Blogging the Bible: David & Goliath

September 18, 2013 By

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Caravaggio, my favorite painter of all time, painting David and Goliath

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I think everyone knows this story – there’s this big mean giant that keeps taunting everyone, and the Israelites are afraid of him, but young handsome David rolls his eyes like “seriously ya’ll – he’s only like six feet tall, so quit shivering in your sandals like total weasels and buck up already.” He casually walks over to the front of the line, picks up some shiny stones, pulls out his little deerskin slingshot, and hits the giant with a pebble square between the eyes. The giant falls down, David chops his head off like “that’s how I roll, folks,” and there’s probably a Jaz-Z song playing in the background.  David walks in slow-motion up to the commander, and at the end of the day he’s writing folk songs on the hillside and later becomes king.

Or at least that’s how I remember it.  And honestly, that’s not super practical for my day-to-day life.  But now that I read it with new eyes, more emerges.

So the story begins with the Philistines on one hill and the Israelites on the other with a valley between them, gathering for war.  I suppose in those days, war was a more civil affair, with no fear of chemical weapons or hidden warfare or land mines that blow shrapnel into your armpits and eye sockets, and they all just charged at each other like buffalo.  And Goliath stood out in line and taunted the men of Israel for forty days, which seems a little excessive if you ask me, like “yes yes, we know you’re a bad-ass.  Please stop it already with all that narcissistic bravado.”

But one day when David, a mere shepherd, was bringing food to his brothers, he overheard a discussion about Goliath and asked who this fellow was that kept causing all the fuss.  He was told by the men that whoever killed this man would have all sorts of cool things like money and the king’s daughter and an exemption from taxes.  Don’t get me started how kings are always passing their daughters off like trophies.

So David was pumped, because who wouldn’t want money and a fair maiden and no taxes?  Now I see how he’s able to play the guitar in the meadow.  So David went to the king and indicated that if he can fight off bears and lions while tending sheep, this arrogant prick was not going to be a problem.  He shrugs off armor – what good is that anyway? – and goes straight up to Goliath and his shield bearer.  I really want to explore more about this poor little shield bearer – did he have to lug that heavy thing out there every single day for forty days? If the fighting got super icky did he just hide underneath it like a turtle? Doesn’t that seem a little wimpy for Goliath to need a caddy?  These things are not explained.  Figures.

But here’s where I really spent some mental energy – David said some pretty strong words to this Philistine.  He stated: “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hands, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head. This very day I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds and the wild animals, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

After reading that, things shifted.  I didn’t just see David as some punk teenager killing a giant with a slingshot.  He might have had the body of a child, but he had a brave heart that belonged solely to God, with a confidence that the killing of this man was a mere afterthought.  It was as if he was setting one foot atop the water and knew that it would hold his weight.  David was making a statement that the things of this world – swords and spears and harsh words and burdens and death and cancer and all other worldly things – are nothing compared to the strength our Lord Almighty provides.

God’s name would not be defiled, and the battle, my friends, had already been won.

Jesus commanded that “if you have faith and do not doubt. . . if you say to this mountain, ‘Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ it will be done.  Matthew 21:22. But rarely is such belief displayed. David believed so assuredly that with the power of God he could defeat this man that the entire Israelite army feared, and only with a stone. There was no quiver of fear from the depths of his heart, and no arrogance in his claims.  This was not about David himself, or winning money, or being tax free.  Only arrows of truth were proclaimed, and it was to be.  God had won this fight.  David was only His servant pushing that message through the air with string.

I’m bowing down today at this assurance.  That I will not be shaken.  That when the taunting begins, and a giant is yet again in front of me, I will fear no evil.  For God is with me, His rod and His staff –  they comfort me.  And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  David wrote that, in Psalm 23, because he had a personal relationship with the Father. He knew that there was nothing bigger, and no giant greater, and all those gathered will know that it’s not by sword or spear that the Lord saves, but by grace, and mercy, and love deeper than any man.

Sometimes the battles we face are not on a hillside, but in the relentless grinding of the day.  The taunting of one who hates us.  The anger at one who is shamed.  We sigh deep at the reality of cells eating at our breast tissue, or weep at the coffin of a small child that was ripped from our arms.  We keep wiping away tears in the carpool line because ENOUGH, Lord.  It’s too much, and too heavy to bear, and we don’t have any reserves left to fight.  And sometimes, we just want to lay down our weapons and curl up in a corner, unable to keep rising, and keep smiling, and keep moving.  There is only so much we can take, and we are bending under the weight of it.

