Day 1

It's the first of October, and I'm greeting this most glorious of mornings WITHOUT COFFEE.

What have I done?!?!?!

Can I just go back to bed and sleep through this day? If only. And of course, I'm the idiot that said, "I think I'll try this for a whole month!"

Yep. Idiot.

So, what's happening, you ask? Why this insanity? Is someone forcing you to do this?!? Davey's so mean!

Oh no. I signed on voluntarily.

That's right. I did this to myself.

I know, honey. I KNOW. But there it is. I signed up for a bible study on fasting from excess (a book called 7 by Jen Hatmaker, you may have heard of it?) and I even knew ahead of time what I was getting in to. So who's the crazy person? Yep. That'd be me.

The thing is, I'm really excited about this study. No, I mean it. Really. Broke as this family is right now, we are still richer than 95% of the world. That right there, THAT is crazy. Because I still lament all the things I want and can't have. Because I want the luxury of being able to go buy whatever I want, whenever I want, just because I want it. To be fair, I do want some practical things. Cold water that actually works would be nice. And one of the reasons we don't have the cold water in our home fixed is because we have spent our money on other things. I have a downright obsession with self-indulgence. Eating out, shopping, junk food, things I don't really need, but just want. Temporary splurges. I don't need any of it.

I have over 700 food items in my kitchen. Right now.

This week I'm supposed to start counting all my clothes. I'm terrified.

This is all wrong. This needs to change. This consumer-driven me me me has got to go.

I want to really hear from God in this. I know we are excessive, indulgent, and wasteful. I want to learn to be a good steward of things. Less bratty, spoiled American.* More Jesus.

SO here I am. October 1st. No coffee. Sweet Jesus, help me!!



*please understand that I write this as an American living well below poverty level in this country. We have 4 kids, for the love! This problem of American consumerism and selfishness is not just for the wealthy. The poorest in our nation are still far richer than most of the world. We have access to food, clean water. We have tvs and smartphones and cars and shoes on our feet. We are surrounded by wealth and luxury. And we THROW AWAY more food and goods than some countries use in a year. We are terrible stewards of what we've been given, and I fear that some day we will be held accountable.

Hell is for real.

So lately I've been thinking a lot about hell.


Say whaaaaaat, now?!?!

Yep. Hell. The bad place. H-E-Double-hockey-sticks.

I'm sure you're wondering why. Why would I want to think about Hell? What kind of barbaric person even believes in Hell, these days? What kind of barbaric god would condemn people to Hell, anyway?!?! Why are we even talking about this?!? God is LOVE, man. Don't bring that judgement around here.

This past week, I saw a video floating around the interwebs depicting a sweet, tearful young woman, a self-professed Christian, calling out a street evangelist because he dared to talk about Hell. And that's not the kind of god people need, she said. You're driving people away, she said. You're breaking my heart. You're just being mean. And the people in the crowd were eating it up. Jeering, ridiculing, cheering on this well-meaning, sensitive young woman. I'm sure she meant well. I try to lead people to Christ by the way I live my life, she said. Not by judging them, or being mean to them.

And this is not an uncommon attitude. There are lots of christians who would have felt the offense of the street preacher's message. That without a Savior, we are going to Hell. It's offensive. It's also the Gospel.

I remember being taught as a teenager that the best way to reach people for Christ was by the way I lived my life. By showing people God's love. Butbutbut... If I'm sitting here being a smiley, happy, loving Christian, but never once warn the people around me that they are going to die and go to Hell without Jesus, how is that loving them? HOW DO I SHOW PEOPLE GOD'S LOVE IF I DON'T WARN THEM ABOUT DEATH?

How do I sit on the plane, wearing my parachute, and not tell everyone around me that the PLANE IS GOING DOWN?!?

And if I am offering them the parachute, without telling them WHY they need it, why would they take it from me, or bother to put it on?!?

WHAT IS THE POINT OF THE GOSPEL IF NOT TO SAVE US FROM HELL?

Jesus didn't die to make us all happy, so we could feel warm and squishy and talk about love. Jesus DIED because if he didn't, we would have to spend ETERNITY separated from God. We (all of us!) are so filthy on our own, that God, in His perfect holiness can't even look at us. But he created us to be with him. So what's a big, mean ol' God to do? He had the nerve to send His perfect, blameless son to this earth, to pay the penalty for our crimes, to take on all our filth, so that we could be saved from Hell. What. A. Jerk. Can you believe this guy?!?


