That's So Weird!

When I was a child, there were certain words and phrases that set my red headed temperament exploding.  One of the times this was most evident was on the grassy fields during recess.   It was on these fields that I heard from the lips of those testosterone filled boys bombs like, “fireball”, “Annie”, and the most hated, “red headed Woody Woodpecker”.  These words pushed the buttons those ornery boys so desired to push and my reactions to these emotional charges were felt all the way down into my skinny white, freckled legs with energy that could possibly rival that of the atomic bomb.  I was on a mission.  It did not waver.  Chase the boy whose mouth uttered the detestable vile and reply with some sort of unplanned physical force.  The so desired reaction had been achieved.

Other phrases and scenarios made me respond more implosively, like when some kid told me my belt was a boy’s belt and the fact that I was wearing it somehow made me want to be a boy.  Another time would be when my mom made me a great sandwich for lunch that was stacked with fresh deli meat, a slice of cheese, lettuce and a slice of juicy tomato complete with mustard and mayo.  Some joker kid sitting next to me spied my unusually large sandwich.   He was only able, or so it seemed, to announce to all the students at the other 10 lunch tables how gross and disgusting my sandwich appeared.  I was a little hungrier for dinner that night.

The words that were probably the most difficult for me to handle were the words, “How weird!” and “You are so weird!”  That would send me to the office in tears for sure and there was a definite plan to be out of hearing distance from the person who spoke them.  I think that weird was repeated the most to my ears for whatever thing it was.  My clothes were weird, my hair was weird, my food was weird, I walked weird.  You know how it goes.  You hear something enough and you start believing it is true of your being.  Weird still does not resonate well with me, though I am thankful I can be confident in Christ and the truth of God’s Word.

Fast forward about 25 years, and I find myself watching my son as he goes to school.  I think often about how different his life is.  He rides to school with mom.  I walked from the babysitter.  He’s learning a foreign language in hardcore emersion style plus another class for French, and, oh yeah, he speaks English at home.  Only English for me!   He has a tutor and a decent amount of homework, and I had none.  He carries a whole book bag filled with textbooks, workbooks, notebooks, art supplies, lunch and his jacket.  I just needed lunch.  There are a myriad of differences between his childhood and mine. 

One difference that I am thankful for is the opportunities for us to get out of town.  We have been able to find some affordable places to stay that provide ample opportunity to go snorkeling, build sand castles and swim around in the pool.  We have also recently discovered the several areas available for camping within a four hours drive.  We took this one opportunity to go camping at the beginning of October with a couple of other families and their kids.  My son just so happens to have a crush on one of the girls that came along.  He took every opportunity he could to be with her (which meant there was a lot of great rock climbing involved).  One evening after dinner we were getting our s’mores supplies out.  Judge was wearing his ultra cool “camping” pants that zipped off to turn into shorts.  The girl that he played with all week had not recalled seeing anything like this before to which she promptly retorted, “That’s so weird!” which sent me directly back to elementary school and the pain was beginning to form in my heart until I heard from Judge, “They’re not weird.   They’re AWESOME.  THEY’RE CAMPING PANTS!”  And a smile radiated across his face as he ran off with the girl to the bonfire to get warm.  I could hear him laughing like the weird statement was the silliest thing he’s heard yet.  And my memories were suddenly forgotten.

