Facebook Science

The internet is rife with misinformation and pseudo-information although it can also be a source of very useful information. However credible sources seem to be lacking when "science proves" blogs are posted on Facebook and shared. The ones that flow in this vein which I  find most interesting are the ones that state that you posses a certain quality because you have a particular taste in something else. They are much more prevalent than credible studies I have seen. I have come to the conclusion that the following equation for those blog posts is:

Positive quality I believe I have = proved because of a taste I have that I believe is superior

Example: Intelligence = proven because I appreciate dark humor (this is one I have actually seen)

                Independent = proven because I love bands that aren't well known (this is one I made up)

But we would laugh at a blog that said something like:

                Interesting = proven because I like rainbow ice cream

because ice cream choice doesn't seem superior. We might be more apt to believe it if it was "rainbow ice cream" was replaced with "Slow churned" or something else that seems elevated, but not as much as the previous examples. Our tastes in food, humor, literature, music, movies, podcasts, etc. seem to us what makes us interesting. We want to believe that it also indicates a quality that we believe we have, but maybe don't want to say outright. We don't have to say it outright if we say "A blog post  I read says it is proven that those who listen to classical music are skilled writers."

I find it interesting, that's all. If you love dark humor you might be intelligent but it isn't an indication that you are intelligent. What is? It is difficult to really measure, but I have found the prevalence of it an interesting indication of our own narcissistic tendencies.

Anybody's and Me

So, I am 34 now and I realize that some roles just aren't going to be offered to me. A wish to audition for a particular role might not even be granted. This was true for the role of  "Anybody's" in West Side Story.

Why did I want to audition for Anybody's? On some levels I really identify with her. Any really great character should have some sort of universal appeal-she wants to be accepted, "anybody" can identify with that. But I have other things in common with her. Therefore, she also has personal appeal.

     This is a picture of me 10 years old. (1991)

                                               

As a young girl, I loved baseball (still do), I collected Nolan Ryan memorabilia, I had a skateboard (now I have a longboard). I was always ready for action (side note that made me laugh: in West Side Story Anybody's has a crush on the character Action.) Did you want to play Wall Ball? Let's go. You want to start up a rag tag game of baseball? I'm there. You said I can't do WHAT because I'm a girl?! Believe me, that's the next thing I am doing...and better than you. I've broken a couple of windows  playing catch, I sprained my ankle swinging off rafters in an unfinished wing in my church. I would skin my knee, arm, elbow badly and jump up in case I missed something. Am I hurt? I don't know. Who cares and who scored? 

Mud? There. Flooded streets? I'm there. Push up contest? There. Oooh, a tree! A wall with chinks? I could totally climb that! Where's Emily? She's up in that tree.

All that was purely me. But I also had this idea that to be the best I had to be like a guy. Even though I liked dressing up, for a while I tried to convince myself and others that I didn't.  My mom had to remind me not to get grass stains on my dresses, but I did like it. I also thought that if someone said I did something as well as a guy it was a great compliment. 

That's the thing, Anybody's wants to be a guy because that is the best place she fits in and because when she hears praise from one of them, she thinks it is the ultimate compliment. Being a lady then and even now doesn't equal much glory. Unless you are pretty and you glory in being valued for that. 

I understand her. I also understand that when you get to a certain age, both guys and girls sort of reject you for being that way. Girls crinkle their noses and call you "An American tragedy" (-Graziella, West Side Story) Guys kind of start ignoring you if you try to get in on a game. I remember the first time that happened. We were all 12. It was a game of keep away in a pool. All the girls watched from the sideline. I tried to play and no one threw to me. I tried to call out to make sure they knew I was in, but they didn't even acknowledge me, expect for once when I got a look that basically said: "Beat it. Your're a girl, be a girl."(-Tony, West Side Story) To some extent, I still get looks and guffaws, sideways glances, or chuckles if I display some sort of quality that is too "masculine." When I throw a baseball, a lot of guys look on in admiration and say: "You don't throw like a girl." When I was young, that made me soar to highest heights. Now, I reply: "I know. I throw like a woman." I  learned as I grew older that "tomboy" was a compliment (and cute) when you were young and then it was unsuitable as you grew older. It's okay to say you WERE a tomboy but not that you are.  

 That brings me to the word "tomboy" which I loathe. I loathe it because it labels a person as something naturally different than they are and puts value on what they are not. "Boy" is at the end of that word, but the person being spoken of is female.When someone calls a girl a tomboy, they don't see her. I am Emily, I am not a tomboy. I don't like "boy things."

