Lemon Sucker Scrunchy Face

You know that face your kids make when they taste something really bad? That scrunchy nose, furrowed brow, squinted eyes, lemon sucker face?

That pretty much sums up today for me.

Today was a lemon. If today was a used car, I would have returned it. Which is SUCH a waste of a beautiful, clear, sunny Spring day.

Part of it was out of my control, but most of it was a result of my stress level and poor choices.

Waking up to Terri Schiavo's death was misery - I am enormously sensitive and this has affected me to an unhealthy degree. While praying for the family and the nation and Terri, I also was praying for my own self to release this into God's hands and stop carrying it as such a personal, heavy burden on my heart.

Having dh work for 16 hours away from home - leaving before the kids were up and coming home long after they were asleep - was not fantastic.

Having more work than I could do even if I worked 12 hours straight without breaking for any reason was disheartening and daunting.

Cats vomiting all over the garage was just plain disgusting and took time to deal with. I consoled myself that I was not alone in dealing with a substantial gross factor today: one of my girlfriends woke up to her children spreading a carton of raw egg yolks and yogurt all over her kitchen floor. Surely that was worse, but I't not sure what the judging criteria is: cat vomit and raw eggs are just about equal on my Richter Scale of Hurl.

A load of white laundry in which a blue crayon evidently crept in was a delightful discovery in the washing machine this morning.

On the plus side, being home all day with my precious kids was fabulous.

But being home with my precious kids all day while also working all day and juggling the electrician, waterfall installation guys, Fed Ex delivery, our tenant, seven escrows, two home inspections, a pet inspection, Counter Offers and geotechnical engineering report, Home Warranty orders, a refinance lender who sent me no less than 8 emails and called three times, client phone calls and faxes up the wazoo... not so fun. In fact, straight out miserable.

My babies were so neglected today. My work took precedence. All day. I fought against it - I did only the very bare minimum to maximize my unhindered availability to LaLa and Joyboy. But even at the stripped-bare level, I was unable to complete all of my work which MUST be done before tomorrow. I really stank as a Mom and as a Realtor, and as a human being today. I missed attempted hugs from LaLa because I was on the phone, faxing, and racing to finish disclosures at the same time all done during Joyboy's nap because it is my only uninterrupted work time. After I was done with all of that I just put my head in my hands and cried, realizing how ridiiculous this all is if it means my children are being neglected and I still can't even put a substantial dent in my workload.

My baby girl was left sitting alone, by herself, with a distracted and completely otherwise-engaged mother working not 10 feet away, but unavailable, for too much of today. What message am I sending my child when this happens? What the heck am I DOING?

This "Super Mom, Super Realtor" thing is a nice two-dimensional concept. I certainly have the energy and intelligence to make it happen - especially when viewed from the outside in. I am professionally sucessful and somehow manage, by the grace of God alone, to miraculously pull this infernal juggling act off every day. But what about my kids? What about my conscience? What about my own soul thirsting for my kids every night as I drift off to sleep, knowing I did my best and it still was not nearly what they deserved? No one can straddle being a full time Mom and full time self-employment for very long before something must, by lack of human capacity, be set aside in favor of something else. And today, like so many days, my kids bore the brunt of my overwhelming stress. It is not fair to them. It is just plain not worth it. My kids need their Mama. ALL of their Mama, not the stressed out, tattered shell of me that is left over everyone else takes their bite.

I was a miserable excuse for a Mom today. I felt it all day long. I was desperately trying to give of myself to them completely, carving precious time to roll around on the carpet, throw balls, do puzzles, read books, cook lunch, and find butterflies outside. But those moments should have been the text of my day, not the punctuation marks. And they were interrupted by the phone, the fax, the cell phone, the pager, the doorbell, and the paperwork. Ah, the paperwork. My kids don;t care what takes their Mom's attention away from them - they just want their Mama.

And rightfully so.

A ridiculous element of all this is that, even with my dedication to work to the very extent of my ability, I still did not finish everything I need to accomplish. I sit here at 11:00 pm, working after starting my day at 7:00 am. And I will be up long after this, since I took this "break" to post to my blog. My life is tilting out of balance again. Do you just ever have days like this when you can actually, tangibly FEEL your priorities tiling precariously? I REFUSE to let this become normal. I will not surrender these sacred days with my babies to ANY cause, however "important" it is. At the end of my life, I will not remember what disclosures I completed today, how many financing documents I faxed, and what my listing fliers looked like.

But I will always remember the pleading look on my daughter's face and the hopeful sadness in her sweet voice when she came to me imploringly, saying, "Mom, I'm lonely", and begging to spend time with me. I embraced her and left my work undone on the computer to cuddle with my little girl. It was the best moment of my whole day, which overall sucked like a sour lemon because my act was far from together.

I am ashamed. And my heart is just throbbing with regret over the lost hours I misepent today.

I pray for a vastly improved tomorrow, to make better choices, and to get my life back in balance again toward the goal of having no more lemon-sucker-scrunchy-face days like this one.

Never Another April

I must remember to be careful with my words. Careful to tread on sacred ground with selfish sentiments. It is my intention to make my words instruments of peace to the extent of my ability.

Further, to realize that our prayers are petitions, and that the Lord's answers are not always possible to understand within the limitations of our finite human hearts.

And that the path of the Lord, by design and intention, does markedly diverge from the path of the world. This is His promise, His purpose, and the window of those vast differences sheds needed light onto the inherently sinful nature of humanity. I pray for conviction to choose your way and remember that it is by grace alone that we stand justified.

By grace alone.

Amazing grace.

Lord, into your hands we commit the spirit of Terri Schiavo. Under your wings we seek shelter from the storms still raging within the hearts of the people in this nation, the courts and the government, her hospice caregivers, her friends, and her dear wounded family. Please bless her family with abundant comfort right now. We thank you for the life of Terri Schiavo and for the lessons we glean from her courage, resolve, innocence, suffering, and ultimate death. We with deep sadness resign ourselves that tomorrow will not come for this precious woman. That her she perished by the actions and indifference of others and this last March morning, the sun set on her life, and she will never live to see another April.