So What! of the Environment

I go grocery shopping every week.  It’s a basic and common chore of the mother figure in the house and I accept it and expected to have this role in my family.  So, when you are the one with this role, you start thinking a lot about food and a lot about trash and a lot about cleaning.  Typically the one who is buying the food is also the one cooking the food and for very small children also the one cleaning up the food.  I see the amount of trash I put outside my door everyday.  A full garbage bag…everyday.  Now, granted they are 10-13 gallon size bags, but that is still 10-13 gallons of trash everyday from my own family.  When I noticed my neighbors put one grocery bag of trash outside their door, I started wondering, why do I have so much trash?  How do they have so little trash?  And suddenly I became embarrassed at my American consumerism and pretending like my life has no effect on this earth.  Then I looked around some more and started realizing…I hardly see any public trash barrels….there is trash scattered all over the streets and in every empty lot of land that could one day be an apartment building…it’s a mini land fill and all the surrounding garbage finds its home there until the construction crew arrives.  I’ve watched kids in neighboring buildings look around to see if anyone is looking before they drop their soda can 2 stories down to the ground and turn around and close the window.  I have friends who had a great porch right outside their basement apartment living room, only to have it become the building’s refuse heap.  I have witnessed more soda cans, cigarette butts, tissues, wrappers, grocery bags, etc., being accidently “dropped” out of the car window it’s enough to make the worst foe of the tree huggers become a team with them because of the common enemy…careless wastefulness.   Us folks over yonder make jokes about the white and the black national birds on any occasion that might present the opportunity….the black grocery bag and the white grocery bag.  My trash bags are bigger because I throw a lot more stuff away but also because my trash actually goes in the garbage can.

I am generally a foe to the aforementioned tree huggers and all their groupies.  Mostly because it seems to be more about fame, influence and power rather than taking care of the earth.  I also feel like these people place more significance on the importance of the earth than we have the power to control, and  the people of the earth are not always but generally forgotten, those beings whom God made in His own image and likeness.  I do believe in keeping things clean, in order and not being wasteful.  I am a strong believer in recycling those bottles, cans and paper goods.  But, I believe people are more important, so that takes priority as I trust God to sustain this earth (Check out Colossians 1).  But, he also made man to have dominion over the earth (Genesis 2), so there is that responsibility to care for it.  Since I’ve moved over the ocean, environmental care has become more important to me as I continue to see such careless behavior being demonstrated. I have also found myself being thankful for the work of those environmentalists who have put a lot of work into educating us about recycling, cleaning up after yourself and responsibly inhabiting this planet.

One of our local grocery stores is from France and has several markets all over Europe and now in the Middle East.  I frequently visit it as the prices are great and my needs are often adequately supplied here.  They are even environmentally sensitive!  I was on their website and discovered that all their own packaging and materials have what is good and great for the environment in mind.  They also encourage reusable shopping bags.  They partnered with a bank to give away reusable bags to every costumer for a whole week (of which I took part).  I have recently purchased 3 more of these bags realizing it would normally hold most of my groceries and keep those pesky plastic bags from circulating the winds of the city at a later date.  I brought these bags back to the store, knowing I would encounter many stares and “What in the world is she doing?” looks.  I did my shopping and at the checkout I put those bags in front of all my groceries so it would be easier for the boy to pack them up.  After I got everything on the belt and paid for my purchases I looked at my cart.  It was filled with plastic shopping bags!  What?  Where were my very responsible reusable shopping bags that I specifically purchased to use at this grocery store?  I asked the bag boy where they were.  He said he didn’t know….that’s what he said.  I found them, all folded up nicely and sitting inside one of their own pesky plastic grocery bags!!!!!!!!!!  Oh, the irony of trying to be a responsible citizen!  Does this employee even know what these bags are for? I highly doubt it!

The Trauma of a Holiday

I never ever ever dreamed in my most clouded dreams that the very sustenance of my flesh would be stripped away by the almighty pen of the government.   So when I surrendered “everything” to move across the ocean I didn’t really think of food, my own daily food, being a part of that.  Obviously, food is included in “all” things being surrendered, but most people don’t really think about what “all” means until some of the “all” they didn’t think of comes into play. 

I knew about Ramadan.  I knew it meant 30 days of fasting.  I also knew I was not bound to that thanks to the awesome grace of God.  I am not forced to go without food because I do not live under those presuppositions of this worldview.  I fast when it is necessary in my own personal relationship with the Almighty Creator because He doesn’t force us to show our dedication to him.  He waits for us to show it, because it is an expression of his pure love and patience in the lives of his children and he didn’t want a bunch of robots, or we would all be forced into perfect obedience which wouldn’t really be obedience at all, but that’s a side note from my current issue.

