Noisy

I like it quiet at bedtime. I like to wash my face, brush my teeth and crawl between the nice cool sheets to read a book or work on a sudoku puzzle. I want to unwind and talk about the day and cuddle. I want to look at Ben's face, instead of the back of his head at a computer monitor. I want to be companionable.

I am constantly aware of how much noise is going on in the house after the kids are in bed, sleeping. If we watch an action movie it's like the remote is the baton in a relay race...constantly changing hands. Loud gunshot. Michelle turns down the volume. Whispered conversation. Ben turns up the volume. My children have grown up in a noisy home. They sleep through anything, so I don't know what I'm so worried about. It just bugs me. I can't help it.

I married into a "tv in every room" family. They watch tv while they are preparing to teach a Bible Study. They watch tv while they cook. They watch tv in bed, while they are falling asleep. Now, when I say "watch" that's not really accurate. It's more like background noise. This is weird to me. So, we have a laptop at the end of our bed and Ben's nightly routine includes picking out a movie to fall asleep to. We go through movie cycles. Usually they are kids' movies. He'll go through a Nick Park phase when he chooses Chicken Run or Wallace and Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Or Night at the Museum with Ben Stiller. Sometimes it will be an action movie like Rush Hour with Jackie Chan. Lord of the Rings is the series he chooses if he's got a migraine headache. Or Harry Potter.

An additional piece of this noisy routine includes a bowl of cereal that he brings to bed with him. (I could write a whole post on the fact that Ben doesn't know how to eat a meal in the kitchen, or in fact a whole post on his eating habits in general.) He takes this huge spoonful, loaded down with cereal and milk and slurps all the milk before he sucks the cereal off the spoon. Then he chews. And it's crunchy and then it's mushy. So, it's kind of like this, "scoop, slurp, crunch, mush, swallow". And when he's finished with the cereal he slurps the milk out of the bowl, making sure that none of it slips off the rim and down the side. I hate mouth noises.

He also chews on the crushed ice that he brings to bed with him. This is a relatively new part of the routine. And it's not just a little kid cup of ice, plastic and harmless. It's a tall glass tumbler that he taps and shakes to loosen things up. And then there's more slurping. And crunching. Curse that new refrigerator with the crushed ice option.

But at the risk of sounding completely sappy...it's worth it. We go to bed together. He gives me first dibs on which movie to pick. When he goes down for his cereal he asks if he can bring anything back for me. A snack? A glass of water? And when he's crunching on his ice he's also rubbing my head...long after he's obligated. He's a good man, with a few idiosyncrasies. And I'm 100% ok with that.

Jesus

I have been wondering a lot about what my kids think and feel about Jesus. Because Ben and I grew up in missionary homes and we were "churched to death" I think we over corrected our own upbringings by putting very little emphasis on church and devotions and Christian music and Bible stories. I think we've cheated our children out of Bible knowledge and hymns and teachable moments. I think we've let them off too easy, not expecting them to be interested in spiritual things or not expecting them to care. I've got some guilt.

Recently I was watching some teen girls doing their devotions in a public place. I asked them about it and they told me that they had been to an incredible camp where the worship time was amazing...they sang and prayed and cried and were inspired. They looked almost angelic, in their bikinis with their Bibles lying open and their highlighters out. I had two absolutely evil responses...both of which I covered with a smile and an encouraging nod. First I thought to myself..."I did that a million times as a kid, rededicated my life and had a whole month-long stint of quiet times. It won't last." The second evil response was, "Why can't my teenager be more like that?" I am ashamed that I reacted that way. So self-righteous. So insecure. So superior. So scared. And they were 13 year olds. What is my problem???

I have thought a ton about that in the last month or so. God has really very gently brought me to a place of understanding. First, I have cheated my kids out of some perfectly golden moments when the gospel could have been shared in a very real way. And for that I'm sorry. Also, each time a kid has a "mountaintop experience" God reveals himself to him or her in a way that they can understand. How in the world can I judge that experience? Sure they'll come down. It's just like my own life, sometimes I'm feelin' it and sometimes I'm not. The difference is that the older I get, the less I rely on feelings to determine the truth that I live out of. And all of that cynicism is tied to my guilt about not "doing" enough to encourage my kids spiritually.

