When Parenting Feels Like You're in the Fire

I was born and raised here in rural Kansas. After college, God saw fit to bring me back here and it's where we have chosen to raise our family. Yes, it would be nice to have a Way-Mart closer than 45 minutes away but it's a trade off. I'm not afraid to let my teenagers roam through town with their friends and everything is literally within five minutes of my home. Bad traffic here usually means you've gotten behind a farmer in his combine on the way to or from the field. 

Every spring we watch as those farmers and ranchers burn their fields. Orange flames licking at the old grasses, gray smoke rising into the sky. While this can be a bit confusing for folks from the city or other parts of the country, small town Midwesterners know that these fields are set ablaze for their own good. The fire destroys the old, unnecessary, and unwanted while restoring the minerals and nutrients necessary for the land to thrive again. 

Parenting can sometimes feel like we have jumped right into the middle of the burning field. No fire-retardant suit, no fire extinguisher, without so much as a bucket of water. Just the horrible burning. And it's hard. It's hard to watch our babies, totally dependent on us, become teenagers, stretching and growing and *leaving* us. Needing us less. Becoming adults who are no longer dependent on us. How dare they? 

But looking at the long-term, we know that the fire is necessary. We must walk through it. Without the fire, the new life can't come. Without becoming less dependent on us, our kids can't grow into independent adults. If we allow their entire lives (and ours) to be fire-free, we will stifle their growth and nothing will grow as it should.

That doesn't mean that it's going to be easy. Being refined by the fire is never, ever painless. But just like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, we are not in the flames alone. God walks right with us through the hottest parts, protecting and teaching us as we go. And this fire that motherhood sometimes brings us to, this fire is NEVER, EVER out of His control. He has us right there, holding us as it rages. There is no better place to be. 

So, sweet momma who is going through the fire right now, know that the green is coming! The burn does not last forever and after it comes the beauty of new life! You - with God at your side and as your guide - can do this! 

Why I Don't Drink

What do a bunch of moms do when they get together? They talk about their kids and husbands while eating chocolate and drinking wine. Or sometimes painting while drinking wine and eating chocolate. Outside of Amish circles, it's pretty much the thing. Need proof? Check out numbers 10 and 11 on this Buzzfeed list. Or simply do a Google image search on moms and wine. You'll find a gazillion memes. Here are a few of my favorites.

Wine in a red solo cup . . . because trick-or-treating should be fun for moms, too.
I only drink wine on special occasions, like the days I have to do the laundry.
Being a mom makes me feel confident and sexy. No wait. That's wine. Wine does that.
The most expensive part of having kids is all the wine you have to drink.

Those all make me laugh but not from personal experience. Brace yourselves for the unbelievable. You ready for this? I don't drink, like not at all. I can count on three fingers the times I've had alcohol in my body.

1. A sip of my dad's beer when I was around six years old. The verdict? Beer is gross. Haven't had one since.
2. A sip of my mom's wine at a wedding a couple years later. Same verdict. Same result.
3. A couple of sips of some fruity drinks from the bar while in St Lucia for my wedding. They were nasty and the very last alcohol I ever tasted. That was over a decade and a half ago.

I try not to make my teetotaling a big deal if I'm hanging with a drinking crowd. But somehow, even if you're almost 40, it's still a shock to many if you don't drink. You get these kinds of responses.

Like, not at all?
Not even wine?
Never? Ever? 
Are you in AA?

A few weeks ago I was hanging with a group of moms, most with wine glasses in hand, and it came up. I didn't get the AA question, but I got the rest. I think a couple of them couldn't believe it. One girl even introduced me to her life-long bestie with, I have a friend who doesn't drink at all! Can you believe it?  It was hilarious. Another mom friend, who I've known for over 20 years, described me to the group as her most pious friend. I'm pretty sure she meant it as a compliment, in the sense of committed to her God and her religion. A genuinely good person, rather than the more commonly thought of holier than thou Bible thumping bitch. Like I said before, I'm pretty sure that's what she meant.

With all the questions, I felt like they wanted an answer; a reason that I don't drink. And even after 39 plus years, I still felt compelled to have a good one. And so I told them some of my reasons.

1. I grew up Assemblies of God in the 80s and 90s. Alcohol consumption went right along with smoking, gambling, R-rated movies, and social dancing on the list of activities that would take you straight to the Gates of Hell. So, pious as I was, when most others were testing boundaries and discovering hangovers, I didn't drink in high school. It was part of my identity and a part of my faith walk. I took pretty seriously the message of 1 Timothy 4:12 that says Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young but set the example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity. I was all about setting that example. Honestly, that still plays in for me.

