So Monday was weird. It snowed a ton in the morning (probably 6 inches) and by the afternoon it had all melted away to reveal the green grass below. Metaphorically speaking, my life feels like that.
The season is changing. Quickly.
I've been a stay at home mom for 7 years now. I've been homeschooling for 4 of them. Honestly, it's been a difficult season for me. I do postpartum depression like a champ. Homeschooling and adoption have added layers of complexity. It has been a good, rich time, though all in all.
But here's the truth: I make a crappy stay-at-home mom. I'm a terrible organizer. I cannot balance a checkbook, and I don't even really like babies. (I like my babies, just not other peoples.) I do like to cook, and I like my house to be clean. I just don't like cleaning. I hate playing cars or Lego's, and doing crafts that involve Popsicle sticks makes me grumpy. I flunked out of MOPS - I hated all those little crafty things they made you do. Something about the whole nicety-niceness of the whole deal made me want to do something shockingly inappropriate just to get a reaction.
Homeschooling was good because I do like to teach, and I like reading. Learning with my kids was fun. But frankly, I was really bad at multi-tasking. It's hard to keep track of baby while simultaneously teaching a 5, 6 and 8 year old.
So the big kids are in school. AND IT IS GOOD. The littlest 2 are at home with me...and I'm actually kinda bored. - So is Bub - the kid NEEDS to go to Kindergarten.
So next year I'm going back to work. I'll be teaching at the kids' school. It works great, because they can always get to me if they need me, and I have the same schedule that they do. I'm thrilled. It's a new challenge. It allows me to still be a mom. I get to do something I love. I get paid...it makes the kids' private school tuition do-able.
But it does present some challenges. Like...sick days...and childcare...and laundry. Mostly, what do I do with the 2 year old we've been blessed with? Did this kid get the short end of the stick because she joined us last - the others never did daycare. I need to work to make school do-able financially. I want to work - to keep me sane and challenged.
Okay I'm done thinking about it...if you've got any ideas send em in.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Church
Here is the last decade of my church journey in a nut shell:
We (as in hubs and I) were a part of a wonderful and vibrant church community in Boulder. It grew. Things got messy, because, let's face it, church is messy. Many of the people we called friends left the church deeply hurt. We weren't hurt, except that we were lonely, our friends were gone and we were having babies at an alarming rate. I don't recommend having 3 babies in 3.5 years, especially if you are prone to postpartum depression - but that's another story.
Church was a half an hour away and had ceased being a community of friends and had become a guilt inducing event to attend every week. We decided that there was really no point in driving so far to participate in a guilt inducing event...there were churches everywhere, minutes from home. Guilt is easy to come by.
So we quit going to the far away church and began attending an enourmous nearby church. We became wallpaper. We went to the gigantor church for almost 2 years and didn't know a single soul. I wish I could say that I minded. But nope. I liked it. Invisible is nice, and far tidier than the messy vibrant church we'd left.
But then God began to do a thing. An uncomfortable thing. He opened my eyes to the orphan crisis. He made us discontent with McChurch; I'd like fries with that. We saw that we were meant to live in community and we were called to be kingdom minded. We were meant to go...we were supposed to care for the least of these...we were to engage in a battle.
About that time a long time friend of ours started a home church. Home church was a new idea for us. Many churches start out as small groups meeting in homes with the intent of launching out and becoming a "normal" church with a building and a staff and decent worship music. That's NOT the idea of home church. Home church is suposed to be reproducible little units that always meet in homes and are run by lay-people. It's supposed to fly under the radar, and minimize overhead costs. It's supposed to be egalitarian and fluid.
We decided that God was calling us away from McChurch to a good old fashioned homecooked church. It's hard to be invisible at the family dinner table. It's hard to go unnoticed. Home church was good to us. It was a meat and potatoes affair. Lots of Bible Study; lots of shared meals; lots of praying; and lots of terribly out of tune worship. Community.
