WARNING: The following post may be lengthy, convoluted, angsty and just plain lousy.
I have always been a pretty happy person. Things never really bothered me, I got along well with just about everybody, I was usually good for a smile or a laugh. I'm still that same person, but something has changed over the last couple of years.
Depression is just not something I've ever had to deal with. Oh sure, I've been sad - I suppose I've had situational depression. I would guess everybody has that at one time or another. But I've never suffered from clinical depression. Even when I was diagnosed with cancer; even when I was going through chemotherapy; even when Todd was living 1200 miles away - I don't think I was clinically depressed.
Now? I'm not so sure. Not ever having experienced it before I'm not positive what I'm going through. The word depression has flitted through my conscience, but I dismiss it as soon as it shows up. I'm hesitant to go see my doctor about this because I fear he'll take the easy way out and say, "Yeah, you're depressed. Take a happy pill once a day and you'll be fine." Now I'm not opposed to that if it's what I truly need, but I want to be sure before I start popping pretty colored capsules on a regular basis.
A friend of mine used to suffer from severe clinical depression complete with feelings of hopelessness and suicidal thoughts. She fought professional help because she had been told one time or another that good Christians didn't suffer from depression. She also tried to kill herself. Thankfully she has since gotten the help she needs and today she is a happy, thriving, GOOD CHRISTIAN, who manages her condition with medication and counseling. I remember feeling so angry on her behalf that she would have such baggage. Real depression is a physical condition, not a weakness of the mind.
What I'm struggling with in no way mirrors my friend's struggles and yet I find myself thinking, "If I was just closer to God I wouldn't be feeling this way." Makes me want to smack me. Now don't get me wrong. I wholeheartedly believe Jesus keeps me stabilized. In fact, I KNOW Jesus keeps me stabilized. I'm sure my emotions would be even messier without Him! But there's definitely something else going on that hasn't before.
So what IS going on? Is it because my hormones have been totally out of whack for the last few years? I suppose it could be. I've also read (but I can't remember where so I don't know how reliable this source is) that chemotherapy can cause the chemical imbalance which, in turn, causes depression. I know it's not a thyroid issue (which can cause similar symptoms) because I get that checked every six months.
But I'm always tired and run down. We missed a party last weekend because by 4:00 my head felt like it would explode and I just wanted to sleep. We made it to a different party this past Friday, but as much as I wanted to go (and did have a great time), I would have been content to stay at home and chill on the sofa. Today I was going to go into Philadelphia with a friend of mine for fun and a free photography lesson (she's an awesome photographer). I had to back out because I've been "too tired and distracted" to finish up something I'd committed to do a while go and it needs to be done by tomorrow.
My house is a wreck and I hate it like this. I've never been an exceptional housekeeper, but neither have I ever been as bad as I am now. I care and yet I don't care. I want it to be clean and tidy but the effort is too much. For a while I just figured my cleaning skills were stagnant from being waited on so much during treatment. That was over three years ago, however, so that excuse has gotten pretty thin. I'm just plain lazy. Except I was never this lazy before.
Most of the time I don't feel sad so I can't be depressed, right? I'm just always tired. Unless I'm busy doing something. I love my job and I don't seem to have the lazy or tired problem there. But when I get home I'm too exhausted to do much of anything. If only I would eat better; exercise regularly; pray and or study my Bible more I would feel like I used to, right? If I would lose weight I would feel better about myself. If my house was clean I would feel better about myself. If I would accomplish something worthwhile I would feel better about myself.
This morning as we were getting ready for church I complained to Todd about having a headache and being tired even though I had a good 8 hours or so of sleep last night. Very cautiously he said, "I'm going to tell you something and I don't want you to get defensive. I just want you to think about it. You might be depressed." Instead of getting defensive or thinking about it I told him I thought he might be right.
We talked about it more this evening and I've decided to call my doctor tomorrow morning. Todd came right out and said I've not been the same for a while. The funny thing is I was fine during the year from hell. So why am I not fine now? Who knows? I suppose I don't have to know.
There's a part of me - a fairly large part of me - who hopes I am depressed. It would explain so much of my behavior that I don't like at all. My laziness, my lack of concentration, my inability to stick to any type of exercise regime or eating plan - things I never had problems with before. Gosh! Maybe that's why I don't read like I used to. If there is a medication that I could take temporarily and would help me straighten out my wonkiness that would be great!
But here's my fear. From the minute I was diagnosed nearly four years ago I became the sole object of Todd's focus. He treated me like a queen, doting on me every second. When I had my mastectomy the following week he would hardly let anyone near me. He emptied my drains, bathed me, Veeted my legs, brought me food, set me up in the chair or in bed, made sure I was comfortable -- you name it, he did it. I worried that as soon as he was left alone and given time to think about our situation he would have a breakdown. Ten days after my surgery he got in his truck and left for the 1200 mile drive.
The first day was fine and he drove to Bristol, Virginia. The next morning after about an hour or so of driving he ended up in an ambulance on his way to a hospital with heart attack symptoms. It all caught up to him and he was put on an antianxiety and an antidepressant. After we were reunited as a family and everything was good again he tried to go off the antidepressant. Turns out the withdrawals from this particular medication are as bad as the original symptoms. So he's on this drug indefinitely and he hates it. I'm afraid of that happening.
I hope this post hasn't given the impression that I'm always sad or mopey or distraught. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm not severely depressed - I don't feel hopeless and I'm not having suicidal tendencies AT ALL. It doesn't effect my job or my marriage or my parenting (I don't think, anyway). I would guess most people I know have no idea I've been having these struggles, though there were a couple people at church this morning who could tell something wasn't right. But that's because all of this came to a head today.
So why tell you all this? I'm not sure. Maybe for some wise words from those of you who have similar struggles. Maybe for prayers. Maybe because writing all this down is good therapy. Or maybe just to say that even a good Christian can be depressed.
Some very special friends of ours are going through something horrendous right now. Todd and I have both shed tears today at the thought of their circumstances and the difficult decisions they're facing. "Difficult" seems too benign a word. Sometimes recipes are "difficult". Sometimes people are "difficult". Parking a landboat in a crowded lot is "difficult". What they're experiencing right now goes so far beyond "difficult", but I don't know what other word to use.
The one shining light in all this? I can't elaborate, but these friends are more extraordinary than we ever realized and it is a blessing to see how God is at work in their lives even through this mess. At how they're ALLOWING God to be at work in their lives even through this mess.
This is only the beginning of what will be a terrible season of their lives. My heart is breaking for them and if I hurt this much, how much more do they hurt? Please pray for them. You don't need to know the details. God knows exactly who you're thinking of.
Praise be to the LORD, for he has heard my cry for mercy.
Psalm 28:6
As some of you so graciously pointed out to me, it is now Saturday. Life is mostly good with a little of the not so great thrown in to keep things interesting.