Here's the deal. Hell is for real. It's the horrible, awful final death and separation from God for ALL of eternity. It's kind of the whole point of this salvation business. The whole gospel hinges on the truth that Hell is for real. If it wasn't, then Jesus went through some really awful shit for nothing.


The Gospel is offensive. It just is. It's hard to say and hard to hear.People hate it. They really do. In fact, if they don't, you're probably not telling it right. No one wants to hear that we have all sinned and fall short of the glory of God. No one wants to hear that the wages of sin is death. No one wants to know that they are a big ball of messed-up that without God doesn't stand a chance. But if we're not telling them, then we're not loving them. And God is LOVE, man. He really is.

Somebody get me off this thing called "love"....

(I love obscure 90's movie references :))

My girls are in VBS this week. Their very first time being old enough to participate and understand. It’s so cool to see my kids learning about Jesus’ love, for real, on their own level, in a way that they can really understand. They’re coming home every night chattering about Bible stories. Punkin loves all the weird animals (she even got to help hold a really big snake!) Maezie sings and dances her little heart out.

 

This week has been all about love (and weird animals!), learning that Jesus loves us, no matter what. If we are different, if we’re alone, if we’re scared, even if we do wrong, Jesus still loves us. This is what my children are learning. This is what I want them to know and live and be. This is good stuff. Basic Christian stuff.

 

But it’s got me thinking – Just how well do I understand, or even live this idea of Jesus’ unconditional love? This is a concept I have always had a hard time with. After all, God loves in ways I can’t even begin to understand. This is hard, ya’ll. This is a big deal. This is something that most of us don’t live out every day. It is completely contrary to our nature and the opposite of everything we’ve been told, are being told.

 

We are telling our kids to love no matter what, and then saying “I forgive them, but I won’t let them hurt me again.” Or, “I love them, but I’m keeping my distance. They won’t do that to me a second time.”

 

Jesus told us to love our enemies, to BLESS those that curse us. To turn the other cheek. Ouch. Do we even think about what that really means? Doesn’t it mean that even though that jerk smacked me in the face I’m supposed to pick myself right back up and let him do it again? And again and again and again? 70 times 7, right? Where do we draw the line? Is there a line to draw? After all, does God draw a line with us? How many times do we slap him in the face, and yet he not only forgives, but forgets? Takes us in with unconditional love that is so beyond our comprehension. It’s our first instinct to think that if someone hurt us we need to protect ourselves from allowing that to happen again. To say “You got me once, but no more.” In fact, we’re told repeatedly by everyone around us that that is the mark of a strong person.

 

But what if it’s not?

 

 Maybe it takes an even stronger person to say, “I know you hurt me, but I’m still here. I love you and I’m not moving.”

Because that’s what God does for us. Every single time. Over and over again. And if that’s how he loves us, then isn’t that how we’re supposed to love?

I don’t know about you, but this is not what I was taught. There are people in my own family that I have been told were “toxic”, and to limit my time or interaction with them. Really? Is that how we love them? And this isn’t even our enemies.

This is our friends, our family.

 

People in our church.

 This is a long shot from loving our enemies.

We can’t even love each other.

This is not the love that Jesus taught in the gospels.

So how do we love like THAT? What exactly does that look like?

It seems to me that it looks an awful lot like weakness. Like letting ourselves get hurt over and over again, and going back for more. Like letting someone “take advantage” of us, and giving them our cloak also.

I know, right?

That kind of love sounds like a crap deal on the giving end. But seeing as how while Jesus was dying a horrific death on a cross, we were all spitting in his face (and often still do), we owe him this at least.

To love like he did.

To keep going back for more.

 To take the hits and keep on going.  Rocky Balboa kind of love. Get back up. Take the hit. Keep on loving. Let them hit you again.

 

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about what they do to us, but what we’ve done for Jesus.

 

I know this love thing goes a lot deeper, and that I’ve only just scratched the surface, but it needs scratching, ya’ll. It does no good to teach our children about Jesus’ love, and then live the opposite.