A few years ago, I was painting faces for a school event. One of the little girls wanted me to paint a spider on her face because she liked "boy things." Even when I said to her: "No, you like Lillian things!" she was insistent that she did like boy things and I could see me in her so clearly.  When I was called a tomboy as a young girl I wore it like a badge, it gave me the idea that "boy" was better.  Sure, there are differences between men and women. However, I think those differences are more difficult to pinpoint than some people's statements lead you to believe.  I think there is a lot of fluctuation.  Thank God, because life would be a bore otherwise.

I try so hard to shut my mouth when someone says: "The other day my kid did this or that...blah blah" and someone else says: "Oh, that's a boy for you." Way too many times I have countered with: "I guess. Except when I was a little girl..." Nobody really wants to hear it. They just want to divide and make things easier. 

For all you people who are anybody's. I understand. And, I'm sorry to break it to you, but people are going to laugh at you all your life. They are going to exclude you from things you would like to join. But be yourself, scabby knees and all. It's way better than not being yourself.

 Just make sure you are hanging out with the type of people who accept you and who also aren't doing stupid things like starting fights and planning rumbles. 

Me-Gangsta look 1982

Me-Gangsta  for a skit with my Youth Drama Team 1996

Me-1950's Gangsta Girlfriend 2015

A Post of Tuesday and Thoughts and Such

So, I am sitting here at my computer which is definitely a beginning and is often farther than I get most days. I hope that what comes through my fingers as I type is something worth reading. If not, I will still be quite glad if I finish.

I figure that every once in awhile my post does not have to be well thought out, but, rather, more like a freewrite. The words that come and turn into a well formed thought after a bit of meandering.

This morning I heard two phrases that stayed with me. The first I will paraphrase because I don't remember the exact phrase but it was: sometimes we get caught up in what we think are the big things, the large efforts for change because we want to be remembered for that but, really, change starts with picking up a towel (in reference to Jesus washing his disciple's feet).

The second was "Bring me your whole heart even in 10,000 shards."

My mind has been so many places today but when I think about everywhere it has traveled, to this subject or that activity or this idea, I think it is actually a web of connectedness and I hope that as I write I begin to see it for all its gossamer beauty.

"Gossamer beauty" I had to say it aloud and enjoy the phrase again.

Four thoughts I jotted down today, in a very cryptic manner seeing as I only understand three of them now that time has passed.

Exactly as I jotted:

1) Parents and your knowledge of God.

2) Loving words (which is the one that I don't remember anything about! Yet.)

3) Owning our unbelief

4) C.S. Lewis dread

The last one may seem the most cryptic to you!

I have thought about the first since a small group probably four months ago. There was a lot of talk about how your relationship with your dad can especially affect your understanding of God. Negatively or positively. I don't agree with the "especially" but the one who came up with the question is of that bent and I think his father was the main person who affected his perspective in this case. In a bible study this morning we studied 1 Thessalonians and talked about allowing God to parent us. We examined those things necessary to be a secure child. One of them was to be "affectionately desired" this is to have the sense that someone wants to be with you and that you are not just tolerated. I smiled as I listened because if we are talking of dads and their impact on our view of God then I should contemplate God in this light. I always felt that my dad wanted us around. In fact, I felt that he really enjoyed us and our company. If he was working on the car, he wanted to talk to us. When he came home from work, I never felt like he would rather rest than play with us. He may have, but I never felt like that. If he brought work home he found little ways for us to be a part of it, I remember helping him with the simple calculations (when it got to more than adding, he would hold the calculator!) When I climbed too high he came to catch me if only I would trust to jump.

The second has still not come to me and may not until I post this.

The third, one of the most significant lessons I have learned is that the beginning of healing can be the expression of anger, unapologetic anger, truthful anger, unbelieving anger, to God. I could never get rid of God. I never could. There was a point that I tried, a few points, but He wouldn't leave. So, I said nothing. I do not remember the exact Psalm I read but it was something along this line:

Psalms 44:18-26

Our heart has not turned back

Nor have our steps departed from your way;

Yet you have broken us in the place of jackals

And covered us with the shadow of death.

If we had forgotten the name of our God

Or spread out our hands to a foreign god,

Would not God discover this?

For he knows the secrets of the heart.

Yet for your sake we are killed all the day long;

We are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.

Awake! Why are you sleeping, O  Lord?

Rouse yourself! Do not reject us for ever!

