My Life...

Today is my birthday.  Forty-three years on this planet.  I have received many gifts over the years.  But I have to say that the best gift I have ever gotten was this gift of my life.  God has giving me life.  Not just a living, breathing type of life but a life to be lived. Sadly though, for most of those 43 years I never felt like it was really mine.   It seemed like it belonged to everyone else and I had little say over it.  It was like everyone else had access to my life but me.  God as well… especially God.  I can’t tell you how many sermons I have listened to about how ‘my life is not my own but belongs to God’ and how I ‘HAD to give over control of my life to Christ or how could I call myself a believer’.  Spiritual leaders can use these ideas to control and manipulate people… all for their own good mind you (that last bit was laced with heavy sarcasm).  If you are someone, like me, who really wants to do the right thing then this can be recipe for disaster.  Oh, you may be conforming to what you have been told God expects of you but inside you feel like you are in a cage with no way out.  Trapped.  And you begin to slowly die inside.  At least that is what happened to me.

Thankfully, something began to change in me.  God lead my husband and I out a very unhealthy church and I began to see things a whole lot clearer.  It is amazing what distance can do for a person’s perspective.  This whole idea of ‘my life is not my own’ began to change.  I realized that how I was seeing it was a little fucked up.  Not totally wrong but not fully developed either.  I began to see that God did give me my life.  As a gift.  To me.  No strings attached.  Because isn’t that what a gift is?  Can you imagine giving your kid a gift at Christmas and after they open it, you tell them that they HAVE to give it back to you?  What kind a gift is that?  It is not a gift at all.  And just as a parent wouldn’t expect or demand that, neither does God.  He gives us each a life and lets US decide what to do with that life.  We can choose good things, healthy things.  We can choose bad things, unhealthy things.  The point is that we get to choose… we are free. 

There is a part about ‘my life is not my own’ that rings true though.  There is definitely a theme throughout the scriptures of ‘yeilding to God’ and ‘letting go and trusting God’ and ‘losing your life to find it’ but it is not about becoming a drone or a slave.  It is a willingness to join yourself with God.  To be woven together in this perfect unity with him.  To be in the place that we were always meant to be.  That is a place I want to be.  But it is something God offers us, not demands of us.  And the only way I can give my life is if I truly possess it.  God wants me to want it.  And he is under no compulsion to force me into anything.

And that brings us to today.   A day in which I will be celebrating this life that God has freely given me.  A day in which I can begin to ‘give’ myself to God.  And even though it may be a slow process, with lots of bumps along the way, it is a sincere and honest one.  And that makes me smile and fills me with hope.

Magic Jesus

I have been a Christian for some time now and I am struggling.  Struggling with the whole idea of how God wants to change us… to change me.  How He wants me to grow and become more like him.  To be transformed and made new.  I mean, what does that look like?  How does that happen?  What part do I play in that?  What part does God play?  So many questions.  When I think about what my church experience taught me about growth I think it can be boiled down to two different things.  Either 1-Try Harder or 2-Call on Magic Jesus.  Since trying harder involves effort and work and lots of frustration, let’s talk about Magic Jesus (I will write about Trying Harder in another Post). 

If you have been a Christian for any amount of time the concept of “Magic Jesus” will be easy to grasp.  It is this mystical Jesus who will makes everything new and wonderful when you become a believer.  Does anger get the best of you more than you like? Wah-La! Magic Jesus will take it away.  Have a drinking problem?  Presto! Magic Jesus takes away your desire to drink.  Depressed? Shazam! Magic Jesus will make you happy.  Can’t seem to be responsible with money?  No worries! Magic Jesus will give you self control (or maybe He will “provide” money from heaven so you can keep spending).  You don’t have to be around it very long to realize it is total bullshit.  That it doesn’t work, no matter how hard you try (believe me, I tried REALLY hard to get magic Jesus to take away my anxiety and OCD but he never did).  What is so damaging about Magic Jesus is that you feel like there is something wrong with you when he doesn’t show up.  I mean, he seems to show up for all these other people right?  Why won’t he show up for me? 

I have a very clear memory of a Sunday morning nearly 20 years ago.  During our church service, a young man was allowed to stand up and share a story with the congregation.  He told us all about how the night before, he and his friend had been praying.  Apparently, his friend had a great deal of emotional pain from her past that she was experiencing.  As they prayed, God just took it all away.  All the pain. All the struggle. Gone. And she was now a healed woman. Wah-la!  Magic Jesus strikes again.  I remember thinking two things that day.  I wondered what I was doing wrong and then I wondered how she was going to feel when all the emotional pain came back and hit her like a truck. 

Now, I know that Jesus can do miraculous things.  I do.  I know he could take away and heal anything he wanted too. I just don’t think it is the norm, more like the exception.  I don’t think Jesus came to just make life smooth and easy.  I think he came to save us and set us free… from ourselves.  I think he came to show us unconditional love and complete acceptance. To show us forgiveness and mercy in a way we could have never thought possible.  I think He came so we no longer have to run and hide.  I think He came so we could face our shit.  I am beginning to think that growth actually comes from dealing with pain and difficulty.  At least that has been my experience as of late. This is where real growth and transformation can happen.   

