Damaged Goods

Let's talk about sex. Ba-by.

Last night I spent about three hours reading and revising an essay that just won't stop growing, called "The Valley of Achor."  I keep trying to trim it down and it keeps rebelling, begging for more, more, more words when I want to make it shorter.  The darn thing just needs to say what it needs to say, and it keeps thinking of more things it needs to say.

It is an essay about obsession, infatuation, and love.  It is about sex and faith and God and mercy and redemption.  I have thought so much about these things for the last thirteen years, ever since I prayed at 18 that whatever was causing my period to be two weeks late would go away.  It did.  I don't know if I was pregnant.  I suspect that I was and that I miscarried, based on the number of times I've miscarried since that personal crisis in college.

Now, I am happily married, to a different man than the one I dated in college.  That man's shadow has followed me like a ghost these thirteen years, sometimes more often than other times.  We dated on and off for a year and a half, and I gave myself to him in many ways.  I would have married him, if he had asked.  Needless to say, he left a major imprint on my life.

This morning, Matt Walsh, a popular blogger with many, many good things to say, posted a blog on abstinence.  I agree with much of what he has to say, but I take issue with two things: his tone, and this sentiment:

"...Are you satisfied that what you give to your spouse is now secondhand?  If they tell you they feel happy or neutral about the fact that they gave themselves to someone other than their spouse, you’re dealing with someone in a very dysfunctional marriage. Any honest person in a healthy relationship would tell you they’d erase those moments from their lives if they could. ...That means millions have had to look at their spouse and say — probably silently in their own heads, deep in their subconscious — 'I have nothing new to give to you.'  It’s a tragedy, really. It’s a shame. You deal with it and you move on, but 'casual sex' has taken its chunk and you’ll never get it back." - Matt Walsh blog

When Brandon and I met, I was worried about revealing my past to him.  He was a Christian, the first believer I had seriously dated since becoming a Christian myself, and I worried that he might condemn me or reject me because I was "secondhand," no longer a virgin, impure.  When the time came to discuss these things (and honestly, we pushed the topic to the front of the line way faster than we should have), there was no condemnation, because he had failed in this area, too.  

Did these pre-marital relationships affect our relationship?  Absolutely.  Probably they still do, to some degree, the ripple effect of loving someone deeply and then losing them lasts for a long time.  However, Matt is missing a vital element of the message of the Cross. From Romans, "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" and slightly later in the same chapter, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

In all things.  The power of the Cross is not that we might strive for perfection and receive our reward based on how good we've been.  The power of the Cross is that we are free from the burden of perfection and made holy and pure through the redemptive love, grace, and mercy of Christ.  Not because of anything we've done, but only because of Christ.  Only because of the Father's love.  Only because of the power of the Holy Spirit.

I don't think I can regret for myself anymore the decisions I made to have sex before I married Brandon.  Maybe I regret how long I spent seeking after a person who no longer loved me back.  But that crisis in my life drove me to my knees, it woke me up to the realities of my imperfection and my lack of control, it released me from the grip of "do good things" and delivered me into the garden of "I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."  Not condemnation.  How can I live in regret when God has delivered me into that garden?

Teach your children abstinence. Not because they will carry regret and shame with them the rest of their lives if they don't.  Not because they will be "damaged goods" otherwise, "secondhand" to the spouse they marry.  Not because they might have a baby out of wedlock or get a sexually transmitted disease.  Those are not good reasons.  They are not true reasons.  They are symptoms of a deeper emptiness or injury and they ignore redemption.

Teach your children abstinence because purity is a worthy pursuit, and abstinence is one facet of purity.  But it isn't the only one: purity manifests itself in our thoughts, our words, and our deeds.  It might please God that you are seeking purity, but that isn't why he loves you.

Attacking sex as the only manifestation of purity or impurity does what we Christians have done for centuries - identified one sin to place under a spotlight as worthy of condemnation.  Teach your children all of the worthy pursuits - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control (that's where abstinence fits in this list).  And when they fall -- because they will, in some way, fall -- be prepared to extend the same grace and mercy Jesus Christ extends to you, every single day of your broken and imperfect life.