So we lay in a ditch with a dusty throat, shivering in fear, unable to croak out even a prayer, and see a child walk by.  Just a boy who watches sheep.  And he says with all assurances that we are more than this.  That God’s name will be praised in all things.  That the Lord will deliver those who are faithful.  And we are paralyzed as we watch him defeat a giant, and use his own sword to sever his head, and we are in awe of such courage.  It’s then that we swallow hard, walk over to David, and fall at his feet as king.

Thank you, child, for reminding me that I am protected.  That when I wander, even though I am one of ninety-nine billion, God will not leave me to my own devices.  He will search, and ache, and reach to the depths of the earth to find me.  Who is the greatest in heaven?  Jesus placed a child among them, and preached about the lost, and the found, and the faces of the obedient, and the lowly.  And in the dust and the bloody chest of a fallen giant, I see the greatest among me is not me, but He.  I see that this child has believed, and accepted that the battle has been won, and I surrender.

Thank you, oh God, for this victory. 

 

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photo:

(three w’s)then: flickr.com/photos/ergsap/9633080076/sizes/m/in/photolist-fFf46w-fEXtHt-fEXtHZ-7K5Ub9-532XUQ-69N7De-8SikSL-bpdJED-8teVbd-6qidN1-6Qk1K8-6Qk1UX-Mh25N-6Qk24n-6Qp7Q5-5i6BER-BwEYH-fgLmmb-6mnXxg-8piu6J-8tPR7F-g1Xxj-b663Rr-4DVv3y-6Qk1En-kSF8j-9unWjj-N3juc-5yvQ6U-6Qk2nv-sxX1G-5HtV7G-a9NCgb-6Qp6Qo-dX9jfB-6Qp8bG-5JHbBC-7YKJS4-azcujL-bFAMgZ-5PvKMp-8xoWUe-dDqZW-6Qk1kn-4MiyPD-2BBeQE-62dUqo-5nWy8Z-hr5UZ-bFqZoB-51LZBc/

Filed Under: Blog the Bible, Inspirational, Love, Religion, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Eat Your Veggies, Punks

September 16, 2013 By

 

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The other day I stood on aching feet in my kitchen whipping together toasted walnuts and cream cheese, sautéing apples with cinnamon and butter, and lovingly tucking it all with thick slices of munster cheese in the middle of fresh raisin bread to make the most awesome grilled cheese sandwiches ever made by a mother in the history of the world.  Maybe next time I’ll use gruyere and add some arugula. See how well this is working in my mind? I’m probably singing and imagining strings of melted cheese while laughing, bubbly children give me hugs and beg for seconds.  This pretend world is what gets me through most of my days. That and putting expensive things into imaginary shopping carts and wearing orthopedic insoles.

I call them in for dinner, wearing an apron and hope for all of humanity.

But The Royal Children stared at the sandwiches like I was asking them to eat kitty litter, scrunched up their noses in the most unattractive fashion, and ran off the opposite direction.  I stood in the kitchen holding a plate of sandwiches and tired feet, practically begging them to take one tiny bite.  That’s not how the Pottery Barn catalog makes it seem when peanut butter and jelly on white bread is shaped like an acorn and sliced grapes make the cutest little flowers.  It’s just assumed that children will eat the things and parents won’t be left like fools holding cheese sticks and crying.

My offspring somehow believe they have the authority to pick out roasted broccoli, sleuth out chunks of zucchini, practically gag over sundried tomatoes, and don’t even set Brussels sprouts in front of them because they will FOREGO dessert, I tell you, because no child should be subjected to such food that promotes notions like health and vigor and stamina until Spanish class.  If given knives, my children would stake them forcefully into the table, proclaiming a ban on all foods that don’t contain the words macaroni and cheese in that particular order (we see you grinding up that squash into a paste because it’s the same color as the cheese sauce, momma, but we are onto you, lady. We weren’t born yesterday)

It’s exhausting.  Sometimes I just throw my hands in the air and call it Oatmeal Wednesday, even though that doesn’t even rhyme or sound cute like Taco Tuesday, which honestly takes too much work.  So that makes me more depressed and I just sit down beside them while they suck down maple and brown sugar while I eat Pringles.  Eat up, kiddos. I’m not in the mood to fight today.  But the next day, I roll up my sleeves, my motherhood pin dangling preciously close to revocation, and I take another stab at a balanced meal only to face the wrath of Those Who Shall Not Eat Fresh Green Beans with Bacon.  For the love, guys.  It’s got shallots and bacon. You guys don’t know how good you have it.