There is something amazing that happens when I allow myself to look deeply at who I am.  The good stuff, the bad stuff.  The beautiful, and the ugly stuff.  When I begin to realize that I am deeply loved and accepted, just as I am.   That Jesus already knows all of this about me and is only opening my eyes to it.  It makes me understand Him in a whole new way.  And change can happen...in the core of my being.  Because I am no longer trying get God’s acceptance and love.  I already have it.  It is complete and lacking nothing.  So, I can face whatever I find lurking inside of me.  Those things that hide in the dark recesses of me that I am afraid to have exposed because who could love me then?  The stuff that I bury down deep because it hurts too much to feel.  Yeah, all of that… I can face it now. 

I don’t get all that with Magic Jesus though.  I may get a quick fix but in the end I am alone.  That makes Magic Jesus kind of a cheap Jesus to me.  Kind of shallow and empty.  Even though it is harder, I think I would rather have the Jesus that is willing walk through my shit with me and bring me to the other side… a little more changed, a little more whole.

Broken..

The past few weeks have been really hard for me.  I am confronting some difficult things in therapy.  It has been overwhelming to say the least.  At times, it feels as though it will consume me…eat me alive.  Some of what I am dealing with has to do with feeling like I am not allowed to make mistakes.  That I should know better.  That I am clueless and stupid.  These feelings come from long ago…

As a child, I heard “What are you stupid?” from my father often.  And if he didn’t say it outright, it was implied when I did something ‘wrong’.  Most of the ‘wrong’ things I did were task related.  I remember trying to carry too many things upstairs at once and them falling all over the place.  This type of thing would warrant a “What are you stupid?” from my Dad.  He never seemed to be interested in my thought process (making one trip instead of two seemed pretty smart to me) but focused on how I did it ‘wrong’.  Wrong meaning ‘not the way he would do it’.   I heard similar things from my Mother as well but in a much different way.  Where my Dad was focused on tasks, my Mom was focused on the relational aspects that I screwed up in.  For as far back as I can remember, my Mom suffered from depression.  Actually, we all suffered from her depression.  She could be really moody and I spent a good amount of my childhood walking on egg shells and trying to figure out how to change her bad moods to good ones. I also felt like I had to be a mind reader.  I have such strong memories of asking my Mom what was wrong… why was she upset and the response I would get was, “You don’t know?  Well, go think about it!” Awesome.  Obviously, I didn’t know, that’s why I asked.  Unfortunately, my take away was that I was thoughtless and stupid for not knowing what I had done wrong.  Consequently, I began to assume that everything MUST be my fault and I would own other people’s emotions and feelings.  I thought this was normal and right. 

So, here I am.  A 42 year old woman, wrestling with some difficult demons.  Feeling really fucked up.  Being really hard on myself.  And I am tired.  I am tired of trying to NOT mess up.  I am tired of feeling like I have to be perfect.  I am tired of hearing “You are so stupid” and “You are so thoughtless” in my head when I feel like I have messed up. 

As I mentioned before, facing this part of me, has been overwhelming.  Sometimes, I can’t seem to get my barrings and have no idea where to start.  Maybe I need to begin by embracing  my imperfections. To acknowledge that I am not perfect and NEVER will be.  And nor do I have to be.  That I am a broken person who is in a process.  And sometimes, that process is beautiful and sometimes it is ugly.  Maybe I need to keep telling myself that God fully loves and accepts me in this process.  That it is okay for me to accept and love myself, imperfections and all. 

I don’t know where this road is going to take me but I know that I have to go down it.  I have to face these demons, no matter how terrifying they are to me.  I have a feeling it is going to lead to some long awaited freedom and to an understanding of God’s love and grace toward me in a way I have yet to know.

All Things Made New...

I want to dedicate this post to my friend Annie who lost her son, Ethan, this past year.  The pain of being separated from a child is more than I can imagine.  But it will not always be this way Annie. One day…all things will be made new. (For more of Annie's journey and story click here)

I can’t seem to get away from Les Miserables …. So bear with me another post. 

Whether you have seen the live musical or the cinema version, Les Miserables is filled with a cast of characters that are easy to become endeared to. In my last post, I wrote about Faninte and her sad story of a life filled with hope only to lead her to prostitution and death. Then there is Jean Valjean.  The main character of the story.  He served 20 years in jail as a slave.  We are talking hard time…brutal conditions.  All for stealing some bread, to save his nephew from starvation.  They didn’t mess around back then. After his release, he is pretty much screwed and doomed to repeat history out of shear desperation.  And he does. But the priest he stole from gave him a second chance.  Actually gave him what he stole and told him to use it to make a new life, a life lived for good and for God.  And he does.  He changed his name and turned his life around.  But he broke his parole to do this.  Enter Javert.  The prison guard/police officer that will hunt Jean Valjean for his entire life.  Relentless and unforgiving.  He doesn’t care about the good man Valjean has become, only that he broke the law and needs to pay.  So, as you can imagine, Valjean spends his life looking over his shoulder, trying to stay clear of Javert.  Trying to redeem himself from his past crimes.  Trying to make the wrong right.