Thirty days of fasting that is enforced by the law!  You really can be arrested for eating in public during sunlight hours during the month of fasting.  Restaraunts won’t dare serve you any food.  Fear is a pretty decent motivator in these here parts and 99% of the population are avid slaves to the four letter word aforementioned.  Chewing gum is out of the question.  People won’t even swallow their own spit for the 12 hours of light!  Though I’ve wondered how many people actually accomplish this task.  I mean, come on, how easy is it to hide a little swallow throughout the day and still feel like you are so righteous.

This activity, the fasting, directly effects my life.  I occasionally like to take my children to the Golden Arches for the perfectly crunchy nuggets and fries.  But they can’t wait until 8o’clock at night to eat dinner.  I even tried the drive thru thinking that since we are not eating at the restaurant (which is in public) and taking it home they might actually be open, but did I get the gigantic flag down.  They practically tossed my car out onto the street to leave us for the vultures.  I realize I was there for lunch, a little early on that eating schedule….but what were they all doing 8 hours before anyone in the nation was allowed to eat a bite of food?  Does it take a regular days work to clean up from the night before?

Date night is the worst during this month.  I get so hungry by 6pm.  But sundown doesn’t happen until 7!  By the time the sitter arrives and we’re out, we’re still 45 minutes early and nothing is open yet….so we drive around town, go shopping or we drive around some more.  You’d think it would be difficult to get into a restaurant at 7’oclock, and it is, but I’ve learned it takes a person who has been starving themselves all day to eat buffalo wings, a steak with baked potato and a gigantic chocolate and ice cream dessert in ½ hour, it almost makes you wonder about eating disorders!  But by the time the table is cleaned off and they realize other people who haven’t been fasting all day but are currently starving are actually waiting to eat when the rest of the nation and Muslim world is finished, it’s been at least 45 minutes and you’ve been waiting so long you almost forget that you are hungry.  Though you can nearly hear a sigh of relief 30 minutes after the chow down begins.  Everyone is happy again and we have the promise of happiness soon, until the next day begins.

After living like this for 30 days, and you hear the mosque repeating their celebratory calls telling you that Ramadan is done (which lasts for 3 hours beginning at dawn), you’ve kind of fallen into a pattern.  Your expectations for the day revolve around where and when you can eat, if you can bring food with you to the park while your kids play, or drink a sip of water when you’re thirsty.  My family seriously experiences symptoms similar to those who have suffered through a trauma.  When you get in an accident, it’s difficult to get behind the wheel again.  When someone rips you off at the gas station, you don’t want to go back, and when someone has lied to you on several occasions, you start wondering if he’s ever told you the truth…and if he ever will.  When Ramadan is over we wonder if we really are allowed to go into Starbuck’s in the morning for that latte.  Will McDonald’s really be open?  Will I get caught if I take a sip from my water bottle at that red light?  It is a lot like a trauma, and it takes time to get back into the swing of things.  But, we had to keep comforting ourselves with the reminders of the truth.  When the grapes have been harvested, you are allowed to stomp on them to make that wine.  When there’s a mud volleyball tournament, you are allowed to get disgustingly filthy, and when Ramadan is over, you are allowed to eat in public!