The other really big thing happened a couple of nights ago. Emma had a really hard start to this school year and she's been grieving her expectations not being met by administration and especially by friends. She's being left out and left behind. One of her friends has taken a really strong stand against rock music and gossip (these are a few of our favorite things...). Emma respects that, but doesn't like the way that her friend is communicating this stand. The stand is all being done in Jesus' name. She's had a mountaintop experience, but the problem is that she is showing little to no concern or compassion for the situation that Emma finds herself in (lonely and sad). Emma looks at me and says these awesome, insightful words, *"I thought God was all about love." What her friend is doing doesn't feel like love, it feels like legalism and judgment. It's a pat on the back and the dreaded words, "Just pray about it." So she's not feeling the love and she is feeling the condemnation. She just needs a note with hearts all over it that says little things like, "BFF" and "I Miss U", folded into a teensy tiny triangle and passed between classes. In spite of my own failures as a mom, it seems that Emma has gotten the message that Jesus loves her and He cares deeply for her. And hopefully she knows and experiences this truth: "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

WOO-HOO!


*Emma's Notes:
"If my friends are truly concerned about being the 'good Christian' and WWJD then why don't they communicate love when I need it? Jesus would love a friend in a lonely time. It's not about being a "good Christian" it's about being a good friend, who is encouraging and loves God." That's more like what I said, I am really against the whole be a "good Christian" or "what's the Christian thing to do" as my friend would say. And it's not just rock music, it's basically any non-Christian music.

BFF

My best friend, Krista, sent me a hilarious card recently. On the front is a very enthusiastic high-kicking, big-haired, slightly 80's looking teen girl. It says, "When I'm President, I'm gonna settle all disputes with a dance-off." Inside it says, "You're gonna be Vice President, so work on your moves." If you saw me 'shake it' this would be especially funny for you...

The words "best friend" just roll off the tongue. A bit juvenile for a woman in her late 30's but I don't really care. They best describe that relationship in my life. I've had several best friends in my life. My first was Beth. I met her as a new student in a new school in a new town half-way through kindergarten. I cried every day and was terribly homesick and needy. I needed a friend. She was absolutely beautiful. Her mom was 100% Swedish, tall with long blond hair and lush looks and her father was a native of India, short and brilliant. Beth was a perfect combination of the two. I envied her beautiful skin and long dark hair. We played house and school and scared ourselves silly when her folks left us alone one night. We both went to different schools for the third grade and we drifted apart.

Then there was Dawn. She was my grade school friend, the one who I started high school with. She grew up in a Mennonite family and had little posters of kitties and puppies on her walls that she had ordered from Scholastic books. But, don't be deceived by her portrayed naivete...she was a rebel. She and I stayed up late watching "Friday Night Videos" before there was MTV. She was my first friend to french kiss a boy and she demonstrated for me on pillows, mirrors, walls, anything that would hold still long enough.

I kind of cheated on Dawn with Jennifer, (Chinese pig latin pronunciation: Jong.E.Nong.Nong.I.Fong.E.Rong). She was another beautiful girl. And very dominating. She demanded loyalty and constant companionship and there was no room for argument. She was pushy. Her father was a chocolate salesman so she came by it honestly, I guess. Her mom was beautiful too, although anal retentive to the max. I remember that Jennifer had to Windex her entire room EVERY morning. They had a room that we couldn't go into because our footprints would ruin the sunburst pattern that the vacuum had made in the carpet. They were so clean. They showered all the time. She always had a boyfriend and it was usually the boy that I was secretly in love with. I used to sing in the shower, "I wish that I had Jenny's boy" to the tune of "Jesse's Girl". It was pathetic. I was the best friend with the "great personality". I hated that.

My parents and I moved to Haiti during my freshman year in high school and by my sophomore year I had another best friend. Another Jennifer. We learned to drive in Port-au-Prince and so we faced death together each and every time we left the house. There was no drinking age so Bartles and Jaymes became our boyfriends. And we would lay on her roof, slathered in baby oil listening to Brian Adams "Cuts Like a Knife" album. Good Times.