Make known your will, Lord, that we may pursue that with fervency. Make known your wisdom, Lord, that may replace our own with yours. Make it known your love, Lord, that we may we NEVER FORGET our obligation to all of humanity. Make known your truth, Lord, that we do not compromise. Make known your peace, Lord, that we can rest under the wings of the Creator of heaven and earth, knowing it surpasses our understanding. And make known your Amazing Grace, Lord, that those who once were lost now can be found, and those who were blind now will see.

With hopeful and determined hears, we pray for silence to never be fraudulently substituted for lasting peace, and for your righteousness and perfection to reign in the hearts of those who prayed against this most tragic and senseless outcome we met this morning. Humbly I also ask for healing in my own heart over this unspeakable tragedy. I am wholly dependent on you to sustain me today as my own emotional strength is just spent and I am struggling to find you amidst my own guttural reaction. Breathe new life into me that I might regain my footing, know your peace, and continue this journey, refined and blessed by your presence by my side and in my heart.

I pray for Terri's dear family and for the hearts who are forever altered by her passing. And I pray for Terri, for whom there will never be another April but for the eternal view from her perch in paradise. Thank you Lord for never leaving us, even in life's darkest corners, and that our faith in your promises is the light piercing the darkness.

The sweet mouths of babes

Almost-4-year-old LaLa's prayer ended tonight with this heartfelt plea, "God, why do we have to be human people? I want to be a caterpillar. Amen."

Thirteen

13 days with no water
13 days with no food
13 days with no idea why no one is helping her
13 days of fighting for life, hanging on, wanting to live
13 days of living despite being killed slowly
13 days of abuse
13 days of torture
13 days of depraved indifference

13 days and still she lives. Still she fights to survive.
If this is not a testament to the will to LIVE, I don't know what is.

If Terry was trapped and brain-injured on a mountain and managed to survive for 13 days with no food and water, we'd call her a hero. We'd rush critical aid and life sustaining efforts. She'd be on the cover of People magazine as a testament to God's miracles and power of the will to live.

But because her husband is doing this to her - because he has determined that she "wanted" this inhuman starvation process - we do NOTHING? She is still stranded - within her own body with no ability to help herself and no voice to cry out. Why are we compassionate on a sliding scale? Why does her mental state determine our level of human decency? Why is her innocent life deemed worthy of death when other innocent life is worthy of life? How does this make sense to anyone with a conscience and a soul? In my heart, I do not understand this approach to judging the value and status of the human soul by the limits of mental ability/ injury/capacity? We as people so much more than our bodies. Life extends beyond the boundaries of a mental disability. Devaluing the life of the meekest among us to the point where we undertake to kill them under the deluded blanket of "mercy" is an arrogant, strident step towards hell. This woman is being exterminated. And we are doing nothing to help her.

There can be no justification for this. Not ever.

http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2005/112/48.0.html

Isolation Tank

Sometimes, do you ever feel like you need to just shut out the world for the sake of your own self-preservation?

I was there last night.

Maybe because of the migraine, but last night there was just no rest for the weary and my whole souls felt assaulted by the world. I felt like I was drowning, you know? Every sense was on overdrive - I was a raw wound all over - and the salt kept pouring in. Trying to keep my mind occupied through the end of the migraine, I tuned into the TV with the sounds on very, very low. What a mistake. Evening TV is one big assault on my senses under normal conditions. Add a migraine to the mix and I should have known better.

There is no escaping the Terry Schiavo case. Every channel, all the time. I am praying so devotedly for the family and for Terry, but I hurt with every prayer as the inevitable death of this woman and the hurt of her family just ulcerates my heart over and over.

Flipped the channel. Ah, powerful earthquakes shake Indonesia - hundreds, perhaps thousands of people are dead and injured. Tsunami warnings abound. Fantastic - just what this region needs - more of THAT. Again, bang down on my knees, asking God to spare as many as He would and comfort those who are so injured, scared and so tired. Prayer brought tears, but comfort to my soul. Thank you God.

OK, so no more news for me. Switched over to the "Bachelor" which has rarely let me down before, as it allows my mind to switch entirely into idle mode so I can coast for awhile. Only caught the last half hour of what was a 2-hour show. Oh man, big mistake. What once was an innovative way to meet singles and potentially find a mate (well, at least that was the promised premise) has morphed into one big exploitive game of sex, strategy, and seduction. Sickening. Wonderful. No more mind coasting for me.

I begin having a conversation with myself. "Where is Seinfeld, anymore? Maybe TNT - nope, some random movie. What about channel 118 - saw it there last week. Nope, some OTHER random made-for-TV movie. Surely there is something else on - we have 4000 channels."

Nope, wrong. Nothing.

So TV goes off. A relief, actually. I decide to read. Copy of People magazine somehow snuck its way into my grocery bag. Tried to read that. Uh on. Terry Schiavo again, both sides. Angry, awful details. Heartache. I turned the pages, hoping for relief. None to be found, as here is Scott Peterson's death sentence for killing Laci and Connor. Sharon Rocha's gut-wrenching entire statement to Scott was in bold print and impossible to NOT be moved to tears by.

Crying now again, I flipped more pages, hoping for something on Brittany Spears dog or something - anything to rest for a moment. Nope. There was the story about Jessica Lunsford and that awful, ruined soul who attacked and then murdered this baby. I can't imagine the pain involved in losing your baby like that and hurt for the innocence lost.

OK, so now I am just a puddle on the floor.

So I have now determined I cannot watch TV, and cannot read in my state of mind and body. No radio either. Why chance it? Maybe I need to go live in the wilderness for awhile to just REST. Maybe a sensory deprivation chamber? I am beginning to think there is something quite appealing about the whole concept of hibernation. At least until I can get myself well again and face this sharp angled world with a healthy degree of armor on my heart.

I ended up answering the increasing beckon of sleep, and crawled under my snuggly down comforter. Good decision, that.

The sunshine this Tuesday morning did help restore my spirit, but so far, I have only dared to tune into Noggin on the TV this morning and no newspapers, magazines, websites, or radio yet. I need some more time in this isolation tank - it is good for me to act as my own protective collander onto the invading world and shelter my oversensitive heart right now. Baby steps. I am not ready to dive into the deep end of the pool yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

Comma, comma, down shooby doo...

DOWN
DOWN...