"Jesus straightened up and asked her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' 'No one, sir,' she said. 'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'" - John 8:10-11

Vulnerability in Writing

I've been writing a LOT lately, and I'm excited about the material that is coming out, the direction I see for possible books (plural, because I don't want to write just one, after all), and the small victories each piece presents.  I've been telling myself, You can't write about faith and poof! essays on faith (and other things).  And the "other things" are topics I've tried to write about before but have failed miserably, blathered on and on-- and then THIS happened and then THIS happened and I HATED this, I HATED it-- but now they are coming together, and I'm thrilled.

I think the work is good.  We will see.  I did have a short piece accepted by Brevity that will be published in the not-too-distant future (YEEEEEEE!!!!!).  It's called "Field Guide to Resisting Temptation," and I'm SO EXCITED and also SO ANXIOUS that it will be published and public.  As my dear friend said, "Talk about peeling your own skin off and creating art from the raw desire/confusion/humanity/desire/desire/desire beneath its surface. Lifting it to the page, to light, to awareness," which makes me feel a little better, but yeah, peeling your own skin off.  That's pretty accurate.

But that's what I love about good writing - the writer willing to bear witness, even if that artist is bearing witness to the dark interior of her own heart, displaying her own weaknesses, fears, anxieties, doubts, and desires - because that kind of a witness has the potential to be life-giving.  At least that's been my experience in both writing and in life - when a friend has been willing to lower her guard and be vulnerable, to show the red squishyness of her insides, it has been life- and relationship-changing.  

It's a short little thing to be giving me such fits.  I promise I won't chicken out.  I will post a link to it when it goes live.  Eep.  

In other news, I'm off to the In Print Festival at Ball State University tomorrow to represent River Teeth and the Ashland Poetry Press as Managing Editor, and then to visit a friend's class at Taylor University on Thursday.  This trip has been made possible by a set of friends who are taking care of our three children overnight, a set of childless friends who may find that they never, ever want to have kids after watching ours.  I'm only kind of kidding.  Pray for them ;)

Visiting Ghosts: Writing about the Past

One of my current writing projects is an essay (or longer something... book? eep.) about faith and identity.  I can't write about becoming a Christ follower without writing about an ex-boyfriend I dated for almost two years during college, a guy I expected to marry someday.

It's hard to go back to journals and memories about this time of my life.  Things with E were never really bad.  He didn't abuse me or cheat on me.  We fell in love fast and hard and made each other the centers of our worlds.  It wasn't a horrible relationship, but it was an incredibly formative relationship.  In fact, as cooky as it sounds, I think if God hadn't intervened in his mysterious way, I could have married him, and I could have made it work.  I loved him so much  that he held the place of god in my life, for a long time.  But as my faith in God grew and expanded into the rest of my life, his lack of belief became an increasing source of conflict for us, among other differences that surfaced during the time we were together.  Eventually I had two worlds: There was my life when I was with him, and there was my life when I was not with him.  Things gradually unraveled for us until we finally split up.

It is easy to demonize people who have loved us--and hurt us--deeply.  We are quick to remember the times of conflict, the tragic and the painful, because to revisit the memory of when it was good is risky.  It's uncomfortable.  Remembering when you were happy with this person who is no longer a part of your life feels dirty.  It feels like you are cheating on your spouse, the person you've chosen to love for over a decade now, the person with whom you have built a real and true love story, a story of living through many trials already, and survived.

But in order to write the whole story, to give that person on the page three dimensions instead of the one dimension you remember best, I have to remember how deeply I loved.  Without remembering and writing out how great I felt when I was with him, why I loved him so much, the impact of that loss and the brokenness that trailed me afterward sounds artificial, sappy, melodramatic.  I want to be fair to E and in doing so, I will be telling a true story, not just a wounded half-truth.