When last we met I told you I had nothing going on after I picked the kids up from play practice at 5:30. Wednesday night I should have been using my time to clean the kitchen, put the stuff back under the sink, catch up on laundry, go through the junk pile (really "pile" should be plural, maybe even the plural of plural, but I don't want you all to know what an incredible slob I am) on the counter and that sort of thing. Instead I was curled up in the big green chair trying not to move for fear my head would explode (a common happening for migraine sufferers) and ended up going to bed between 9:30 and 10:00.
Whilst I happily snoozed and dreamed of a clean kitchen, healthy puppies and chocolate that makes you lose weight the phone rang. Looking at the clock as I picked up the receiver, I was not pleased to see it was 4:00. It was Todd. He had left Princeton at 2-ish because he felt so horrible and didn't want me to freak out when I heard the garage door open in the next 15 minutes or so. "Just go back to sleep and I'll see you when you come down. I'm going to hang downstairs with Sookie and probably snooze on the couch."
So I rolled over to go back to sleep, but all I could think about was all the stuff in the middle of the kitchen floor and the nasty dishes and the junk piles (we've already established the extent of this). I thought I'd had until Friday to get the house back into some semblance of order! Todd is not a demanding man and I thank God daily for that, but seriously the kitchen looked condemnable.
Finally I dozed off for another 30 minutes or so until my alarm went off and I came downstairs to the man and the dog curled up on the couch, blissfully asleep. I hated that he had to come home because he was sick, but it made going to work on Thursday so much easier on me for worrying about Sookie.
Todd went to the doctor that day and he was diagnosed with a severe case of bronchitis - which we already knew. He had a horrible case of pneumonia several years ago and ever since then he's been terribly susceptible to bronchitis. Sookie wasn't eating, drinking or taking her medicine so he took her to the vet and had her admitted for IV fluids and antibiotics.
Thursday night was another one of those nights - work late; pick up Katie and Shelby at 4:00; get home close to 4:30; leave at 5:30 to get Taylor to play practice and Katie to voice lessons by 6:00 (I like taking Katie to voice, though, because I sit and read for 30 minutes); go from voice lessons to the church for band practice because Katie is singing Sunday night; leave band practice and pick up Taylor at 9:00.
Friday mornings are when I get to hang out with my Homies. I always come away revived and had really been looking forward to my weekly refreshing. BUT... I hadn't been able to do my laundry or clean or anything so I skipped the Homies and tried to catch up on laundry. I didn't finish, but I did make a significant dent.
Todd was home with bronchitis; Katie ended up staying home from school with a sore, scratchy throat and major head congestion; Taylor texted me from school (bad Taylor!) asking if I could come pick him up because he felt horrible, but he decided it was allergies and he thought he could probably make it the rest of the day; Sookie was at the animal hospital. It was like the plague or something! Happily, though, I picked up the Sookster and she is back to her normal, hyper self. She's eating, drinking, jumping, playing - all that stuff and her nose is wet! She is on a ton of medicine and they're still not sure what caused the fever, but I'm happy she's doing so much better.
Which brings us to today. Sookie is good. Katie is good. Taylor is good. My kitchen is CLEAN. No junk piles and no dirty dishes. The laundry still isn't caught up because Taylor did his laundry all day and it's too late for me to start now. Wine club is in an hour.
The only bad thing in the mix is Todd. Well, HE'S not bad, but he is bad sick. Now I've mentioned this several times before and I'll say it again. Compassion is not my thing. It doesn't matter how many times I take a spiritual gifts inventory, compassion is always looooooow. (That means really, really low.) But even I feel bad for him. His fever will hardly break and he says he feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest. He was really looking forward to getting together with the neighbors this evening, too. I guess I'll just have to have a good enough time for both of us!
So life is much better today, just as I prayed it would be. Todd shouldn't have to travel for a few weeks and hopefully he'll start to feel better ASAP. I sure am glad God is more merciful than I am!!
Here's an aside. Taylor loves shock value. Really a lot. He was waiting for Kristen to come over this afternoon and she was bringing a sack of sugar that she's going to have to take care of for a class she has at school. He said they were going to decorate it together. "What?" I asked. And he said, "When Kristen gets here we're going to make a baby together." Oh yes he did!! Those exact words!! Not something a mother wants to hear her 16-year-old say! I have no idea where he gets that sort of behavior.
Today is my dad's birthday. Oh how I wish I could take my motley crew and impose upon my folks to help celebrate another milestone. Instead I'm just gonna talk about him (in past tense just because I'm thinking back to when I was a kid) a little bit.
I've always seen my dad as a quiet, unassuming man and also one of the smartest people I've ever known. He could carry on a conversation with a brilliant scholar or an uneducated dockworker - no one was above or beneath him. Everybody, no matter their education, station, race, whatever, received the same respect. He never flaunted his intelligence and I think there were probably a lot of people who never had any idea just how smart he really was.
He loved classical music and dixieland jazz and I would say he gave my sisters and me an appreciation for all different forms of music. I can remember him sitting in the big, plaid chair in the living room, enjoying a drink while Rossini's William Tell Overture played on the stereo, my sisters and I galloping around the house like the Lone Ranger. Or secretly loving (though I acted embarrassed) watching him dance around with a cigar in his hand as we stood in line at the French Market Restaurant in Disneyland as the jazz band played away.
Mom and Dad were known for their ability to cut a mean rug, too. Every wedding reception where Glenn Miller's In The Mood was played found them doing their thing on the dance floor. Embarrassing to a stupid teenager, but impressive to everyone else.
Dad taught us girls how to read a map and gave us each a pretty good sense of direction. He also taught me to fish and pee in the woods. He never managed to get me to hang over the side of a boat and pee, much to his frustration. I made him take the boat into the dock just as the fish started biting. Of course by the time we got back out to the same spot the fish had moved on.
I love the memories I have of a regular Saturday at home. He would mow and trim and do all the yard work, take a shower and clean up, and then grill in the backyard while he smoked his stogie. The smell of fresh-cut lawn, grilling meat and a cigar equal such happiness to me. Once when I was about 14 or so, I begged him to let me try his cigar. "No, no, no", he kept saying, but I pestered and pestered. So he handed me the cigar and I took a puff, only to turn green and nearly upchuck in the flower beds. As I recall he got a big kick out of that. And I never had a desire to smoke a cigar after that!
Both my parents have always be great examples of serving others. Long before I came along they were active at church, helping in whatever way they needed to. I never thought a whole lot about it - it's just what they did - until I got much older. Now I realize how much of their lives they've given to help others. Even now they work at their church and once a month at a local food pantry. Because it's just what they do.
One of my favorite things to do growing up was our family outings after church on Sundays. Sometimes we'd drive up Western to the Tide Pools and then stop at Arthur's Ice Cream on the way home. Or sometimes we'd take a change of clothes and a picnic lunch and go for a long ride over Mulholland or maybe up to Oak Glen for apples. When most teenagers abhorred hanging out with their folks, I loved to do these fun things with mine.
I was blessed with a very happy and secure childhood. I never doubted my parents loved me and I never doubted they loved each other. Of course Mom played a big part in this security, but today's post is about Dad. :o) To say Dad never got mad would be a falsehood, but he wasn't one to fly off the handle. Usually when my sisters or I were in trouble we deserved it. Of course, we may not have seen it that way at the time.
