What It All Comes Down To

Last night we had an experience with one of our sons that rocked our world a little bit. I’m sure it won’t be the last time we deal with this issue, but it was most certainly the first time we’ve had to confront it in such a blatant manner.

Last night our son lied to us.

Ok, so he’s lied before – they both have. But never quite so…intentionally. He did something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do, and then he brought it up just so he could tell us that he “didn’t” do it. Too bad he didn’t realize there was a pretty blaring flaw in his alibi that his daddy would (and did) catch immediately after it left his lips.

I’m glad that Dad was in the car, not only because he figured out the truth and we were able to handle it, but also because he was able to actually confront it and announce a fair punishment in a very calm, matter-of-fact voice. I, on the other hand, found myself rather shell-shocked and at a loss for words right at first. I mean, how could this be? My sweet, innocent boy actually premeditating a lie?

We spent the next several minutes walking through what he had done wrong (from the original offense on down through lying about it), and talking about why he shouldn’t lie, how it hurts all of us when he does lie, and how he really has no reason to be mad with us for punishing him because that’s the consequence he chose when he decided to break the rules. I don’t think I have to tell you that it was a long, tearful evening that ended with him asking to go straight to bed instead of taking a shower and eating a snack.

At the end of the night, though, it really all came down to this: I know my son, and I know that he’s a lot like me. I knew that if we left things on a down note, he would beat himself up over all this for the next several days. So before I let him go to sleep I made him look me in the eyes while I told him three separate times, “You are a good boy – you just made a mistake.”

I started to think about it later, and I have a feeling that a lot of us need to hear that. How many times do we do something wrong and then totally beat ourselves up over it because we just can’t let it go? Especially if it is something that we’ve been struggling with not doing? It’s hard to admit that we’ve messed up again, but – if you’re anything like me – it’s even harder, then, to believe that it does not define you as a person.

But you know what? Jesus went to great lengths to come to this earth and die for our sins so we could be a whole lot more than the sum of our mistakes. It’s called grace. And because of it, our Father in Heaven somehow sees us as perfect – covered with the redeeming blood of His son.

Even redeemed people mess up every now and then, though, so just in case you need to hear it, here it is:

You are a good girl – you just messed up.

Now, tell your Daddy you’re sorry and move on, because He’s already let it go. Accept the gift of His grace and rest peacefully tonight knowing that tomorrow is a whole new day full of opportunities to grow and maybe even make a few better decisions.

He loves you, and He’s proud to call you His own.

Deep Thoughts (or not, actually)

Man, I’m struggling this morning. I have to just come out and say it. Not so much in like a spiritual sense or anything, but to physically get up and get going. Apparently, by the way, there’s a reason why they call it “Instant Breakfast” and not “Instant Something You Drink Part Of Before You Go To Bed”. I don’t know what’s in that stuff, but I might as well had a Mountain Dew last night – I hardly slept at all! And that’s the only thing I can think of that was different about my routine or my diet yesterday. Who knew?

So that, combined with the fact that I accidentally poured too much sugar on my Rice Chex this morning as I was trying to lightly sweeten them, and boom – I’m ready for a long, fat nap. Now all I have to do is convince the grocery shopping, my doctor’s appointment, work, the house cleaning and my rather impetuous four year old to put life on hold so I can actually take that nap. Yeah, I don’t see that happening, do you? I think I’m going to have to figure out something else, and fast.

That all being said, I had great intentions of writing something that actually made sense this morning, but I’m having a hard time at the present moment even thinking anything that makes sense. My head feels like it’s full of a thousand conversations being played back in slow motion. It’s a very heavy, muddled mass of confusion up there, and I just don’t think anything productive is going to come out of it right now. So I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you with an apologetic good morning, and a vow to try and write something more intelligent soon (when I’m not under the influence of Instant Breakfast and sugar).

I guess I’ll go now, get dressed, drive to the store with Little Man, shop for groceries, fight over why we don’t need yet another pointless toy, brainstorm a week’s worth of meals, and decide on something for lunch so I can come home and haul it all upstairs and put it away.

Time Out.