My senior year I met Kathy at boarding school in Asheville, NC. She was so much fun. She was a good girl and I appreciated that. She and I would stay up late studying and doing silly experiments like seeing if you could actually light a fart on fire. (You can) She would bring me a snickers bar when I was down and I would get her inhaler for her when she quit breathing. We made up silly words and listened to prohibited rock music. We live close enough now that we can meet half-way for lunch and get to know each other's children. It's so cool.

Next came Sue. Her nick name was "Sue-bee Doo-bee", for the same reason that the Doobie Brothers are the Doobie Brothers. (Hint: Their last names are not Doobie and they're not brothers) I was feeling pretty lonely, pretty desperate for some fun and extremely sick of the church youth group scene. So, one night I told her that I wanted her to teach me to drink beer. She told me that I had to take three gulps at a time and I would feel the effects in no time. (It works) She was hilarious and very sweet, extremely loyal. I think she was searching for God and I was running away from Him and I have a lot of regrets about that. I think that He could have used me in her life and I was unwilling. I'm sorry.

My parents got really peeved with me...my grades, my behavior, my lack of spiritual maturity so they made me choose a college with "Bible" in the name. It couldn't just be a Christian Liberal Arts school, it had to be a Bible school. So I chose Columbia BIBLE College for one reason only. Kathy was there and she agreed to room with me...her troubled friend. Two great things happened in that one year of hell: More time with Kathy and meeting my best friend for life, Ben.

This brings me to my current friendship roster. After Ben and I got married and moved to Denver I met two young women who would define friendship for me and for whom I am writing this particular post...Candace and Krista.

We were all very young, with babies and the deep desire for true and honest relationships. We started a play group and talked. And talked. And talked. We never really DID anything, except wipe poopy bottoms and answer the door for pizza delivery. Krista and I would meet at the park and it was as if we had telepathically decided who would pick up the Starbucks. My marriage was in the toilet for most of those years and those girlies were AWESOME in the middle of all my crap! They prayed for Ben when I was too pissed off or heartbroken or hopeless. Some friends just can't stand the husband, but they really truly saw him for the man that I had married. They saw him like God saw him and they stuck by him, just like they stuck by me with all my fears and flesh patterns and weirdness.

They were there when I had Anna Grace, in the room cheering me on. It was a party. I got to be there for each of them when they gave birth too. We love each other's children. We discipline each other's children. And if anything ever happens to me all three of mine want to go to Candace (She's got candy and Krista's too strict.). They are the moms that I prayed my children would run to, if they ever ran away.

They are the friends who truly rejoice in my gifts and challenge me to use them. They don't compare themselves to me, making me feel less than or more than. They have been able to look me in the eyes and tell me the really hard things, things that might have completely broken me if it hadn't come from their particular lips. They tell me the truth.

We live 2,000 miles apart now. It sucks. I hear their voices in my head when I shop and people think I'm crazy (and incredibly snotty) when I say out loud, "I would look GREAT in this." I can't help it...some one's got to speak that truth. My new porch swing makes my heart ache because it is the spot that waits for them to come and sit a spell. Candace sends her Jacob to his first day of school tomorrow and I should be there, waiting on her front porch when she comes sniffling up the walk. Krista and I should be spending the first day of school at an outdoor table drinking Starbucks and enjoying the quiet. But life is like that. You enjoy the people He gives you and you miss them when they're gone and you look forward to the little gifts of time spent with them that you'll get every now and then.

So now I will say something completely cheesy...like, "you'll be in my heart forever" or "you're the wind beneath my wings" or "did you know that you can actually light a fart on fire?"

Moo-lah

We are absolutely terrible with money. It started out with the devil coming to each of us in the form of student credit cards during our college years. We sold our souls. Then we did bigger and stupider things with credit. We bought tvs and music and food on credit. We leased a minivan. We bought houses. We bought name-brand clothing for our children, who were growing 3 sizes a year. We took trips to Disneyland. We paid bills on credit. Then we lost everything. We learned a lesson...but only one. We learned that we never wanted to be in debt the way we were back then. But we are still terrible with money.