I just want to say for the record that I grew up in a house with two working parents.  There wasn’t an option to say “no thanks” to casserole of unknown origin, or shake-and-bake, or yet another night of veg-all.  We just ate it, and got through it like homework, and mom wouldn’t dream of us turning up our noses no matter how bland it was.

So the other day I just had it.  I told my daughter when she refused to eat peas that children in Haiti are forced to eat mud cakes to fill up the aching in their stomachs, and I worked for an hour on dinner, and they can at least have the decency to eat it because they are not spoiled rotten brats, and by gosh they had better learn to be grateful, and I may or may not have said after a long-winded soliloquy about respect for parents and all things holy and the glory of roasted beets that they better eat their damn food.

That night, I felt bad I yelled.  I sat on my daughter’s bed and apologized for the harsh words.  For losing my temper.  For sounding so mean. “Even moms are human,” I said as I kissed her beautiful cheeks (the same cheeks that rarely house broccoli, but I digress).  She looked at me with her big blue eyes and said it was okay, and she forgave me a hundred times.

The next morning, I sat bowls of Cheerios with bananas in front of them.  My son said he didn’t want Cheerios for breakfast.  “Just eat them,” my daughter said to him, looking at me with a slight tinge of fear radiating from her peripheral vision.  Success.  Even if it’s only for a morning.  I smiled as I poured my coffee.

I’ll take it. 

 

photo:

Veg Box Friday

Filed Under: Cooking, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , , ,

A Fresh Start

September 5, 2013 By

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Today is a new beginning for me.  For those who have also had to start new journeys, I’ll offer this poem from Veronica Shoffstall that speaks for me so well.  I am confident that God does not half-way restore, but restores completely.  We don’t lose in life and are left clutching consolation prizes.  Sometimes when our prayers are seemingly unanswered, we just have to look above in faith. Right around this dark corner might reveal a world we are so much better suited for, and I welcome what God has in store.  Hello, bright new dawn.  Your shine sparkles to me like diamonds.

“Comes The Dawn”

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.

photo:

Dawn, Kinnoull Hill Overlooking the Tay

Filed Under: Inspirational, Love, My life, Religion Tagged With: , , ,

Small graces

August 26, 2013 By

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It’s been a long year.  A year I didn’t expect.  Emotions I certainly never thought I’d face.  I know I’m not alone in the pain of Things Coming Out of Nowhere, like a beast in the night.  Whether it’s cancer or the death of a mother or divorce or the loss of a child: you can’t build up reserves in advance to “handle it.”  You are just thrown right in that cold lake without quite knowing how to swim, and you have to just keep gasping for air and thrashing around until you can find a way out.

I’ve yelled at God a lot lately.  Maybe not literally, but inside of me there’s a hot place in the middle of my chest that burns, and grows large, and I think things like “you must be on vacation” and “seriously? I’ve been saying the exact same prayer for a year now and I’m getting sick of listening to my own internal dialogue.”  And then I feel guilty, because God’s God and I’m trying to squeeze into his chair and tell him how to run things, which makes me sad again, and it’s a vicious cycle.  But I say the same prayer anyway, because there’s that old story of a relentless widow. I hope God doesn’t get sick of reruns.

Today, a friend told me that every day provides us with small graces.  Look for them, she said. I nodded, because that’s what you do when people say that things will look up or God will redeem all or time heals.  You just smile and nod, but they don’t really know my life.  The vending machine is all out of small graces, because butterflies floating on my lantanas don’t make my heart heal, or pay my bills, or make my soul at peace.  I glare at the monarch in an angry, pity-fueled darkness, and I just want to release my grasp on the log that keeps me afloat and just sink underneath in slow motion. I grit my teeth and say the same prayer that I say every freaking day, over and over again, and hope God will listen. I might not be in his chair, but I’m going to sit at his feet and just keep tapping on a toe until somebody hears me.

I don’t think we would be human if we didn’t go through times like this.  Just psalmists crying out in lamentation about the unfair, cruel, and often confusing place we find ourselves in. I know I should be thankful for a thousand gifts, and see all these small graces fluttering on my nose, but I’ve clenched my eyes shut.  Because as it turns out I don’t run the world, and I can’t see into my future, and I don’t always know what’s best for me.  Like the time I cut bangs and wore acid-washed jeans.  We can’t trust ourselves, people.

I think sometimes it’s easier to rot in our own self-pity than force ourselves to prop open our eyelids and see the protection around us.  The fact that our legs are strong, and the log came floating by, and there’s a stranger fishing for carp that heard our cries.  The fact that the rains stopped, and the boat came, and you looked up to see sunlight streaming like laser beams through the parting clouds.  Maybe God’s the one who’s yelling, and we’re so busy wallowing that we don’t even notice.