That nap’s sounding like a really good idea…

Invasion of the Sanity Snatchers

Oh mercy, friends. We’ve been battling head lice at our house this past week.

Bugs. In our hair. Yuck.

I think I’ve tried every homeopathic treatment (and one not-so-homeopathic treatment) I’ve found on the internet, and though it has gotten 98% better, there is still the issue of every now-and-then finding one tiny little egg. Then you have to wonder, is it an old egg that I somehow missed, or is it a new one and we have to start over?

Not to mention to whole physiological phenomenon of feeling lice whenever you think about them, regardless of whether you have them or not. You know, like some of you are probably itching right now just reading these words. You have no reason, really, to think that you have lice, but what if you itched and it really could be them? Do you know how many times a day I’ve thought about lice over the past week? That’s a lot of phantom itching that starts to make you wonder….do I have lice, or am I going crazy?

Or is it both?

This is definitely now the number two question on my short list of things to ask Jesus when I get to heaven. Number one is still why do men have what we refer to on our boys as “chest buttons” (I mean, seriously, why do they need them?). But what’s up with head lice is now firmly planted at number two. I’d really love to know what was going through His holy head on that one. There’s gotta be a reason, right?

I can honestly say, however, that this whole experience has changed something in me. I now know that when we get that little slip of paper in the backpack from school that says “Your child has been exposed to lice in the classroom”, that it’s really an urgent prayer request for a struggling family sent out by an institution that’s not allowed to officially ask for prayer. If they have to mask it as a “warning”, then so be it. But I now know the truth: Someone out there needs some spiritual intervention before they lose their religion over piles and piles of laundry, hours of vacuuming, and days of treating and combing nearly invisible specks out of the heads of impatient, wiggly little kids who can’t go to school even though they most certainly feel well enough to wreck the house.

So please pray for us, and for the thousands of other families this week who found their wheels spinning in a different direction the moment their kid reached up and furiously scratched his innocent little head. I know that they, like us, would love to have their lives back.

Next time I get a chance to write, I have something I want to share about God’s heart that I learned last week (you know, before our sense of peace and security was invaded). But for now I’m afraid I have to run…

…I think I just felt something move in my hair.

Sorry For The Wait

The day was August 23, 1991 (which, by the way, was not the day after I wrote my last post on this blog, though it would seem like it), and I was at my field of dreams – Braves stadium in Atlanta. We were there quite early – not because we were afraid someone might snatch our oh-so-lovely nosebleed section seats – because I wanted to see him.

The legend.

My hero.

The one and only Dale Murphy.

As we gathered on the bottom row of field level seats to watch him warm up with his teammates, I took the opportunity to snap a few photos while I was close enough for the camera to actually capture his face (for soon the game would start and I’d pretty much need the Hubble telescope to even see the game, much less get any pictures of it). I couldn’t believe it – there he was, just hundreds of feet from me, The Murph. He was now in a Phillies uniform instead of the Atlanta blue I had grown up watching him in, but it didn’t even matter. He was right there, right in front of me!

And then it happened.

The players began to exit the field through the dugout, but Murph trotted in a different direction: straight toward the little group of kids I was standing in. This was it! I was going to get to meet Dale Murphy and get his autograph!

I waited patiently as kid after kid got their caps and cards and programs signed. Then it was my turn. I held out my ball and, just as Murph freed his hands to reach for it, his coach called for him from the dugout. He apologized and trotted off in the direction of responsibility.

I held it together on the outside and verbally reasoned that it was at least good enough to have been that close to him, but secretly I was crushed. I really wanted that ball signed. I know it’s just some guy’s name written in ink on a silly little photo ball I found at Winn Dixie, but somehow it would have meant so much to me to have it. To know that Dale Murphy had touched and signed that ball. But it just wasn’t to be.

We watched the game from the upper stratosphere that night, and had a blast. I don’t even remember who won, but I know that Murph was there and that was enough for me. A couple of years later, he retired. No more Mighty Murphy. The Braves retired his jersey. No more number 3. And, it seemed for me, no more chance of getting that silly little ball signed.