 

70 times 7 is an awful lot. I bet our cheeks will get really sore. But please, please, PLEASE – when we feel like getting offended, getting our feelings hurt, or even truly getting hurt, let’s remember that the Jesus who DIED for you and me died for them, too, and that he wants us to love them with the same fervor and depth that he does.

After all, we hurt Him just as often. And He keeps coming back for more.

 

And that same love that we’re supposed to show to everyone is what we can rest in when we’ve been hurt.

Over and over again.

 

And where we can go to get the strength to keep loving, even though it’s completely against our nature.

 

And I know that right about now you’re thinking – “Wow, this sounds an awful lot like you’re telling me to stay in an abusive situation and just keep taking the beating. What about MY happiness? What about my safety?!”

But here’s the thing. God doesn’t promise us happiness.

Or success.

Or even safety.

But he does say things like “count it all joy when you are persecuted because of me.”

He does promise us that we will be with him forever in his kingdom.

 And that’s our ultimate goal.

Isn’t it?

 Shouldn’t it be?

Not every one’s mission field is the deep dark jungle where you might die at the hands of ruthless savages. Maybe those savages that we need to love like Jesus are right here at home.

In our homes.

We tend to hold our earthly lives as sacred, when in fact, they’re just a phase. This world is not my home. This body is not the beginning and the end of me. The beginning and the end of me is Christ, and my home is with him. We’ve been promised suffering on the road home. But we’ve also been promised glory when we get there. If we’re too busy chasing comfort and safety in this life, we are trading our reward for a pot of stew.

 

This “love” thing pretty much sucks.

And it’s pretty much the greatest thing in the universe.

I enjoy being a girl

This might sound crazy, but there have been times in my life - ok, most of my life - when I've had to remind myself that I am a girl, and that it's ok. Not in a questioning-my-gender sort of way. I mean, I know I'm a girl, I know what team I play for. I'm talking about girly things, the liking of, and admitting to it. I'm not sure when or how it even started. As a kid I was all about dress-up, and barbies and my little ponies and ohmygosh, strawberry shortcake! But somewhere along the way I got this idea in my head that it wasn't cool to be feminine, that liking girly stuff was ridiculous, and for years I told myself that I'm just not the girly sort. Total. Lie. But because of it I spent years not wearing much make-up, never getting dressed up, or having a "real" haircut, or any of those other things that girly girls do and that I secretly loved but told myself were ridiculous. Then I had a daughter. For the first 8 months of our pregnancy, I was planning a totally neutral nursery, no pink, no frills, no girly stuff. I wasn't that kind of girl. But the more I thought about our daughter, what it meant to have a daughter, the more I moved away from the gender-neutral theme. And then she was born and I was like "use ALL The Pinks!" and I may have even let her wear ruffles and flowers and fuzzy bunnie slippers. Totally different from the girl who had a hard time planning her wedding because really, truly, I had never thought or dreamed of a wedding since I was 12 and Kevin Smith from DC TAlk was going to fall in love with me for my angelic singing voice (so. much. shame!)
Then we had a second daughter, and by then I was even starting to wear pink myself. Because, youknow, when in Rome and all that. Fast forward a few years to our 3rd pregnancy. Something about this one really flipped a switch in me. I found myself craving beauty, all kinds of beauty, girly, earthy, sparkly, natural, unnatural, I wanted it all. Makeup, hair, clothes, grace, ladylike manners, a well-decorated home and a manicure. And for the first time in my life I was really, truly willing to embrace the knowledge that THERE IS NOTHING WRONG with that. I know, I'm a big ol' box full of crazy, right? Don't judge, it was real for me! Once those twins were born, I knew I was ready to make some serious changes, to embrace a side of myself I had ignored for years and told myself never existed. I'm not gonna lie, dropping 30 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight (thank you, twins!) didn't hurt one bit. Looking in the mirror suddenly wasn't akin to water-boarding. I knew I wanted to do something to embrace this new (old) girly side of myself that had finally burst free. SO. I did what every rational person does. I invested in a new business and signed up to be a Mary Kay beauty consultant. Me. The girl who "doesn't even wear make-up." Because, HELLO. I love make-up. I love colors and making my face pretty. Disclaimer - this doesn't mean you'll see me sporting blue eyeshadow any time soon. I'm still me. I still like the nuetral, natural look. Just with a little pizazz and a dab of lip gloss. Second disclaimer - yes, I recognize that my face is pretty without make-up, that we ladies don't need beauty products to make ourselves lovely and that true beauty comes from within. I get that. BUT. We ladies also love expressing that beauty outwardly. Make-up, hair, clothing - those are just different forms of expression. And I am so ready to express myself!!!
This is hard for me, because this is an area where I feel so vulnerable. But I want to spread the beauty love, like a beauty ambassador, to all my lady friends. Because surely I'm not the only one who has struggled with the idea that girly-ness is ok. Am I? Maybe? Well, I still want to share beauty with all the lovely women around me. Not just make-up. Real beauty. Maybe that means getting together for a facial or some pampering, or trying out a new shade of eyeshadow. Maybe while we are at it we can share a cup of coffee and girl talk. It seems like it's a place to start, at least. And I'm so ready to start.