Why do you hide your face?

Why do you forget our affliction and oppression?

For our soul is bowed down to the dust;

Our belly clings to the ground.

Rise up; come to our help!”

And God told me that He wanted me to talk to Him and tell Him exactly how I felt, what I thought about Him. And you know what? I did. And you know what I felt afterward? I still felt angry. So, for days I told Him how I felt. I shook my fist and I didn’t apologize. I didn’t ever say something I didn’t actually feel or think. Slowly, very slowly, I began to heal. I don’t say this to say I was correct about how I thought, I do say that it was right and good for me to communicate. To own it, to not look for the healing, to not look for the right words. But healing came and then growth.

4) C.S Lewis dread. I have been reading Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis. These are a couple of passages from it:

“You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him who I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England. I did not then see what is now the most shining and obvious thing; the Divine humility which will accept a convert even on such terms. The Prodigal son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape? The words “compelle intrare,” compel them to come in, have been so abused by wicked men that we shudder at them; but, properly understood, they plumb the depth of the Divine mercy. The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”

“The real issue was not, or not yet, there. The real terror was that if you seriously believed in even such a “God” or Spirit” as I admitted, a wholly new situation developed. As the dry bones shook and came together in that dreadful valley of Ezekiel’s, so now a philosophical theorem, cerebrally entertained, began to stir and heave and throw off its grave cloths, and stood upright and became a living presence.  I was to be allowed to play at philosophy no longer. It might, as I say, still be true that my “Spirit” differed in some way from “the God of popular religion.” My Adversary waived the point. It sank into utter unimportance. He would not argue about it. He only said, “I am the Lord”; “I am that I am”; “I am.”

People who are naturally religious find difficulty in understanding the horror of such a revelation. Amiable agnostics will talk cheerfully about “man’s search for God.” To me, as I then was, they might as well have talked about the mouse’s search for the cat.”

Lewis admits that the one thing in life he hated was “interference” he would rather be left alone. Really, he dreaded God even as it began to be evident to him that there was a God. Only one God. That belief that there was a God would lead to consequences. Consequences such as “interference.” Lewis wrote honestly about God. I feel a bit like he was a David. A man after God’s own heart who wrote honestly, piercingly, and also had some shocking misconduct in his own life. When we hear “man after God’s own heart” it does not mean someone who is like God or nearest to being like God, I think. I think that it means someone who approaches their belief in God honestly, who really seeks God’s heart and not someone who tears apart scripture trying to find nuances and follow rules. Someone who dives into action and living. Not that Lewis or David or I would ever say that there are not things God asks us to do, that God who IS and WAS and always WILL BE does not require obedience. In fact, this dread and this anger, when realized, is because we know He must be obeyed and, yet, we are fully aware of our desire to be left alone. At the same time, we know that “His compulsion is our liberation.” But we struggle against it. I think God would rather us lift up our faces to him, whether in anger, dread, joy, or love, than look away as if He was not there. 

How I Approach Music

"I long to live in restful sincerity of heart. I want to live so fully in the Spirit that all my thoughts may be as sweet incense ascending to Thee and every act of my life may be an act of worship." -A.W. Tozer

Sitting behind the set this Sunday, my heart still beating quickly, rhythmically although my drumsticks were now still, I listened to the words above which were a part of our Sunday worship. 

 I was still, every part of me, and God reminded me, once again, that playing these drums is for Him. Sometimes I look at everyone sitting out there and think about them, I think about me and my performance, me and my lacking.

But most often I am thinking about both my heavenly Dad and my earthly Dad.

My dad played the drums at our church.

 I close my eyes and feel the music and I think about the time one of my teenage friends said: "When your dad closes his eyes and plays, it's like he is worshiping God while he is drumming."

That is what I want each tap of the high hat, each boom of the bass, each hit of the snare, and brush of the cymbal to be, a worshipful act.

I want my life to be music that evokes a sweet longing in others and a smile on God's face.

Music, for me, is the handiwork of God. Creative genius that He has given someone whether they know it or not. It flows throughout me, I cannot help but dance, whether the action is visible to anyone else I do not know.

Music is constantly in my head whether there is any outside of it. I've embarrassed friends by breaking into song in public places. I skip and I sing, I smile and twirl. My son and I throw rhymes back and forth on a regular basis. I often accompany words with a beat and a jig when talking to him.  

In Heaven no restraint will be needed. 

I will burst into song when I get there and my feet will continually dance along the streets of gold.