Fast forward a few years to yesterday. In a very strange marketing decision, it was Atlanta Braves night at Smokies stadium (our local Chicago Cubs affiliate…go figure…). And who would be appearing? You guessed it! The Murph! And did I go? You bet I did! And did I stand in line for two hours just for this?




Right again! One guy had been waiting at that stadium since 8:30 that morning to be first in line for an autograph, but I knew he had nothin’ on me. I had been standing in line for 17 years, 11 months and 7 ½ innings before I finally got that signature and my 10 seconds of face time with the Murph. And it was well worth the wait!

There’s something about standing in front of your childhood hero – even at 31 – that just makes the world seem right for a minute. All that was good and fun and innocent about life came pouring back to my heart, and just for a moment I was a carefree tomboy again, watching baseball with my grandfather and eating circus peanuts with my Murphy-loving neighbor. Just for that moment there weren’t a thousand different things piled on my plate. The family drama was gone, the to-do list was wiped clean, and all the questions hadn’t even been asked yet. Just for that one little moment, I was free to just breathe and be a kid again.

I tell you this for two reasons: one, because I’ve needed that little tiny breath of freedom for a while, and two, because I really just wanted to tell you a cool story about having to wait. I’m sorry I had to take an unannounced hiatus from blogging this summer, but I just needed a little step-back-from-life time. Sure, we traveled during some of that time and I wouldn’t have been able to blog anyway, but I really was just taking a little self-evaluation time. I needed to walk away from a few things for a bit, and blogging was one of the easier things to take a break from.

But I’m back now, and hopefully I’ll have something worthwhile to say this year! I really think that the Lord has been working on my heart lately, just tweaking me and changing me into more of the person He wants me to be. I’m really excited for what He has in store for me, even though I haven’t the first clue about what it may be. I’m just overwhelmingly grateful to be on the journey and to be a part of His story.

So I hope I haven’t lost you forever, and that you’ll come back and join me from week to week, to share little glimpses of this journey has me on. Perhaps you’ll find a moment of freedom every now and then as you read these posts – a moment to just step away and think about something different. Most of all, though, I pray that somehow you will find encouragement and meaning in my words, even though they seem much less important than some guy’s name, written in ink, on silly little ball from Winn-Dixie.

Sorry for the wait, but I’m ready to start writing again. I’m looking forward to “seeing” you here again soon!

Penny the Impervious Snail

So we’ve been having trouble with algae growing in our fish tank lately. It’s never been a problem before (not with all the other fish I’ve managed to murder), but now it’s invading the home of Pyro, our Betta that loves to hang out in the volcano tank ornament when you turn the bubbles off. And I mean it’s gotten to be a big problem.

I had tried cleaning out the tank and even doing a complete water change, but nothing was working. Not knowing what else to do, I went down to the pet store (where they practically know me by name and the fish cower in complete fear at the sound of my voice), and asked if I should just get some drops or an algae eater or what. The fish guy agreed that I needed something, but was worried that an algae eater might not survive Pyro’s natural fighting instincts. So he offered me an interesting alternative: a bright yellow snail.

Little Man was with me that day, and as a consequence – I mean result – he got to name said snail. He named her Penny, apparently in homage to the movie Bolt (I tried to explain that “Bolt” would have been a lot funnier and a heck of a lot higher on the irony scale, but he wasn’t buying it. Penny it was).

So Penny was looking great in the bag on the way home. He/She/It (does anyone know if water snails are hermaphrodites?) was out in full display, checking out the strange confines of her temporary little shuttle. But once in the tank, things changed.

It took about 2 minutes in that tank for Penny to realize that she was not alone. It took about 5 minutes for Pyro to realize that he could play soccer with his new roommate. So in the shell we went, and we didn’t come out again. Like ever.

I figured my magical charm must work on invertebrates too, as Penny appeared quite dead on the bottom of the tank for about 3 days (why did I leave it there for 3 days you ask? Well, have you ever tried to determine whether or not a snail is actually alive? Much easier said than done…). I prepared the boys, and got out a Ziploc bag to take her sad little carcass back to the pet store (they actually give you your money back if they die within 14 days…I think they’re considering revising that policy because of me). But when I went to pick her up, she had ever-so-slightly moved in her shell. Could she be alive?