E is a person who has never left my conscious.  People who have that deep of an influence on your formation as a whole human being leave deep indents, like the meteor that just cracked into Earth.  That impact might be traumatic, impossible to refill or repair.  But over time, that crater will be transformed and healed, never erased, just redeemed.  One of my best friends calls these seasons of life our "grace-bearers"-- a reminder of the grace and mercy extended by the Lion that never leaves our side.

And that's the story I want to tell.

The Hunger Games

Why is it that books about vampires, werewolves, and children killing children are so stinkin' popular these days?

Most of the time I am a nonfiction/poetry snob, I admit it, mostly because my job requires it.  Occasionally, I miss reading for fun, though, and I have several friends who eat up fiction, both YA and adult.  I also really like reading what is popular or what is making a splash so that I can give an educated opinion of it.  So, I gobbled up the vampire romance series Twilight.  And I finished The Hunger Games last night around 1 a.m. 

I was thoroughly entertained.  In both instances.  But if you ask me to describe what the books are about, I sound a little nuts. "Well, there are these good vampires who try to fit into society, and then there are these people who turn into werewolves when there are vampires around and they defend people against the bad vampires, but they have a truce with the good vampires.  And there's this girl who finds herself attracted to one of the good vampires, wants to become a vampire, and is friends with one of the werewolves."

Or, "Yeah, I really liked this book!  It's about children killing other children in a contest."

The popularity of these books says a lot about our culture, and I don't mean in a "those books are from the DEVIL" way.  The first-person narrator in Twilight and The Hunger Games is a strong, young, beautiful, courageous female who doesn't seem to know that she is strong, beautiful or courageous.  It's a Sammy Kershaw kind of "she don't know she's beautiful" thing that is exactly how we all want to be viewed - beautiful but not vain, attractive but not slutty, desired and adored. 

At the same time, there's a mysterious, kind, attractive male who is head over heels for the girl but she can't tell, doesn't believe, him, etc. even though he'd do anything to protect her or save her.  I know it is sappy, but I'm pretty sure I really want to be rescued most of the time, even though I might look like I want to be in control and take care of myself.  I buck against the damsel-in-distress idea because I know that I'm strong enough, but even though I am strong enough, sometimes I really just want to be taken care of, adored, and delighted in.  So love unrequited in novels like these speaks deeply into the desires of young girls and, let's face it, grown women who feel taken for granted, who don't feel desireable anymore, who miss being pursued, romanced, or wooed.

In both of these series, there's also the female character's conflict between two guys.  I don't know that this will surge up in the sequel to The Hunger Games, but it looks like it could do so.  The friend and the romantic interest, and oh, they both love her.  If we don't know the tension from being pulled by two desires out of our own personal experiences, we can feel the heartbreak and are moved by that conflict of emotion.

This is why we (women young and old) are drawn to these stories and why they are so insanely popular.  It isn't the vampires or the werewolves or the wizards or the dystopian society's crazy annual contest to kill off 23 children in order to keep the districts in line and obedient to a system (which is all very 1984 and Brave New World-ish); it's because our hearts are aching for this kind of adventure, desire, and passion.  We want to feel this kind of love.  We want to be protected and fought for. 

The authors of these books get that, and whether or not it is the most amazing writing doesn't matter - it's a good story that speaks to the heart desires of women everywhere.  Just like every romantic comedy, Harlequin romance, or Nicholas Sparks novel or movie.  The main character is just like me, a human with character flaws and passion, who finds herself loved, pursued, and desired by another. 

I've oversimplified the story line in both series.  There's actually a lot more going on in both books besides this theme, but my guess is that this theme is the one that the majority of readers are caught up in.  Including me.  Onward to Book Two!

Mama and Papa Bear vs. Parents of Three-Year-Olds

I've heard other women talk many times about when their kid has been slighted, or insulted, or teased, or ignored and their reactions to it, but I've never really related. Until now.