I forgot to tell you:

Our Christmas Tree is now down

Just in time for Easter (we made it under the wire by getting it bagged up, un-trimmed and into the attic by 22 minutes before midnight on Saturday night). After joyboy's birthday party earlier this month, I placed a sign on the tree that said "CARPE TREE-UM" (seize the tree). An overall satisfying gesture, even though it did nothing to further my cause of actually getting the tree out of the house. Resigning myself to the inevitable, I was all set to hide Easter eggs in the branches amidst the pathetic dregs of our ornaments that remained in sad tribute to the exact moment when we lost steam in our "un-Christmas-decorating" pursuits. But my hero Copper finally stepped in and put an end to the madness. And our sweet Christmas tree is now in sweet hibernation for at least another 8 months or so.

A new personal record. Last year it was up till Coppers' birthday (late April), so this is a remarkable improvement. I am aiming for Valentines's Day next year. Dare to dream.

Imminent Explosion

My ode to a Monday that is besting me in a BIG WAY.

To the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell" ...

My head is gonna explode,
my head is gonna explode..
the weather comes in, the weather goes out,
My head is gonna explode.

Migraines really are bad,
Migraines really are bad,
I like them not, they stink a lot.
Migraines really are bad.

I want to go back to bed,
I want to go back to bed
Crawl in and pull covers over my head,
I want to go back to bed.

Advil does not help at all,
Advil does not help at all,
Like throwing a deck chair off the Titanic,
Advil does not help at all.

My kids are like sirens right now
My kids are like siresn right now
Theri voices ringing inside my skull,
my kids are like sirens right now

My head is gonne explode,
my head is gonna explode,
Hi-ho-the-migraine-woe!
My head is gonna explode.

Cheers. An otherwise fine day here in the land of fruits and nuts. My song would be all-around better and more original except that I have a MIGRAINE. Or did I mention that?

Truth From Trappings

It is always a bit of a hiccup to sort out mixed holiday messages for our kids, to separate the truth from the trappings. Each Biblical holiday we observe as sacred has quite a different meaning served up relentlessly by our secularized society (usually with big, fat, tantalizing marketing and a significant price tag attached).

At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of baby Jesus in a manger, in the meekest of surroundings amidst shepherds, goats, and hay, with a bright star lighting up the night sky overhead. But the world also brings us the traditional jolly fat guy in the red suit, who rides around in a sled magically pulled by very big deer with huge antlers (and at least one rather large lit red nose), stuffing presents down our chimneys and into enormous hanging socks. Hmmm. Try merging that into one clarified understanding for little minds.

At Easter, we have a giant bunny giving out pastel candy-filled eggs, and a resurrected Lord giving out the greatest gift mankind has ever received. Hmmm again. An obvious disparity in messages, as eggs are nowhere near as vital as the gift of Jesus. Try explaining that to an almost 4-year old who just got her first Cadbury Egg. As Jesus is always present in our lives, the excited, "sugar-fueled" novelty of the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus once a year is hard to combat in favor of the deeper meaning. Sadly, there is no such thing as a Cadbury Jesus Egg. If there were, it might make things a lot easier.

Not.

At some point, an explanation will be demanded by our kids, who will mercilessly hound us to answer their craving for reconciliation of the whole truth and nothing but. I remember when it happened for me - I was eight years old. Growing up, I remember throwing eggs down hills and searching for them in grassy fields - and how much fun I had with my family at those events. But I also never was led to believe that the eggs, bunny, plastic Easter Basket grass, chocolates and all of it was the REASON for the celebration. We always knew it was because of Jesus. And even though we realized that each time we celebrated Jesus (in birth or in death and resurrection), we always seemed to get presents, we knew from the beginning of our lives that these things were trappings, secondary to the reason - the message - the TRUTH of the sacred day. At eight years old, I told my parents I would have nothing more to do with eggs and the whole Easter Bunny thing. I shrugged off the childhood practices in search of a greater understanding of Easter. Strong convictions even then, I am sure my parents met this announcement with amusement and a fair bit of relief, as it meant they only had to fill two Easter baskets from then on instead of three.

At the tender age of eight I just decided that the facade of Easter, all the hollow celebrations involving eggs and bunnies, just were no match for Jesus. And that remains the condition of my heart to this day. If my instincts are correct, LaLa will come to this realization much earlier. And I am thrilled to anticipate this moment. Not for innocence lost in celebrating baskets and bunnies, but for wisdom gained in realizing there is more to Easter than eggs.

My promise to my children is to continue in the Godly tradition of my parents - to always separate truth from trappings. For our family, Easter is not about eggs, egg hunts, egg rolls, and the inevitable deviled-and-other-egg-recipes that follow for weeks. It is not about the vernal equinox or welcoming the spring. It is not about colorful baskets filled with trinkets. It is not about photo ops with big, white (is the Easter Bunny universally white, or is this just a West Coast thing?) bunnies, upon whose fluffy lap LaLa remains wary of sitting. And it is not about endless quantities of candy and elaborate ham dinners.

It is about Jesus and the eternal gift of salvation for all who believe. This day celebrates the core reason we even bother to navigate our way through this experience known as life. This day is about salvation and freedom, joy and love. It is about the most important gift we have or will ever be given. It is about life, abundantly.

When sacred observances of faith must share the spotlight with societal holiday traditions, I make the distinctions clear to my precious little ones between real and make-believe, between truth and trappings. There is no inherent need to forgo trappings to validate the truth as my 8- year old mind once concluded. The problem arises only when the reverse scenario occurs - and truth is forgone in favor of the trappings. I am committed to stand against that tide, and my prayer is that the words of the Bible are forever etched on my children's hearts, not the Easter Bunny and Santa's Elves. Toward this end I teach and love my children, aware that the message and person of Christ is not altered or lessened by the presence of Peeps, Robin Eggs and Cadbury products in our house this morning.

Which is such a relief, because those Reece's Peanut Butter eggs are ridiculously addicting.

Good Friday Cross Walking

Our church, in concert with every other church in our community, participates in an amazing tradition each Good Friday. Together, undivided by denomination and united only by our shared Christian faith, we walk in solidarity from the historic Mission, winding our way through the delicate streets, into the scenic public park in the center of our town. We carry crosses and sing, recite liturgy, pray and read Bible verses and elements of the crucifixion story at various points along the way. We do this in tangible eloquent remembrance of the walk to Calvary Jesus took while carrying his cross with our sins upon it. And in gratitude for our receipt of such an enormous gift.