The answer (we determined many long, painstaking minutes later), was a definite yes. She was alive. For now, anyway. But the cracks in her shell told me it wouldn’t be long before Pele scored one too many goals and she would be gone for sure.

So we went back to enjoying our soccer-playing Betta, and anxiously awaiting the debut of Penny’s real, whole body and her well purchased algae eating skills. But it wasn’t to be. She found some refuge under a fake plant and took root for a while. I wound up having to feed her by dropping food right by her shell so she didn’t have to move to get it (remember, I didn’t want to have to feed her – I wanted her to have to find the algae in the tank!).

There she sat, getting stiller and stiller, while all around her the water got greener and greener. Back to the pet store we go.

This time, I skipped the fish guy. I went straight for the drops. Yes, I read the back of all the bottles, and yes I saw that 5 out of the 6 said “Do not use in tanks with freshwater invertebrates such as snails”. But I found that the 6th one actually said “freshwater crustaceans”, and only mentioned crabs and lobsters. A matter of semantics, perhaps, but well worth the risk at this point.

I got home and ceremoniously said good-bye to Penny, just in case the drops were indeed poisonous to her (I knew they would be, but this was now all about saving Pyro’s life). Then I proceeded to accidentally overdose the tank. Now they both were in danger.

A few minutes later I came back to find Penny rolled over on the back of her shell with her body slightly bulging out of her little trap door. Well, this was it. I finally knew how to determine if a snail was dead. If ever a snail was dead, this one was. Sorry Penny.

I couldn’t take her out right then, though, because we were leaving to go somewhere. So in the tank her bloated little corpse lay.

And then we came home.

You know in all those super hero comic books how the super heroes start out as these average, boring guys and then they get doused with radio-active acid or something and suddenly become indestructible and incredibly buff? Well, apparently algae drops really are like toxic waste to snails. Because Buddy let me tell you, Penny was all over that tank when we got home, and she hasn’t stopped since!

For once in her tiny little existence in our home she’s actually hanging out on the tank wall.

For once she’s literally starting to come out of her shell.

For once she’s standing up to her Pele-wanna-be roommate and she isn’t backing down.

She is Penny, the Impervious Snail. And she is real, living proof that the saying “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” must be true. She’s beat the bully, she’s survived the cracks, and now she’s amped up on algae steroids and is ready to conquer the aquarium.

Too bad that aquarium is still under my care… Hmmm…

Yep, she’s definitely going to need another dose of that algae stuff if she’s gonna have a prayer of making it. Don’t worry, I’m on it.

Giants

Giants y’all. I’m talking big ones. There’s three of them lurking around my life right now. Make no mistake – one’s been here for a while. In fact, I’m kind of getting used to him. I don’t like that he’s here, but he’s not really my giant to get rid of. In that sense I guess it’s kind of an arranged thing, and we’ve learned to tolerate each other for now. I’ve thought about naming him, but my mom always said that when you name stray animals you wind up wanting to keep them. Trust me, I don’t want to keep this one. So No Name it is.

The second giant to arrive got here about a week or so ago. He’s all mine this time, but he’s not the kind of giant that poses an obstacle. No, this guy is just here to torment me, and to make me think that the task that lies ahead is more daunting and impossible than it really is with Christ on my side. This giant is just a bully, and I’m trying my best to find the nerve to simply tell him to get out of my way. I’m allowed to do that, you know – he is my bully giant. He’s just really tall…and really mean…so it might take a while.

The third giant, well, he’s my least favorite kind. He’s the kind that stands right in the middle of the pathway to your dreams and says, “Thou shall not pass” in his booming giant voice. This giant just got here Saturday.