2. I went to an AG college. To go there, I had to sign a Lifestyle Covenant that said I wouldn't partake in any of the afore mentioned Highway to Hell activities along with a few more. Drinking wasn't acceptable in my circle, even in college, and so I didn't do it then, either. By the time I graduated at age 21, I had already begun learning to live life as an adult without alcohol. It seemed like kind of a lame thing to start now that I was actually of legal age to do so.

3. I'm cheap. Alcohol costs money. I've never been willing to dish out that much for a drink. There have always been more important things to spend my money on. Like Twix and Skittles and Chap Stick.

That's what I told the moms. All of that is totally true but it's not the whole story.  I didn't list all of my reasons because no one wants to hear me talk that long and also because some of them can come off really judgmental or in that not-so-flattering "pious" way. Let me just clarify this for you: I'm not judging you or anyone else for drinking when I don't. We've all got our own stories and reasons and convictions. I really don't think less of anyone for a glass of wine (or a beer or a margarita or whatever. That is pretty much the entire list of alcoholic beverages I can name right there, so whatever.)

Second, although drunkenness makes me more than a little uncomfortable (more on that in point 4), I don't care if you have a drink or two when I'm around.

That said, here's my other reasons.

4. Drinking can make you do stupid and/or mean stuff. I don't think drunk people are funny or cute. I think they're scary and sad. A lot of that probably comes from a time when I was around 15 where someone very close to me ended up being taken to the hospital after running from the police while he was wasted. He's the only one who doesn't remember the night he got that scar on his arm. The rest of us will never forget.

How many times has alcohol been a factor in violent crime? In broken marriages? I've seen the fear in a wife's eyes when her husband comes home wasted and I've had happy drunks hit on me in front of their wives. I've seen people leave the bar together and not remember why the next day. Divorce. Regret. Abuse. Ruined careers. Not risks I'm willing to take with my life or my family. And I don't want to witness others in similar situations either.

5. I have an addictive personality. When I drink one Pepsi, I drink two. If more is around, I'll drink it all before I even realize it. Soda is bad enough. I don't want to risk that same behavior with something that alters my mind in much different ways than caffeine and sugar.

6. I don't want my kids to have problems with alcohol use. It may seem a bit cliche, but if you never take that first drink, you never become an alcoholic. As they grow, my kids will make their own choices and some of them may include drinking. I get that. But at least I can rest easy in the knowledge that they have seen in me an example of someone who doesn't need a drink to have fun or unwind. And that goes for the public school students I have taught and the kids I've taken to church camp, too. When the world tells them that everyone does it, they can know at least one person who doesn't.

My goal in this post isn't to win you over to my side, to make you feel bad, or to give you reasons why you shouldn't drink. It's simply to give you my perspective. To show you why I choose what I choose and to maybe help you understand me and those choices a little better. We don't have to choose all of the same things to be friends. We just have to choose to love each other, wine or no wine.

Say What?

You know how sometimes you just don't quite hear things right?

There's this country song out there that I heard a million times this summer but I just couldn't catch the lyrics. I just kept hearing, "Lego chicken rider beside me..." Turns out the real words were something more like "No other shotgun rider beside me." That makes more sense. Thanks, Tim McGraw, for not having a song about Lego chickens.

This happens to me a lot. And I'm not talking about just song lyrics.

When it's 6:30 and my husband asks what's for supper and I don't have anything planned, I don't hear a hardworking man who ate lunch 7 hours ago trying to figure out if he should make himself a sandwich. Nope, instead I hear him accusing me of being a lousy wife and mother.  He never says any such thing but I turn his words into something they aren't.

When a great friend encouragingly tells me that she thinks it's great that I signed up for an exercise class, I hear an added, "Because fat girls like you need to work out." It's never there. Never even implied, but I sometimes hear it.

I'm learning to ignore those things that aren't really there. Maybe one day I'll only hear things the way they are actually said, in the tone and spirit they are meant in. That will be a good day. Until it comes, I need to remind myself that just like Lego chickens, such negativity from those who love me makes no sense. And if it doesn't make sense, there's a good chance I'm hearing it wrong.

There's No Crying In Baseball

You guys. Seriously. I don't cry over sporting events. Rarely do I have enough invested in a team to care enough to have an emotional response to wins or losses. Even when my own kids are playing, I can usually shrug things off with an "It's just a game" attitude.

As Tom Hanks so famously said it in "A League of Their Own," "There's no crying in baseball!" But this year, I have cried over the Kansas City Royals more than once. How could I not?