So now, my legs are still shaking but steady, and I’m heading slowly to shore in a beat-up old fishing boat.  My arms still clutch an imaginary log in the water, and I’m hoarse from screaming, but I’m humbled.  And quiet for a change.  And slowly, as tears of gratitude well, I croak out the same prayer.  The one I’ve yelled and screamed and whispered and sobbed. The same one I said yesterday and the same one I’ll say tomorrow.  Once, months ago, I said this same prayer and sat there in my bedroom for a solid four hours waiting to hear a reply, like a staring contest with God.  I heard birds, and an airplane, and a squirrel’s chatter, which hardly counted.  And yet now with a blanket around my shoulders it feels suddenly new again, and I know that every single heartfelt prayer has been heard and felt and inhaled like incense to a loving Father. I don’t know the answers, or my future, but I smile at the benevolence I do not deserve.

A butterfly rests on my arm – wings like lace so delicately displayed.  It’s high noon, and the sun that has provided me with such little warmth fuels it’s very flight, all the way to Mexico over fields and river and stale grey condominiums.  It breaks apart from his brothers to land here, just for a moment on my arm, like he’s been waiting for me to come.  It fills that burning hole in my chest with love.

She’s right, my friend. Every day does indeed provide small graces.  Look for them.

 

Photo:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lunasinestrellas/6837600442/sizes/m/in/photolist-bqduoN-bqduoC-bqduoh-bqduo5-bqduo9-967Big-6ztEK-6ztEQ-6ztEN-98d3Gw-98d3wL-5XNCMz-bnTDMq-9i7PuY-9i7PJ3-5BXznK-5C2TtW-5qM4SP-8h1NXX-8h55hj-9TMBRR-9i7HiL-uAEFU-7NQDoi-7ytQYj-7t2sBb-kVoGs-az4Xif-7hZY3A-7hZXVC-7hW3zv-9i7Gxd-f3oCg-f3ozF-f3oyk-f3oD2-f3oyG-f3oDp-f3ozu-djfj6c-f3oz2-8tNLVo-f3owh-8Bdm47-8yK4xo-8Dy3vu-8Dy3Ew-8DuTo8-8DuWCB-3imQ1i-f3oA5/

 

Filed Under: Inspirational, My life, Religion Tagged With: , , , ,

Odd and Curious Thoughts (about the 2013 VMA’s)

August 26, 2013 By

 

(1)         Hey Mr.  Timberlake? Can you bake and fix leaky faucets and design rockets to be sent to the moon? Because you can do pretty much everything else. I, along with all other women on Earth (and some on Saturn), love you.

(2)          Taylor, honey.  You’re getting prettier by the day and I absolutely adore your vintage look but please stop dancing like you’re in your living room with a karaoke machine. Just sway and clap and try looking demure when the camera pans the crowd.

(3)          Selena Gomez’ video totally rocked it and I’m pumped she won an award, but she looks like a 12-year-old with boobs and I am just so confused whether I’m supposed to think she’s sexy or call CPS because her mother allowed her to leave the house in a corset.

(4)          I’m looking at red-carpet pictures. Who are these people? Should I have heard of them?

(5)          My dear daughter: Everyone has a rebellious phase. I get it. But instead of going all Miley Cyrus on me where you feel a need to shave your head, dance around in your skivvies in front of millions and gyrate next to overstuffed life-size creepy teddy bears whilst sticking out your tongue, please just write out your heartbreak into best sellers like Taylor Swift so at least your angst has some purpose instead of generating pity.  Plus, Taylor makes more money, wins awards, has trouble finding dates hence the TMI, and wears 1950’s-esk unflattering swim apparel.  That’s a win/win for mom.

(6)          Robin Thicke, we get it that you like sex.  But can we move on from this one song already? The lines are no longer blurry. They’re just making me yawn.

(7)          Seriously, Miley, was your childhood that bad? Because I wanted to invite you to my home, wrap you up in blankets, tell you that you’re special inside, play Mister Rogers, and we can drink hot tea together.

(8)          You know you’ve made it big when you can wear a grill to a major awards show and people are all “Oh.  There’s Katy Perry with gold sparkling teeth.  Coolio.”