It is the final scene that I can’t seem to shake.  Jean Valjean is in a church, dying, as his daughter begs him not to leave her.  He is torn.  He loves his daughter but he is tired.  So very tired.  He has been fighting for so long.  As long he can remember.  And he knows it is time.  As he sits on the edge of these two worlds, Fantine appears to him. She is beautiful and radiant.  She is healed and whole.  And she sings to him, “Come with me, where chains will never bind you.  All your grief at last, at last, behind you. Lord in heaven, look down on him in mercy.” And he lets go. He lets go of the pain, the struggle, the fight.  He takes her hand and she leads him from this life to the next life.  As she leads him, we see all the characters that had died throughout the story….all healed and whole….triumphantly singing.  It is a grand reunion.  And something inside me swells.  Something inside me cheers. What seemed tragic and final was anything but.  It was only a part of the story. A story so much bigger than we could see. The end was not the end but the beginning.

I think the reason this scene touches me so deeply is because I can relate.  I think we all can.  We know what it is like to struggle in this life.  We know pain… deep pain.  We know failure.  We know loss.  We know hopelessness and despair.  We know what it is like to get out of bed in the morning and have to fight our way through the day.  We know what it is like to be tired… to be done.  We live broken lives.  With broken relationships and broken bodies and broken minds.  We know that the world is not right… and we long for a happy ending.  A triumphant ending.

I guess I want to hold on to that.  That it will not always be like this.  That life will not always be a struggle and a fight.  That there will come a day when the pain of this life, as impossible as it seems, will become something of a distant memory.  I know that day will come.  I don’t know when or how but it will come.  I will no longer have to fight. All I will have to do is take the hand of those who have gone before me and let them lead me to the next life.  A world where we are all healed and made whole.  A world where all the wrongs have been made right.  A world where all things are made new.

I Dreamed a Dream...

I recently saw Les Miserables with my husband.  It is a wonderful, heart wrenching story of sacrifice and grace. Of forgiveness and second chances.  Of those who think second chances should not be given.  Today, I am listening to the soundtrack and can’t seem to shake the story of one of the characters, Fantine.  She has become a prostitute in her desperation to provide for her daughter, Cosette.  Her song is entitled, “I Dreamed a Dream”.   She tells of better days, of the dreams she had, when she was young.  She tells of the man who came into her life and promised her the world, only to leave her when he was done with her. She carried his baby and now she carries the shame. Shame for falling in love, for making a mistake. She is tainted. Her life defined by a single act.  The world will make sure she never forgets what she has done.  They will make her pay; little mercy shown to a whore.  But not Jean Valjean.  No, He is a man who knows of failure, of mercy, of forgiveness and of second chances.  He shows kindness to Fantine.  He picks up her fevered, diseased ridden body and cares for her until she slips away in death. 

The irony of this young woman’s life.  She was accused and thought of as being a whore long before she ever was one.  Her only crime was falling in love and giving herself to a man she thought loved her. It was only later, after she was made an outcast that she became the very thing she never intended to be….never wanted to be. What choice did she have?  Her sin had been exposed; little grace is to be shown to an unwed mother.  Any reputation she had was shattered.  No one would hire her. And so she succumbed.  To survive.  To provide for her daughter. 

To the men who came to see her, she was only a body to be used and discarded.  To the world around her, she was only seen as something vile and wretched.  Her humanity gone.  It is so easy to dehumanize people.  To reduce them to nothing more than a societal problem.  An inconvenience.  Something to be disposed of.  I wish I could say that I am not guilty of doing this to people.  I am not.  For a variety of reasons, some of which I am not even aware of, I can do this to others.  Sometimes it is just easier, less emotional, to write people off.  To come up with a reason why they are what they are or do the things they do.  But this is not the person I want to be.  Not in the least.  I want to be someone who sees past the exterior.  I want to see the person.  I want to remember that there is a story behind ugly, behind the unlovely.  I want to be kind and compassionate.  I want to be merciful and forgiving.  I want to give second chances. 

I am so thankful for the people God has put in my life that have loved me when I wasn’t my most lovely.  When my body was fevered and sick. I am glad they were able to look deeper, past the ugly and to the me inside.  I am thankful for the Jean Valjeans in my life and I hope I can be that for others.

This New Year...

I was at the bank recently and the teller asked me of 2013 was going to be a good year?  I answered with an affirming YES but as I thought about it, I realized I have no idea what this year is going to bring.  I was struck by the realization of how little control I actually have over what is to come.  Will I have to bury a loved one? Will my husband lose his job?  Will I get a phone call telling me that the test results we not good? No, I really have no idea what this year will bring and that can be kind of scary.

The future and the fear of what it might hold is something I struggle with.  I have a feeling I am not alone in this.  It is hard not knowing…not being able to control the outcome.  I worry about my kids and the choices they will make.  I worry about my health; will cancer take me like it did my mom?  I worry about Eric dying and how I would survive that.  It is easy to worry once you get going.

There is a part of me that believes that by worrying I will somehow prepare myself for the things I fear. That I have some control.   That I will be able to get through it easier.  That it won’t hurt as much.  Which is the furthest thing from the truth.  In reality, worry accomplishes nothing good in my life.  When I worry about the future it only serves to cripple me in the present.  It robs me of experiencing and participating in the goodness and love that is happening all around me in this very moment.

I want to learn how to live in the present.  I think that is where God wants me to be.  He doesn’t want me live in the past or in the future.  He wants me to live in the here and now.  He wants me to trust Him with the future and not worry about what may come.  He wants me to enjoy the life he has given me.  He wants me to love and experience being loved.  He wants heal my hurts and make me whole.  He wants me to laugh and sing and dance. 