And God will say: "Emily, your life was beautiful music.I'm glad to have you home."

Listening Eyes

I am the student that college professors finally land on and look at for 75% of their lecture. I guess it is because my parents never let me get away with eyes wandering if they were speaking. "Look at me while I am talking to you." It shows someone that what they have to say is important, that was what I was taught. 

Beginning in my youth, I had people in parks and grocery stores telling me their stories, their worries and fears. I cannot think of why else except that, when they looked into my eyes, they felt I would listen. 

When a child speaks to me, I try my best to turn my eyes on them just the same as any adult because I believe what they have to say it just as important as anyone else. I find myself frowning when an adult trivializes what a child has to say. 

 Many translate my constant wonder and smile to naivety. Many take my quietness as a lack of cleverness. Many assume my quiet voice comes from timidity. Many think I am weird for the things I do say. I have had to learn that most people are not good listeners and this is because most people have a thirst to be heard. They will try to quench it even at the expense of others. 

So, I try to listen.

Sometimes I want to be listened to. I want to not be the girl who yells: "got it!" only for someone to hurdle themselves in front of me and steal the show. The volleyball court of life. Sometimes I want to answer for myself. Sometimes I get nervous when all eyes finally do turn on me, I am not used to it. Always, I thank God for friends who turn to me, look at me, and ask: "Emily, what do you think?"

And listen.

How I Am Working On the Sabbath...Get It?

13 years ago when Bath and Body Works introduced their Aromatherapy line and we were changing the signage I was allowed to nab one of the signs we had displayed and take it home. It is a soothing green circle and the words on it are simply: "Stress Less." It hangs on the wall of my computer room to be seen when I walk in. I can see it with my peripheral vision right now.

Yesterday, I read a Facebook status update from a friend that said he watched a spider build its web and while watching he did nothing else. It took 45 minutes. What bliss, that is part of what life is about and yet people believe that they could never have time for that. They don't know that it is richer to drink in life instead of gulping it down. 

This afternoon, I picked up "My Utmost for His Highest" and this is what Oswald Chambers had to say when I picked up my bookmarked page: "When God brings in the blank space, see that you do not fill it in, but wait. The blank space may come in order to teach you what sanctification means, or it may come after sanctification to teach you what service means." How does God always know how to pave the way for things?

In my last post, I talked about still figuring out how to write again and I also mentioned trying to find "pockets" of time. It seems to be much the same concerning the Sabbath. It is something that I am still figuring out at this point, but I have been conscious of needing rest and making time to rest.

When I say rest, I do mean literally naps, because in times past I would never allow myself that. In fact, admitting that I do take naps at times is difficult because I am afraid of being perceived as lazy. But God has impressed on me that sometimes I must so that I can give everything I need give to those in my household and around me. That sometimes it is more important than finishing something else.

When I say rest, I also mean learning to be at peace with some mess because that is not in my natural makeup as a person. But I have found that it took up so much of my time, I always felt like I was cleaning up after everyone, and I would become frustrated with them. I am being taught that the minimum in this area is not always bad. I am still learning. Right now my son keeps opening the desk drawer to get something new out and I keep shutting it. Testament to the fact that I am a continual work in progress.

When I say rest, I mean to rest on God. And rest on Him like my Daddy. Cuddling up and just knowing that His strength will take care of it all.

When I say rest, I mean to rest my eyes on my sons. To be refreshed by play. To drink in the cool water that is my two little boys. To throw off the idea of anything else and just look at them. To choose rest over strain. To lessen the "lessons" I teach with words so that I do not tire them and myself and instead choose lessons by action.

This being said, I feel like God is telling me to figure out a specific time to have as my Sabbath, but that He is well pleased with my progress. And this is a rest I have been learning as well because I always had a notion (never expressed or admitted) that I must be at the end, at completion, at perfection to finally rest or for God to be pleased. But I have learned that God will always be completing, always be perfecting and that as long as I am working on what He says, I can rest. I can have peace.

"And He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore mist gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, the the power of Christ may rest upon me."

                                                              2 Corinthians 12:9

How I Am Figuring Out Writing Again

Lately, I have had trouble writing. I have not evolved completely from teenager who had excessive amounts of time to write in silence to wife and then wife and mom with hardly any silence ever. You would think that I would have learned in the span of ten years. It is difficult to change any habit and this includes a writing habit.