It was this little church that stood with us as we waited and waited in fost-adopt. It was this little church, and other dear friends who supplied us with gluten-free meals for over a month. It was this little church who bought Baby clothes and diapers, and a high-chair. They were the ones that prayed with us when Baby was in the hospital those first weeks. We loved our little home church, but there was a logistical delimma. It was a half an hour away - and our newest addition HATED car rides. Going to church meant we had to endure an hour of screaming. We needed community in our community - and that is, actually, part of the point.
And so it was that we found Jacob's Well Community Church - which served really good coffee.
Even though we were on the outside we could tell that there was a real sense of community at this church. People genuinely liked and cared for each other. They genuinely welcomed us into their midst. Plus, the coffee was really good.
A year and a half later we are still at Jacob's Well. Only now we aren't on the outside. We know and care for the people of Jacob's Well. We are invested. And, ah...it's a little messy. Because, let's face it, church is messy. We love it anyway.
But here's the kicker...Jacob's Well isn't a home church. It's not meant to be. The leadership has deliberately created a culture where anyone, at anyplace in their spiritual journey, feels welcome and comfortable. It doesn't sugar coat the truth; it just doesn't churchify it. It's a "come" church; a sanctuary.
Part of me really likes this (and the coffee), but part of me wonders, "Isn't the church meant to go?" Aren't we supposed to GO.
go over the walls...
go into the streets...
go into the prisons and the orphanges...
the inner-city...
and the suburbs.
What would it look like then if we were about going and not so much about getting people to come. What would it be?
Unbalanced, perhaps. I don't know.
Church: a community we come to, and a place where we go out from. Hub and spokes. The vehicle God had in mind reach the world. It's a balancing act, this coming and going. The tension between community, safety, and risk and adventure.
We (as in hubs and I) were a part of a wonderful and vibrant church community in Boulder. It grew. Things got messy, because, let's face it, church is messy. Many of the people we called friends left the church deeply hurt. We weren't hurt, except that we were lonely, our friends were gone and we were having babies at an alarming rate. I don't recommend having 3 babies in 3.5 years, especially if you are prone to postpartum depression - but that's another story.
Church was a half an hour away and had ceased being a community of friends and had become a guilt inducing event to attend every week. We decided that there was really no point in driving so far to participate in a guilt inducing event...there were churches everywhere, minutes from home. Guilt is easy to come by.
So we quit going to the far away church and began attending an enourmous nearby church. We became wallpaper. We went to the gigantor church for almost 2 years and didn't know a single soul. I wish I could say that I minded. But nope. I liked it. Invisible is nice, and far tidier than the messy vibrant church we'd left.
But then God began to do a thing. An uncomfortable thing. He opened my eyes to the orphan crisis. He made us discontent with McChurch; I'd like fries with that. We saw that we were meant to live in community and we were called to be kingdom minded. We were meant to go...we were supposed to care for the least of these...we were to engage in a battle.
About that time a long time friend of ours started a home church. Home church was a new idea for us. Many churches start out as small groups meeting in homes with the intent of launching out and becoming a "normal" church with a building and a staff and decent worship music. That's NOT the idea of home church. Home church is suposed to be reproducible little units that always meet in homes and are run by lay-people. It's supposed to fly under the radar, and minimize overhead costs. It's supposed to be egalitarian and fluid.
We decided that God was calling us away from McChurch to a good old fashioned homecooked church. It's hard to be invisible at the family dinner table. It's hard to go unnoticed. Home church was good to us. It was a meat and potatoes affair. Lots of Bible Study; lots of shared meals; lots of praying; and lots of terribly out of tune worship. Community.
It was this little church that stood with us as we waited and waited in fost-adopt. It was this little church, and other dear friends who supplied us with gluten-free meals for over a month. It was this little church who bought Baby clothes and diapers, and a high-chair. They were the ones that prayed with us when Baby was in the hospital those first weeks. We loved our little home church, but there was a logistical delimma. It was a half an hour away - and our newest addition HATED car rides. Going to church meant we had to endure an hour of screaming. We needed community in our community - and that is, actually, part of the point.