I don’t know what this year will bring.  I am sure there will be difficult, hard things I will face but there will also be good things as well.  So, I am going to try to worry less about the things I fear might happen and focus more on what is actually happening.  I am going to try to live in the present and leave the future to God.  I am going to try to live… really live.

Christmas Eve....

It’s Christmas Eve and I am contemplative.  I am thinking about that first Christmas so long ago.  How the characters in that story had no idea how it was all going to play out.  That one day, 2,000 years later, I would be remembering and celebrating the birth of their son.  No, I don’t think they really had a clue.  I think they were taking one step at a time… one tenuous step… one painful step at a time.  For us, we celebrate a wondrous and happy event because we know the ending.  But they didn’t know the ending.  They probably had no idea how it was all going to turn out.  And at times, they must have feel overwhelmed, frustrated and confused.  Sometimes, I think we forget what it must to have been like for them…. for Mary and for Joseph. 

It really wasn’t a pretty picture.  Mary was young.  Possibly as young as 15.  She was engaged to marry a man named Joseph.  Her life was taking shape.  Her dreams of a family were coming true.  And then the angel came.  Telling her that she was going to have a baby.  She is obviously taken back.  She was a virgin.  How could it be?  But it was to be.  So, she takes off immediately to see her cousin in another town.  She stayed there 3 months and then returned home.  This is NOT looking good for her.  Quite the opposite.  I mean, she goes away and comes back 3 months pregnant.  It doesn’t take a genius to put this one together. Not for her family, not for Joseph, or anyone in town. 

Mary tells Joseph the story.  He is ready to end it.  But God comes to him in a dream.  Tells him that what Mary told him is true.  Joseph, God love that man, takes her as his wife.  Knowing full well that people would talk.  They would call Mary a whore.  They would call his character into question.  He would either be a fool for believing her or a liar because the baby was his. But he does it.  He choses a path that few would take. 

I don’t know how they did it?  To know people thought such damning things about you when in truth, it was the complete opposite. They would never experience, in their lifetimes, the vindication of everyone knowing the truth.  No, they would carry the burdened of false accusations and condemnation. 

But they did it.  They walked down that road.  They bore the pain and the unknown.  They trusted that God would make it right, in His time, in His way. That is faith.  That is trust.

So, this Christmas, I thank them.  I thank Mary for allowing her life to go down a totally different road than she had planned. For enduring insults and accusations.  For carrying the baby that would ultimately set us free.  I thank Joseph for being faithful.  For persevering when things surely seemed grim.  For doing the ‘wrong thing’ in his culture and taking in a woman pregnant with a child that was not his own.  Thank you for giving me a beautiful Christmas gift.

Merry Christmas….

It's That Time of Year Again...

It is that time of year again. Trees and twinkle lights, hot chocolate and candy canes, chestnuts and fires. And Pap smears.  Yup, my annual exam falls in December.  Lucky me.  It has been this way for 7 years.  It is part of the joy of Christmas for me. 

I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate these exams.  Days before the appointment, I try to come up with a good reason why I need to cancel.  I don’t know why but I feel like I need a better reason than,  I  don’t like showing my lady bits to people and being violated with a mental object that looks like a pair of salad tongs. Now that I write it out….it seems like a pretty damn good reason.  

There is only one person I trust to examine my Nether Regions and that is Caroline.  So, when I arrive to check in, I am always nervous the receptionist is going to tell me Caroline is sick and I will have to see Dr. So and So.  That might send me over the edge.  So, on my way up in the elevator, I practice what I am going say and do if that scenario happens. It goes something like this: I cock my head to the side and say, “Oh No YOU don’t.  You can’t be changing up my doctors without me knowing about it!  I’m OUTTA here!” Then I do a snap wave with my hand,  turn on my heal and storm out of the office.  To which the receptionist turns to the other receptionist, raises an eyebrow and proceeds to write on my chart:  Patient pretended to be a ‘Sassy, black, urban, teenager’ and left the building… Appointment cancelled.

No such luck today. Maybe next year.

Since this is solely a Women’s Health Practice, I find the waiting area interesting.  I am always trying to guess what other people are being seen for.  Some are obviously pregnant, some not.  I generally assume if a woman is there and looks under 40, they must be pregnant (except for me of course).  Everyone else is probably there for an array of yeast infections, herpes and Chlamydia…especially the gray haired old ladies.  Don’t be fooled by their age….they still get around.

After a short wait, the nurse calls me into the back room.  The rooms are nice and cheery but that is there way of putting you at ease before the torture begins.  This is about the time my nervous energy kicks in and I become a Stand Up Comic.  The nurse asks me all the information type questions.  Date of Birth?  Changes in medical History? How much caffeine do you have a day?  What medications are you currently on?  Etc.  I like to mess with them when they ask these questions.  I tell them that I had a heart transplant in the past year or that I wasn’t sure if they wanted to know about my recreational drug use.

As the nurse is leaving, she asks if I would mind an intern observing during my appointment?  Sure, why not.  Come to think of it, why don’t we let her DO the exam. I mean, she probably needs the practice right?  HELL YES I MIND! And that was the end of that. 