However, I am trying to consciously make little pockets of time to write. Pockets of time, even though I have not completely defined what that means yet, is my main plan of action. And when I say this, it is because I am trying to break the habit of needing to write a complete essay in one sitting. So, pocket time creates a space for my writing juices to start flowing, to stretch my literary muscles and then strengthen them. I am not in the habit yet, but I am finding time.

In what ways am I finding time? If I think of a good turn of a phrase (such as I did while mowing the lawn while my boys were in quiet time) then I write it in my journal. Often, the phrase flies out nearly as soon as it comes in because a little boy voice pushes it out by saying "I'm hungry" a few times in a row-more than a few. But when it stays for a few minutes, I write it down and this is better than I have done in the past.

The "pocket" idea I am currently most proud of is returning to a favorite pastime from my childhood. All the while, introducing it to my own son while sneaking in some writing. Two weeks ago, I folded and stapled together about five pages and then told my son that we were going to write a book. I let him draw and then I used his drawings to inspire writing (see below). I also stapled together some pages of my own and just did a freewrite. Making a cover page with my name on it somehow inspired me to write better.

                                                       

On the horizon

A lonely cloud

In a storm.

You have 

Looked

Hooked

Took

Forsook

The reason

My Life

Is a book.

Capture my madness

In your arms

And love my

Tornado ways.

Keep me grounded

But fly and let

Me fly

And let us

fly.

Another exercise has been recording some of my past writings on the computer and, when I type out words I have written before, I start to feel encouraged and somehow something comes to mind. In fact, I was in the middle of recording a short story and I felt that it was time to begin this post.

I will admit that the boys have stayed in quiet time a little longer than usual today. But I think they will not be scarred.

Lastly, I am learning that perfection cannot always be attained in a post, but that it feels best to get something out there instead of one hanging in limbo until perfect. Which is why I am going to leave this one alone now, post it, and get my boys' out of quiet time.

Until we meet again.

Emily

Shadows and Reflection- Love Thy Neighbor

Growing up in a non-denominational church we did not have services or portions of service that were  ceremonial, we did have a routine but not ritual. The source of this practice was from a good intention. Ritual can become mundane and turn into vain repetition. However, sometimes you miss an occasion to gain useful reflection from the solemnity of tradition.

The church that my husband and I attend is of Protestant denomination but on Good Friday we follow the liturgy of Tenebrae which was originally an Orthodox practice. It has become one of my favorite services and the reason is simply that each element is designed for reflection and at the end of this particular service, more than any other, I am truly considering what this celebration of Easter means. 

Before the celebration there was death, there was sorrow, there was betrayal and all of this grief brings beauty and excitement to the fact that three days later there was light, life, and victory. 

I think, as Christians, we are afraid of not showing our appreciation if we picture Christ on the cross. I remember, as a young girl, seeing Catholics wear a crucifix, Jesus on the cross, and those in Protestant denominations wearing a cross without Jesus on it.  I questioned this and was told that we wear a cross without Christ on it because "He is not on the cross anymore." As a grown woman, I now think both are beautiful reminders. We miss out on something when we do not deeply reflect on the fact that he once was on the cross. It takes away from the victory that now Jesus is alive. 

The service of Tenebrae means "shadow" both connoting a foreshadowing of his death as well as a weighty feeling. The scripture readings are done so in dim lighting lending a reflective spirit to the whole service. Each reading gives us opportunity to meditate on a portion of his suffering and to apply it to ourselves. The only lights beside those for reading are the 7 candles that are extinguished as each reading is finished. There is power in the silence after each reading. The following are the 7 shadows that we reflect on:

The Shadow of Betrayal (Matt. 26:20-25)

 The Shadow of Desertion (Matt 26:30-35)

 The Shadow of Unshared Vigil (Luke 22:39-46)

 The Shadow of Accusation (Matt 26:47-75)

 The Shadow of Crucifixion (Matt 27:1, 11-37)

 The Shadow of Death  (Luke 23:44-49)

 The Shadow of the Tomb (John 19:38-42)

In most services that follow the Tenebrae liturgy, there is music in between the readings. At our church we take occasion to use various forms of art for reflection in between each reading. Members of the church have been invited to participate beforehand and paintings, storytelling, music, and poetry draw us in. Even as you enter the sanctuary there are sculptures, woodwork, photography, and drawings that have been set up to observe. 

This year I wrote a poem, contemplating the Unshared Vigil when Jesus asks his disciples to pray with him as he prays the night before he is to die. As we all know, they fall asleep. 