Ben gets a bonus twice a year. Those bonuses could be used to make an extra mortgage payment or to pay off our used car. But instead we act like we're millionaires and we treat people to dinner and take our kids to the movies and buy big birthday and Christmas gifts, like i-pods and pool tables. We don't keep track of how much money from the bonus we spend, we just have a "ball park". Never trust yourself when you're working with "ball park" figures.

I left for an overnight last weekend. I had a ball park figure in my head and it wasn't much. But, hey...I'm on a trip. So I pay for gas and I treat my parents to meals and I order like three triple grande lattes from Sbux in a 24 hour period. And I get home, check the bank account and see that we have $1.99 in there after everything clears. That sucks. I actually went to the middle-schoolers in my household and collected on old IOUs. I mailed in medical reimbursement claims. I went to the consignment shop and received the $8.87 they owed me.

Now, we just bought a house, so I'm thinking..."We need to adjust. The house payment is more than what we were paying in rent. It's an investment and it works on paper and it's wise." But, right now...I hate it. The real question is...am I going to be a totally grumpy wife and mother until the next paycheck or am I going to bounce?? Am I going to let these temporary circumstances completely ruin my outlook or am I going to go with it? Is the glass going to be half-full or not?

My children are healthy. We have a car that runs and we can get where we need to go. I have the cutest dog in the whole wide world. My husband totally digs me and me, him. School is starting and I'll have money-making opportunities as soon as the flu hits the teaching staff. We are just plain spoiled rotten and we have all the makings for s'mores. What am I crying for??

Kids

Children are unbelievable. Emma was my firstborn and I just couldn’t get enough of her. I asked the nurses to let her sleep in my bed during my hospital stay and I would just stare at her for hours on end, even after we’d brought her home. Caleb was born one year and ten days later. I was totally into him too, although he slept all day and was awake all night. He was a light. Three and one half years later Anna Grace was born and I left her in the nursery during my hospital stay and asked the doctor if he couldn’t find a reason to keep me there longer. It was peaceful there, in my private room, with my own baby ladies whose sole purpose it was to bring her in when she was hungry and take her out when I was tired. They got paid to tell me that she was fine and I couldn’t hear her fussing from where I slept. Ignorance was bliss, all 36 hours of it.
I am reminded of all the times when I said that “my child will never act like that” or “my child will never look like that” or “my child will always…”. And guess what: My child acts like that, looks like that and never…

Things are out of hand. I maintain the illusion of control some days. But other days I throw my hands up and have to admit that the important things, like what they believe and what their flesh desires and how that will play itself out in adult relationships is completely outside of my control. They have to make their own way and that drives me completely mad. But, would it be better if I could lay out the path in front of them and had a guarantee that they would follow it? I can’t even get to the grocery store without making a complete mess of things. How do I know what they should choose and whether it will turn out right? They have to get to Jesus on their own, in their own way. I cannot map it out for them and if I tried they’d get lost for sure.

A counselor once told me that I needed to be more confident in my parenting. “Quit acting like you don’t know what you’re doing. They’re like animals. They smell fear and they use it to their advantage.” He was right. God gave me these children. God, the creator of the universe, gave me…ME…, these exact children: Emma, Caleb and Anna Grace. I don’t know why he chose me. I don’t know why they weren’t born to Ruth Bell Graham or Gail Queen (my perfect home-schooling Catholic friend who already has 6 of her own, but could do 3 more, no problem) or my sister who loves kids and struggled with infertility. But he chose me. I tell my kids all the time that I’m not perfect. I tell them that I screw up every day and that I make poor choices and that they are suffering the consequences of having me for a mom. But then I say the words that I think God gave me…”If I were the perfect mother you wouldn’t need Jesus.” Is that a copout? I hope that’s not how I use it. I really mean it. I think my weakness points them to Christ. If they can’t depend on me for every good and perfect gift, then they’ll have to go elsewhere.