Out of the blue the other night during dinner, Elvis said, "My friends say I'm not growing." It's true that Elvis is the smallest and youngest in his preschool class. He's always been on the smaller side-- he's just about the cutest little man ever-- and it's likely that he'll always be on the smaller side. But HOW DARE THEY?! What provokes a group of three-year-old boys to tease another boy?

Back when I was dreaming about making babies all of the time, I couldn't wait to pick out cute outfits, sing and rock the baby to sleep, make googly faces at it, carry it around, give it a bottle, and keep it baby-sized forever (kind of sounds like my four-year-old daughter's version of mothering). This part of parenting never occurred to me. Not once did it cross my mind that I'd have to come up with a response to a sad little boy whose just been teased about something that is completely out of his control (aside from not eating his vegetables). It immediately made me think of the things that had been said or done to me as a child, the insults or teasing that shaped my personality. Remembering how that made me feel sent a mad mother bear fury into the pit of my stomach. And he's just three. We've got another few decades' worth of being almost completely defenseless when it comes to what happens to him at school in his peer groups.

To be affected so quickly and emotionally by the plight of my son at preschool makes me realize how much restraint God the Father had to have on his Son's behalf. I'm ready to track down the parents of my son's friends and give them a good talkin' to about manners and what they say at home and where did your son learn to talk like that, etc., etc., and there's Jesus, beaten, bullied, taunted by people while hanging on a cross. "Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do."

But in light of Jesus' example, what do you tell your kid? Go on the defense? Teach him some retorts ("Well, I might be small but I'm smarter than you! And cuter!")? Tell him to go straight to the teacher? Tell him to punch them in the face (mmm, probably not.)? Ignore it? How do you teach your kid to love their enemies and pray for those who persecute you?

I guess we have to show them how to do that. I guess we need to avoid teasing and making fun of people in our own homes, pray for people who have done us wrong or who don't understand us, and hope that God will work on our hearts as much as theirs. We can't control how other kids are going to be raised and how that upbringing will affect us, just like we can't control other people's actions. We can control our reactions.

May God give us the strength and courage to not punch our enemies in the noses or hunt down their parents with some mama and papa bear fury.

Waltzing

Sometimes the way we move about each other feels choreographed, we've been practicing it so long. It is a good kind of dance, where your partner seems to have mastered the steps and knows right when to lead, when to dip, when to spin, how to maneuver you just right so you feel as if this dance is really effortless.

It probably doesn't happen enough - most of the time, we fight to take the lead, would rather grapevine when our partner wants to cha-cha, and just when one person is warming up to the dance, the other just wants to take a seat and have a drink. But there are days when everything clicks into place and we're primarily interested in the welfare of each other rather than our own interests. This makes all of the difference.

Jesus said that the two greatest commandments were to Love God and to Love one another, but most of the time, we are wrapped up in numero uno - what can I get, who's serving me, how am I being left out here, what wrong has been done to me, me me me. As Toby Keith (that fountain of wisdom) has said, "I wanna talk about me, I wanna talk about I wanna talk about #1 oh my, me, my what I think what I like what I know what I want what I see..." That is where I reside most of the time, unfortunately, and also most unfortunately, this is where we are most unhappy.

But when we start getting down to the basics of loving God and loving one another, when we start turning our eyes outward to our fellow human beings as opposed to focusing on our own inner wants and needs, suddenly all of those wants and needs are minimalized and we can see the world much clearer. I think we tend to slip into a cross-eyed vision - not only can we only see the end of our noses, even that ends up distorted.

So back to this dance thing. It is necessary to practice the steps every day. Somedays, we'll be full of grace, our relationships will seem effortless yet meaningful, and we'll end the day content and relaxed. Other days, the dance is all work and no fun at all - your partner is difficult and so are you, but you have to suck it up, pour them a cup of tea too, determine to be happy that they switched the load of laundry and folded the whites even though the shirts aren't creased the way you'd like and the socks are all in balls rather than tucked neatly together. Because the basics Jesus taught, love God and love one another, aren't about feelings. It is about choice. Obedience. Commandment. These are conscious decisions, not flutters of heartstrings.