I grew up here in Kansas. And yes, the Royals are technically from Missouri, but no one here cares about that. The Royals are our team. I was just a kid in 1985, when they won it all, and I grew up with George Brett and Bret Saberhagen as my heroes. For a while, I had a dream of becoming the first girl to catch for the team. Considering that I won't even catch for my 11 year old son now, there is no way I would have ever been able to make that happen, but every kid growing up has a dream and wearing the blue and white was one of mine.

My dad watched the games and he even took me to my first MLB game. I was somewhere around 10 years old. We had cheap seats, high above left field. The Royals played the Yankees. I don't remember who won or lost that day, but I do remember looking out across the stadium at the flags and seeing the World Series Champs 1985 flag proudly flying.

I haven't been to a lot of games in my life. We're a couple hours from KC and growing up, my family didn't spend a lot of money on such frivolous things as attending Major League Baseball games. But if you asked us, we were Royals fans. We wore George Brett jerseys and had his autograph on our gloves. He was our favorite because he was great, but also because he was loyal. He spent his entire career in Kansas City and the love he had for the team and for the town were evident. For what it's worth, seeing him be excited about the Boys in Blue this year was a total bonus.

One day, in the fall of my senior year of high school, my dad spontaneously picked me, my sister and my friend, Laurie, up from school. He drove us the two hours to Kaufman Stadium and bought us tickets to George's final home game. Watching one of my childhood heroes round the bases a final time (in a golf cart, no less) is one of the best memories I have with my dad.

A few years later, I married into a big sports family. Unlike me, they're not native Kansans, but since he's been here for most of his life, Vance faithfully cheers for Kansas City sports teams.

We gave up cable over a decade ago but Vance has faithfully listened to the Royals on AM radio for years. This year he was able to live stream the playoff series for just $10. Like most KC fans, he can't stand the TV announcers, so he mutes them and still listens to the radio. Because of this, we don't watch together. I can't stand that high pitched hum that comes with AM radio but he doesn't even seem to hear it. So this year, I "watched" the games on my phone, via the MLB Live Update. I always knew when to check the score, as I could hear Vance screaming, "Yes!" on the good plays and "NOOOOOO!" on the bad. For the first time in a long time, there were more yeses than nos. More often than not, those games lasted way past bedtime and my poor husband went to work tired but happy.

My husband loves sports, but 2014 was a big year for my oldest son, too. This year, he decided that baseball is his sport and for the first time, was a part of a competitive traveling team. The confidence it built in him was phenomenal. He also played in our local rec league, which was another great experience for him. This summer, after playing for six years, my son fell in love with baseball. In July, he attended his first two MLB games on back to back nights at The K. It was perfect. That first night, the Royals took the lead in the division. They won again the next day, and E was there to see it. Those games solidified his love for baseball and he'll be a Royals fan for life.

For the last two weeks, my kids and I have walked around the house, the park and the supermarket singing the Matthew West version of "Royals." If you haven't seen it yet, you need to.



Did you see that catch Moose made where he literally fell into the stands? He says he never touched the ground. The Royals fans weren't about to let that happen.

And then there's Salvy Perez, who started an amazing 158 games this year. As catcher. There's no quit in that boy. (I say boy because he's like 24 years old. I'm almost 40, so that makes him practically a preschooler in my eyes. That's how it goes when you get old.)

There are a thousand more reasons to love the 2014 Royals. Try this link for some of them. I don't think you can read it and walk away anything but a fan.

So, while I didn't even think of crying when they lost, I did shed a couple of tears watching highlight reels. This is the team we've waited decades for. These are tears of joy and pride. Thank you, Kansas City Royals. You were worth the wait.

Kelsy Crutchfield's Busy Busy Life

I just read an advice blog that said, "Stay home as much as possible.  Not having to be running all the time is a gift you can give your children."  Sounds like good advice.

And you know what?  It probably is.  For some people.  For some seasons.  But right now, my life is pretty busy.  And by pretty busy, I mean it's full to bursting!  We have baseball, VBS, church, scouts, friends, family, parties, sleepovers, dance class, summer camp, swimming pools, and a million other things.  And you know what?  I LOVE IT. There are days when we all just need a break from it.  And we take those.  We stay at home and in our pajamas for entire weekends when it's necessary.  But for the most part, we are a family of goers.  We leave the house and we live our lives in this crazy, messed-up, lovely world.

I love this busy life.  It's crazy but I have no doubt that it's right where we need to be.

It's hours in the van, countless dollars in gas, and a lot of time away from home.  It's breakfast at McDonald's and supper at Pizza Hut.  It's hard to get the laundry done and impossible to even think about meal planning.  It's exhausting.

But it's also hours in the van with my family.  Conversations we might not have otherwise.  Time when we can't get away from each other and life gets real.