Eventually, Caroline came in and we spent so time catching up.  It is funny the connection you feel with your gynecologist.  It probably has to do with the fact that they have had their hand in your vagina more than most people… it tends to bond people.  Now, as she is doing the exam, I am trying to relax but who can relax with someone’s hand shoved up you?  It is physically impossible.  So, since I can’t relax, I tell jokes.  And I am funny.  Come to think of it, I should charge for this stuff.  Make Caroline buy a ticket for my little comedy show.  I think I will suggest that for next year.

Apparently, I have what they call an ‘irritable uterus’.  Makes sense to me.  Honestly, if you started asking some questions, I bet we would find my cervix is pissed off too.  And my Vagina? Well, I would guess she is just plain angry.  Who wouldn’t be? With all poking and swabbing.   I think I might look into getting them so therapy after the New Year.

Finally, it is over.  At least until next Christmas.  When I will go through it all again.  But I will do it.  For my husband.  For my kids.  I don’t want Eric to have to find a new wife; it would be really difficult because I am pretty damn awesome.  And, I don’t want my kids growing up without a mom; especially if it could have been prevented.  So, I guess it is my gift to them.  My Christmas gift.  I know they won’t understand that now and it probably feels like the equivalent of getting socks or underwear on Christmas morning but in the long run, it might just be one of the best gifts I could give them.

Merry Christmas Eric, Nick and Ethan…

 

The Bus Stop...

Getting to the bus stop is probably the most stressful part of the day.  You know what I am talking about and if you say you don’t, it’s because you are a big fat liar or you take a couple of Adavan with your morning coffee. Everyone’s morning probably looks a little different but it all ends the same…. with someone crying.  Here is what a typical morning looks like at the Harter House:

6:45am…  Hubby wakes me up.  I meander downstairs, get a cup of coffee and join the kid, who are plopped down on the sofa watching TV.  They are eating dry cereal from the box (we never bothered with introducing them to cereal in a bowl with milk…we were just too lazy to deal with the potential mess).  This activity continues for a good 40mins.

7:30am…  This is when I turn off the TV and tell everyone to get ready for the bus.  To which they respond with shock and surprise, as if this was the first time they have had to this.  I head into the kitchen to make their lunches and they work on ‘getting ready’.

7:33am…  I ask Ethan if he has his clothes.  He says he can’t find them.  I tell him to look in the clean laundry baskets.  Of course, there are pants and underwear but no shirt.  Which means Ethan will have to go upstairs to get any items he is missing.  Ethan doesn’t like to go upstairs alone.  He is scared.  Of what?  I have no idea.  What he should be scared of, is me and missing the bus.  But I digress.

7:35-7:40… Ethan tries to get me to go upstairs with him.  I say no.  He begs.  I say, “you’re a big boy, there’s nothing to be afraid of, you can do it, blah…blah…blah.” 

7:41am… I stand at the bottom of the stairs, as a compromise, while he gets the rest of his clothes.

7:43am… I finish up the lunch and try to remember where I put my coffee because by now it is cold and I want to heat it up

7:45am… I check to make sure Ethan is all dressed only to find him, half-naked, playing with a dust bunny that he found on the dining room floor. Apparently, he got distracted.  And he forgot to get socks when he was upstairs.  This is about the time when I say things about ‘dilly-dallying’ and ‘how pissed I am gonna be if we miss the bus”.

7:46am… I run upstairs and get him a pair of freaking socks and tell him to find his shoes!

7:47am… Ethan puts on his socks and begins to complain how they don’t feel right and how they are all ‘bumpy’.  I tell him I don’t care…they will feel better soon….just put your shoes on ‘cause we don’t have time for this!

7:48am… Ethan can’t find his backpack and I can’t find my coffee

7:49am… We are so going to miss the bus.

7:50am… I find my coffee and proceed to heat it up in the microwave for 20sec. 

7:51am… Ethan has found his backpack and is trying to put on his sweatshirt but the sleeves are inside out and he has gotten himself all twisted up.

7:52am… Ethan and I are running down the hill to the bus stop.  Him half crying and me spilling my precious coffee on my sweatshirt, all the while I am telling him to hurry but not to run to fast because he is gonna fall.

7:53am… Yellow Bus comes.  All is well…until tomorrow.

For the life of me I CAN NOT figure out why I keep doing this, day after day.  I mean, I could change some things.  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what to do right?  But I don’t.  I keep doing the same damn thing.  They say the definition of insanity is that you keep doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.  Well, that would explain a lot huh?   

So, my new plan is to start the ‘getting ready’ process a bit earlier.  Maybe have the clothes picked out the night before.  You know try some common sense sort of stuff first before the Super Nanny has to step in.

[Update:  I have been trying the above plan and it much better…a lot less frustration and tears.]

 

The Episcopals...

A couple of weeks ago, we visited an Episcopal Church.  Some of our close friend have been going there and have been trying to get us to come.  So we did.  And it was weird.  Not the people, just the experience.  It was so different from what we are use to. 

Our former church met in a modern building, had praise and worship music, and as far liturgy goes, we might recite a creed once in awhile.  The Episcopal Church was very different.  Wooden pews (no cushions), stained glass, robes, incense, altar boys, a choir, and a really loud organ (have I ever mentioned that I hate organs.  Like REALLY hate them. If it were in my power, I would ban them and destroy them…all.). 