Desert Storm

My sleep was sound. I was forming a permanent mold of my side sleeping position into my mattress when I heard a faint yet distinct sound of a person calling. I didn’t hear my name, just noise but one that expressed immediate need and attention where the lack of attention would produce only a more urgent and more angry noise where the need still existed. It was not going away. The world was silent otherwise and dark. Though I believe I may have heard the lone drummer walking down the street waking all the women folk in the predawn hours so they could make preparations for breakfast before the fasting at dawn began. It was dark…and still. The noise in the other bedroom finally entered the compartment of my brain telling me it was my child ready for his 3:30am feeding. My brain informed my muscles of the automatic movement needed in order for the baby to eat and I was en route down the hall.
Two steps. Three steps. I stepped onto our hallway rug. It was very cold and felt unusual and I suddenly awoke with a startling realization. Our hallway rug was sopping wet! All my senses went on full alert and I suddenly heard running water in my home. My steps became quicker with each pace searching urgently for the source all the while entering deeper and deeper liquid. Turning on every light switch available to me on the path to the source I soon discovered there was water at every turn in my home. I turned into our guest bathroom and realized the source soon after entering. Masura maksura. A broken pipe under the bathroom sink. The cheap metal which is probably worth a nickel made a clean break all around the pipe allowing the water to fall continuously to the floor.
I immediately ran back to my bedroom to arouse my husband and exclaim to him that there is indeed a burst pipe and the whole house is flooded, with water still pouring onto the floor. With the energy like that of a fireman on a midnight call, he was up strapping on his flood gear ready to hit the scene. After assessing his alertness and orientation was sufficient for the job before him, I answered the screaming baby’s cries and entered the baby’s room. Within moments I heard the sound of water rushing the floors of our apartment being replaced by the household squeegee swishing water around the house. The baby now put back to bed, I had stirred up the anticipation of a bull headed for the red blanket and headed out to our household lake. Picking up our floor rugs, purses, bags, extension cords, blankets and pillows off the floor and out to the porch or bathtub. Wherever they fit. We moved furniture at the same speed a tiger pounces out to its prey. Our brains were working on the same terminal at the same gate residing in seats next to one another. There were no verbal words, only electricity and oneness. We worked fast and the greater portion of the lake was removed within the hour.
The article in our home that suffered the most from our little storm was our salon rug. We had no idea how large the capacity this rug had to hold water. Evidently gallons and gallons, because we squeegeed that thing many times the next day each time bringing out gallons of nasty, linty, brown water from our very pretty light cream rug. Every fan we owned was set up to create a very special wind tunnel in our salon to continue pulling it out. The plan worked.
When Justice woke up in the morning to get ready for school he said to me, “Mom, why is everything in our house in a different place?” To which I preceded to tell the events of just a few hours earlier. “How high was the water mom? Was it up to here?” holding his hand at his waist.
“Honey, it didn’t even cover our feet.”
“Really?”
“Really.”

Two Sides of the Coin

My husband often says that the qualities you love about somebody manifest themselves in ways that you love in one context and in another context manifest themselves in ways that drive you crazy. Someone who is very passionate about life is often very influential in peoples lives, great speakers and are able to inspire, but they can also overreact and be a little too dramatic when the situation calls for the storm to be calmed. Someone who is a planner most often have great parties, organized homes and are the people to turn to when chaos needs some order. But on the flip side they are the people who are often unable to join you for that impromtu night out to the movie or a connection at the local ice cream shop.

One of the things my husband loves about me is that I'll take a person for face value, often not questioning motives and giving them the benefit of the doubt. But this quality drives my husband crazy when a salesperson shows up at my door. I've bought 100 dollars worth of steaks for a "great deal" and I would have purchased a Kirby in a heartbeat had that one purchase not been more than our monthly income at the time....the thing transformed into a carpet shampoo cleaning machine, it's a housewife's dream.

Good marketing does the same thing for me, if you make something pretty, convenient, thorough, or easier for me to live I'll very likely want it and believe what the ad tells me. If a new movie has a really cool trailer and simple lines that capture you like, "Every Generation Has a Legend...Every Journey Has a First Step...Every Saga Has a Beginning" One of the best trailers for a blockbuster ever! You better believe I'll be in line as fast as possible to see what that is all about....because I believe that if the trailer is good the movie will be good too. Now, we've all been disappointed with the follow up to some pretty spectacular trailers, but they really make you believe that movie is going to fulfill all the hopes you ever had for the show or you wouldn't fork out the 10 bucks to make sure you experienced the story with quality film and sound and no distractions guaranteed (unless, of course, you drink too much diet Coke).