My dad and I danced to Daddy's Hands by Holly Dunn at my wedding. I can't hear that song twenty years later and not get choked up. I heard it in the grocery store as I was checking out a couple years ago and I could hardly hold it together. But the words couldn't have been any more perfect:
I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer. And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare. You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines. Years of work and worry had left their mark behind. I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight, And patted my back, for something done right. There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man, But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´. Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong. Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle But I´ve come to understand. There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled. Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed. If I could do things over, I´d live my life again. And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´. Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong. Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle But I´ve come to understand. There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´. Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong. Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle But I´ve come to understand. There was always love ..... In Daddy´s hands.
OH MY GOSH! I'm blubbering again! Dangit! Anyway, my dad was an electrical engineer so I doubt his job ever caused his hands to bleed, but the chorus sums up my daddy's hands perfectly.
And speaking of his hands, I always loved them. They were always neat and clean except when he'd been working in the garage or in the yard and then he'd scrub them with Lava and they'd be clean again. I always thought of them as elegant hands and one of the first things I noticed about Todd was how he had hands like my dad's. Isn't it funny the things that make an impression on us?
I could go on and on and on, but I'll bring this to a close by talking a little bit about my other dad.
Because God is an ethereal being we tend to project our own experiences to create a God we can relate to. Some people see God as distant because they had a father who was distant. Some people see God as indifferent because their father was indifferent. Some people see God as totally absent because, well, you get the idea.
Myself? I've never had a problem seeing God as the perfect and wonderful God He is. Loving, kind, gentle, just, stern when needed, merciful, etc. Now I'm certainly not saying my dad IS God. Just ask my mom and she'll tell you he hasn't walked on water. But what I am saying is that he has always been a great example of a kind and loving Father. Just like my Heavenly Father.
Nearly 14 years ago when Todd and I decided to take the leap of faith and have me quit work it was a scary, scary thing. Taylor was three and Katie was a baby and financially it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. It was the exact right thing to do for the family, though. By the grace of God we made do and I think we both figured I'd go back to work once Katie started kindergarten.
When that time came, however, it seemed as though that was when I was really needed. I spent a lot of time at the school getting to know the teachers and staff and I was home in the afternoons with the kids to help with homework or whatever. I didn't have to spend my evenings or weekends doing the chores I was able to get done during the day, when there was a sick child there was no stressing out over which parent would stay home, and summers and holidays weren't a problem. All four of us became very accustomed to me being at home and we all liked it that way.
Todd went from a meager salary to a decent salary which eased things quite a bit. I ended up doing a little legal and medical transcribing from home for "fun money", but eventually quit doing that because I was having to type in the evenings which defeated the whole purpose of me staying home. (Not before I took Todd to St. Louis for a long weekend and a Cardinals game his 38th birthday, though!)
My lack of employment was a blessing in 2005 - first with the impending move and then with the cancer treatment. When we finally did make the move it was great to have the freedom to explore our new surroundings with the kids on a whim, especially since they didn't really know anyone at first.
Whenever I would mention me going back to work to Todd - not because I wanted to but because I thought maybe I should - he would always say he likes that I don't have to work. And before the feminists in you start ranting, it wasn't a chauvinistic thing. Our lives are just much easier with one of us being at home. Still, it was my choice.
So I chose not to work, though last year I did work 7 hours a week at the preschool. At the end of that time I decided not to go back because, along with some physical issues, I felt I needed to concentrate on writing and speaking. Guess how much real writing I've done since that decision was made. If you said "Bupkis" you would be correct. Not only that, but if my "job" is to manage the house wouldn't you expect the house to be managed? Yes, well, it's not. I have become a horrible steward of my time and I haven't been able to figure out how to fix it.
Yesterday I met with a gal at a place about a thing - I'm not really sure how much I should say yet. I will say this, though. It's a part time job, 9:00 to 3:00, Monday through Thursday doing mostly things I like to do. I say mostly because I figure every job has those tasks nobody wants to do, but I don't know what those would be yet. I don't have to give up my Home Team and my plans for speaking to various MOPS groups are encouraged. With my limited view it definitely looks like a God-thing.
It's in God's hands now. If this is where He wants me it will be the place I end up. If not, then I'll move on. I'm so very grateful this isn't a case of necessity. It makes it easy to wait on Him and in the meantime maybe I can get my schedule-impaired act together.
There's just so much to tell that I'm not sure how to go about it. So I think I'll just do a bit of a timeline.
Wednesday PM
I pick up Sing 4 Joy and God's Guitar Girl from the Philadelphia airport, arriving at my house some time between 10:00 and 10:30. GGG has a migraine so she hits the sack while S4J stays up to restring her 12 string guitar. I hang out with her for a while, but by 1:30 I have to go to bed. I totally forget to give her a blanket and she freezes. Lucky for me, she doesn't hold it against me.
Thursday AM
We get up, eat a little breakfast and get ready to go into the city. I turn on the TV to check the traffic report. The weather grid has a Star of David next to a P on Thursday and no Star of David, but a P on Friday. Here's the conversation:
GGG: What's up with the Ps and the Star of David?
Me: That's the Phillies P. Thursday night the Jewish Phillies are playing and Friday is the Gentile Phillies.
Not funny? Well it was when it happened.
While waiting for everyone else, S4J decides to tune her guitar and play a few songs. Did you know she sounds like what you would imagine an angel to sound like? Seriously. She has this beautiful soprano, crystal clear voice. And then GGG comes down stairs and starts harmonizing with S4J and it's amazing.
Oh. I forgot to mention the kids are out of school. We stop to pick up Kristen, Taylor's girlfriend, and then make a quick pass through Valley Forge before heading into Philadelphia. The kids and I already have plans to go to the Franklin Institute to see the Pirates Exhibit (totally the bomb) and S4J and GGG want to touch the Liberty Bell and eat a cheesesteak. So I drive them to the Independence Hall Visitor Center, pull over and kick let them out.
Thursday PM-ish
The kids and I go on to the museum and have a great time there. Meanwhile, my friends from Hawaii drive to the city from New Brunswick and I periodically talk to Stephanie on the phone trying to figure out when we can meet up. Meeting up doesn't work out and the kids and I eat at a delicious hole in the wall across from the museum. We then drive back to our house.
At this same time S4J and GGG have touched the Liberty Bell, run through the Independence Hall tour and eaten the required Philly Cheesesteak, and are now on a SEPTA train headed to the airport. They meet up with His Girl and the two other Chicas, Liswilla and Junus. All five of them deal with Attila the Car Rental Clerk and finally head for The Cheesecake Factory at King of Prussia in their white minivan.