And so it was that we found Jacob's Well Community Church - which served really good coffee.
Even though we were on the outside we could tell that there was a real sense of community at this church. People genuinely liked and cared for each other. They genuinely welcomed us into their midst. Plus, the coffee was really good.
A year and a half later we are still at Jacob's Well. Only now we aren't on the outside. We know and care for the people of Jacob's Well. We are invested. And, ah...it's a little messy. Because, let's face it, church is messy. We love it anyway.
But here's the kicker...Jacob's Well isn't a home church. It's not meant to be. The leadership has deliberately created a culture where anyone, at anyplace in their spiritual journey, feels welcome and comfortable. It doesn't sugar coat the truth; it just doesn't churchify it. It's a "come" church; a sanctuary.
Part of me really likes this (and the coffee), but part of me wonders, "Isn't the church meant to go?" Aren't we supposed to GO.
go over the walls...
go into the streets...
go into the prisons and the orphanges...
the inner-city...
and the suburbs.
What would it look like then if we were about going and not so much about getting people to come. What would it be?
Unbalanced, perhaps. I don't know.
Church: a community we come to, and a place where we go out from. Hub and spokes. The vehicle God had in mind reach the world. It's a balancing act, this coming and going. The tension between community, safety, and risk and adventure.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
If we have not love...
This keeps me up at night...keeps me popping my antidepressants. I know. I know. I cannot save the world. I know, my children, and my family are my priority, and right now they take a huge portion of the resources I have to offer. But STILL....the facts remain....STILL...my heart breaks.
So the question is "what now?" and "what next?"
And I have no answers.
So the question is "what now?" and "what next?"
And I have no answers.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Peeling Potatoes: A new day on the horizon
I like to cook; I hate to peel, or chop, or mince. I want a prep cook. No one has volunteered, but this THIS might just change my life.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Skoinked
So you may have noticed that my posts have lacked substance as of late.
There is a reason.
It's called denial.
I don't know about you, but sometimes I just cannot live with all the crud, or with all the unpleasantness, and so I hide. I bury myself in a mindless novel, or chocolate, or well, anything. Because I don't know what to DO with what I know about homelessness, or HIV, or the fatherless.
Heck, I don't know what to do with having to wait to find out about my job situation, or getting a good renter in our rental house. I don't know what to do when my daughter wheezes and cries from 12-2AM. I don't know what to do when I hear my friend has lost her job.
And that's just little stuff. Biggish little stuff. But still...
It's all skoinked! And yes, that is the technical term.
Not as it should be.
A shadow of what was.
The promise of what could be...
And sometimes it's hard to live there, to be present in the midst of the mess.
Back in the Baptist days of my childhood we used to sing,
"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace."
It makes me suspicious that my head in the sand approach to dealing with life's hardships might not be appropriate.
Pity, I do enjoy dark chocolate.
There is a reason.
It's called denial.
I don't know about you, but sometimes I just cannot live with all the crud, or with all the unpleasantness, and so I hide. I bury myself in a mindless novel, or chocolate, or well, anything. Because I don't know what to DO with what I know about homelessness, or HIV, or the fatherless.
Heck, I don't know what to do with having to wait to find out about my job situation, or getting a good renter in our rental house. I don't know what to do when my daughter wheezes and cries from 12-2AM. I don't know what to do when I hear my friend has lost her job.
And that's just little stuff. Biggish little stuff. But still...
It's all skoinked! And yes, that is the technical term.
Not as it should be.
A shadow of what was.
The promise of what could be...
And sometimes it's hard to live there, to be present in the midst of the mess.
Back in the Baptist days of my childhood we used to sing,
"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace."
It makes me suspicious that my head in the sand approach to dealing with life's hardships might not be appropriate.
Pity, I do enjoy dark chocolate.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
ENGLISH MUFFINS !!!