The service had a lot of rituals and aspects that were curious to me.  First, was when the priest read from a special bible and then kissed it.  Then there was the ceremony that involved the incense.  It was quite a scene to behold, actually.  The priest was wearing an extra robe at this point and 2 of the altar boys had to hold up the sides of the robe so the priest could swing the incense bucket over the communion bread and wine.  He was really getting into it.  I was tempted to take out my phone and record it because I was sure that one of those altar boys was gonna get it in the head.  No such luck.  The altar boys were a curious lot to me.  One of them was like 75 years old.  Is it that difficult to graduate from that position?  Lastly, the Choir was fascinating with all the robes and bling (Seriously, they all wore shiny crosses that were like a foot long.)

The Episcopals have all the children join the adults when they take communion (they were in Sunday School making rafts out of cardstock and baby Moses’s out of rocks- which they totally loved! Ethan was especially excited because he got to make 2 sleeping bags for baby Moses out of felt.)  Now, when they came in, Ethan heard the organ playing and choir singing but could not see them (they were up in the balcony, behind us) he turned and asked me, “Mom! Where is that ‘ARRT…ARRT….ARRT’ sound coming from” all while making piano gestures with his hands.  Then my older son wanted to know why everyone was going up to the front so I told them they were taking communion, to which he replied, “They get FREE bread?!?!”.  At this point, Ethan comments about how much he likes the smell of the candles (aka the incense) and I am thinking, “We must look like the most unchurched people ever!”.  I wanted to turn around and tell people that were churched people.  Honest.  Overchurched actually.  We are so churched we have it coming out our asses.  But I thought better of it and refrained.

 My favorite part?  The sermon and the people.  The sermon (probably not what they call it) was great.  And not because it was only 15mins long.  No, it was honest and gracious.  I felt no judgment or shame, only encouragement.  And the people…they were so nice and normal.  No one tried to get us to be involved, or asked us for our contact info so they could get us “Plugged In”.  It was a nice change from what we are use to. 

Despite the differences, I have to say that I enjoyed being there that Sunday. What I am coming to understand and embrace is that we, as Christians, come in all different shapes and sizes.  We may do things differently but we share the same God and the same Jesus. One way is not necessarily better than the other….just different.  This is a far cry from what I have been taught.  Denominations can be so nit- picky and feel the need to think they are doing it better than the others.  I don’t want to think like that anymore. I want to accept others and being accepted despite the different way we express our faith.

I think we will go back.  I might even do a little research to learn what the different parts of the service mean… it might make it seem less weird.

 

 

 

Red Squirrel...

I hate red squirrels.  I hate them with a passion.  They may be cute but let me assure you, they are evil.

Years ago, I met the devil himself.  Not in Hell, but in my bathroom.  We have an old house and at the time, our roof had developed a leak.  The ceiling in our bathroom was a ‘tile type’ of ceiling.  Sort of like a suspended ceiling.  So, when the water leaked in from the roof, it caused some of the tiles to separate. The leak was so bad that when we had a heavy rain we had to tack up a shower curtain (it was a pretty pink one) and channel the water into the sink.  Man, those were good times…

It wasn’t long after, that I noticed the ceiling tile seemed to be coming apart from the seams.  Shortly after that, I noticed the cats were spending an abnormal amount of time in the bathroom.  Then it appeared that someone or something was continually knocking things over onto the bathroom floor.  Then he appeared.  I watched him escape certain death from the jaws of our ferocious feline and disappear through the hole in the ceiling tile. 
We tried to block up the hole but the damn squirrel kept chewing at the tile to get in (I even tried duct tape…talk about ghetto).  This little game went on for quite some time.   Then finally, the day of reckoning arrived and the showdown began. 

There we were, face to face.  I was standing across the room, next to the door (which was closed by this time).  He was perched on our pink sink.  His eyes met mine and that is when it happened.  He spread out his arms and lunged at me.  Now it just got personal.  Game on my little friend….GAME ON.  For those of you who don’t know, our bathroom is huge.  It is actually a combination bathroom/laundry room and the walls are a type of weird textured wooden panel which gave the squirrel a distinct advantage.  But I was determined.  I would not lose to such vermin.  So, with a wooden stick in one hand and a plastic laundry basket in the other a chased that damn thing all around the bathroom (I may have been yelling and screaming during this stage of the process). 

Did I mention that my husband was in the kitchen holding our screaming 3month old,  yelling to me, “ Will you PLEASE just leave it alone and get out of there!?!?!” to which I responded something to the effect of, “ Hell NO!  I’m ‘gonna’ get him!”  That poor man.  When he said, “I Do” he had no idea what he was getting into.

Shortly after this brief verbal exchange, Big Red pulled a matrix type move and was literally running across the wall (no joke; I think it was the texture in the wooden wall paneling).  Luckly, I was there with my laundry basket and was able to catch him….on the wall.  That’s right, I was holding the basket against the wall with a trapped, pissed off, angry red squirrel in it. In the 10 seconds I had to think about what to do next, the squirrel manage to chew through the plastic netting and proceed to use my arm and back as an escape bridge. 

At this point I just started to cry and heeded my husband’s advice to ‘get out of there’.  We called Fish & Game who sent a lovely gentleman to our door.  He was able to catch our little friend within 5 mins (who knew a little trap would be easier than chasing it around with a stick).  Since the squirrel had scratched me, they would need to test for rabies. Which meant they would have to cut its’ head off.  Usually, I would feel bad about this sort of thing but not this time. Nope, he had it coming.