(9)          Remember babysitting and after the kids went down you sat on the couch sipping seven-up out of champagne flutes watching Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire on MTV and feeling so freaking cool? Member that? And when the parents got home you were like OMG they are totally going to kill me and think I’m drinking and so I’ll just casually mention it’s just seven-up and that the kids were SO AWESOME and we played ELEVEN games of Barbie wedding and Mackenzie rode on my back like a camel. Well, for some reason I had the same reaction to the 30 Seconds to Mars video.  As in that classic, old-school, rock-and-roll, beds-burning feel.  Not the “oh crap they’re already home from Outback Steakhouse / this was a lame way to make ten bucks / now I have to go home and drink seven-up in a can because my folks don’t own champagne flutes” type of feeling.

(10)          Whatever to the Lady Gaga haters.  I thought her little slow-song hair-change montage was just fine.  Just because she wore some boring wigs and didn’t jump out of a plane wearing a dress made out of skittles doesn’t mean she’s out of touch. She’s sick of all the make-up and wants to listen to music peacefully in her sea-shell bikini. Geez.

(11)          I’m wondering why my youthful rebellion only constituted champagne flutes filled with soda. That is so lame.

(12)          Did Katy Perry honestly just jump rope and then continue singing? I’d be like “hold up there, folkzies.  Momma’s got a side cramp.” I swear –  pop stars are like super humans.  Which is why Justin Timberlake has fans on Saturn. It all makes sense.

Filed Under: Motherhood, Music, Television Tagged With: , , , , ,

Life is like ice cream

August 19, 2013 By

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Sometimes life feels like a root beer float. You just don’t know which direction to turn and whether to eat the ice cream first or suck out the soda and if you dawdle too long you’re left with a half-flat syrupy melted mess of calories that makes you want to throw up.  Nobody likes wishy-washy. Be decisive: life is short and the world needs more leaders that can make decisions.

But sometimes it’s like a banana split, where there’s a healthy mix of fruit and flavor wedged in between.  But I never eat the banana and I can’t stand strawberry ice cream so it’s all just for show and you might as well ditch the ice cream altogether and go for yogurt with granola.  Or perhaps you could just dive right in with chocolate almond fudge and be sure to have a salad for dinner, drink water, and run on Tuesdays.  Be true to yourself: do what you love.

Oftentimes, I find life resembles vanilla.  Not the from-scratch version with condensed milk your grandmother used to make that can totally hold its own, but the generic kind that comes in a box that tastes a little bit like cardboard.  And as the days plod on you just eat it because, well, it’s better to end with bad ice cream than have broccoli lingering in your mouth.  Some days are like that.  Be grateful for what you have: better days will come.

But there are times – oh the beautiful times – that resemble Italian gelato on a hot steamy night, when your breath is short and your hand brushes up against his and you feel so very lucky to be alive.  These moments might stay or they might vanish with the seasons of life, but let them roll around on your tongue so that you won’t ever forget them.  Be reminded from time to time of these special memories, even if they disappear: at least you had them and took a little break from cardboard vanilla.

I hate the vegan frozen yogurt phases, when you try so very hard to do the right thing but it’s all mucked up and funny-tasting and you just wish you could go back in time and just buy the damn sherbet.  You’ve wasted money and wasted time and it all feels so futile.  Be forgiving of yourself: we are all human and make mistakes and you need grace to start over.

And then there are the Sundaes, where things are sloppy and hot fudge is melting and we are all just lazy and droopy and sit around thinking of doing laundry but instead watch entire seasons of Homeland.  That’s a good refueling time, and necessary to counterbalance our hectic pace, and sometimes we just need to sit and hold the people we love without getting all Italian about it.  Be careful to schedule time to rest and gather your strength for the race ahead.

The crazy thing about life is that we all have our own precious identities that we cling to and people get all weird about it, like if you’re in Austin you go to Amy’s but if you’re in Upstate New York you might lick a cone at Stewarts and it’s all good because it’s ice cream, for freaks sake. Try new flavors and new stores and new ways to eat it.  It’s fun and sweet and usually not eaten at funerals. Be creative: you might be surprised at what you’ll learn about yourself.

In my sights ahead, though, is always a double scoop of gold medal ribbon and dark chocolate, because dreams are meant to be large and bold, and life should be lived with hope and expectations of great things to come.  If you constantly think Wednesdays will be filled with soupy floats there’s no being friends with the likes of you.  The weekend is coming, my friend.  The taste of salted caramel and the smell of baked waffle cones and the thrill of what is yet to come is what we live for. Be bold: there are dreams to be realized, and lived out, and embraced.