It's hot days on hard bleachers building relationships with people we have come to love.  It's being a part of our community and supporting each other.  It's carpooling and helping each other out.  It's sharing sunflower seeds and taking pictures together. It's building friendships that will last well past this season.

It's 90 degrees out and kids on a slip and slide.  It's moms drinking Pepsi in the shade and sharing their lives together.  Water gun fights and learning how to deal with people. Greeting the new neighbors with smiles and chatting with the ones who have lived close for years.

It's life lessons and disappointments.  Winning, losing, not getting to play, making the great catch.  They're all important things to experience, both for our kids and for us as parents.  Scraped knees and kisses on boo-boos. Not getting the water gun you wanted and having to wait your turn to run down the slide.

It's teaching kids, my own and those in my community, to live life in a way that reflects the love of Jesus.  It's showing that following Christ happens not just in a "church," but in our everyday lives as well.

It's serving others.  Staying an extra 15 minutes so that someone else doesn't have to stay an extra two hours. It's dropping by with a casserole and sending a card to friend who is struggling.

My life?  It's busy.  It's crazy.  It's exhausting.  And I wouldn't change a thing.

Off to the Vet

So, the other day I decided that I needed to take my dog to the vet to get his shots.  They were, after all, due in December.  It was February 28 and I thought I would bite the bullet and take him in.  Why the delay, you ask?

Well, you see . . . Flash has this thing about getting in the car.  Once upon a time he used to like it but now that I won't let him sit in the front seat and hang his head out the window it's a different story.  Don't think I'm awful, but when he was a puppy he jumped out of my arms and out the window of our moving car.  Since then, I've never trusted him to be smart enough not to fall out and I just don't think I could handle it if I ran him over.  So I don't let him hang out the car window.  And he hates that.

So....Friday we have an appointment with the vet.  It's just short of a 20 minute drive.  And the dog howls the entire time.  I am not even exaggerating.  The. entire. time.  Even better, my four year old decided to "sing along," so we got the full stereo effect.  Big E and I could not stop laughing.

My daughter, however, who had her ears closest to the canine symphony, was less than impressed, as you can see by the photographic evidence I captured that day.

As horrible as this excursion was, this still wasn't as bad as when we had to take him in last summer.  He'd slipped a disc in his back and I thought he was dying.  He wouldn't move and the howling started at home.  I hauled his 50 plus pound beagle butt into the van and he continued to serenade us with the music of his people as I pulled out of the driveway.  Lucky us, there was summertime road construction on the highway and no way to evade it.  Even luckier, we managed to be first in line for the wait for the pilot car.  Yep.  We had to sit, looking at the highway worker holding the stop sign, for 15 entire minutes.  Like that's not awkward enough without Flash baying like he's on the scent of the world's largest rabbit.  The poor guy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  Honestly, neither did I.  About ten minutes in, or maybe it was only two, either way, it felt like we had been sitting there for hours, I let my then nine year old son walk the dog along the side of the highway in a construction zone.  Because, you know, at the time it seemed safer than leaving me in the car with that insane beagle.

Like my sister says, "that dog is a mess."  And oh, my goodness, he is.  He is a mess.  A giant food stealing, stinky eared, gets up on the furniture when he's not supposed to and drives my mother crazy mess. But he's almost 14 years old and I think his days are numbered.  He's totally deaf and mostly blind already.  But he still follows me from room to room and sits at my feet.  He whimpers until I pet him and if he gets out, I'm worried out of my mind until he comes home.  He's my dog and even though I hate to admit it, I love the smelly, bratty beast that he is.

One day, long from now, my kids will recall their childhoods and tell my grandchildren of that crazy mess of a dog that howled the entire way to the vet.  Every. single. time.  And they will laugh and they will smile and they will know that they share something that only their mother and their siblings can fully understand.  And they'll laugh again and tell their children that "Flash was a good dog. . ." most of the time.

My Miscarriage Story

A while back a blog post was circulating on Facebook.  It's an incredibly personal story that challenges pro-life people to reevaluate the way they handle women (and men) who experience loss through miscarriage differently than they do the loss of life from an abortion.  It's worth the read.  In fact, go read it now, then come back and read the rest of this post.  

I didn't click the link the first couple of times I saw this because I didn't think it would apply to me.  I am pro-life and I've had a miscarriage but I didn't know the direction the author was going to take with this post.  I just thought...I don't know what I thought, really, but I didn't feel compelled to read it.  And then today, I did.  And whoa.  I should have better prepared myself for the mental onslaught that ensued.  

After reading this blog from Mrs. Lewis, I sat in front of my computer just bawling my eyes out, filled with the pain of my own experience with miscarriage. 