The next time you watch "So You Think You Can Dance," remember, those steps that look so effortless, the way the partners seem to glide across the floor as if they are one, that took hours of grueling effort, sweat, and patience. Let's invest that kind of energy into our relationships, so we can move as if we are one.

Making the Bed

*Poof!*

Canada Geese

Canada Geese


We fly the same V for weeks, know
our destination without words and sail,
driven by a force north to calmer waters.
It is almost instinctual, the way we settle
on the lake, wingtips ripple, wait for summer.
But nesting takes its toll, days stretch out as long

as summer shadows. Our hatchlings are a handful,
so stressed, endure nine weeks of molting,
flight feathers plucked just to grow them again.
We are grounded these first days, exhausted –
hiss at threatening predators, each other,
broaden our wing spans to show our power.

Now that they’re strong enough to fly,
we migrate from the only nest they’ve known,
feel that same pull south. Wind shifts
in fitful gusts, why must this tension reign,
unpredictable? The currents turn, certainty
drifts away. Our flock edges the horizon,

uneven. I thought I knew how we moved,
how best to battle each season. Life-long mate,
please do not desert me. The V will tighten,
lean, ascend out of this turbulence. I will follow
your lead, watch for signs of fatigue, take your place
at the head for a time so you can breathe.

Ambition

It has been a great week of a forced fast from the computer, kind of - with mobile uploads and Twitter's mobile connect to Facebook, I have been able to give the appearance of an online presence ;) Thank God for Twitter and its ability to make sure everyone knows what normal and uninteresting things I am doing on a day-to-day basis.

I had three days off from work this week so that Brandon could go on a baseball road trip. The excellent husband and father needed the break from full-time dadhood, so it was a good time for him; plus, he was just offered the head coach position for next season! Hooray! This is great news for him - his dream job is coaching full-time for a college, and this is one more step in the right direction.

While he was gone, I spent lots of quality time with the kids and also prepared for the Shape in a Misshapen World Arts Festival, which was a great event - the readings went very well and the art on display received many compliments. It was a wonderful weekend event that left me just a bit exhausted, but nothing too stressful.

OH and the BEST news this week is that my chapbooks arrived on Saturday! Hooray!

I received some more good news this week, too - The Fourth River selected my poem, "Stumps" for publication in the Spring 2010 issue, and my poem, "The Angry Gardener" was given an honorable mention in the Akron Art Museum's New Words 2009 Poetry Contest - it was one of eight finalists out of 395 submissions! I will be reading with the other finalists and featured reader on April 19th at the Akron Art Museum.

I am still buzzing about all of this. It is such a good feeling to know that you've found what you were made to do. Or at least to feel like you've found what you were made to do. I am acutely aware of what success can do to one's ego. I do not want to forget that poetry, or any work I do, for that matter, is not about me and my success but rather what God can accomplish through it. One of my friends in our small group Bible study said this week, in response to my concerns about being overly confident, said that there is a fine line between confidence and pride, and that fine line steps from serving God to self-serving.

In many ways I don't know what to do next, in regards to poetry. I am working on a draft of my first full-length manuscript right now, getting feedback from poet friends on order and arc and what-not, but what I don't know is whether I should be thinking about going for my graduate degree, either MFA or something else, or whether I am right where I need to be. Another thing my friend said on Thursday that really struck a chord with me is that often, once we've found our niche and begin to succeed, we have a tendency to be rewarded or promoted straight out of that place that God put us - the sweet spot where we are most productive. Even though some pursuits may seem like good ideas, they might not be God's idea, or God's timing. This is something I've been thinking a lot about with my career as a poet (if you can call being a poet any sort of "career"). Is going for a higher degree right now or in the near future a good idea, God's idea, both, or neither?