As the Fish & Game man drove away and Big Red prepared to meet his Maker, I headed off to the doctor’s office for a tetanus shot. Clearly, there were no winners that day.

Even now, as I think of that day, all that comes to mind is “Damn you little Red Squirrel….damn you.”

Seeking to Understand...

Last week, I saw a transgendered individual walking across the street.  It looked to me that this person had been born male and was now identifying as a female.  She was dressed as a woman but had a large frame, awkward stride, and looked nothing like what our culture defines as womanly.  A variety of thoughts ran through my mind.  None of them kind.  Then it hit me. That what I was looking at was not a what but a person.  A person like me.  Someone, who has emotions and feelings.  Someone, who wakes up in the morning and puts on a pot of coffee.  Who has a family and friends.  Who needs  love and affection. Someone, who longs to be accepted.  A person just trying to figure out who they are and where they fit in this world.  When I thought about what this person must have to contend with day in and day out, my heart broke.  I was filled with compassion.  I found myself wanting to know her story.  Not so I could fix her or find some reason as to why she is this way but to try to understand. 

This encounter has got me thinking about people. More specifically, how I see people.  Do I see a person or my own bias and preconceived notions?  I think as a human being, I tend to gravitate to those who are similar to me and move away from those who are different.  Similar is safe, different is not.  Different can be scary, not to mention uncomfortable.  Different has a way of challenging my thinking and how I see life.  When I seek to understand those who are different, I run the risk of having my world turned upside down.  No longer are they the ‘other’ but a flesh and blood human being.   And it makes it harder to dismiss them or be cruel to them.

My original response to the transgendered woman was my attempt to keep her as the ‘other’ because to see her as a person, would cause me to have to rethink what I have believed about transgendered people.  And changing is difficult and painful.  It is much easier to dismiss, to criticize, to blame than it is to try to understand and to see things through another person’s eyes.

Honestly, this is hard for me to do even when the person is not that different from me.  It is so easy to get caught up in my own day and forget to look at people.  To stop and look into their eyes and remember that there is a person in there.  Often a hurting person.   A person with a story.  A story I may or may not know. When I can do this I find that I am gentler.  Kinder.  Able to love better. 

I read something recently about how we should try to ‘give our understanding to people and then seek to understand’.  It really struck me.  I want to be that kind of person.   To hold back my judgments and just listen.  Really listen.  And if I can really listen, maybe the understanding will come.  And if the understanding comes then maybe the differences will begin to fade.  And then maybe the love can come.

Getting Ahead of Myself....

Last week was kind of stressful.  The kids started school.  I started school.  I had always thought that when both of my boys were in school full time I would take a class at UNH.  Something interesting. Something just for fun. So, as my kids got on the bus to tackle the first and fourth grades, I also headed out to begin my own first day.  Rusty and anxious but excited. 

I say ‘excited’ because that was not the case a month ago.  Nope, a month ago I was anything but excited.  I was anxious and stressed for sure but not really looking forward to the class I was taking.  See, I was actually signed up to take Statistics.  You know, the class that everyone dreads and avoids like the plague until they absolutely have to take it.  Yeah, that one.  You are probably wondering why on earth I would be taking a class like this when I initially wanted to take something interesting and fun.  Good question.  You see, I am the kind of person who tends to get ahead of herself.  In this particular situation, it went something like this in my head:

Looking at the UNH course catalog:  Hummm, these sociology classes look really interesting.  This one about Family would be really cool.  What if I like sociology?  What if one class leads to another and another?  What would it take to get a Masters in Sociology?  Am I smart enough to do that? Maybe. How much are classes these days anyway?  Holy crap!  That’s a lot of money.  I should meet with someone in the graduate program and find out what prerequisites I would need because I don’t want to be taking classes willy-nilly at THOSE prices. 

After meeting with Graduate Department:  okay, so I need to take Statistics, a Methods class and a Theory class.  Hummm, it makes most sense to start out taking Statistics because it is the foundation of how Sociologists do their research.  Okay then, Statistics it is!

And that my friends, is how Kathy Harter went from “taking a fun class” to “getting her Masters” in a field she has yet to decide if she even likes.  Thankfully, after a conversation with my therapist, I was able to take a step back and reevaluate.  To ask myself how I ended up being where I didn’t want to be.  And how do I get back to where I actually want to be?

When I get ahead of myself I think it partly has to do with fear.  Fear of getting to the end of my life and having missed my purpose.  Never getting to where I was supposed to be. Where I was meant to be.  I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the phrase, “ I don’t want to miss God’s will for my life” or “ God has a plan for your life and you don’t want to miss it”.  Knowing God’s will is big in my subculture.  So, I try to figure out how God might be leading me and then come up with a plan.  But sometimes the plan takes on a life of its own and I get stuck in the very thing I have created  (and sign up for a very ‘un-fun’ class).

I wonder if God’s will is different than I have made it out to be?  That it has more to do with becoming than arriving.  More about a journey than a destination.  I wonder if it is less complicated…..simpler?  . That He loves me and wants to heal me.  To make me whole and slowly transform me into the person I was meant to be.  What if His will just sort of unfolds as I go along?  My experiences being like stepping stones; each one leading to the next. I could worry less about getting to where I think I should be and focus on who I am becoming. 