As a result of writing the poem I was able to think about why this story was so important to warrant reflection. Yes, it must have hurt Jesus  for those who were closest to him to fall asleep in his time of deep anguish. However, I wondered what might it even say to us now? Why, besides the historical significance is this significant to us today? In the scriptures, we are told to "Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn." (Romans 12:15) We are told "Bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2) Bearing another's burden is fulfilling the law of Christ! The disciples falling asleep reminds us that in this life we are called to be aware of other's needs. We are not to sleep while those around us suffer and fail to see some sort of physical sign of Christ's love. We all know Matthew 22:37-40: "Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”  All of the law hangs on this! 

One more passage for your reflection:

James 2:8-17

 If you really keep the royal law found in Scripture, “Love your neighbor as yourself,”you are doing right.  But if you show favoritism, you sin and are convicted by the law as lawbreakers.  For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it. For he who said, “You shall not commit adultery,”also said, “You shall not murder.” If you do not commit adultery but do commit murder, you have become a lawbreaker.

Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead."

If we are not aware, we will not know how to serve. If we do not serve, humbly and practically (meeting physical needs), what good is our faith?

Share Thy Neighbor's Vigil

Let us be the toasty blanket

On cold shoulders.

The runner’s cool water.

A menthol rub on this world’s aching joints.

A new mother’s hands,

The kiss on a hurt knee.

And the knee is where we should be

Bent and humble

Shining our love up

Toward a downcast face.

Let us be the finger that lifts a chin

The applause for those ignored

The one who crowns the poor.

Ignorance is not bliss

Awareness is a sacred call

Holding safe and high

A neighbor’s candle

Is our command.

In the vigil of life

Let us not sleep.

-Emily Chumchal Andrews

When Your Mother Heart Cries

Well, baby boy number 2 has finally arrived and is at home with me now and is almost always in my arms. But before I could bring him to the place where he belongs I had to leave him in a place that he did not.

After hours of labor four years ago, I brought my first son into this world. They placed him in my arms almost immediately and he stayed there until they wrapped him up so that he could join my husband and me in my room. He stayed there with us until it was time for me to go home, we placed him in his carseat and he has been with us ever since.

3 weeks ago I labored  for hours but had an easier birth. I brought my second son into this world except that he didn't get placed into my arms right away. I looked around and waited expectantly, my husband says euphorically. They told me to hold on while they cleaned him up and then I heard low voices. They let me hold him for a minute and then took him away again. I was disappointed but knew that soon he would be where he belonged. Then they told me that he was breathing rapidly and that he would need to go into the NICU. I wanted to know what they meant and how long but they didn't know how long, they couldn't say. I couldn't process the fact that they were taking him from me, my labor had gone so well and this wasn't supposed to happen. I asked them if I could hold him and if his big brother could see him. They hesitated slightly and then said that we could. So, I held him and Elijah touched him and smiled and said: "I love my baby." But just for a minute and he was taken away from me.

Each day I was in the hospital I hoped that they would bring him to me but as the hours passed I began to realize that even bringing him home when I was discharged could very well be an impossibility. I went to visit him every three hours to try and get him to nurse. At some point my legs got very swollen and the nurse in the NICU did not realize that I was walking up to the room every three hours and not being wheeled up. She told me that the next time I needed to be wheeled up there and that I needed to rest. I took her advice because I felt as if my legs were going to give out. I wanted to make sure I was there with my baby.

The longer I stayed the more I could look around instead of staring intensely at my new one. I heard one mother singing to her child: "Just put your mind to it, you can do it" and in a soft mother voice that small rhyme made me cry. How long had she been there? What was her baby going through? Mine had only been there three days and seeing him with so many wires on his small body, knowing he had to stay there, that I had to leave him there, was torture. 

When I was "discharged" from the hospital on Thursday night my heart felt like it was breaking. We would only be 15 minutes away and we were coming back in 6 hours. We left at 11:59 the minute before it turned to Friday and came back at 6AM.  Around 5PM the next day the nurse in charge of him said that he was going to be able to come home with us that night. I was so happy I didn't know what to do with myself. Finally after paperwork and instructions they wheeled us out of the NICU. My happiness did not dissipate but I started to feel a weight on my heart as I became aware of every other mother that was in there, still by her baby's bed, looking at me taking my lovely one home. And I started to cry. I had cried so much that week: not being able to hold him, not having him with me, seeing him breathing rapidly and wondering what that meant for him. But now I was crying for all the mothers that saw me take him home after only four days.