Just a few days after Christmas 2008, we lost a baby, or at least the hope of a baby.  The doctor told me that I probably wasn't really pregnant, but body thought I was...there's some medical term for that happening that I don't remember. I've never known how to deal with that part of my experience. I was 12 weeks along. 

Because of some incredibly serious complications, I ended up in the ICU and nearly died. The single scariest moment of my life was when my heart rate dropped down into the 30-50 range for the fourth time in an hour and I knew I was going to have another seizure.  I remember looking at my husband and telling him to make sure the kids (we had three under age six at the time) knew that their mom had loved them.  I meant it and I really didn't think that I would get the chance to tell them myself. By the grace of God and the skills of the correct doctor that was finally called in, within a few very long days, I was able to come home and hold my babies in my own arms, to whisper my love to them in my own voice.

My parents were there.  My in-laws and my sister rushed to see me.  People from my church came.  In the days and weeks that followed, they brought us more food than we could even eat.  They loved on us and did all that they knew to do to make life easier for me as I recovered from a horrific ordeal.  They were amazing and wonderful and a blessing that I still treasure today.  So very many people prayed for me during that time and so many worked to meet our physical needs that I’m sure I don’t even know them all.  I have rarely felt so much love as I did during the weeks after my hospital stay.

People were taking care of and praying for ME, my 30 something self, but really most people barely acknowledged that we had lost a baby, a life, a person. There was one nurse in Topeka that I remember.  I was in over the New Year and the hospital was packed.  I'd been moved from the ICU to the PCU and she hadn't yet had time to read my chart.  When she asked me why I was there, I told her. She immediately stopped what she was doing and said, "I am so sorry.  Do you need anything?  Do you want me to get someone for you to talk to?"  She was the first and the last of the medical staff to do so.  That was my second day there.  No one else there spoke of the baby or my loss again.  The emotional aspects of the miscarriage didn't matter at all.  The only thing that mattered was my current physical condition.  And I understand why.  It was bad.  It was "I almost died" bad.  As horrible as that was, someone else did die.  Not just almost, but totally, even before drawing a first breath.  My baby died that day.

I had a dear friend who came to the hospital and brought with her a small statuette of an angel holding a baby. On the bottom she wrote, “Baby Crutchfield 2008.” 

At the time, I didn’t know what to do with it or how to respond.  I don’t remember what I did when she gave it to me.  But in the five years that have passed since then, I have more than once sat crying, holding that small figurine. It's the only tangible link I have to tie that pregnancy to the rest of my world.  Had I seen it in a store or at someone’s home, I wouldn’t have looked twice.  It isn’t the kind of thing I normally would go for but because of the circumstances surrounding my receiving it, it has become one of my most valued treasures.

There were others who acknowledged the loss, I'm sure, but I just don't remember. I was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally.  Overall, the extreme nature of my own medical problems allowed us to practically bypass the loss of our baby.

Even my husband and I grieved separately; alone. It was too hard to talk about and it was so busy, with three kids who were so little and me just trying to recover, that even I blocked out the thing that had landed me in the hospital to begin with. No one else talked about it, so I didn't either. If they tried, I just told them that I was fine and let myself believe that it was true.  I simply didn’t think about the baby we had lost. 

But every once in a while, when I read something like the story on The Lewis Note blog or hear someone's story of loss, it brings all of those suppressed feelings to the surface. And I sit and mourn the loss of a child I never held in my arms; a child whose face I never saw, a child to whom I never gave a name because that would have been too weird.

I never know how to count my children. Is my baby boy my fourth or fifth child?  When I talk about being pregnant, I know I was pregnant 5 times, but is it worth explaining to complete stranger or a new acquaintance why I only have four kids with me at the park? Is it horrible for me not to acknowledge that precious life that once dwelled in my womb simply because it is easier than explaining my loss? 

Adding another layer to those feelings is the fact that I honestly don't even know if my baby actually existed. The doctor told me that my body lied to itself and tricked me into thinking I was pregnant when I wasn’t.  This has always been a struggle for me to accept.  I don’t know if it is true. I know that I lost a lot of blood and tissue before I went to the hospital and that I was too afraid to look at it for fear of the worst.  I know that I felt sorry for the sonogram tech working the ER that cold December morning.  She didn’t want to tell me there was no baby but we both knew what we weren’t seeing on the screen.  I do know that the HOPE of that child was once very much ALIVE. And I know that the pain of losing that child, even if it was only the hope of a life, is real and long lasting.

Tonight as I watch my living children, I am reminded that if our miscarried baby had survived, our youngest child would not have been born.  He was conceived three months after our loss, over three months before our other baby would have been born.  There is no way that they could both exist.  But here he is, giggling with his big brothers, dancing with his big sister, snuggling with me in my chair and wrestling with his daddy.  He is here and he is loved.  No, he doesn’t make up for the child we lost and I don’t think of him as a replacement child.  He is an extra special blessing all his own.