Thursday PMer
Taylor and Kristen and I leave for KOP with GGG and S4J's stuff. I drop them off at one entrance and then park in the deck across from the Cheesecake Factory. Soon a white minivan full of crazy Chicas shows up, we transfer the luggage and guitars and head in for a delicious dinner. While we're waiting for our food Stephanie and her family come to KOP and I leave the party for a few minutes to talk with them outside the restaurant. They're going to browse the mall and we decide to meet up after dinner. While I'm away the Chicas play with my camera and take all manner of photos which will be shown on this very blog in the near future.
We eat, we laugh, we chat, we just generally have a great time. Afterwards the Chicas are anxious to get to their house in Amish country and rest up after a hard day of traveling. I locate Stephanie's family and get to visit with them for another 30 minutes or so. I find Taylor and Kristen and we leave for home, dropping Kristen off on the way.
Friday AM
I'm not feeling so hot. Maybe too much food the night before? Most likey. I've also probably lost whatever weight I gained eating said food.
Friday PM
My morning ailment has passed. I drive to the Chica's Amish basecamp for dinner, a devo and a little praise and worship. OH, and a whole lotta laughing! It is so much fun AND reviving at the same time. These girls are wicked funny.
Friday Way-PM
I leave the house at 11:15 and drive through an abandoned Lancaster which was totally creepy in a Children of the Corn kind of way. So I sang my Jesus music with the iPod at the top of my lungs. I make it home to see Todd for the first time since the previous Sunday when he left on a business trip.
Saturday
Nothing exciting whatsoever to write home about. It was just nice to hang out with Todd.
Sunday AM
Todd and Taylor go to first service and Todd writes mean things about me, calling me a heathen and all, on the attendance card. I attend the second service and work the third, dispelling any hint of heathenism with the gracious giving of my time.
Sunday PM
I drive to Lititz to catch up with the Chicas and find them at an ice cream parlor. I lamely park my car, as usual, and jump in their van. We drive over to the General Sutter Inn on Main Street for dinner. S4J will be posting food pictures at some point on her blog.
After dinner we head to Calvary Chapel Lancaster for their evening service. Turns out it's a very small congregation and they don't have services on Sunday evenings. Instead a group meets for a chapter by chapter study of the Bible. Not at all what we are looking for. But the people are so gracious and they move from the small table to the meeting room next door. The pastor encourages S4J and GGG to grab their guitars from the van and we have an impromptu worship service before delving into a few of the Psalms. What an incredible blessing it turns out to be.
Sadly, I have to say goodbye to the Chicas until the next time I might get to hang out with them.
Monday AM
My take on the Chicas. S4J, His Girl and GGG are EXACTLY the way they seem in their blogs. Funny, gracious, kind-hearted, serious about their faith - all you have to do is read their blogs and you know them. Liswilla and Junus don't have blogs, but it's obvious why they're friends with these women. Sweet, fun, great sense of humor... just a few ways to describe both of them and I'm so glad I got to meet them.
I'm finally finishing this post. I know I'm leaving out so very much, but I'll post more as it all comes to me. I just had to get this up with my spin before the rest of the Chicas get home to their computers and tell their side of the story!!
I've been kind of, um, oh, I don't know. "Pissy" is the best word I can think of to describe my attitude lately. Not really angry or mean, but not in the best humor, either. Little things bug me and I don't have my usual ocean of patience. Okay. Maybe not "usual ocean", but just not as much patience as I usually have - whatever that may be.
There's no discernible reason for my less than cheery attitude. Not one that I can come up with anyway. And since introspection is not my thing I'll just let it ride its course and hopefully it will be over with ASAP.
The beeping alarm at 6:30 this morning did little to improve my mood. If it hadn't been such a chore to open my eyes I would have glared daggers at Todd for agreeing to go to the 8:00 service. I knew my disposition was not exactly pleasing to God and I really tried to change the direction of my thoughts, but I was just so tired. And being so tired was making me pouty and grumbly. I get up at 6:30 five days a week just so I can see Taylor before he leaves for school at 6:45! Isn't that sacrifice enough?? Have I told you in the last week just how much I HATE the morning? Especially when it's cold and the bed is so toasty warm and snuggly.
The hot shower did help quite a bit and by the time we got to church I was feeling much better in my spirit. That's just one of the ways I know we're at the right place. I almost get excited when I pull into the parking lot and then when I see my friends I DO get excited.
Today's Beatles song was "We Can Work It Out" and the topic was anger. Uh, God? Are you talkin' to me? You? Talkin' to me? So I'm not yelling at my family or giving them the cold shoulder or even keeping everything inside (because I don't know what 'everything' is), but I am letting stupid things grate on me.
I know God is bigger than the boogy man (Ha! I typed booby man!) and I'm really good about giving all the big stuff to Him. Where I have a problem is not wanting to bother him with the little, seemingly insignificant stuff. Like my inexplicable irritations. And the explicable ones, for that matter. Bad Jen!
So I'm in a waaaay better mood right now. And I don't think it's just because I'm all alone and nobody is here to bug me. I'll let you know in another hour when I'm not all alone. I suppose the true test will be this evening when I'm working registration for the youth group. If 150 (or so) teenagers don't ruffle my feathers then I'll know for sure!
I think today was a pretty good day despite the fact we decided to attend the new 8:00 service this morning. We've been going to the 11:30 service from the beginning, but now that we've outgrown our parking lot and building and need to spread out the attendance, the church has added a fourth service - 8:00. A couple weeks ago they asked for volunteers and Todd made me write on the attendance card that we would go to the 8:00 service until the new building is finished in April. APRIL! 8:00! A!M!
In case you're new to the party, I do not do mornings very well. So I consider this a sacrifice for Jesus because that's how I roll.
A nice little surprise was seeing my friend, Beans, at the same service. She came and sat with us so that was good.
Today's message was the first in a series called Everything I Learned About Life I Learned From The Beatles. That went a long way in assuaging my gripey, too-early, caffeine-deprived self because I love me some Beatles. Today's song was Help!, one of my favorites. Brian Jones, the pastor, transitioned nicely from the rock song to Psalm 121.
I lift my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you - the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.
Another score! This is one of my favorite passages of scripture. I was challenged to memorize it several years ago in a women's bible study, only to cling to it and make it my anthem, if you will, when I was diagnosed. Funny thing is I just commented this very thing on our women's blog about prayers and such yesterday.
One more bonus about going to the 8:00 service is that we were home about the time we usually start getting ready for church. Sunday mornings have been slow and lazy, but I actually like having a longer day. Especially when it's rainy like today. Even if it does mean I have to get up earlier than I think is appropriate on God's day of rest.
I've also had some moments today I don't necessarily enjoy. I'm working on two separate writing projects, both dealing with cancer, and it makes me go places I'd rather forget about. But I know I have to - not just for the writing, but because ignoring the still raw spots don't make them go away. And I keep thinking I'm past the hurt, but obviously I'm not. Oh, it's very true that time heals old wounds, but the scars never completely fade.
But this stirring of emotions wasn't enough to ruin my day. Strangely, I think it added to the goodness. Because even though these memories remind me of sad and sometimes terrible things, they also remind me that my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. The whole time I was in the bad and scary place he watched over me, never sleeping even a second. And it just doesn't get any gooder than that.