Oh GFers of the world REJOICE! Katrina has concocted a GF english muffin recipe. I haven't tried them yet, but I will! Oh I will! The gluten free goddess always has yummy recipes!
http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/2009/04/gluten-free-english-muffins.html
http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/2009/04/gluten-free-english-muffins.html
Friday, April 17, 2009
Haiku
Sinus infections
Erode my motivation
Allergies SUCK
What, clean my bathroom?
No one likes to scrub toilets.
Certainly, not me!
How shall I waste time?
The Haiku has potential.
Mr. Clean be gone.
Erode my motivation
Allergies SUCK
What, clean my bathroom?
No one likes to scrub toilets.
Certainly, not me!
How shall I waste time?
The Haiku has potential.
Mr. Clean be gone.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
You must read Christine
I've been following this blog. It rocks, especially this last post. It's a must read. So click. Read. You won't be sorry.
Wait.
Before you do read this background info:
Christine is an adoptive mom to 5 kids ( I think). One of whom has RAD, or Reactive Attachment Disorder. If you are unfamiliar with RAD here's a quick description:
Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) is a mental health disorder in which a child is unable to form healthy social relationships, particularly with a primary caregiver. Often children with RAD will seem charming and helpless to outsiders, while waging a campaign of terror within the family. RAD is frequently seen in children who have had inconsistent or abusive care in early childhood, including children adopted from orphanages or foster care.
Wait.
Before you do read this background info:
Christine is an adoptive mom to 5 kids ( I think). One of whom has RAD, or Reactive Attachment Disorder. If you are unfamiliar with RAD here's a quick description:
Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) is a mental health disorder in which a child is unable to form healthy social relationships, particularly with a primary caregiver. Often children with RAD will seem charming and helpless to outsiders, while waging a campaign of terror within the family. RAD is frequently seen in children who have had inconsistent or abusive care in early childhood, including children adopted from orphanages or foster care.
A certain ferocious love...
Jeremiah 33:7
I banish them in my furious anger and great wrath; I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. They will be my people and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action so that they will always fear me, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will never stop doing good to them and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.
I read this passage of scripture this morning, and was encouraged. I am learning that my God is not the pansy I was introduced to in Sunday School. And, I think, I like him better that way.
There is this passage in C.S. Lewis' The Lion the Witch in the Wardrobe that I love. In this scene the children have just recently entered Narnia through the wardrobe and are learning about the great lion, ASLAN (a Christ-figure). They are unsure and intimidated. One of the children asks Beaver (their guide), "Is he quite safe?"
"Safe?", Beaver laughs. No Aslan is not safe. "But he is good."
My God is a lion, untamed and ferocious. He is a jealous God and a mighty warrior. He demands unswerving loyalty, and perfection. He spoke the world into existence. And declares, "I am God and there is no other."
Don't mess with him.
He's been known to banish nations and enslave them. He's wiped out entire peoples with a flood. He's given the order to take no prisoners.
Ruthless. Savage. Ferocious.
And yet....
He is good. According to Jeremiah God says, "I will rejoice in doing them good." As a parent, I understand that. There is nothing so fun as pouring out love on my children. I love to shower my kids with gifts, or special surprises. I feel almost giddy watching them delight in my love.
Imagine that. God: Ferocious Warrior....with the heart of a father.
Today is Good Friday. It's the day we celebrate the ferocious love of God. God: who demanded perfection and sacrificed everything on behalf of his rebellious children. God: who ruthlessly declared war on all the broken in the world.
"To the Death..."
My God is no pansy. He does not wink at sin or turn a blind eye idolatry. No. He engages it. Destroys it. In a crazy reckless act of ferocious love.
I banish them in my furious anger and great wrath; I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. They will be my people and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action so that they will always fear me, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will never stop doing good to them and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.
I read this passage of scripture this morning, and was encouraged. I am learning that my God is not the pansy I was introduced to in Sunday School. And, I think, I like him better that way.
There is this passage in C.S. Lewis' The Lion the Witch in the Wardrobe that I love. In this scene the children have just recently entered Narnia through the wardrobe and are learning about the great lion, ASLAN (a Christ-figure). They are unsure and intimidated. One of the children asks Beaver (their guide), "Is he quite safe?"