When I think about it in terms of my family, I think going back to school right now would be putting myself before every other member in my family. It would be a seriously selfish move - especially since Brandon has been planning to go back to school for a few years now. I don't think it is right or fair to him or my children to take on yet another project, especially when I am already over-committed with work, church, and my poetry as it is. I think in a few years, once the kids are in school and the husband is almost done or finished with his master's, the timing will be better. And who knows where we will be a few more years down the road? I certainly never predicted we'd be here.

"recipe for love"

(Thanks, Mary!)

For six hours this afternoon, I was without wedding rings. If you've ever worn a ring or other piece of jewelry daily for five years, you know that feeling of the lost appendage. I took it off to get ready for kneading dough and then an hour later could not find them anywhere. I searched the whole kitchen, the bedroom, bathroom, living room, dining room, dishwasher, fridge (you never know), ANYWHERE I could think. I knew they had to be in the house somewhere - I remembered taking them off; I knew almost the exact minute I took them off.

After small group, I came back home and pulled down the cookbook with the really good Italian cheese bread recipe I had made for Bible study to give a copy of it to one of the girls, and lo and behold - my rings. Tucked into the cookbook. What relief!

I have nothing particularly insightful to share about this experience except that great saying, "It's always in the last place you look." Duh.

I have plans to go to Toledo tomorrow evening to spend the night with my hubby. We are overdo for an evening together, and my mom is planning on coming down to watch the kids. I have mixed feelings about this -- 95% of me is rejoicing because I haven't seen my husband for more than an hour on any given day since February 6. The other 5% is sorry that I'm bailing once more on my kids. Lydia is especially aware of my absence lately - not that she is particularly difficult to deal with when I am gone, but she verbally recognizes that she misses me and loves that I'm here with her. It's so sweet it just cracks your heart into a million little ol' pieces, dontcha know!

Elvis quietly exited the cling-tight-to-mommy phase and has entered the see-ya-later-mom phase. He'll be playing with an excavator or mini-farmer when I'm getting ready to leave, and I'll say, "Bye, Elvis!" and he'll say, "Bah!" without even looking up, and then when he realizes I'm serious, he'll get up and run arms outstretched toward me for his parting hug. And then he's done - ready to play some more. Is this the same child who cried the ENTIRE time I was gone a few months ago?

They are getting so big. So smart. So beautiful. So irresistable.

I'm most definitely smitten. I just did a search to make sure smitten was the word I was looking for, and here's some news - there's a product called "Smitten" -- it's a mitten for two! This has to be made by the same people who created the wearable blanket.

Jesus Walks into a Bar

(This is for Sean Lovelace, who insists there ought to be more poems about Jesus walking into a bar.)

It is always darker than it should be,
but over the pool table, a halo
of florescent light. My father, his brother,
like weathered sailors, dock at the bar
with other tired shipmates, hunched,
feet propped on the reflective footrests,
haunches resting heavy in the seat.
Through the haze of Winstons
they watch Nascar. The rules on bar stools
are simple: buy a round, put some quarters
on the table for a game of pool,
pick a tune or two on the juke box.

A shaft of light splits the cloud of smoke
when the door swings open, and a man
not so unlike the deckhands lined up at the bar
walks in. Heads turn and nod, weary hands lift
a slow acknowledgement as he orders up a Miller
then tromps to the juke box in mud-caked boots
and hovers, punches in his number, and Hank sings
There’s a tear in my beer and I’m crying for you dear…

“Rack ‘em up,” he grunts. My father
and the stranger call corners, waltz around the felt
taking shots and drinking rounds, shake hands
when the eight ball drops, leaving the chalk-smeared
cue to idle on the table. Dad lays five dollars
on the bar, “This one’s on me,” and they drink –
to peace, to love, to redemption.
The men at the bar tip their caps and turn
to watch the man descend the stairs
before the door closes. “That guy’s
all right,” Dad says, taking up his bottle,
“I hope he returns someday.”

Good News!