I feel like I've got nothing to say. "When have you ever let that stop you before?", you might be asking. And you're right! I've never let the absence of something to say stop me. So welcome to today's installment of Mundane Musings.
Remember a few weeks ago I was all pumped about starting Weight Watchers and I was going to take it one day at a time and yadda, yadda, blase' skippy? I did great for two weeks. Really awesome. Then there was a dinner and then a birthday and then another dinner and then a barbecue and then a movie AND a dinner and then, well, you get the idea. I've totally dropped the ball. Add to that trying to cut costs where we can and you have no more Weight Watchers' membership.
Like my sister said, why pay someone to tell her what she already knows. I still like the accountability and the tools Weight Watchers offers, but my actions are not making the money worth it. So I'm going to try this on my own and see what happens. I walked on the treadmill for 30 minutes this morning and hope to do another 30 minutes later today. I figure if I'm halfway careful about what I eat and do something for an hour a day then maybe, just maybe I'll be able to lose some of this.
This whole weight thing can make me very maudlin. (Maybe I should call today's installment Maudlin and Mundane Musings.) Again, it's all a matter of focus. When I focus on the fact my Fall weather clothes are tight and the image in the mirror and the discomfort while trying to tie the shoes, etc., I slip into that familiar funk. BUT when I focus on what really matters - my relationship with Christ - then it's not so bad. I'm sad to say my focus has been a little off. AGAIN. Thank God for my Home Team! They're like spiritual crack to the junky I am.
Which brings me to another musing. I've been busy going about God's business - working on the women's website for church. I LOVE it. I have so much to learn, but I'm having a blast. The challenge is exciting and watching this idea take shape is awesome.
That said, it's so easy for me to think I'm nurturing my spiritual life when I'm doing something like this - some type of service - or listening to Christian music or having deep discussions with friends or whatever. Those things are great in and of themselves, but you (read "I") can do these things and totally ignore God, fooling myself into thinking I'm doing what I need to.
Okay. So I guess that's a little confession for you I wasn't actually planning on making. Onto safer topics and more mundane...
Our weather is gorgeous. I love Fall. Seriously love it. Admire, adore, cherish, embrace, enamor, fancy, idolize, like and delight in autumn. I think we may be done with the 80's altogether. We may even be done with the upper 70's. Oh please, from my fingers to God's ears.
October is shaping up to be a busy but incredibly fun month. Something awesome in every single weekend. November will hopefully be a month of rest. Except my folks are coming to visit and we have a few fun things planned then, too.
Let's see. What else can I bore you with blog about? OH! Those of you who have been around a while may remember the mysterious skin issues I had the first half of 2007. I saw a couple different doctors and no biopsy, no test, no body could figure out what was wrong with me. Then the problem just kind of went away. Well, it's back. Thankfully not anything like it was last year, but I do get these terribly itchy welts in the same area for no apparent reason. They they just disappear. It's the craziest thing.
Alright. I think that's enough of nothing for now. But I leave you with pictures of Sookie and her BFF Brady. Brady comes over nearly every morning around 9:00 and they play for 30 minutes to an hour. Then they go home and take really good naps! Just like kids.
I don't appreciate judgmental people. Especially if they're self-righteously judging. We had a guest speaker last week at church and he talked about judging the situation and not being judgmental. Sounds like semantics, but it makes perfect sense. Along the same lines as hate the sin, love the sinner.
Here's a very extreme example of what makes me want to cry. You may or may not remember Matthew Shepard, a homosexual boy who was heinously murdered because of his sexual orientation. While that's horrible, that's not where I'm going. Murder is horrible no matter what the situation and whether it's labeled a hate crime or not. What was truly awful was the crowd across the street from his funeral. A group of so-called Christians held up signs which said things like "Matthew Shepard Is In Hell" and "God Hates Faggots". I can hardly bring myself to type those words. I know God was weeping that day. (Please friends. Whether homosexuality is right or wrong is not up for debate here. It has nothing to do with my point so please don't go into it in the comments. Thank you.)
My therapist friend, Cristie, and I talked about being judgmental at last week's session Starbuck's get together. I lamented mentioned the fact that when I first had that new Christian zeal I was very judgmental. Everything was black and white and you were either with us or against us. As I've grown closer to God I've realized it's not that simple.
Just because I'm a Christian and I live by a certain set of standards does not mean everyone else does. And just because I'm a Christian does not mean I always, every minute of every day, live by those standards I hold so dear.
Paul used the example of the adulterous woman who was going to be stoned until Jesus said let those without sin throw the first stone. Everyone walked away. But the truly nonjudgmental Jesus did not judge her. She knew what she was doing was wrong. All he said was to go and sin no more. No speech on the evils of adultery. No hellfire or brimstone sermon. Just go on your way, but stop doing this stuff.
So Cristie and I are talking about this stuff and I'm all, "I used to be pretty judgmental", when it hit me. I'm still freakin' self righteous and judgmental! Oh, I have plenty of compassion for people who are doing things they ought not to be doing. But I judge the people who are judging them! Just like the people who were holding up those signs at Matthew Shepard's funeral! I don't believe anyone can argue that what they were doing was right. I'm not saying that at all. Obviously, they're misinformed. Sadly, they hurt so many people that day. Even more sadly, they really hurt Christianity that day.
What it comes down to is this. We are ALL God's children. He loves all of us, regardless of what we do. The concept that no sin is greater than any other sin is so hard to grasp. Which is why He's God and we're not. But that concept puts it all in perspective. I am no better than this person or that person, so what gives me the right to be judgmental? I don't want them judging me for the sin in my life. And folks, there's plenty.
Several years ago when Todd and I were in a Bible Study group with other couples I brought up something Madonna had done with a contemptuous sneer. A very good friend of mine said she felt sorry for Madonna because she just didn't get it. How simple is that? She wasn't saying what Madonna was doing was okay or acceptable. But she had compassion for her because she didn't know any better.
So I'm going to try not to be judgmental of the people who are being judgmental. Because I've been there. It's all a learning process. The most godly disciple in the world is still learning how to be like Jesus. So I give myself permission to accept that I don't have all the answers, but I'm learning. Just like everyone else.
If someone were to ask me what my favorite day is I would normally answer "Saturday". I do love Saturday. Somewhere in my archives I mentioned I love Saturday so much I would marry it if it would have me and I weren't already married. But right now I think Monday is my favorite day. A fresh start to the week. A chance to do better than last week.
If you're depraved enough you could probably go through my blog and figure out how many times I've started Weight Watchers in the last two years. If you're my friend, please don't waste your time. Just trust me when I say it's a bunch. But I'm starting again today.
Last Thursday I wrote this post and I'm pleased to report that I've been more disciplined in my study and time with God. I'm already reaping the benefits. Look at the verse that jumped off the page of my Bible and fairly smacked me upside my head.
Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed.