"Safe?", Beaver laughs. No Aslan is not safe. "But he is good."
My God is a lion, untamed and ferocious. He is a jealous God and a mighty warrior. He demands unswerving loyalty, and perfection. He spoke the world into existence. And declares, "I am God and there is no other."
Don't mess with him.
He's been known to banish nations and enslave them. He's wiped out entire peoples with a flood. He's given the order to take no prisoners.
Ruthless. Savage. Ferocious.
And yet....
He is good. According to Jeremiah God says, "I will rejoice in doing them good." As a parent, I understand that. There is nothing so fun as pouring out love on my children. I love to shower my kids with gifts, or special surprises. I feel almost giddy watching them delight in my love.
Imagine that. God: Ferocious Warrior....with the heart of a father.
Today is Good Friday. It's the day we celebrate the ferocious love of God. God: who demanded perfection and sacrificed everything on behalf of his rebellious children. God: who ruthlessly declared war on all the broken in the world.
"To the Death..."
My God is no pansy. He does not wink at sin or turn a blind eye idolatry. No. He engages it. Destroys it. In a crazy reckless act of ferocious love.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
With Christ in the School of Prayer
Good Book.
Read it years ago.
Might read it again soon.
A quote to whet the appetite:
"Teach us to pray with power, too! The promises are for us; the powers and the gifts of the heavenly world are for us. O teach us to pray so that we may receive abundantly!"
My other "must read" suggestion is the biography of George Mueller (published by YWAM). We read it aloud as a family (yep, we're that cool). Ed was hooked. I was hooked. My kids loved it.
Our new hero is George.
Forget that dated, "I wanna be like Mike." campaign slogan. I wanna be like George. He rocked the house, that is for a Prussian dude who was born a couple hundred years ago.
The man could pray.
He knew what it was to walk with God, and live in faith.
As for me and my house, we wanna be like George.
Excuse the absolute and total randomness of this post. I didn't mean to blog about George or Andrew Murray, for that matter.
I meant to blog about me. Far more fascinating, don't you think?
Here's the scoop: I might be crawling out from underneath my stay-at-home mom rock, and be joining the land of the living, or at least the land of the gainfully employed.
I interviewed at the kid's school yesterday and was hired...mostly. For a job...part time, I think, unless it's full-time. I will be a teacher's aid for early elementary, unless I'm not. In which case I might teach 6th grade science and social studies and secondary Language Arts.
It was a confusing interview.
We're still working out the details. Clearly.
I had a bout of insecurity about this, as per my MO. I asked Eddie, "What if I suck at being a elementary school aid?" He laughed at me. Laughed. At. Me. To my face, no less.
The pay is crap. (I mean ah...demonstrates my commitment to ministering to children)
But I have the same hours as the kids, and mothering can still be my priority. Plus, let's not forget the discount on tuition. It sounds fun. And I am excited...but still have some concerns...most of which center around a certain brown eyed girl just shy of 2.
...who might be emptying a bottle of baby shampoo on the carpet....gotta run.
Read it years ago.
Might read it again soon.
A quote to whet the appetite:
"Teach us to pray with power, too! The promises are for us; the powers and the gifts of the heavenly world are for us. O teach us to pray so that we may receive abundantly!"
My other "must read" suggestion is the biography of George Mueller (published by YWAM). We read it aloud as a family (yep, we're that cool). Ed was hooked. I was hooked. My kids loved it.
Our new hero is George.
Forget that dated, "I wanna be like Mike." campaign slogan. I wanna be like George. He rocked the house, that is for a Prussian dude who was born a couple hundred years ago.
The man could pray.
He knew what it was to walk with God, and live in faith.
As for me and my house, we wanna be like George.
Excuse the absolute and total randomness of this post. I didn't mean to blog about George or Andrew Murray, for that matter.
I meant to blog about me. Far more fascinating, don't you think?
Here's the scoop: I might be crawling out from underneath my stay-at-home mom rock, and be joining the land of the living, or at least the land of the gainfully employed.