As I write this, I know that there are hundreds, thousands of women who have felt the loss that I have.  Some of them once, some twice and some more times than I could probably handle.  To those women, I say this. I am so sorry, Sister.  I am sorry that you are going through this.  It is hard and it is painful and it is not, no matter what people tell you, God’s will.  He does not hate you nor is He punishing you.  The wages of sin is death.  Because of the sins of humans, death became a part of our world. We can’t change that.  But we can know that there is hope in Jesus.  I know that I will one day rest in His arms and if there was a life growing inside me, he will introduce us.  On that day, I will hold my unborn child close and whisper to him or her, “Momma loves you.  Momma has always loved you.”

The Thief of Joy

I've noticed something about myself that I'm not proud of.  (Okay, that's not entirely accurate.  I've noticed LOTS of things about myself that fall into this category.  But for the sake of today's post, let's just focus on one, shall we?)  Here it is:

It is really hard for me listen to someone speak well of their 
choices without feeling like I have to defend mine.

When my foodie friends talk about eating well, instead of being happy for them, I feel the need to defend my apathy on the issue.  Instead of hearing them say how they feel better when they eat better and how cutting out wheat/dairy/food dyes/whatever has helped their child's ability to focus, I make excuses and can even start to feel like they are attacking me because I feed my kids processed chicken nuggets.  I hear them telling me that I'm a bad mother.  A fat, bad mother.  Let me be clear here, they are saying no such thing.  They aren't talking about me at all.  I'm just narcissistic enough to make it all about me when it's not.

It's bad enough that I feel this way with the foodies but the other day I felt this way when someone was telling me the things she likes about her church.  Instead of hearing how God was working in her life I heard "We do this better than you do.  We are better than you.  You suck and so does your church."  Again, she said no such thing, but I had to bite my lip and force a smile to avoid getting defensive.  I was getting defensive because her church did something well that mine struggles with a little bit.  Um...that hit me like a ton of bricks.  Even as she was talking, a war was waging in my head about how stupid my internal dialogue was.   My church does lots of things well.  What kind of person thinks like that?  Turns out, it's me.  I'm the kind of person who thinks like that.  Boo!  I don't want to be that person.

My response is a direct reflection of my own insecurities.  When I hear "You're a fat, bad mom.  You suck," that voice isn't someone else's, it's my own.  It's me knowing that making better food choices would make for a healthier family.  It's acknowledging that there are issues in my church that are less than perfect; that there are areas in my life that I really do suck at.  But mostly, it's fear.  It's fear that I am a failure.  Fear that someone else is doing it better.  Fear that I am not doing enough.  Fear that I am not enough.

Am I alone in this?  I doubt it.  When people find out that we homeschool, so many of them jump straight to the "I wish I could do that but I'm not smart/patient/you-name-it enough" line.  We don't homeschool because we want others to feel bad about sending their kids to public school.  We homeschool because it's right for our family.  Would I love it if more of our friends shared our vision and journeyed with us on this road called home education?  Of course!  I would welcome them with open arms and support them in all ways I could.  Do I look down on my friends and family that have made a different choice?  Absolutely not, but I'm afraid that sometimes, unintentionally, I have made people feel that way because I have spoken passionately about a choice our family is happy with that has nothing to do with them.

When my friend decided to eat healthier, she did it for her family, not for mine.  When my friend decided to go to a church that values things differently than mine does, she did it for her family, not for mine.  That I somehow make these things about me is ridiculous.  

I read a great quote somewhere. (Probably on Pinterest, because you know, that time-sucker has drawn me in.  I have a great board full of hilariousness.  You can follow me if you've already entered the vortex.  If not, run away, run fast, before Pinterest gets you, too.) 

Here's the thing. Somewhere on the planet, someone is doing it better than I am.  Someone is also doing it worse.  It doesn't matter what "it" is.  I will never, ever, get it all together.  I am not enough.  Alone in my thoughts, I will always be an insecure, fat, bad mom.  Only when I take captive every thought will I be able to live a life that is free from such comparisons. Only then will I be able to live the life I was meant to live.  I have yet to arrive, but it's a journey I've at least started.

Comparison is the thief of joy.  Don't let it steal yours.

Love, Hate and the Chikin Sandwich

I love Chick-fil-A.  I have since the very first time I heard my Aunt Leslie order a "breaded chicken sandwich with pickles and mustard only" while on a trip to Texas when I was a kid.  At that time, most Chick-fil-A restaurants were still south of the Mason-Dixon line and like Big Red soda and Blue Bell ice cream, I was only privy to their Southern greatness every couple of years during trips to visit my grandparents in the Lone Star State.  