Proverbs 16:3
It's nothing new or revolutionary. In fact it's something that I know as sure as I know my name. But for some reason it was a total "Ah Ha" moment when I read it this morning. I wrote it on a note card so I can refer to it at any given second. Like when I want to eat M&Ms instead of something with fewer points. Or when I want to read instead of cleaning the kitchen. Or when I want to watch TV instead of taking the dog for a walk. Or when I want to surf the net instead of writing.
I have the feeling I'm going to be referring to this note card several times an hour.
I can never decide if I love summer or hate it. I don't welcome the heat and humidity, though this summer hasn't been bad at all. I love the beginning of summer. A respite from early mornings, hanging out with the kids, the promise of fun things to do. By the same token I love the end of summer. A respite from the kids, hanging out with my homies, a structure to the chaos.
The biggest problem I've had with summer since I started staying home is the lack of routine. Everything suffers, but nothing more acutely than my quiet time. When the kids were younger it was easy for me to blame it on them. That was back during the days when they were up early and demanded much more attention. Now I'm the one demanding attention so I can't use them for an excuse anymore.
Right now I feel like a total poser. I've been a Christian for a long time now so I've learned how to talk the talk and even look like I'm walking the walk. If it weren't for my loathing of drama I would have made a great actress.
My Distance-Between-Me-And-Christ litmus test is my thoughts more than my actions. Generally my actions belie the turmoil in my head and my heart. I become more judgmental, but I keep those thoughts to myself. I become less patient, but... okay. Maybe this one is seen by my family. I become more hateful in my head. I find myself desiring more in the way of possessions. Jealousy, envy, and a whole host of ugliness take up residence in my heart when I'm far from God.
Being a Christian is a responsibility. It's my responsibility to be a good example to my children. Um, I think they're doing way better than I am at the moment. It's a responsibility to my friends - iron sharpening iron and all that. I have my Little Homies to think of and women in and out of church as I embark on an incredible Women's Ministry adventure.
I've always sort of wanted an icthus (Christian fish symbol) on the back of my car. I'm certainly not ashamed of my beliefs so shouldn't I let everyone know? But do you know what's held me back all these years? I've always said that Christians do the most harm to Christianity. What if I had a Christian symbol on the back of my car and yet drove like a demon? What if I lost my patience with the person in front of me? That happens way more than I like. I don't want to damage anyone's tenuous faith and sometimes all it takes is a "Christian" doing something less than Christ-like.
Well now I find myself living less than Christ-like and it's not just a moment. Oh, I'm not doing anything bad. I'm not leaving my husband or beating my children or drinking in the closet or, well, you get the idea. But I haven't been spending time with Jesus like I need to. My tank has been on empty for a while now and I'm cruising on fumes. But those fumes eventually run out.
When summer is over I'll have my daily routine. I'll be back in home team and studying the Bible with other women. I'll have my morning quiet time over coffee and things will be as they should. But school doesn't start for another two-plus weeks. I can't wait that long. So this morning I did what I should have been doing all summer. And that is I did NOTHING until I'd spent some time with God. Well, that's not entirely true. I did let Sookie out. THEN I spent some time with God and His word. I gave the reigns over to him and yet I felt more in control today than I have for a long time.
I love that God is such a gentleman and doesn't push himself onto us. When I'm so weak and undisciplined I almost wish he'd push just a little, though. Oh, I feel the nudges of the Spirit when my conscience twinges, but that gets easier to ignore over time. But more than God's polite and patient ways I love that He's right there, arms open and waiting for me. Every.Single.Time.
After thinking about it I've decided I really do love summer. Especially now.
Andrea at PunkRockMommy passed away this morning. I can honestly say I have never admired anybody more than I admire her. Her blog was a diary of her journey with breast cancer and the one thing that shines with every post is her faith in God. She knew her time was quickly coming to an end and yet she still wrote to encourage others. She had that "peace that passes understanding" and it was evident in every word. The post which the above-link takes you to is her last post. It talks about her passing. It is sad and joyful and moving and tragically beautiful. My heart aches for her husband and her children, but it soars for her because she's no longer sick or in pain. In fact, she's praising God with the angels in her distinctively punk rock mommy style!
It may look like a Starbuck's table, but it's actually The Big Picture. Here's proof:
Every now and then, and not nearly often enough, I meet my friend, Cristie, at Starbuck's in the Valley Forge Barnes & Noble. Cristie is an unusual choice of friend for me simply because she makes me examine those things I usually cram behind thoughts about the weather and books and what's going to happen next on LOST. She takes my mantra of "ignorance is bliss" and crushes it into dust.
Today was one of those days and she asked me if my life had turned out like I'd thought. I answered with both a yes and a no. And, of course, I've thought more about it since our visit and have crystallized my answers.
My personal life is pretty much where I imagined myself when I was a kid - happily married, stay-at-home suburban mom, family pet -- the only thing missing is the live-in maid. As far as a career is concerned, I honestly can't remember what I wanted to be. I vaguely remember thinking about the usual girl careers - nurse, teacher, game show hostess. But I don't think I ever really wanted to do anything specific.
So I told Cristie the events in my life weren't exactly what I had thought about while growing up, but I ended up where I wanted to. I demonstrated by pointing out God's plan for me on the table - it was a straight line from "A" to "B". Then I showed her the path I took and it was very curvy and curly, but it still ended up at "B". She did the same thing.
I imagine we can all say the same thing. And I also imagine if I'm at "B" it's only for a short while. I know God has so much more planned for me and I highly doubt I'll stay on His path the whole way. But I also know I'll find my way back to the course He's set for me.
Leave it to Cristie to see more than just a simple table. In the course of our conversation it became "The Big Picture". (You should have seen the looks we got while we were taking pictures with our cell phones.) So for the rest of the day I've had Deep Thoughts just like Jack Handy. Regardless of whether I'm where I thought I'd be, am I doing what God wants me to? For the most part I think so, though I know I tend to ignore his prompting sometimes just like I do the heavy subjects. I Suppose I need to get over that.
Stop the presses!! Have I got a news breaking headline!! And this isn't even part of today's post!!
A few weeks ago I told you Katie had tried out for the Youth Band at church and had made it. She wasn't supposed to start singing for another month or so, but she just got a call from the Student Worship Leader, Alex, who asked if she could sing tonight. TONIGHT PEOPLE!! She hasn't practiced - heck, we just went online to see what songs they're singing tonight - but she's up for the challenge. Taylor is practicing with her in the basement while this goes to press.
So guess what I'm doing tonight? Instead of just hanging out with Todd while the kids are at Youth Group, I'm video taping her debut. If I get her permission and I figure out what I'm doing (I'll be checking with Sing 4 Joy) I'll put it on YouTube or GodTube and post it later in the week. I know she's more than capable, but since this is her first time and it was a last minute thing it may not be up to her standards. I'll let her make the call.
THE REAL POST
How priceless is your unfailing love! Both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings.
Psalm 36:7
Today the worship team sang this song during communion. This song holds such a special place in my heart because when Katie was about 9 or 10 we were chatting in the car and I told her I loved her. Instead of the usual, "I love you, too", or even more common, "I know," she started singing the chorus of More by Matthew West to me.