And now my blessing is home where he belongs. I cry for happiness that he is here and in my head "Put your mind to it, you can do it" still plays in my head and I think of all the mothers and yearn for them to have their babies home too.

Summer

Well, it has been so long since I have written that I don't think I am going to write an in-depth blog, just something to start the writing juices flowing again. I have been out of commission for a few months because I have terrible first trimesters. Yes, I am pregnant with a second one. Another boy! My first 16 weeks are terrible, the next are bearable, and then I get to week  20 and I feel as close to normal as I will get during pregnancy. I even did a Step class this past Wednesday which is a pretty intense workout. I had to modify some things because there are a lot of push-ups and jumping but I think I did pretty well and I didn't stop once which is saying a lot because the percentage of the class that stops often is quite high.

So, during this pregnancy, I learned a lot because it is certainly different when you have one already. Also, I am in  a completely different place then I was with my first pregnancy. During my first I was a Full-time Camp and Retreat Center Director alongside my husband, I lived in Hitchcock, Texas on the campground and we went to a tiny church that had probably one other couple our age. Now, my husband is a teacher, I am a Homemaker/Stylist, I live in Baytown, go to a mid-sized church with a few families that are the same age and in the same place. All those things add up to a different lifestyle.

Funny because summer always has me thinking of camp even though we were year round. I guess because the whole year was always a gear up for Summer Camp no matter what other retreat we were running at the time. During the summer I can almost tell what time of day it is just by sounds and the way the air feels and the sun shines. It is odd and beautiful and it leaves a small ache sometimes. Knowing. The fact that it seems to be in my blood but that it is not where I am called right now. But also knowing that I am happy right here and that it is exactly because I am not there right now. Splashing in the pool makes me think of it, being with a group of kids, even mowing the lawn. Now it makes me much happier than it used to. I mean remembering. I am glad to be able to remember in this way. I love summer.

I love my brown little son learning to swim, smelling sunblock, teaching baseball to him, feeling the kick of my new little one swimming in his own private pool, having my husband beside me for a few minutes when I wake up because he doesn't have to go to work yet. Love. Summer. Smiles.

Just a Thought

Just a thought I had today. People need people. I think people who say: "Who needs people?" are actually people who need them the most. The things they strive for, usually recognition in the form of "success" or fame, is so that they can say to all the people they did not need: "Look at me!"

It was just a thought as I was making my bed and thinking about how I get looked over a lot. How my little man gives me kisses when I am sad (or happy) and flowers just because. How he makes me feel more special than most people.

I was thinking about how I still need to be recognized for skills other than mothering to make me feel whole. Thinking about love and disappointment and setbacks, and goals. How life takes you places that are unexpected and that that phrase isn't as romantic as it sounds. How I need people and I can't say I don't if I am being real. I want to be real.

 I want to be a conduit of truth-either the waters of truth refreshing or the electricity that is shocking. Beauty is made up of truth. Symmetry or not. Everyone wants to beautiful too whether they admit that or not.

We need people. We want to be beautiful.

Pal

There is a certain time of year that I think about the death of a person who was very dear to me. In fact, I don't think I have yet had someone else die that was so very dear to me as him.

His name is Eugene Fowler but I called him "Pal." When my parents moved into the house that we grew up in they did not know that there would be not only a neighbour, in the best sense of the word, but a dear friend. Pal was in his 70's when my parents moved in and my mom was pregnant with me.

Pal had a garden, fed the birds, and mowed his own lawn. He worked on his car, he was amazing. When my parents brought me home he was the first person to hold me. I fed the birds with him, worked in his garden with him, and ate waffle breakfast with him. I named him "Pal" because he was my pal and I can still see myself sitting on the hood of his classic blue car mindlessly chipping off the paint and him saying "Now Peaches, don't do that." He called socks "stockings" and if he didn't like something I did he was not mad he was "cross."

I visited him most every day coming through the back screen door. I would pile all the pillows in his house on the couch and sit high like a queen in front of the Television. I sat far back because, as Pal told me, sitting as close as I tried would "ruin my eyes." He took the gate off of his fence just so that I and my siblings could come back and forth through his yard freely. I remember when someone new moved into his house and they put up a gate. It was a reminder that Pal indeed was gone.

 I climbed his trees and built forts in his yard. I drank his 7Up and ate all his peppermints (especially the chewy ones). I remember his yellow vintage stove and cobalt blue lamps, his living room always seemed so rich. I hid in his wooden side tables and prank called on his phone. He bandaged my cuts, I still remember the drawer that held the Neosporin and Band-Aids. My Pal. His birthday was this month and I suppose that is why I am thinking of him. He was born in 1905. He was dear to me and my family. I will always love you, Pal.