It is fascinating that every year on Good Friday, this walk begins with a finite number of Christians and ends with a much bigger crowd. Along the "Cross Walk" route, random people always join us and join this symbolic journey and experience that is inevitably powerful and moving. This year, what began with perhaps 150 people ended with over 400. I am so moved and excited and so grateful to be able to publicly display my faith and love for God in this neat way.

As I walked today with my family, my heart and mind were particularly emotionally raw. As I prayed and sang about a Godless world that recklessly and with evil malice condemned Jesus to die for no reason beyond their human contempt for his message, I could not help but be humbled with personal and societally relevant questioning of my own soul. As a Christian for whom this season is unspeakably holy - if I were living in the time of Christ and made to watch all this awful suffering and crucifixion of my Lord on the cross, what would my reaction have been? Would I have been so angry and filled with hateful contempt for those who would perpetrate this unthinkable, horrific act to an innocent person I love that I would have been blinded to the greater purpose for the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ? Would I have so despised those who nailed Jesus to a cross that I would have, in my human, earth-bound reaction, missed the deeper, sacred, heavenly event that would eclipse the suffering and turn darkness into light? Would my own humanity, essentially, have caused my emphasis to be placed not on God's perfect divinity but on my own thirst for punitive righteousness on the people in the square that day who demanded that Jesus be killed?

My answer is not what I would desire it to be. But at the honest crux of myself, it is what I must answer. I sadly admit that my grief, anger, despair, and deep emotion would have placed me in jeopardy of allowing myself to respond with secular heart to that which can only be appreciated from a sacred perspective.

My blinding anger with those whose evil actions caused Jesus' death may have led me to fail to experience the resurrection, which is the miracle of God's gift, and the heart of the Christian faith which has moved mountains and changed the course of history - one heart at a time. That I might have missed the ultimate gift of Christ because I was so distracted by the wrapping was a deeply sobering thought.

This realization was met with tears as I walked under the warm California sun. Those who know me understand that my well of emotion runs deep and is easily tapped by matters of the soul and tuggings of the heart. So, while crying as I walked, and feeling my spirit stirring (while also juggling the concerns that my tears would distract others from the message of this "Cross Walk", or by blurred vision cause me to trip and sprawl out somewhere along the sidewalk - also with obvious distraction potential), I was hit by yet another spiritual brick.

I believe that coincidence cannot be claimed that Terry Schiavo's life is ebbing, under the achingly wretched conditions we are all aware of, on this, the most sacred of weeks in the holy calendar of our shared faith. My mind and heart, thoughts, prayers, and tears have been focused on this woman and her family most every hour I've spent awake this week. My convictions about this case are industrially strong. My heart continues to weep for those blessed parents who must watch their beloved daughter die at the hands of another. My entire being is filled with anger and - dare I say it - acidic hatred for those who would so cruelly and unnecessarily take the life of an innocent, weak, voiceless woman.

Without being awake to it, I have become so angry at the events and people causing them that I have forgotten (or ignored the obligation) to love them anyway. I have forgotten to forgive them, as God calls us to. I have forgotten that the perfection of God is not prohibited or confined by the evil of men. That God has created and loves us ALL, despite our sins - and indeed, is this not the point of Easter? That God's offered gift may not be accepted, but His hand remains extended to ALL PEOPLE and ours, because our love includes obedience, must too.

And that, most of all, God is bigger than the size of our problems. And that though He promises us that the earth is not His dwelling place and people will stray far from Him in our resistance of His loving plan for us, ultimately, God's His Kingdom will come and His will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. In the end, God wins. That we know the destination of this journey is essential comfort when the immediate path we are walking on becomes rocky, dark, threatening, and painful.

God can and does work miracles, even through death.

And God knows no boundaries to love.

So must we not. So must I not.

On this Good Friday, as I walked and remembered the Via Dolorosa, my heart was under construction. As I weep with thankfulness for the gift of salvation, I also pray for forgiveness from my own sin of hating evil and those who pursue it MORE than I am showing my love for God by my obedience to his commandments of loving all people, trusting in Him with all my heart, and leaning not unto my own understanding.

I felt God's hand on my heart today. And though I continue to spend time in prayer for a miraculous intervention in the imminent death of Terri Schiavo, I no longer hate those at whose hands she may perish. I am investing my energy in seeing the light of God's presence in all places, not dwelling in darkness found only in pursuing the angry venom, frustration, hurt, and hate that has so seasoned my thoughts this past week.

My spirit is being restored and my faith, strengthened, because God continues to refine my soul and remind me that the life f Jesus was not in vain and the promises of God are truth I can cling to when the pendulum of world chaos swings perilously askew. I am eternally grateful to know that I can be spared the dreadful pendulum ride. I am grateful to be be reminded that we are not called to walk in darkness but to dwell in the light.

I am grateful.

Zonkey Stalking By Request

In response to overwhelming demand for a photo of an actual Zonkey in it's natural habitat (although, since this is a hybrid of a hybrid creature, 'natural habitat' pretty much spans everything from open fields to bowling alleys, doesn't it?), this morning I drove down the road apiece and planted myself in my car for 20 minutes, staring into non-descript, gorgeous rain-saturated countryside. And waited.

And waited.

Took a photo of a flower.

And waited some more.

Realized this may not even be the exact farm where I first saw the Zonkey but was so convinced that the moment I drove off, he would come bounding through the fields, so I waited some more.

Realized this Donkey Stalking business was fast becoming an eleborate justification for not getting my work done today, and drove home.

Zonkeyless.

The quest continues.....

Laundry Master of the Universe

Laundry is one of my most fulfilling hobbies. Note, I said hobby. Not task, chore, or errand - but a certified hobby. As one would partake in, say, scrapbooking, I dig laundry. My laundry room cupboard is stocked with enough supplies to rival the local grocery store. Oxi Clean? Got it. Fizzing drop-in ball? Got TWO of those. Pre-treaters, powder bleach, bleach alternative, and fabric softeners from all over the world grace my shelves. Did you know that Shout not only makes a stain removal gel, but also a stick, spray, wipes, and laundry additive in both powder and ball form? Yeah, didn't think so.