I love you more than the sun and the stars that I taught how to shine, you are mine, and you shine for me, too. I love you yesterday and today and tomorrow. I'll say it again and again. I love you more.
Can a mother's heart get any fuller without completely exploding? Comparing a mother's love for her child to God's love for us is a common theme among parents. But what about a child's love for a parent? I remember thinking I loved my mom and dad more than they loved me when I was young. It's as deep and intense as it gets when you're a kid.
So if my child loves me that much (we always have these arguments over who loves the other more) how much more does God love me? I don't believe we have an adequate scale to comprehend it. I just know it's MORE.
So what's up? Nothin' much going on here. Just the usual. You know. Todd's at work - he's got major short timer's disease, but he's making a valiant effort; Katie's babysitting; Taylor's at CIY in Tennessee - kind of like church camp only much more intense. Katie's Little Homies are going camping this afternoon through Saturday morning so Todd and I get some just us time. I think I'm going to make reservations at that new Italian restaurant we were going to eat at for our anniversary, but they were booked. Yeah. That's a great idea.
***
We watched "Fools' Gold" last night and LOVED IT! The chemistry between Kate Hudson and Matthew McConnohotty is nearly palpable. It had everything I love in a movie. Adventure, romance, humor, an exotic location and even a bit of history. Well, made up history, but still.
The prude that I am was a little disappointed at a flash of anonymous boobies. It's PG-13, for cryin' out loud. It was a quick flash, but so very unnecessary. It reminded me of when I was in 8th grade and my AT group went into Hollywood to see Romeo and Juliet at Grauman's Chinese Theater. Really cool experience, but the boys in the group were thrilled when Olivia Hussey jumped out of bed, baring her chest. (But really, what do you expect with a name like Hussey?) The girls were just embarrassed. And a little envious. Or maybe that was just me.
***
OH! Have I told you we actually have a Sonic AND a real Starbucks with a drive through now? Maybe two miles from the house, if that. The only problem with the Sonic is it's such a novelty up here that they have to have traffic managers with walkie talkies directing cars who are waiting for the next available slot. It's totally insane. I mean, I love Sonic and all - you know I do - but it's not THAT great.
Last Sunday after Youth Group a bunch of the older kids went to Sonic. They parked in the lot and walked over to order and eat at the picnic tables out front. You order in the same kind of speaker box as if you'd pulled up to a slot, but you give them your name so when they come out they know where the order goes. So here's the conversation with the Sonic chick and my son:
SC: What's your name?
T: Taylor.
SC: What is it?
T: Taylor.
SC: Tyler?
T: Taylor.
SC: What was that?
T: Billy.
SC: Billy?
T: Yup.
***
This is the top of the swimsuit I bought for Hawaii the other day. I consider it was a good day because I didn't cry in the dressing room. Didn't even feel the urge. I certainly don't like the way I look in a swimsuit. Heck, I didn't like it when I was 40 pounds lighter. But it is what it is so there's no sense getting depressed about it. But what thrilled me was the fact it's just a normal top and it just happens to hide both my mastectomy scar (my left mastectomy scar is pretty high up) and my port scar. I also got two different bottoms - red regular bottoms and a coral SwimMini.
***
This morning I found a great deal on plane reservations for my parents to come up for Thanksgiving. So I called Mom and we booked those babies before they went away. Mom and Dad actually get in on my 43rd birthday. I think we'll celebrate with a chocolate cake and 29 candles. It's just been the four of us for the last two Thanksgivings so we're really looking forward to having some family to help us celebrate.
***
All this goodness leads me to today's verse.
If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!
The current series at our church is based on the book One Month to Live, Thirty Days to a No-Regrets Life written by Kerry & Chris Shook of Fellowship of The Woodlands near Houston, Texas. I confess I haven't kept up with my reading, but the title resonates with me because, well, I've kind of been there.
Okay. So that's me being dramatic. I was never told my life was over because I had cancer. Life as I knew it is over - or drastically different - because of the cancer, but I'm among the healthy and living and plan to be for a very, very long time. I still have another 50+ years to hang out with Todd and future grandchildren and great grandchildren to spoil. So while I can't imagine what it would be like to know I only have a set time left on this earth, I know first hand what it's like to be faced with my own mortality.
I never thought of my breast cancer as a death sentence. My brain just doesn't work that way. But it's not because I'm afraid of dying. I know who I belong to and I know where I'm going when I do pass from this place and it's better than anything I can imagine. And I've got a really good imagination!
In those low moments, however, when I stopped to really think about what I was dealing with and the realization that I had no guarantee, I was sad. Again, not sad to meet up with friends and family who had gone before me and see Jesus face to face - what an incredible thought! My sadness was at the thought of breaking the hearts of the people I love the most and how it would affect the lives of my children.
People talk a lot about how a brush with death changes their perspective and I can see how that's so. I don't think my perspective ever changed, though. I don't love Todd and the kids any more than I did before my diagnosis. How could I when I've always thought them the most precious gifts I've ever been given? I don't see any more beauty around me than I had before. My world has ever been full of the most incredible sights and sounds and tastes and smells and textures. Appreciation for God's handiwork is nothing new to me and, in fact, is something I've had in me since I was very young.
There were times I would wonder, "if I don't beat this thing will I have any regrets in my relationships?" I always came back to "no". My family knows I love them, there are no unspoken words between us. I don't have any broken relationships or anyone I feel the need to forgive (that's a post for another day). Who knows, though. There may be someone reading this who thinks otherwise. But as far as I'm concerned that aspect of my life is okay.
Still, one can't go through something like a life threatening disease and not change in some aspect. There are plenty of negative changes - physically, mentally, emotionally... I could probably write reams on the unpleasant changes. Oh wait! I think I pretty much have over the last year and a half. But there are usually positive changes, too.
I've narrowed my life goals and actually feel as though I maybe have a real purpose beyond raising my kids and providing comic relief when things get too somber. And I think that's what the book and it's companion study will be pointing to. Living your life for God and following His will for your life with passion.
That's exactly what I want to do. Run down that path with reckless abandon. Except for the fact I can't run. Just thinking about it makes me tired. Unless there's a Venti White Chocolate Mocha with Whip at the end. Then I could probably at least skip.
Give me a year or so and we'll see where I am then. Hopefully I won't be sitting at the same place, still writing my list of goals. I want to be checking them off, baby!!
As I've mentioned previously, my Homies and I are currently doing Beth Moore's study on the book of Daniel. We watch an hour session on DVD where Beth talks in depth about one specific chapter of Daniel, going through different corresponding scriptures in both the Old and New Testaments, explaining some of the more confusing aspect by going back to the original Hebrew or Aramaic (Interestingly, Daniel was written partly in one and partly in the other), and sharing fascinating facts about the Babylonian culture of that time (which also corresponds to our culture). Then we have five days of homework in which we delve a little deeper into the scriptures, contemplate personal applications and gain more understanding. When we meet again on Friday we go over certain homework questions and watch the video for the next session.