Life is like ice cream, only better.  It’s stressful, and at times we melt, but we can harden again.  We do not diminish but grow richer with time and experience.  There are so many colors and flavors to choose from, and ways to serve and enjoy them, and at the end we all go down smooth and mesh into the earth and our goal really should be to try to make a child happy on a hot summer day and have Jesus be pleased with our efforts. Be an example of a life well lived, full of richness and sweet.

Don’t live life half-way. Ain’t nobody likes low-fat buttered pecan. Trust me. Nobody. 

 

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Photo:

2012-57 Out for Ice Cream

Filed Under: Creativity, Inspirational, Love, My life, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , ,

Standing Orders

August 5, 2013 By

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I work with doctors, so I’m familiar with the concept of standing orders.  If certain conditions are met, doctors have a pre-authorized order to give a certain medication or initiate a treatment so that nurses or mid-levels don’t always have to run to a physician for permission every single time.  In my house, we also have certain standing orders. For example, consider the following questions:

May I have a peach?                        Yes

May I go to bed early?                    You must be sick.  Dear gracious yes.

May I read another book?            I’m a sucker for this.  Usually yes, even though I’m so freaking tired, because this next book may just determine whether you serve burgers or stitch up hearts and might just unlock the keys to how your brain processes letters and the firing of the neurons is such a sensitive process and if The Big Fish is the book to help aid in your very future, what choice do I have, really?

More cottage cheese?                     Yes.  You’re a weird kid for liking this.

Can I watch a show?                     I’m stirring cornbread mix and I’m on the phone with my best friend debating how much is too much to pay for a birthday cake with a shark bursting out of the top and I’m trying to figure out if the oven is preheated and I think someone from work is calling which must be an emergency at this hour so I just generally nod so you’ll go away.

Can I watch another show?        What? You watched one? When did I say that was okay?

May I have a banana?                   Yes.  Please assume all fruit is okay.

May I have fruit snacks?              That’s not fruit, you sneaky devil.

Can I listen to Adele?                    Always.

May I dance?                                   If you didn’t, I would worry.

May I make up silly songs?         You’re making me stutter with all the yes.

Will you go in time out?                I should, kiddo.  Sometimes I really should.

 

So basically in my house you can always dance, sing, listen to Adele, eat fruit, read, and eat cottage cheese.  It could be worse.  Better with fruit snacks, sure, but maybe you can catch me super busy and squeeze in freebies. And if I’m all alone sitting on the front porch drinking wine, just assume mom’s in a time out and go about your business, eating bananas with wild abandon.

 

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Photo:

Grayson, our granddaughter, eating a Georgia peach and enjoying every bite.

Filed Under: Humor, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Yin and Yang

August 1, 2013 By

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Our church has a sister church in Africa, and my pastor was asking the pastor there what he thought after his recent visit to America.  Oh it’s glorious, he said. Americans are full of excess and riches, but there was this one tiny thing. . .

 

We lack a theology of suffering.  It’s not that Americans don’t suffer. We might not watch feces float down the street or feed only rice to our children and we are not forced to hide from revolutionary warriors on a bloody stretch toward hell.  But we still have pain.

 

Men are sitting in offices right this minute ridden with anxiety and depression and shame.  Women are barely breathing and sneaking gin and wondering why they can’t love their own offspring.  Just one moment ago someone was eating a turkey sandwich and then they got into a car wreck or came down with lung cancer and their life is forever changed. People get laid off and laid in the ground and lay with the wrong person at the wrong time.  And yet what do we do about it? Do we see it as part of the yin and the yang, like the seasons or opposites on the continuum of energy or the way one cannot live without the other?

 

At best, I think our society feels like suffering is just an unfortunate inconvenience that in time will improve, like divorce sucks or cancer sucks and it’s an excuse to buy a card with a little picture of a steaming cup of tea and a statement about coping skills.  At worst, we feel suffering as an indication that God is absent or that faith isn’t real and provides a perfect excuse to be angry and bitter at the hand we’re dealt.

 

But are we capable of recognizing that suffering is a necessary part of things?  Not just because the Bible says it or because we all love to be martyrs and wallow in self-pity, jealous of those who seem to escape its grasp, but because it’s important to have both sides in our life to make it rich and full?

 

Our life cycle on this planet full of death and eating young and dying old and road kill and global warming and bliss and mountaintops and sleeping children who take your breath away and doldrums and laundry and shock and laughter and Tuesday taco nights and moments that hurt so bad your whole body burns.  And it doesn’t come in any form of natural order, like well this is a sucky Winter, but alas – Spring is comin. It’s all jumbled up like dancing bingo balls in a hopper.  Good, good, good. Oh crap. Really really bad.