Well, when I start receiving information in any context about something I believe in on a much deeper level than a made up story whether it be from the pulpit, the radio, the television, YouTube or maybe, lets say even an e-mail...even a forwarded e-mail, the gears within me get all wound up and suddenly I can do something, even though its small, and have some sort of influence upon this culture and the country I was born in, no matter how small it may be. I am quite aware that signing your name on an e-mail is pretty small, but it is something. I get sucked into these Christian rights e-mails and how America is going down the tubes and a big group I believe in like Focus on the Family is in a fight for something that's right and I'm suddenly ready to jump on the bandwagon. I want to fight for what's right and this sounds good!!!

There's a couple of problems with this whole reaction to an e-mail that tells me CBS is going to cancel all shows that have any mention of God in their shows (unless of course they are cursing God). First of all, I have put no thought into the credibility of this e-mail, I'm just reacting. Secondly, I am married to the foremost ambassador of the Anti-Forward E-mails because they are all fake or waste your time Association. I cannot count the times I have heard my husband's rhetoric on this topic and here I am commiting the same act he has so strongly opposed, time and time and time again.

Well, I had my moment of weakness, and actually forwarded an e-mail to those very family and friends with whom we have had extensive conversations on this very topic and the absurdity of the Christian Community for believing an e-mail so easily. Turns out this e-mail concerning Focus on the Family and a certain battle with CBS is a hoax, and it has been circulating for at least a decade! What will I do next time I get stirred up? I'll check it out and I hope you do too.
But the next time I feel like I need to make a contribution to society, I'll go love my boys. Who knows what God has in store for them, and what happens in their lives later, begins now.

P.S. Here's the best website to check out all your forwarded e-mails and urban legends that seem to have a distant ring of truth. http://www.snopes.com/

What is Your Favorite Beverage?

I recall making a very important realization in my life several years ago. It has made at least one decision making process in my life easy so that I don't even have to think about what I want because I already know, either around the world or in the luscious green of the midwest where I've spent much of my adult life.

There are few things more satisfying to me than a Diet Coke on ice in a paper cup from McDonalds.....

Now I don't have to be at McDonalds to enjoy a Diet Coke. I enjoy Diet Cokes on the rocks in many eating establishments, but if I have need only of a Diet Coke, it is to McDonalds I go.

Prior to this articulation of my opinion, I articulated another. I really prefer my soda on ice in a cup rather than straight from the can. I think I am less likely to express any surprise belches when my coke is on ice and besides it just taste better. But the best is from McDonalds. Maybe they know some secrets of the trade that common consumers like us couldn't have the capacity to dream up. I've wondered if it is just the combination of carbon dioxide to syrup, or maybe they put something else in it, or maybe the Coke has some sort or mild chemical reaciton to the cup that McDonalds created that adds to the taste, wierd I know, but seriously what could it be? Whatever it is it works for me and I know others that feel the same way.

So...what is your favorite carbonated beverage and does it need to be on the rocks, straight from the can or just plain cold? does it come from a favorite restaurant or your local convenience store? do you mix drinks? I'd love to know....tell me what you think.

Two Words I Hate!!! Part B

The second word? Perfect. Mostly because man's idea of perfection is so often not in line with God's idea of perfection. I'm so far away from perfection in God's eyes I'm sure I don't even really know what I am talking about. When I talk about things being perfect, I'm talking about being so caught up in everything around you being perfect that you can't really live. Like a house always looking perfect (which I have tried to accomplish and have only discovered I am a miserable failure in this department) or plans always being perfect or always looking perfect or your car looking and running perfectly. Don't misunderstand me please. I love the word "excellent" which communicates that one is always striving to do their best work, whatever that may be, but it gives me a huge sense of freedom from perfection. I will leave perfection up to God and strive for excellence while I am still here.