Oh, and also - family of 6! So much fun!

The waiting game

also titled: I hate waiting.


There's nothing worse than that feeling of waiting for something to happen, knowing that it IS going to happen, though you're not really sure when, but sometime, however you have NO CONTROL over just exactly when it's going to happen, so all you can do is wait. Even worse is when you get the news that the thing you're waiting for could happen ANY TIME NOW, but it's just not happening yet.

I totally blame my doctors for my present state of frustration.

After all, they're the ones who told me, a WEEK AGO, that the twins could be here any time now really, because I've already started dilating and Ruby is head down and active labor could start any. minute. now. Cue a long, long , loooooong week of waiting, hoping, expecting, etc. They made it even worse by telling me on Thursday that I was dilated even further and 50% effaced and the twins could be here ANY MINUTE.

But it's  Monday. And they're not here.

I have walked, jumped, eaten spicy food, prayed, deep cleaned my house, walked some more, eaten more spicy food, prayed some more, deep cleaned some more, cried, begged, pleaded, and tried just about everything else to get my labor jumpstarted, and it is not happening. It's just not.

Despair.

It totally doesn't help that I'm impatient by nature, and that I'm pretty much over being unable to, you know, bend over, or touch my toes, or get in and out of the tub without help. Or hold my big kids in my lap (what lap?). Or roll over in the bed. Or drive. Or. Or. Or. The list could go on forever.

Also - I'm just ready to meet these little buggers. Truth be told, I'm a little bit excited about the challenge of raising twins, and I want to get to it already. I know. Crazy, right? It's how I roll.

But they aren't here yet. And I'm waiting. I hate waiting.


So if you think about it, throw a little prayer up for me over the next few days, and hope with me that these twins will decide to get their act together already and stop keeping their mama waiting. Please and thankyou!

in the kitchen

The kitchen is my sanctuary. It's the one place in the house I can go and get blissfully lost in the work I'm doing. Maybe it's because the kids know that if they will just leave mom alone for a bit, something yummy is coming. Maybe they sense that I need, NEED the catharsis of making SOMETHING. Maybe it's the combination of both, because they sure have a fit when I try to make anything that isn't edible. Either way, the kitchen is my special, happy place. I work out my creative urges, and release some stress in the process. Bread-making probably tops the list of my favorite kitchen-time activities. I enjoy the timelessness of it, the nostalgia, the sense that I am tied to the past, to my ancestors, to women everywhere throughout history that have worked out their frustrations (and fed their families) on a lump of dough. In fact, I've gotten downright ritualistic about it. I wear my Nonnie's apron, gifted to me by my grandfather this past winter. I stir the dough with my grandma's wooden spoon, old and showing who knows how many years of use. I cover the dough with my Ga-Ga's tea towel. It's stained and it has a few holes and has seen better days, but I love it. If I ever get my hands on an antique wooden dough bowl, I might actually swoon. Though I have never swooned. Except when I was 14 months pregnant and Davey was getting his eyebrow stitched back together. But I digress. The point is that I love the feeling that each one of those beautiful ladies is there with me, represented in the treasured items that I'm fortunate enough to have had passed on to me. And in the art of cooking, which they passed down to me, and I'm so fortunate to have learned from them. I look forward to passing this down to my own girls some day, so that they can make their escapes to the kitchen and commune with their past.