 

But without the trip through the dark there is no blessing of lightness. Without the bleeding and the dying and vinegar on our lips, there is no rising from the dead.  When at times the bad hits long and hard, and when you just want to scream to the sky to quit with the freaking hail and the torrential wall of hurt, remember that when the sun shines again you will rest more soundly.  You will hear music with new ears, and feel love with a fresh heartbeat, and have the benefit of one who has aged and grown up with both fear and grace, hate and apathy, and the yin and the yang will balance.  One day, in the not-so-distant future, all those bouncing balls will settle.

 

Only then will we see the fullness of God’s restoration, and have a true appreciation for opposites, and know in our hearts that despite the long heavy winter, Spring will eventually come again. Thank God for suffering, and perspective, and for valleys and mountains alike.  It gives us an insight into true perseverance – the long haul – and provides us with a modicum of hope.

 

Yes, the buoyant saplings of Spring will someday come again.  It just may be a while, with a few scorching summers in between.

 

photo:

(three w’s): flickr.com/photos/raymaclean/4283897275/sizes/m/in/photolist-7wy6pR-5Lb6Zr-757xF9-f8hQzE-4jzRSF-4h2wLe-dFBxb3-6ujUy8-9g3E1T-dMHAMY-8LLZA1-951YsT-bTBg8-c4MZhY-9iUKCp-b1EQNg-aLCEQt-dBgC7p-5LfmBC-8jXH6G-9uy2fw-7AMsTi-7yuR56-aPsrgX-6SXHK9-8ZMuKm-asmYq8-52fHX7-azfsHf-egqXyX-dVB9Dv-8ay91y-6ujUGM-e7Aym4-4sS58x-6te1-8akjeS-arbis-7AMsTR-HCexn-4h6zTf-pruhx-ek4Mw-97WSHi-8ZGiB7-vzH3G-55ZnMm-eDjvKi-fMmZN-7QAYtY-6ed32D/

Filed Under: Health, Inspirational, Love, My life, Religion Tagged With: , , ,

Odd and Curious Thoughts of the Week

July 27, 2013 By

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  • I can sit for hours and watch movie trailers.  That’s more fun to me than actually watching movies.  I realize that’s weird.

 

  • Speaking of movies, I went to see World War Z by myself the other day and was wedged in between two sets of lovers. That cheered me up immensely.

 

  • Thank heavens we don’t walk around with thought bubbles above our heads. Like today, I was at the grocery store and all of a sudden I stopped dead in my tracks in the chip aisle. “OMG,” I thought to myself. “Pringles is the most amazing food label name ever created.”  I was slow clapping the guy who thought of this name in my mind when someone came up behind me, all excuse me I need to reach the nacho sauce.  I pretended I was studying the labels on the salted almonds, naturally, not hurrahing the marketing genius behind Pringles.

 

  • I asked some employee at our local grocery store if they had pie weights.  “Is that like an avocado masher?”  Yes.  Yes, that’s exactly the same.

 

  • So I finally got a literary agent, which is amazing and fabulous and beyond my wildest dreams.  Her editor (who is also awesome) asked me if the novel I wrote is the one I want to start my career off with.  I told her that I was holding back and that I actually had seventeen brilliant novels in my drawer to choose from. No really.  I just have this one. We’ll have to make it work.

 

  • Pringles.  I mean seriously.  The word even sounds crunchy.

 

  • I really can’t stand kids music, like those CD’s with kids singing bible songs or itsy bitsy spider where I have Jesus Loves Me running through my head all day long.  I can take it for a while, and I know it’s healthy for my children, but sometimes I just think a little dose of Red Hands by Walk off the Earth levels the playing field.  And my kids just might have certain Kasey Musgraves songs memorized.  Don’t judge.

 

  • So back at the grocery store (my life is fun, ya’ll).  I like to go to Whole Foods and just kinda peruse the place like I’m a regular.  No one realizes I’m having a mini-panic attack at the prices of jarred mayonnaise and I don’t really understand half of what they sell there.  But I was buying produce and picked up a box of fresh okra, all yeah I’m totally going to make a dish using fresh okra.  Who are we kidding.

 

  • Kate Middleton looked glowing and radiant with a face full of make up and a full hair blow-out as she walked her infant out of the hospital.  The English drink tea for hours and instead of going on lame vacations they go on holiday.  It confirms it.  I’m going to move across the pond for a while, where apparently butterflies rest on noses and there’s crumpets for everyone.

