anything the court could do to reconcile the two of them?

They both emphatically answered, at the same time, even, "No."

My main feeling was that if you are going through all of this mess, all of this legal business and pain and forms and lawyers, then it was truly THAT BAD. And for that I am grateful that divorce exists. I think that if you were having some problems, as all couples do, but nothing too serious, that you might walk into that courtroom and walk right back out again, because of the seriousness of it, the court and the judge and the bailiffs and everything.

But sometimes it is THAT BAD. I hate that, and I wish I could fix it, and apparently so does the state of South Carolina. But if they cannot, hopefully they'll end like this judge did...she tapped the gavel and wished both of them luck. And I do too.

Like my new look?

So, I've finally discovered how to customize blogs. It only took me about, um, ten years to do this or so. But looks gorgeous, no? It's very easy, actually, and my very basic HTML knowledge is serving me well although things have advanced since 1995 when I did some programming for $$ in college. Back then, people who were geeky enough to be on the internet had sort of blogs, but they were more like, OH MY GOD, I actually put something up that everybody can see!

Funny thing, they're still kind of like that.

Anyway, my newest project is that I've finally created a spot where I will offer my baby carriers for sale. I do this for friends and friends-of-friends, but I finally broke down and made it semi-official. I really do love to sew them and pick out the fabrics and see the final product...and see them make mamas (and papas') lives easier. Take a look.

In other news, I'll be out of town for a while and then my sweet baby boy will be one year old! So I may be online even less than usual, but who knows. That's what not having a full-time job to screw around on the internet does for ya. I only get naps to blog, and those are in short supply, although Mr. Man has decided he will sleep a bit better at night, thanks to a magic visit from a dear friend who seems to inspire good sleep, just by her presence. We'll be inviting you back soon, girlfriend.

Hearts

I preached in Alabama this weekend (and for those of you who have stereotypes about Alabama, go visit...it's as good or bad as any other place, although I will admit they have more than their fair share of trailers) because I got to see my uncle and aunt and my two cousins, who I don't see as often as I'd like. In fact, because I don't think any of my family read my blog, I'll just say they're pretty much my favorite out of my eight uncles and their families (my mom and dad both had a lot of brothers).

It is hard to see this particular uncle, though in a good way. He looks very much like my dad did, and he also has had two heart attacks already. He's 47. And though I hate having to say this every time, no, he hasn't ever smoked, and he's not extremely overweight, and his diet is pretty good (at this point, he eats as heart healthy as you can). It's just bad genes.

And I just had a friend's mom die of lung cancer. She had quit smoking about 20 years ago, just so you know.

"Unfair" doesn't quite begin to describe it. I know there's evil in the world, and I think this is some of it. Stephen King had a novel, Insomnia, where he described how the "random" is the same thing as evil in the world. How "random" things that happen are more evil than the calculated things...a little boy hit by a car, cancer, heart disease, etc. And I do believe this is true. Stephen King also believes that God is love, and that God is a God of the ninth inning. That's what I'm having to believe when I look at my uncle's face with my baby...praying that somehow God will pull a rabbit out of God's hat and let him make it to 60 or 70. Or maybe it's just the grace given to me to see him, as I would have seen my dad, smiling and laughing with my children and his.

I had a bad day....

Oh, how much do I HATE that song!

If you haven't heard it, it talks about someone who's had a bad day, blah blah, they're standing in line for their latte...whine whine...and just because I'm feeling bitter I thought I'd give them a bad day. "You had a bad day, baby up all night, so you give him a smile and you go for a ride, you had a bad day, he still won't sleep, got a staph infection so you get some ointment..."

wait, that doesn't rhyme! But that would, in fact, describe the bad day that was going on in our house.

Actually though the song isn't that bad. It describes a bad day and then the little things that make it okay. And the little things, what we Christians would call grace, have gotten me through today.
1. A starbucks card with money still on it for that much-needed latte.
2. My children played nicely together for an hour without me having to utter anything like, "get that off his neck!"
3. My husband took BOTH of them to do errands, allowing me to blog.
4. My sermon basically wrote itself, being that it's all about kids this Sunday and how they disrupt stuff, and that's okay, in fact, that's what it's all about.

So, my day is not so bad...as the song says, it's turning around. But I'm still praying for some sleep tonight, or at least the grace to make it through.

Waking up

I have been down on myself for a while now. I've thought...why am I not accomplishing more? why can't I get my shit together? Why can't I.....blah blah blah. Then I read something in a random magazine or book, a mom mentioning the "walking coma" that was the baby's first year. I somehow forgot that my sweet baby boy is not yet a year old. I've been pressuring myself to do a lot more than I did my daughter's first year, I guess because I've done this before or something? So I think, one month shy of his birthday, I'm going to try to stop doing the pressure thing because it's not like it's HELPING me get anything accomplished...it's just making me more tired.

And since not much else is going on...here are some links because I haven't yet figured out how to put them on the side. If anyone wants to help me out with that, feel free.

My favorite mama blog, The Dalai Mama.
My beloved community of crunchy moms, Mothering.
Hysterical blog about beauty tips for ministers.

Would have more but I must go refuel from my "nap dammit" run this morning. It worked, by the way! Sweet baby J is asleep in the jog stroller, and for that we all say Amen.

Runners' World

I went for a run this morning.