I interviewed at the kid's school yesterday and was hired...mostly. For a job...part time, I think, unless it's full-time. I will be a teacher's aid for early elementary, unless I'm not. In which case I might teach 6th grade science and social studies and secondary Language Arts.
It was a confusing interview.
We're still working out the details. Clearly.
I had a bout of insecurity about this, as per my MO. I asked Eddie, "What if I suck at being a elementary school aid?" He laughed at me. Laughed. At. Me. To my face, no less.
The pay is crap. (I mean ah...demonstrates my commitment to ministering to children)
But I have the same hours as the kids, and mothering can still be my priority. Plus, let's not forget the discount on tuition. It sounds fun. And I am excited...but still have some concerns...most of which center around a certain brown eyed girl just shy of 2.
...who might be emptying a bottle of baby shampoo on the carpet....gotta run.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Note to Self
Dear Self,
Your 33rd birthday is fast approaching. You have a mortgage payment, car seats, and endless responsibilities.
Face it: YOU ARE A GROWN-UP.
Stop shopping in the juniors section. Those jeans are cut for girls who have never seen a pregnancy. Those tops are made for kids who have never breastfed. Those underwear, well only a girl unschooled in the ways of the world could believe that they are even remotely comfortable.
Get a grip. You cannot simultaneously color your grey hairs and shop with the teeny-boppers for t-shirts that declare, "I might like you better if you recycled." It defies the laws of the universe. Or something...
You are getting old. You hands are looking freakishly similar to your mother's, and you're getting those little wrinkly lines at the corners of your eyes.
And while I'm on the topic of aging gracefully I'd like to touch on the sensitive topic of you BMI. I've noticed that it's been creeping up with the years, probably at a rate that matches your cholesterol and blood pressure. Honey, you are not 19. Gone are the days that you could eat chocolate chip cookies with your lettuce salad and expect to slip into your size 8 jeans with nary a groan. Henceforth you will have to join the throngs of adult American woman who have learned to count calories or suffer the consequences.
But take heart, Self, growing older is not all doom and gloom. Because along with a matronly wardrobe and a depressed metabolism you get wisdom that can only be bought with years. You have confidence in a saviour who you has come through for you time and time again. And those scars, and stretchmarks each tell a story. Your life is deeper, richer, and more complex for those stories, and in the end a teeny-bopper wardrobe and your youth are a small price to pay for the richness the years have afforded.
Most Affectionately Yours,
Me
Your 33rd birthday is fast approaching. You have a mortgage payment, car seats, and endless responsibilities.
Face it: YOU ARE A GROWN-UP.
Stop shopping in the juniors section. Those jeans are cut for girls who have never seen a pregnancy. Those tops are made for kids who have never breastfed. Those underwear, well only a girl unschooled in the ways of the world could believe that they are even remotely comfortable.
Get a grip. You cannot simultaneously color your grey hairs and shop with the teeny-boppers for t-shirts that declare, "I might like you better if you recycled." It defies the laws of the universe. Or something...
You are getting old. You hands are looking freakishly similar to your mother's, and you're getting those little wrinkly lines at the corners of your eyes.
And while I'm on the topic of aging gracefully I'd like to touch on the sensitive topic of you BMI. I've noticed that it's been creeping up with the years, probably at a rate that matches your cholesterol and blood pressure. Honey, you are not 19. Gone are the days that you could eat chocolate chip cookies with your lettuce salad and expect to slip into your size 8 jeans with nary a groan. Henceforth you will have to join the throngs of adult American woman who have learned to count calories or suffer the consequences.
But take heart, Self, growing older is not all doom and gloom. Because along with a matronly wardrobe and a depressed metabolism you get wisdom that can only be bought with years. You have confidence in a saviour who you has come through for you time and time again. And those scars, and stretchmarks each tell a story. Your life is deeper, richer, and more complex for those stories, and in the end a teeny-bopper wardrobe and your youth are a small price to pay for the richness the years have afforded.
Most Affectionately Yours,
Me
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