 

  • I’m super glad the government is now monitoring all our computer use, so they can get their kicks out of seeing my recent searches.  Eg, who is ariel castro again, recipes using okra, that movie with that Saturday Night Live actress who gets divorced but loves that other dude, discount pie weights, what do I do with this crappy organic Guatemalan green sauce I just bought at whole foods, is fish oil worth the hype, and movie trailer addicts.com.  I sound like an idiot.

 

  • Pop Chips?  Come on.

photo:

(three w/s):flickr.com/photos/thedelicious/4155208418/sizes/m/in/photolist-7kbwGs-9HNyMB-4vRdqD-5QXgnh-9aBNgX-7AyvVK-8VjLXk-5Y3jMt-72G5Bp-5WDi6p-b6j6NH-7kbwgu-7kbwfu-4Q5554-dVcb9-KuEeU-ghUTA-ghUTY-ghUUj-9UeQD-6uSpYD-zoBMi-8WpAit-7KgAW9-6DPtg8-8WEaXC-46REPk-8QyTSE-5bXjGo-8QyTSy-ghUGc-ghUGo-7KzwNW-71dfzB-7HrAtM-cn1hs-62qGAX-cRbvuS-dxQf4L-dxQfaU-9AgP6h-6JzXuw-6Jw6JZ-bM6AcX-2nmh3n-62qGUD-6JAeXS-4bgU4w-dbDNz7-b8qE6-6FBvon/

Filed Under: Cooking, Embarrassing Moments, Humor, My life Tagged With: , , , ,

An Oath to the Sea

July 26, 2013 By

The sea, he is alluring.  The first time I saw him I was drunk in his spell and I longed to jump into the waters deep.  Passions rolled high and broke down fast and they crashed with a foaming mouth like a thoroughbred racing.  I was drawn to the mystery of the water, with pools of undercurrent and life looming dark, and I knew I would be loyal ‘til death.

I took an oath to the sea,

A covenant between God and the sea and me

I planted my feet on the shoreline

And swore I’d never leave.

An oath means yes and never no, and by God, that means something. So I planted my legs on the shifting sand, wiggling my toes deep for foundation.  I was a palm tree to its high currents and when hurricanes came, I’d weather them.  People came to picnic there, and I showcased his shoreline with dignity.  I sang lullabies to mermaids that came a-sunning along with whales and fish and debris.  I gazed out beyond what my eyes could see – the in and out and the pulling hard.  I loved it fierce and hard and long, waves crashing over me and I braced them.

I took an oath to the sea,

A covenant between God and the sea and me

I planted my feet on the shoreline 

And swore I’d never leave.

But a boulder disguised in surf came raging down, gashing my legs and the salt blood burned. I screamed at the horizon until my throat grew hoarse because the wind was drowning and the surf was high.  My ocean, my love, my heart and my life – can you not hear my sting? But the waves grew larger and the sea cackled loud and my trunk was caving in.

I took an oath to the sea,

A covenant between God and the sea and me

I planted my feet on the shoreline

And swore I’d never leave.

With no help my wounds grew infected and swollen, rotten fish bobbling about my ankles. It was hard to stand in such shifting sand with legs that needed amputation.  So they hacked my legs off at the knees despite my ripping and biting and fear.  They wheeled me away as I turned around, to God and to waves and to he that I loved, and I stretched out my arms wide to spread salt tears with my fingers.  I’m sorry, so sorry, that I failed you.  Because I took an oath.  I swore by my life and the blood of my stumps that I’d stand and fight and never leave.  And yet here I am with no feet to stand on and no more to give, and God is pushing me in a wheelchair.

So I lay in a hospital, so white and bare, like my dress and the color in my cheeks.

I miss summer days when you tickled my toes and I nodded to sleep by your cadence.  I long to return yet I can no longer stand so my life will remain at a distance.  I’ll look out my window and see you there, laughing at children building sandcastles and lovers walking far. How can you not notice my rotten feet, buried in your shoreline?  I have become a part of you, my skin and nails dissolving into coral.

I took an oath to the sea,

A covenant between God and the sea and me

I took an oath, and it meant something.

But what, we did not agree.

Years went by and I learned to stand, on prosthetics custom fit for a queen.  I live in the city far away from the waves, and try to focus on law and caffeine.  Yet at night when my children are fast in their beds I dream of my past, my post in the water, the waves that I let roll over.  And yet the sea, he rages and consumes and swallows up, and he will never be satisfied.

I took an oath to the sea,

Before I was a double amputee,

As God as my witness I almost died

Trying to protect you and love you and be your devotee

 

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , ,

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