I would get an A+ in Laundry 101. In fact, I think that somewhere along this familiarly enjoyable, if mildly OCD path toward my current laundry mastery, I have earned the right to teach this class at most accredited institutions of higher learning.

Laundry gives me an immediate sense of huge gratification. I invest 2 hours (and about 9 specialized cleaning products) of my life and there is something tangible and squeaky clean, not to mention toasty warm and smelling like Rain (which is actually a misnomer - smells more like Irish Spring soap - which claims to also smell like rain - there is a conspiracy here somewhere. Oops - tangent alert. Let's regroup, shall we?...) emerges from my dryer. Ah, laundry. Suddenly, I am accomplished. The bills are still here, the rain has caused my under-construction-rock-waterfall to overflow it's banks and flood my patio, and my clients are calling off the hook, but GOSH DARN IT, my off-white-to-light-beige cotton and cotton blend load of dirty clothes are now finished. Clean. Beautifully flawless.

I ROCK. I am on top of life.

Because I am the Laundry Master of the Universe.

Everyone has to be something. Just hush.

However, there ARE still elements of laundry that continue to escape me with their unnecessary complexity. Please note that these items do not fall into the categories of laundry "Art" or "Technique", but are more in the "personal peripheral practices" surrounding the actual process of doing the laundry. And each of them involves my dear husband and myself as part of our ongoing laundry dance. We love it, this waltz, as it is a source of continual lighthearted banter for us. And Copper is my complete hero, the best friend I have, and the only man who can make me laugh from my heart and my stomach simultaneously. So when I say with complete confidence that he is also one of the strangest ducks when it comes to laundry, it is from a place of loving amusement. Sometimes I just stand around observing this little laundry dance and giggle.

For instance, are you aware the the laundry hamper omits an aura, permanently marking its location, kind of like a homing beacon? Yes, it was news to me too! This means that even when it is moved from its usual spot, the aura of the hamper remains intact, making it is perfectly acceptable to throw dirty clothes onto the floor where the laundry hamper used to be. Thus occurs the surprisingly common condition, "Habitual Laundry Hamper Disorder" (HLHD) which seems to almost exclusively afflict men. This disorder allows the mind to apparently decide that, even in the absence of an actual laundry hamper, dirty clothes belong in the space usually occupied by the laundry hamper. Thus, throwing them onto the floor where said hamper used to be becomes quasi-natural behavior. Although the origins of this fascinating condition are uncertain, it is most widely believed that this happens because the AURA of said hamper effects the mind of the HLHD sufferer like a beacon no non-HLHD sufferer is aware of (akin to dogs being able to hear sounds undetectable to us humans), thus rendering the actual hamper irrelevant to the process of collecting dirty laundry.

Sadly, our home is not immune from this affliction. Copper has an acute case of HLHD. We have tried everything. Post-It Notes. A big picture of dirty clothes in a circle with a big red line through them (a la Ghostbusters) placed onto the floor where the hamper would be. Yellow police tape around the general hamper area. All failures. When I remove our hamper from the place in our bedroom closet where it normally lives to, say, the laundry room for a day or two while I complete the laundry, it triggers an involuntary response I just can't control. And the dirty clothes pile begins accumulating on the floor where the laundry hamper used to be. It is so sad. I should call Dr. Phil, or maybe even Oprah. Especially since I heard it might be genetic.

I have often wondered what would happen if I got rid of the hamper altogether? But I already know - alas - the ominous floor PILE would appear suddenly again and get more complex and larger with time. It is kind of like crop circles - appearing overnight, mysterious, and more than a little bit unsettling.

I do believe, though, that I would also encounter a lovely side effect from this approach. I expect that in absence of the hamper, the aura on the floor would fade and I would begin to find laundry just strewn about everywhere. This would cause my little cleanliness-obsessed body to have an aneurysm or two, so "cold turkey" is definitely not the way to treat HLHD in our house.

Baby steps. Has to be baby steps. :)

Another notable ride in 6 Flags Laundry Adventures at our house has to do with the system of folding and putting away the freshly cleaned laundry. My process is the following:

1.) Remove clothing from dryer and place onto folding surface.
2.) Fold one item at a time, place into piles according to owner and room to which item belongs.
3.) Carry piles to appropriate rooms.
4.) Put piled items away or deposit into rooms hoping that the owner of the freshly laundered clothes will eventually put them away (see also: 'denial', 'kidding oneself')

Copper believes that mine is an incomplete, flawed process. He subscribes to the concept of sub-categorization of laundry and believes that while folding clothes, the clothes should not only be separated into piles according to owner/room, they should also be put with like items within said piles. For instance - socks should be with socks, boxers with boxers. It drives him bananas that I will put a pair of socks on top of a sweater which is on top of jeans, on top of a T-shirt. This causes sincere upset in my dear husband, and means that the clothes piles have to be re-separated before putting them away so as to avoid wasting energy walking around the room putting clothing away which is not in the same location as the next item in the pile. This task of re-sorting before putting away, in fact, so daunts Copper, that it has often been used as a justifiable reason for not putting away the towering pile of his freshly laundered clothes I've delivered to his bureau AT ALL.

So far, the longest documented time a non-subcategorized pile of clothes has remained untouched on Copper's dresser was 63 days from December 2, 2004 until February 2, 2005. I have yet to call Guiness. Somehow I think we are ahead of our time with this World Record category.

As long as I am the sole laundress of this home (a position I covet - not begrudge) I get to do things MY WAY. So my clean piles will remain scandalously un-subcategorized and I will continue to find dirty clothes on the floor where the hamper goes, whether or not it is actually there to receive them. I will continue to invest sizeable time and effort in creating the cleanest, best smelling, softest, freshest laundry for my family. And I will REJOICE AND BE GLAD IN IT. Because laundry is my hobby, it is a source of pride and accomplishment, and it is a greatly underrated American pastime. I love my laundry. Hi, my name is Lachen and I am a laundry-a-holic. Yes, I can see where that might fit in to my vocabulary somewhere down the road...

But I smile widely, and sigh contendedly. My laundry is clean and all is right in this corner of the world. Such is a day in the joyful life of the Laundry Master of the Universe.