I just got an email from the editor of The New Formalist, and they are going to publish one of my poems! Now, three people think I'm awesome! ;) I am very excited about this one, too, because it is a formal poem I first wrote as an undergraduate. I've done some revision to it, but not much. Happy happy happy. :)


Singing Birds

When pairs of chattering birds dart in and out
of trees as if distance will calm the fight,
I swear I hear the parting two prepare
a song, some lonesome twittered sighs.
So when they meet again, the voices rise –
ring true the time they lost by sudden flight.

Lost in bitter sentence fragments, we fall
so far from seeing eye to eye, our words
have silenced every sullen argument.
But wandering eyes and anxious hands may break
the wordless air, and hands composed to shake
entwine in held duet: like singing birds.

Happy New Year!

I just ventured into Google to find out where I'm popping up these days (as my maiden name - the married version pulls up too many hits), and was sorely disappointed not to see Sarebear's Sentral Spot appearing anymore. So, I dug up the old account and password, which, embarrassingly enough, is the same password I use today with some variation, and I updated the index page. So all you crazy stalkers out there who have been looking for me all these years via Googling, HERE I AM! You found me! I'm much less brilliant than I was a decade ago.

The proof of this brilliantlessness is the fact that I have two children who will be awake in seven hours and I am not sleeping, but instead blinking rapidly in order to find moisture for my dehydrated contact lenses while typing about my pathetic website created during high school. This is the best I can do on a Friday night with the husband in Florida. What can I say?

In other news, we went to the rainforest exhibit at the zoo this afternoon, which was great. I hesitate to add the following point because it almost negates the previous sentence and certainly adds a flair of sarcasm to it, but I think it is a valid comment. So, they pay a woman to sell me tickets to get into the rainforest/zoo approximately 200 feet from the rainforest entrance, AND they pay a nice young lady to sit at the door of the rainforest and collect said tickets into 80-degree rainforest building, but they do NOT pay a nice young lady to tell me that there are coat racks for my fourteen-layered children who will sweat and strip their layers to be handed to me to carry for the duration of the trip. No, they most certainly left out that item on the job description list.

So I lugged three large winter coats around an humid building which also broadcasts fake squawking noises apparently like what you'd hear in a crowded rainforest in December. It was hot. And loud. BUT we really did have a great time, especially at the orangutan exhibit. And Elvis said "fsh fsh fsh fsh fsh fsh" about ten thousand times at the two glass aquariums, which was So. Cute.

We (meaning me and the kids) are staying at my parents' house for the remainder of the weekend while Brandon drives his 85 year old grandmother to Florida, the poor soul. All that warm weather. God save him. And us up here bathing in the anemic rays of the January '09 sun. It's really a pity he isn't here.

Note: Yes, it is now past 11, and my kids will still wake up in less than seven hours, and I am indeed continuing to type ridiculous, unimportant yet mildly entertaining blather.

Christmas and New Years have been delightful, though - so much good times to be had and old friends to see and funny junk to trade in white elephant parties. We have spent every day since December 20 with family, and that is a good thing. I do miss being so close (though an hour and a half really isn't that far, in the grand scheme of global relocation), especially now that my brother is engaged to a very, very nice girl who I am thrilled to have as a soon-to-be sister-in-law. Family becomes increasingly important to me. I don't think I would be so opposed to a Great Depression-esque situation that would force extended families to move in under the same roof and start farming again. Yes, I am a sick, sick 21st century female. I'd even opt in for making many babies and canning tomatoes. Though I'd need to learn how. To can tomatoes.

Happy new year, 2009! I hope all of your recession dreams come true!

Telling People How Much You Suck...

....so that God can be glorified. That's the point of testimonies, at least to some degree. And Sunday, I get to do that in front of our church body and a bunch of college students who want an iPod. I'm pretty darn excited. And a shade nervous - I haven't done this in a while, and while I am great at making myself vulnerable (here is my sleeve, and pinned to it, my heart...), there's something particularly nerve-inducing about sharing how God has made His presence known in your life, often through your flounders.

Flounder is a really cute fish in The Little Mermaid. It is also a tasty fish. But mostly, it's me flopping around on stage, blathering and bumbling. Get me back in my fishbowl, man!