The real question is this: “Do I believe that God’s got my kids?” Do I really believe that they will find their own way? Do I understand that it will cost me greatly to let them find their own way but that it will cost more if I get in the way? Do I believe that I cannot make up for my own deficiency as a parent? That I can’t try and love them better or more or longer or in a different way to make up for my past mistakes, but that the way I love them is enough and that God will make up the difference?

Aimless

I can’t imagine caring enough about anything to actually go to school to study it. I’m a stay-at-home mom with three children and a very part-time job as a substitute teacher. I work when I feel like it (which is seldom). I went to three different colleges in three different states. I had three different majors during those three chaotic years. And I ended that particular madness by dropping out and getting married (which, at 21, is madness in and of itself). I have no ambition, no drive, no deep yearning to know what I haven’t yet learned. There are things I’d like to be – like a family therapist for example. I’m a great listener and a really good friend. I think I’m already qualified on many levels. I’ve spent a lot of money and hundreds of hours “observing” counselors. Surely I’ve learned enough technique and skill to walk someone through a rough patch. But I’m not hirable because I don’t have a degree. And now they’re saying that to earn a position as a counselor I’d have to complete a MASTERS program. They’re raising the bar and I just don’t want it that bad. I don’t want anything that bad.

I had a counselor, my favorite in fact, who said that I was working out of my survival toolbox instead of my thriving tool box. Ken said that life wasn’t just about getting through the best you could, it was about thriving, enjoying life to the fullest…sucking the marrow out (or some such nonsense). He said that I needed to start dreaming more and thinking about what I could do, not only about what I should do. “Quit “should-ing” all over yourself,” he’d say. But there is within me either a lack of drive or a lack of confidence. I wish I was delusional enough to say that it’s contentment, a deep satisfaction with what has become of me and all that God has blessed me with. But, let’s be honest, that’s not it at all. In fact, even survival is negotiable.

When we watch “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” on TLC I think to myself, “I wouldn’t be alive.” Plane crashes, boat wrecks, grizzly bear attacks, safaris gone wrong…count me out. That happens to me and I’m taking the easy way out. No way will I walk 17 miles in the blistering hot sun with a fractured foot and pull over to roast a bunny for protein. Just leave me back at the crash sight. I don’t want to work that hard. And God forbid that Ben is rendered helpless because I wouldn’t last two hours “going for help”. He thinks I’m crazy, that I’m underestimating my gumption. “You’d do what you had to do,” he says. But he flatters himself. I’m telling you. It’s too much effort for no guaranteed happy ending. Think about all those people who shouldn’t be alive and, in fact, aren’t.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not lazy, per se. I cook, clean, do laundry, shop and keep a functioning household. I take kids to practices, doctor’s appointments, camps, lessons and sleepovers. I work out on occasion. But there’s something about ambition+education=career that just doesn’t work for me. I have my pride, believe me. I don’t like showing up at social gatherings and admitting that I have no career, no further education to speak of and no plans for achievement. It’s embarrassing. But not embarrassing enough to do something about it, or at the very least to make something up. I shuffle around and pretend like it’s cool to be an uneducated parent with kids old enough to look like my siblings.

My 12 year old son wants to build a monument to me when I die. He says that I deserve more than just a headstone, that there should be something to memorialize my life that is visible from a great distance. I just want one of those flat grave markers with my name and the important dates. He pushes me…”What would you want your monument to look like?” “What do you love to do?” “What would best symbolize you as a person?” Finally, just to get him off my back I say, “Just do something like the Washington Monument. I’m fine with that.” Why is that? Even in death I aim low. I am completely unoriginal.

And that gets me thinking… What if my life is half over? I’m only 37 years old, but that’s already half way to 74. I cannot believe that if I live to be 74 years old that this year marks the half-way point. Holy crap. What have I done with my life? A lot has happened to me. I’ve responded to certain situations and handled things, but I’ve not really gone after anything. I haven’t pursued life. I’ve made lists, but only because life demands it. Things become urgent…so I adopt a sense of urgency. But I don’t act, I react. Is this a personality type? or a major character flaw? or have I just not found anything that really inspires me? I want to be inspired. I want to wake up in the morning and think, “I can’t wait to______________!”