I think there is some wisdom in that.  When I get ahead of myself and try to force things in my life, it often produces a great deal of anxiety and stress. But when I take each day and allow life to happen, I tend to enjoy life more.  And honestly,  when I look back on my life, there have been  a lot of twists and turns that I never would have anticipated.  I would  have NEVER been able to map out the path that has brought me to the place I am today. 

So, I dropped the Statistics class and signed up for the Family class.  And I am going to try and let go.  To embrace the unknown of the future.  To step on one stone at a time and leave the bigger picture to God.  Trusting He will get me wherever it is a need to be, when I need to be there.

Christianize It Baby!

Okay, my reasons it might not be nice but I like it when the CBD (Christian Book Distributors) catalog comes in the mail.  I love to look at all the merchandise and how the industry is able to Christianize just about anything.  From coffee mugs to book lights, you can slap a scripture verse on just about anything.  It makes me laugh.  It is so ridiculous, I have to laugh.  I am not sure why we feel the need to do this kind of thing.  It is almost like we think that there is something ungodly or worldly by just enjoying things in their original form.  That somehow, it is not okay to just sit with a friend and have coffee but we need to serve the coffee in a mug that has a clever scripture on it.  That somehow we will taste the divine (call me old school but I think the Divine will come from an honest, shared conversation).  I myself have donned some interesting  ‘witnessing’ tee shirts in my day (What is great about these type of shirts is that they are suppose to say it all so you don’t have to).  So, when I make fun of these things, know I am making fun of myself as well.  I thought I would share some of my favorites with you (if you have any of these in your home please don’t take it personally).It is okay to laugh…really it is… cause they have asked for it.

Almighty Clothing Hangers

Almighty Clothing Hangers

Kids will have a whole new attitude about hanging up their clothes with our set of four Almighty Heroes handcrafted wood hangers.

So what your telling me is that if buy these hangers form my son, I will no longer have to look at his shirts all at the bottom of his closet?  That his attitude will change and he will even WANT to hang up his cloths?  Humm... I think I would have a better chance If I tell him that these 'Almighty Hereo' will beat the crap out of him if he doesn't hang up his shirts... that might be more promising.

Lighted Whistle Key Ring

Lighted Whistle Key Ring

Careful and Key-full? Key chain with red LED flashlight and safety whistle. Inscription, " God's Word warns us of danger and directs us to hidden treasure." Psalm 19:11

 Really? A Christian rape whistle? I don't know about you but I would rather they take off the scripture verse and put the money towards rigging this thing with some pepper spray.

The Full Armor of God:
             Christian Character-Building Costume

Dress your kids for spiritual success! Includes one plactic helmet of salvation, breastplate of righteousness, belt of truth, Spirit of the Word sword, shield of faith, shin guards-and parent guide.

You mean to say that my 6 year old boy is going to put this on and listen while I teach him a Bible lesson about charcter building?Yeah, my 6 year old is gonna put this on, go fight a dragon (and by fight, I mean wack in the shins and by dragon, I mean his brother) and then rescue the damsel in distress (the cat).  Can't we jsut call it a Knight costume for pete's sake.

Testamints

Testamints

These mints will trasform how you share your faith with others.  Gone are the days of the akwardness of trying to bring Jesus up in a conversation. No, now all you have to do is hand them a mint, walk away and let God do the rest.  These refreshly spiritual mints come in 2 flavors. 

Okay, so i made up that entire description. I have actually tried this product and have to say it was the best tasting mint I have had in my entire life. 

Too Blessed to be Stressed Mug

Sassy Striped ceramic mug is good for all seasons, and a bold reminder of our blessings.  Reverse side of mug says, It's All Good.   

These mugs were either made by someone who doesn't have children or know to fill the bottom up with Kahlua  before they add the coffee. 

Taste & See Cupcake Holder

Taste and See Cupcake  Plate
Serve up savory treat - and spiritual truth - on this ceramic stand.  Scripture quote from Psalm 34:8, "Taste and see that the Lord is good." 

Do we really need to spiritualize cupcakes? Just eat the damn cupcake.

Bible Land

A "nutritious" alternative to Candy Land!  Exciting Bible stories lead players around the game board to heaven - the ultimate goal. 

I have always suspected that the orgininal Candy Land was worldly and of the Devil. All those cute characters and yummy candy.... I think it might be the 'gateway' drug to board games... First, it's Candy Land then it is straight to the Ouija board. I wouldn't be suprised to find out that the King at the end of the game is really the witch from Hansel & Gretel and she is gonna eat you for playing a sinful game,  you naughty little children!

Bibleopoly

Monopoly's enjoyable, but the unadulterated greed doesn't help you practice what you preach!  Try building curches instead of hotels - and lose a turn by landing on "Go Meditate". Accumulate Good Deeds not wealth!

I saved the best for last... this one cracks me up.  The board spaces are all Biblical cities.  You win the game by being the first to build a church... the Go to Jail" space is now the Abyss... I want to know what the player pieces are?  If it were me I would have: Jesus, a camel, a sandal,  a basket filled with bread & fish, Lazaras coming out of the tomb with all the grave cloths still on, and a Fishing boat.  I have to have this game... this is a shamless plug...my birthday is in December.  (warning: if you get this for me, I will make you play it with me).