Since I missed Home Team yesterday the leader, Ann, dropped the DVD off so I could watch it this weekend. I just finished watching it and I was overwhelmed. In the video Beth Moore is not only teaching these lessons to a camera, she's teaching it to a packed auditorium in her church. Each week she invites a group of women from different churches to sit on the stage with her. This week was Beth Messiah, a Messianic congregation in Houston. She invited them to give the Shema, what they call one of their watchwords.
It gave me chills and I ended up in a blubbering pile of goo on the floor. First everyone stood up and faced East toward Jerusalem. Then they sang the Shema in Hebrew and it was so beautiful. I only recognized Yeshua and Adonai, but I understood it was a praise to God and to the Messiah. Then they recited it in English. Here's the translation:
Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. Blessed be His name, whose glorious kingdom is forever and ever. Yeshua the Messiah, He is Lord.
I'm not entirely sure why I was so moved. Maybe it was because it was spoken in Jesus' language. Or maybe because my soul was so happy to be getting nourished. Most definitely it had something to do with being in the presence of God.
Can you tell I'm thoroughly into this study?
***
On another note, we had a very thin layer of snow last night before the temps rose and it started raining. All night long. Now it looks beautiful outside, though it's in the low 40's and very windy. But there's no snow for me to shovel! (As if I would have anyway.)
Wednesday night Todd and I went with Ben and his fiance, Katie (not to be confused with our Katie) to a Shane and Shane concert. For those of you who aren't familiar with contemporary Christian bands you probably have no idea who they are. They're a pretty awesome accoustic (mostly) band and a lot of fun to see. David Nasser was there as well. This guy is a great speaker and what a story he has to tell! He was born in Iran, saw his father dragged from his house and had a gun held to his own head when he was 9. Somehow his family managed to escape to America after that. He went to church with a high school buddy when this friend told him the five hottest girls at school went to the same church. He eventually became a Christian and is a very funny, gifted speaker with quite a powerful message. There's a ton more I could say about him, but I won't. Just suffice it to say that our "Valentine's date" was great!
Friday night we watched the fourth disk of season one of the Gilmore Girls. I had to keep asking myself, "Gilmore Girls or Prison Break"? You know, my two favorite television shows are LOST and Desparate Housewives. Those are the two shows I don't like to miss. Every other show on TV I can do without. I'm pretty sure I could draw comparisons there, too, and maybe narrow down my favorites to just one night a week. Nah...
Saturday morning was the quarterly ladies' brunch at church. What a bunch of fun that is! I'm a little sad I have to wait three more months for the next one. After that Todd and I went walking at the park. I thoroughly enjoyed it except for the fact it was around 30 degrees and a bit windy. It was my first taste of being ready for Spring.
Everybody is off tomorrow and I have no idea what we're going to do. All the stuff I'd like to do is outdoor stuff and it's too cold for that. Movies are expensive and the Camden Aquarium (like I'd been thinking about) is going to be mega-crowded. The kids are harder to please now that they're getting older. Gone are the days of driving to the really cool looking gas station with the Espresso Bar inside and giving them a thrill. Heck, it's even lost some of its appeal to me.
OH! Katie and I bought about 50 pounds of candy on Friday for our DVDathon and I found a green bag of nothing but green M&Ms. If you don't know the significance of green M&Ms - and it's not because St. Patrick's Day is around the corner - you can read about it here. There's a hoochie-mama green M&M on the front and it says, "The New Color of Love". But that's not the funniest part. In smaller letters under said hoochie-mama it says, "Sweetie... it's all true."
When we got home I told Todd I had a surprise for him. After pulling the Milk Duds and Twizzlers and Sour Gummy Lifesavers and Goobers out of the bag (and I can't figure out why I'm not losing weight) I pulled out the M&Ms and threw him the bag. His first words were, "I don't need these!" Silly boy. I bought them for me.
The mundane ramblings of a busy homemaker trying to get out of housework
About Me
Name::Jenster From::Pennsylvania, United States
wife of a great man who loves me despite my lack of domestic skills ** mother of two pretty wonderful teenagers (and I really mean it) ** reader ** writer ** active member of a terrific bible church, serving women ** breast cancer survivor View my complete profile
Some very special friends of ours are going through something horrendous right now. Todd and I have both shed tears today at the thought of their circumstances and the difficult decisions they're facing. "Difficult" seems too benign a word. Sometimes recipes are "difficult". Sometimes people are "difficult". Parking a landboat in a crowded lot is "difficult". What they're experiencing right now goes so far beyond "difficult", but I don't know what other word to use.
I've been kind of, um, oh, I don't know. "Pissy" is the best word I can think of to describe my attitude lately. Not really angry or mean, but not in the best humor, either. Little things bug me and I don't have my usual ocean of patience. Okay. Maybe not "usual ocean", but just not as much patience as I usually have - whatever that may be.
The prude that I am was a little disappointed at a flash of anonymous boobies. It's PG-13, for cryin' out loud. It was a quick flash, but so very unnecessary. It reminded me of when I was in 8th grade and my AT group went into Hollywood to see Romeo and Juliet at Grauman's Chinese Theater. Really cool experience, but the boys in the group were thrilled when Olivia Hussey jumped out of bed, baring her chest. (But really, what do you expect with a name like Hussey?) The girls were just embarrassed. And a little envious. Or maybe that was just me.
Last Sunday after Youth Group a bunch of the older kids went to Sonic. They parked in the lot and walked over to order and eat at the picnic tables out front. You order in the same kind of speaker box as if you'd pulled up to a slot, but you give them your name so when they come out they know where the order goes. So here's the conversation with the Sonic chick and my son:
This is the top of the swimsuit I bought for Hawaii the other day. I consider it was a good day because I didn't cry in the dressing room. Didn't even feel the urge. I certainly don't like the way I look in a swimsuit. Heck, I didn't like it when I was 40 pounds lighter. But it is what it is so there's no sense getting depressed about it. But what thrilled me was the fact it's just a normal top and it just happens to hide both my mastectomy scar (my left mastectomy scar is pretty high up) and my port scar. I also got two different bottoms - red regular bottoms and a coral SwimMini.
The current series at our church is based on the book One Month to Live, Thirty Days to a No-Regrets Life written by Kerry & Chris Shook of Fellowship of The Woodlands near Houston, Texas. I confess I haven't kept up with my reading, but the title resonates with me because, well, I've kind of been there.
As I've mentioned previously, my Homies and I are currently doing Beth Moore's study on the book of Daniel. We watch an hour session on DVD where Beth talks in depth about one specific chapter of Daniel, going through different corresponding scriptures in both the Old and New Testaments, explaining some of the more confusing aspect by going back to the original Hebrew or Aramaic (Interestingly, Daniel was written partly in one and partly in the other), and sharing fascinating facts about the Babylonian culture of that time (which also corresponds to our culture). Then we have five days of homework in which we delve a little deeper into the scriptures, contemplate personal applications and gain more understanding. When we meet again on Friday we go over certain homework questions and watch the video for the next session.