If I could control the world (ha!) I would run every single morning, with maybe one day off. I used to think people like this were crazy, and I used to take great pride in saying that I didn't run unless someone chased me. I used to say that I had bad knees (true) and bad feet (also true) so I didn't run. But then I started running...and sort of got over all that. It's hard to remember how it happened because it was sort of gradual. I ran a very little bit in college, jogged with a friend of mine, and we would do a two mile loop that would totally wind me (as in, get me out of breath). Then I ran some in seminary, mostly to lose weight for my wedding. I did a race with a friend of mine and got hooked...the breast cancer race for the cure, which at that point was all women. I remember so very well that sensation of running down the cobblestones with thousands of other women in the breeze (Ohio in May) and people cheering, my friend encouraging me, and finishing the three miles so very happy and triumphant.

I've run on and off since then, through two pregnancies, up and down 100 pounds, in rain and snow and humidity. I've run races and one marathon, never fast, always pretty slow.

Someone (again!) said to me when I said that I run, "wow, you're so good." No, I'm not. I suck. And running is the grace in my life that keeps me going. It feels like a gift to be taking step after step, feeling my body actually working, my heart pumping, my mind clear and meditative.

I just thought about this again because I had to take about a week off because I took a stupid fall and hurt my knee trying to protect the babe I was holding. I was sad, I was tired, I was sort of depressed. Need to run. Got to run. Is that a bad thing?

Tell me all your thoughts on God

I was singing the "Blue Cars" song from, erm, many years ago (1995? or something like that) and my daughter said, "Who are you singing about?" I said, a little boy and a man. She said, "no, who's the 'Her?'" I said, "God, I guess."

And here's where I had an out of body experience...she says, "mommy, is God a man or a woman?"

Time sort of stopped. I have thought about this question so many times. I've prayed to who knows how many images of God in my head. I've preached about who God is, male or female or spirit or neither. I've read gazillions of pages of feminist theology (shout-out to my sisters in seminary....read now, you won't get as much time to read ever again!). I really should know how to answer that question.

I said, "well, I don't really think God is a man or a woman. I think God is kind of both a man and a woman."

Daughter said, "why don't we use our voices and ask God? GOD? ARE YOU A MAN OR A WOMAN?"

"Mommy, God is a woman. She said so."

Well, there you have it.

Healing, through Sea Creatures

I was just thinking about after my dad died, if I could pinpoint the time when the grief started to lift a bit and I started to feel like myself again. I didn't think I could, but it turns out that I know exactly when it was. It was during a trip to a cabin in Michigan for Spring Break. Michigan, not such a spring-breaky place, but I went with good friends and my boyfriend at the time (husband now) and we did pretty much nothing for a week.

I say nothing, but I guess we did stuff. We walked in the snow. We ate crazy-ass thrown together meals, and we went to a brewery. We played cuthroat euchre. We laughed a lot. And when we left, I felt a little bit like the fog was lifting. When we got back, I said to my supervising pastor for my field work, "guess what. I'm out of heavy grief." And he hugged me like he knew exactly what I meant and said something like, "congratulations" in a way that wasn't sarcastic at all...just that he had been there and was glad I was through it.

And here I am again, after grieving the loss of this church and all that goes with it, and I can pinpoint again when I started to feel better. It was at the Georgia Aquarium, last week.

This trip was a consolation prize from my family to my family, mostly because our air conditioning decided to break during the hottest week of the summer. Also because we were supposed to go to a cabin that I had grand plans for...to be all healed and stuff again...but it didn't happen so we went to the aquarium.

It was so, so, beautiful. The beluga whales looked like they were dancing. Schools of rays, which happen to be my very favorite sea creature, swam over our heads...literally a hundred of them together. The sea lions played and the otters decided to come check us out, which my baby son laughed at.

It was also not four thousand degrees in there, which was a big relief in and of itself. We stayed there for no less than eight hours, and then we went home, and the next day (I'll omit the part about how everybody cranked around since the house was still hot as hell) I felt a little bit better. The day after that I felt healed, or on my way.

I guess what mostly both experiences were all about was getting out of where we live for a while. Friends and sea creatures and beer and red velvet cake help, but I think it's mostly just being somewhere other enough to forget yourself and your house and all the stuff that waits there for you to fix it or do it or change it.

Grief is weird, but I'm learning all the time. And if you get a chance, go to the Georgia Aquarium, damning the cost, because it is worth it, and more than worth it. No, they do not pay me to say stuff like that, but they should.

August and everything after

How much do I love that Counting Crows album? Everybody who was in college in the 90s must love it...I think you were issued it upon entrance. But it's sort of how things are going. I have eight minutes left of Elmo so I must type fast.

I didn't know that I would miss working so much only a week after I've been done. I miss preparing for Sundays although I complain about it almost every Sunday...I miss writing a sermon and showing up to preach. Ugh. As I've already discovered several times in my life, grief sucks.

Things are going better with my kids though, at least for the moment. I think I'm out of crisis mode and on to the working on grief mode. I'm finding some productive things to do with my "learning experience" to help other developers/redevelopers not make the same mistakes, or at least, make them in an educated manner or something. So I'm not so snappy at them, and it helps that my daughter is transitioning from three to four, and is (oh, please God!) on the better side of things for a while, not protesting everything, not so, erm, SCREAMY. But we all do better when I'm not anxious and edgy, of course.

So I'm in the process of figuring out how to fill my days. I'm doing some worship consulting, which I love, I'm supply preaching some, I'm going to crunchy-mama playgroups as much as possible. It's still suffocatingly hot here, even more so than usual, but we're managing.

Whoops, Elmo is up, so I will return to blog another day!