The Loch Ness Zonkey

I could not get to bed without writing this, because I am chagrined to not have already talked about this, as it delights me so.

We live in a somewhat rural place, where suburb meets farm without warning as you drive along our coast. One such farm has a fenced pasture along the road. And on that pasture there exists a creature of folklore, myth, and legend (well, in my own mind, anyway). I have actually SEEN it. About a year ago, my mother and I were driving past the pasture in question, and THERE IT WAS. Seeing this animal caused me to hit my brakes, spin out a bit, and try to turn the car around. In all the effort, I was not rewarded, for the elusive creature was gone when I got back to the place where I had sighted it.

What was it, you ask? (I know you did... admit it) Loch Ness is in Scotland somewhere, and Sasquatch (aka Bigfoot) generally does not spend much time in open pastures, I understand. He's more of a deep woods kind of guy. The Abominable Snowman by definition needs.... snow.

So what was it?

Why, it was a ZONKEY.

What is a Zonkey, you ask? (again, I just know...) Hmmm... well, it is utterly fascinating. I have been told that the owner of that farm bred giant Arabian horses to donkeys. From there, he bred one of the HUGE donkey-horses to a ZEBRA. And voila - enter ZONKEYS, a hybrid of giant donkey and zebra. The creature is HUGE - about one half again as large as the biggest horse I've ever seen, easily towering over the cows sharing the pasture. And it has black and white stripes, a whipping black mane, and very large eyes. It looks almost frightening until it runs - then it becomes amazingly lithe and stunning. It embodies the image of WILD ANIMAL a majestic and exotic creature you'd expect to see on Wild Kingdom or in a Zoo - not on a farm down the road from my home.

So, I have my little mysterious creature of folklore, right up there (in my mind, anyway) with the likes of old Loch Ness and it is my heart's delight. As we drove by the farm tonight and tried to catch a glimpse. I was endeavoring not to be too obvious as I craned my head out the window in the pouring rain. I did not succeed in that endeavor. And sadly, for all my effort, there were no Zonkey sightings today.

But there's always tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Emerging Light

Gosh, tough week.

Work has kicked my tail, but has been fruitful with more promises of tail-kicking as these 5 escrows and 2 listings close within the upcoming months. In my line of work, one can never tell when the rainstorms hit. The pace will be even keel, almost leisurely, and then - BAM! - deluge city.

Not that I am complaining. Work provides for life and is therefore a good, necessary thing. In my case, I also happen to love what I do professionally, so I get a double bonus. God is good.

But this week has brought me to my knees. I worked 17 hours yesterday. 17 hours the day before. 12 hours today. Tomorrow is Sunday and God said to rest, so I am RESTING - working only 2 hours. I anticipate a bit of a slowdown next week, but not much. As I sit here, I am so exhausted that my legs are actually tingling and I have to move them around to avoid having them fall asleep on me entirely. And my eyes keep glazing over - making the words on the screen look like... well, squint your eyes and stare at the screen. There you have it. My patience has been short and my voice has been louder with my kids.

I need to slow down and I have a plan to do just that over the next 2-3 weeks.

But the unexpected blessing in all of this is that I have realized that I am not being replenished or used or growing at the rate and depth I could be within my church and on my journey towards more clarified, useful, deepening faith in action. When you are so tired and so spent, you become aware that - outside of family and a network of friends - there is truly no place I can go to just REPLENISH my soul. Church, once serving that vital function, no longer does. The exact reasons why are difficult to pin down, but are not universal. I love Jesus and seek to know and follow Him and care for His creation and people, but in terms of my OWN journey, I am just not challenged, not comforted, and not satisfied. I want so much to be a part of the Church Paul talks of in Ephesus and Philip - emerging, on FIRE, holistic and more naturaly occuring and practicing, honoring the ancient traditions while embracing ne forms of faith expression and worship. I see this as having the capacity to meet a closer model of Christ's church than people who have no natural interraction with one another coming together in a forced, rigid structured worship service once a week to TRY to form the body of Christ.

I struggle against the regulations and rigidity of the church as a STRUCTURE, not an entity, and not theologically. Church as a practical concept needs to be sandblasted, and I am thrilled to death to see the "Emerging Church" come more openly onto the scene in the past few years and notably within very recent months. I have struggled with the structure of the current average church for some time. It seems stagnant to me, isolated, comfortable, rigid. And I so long for intense communion with other believers in natural, holistic settings where worship, connection, outreach, sharing of love and gifts, and honest communication as the key elements of the journey and Jesus is always the uncompromising destination. I so long for churches to not be PLACES, but be people. Loving others and getting OUT there to attend to as much of the needs and hurts of the world as we can. But making sure to hold one another accountable in ways that don't happen with typical brick and mortar churches in contemporary society today. Church should not be someplace you GO and come home from each Sunday. It should be PEOPLE and a feeling of coming HOME every time you get together to seek and celebrate Jesus.

Couple all of this with my realization a few weeks ago that I need to be singing. And my deeper yearnings for more children, and I'm not sure where that leads me. But I do know that things are stirring in my life. I am beginning to believe that these are the ingredients in a smashing recipe that is in the making in my life, with the Lord as head chef. I just keep waiting for more to be added to eventually have a clue as to what God is doing with my life.

This thrills me and excites me. Somehow, even as I contemplate how to listen to what God wants me to DO with all this, I am not afraid. If I am meant to be a part of a new church movement, OK. I am to pursue adopting children instead of having them, OK. If I am meant to seek out my place in the Emerging Church and to use my gift of singing in ministry, OK! I just feel so poised and anticipatory about what God might do here...

I feel like I am being prepared for something. And I am preparing my heart for the ingredients to come together in unexpected ways.

Tired but jubilant. I feel and emerging light in my heart, mind, and soul after a heck of a week. But I also feel an overwhelming urge to merge with my bed and become one with the mattress for at least the next 7-8 hours. May I wake with continuing hope tomorrow.

*smile*

Pale World of Hurt

What kind of a world are we leaving as our children's inheritance when ex-husbands are allowed to remove from their invalid ex-wives the source of nutrition she receives - her feeding tube! - so that she is allowed to LEGALLY stave to death over time? And where perverted ex-cons prey on innocent, angelic nine-year old girls, snatching them from their bedrooms as they sleep and eventually taking their lives?