Without a doubt, Chick-fil-A has THE BEST chicken sandwich in America.  And who doesn't love the waffle fries and lemonade?  Those Southern folks also love the sweet tea.  Being born north of the Mason-Dixon, it's not my cup of - well - tea, but since they sell it by the gallon, I'm pretty sure it's a hit with some folks.  It's always "my pleasure" to eat there.  They have great food and great service. 

I loved them WAY before I realized that they were owned by Christians.  In fact, I didn't even realize that until I was an adult and saw that they were giving away Adventures in Odyssey CDs in their kids meals.  Sweet!  Once I realized this (and that they're not open on Sundays, even though they could be making MILLIONS more a year if they were), I realized that it's my duty as a Christian to love Chick-fil-A.  Jon Acuff pretty much said so and he certainly knows about Stuff Christians Like.

Fast-forward to today.  Chick-fil-A has been making headlines, not because they give away thousands of free meals to people in cow costumes, but because one of their owners, who has never hidden his faith or his convictions, told a Baptist newspaper that he supports a "biblical definition of the family unit."

   Some have opposed the company's support of the traditional family. "Well, guilty as charged," said Cathy when asked about the company's position.

"We are very much supportive of the family -- the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives. We give God thanks for that."

Somehow, those tiny little paragraphs at the end of the interview sparked a firestorm of controversy and have somehow made Cathy, and all who agree with him,  now unwelcome by high ranking and high profile politicians in New York City, Chicago and Philadelphia.  

Here's the thing.  This is probably not going to shock those of you who know me, but I personally agree with Cathy. I'm "very much supportive of the...biblical definition of the family unit."  Don't stone me yet, okay, there's more.  I'm a follower of Christ.  You know, Jesus, the guy who when asked, said that the greatest commandments were 

“‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.' The entire law and all the demands of the prophets are based on these two commandments.”

Jesus said I am to love people?  Even *gulp* gay people?  Yep.  In fact, we, the Church, are to strive to be like Christ, welcoming others so that they may know Him as well.  Last week there was a great little church bulletin that said it very well.  In case you missed it, here's what it said.

We extend a special welcome to those who are single, married, divorced, gay, filthy rich, dirt poor, yo no habla Ingles. We extend a special welcome to those who are crying new-borns, skinny as a rail or could afford to lose a few pounds.

We welcome you if you can sing like Andrea Bocelli or like our pastor who can’t carry a note in a bucket. You’re welcome here if you’re “just browsing,” just woke up or just got out of jail. We don’t care if you’re more Catholic than the Pope, or haven’t been in church since little Joey’s Baptism.

We extend a special welcome to those who are over 60 but not grown up yet, and to teenagers who are growing up too fast. We welcome soccer moms, NASCAR dads, starving artists, tree-huggers, latte-sippers, vegetarians, junk-food eaters. We welcome those who are in recovery or still addicted. We welcome you if you’re having problems or you’re down in the dumps or if you don’t like “organized religion,” we’ve been there too.

If you blew all your offering money at the dog track, you’re welcome here. We offer a special welcome to those who think the earth is flat, work too hard, don’t work, can’t spell, or because grandma is in town and wanted to go to church.

We welcome those who are inked, pierced or both. We offer a special welcome to those who could use a prayer right now, had religion shoved down your throat as a kid or got lost in traffic and wound up here by mistake. We welcome tourists, seekers and doubters, bleeding hearts … and you!

I think that for many Christians I know, when it really comes down to it, we want to agree with the above statements but aren't really sure what it looks like to do so.  We know that we're supposed to love our neighbors but are afraid that if we socialize with lesbians or gamblers that we'll be labeled as "wishy-washy" "sinners," or worse yet, "liberals."  At the same time, we're afraid to call sin "sin" for fear that we'll be known as "intolerant," "hate-mongers," "unintelligent" or just plain "un-American."  We want to show love to our neighbors without compromising our beliefs.  How in the world is that possible?  

What I see in the Bible is a God who came down from Heaven with a furious love for his people and a deep desire to have personal, meaningful relationship with them.  The Jesus shown to us in the New Testament called sin "sin" and took his meals with "sinners."  He loved.  He rebuked.  He was personally vested in those around him.  He didn't stand on a corner with a sign condemning anyone.  He was perfect, without sin.