Girl Crush

So, I don't personally know Zooey Deschanel. So, I cannot say whether she and I would get along. I can't say! But I have this feeling that if we met we would be friends. Ride bikes, High five, dance to records, and bake. Create art, discuss books, and watch old movies while drinking hot chocolate. That is probably part of her charm, probably a million other people feel the same way. But I have to admit I have a definite girl crush on this girl right here.

It is a weird thing, this crush. I feel like we have so much in common so it seems narcissistic. I have watched and read some interviews with Zooey. I always answer interview questions for myself before I read the person's answers (I've done it forever. I don't know if I just want to be interviewed or if I am unconsciously preparing in some way.) Anyway, when I read  her answers, a large percentage was the same answer. And I have been told I am quirky, so my answers are usually weird. The answers are just enough the same and different to make me think we would have the most awesome time in the world. There is no celebrity who I desire to have autograph anything. If I were to meet a celebrity I would have a conversation, have coffee etc. That is why I wouldn't ever really want to meet her. I would never have that chance. And if I did it would probably be through some contest and she would just have to be nice and friendly and act like I was the greatest person on earth. Essentially, she would be paid to like me and that doesn't count. Wow, until I read what I just wrote I didn't realize how much of a crush I have. The really crazy thing was when people started telling me I remind them of her. I then wanted to deny the crush but I can't help it. I don't LOOK like her. But apparently I remind people of whatever their perception is of her. I take that as a compliment because I really really like my perception of her.This is me:

 This is the celebrity people tell me I LOOK like:

 

And I have to admit that I do. I've always wanted to meet a celebrity because I feel like they would be interesting. I want to see them as a person. I just wonder. I am not star obsessed because it distances you from your life and you live outside of your life and not in it. You wish and envy and that paralyzes action. Inaction irritates me. 

But my curiosity draws me toward some of them and I ponder what a meeting with them would be like and what goes on in their head. They are so analyzed. How do they remain themselves and do they ever get confused about who they actually are? Or do they have a clearer picture? Just wonder. Just wonder what they think of themselves and me. I love meeting new, interesting people. I'd like to ride bikes with Zooey Deschanel.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS-Painting the Door

My thoughts painting the door were that it is like Jesus clothing us with His righteousness. It is not a covering up of who we are which is what we try to do when we paint ourselves. We choose colors that others approve of and layer it on so thickly that no one can see who we are or who God is through us. 

My plan in stripping it down to the bare wood is so that when I painted right on top of it not only would it be smoother but the grains would show up especially through the tree area.

When God clothes us it is perfect, it is who we are meant to be and He never makes a mistake. We are who we are and God loves that. It is a lesson I find Him showing me over and over. I am not the best student. I let myself be myself but then, after, I worry that people think I am unqualified, nerdy, etc. because of something I said or did. That is the part that God has to work on with me. Emily, "Luke 12:25 And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his  span of life?" 

And when we are clothed in his righteousness we are ready for display. The display of God and His glory to those who most need it.



Psalm 132:9
Let thy priests be clothed with righteousness; and let thy saints shout for joy.

^{Revelation 1:5,6}

⁵ And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,

⁶ And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.

Isaiah 61:10
I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS- Door Outline

"Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6

The outline of the painting I am going to do on the door is nothing like the end result will be. I think that we often cannot see exactly what God is going for and it scares us. But He is an artist that makes beautiful work and so should be trusted.

BEAUTIFUL THINGS-Filling the Holes

Once the door was scraped and sanded smooth the holes that were left in it needed to be filled. One by one I filled them with wood putty so that the entire door would be solid. It prompted me to consider how the only thing that can fill us is God and that we desire so greatly to be filled and so often look elsewhere.

Matthew 5:6
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, For they shall be filled.

Luke 1:53
He has filled the hungry with good things, And the rich He has sent away empty.

Romans 15:13
Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Ephesians 3:14-19
¹⁴ For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,^[c] 15 from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, ¹⁶ that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man,¹⁷ that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, ¹⁸ may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— ¹⁹ to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Philippians 1:9-11
⁹ And this I pray, that your love may abound still more and more in knowledge and all discernment, ¹⁰ that you may approve the things that are excellent, that you may be sincere and without offense till the day of Christ, ¹¹ being filled with the fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God.