What kind of a place is this world? Is SUCKS to share this planet with such permeating evil.

Sometimes my hatred for the world and it's sick, twisted sociopaths and predatory people taps out my capacity for forgiveness and compassion. I can't forgive, I won't. Some crimes and actions are beyond my ability to extend the olive branch over and both sicken and wound me. I don't see inherent goodness right now as a defining characteristic of this earth. Granted, why should I? But it is difficult to watch innocents being hurt at will, their joyful lives marred by the rotting hatred and selfishn actions of others. I see the awful results of God's societal rebuff scattered everywhere like shrapnel on a spent battelfield. I see so much decay in us, so much unfulfilled promise, so many ruined lives.

I see a pale, pale world.

Admittedly fatalistic. But I am here, in this place, falling-off-my-chair weary, trying to wrap my mind around the possible purpose for all this evil to be allowed free reign on the planet.

My children deserve far better than this kind of poisonous inheritance. I cry and I pray. This world is a tragic place. Nothing is sacred anymore.

This dance in my mind is dangerous and lands me in a foul disposition. I need to seek solace in prayer and sleep and rest my heart for awhile.

Brittany

~~~~~

Can you hear me broken hearted?
All you prisoners of your past
Come and find your freedom at last

There is mercy for the memories
That hold you in your pain
Come and stand in the cleansing
Of forgiving rain

Chorus

For as far as the eastern sky is to the west
And as deep as the ocean's deepest depths
Your sin has been carried by a God who forgives and forgets
Come find mercy for the memories and rest

All you hiding in the shadowsOf innocence you've lost
Come and find your healingIn the shadow of the cross

Chorus

For as far as the eastern sky is to the west
And as deep as the ocean's deepest depths
Your sin has been carried by a God who forgives and forgets
Come find mercy for the memories and rest...

*Geoff Moore/Steven Curtis ChapmanPsalm 103/Jeremiah 31:34*

~~~~~

If only you knew. We mourn your tragic, senseless, sudden death. We honor your vibrant and talented life. May God welcome you home with open arms and comfort those who will forever be altered by your departure. May you find the eternal rest and peace in His arms that so achingly eluded you here on earth. May you find mercy for your memories and rest.

~In Memory~
Brittany Elizabeth Benov
December 14, 1980 - March 12, 2005

Three Ricks & a Livid Lady...

OK, we are refinancing a house. Fairly routine, everyday occurrence on this great planet of ours.

But you are reading words pouring from the mind of a LIVID woman right now. I was brought to this rare place of utter disgust by the sheer the lack of professional competence and respect for customers which is FLOODING the Real Estate service provider marketplace right now. LIVID is a category of experience I tend to reserve for unusually catastrophic, deliberately harmful, angering events as I am, by nature, quite slow to anger. But today, I am firmly rooted in the "MAD" category.

The first appraiser calls to set the appointment to appraise our homes' value. This is a mandatory step required by the lender. He tells me he just needs a half hour, and that he can make it some time between Monday and Thursday. Excuse me? You are making an appointment for an entire 4-day time period? Am I to stay home during this entire time and just hope you will materialize at some point? That's worse than Sears. It's worse than the gas company AND the phone company combined. No WAY is this a practical approach to doing business. Not to mention deeply disrespectful of our time and lives, since we also work and have children and schedules which don't permit an acenine 4-day buffer.

I calmly relay this seemingly obvious bit of enlightenment to Mr. appraiser-man.

He is unaffected entirely and tells me that if I need a "concrete appointment", his fee doubles because he is BUSY.

OK, I see. And what is the added cost if I need you to actually SHOW UP for said "concrete appointment"? I was tempted to redefine the term "busy" for him on my terms, but I figured (in a wise moment of holding my tongue) that: A.) he would not get it and B.) it would not help get us anywhere. So I instead informed him that his terms of "service" were unacceptable to us. Silly us, we think appointments for these types of things should definitely be held to a general time period of MUCH less than 4 days.

Yeah, he was not a keeper.

So, onto the second appraiser. Initial hopes of an actual appraisal taking place at our house were dashed when he SET the appointment for a SINGLE DAY (yahoo!) but did not show up for said appointment. Instead, we receive a call from him two days later saying he was unable to keep the initial appointment but could re-schedule for 12 days from now. I asked him what the odds were that he'd be able to actually show up for this next appointment, and he COULD NOT GIVE ME AN EXACT NUMBER. His quote, "well, no promises, but let's try."

Try this, OK?

Onto the third appraiser (who knew that all appraisers are apparently men in their forties named "Rick"?) This guy didn't get beyond a phone call. I am getting better at my screening process, I guess.

Me: "So, when can you come out?"

Him: "Are you sure you want to refinance right now? The rates are getting higher and the worldwide Real Estate market is based on financial fraud anyway."

Me: "Pardon me?"

Him: "All these people who 'own' something are really kidding themselves because it is their home that owns them. And prices can fluxuate with the whim of world leaders. Who knows what a house is worth two days from now - appraisals mean nothing. The market is based on total fraud, dude. Nothing I can tell you about your house value is worth the paper it's written on in a week. Ownership, loans, houses - it's all just so fluid, dude. Appraisals are worthless."

That might be. But to actually determine this, I need to ACTUALLY GET ONE.

Fun conversation, that. If I was in less of a mood, I may have stayed on the line for sheer entertainment value. This guy was hilarious. One had the feeling he had just come in from surfing, was not entirely sober, and was offering me his very best attempt at sound advice.

Called the lender. Told them that "Bob's Basement Loans" could do a better job of getting a simple house evaluation than this national, advertised "user-friendly" lender. Three strikes and they were out, since all their "Rick's" seemed to share in common a sincere trouble with the whole "appointment concept".

My lender apologized and told me they'd get right on it and order another appraisal ASAP. They told me they would call me as soon as a new appraiser has been lined up and asked me for an appointment to conduct the loan closing. Sure, I said. Our appointment is sometime from now until next Tuesday. The satire was missed.

But I tell you, if anyone else named Rick calls me, I am giving up on this entirely.

And on a lighter note...

The delightfully clever HANES commercial jingle is currently sqautting inside my head, replaying at will. It's so catchy for the first few hours. But then it does gradually starts the decline into the distractingly, gratingly annoying.