I will never, in this life, be perfect.  My sins are many.  Some are hidden, others are right out there for the world to see.  I will fall many, many more times before my days on this earth are over.  Though imperfect, I am a seeker of Truth, a friend of God, and a lover of his people.  I will continue to do my best to follow his example; building real, meaningful relationships with his creation.  Only then can I truly love.  Only then can I rebuke.  Only when I have a personal, vested interested in others does my opinion on anything matter.  I will not be standing on a corner or in a restaurant condemning anyone.  

When I "eat mor chickin," (and I will be gobbling up breaded chicken sandwiches with pickles and honey mustard whenever I have the chance) there is no "thinly veiled hate" in my action.  There is no "I love you, but..." in my affection for waffle fries.  There is only a longing in my heart to be more like Christ and to somehow reflect the love he has shown me into the lives of those I encounter while on my journey to eternity.  That and a longing for a tall glass of lemonade to wash down the waffle fries.

Nine Things I Hope to Teach My Kids

1. I'm on their side.

No matter who knocks them down, no matter how much they fail, and even when I'm disappointed in their choices, I still want them to succeed.  I'm still on their team.  I ALWAYS want them to win, even if winning doesn't look the way they (or I) thought it would.

2. God is on their side, too.
He's not some big, angry, rule-making hater up in the sky.  He's their Creator and He loves them even more than I do.  He's on their team.  He ALWAYS wants them to win, even if winning doesn't look the way they (or I) thought it would.

3. There is no greater character trait than integrity.
And there is nothing that turns people off more than being a hypocrite.  Our yes must be yes and our no must be no. We must say what we mean and mean what we say.  Even in the little "gray" areas of life, we must choose honesty, not allowing even a hint of untruthfulness.  

4. It's okay to ask questions (and to expect answers).
Sometimes it's so tempting just to say "Because it is," when my kids ask "Why?" for the 5,234th time in two hours. Or to leave things as "I don't know," when asked how a toaster works or why the Jewish people reject Jesus as the Messiah. By encouraging curiosity and showing them how to find answers, I'm equipping them for life.  Because life is just full of questions.

5. Be grateful.
Not just for the big things, but for the little things, too.  I want my kids to routinely show appreciation for those people who enrich their lives; teachers, coaches, friends, family, strangers.  Thank you notes are incredibly important and so is simply saying the words "thank you," repeatedly and sincerely.  

6. Do your best.
It's all you can do. Sometimes it won't be enough.  Hopefully those times will be few and far between. 

7. People are important.  
All people.  Thin people.  Popular people.  Ugly people.  Fat people.  Drop-dead gorgeous people. Conservatives and Liberals.  People with light skin and people with dark skin.  Nice people, grumpy people, and people who can't sing.  Spanish language speakers and those who communicate with clicks and grunts.  Babies yet to be born and seniors in their final years. People who think like me and people who don't. 

8. Respect must sometimes be given even if it has not been earned.
This can be so hard, especially when respect doesn't appear to be deserved. It's tough to respect the teacher who thinks humiliation is the same as discipline, the coach who doesn't give you a chance at the position you want, the politician you disagree with or the policeman who writes you a ticket for driving five over.  Teaching them to value the person over the action and to show proper respect for the position of authority is tough, but it's a goal we're striving for.

9. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Small things like letting your brother chose which movie to watch, feeding the dog (when it's not even your turn), helping carry groceries or moving someone's furniture turn into bigger things like building wells for the thirsty in Liberia, saving victims of human trafficking in Cambodia and preventing history from repeating itself in the American South.  Packing shoeboxes full of goodies for kids in third world countries is more rewarding than opening a slew of new toys on your birthday. 

Farewell to Fishy

This is Fishy, our first ever betta fish. 

He was a gift from Ms Kelly, EZ's VBS teacher a couple summers ago.

Welcome to 2011

Happy New Year!

It's resolution time and I have an long, long list of things I'd like to do in the coming year.
In no particular order, here's a few.

• weigh less than 200 pounds
• read my Bible more regularly
• get some much needed "me time"
• get a passport and have it stamped at least once
• start the long and tedious process of digging us out of debt
• be a better mom; less screaming, more hugging
• be a better homeschooler
• read more books
• blog more regularly
• actually pray for everyone that asks me to
• send sympathy cards when someone I know loses a loved one
• laugh more
• find a group of women that I'm comfortable with and together do things that don't involve our kids
• do something fun with my kids at least once a day
• mean what I say
• spend less time on-line and more time in real life
• create a 40 before 40 list
• write a book for each of my children (I already have Ezra's planned out)
• exercise at least 30 minutes 3-4 days a week
• have all of my children sleep in their own rooms on a regular basis

I have no idea how  many, if any, of these things I will actually achieve this year.  Realistically, very few.  But I think that by naming them at least I'm one step closer than I was yesterday.

What's on your list for 2011?