For those of you who read this and won't be at 5 Stones Sunday morning for the sweet iPod promo, ("and you thought only your mom would bribe you to come to church...") here's my shpeel in writing. It will likely not come out of my mouth this way, (oh if I were only so eloquent in speech!) but this is what I'm going for. It is just the beginning of my God-tale. There's so much more he's done and continues to do. I could write a whole series.

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I was a sarcastic, self-conscious, introverted, egotistical, over-achieving high school band dork. I strived for perfection on every turn. I was angry that God would even consider loving someone like a murderer or rapist or popular person in my high school – He should be the righteous judge and condemn them all to hell. Obviously, the concept of grace was foreign to me.

I also struggled to merge what was taught in science classes about evolution with what was taught in church about creation. These are two specific roadblocks that Satan used to try to deflect me from meeting the true God. As a senior in high school, I had been studying other religions, reading books about evolution and creation, and trying to resolve this battle. One day, a switch was flipped in my brain, and I went from saying, “Psh! Those creationists are nuts!” to looking out the window of my car as I drove down the highway and saying, “How could there not be a God?! Look at the trees! Look at the sky! Look at the birds!” All the research I did helped me know about micro-biology and evolutionary principles, but only God can open up eyes like that. The scales fell away.

The third distraction came in the form of a boyfriend I met and fell madly in love with after graduating from high school. Eric was romantic and exotic, a Parrothead in search of his very own Margaritaville – the perfect distraction in my hunt for the real God dwelling in the real Paradise.

By random draw and God’s providence, I ended up roommates with my best friend from high school. She invited me, yet again, to Bible studies, the Well, and FCA on campus. She was a persistent little evangelist! I remember the first time I went to the Well – I could FEEL a presence in the room like I’d never felt before – that calm, peace, and strange movement of the Holy Spirit. It was breathtaking.

Eric and I got physically involved really fast. By October of my freshman year at AU, I thought I might be pregnant. While I worried and fretted that everything I had ever strived for was all for nothing, it finally occurred to me that I am out of control. I do the things I do not want to do. I cannot do life the right way on my own. I have no control over my plans, my future, my life, and there is only one person who does – Jesus Christ. At a Bible study one night, I confessed all that had been happening with Eric. For the first time in my life, I understood grace. I understood mercy. I understood forgiveness. As Paul says in Romans 7:24-25 – “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

Like any other new believer, I expected all things to be better immediately. But I still loved Eric, I wanted to be with him even though he wasn’t a believer and had no interest whatsoever in Jesus Christ. Through His gentleness and firmness, God gradually removed Eric from my life, first moving him to North Carolina, then sending him off on some wild trip to Thailand and Vietnam that did not involve missionaries in the mountains... like he said it was going to. In the end, God made Eric fall out of love with me, and that is what it took for me to let go, and let God be God of my heart.

About six months or so after God ended my relationship with Eric, I had finally felt like I was okay with being single. About a week later, I met my husband. Brandon and I have both been down similar roads with our scarring relationships, but most importantly, we both believe in a God who is merciful, just, loving, forgiving, constant, mysterious, and real – and without that foundation, our relationship would have been destroyed fast. Enough evil and unfair events happen in our lives to turn people with common interests against each other in a heartbeat, but if you have faith and have faith together, God who “began a good work in you” will carry it on to completion, together.

During my tumultuous relationship with Eric, a friend of mine gave me a verse to rely on. So often I have felt bewildered at where I am in life or where I was going. My anxiety levels were high – should I transfer colleges to be closer to Eric, should I move, should I marry, should I take this job, should I stay at home with my kids – and this verse among so many others like it in Scripture has kept me grounded. From Isaiah 42:16 – “I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, down unfamiliar paths I will guide them. I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them.” This is a promise God makes to each of us if we’d just let him take over. It will be okay. We will make it through this, one way or the other. And it’s probable that the end results will be the most unlikely place you ever thought you’d find yourself, but better and more amazing than you could have imagined.