(Just the other night, Davey made mac and cheese with the girls. They pulled their tiny chairs up to the stove, put on their cute little aprons (Punkin made very sure that Daddy wore an apron, too) and helped to boil and stir and mix. Since that night they've made mac and cheese at least twice, and every time, Punkin will not get started until they are all wearing their aprons. She may look like her Daddy, but there's a lot of Mama in there, too. :)

A year of Passion.

So. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything. 2013 was a long, strange, crazy year. Definitely not all bad, it’s just that, frankly, I don’t remember half of it. Maybe that’s because so very much happened. I started working at a really great little bakery, only to find out 3 weeks later that I was pregnant (and while on a camping trip, no less.) Davey got a second job working as a part-time youth minister at our church, and suddenly, life was a whirlwind. There was No. Time. No time for anything. Somehow we made it through summer and fall and bam! Christmas and New Year’s was here, and now it’s February 2014 and I don’t even know how I got here. I do know that we found out at the first of the year that we are having twins, who should be here sometime in the next month or so. A boy and a girl. So exciting. So overwhelming. But it’s been a year of overwhelming, so really, what else is new? I also know that I came into this new year feeling like something really had to give – the whirlwind was just too much – the piles of laundry and dirty dishes I couldn’t keep up with, the hubby I never got to see, all the things that broke (and I do mean ALL the things. Like, EVERYTHING broke this year), and all the stuff that just piled up and I didn’t even care because I was buried in my own pile of overwhelmed and pregnant. And then came TCTC (that’s the Tennessee Christian Teen Convention) and there I was, wanting to go but having a meltdown because we had just found out about the twins and we were leaving in 3 hours and I hadn’t packed and didn’t even know where I was going to sleep and I was just tired and did I mention overwhelmed? But I muscled thru, and Davey gritted his teeth (he's been doing that a lot l, and we went, and it was wonderful. We ended up with a room together (so nice!) and suddenly, I found time to relax, take a deep breath, see old friends, and remember what it felt like to be somewhat human again. And suddenly the last 8 months of Overwhelmed weren’t going to cut it anymore. During one of the last sessions of the convention, the speaker challenged us to ask God for a word for the year, and my heart started hollering. I’d actually been looking for that word for two weeks or more. The One Word that would fight the Overwhelmed. And so I asked. And boom. There it was. The elusive thing I had been looking for, that I needed to get through whatever this year has to bring. That I had been lacking, losing for so long that I had forgotten what it even felt like. And yes, when the Word hit me in the chest, I cried. It was very Pentecostal up in that convention center for a few minutes. Davey just gave me that “awww, you’re so pregnant and hormonal!” squeeze that I’ve been getting A LOT lately and asked me what started the tears, and I managed to choke out that I had found my Word. And? That word is PASSION. That thing that keeps us pushing forward when we love something, when we really want something, when that something is so important that everything else fades. I used to be passionate about lots of things - crafting, cooking, decorating, taking a shower, my husband, my kids - but my passion for just about everything had completely evaporated over the last few years of babies and work and stress and just trying to get by. A life without passion is no life at all, but it was what I’d been living for so long. Fear and exhaustion and TOO MUCH had choked my Passion and buried it so deep that I wasn’t even sure I could find it again. Some days I’m still not sure if I have. But now that I know what’s missing, it gives me something to work for, and the apathy, the Overwhelmed, is getting smaller. Now, I’m not gonna lie. I’m still pregnant with twins, and exhausted, and I spend a lot of time just laying on the couch, but gosh darn it all, I’m doing it with Passion! I took on a fun crafting challenge - crocheting a 365-day scarf (I only have to crochet one line a day, so how hard can that be?!) - and I figure it’s going to take a lot of Passion to raise twins and a 3 year old AND a 4 year old, and no, every day is not going to be perfect and the Overwhelmed will creep in and I’ll want nothing more than to crawl into bed and wait for my kids to grow up and take care of themselves already, but then the passion will speak up, and remind me that I love these crazy kids, my beautiful family, and I’ll get out of bed, maybe even take a shower, and keep pushing on, because that’s what you do when you feel passionate about something. You give it all you’ve got, even when what you’ve got isn’t much. It's still enough. So. Here’s to a year of Passion.