I tell you, there is nothing quite as disappointing as thinking you are virtually moments away from achieving a dream, only to find that the road is closed by an unmovable force with big, ugly feet. It makes you want to quit. It makes you want to turn around and give up, using what little energy you have left to cry and mope and feel sorry for yourself. I mean, this one is there because someone else hired him to be there. He’s not moving, no matter how much I beg. He’s my problem, but he’s definitely their giant, and he’s not taking orders from anyone else. Continuing on seems impossible, or at least highly improbable at best.

But continuing on is exactly what my husband says I should do, so I guess I’m gonna do it.

At first when he said it I was a little angry. I spent a lot of effort and time trying to get him to understand just how tall this giant is, but he wasn’t hearing it. And then, in a moment of sarcasm (I have a lot of those, by the way), I said something that actually gave me hope.

Maybe – just maybe – that giant isn’t really standing in my way. Maybe he’s there to put me on his shoulders so I can reach higher than I ever thought possible.

You see, he may not be my giant to boss around, and he may be really, really tall and impervious to persuasion, but he is nowhere close to being bigger than God. And if God wants me to achieve this dream of mine, He’ll make it happen – even if He has to use a giant to get it done.

So, I’m choosing to do everything I still can on this side of the giant to reach my goal. Then, when I can go no further on my own, I’ll butter him up and ask him for a huge favor. Who knows? He might even grant me one. But even if he doesn’t, I’ll know that it wasn’t him who ultimately held me back (for what’s a giant compared to God?). If that’s the case, I’ll know that my Father has a perfect plan for my future – one full of hope and life – that involves another dream I should be pursuing. Maybe, in that sense, He will have used this giant as a bit of a directional sign to reroute my path.

In the end, it doesn’t really matter what happens in this situation. What matters is that my path ultimately brings glory to the name of God, no matter where it leads. For His renown is the whole point of this life of mine, and He owns the entire journey to that end – giants and all.

On that note, if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll go set up camp at the feet of that giant and get to work finishing what I started. Oh, and then I guess I’ll take a break and go arm wrestle that bully for a while…

Embracing Life

I’ve been embraced. Or at least that’s what my orthodontist calls it. Sounds all warm and fuzzy, doesn’t it? Well, I can tell you all this metal in my mouth is neither warm nor fuzzy, but it’s not horrible either.

It all started a year ago with Little Man’s head and mine having a bit of a disagreement over who should control a particular segment of airspace (he won, by the way – you can read about it here). And now, almost one year to the day later, I’ve been transformed overnight from a young-looking 31 year old, to the mom who gets strange looks at the mall because people are trying to do the math in their head (“Well, she looks 14, but that kid has to be at least 6… Oh dear, Martha! Is that even possible?”). Joy of all joys.

The hope is that the braces will realign my teeth so that they will fit together again (they haven’t fit together right since the “incident”), and then my jaw can finally heal. The only kicker is that they had to put in these things on the back of my front two top teeth called “bite turbos” that, while sounding really cool, are incredibly annoying. They stop me from biting down and snapping off my bottom brackets, but it also means that my back teeth don’t touch. At all. Which means I can’t chew. At all. It’s only been a couple of days, but seriously, how many smoothies, milk shakes and Slim Fasts can a girl handle? Good diet plan, though – I’ve already lost a pound and a half.

The turbos also serve another purpose – I think they are intentionally shaped the way they are because some dental engineer needed revenge on all the kids who made fun of his smooshy, spit-filled lisp growing up. I can’t even come close to saying the letter s right. And yes, that was me standing in front of the mirror Tuesday afternoon saying “slippery snakes” over and over again. It didn’t change anything, in case you were wondering…

But this is how I know God has an incredible sense of humor. Not only do I get to watch all those funny expressions on the faces of confused moms in public, but I just got invited to prayerfully consider accepting my biggest speaking assignment ever. Coincidence? I think not. It’s been months since I’ve spoken to adults, and now I get invited to co-lead a women’s conference this fall. You know, now that I can’t say anything with an s in it? Very funny, Lord. Hilarious even. Just remember, Your name has two s’s in it, so…

So anyway, just wanted to give you a little update on this crazy little world that is mine. It’s never boring, that’s for sure! I’m off now to find something I can eat without chewing….something other than a Slim Fast. Wish me luck!