"Look who we've got our HA-ANES on now!..."

must
get
song
out
of
head

And thus my To-Do list gains an item.

War & Peace. And floppy, rotting fish.

I am pacing inside myself.

Shades of frustration, introspective stillness, hope, yearning, and an overall sense of unrest are fighting for dominance within me today. "Grappling" best defines the condition of my heart and mind at this very moment in respect to the topic at hand. Above all, I am again on my knees in prayer. Again seeking God's wisdom because my own, plainly, LACKS. I am committed to tilling the contents of my heart and mind until I find a way to traverse with Biblical integrity through this rabid jungle of an issue. I am seeking a path in which I can boldly and with confidence lead my own heart - and then others - to a Godly destination, not plummeting off the jagged cliff I teeter admittedly close to while navigating the terrain here.

The news yesterday out of my beloved state was not unexpected. A single California judge overruled the will of the people by declaring California's Proposition 22 "Marriage Law" both unconstitutional and "irrational".

The response from the people (but who even cares about the people, right?) indicated that about 10% of the us rejoiced, 25% of us were best described as neutrally content, and the rest of us - the overwhelming majority - quietly seethed in frustration and anger with a system of government that allows our voices to be so easily and unacceptably eclipsed. Especially considering the subject matter.

While we are not unaccustomed to voice of the majority of California citizens being overruled by rogue Judges or the infamous 9th District Court of Appeals, it does not get easier to stomach each time it happens. And it certainly bodes poorly for the crummy standard of American justice we are willing to settle for these days.

62.1% of us voted for Proposition 22 five years ago. Today, one judge overturned us.

Now there's a balanced legal scale.

My soul is at war.

On the strictly legal side, it would not matter to me if this were a vote over renaming French Fries, "Funky Fries" at all fast food restaurants statewide. If the majority of Californians - over 4.6 MILLION of us - vote for this proposition, let us usher in the era of Funky Fries! And to them endow all privileges formerly bestowed upon only French Fries. Let us rejoice in the liberation provided by the resounding majority and embrace the new reality of Funky Fries! Let us have a parade, grateful for a clear direction and let us honor the resounding will of the people.

That is, until the will of the people unwittingly tramples the right of someone who is "violated" that his beloved French Fries were discriminated against, and files a lawsuit, thereby ending the brief but notable career of the poor, doomed Funky Fries.

A moment of silence seems in order.

Buried within my sarcasm is the point: We all VOTED on a ballot measure which was unsuccessfully legally challenged prior to the election. This ballot measure was deemed NOT disharmonious with the Constitution of the United States of America, in fact or intention. It was only claimed to be so AFTER THE FACT by those for whom the outcome of the March 2000 California election does not suit. Those who are angry. Those who want marriage forever altered to suit their desires. Those who are using any legal maneuvering possible to achieve the overrule of the majority will of the people in pursuit of their goal.

Should we not listen to the majority rule? Is that not basis for our electoral process? This is not a dictatorship (all political jabs aside), this is a Republic run by means of a Democratic electoral process, is it not? So when 4.6 Californians - roughly 2/3 of us vote YES on a legal ballot measure, should that measure not be enacted immediately folliwing the certification of the election? Otherwise, what exactly is the point of voting at all? If every ballot measure that has the potential to tick somone off is going to endure achingly long years of legal wrangling under the test of "constitutionality" and rarely be actualized, why bother taking a vote on these things at all?

You know - to save time, we might want to consider abolishing elections altogether. No matter what the majority thinks, believes, or votes - we seem to be consistently shot down by a self-appointed ambassador of truth in a judicial robe. One judge does not a consensus make. Appointed judges should NOT hold veto power over the will of the people. This is wrong. Our state is being held hostage by agendas and power-trips. Our voice in our own government is being summarily curtailed at the will of the minority.

To me, this is unacceptable, it is angering, and it is wrong. Our state is in real trouble if we fail to recognize the serious nature of this imbalance of power and correct it NOW.

I have been in the electoral minority many times (I voted for Perot, OK?) and been outvoted by a large margin. It stinks and certainly does not feel great, especially when I feel strongly about the matter at hand. But this is America and majority rules.

Right?

To the softer side of this issue I turn now... the HEART side. The crux of the matter - the substance. It is here that I ache and I struggle most. My desire is to stand against the tide of division and discord surrounding this whole hoopla while maintaining the integrity of my adherence to Biblical truths, top among them to LOVE ONE ANOTHER AS I HAVE LOVED YOU.

My humanity gets in the way a shameful bit here, and I already feel my footting tremble even as I write. But I know truth from a deeper well than my own, which is my salvation when it comes to this.

At the heart of the matter lies, for me, the question of equality. If homosexual people are equal under the eyes of the law to heterosexual people, why can't they be married? For me, that answer is simple and two-pronged.

Because equal does not neccesarily mean the same.

And because marriage by definition, practice, culture, understanding, history, fact, intention, and institution, is a union of one man and one woman. It has been, it will be, it is. To redefine it against the will of the people would result in a forced evolution of a cultural, historical, sacred, and covenantal cornerstone against the majority of those within said culture. Obviously this is a flawed, shortsighted, dangerous plan. Backlash tends to occur when people are pushed towatds a destination instead of being lead. The amendment of marriage in ANY way should not be considered until and unless the majority will of the people support such a change to such an iconic institution of their own accord and free will. Hijacking this issue prematurely and without ripe support of the majority, thereby forcing society into a direction it is unwilling to go, cannot ever be effective in uniting said society.

My gay friends have 100% equal civil rights and protections under the law as I have here, notwithstanding the right to call themselves "married". NO ADDITIONAL RIGHT OR BENEFIT to gay people in California would exist by changing marriage to include homosexual unions beyond semantics and a psychologically perceived victory for some hollow "equal rights" agenda. But detriment and disenfranchisement of the majority who consistently raise our voice against it would occur en masse if the change were enacted against our wills.

California has made giant strides in offering same sex couples equal civil protections under the law. It's about time for this just inclusion, and it is supported by the vast majority of people. Civil Rights are thus equalized while marriage remains intact as it is, despite current noisy societal pendulum shifts and ensuing sometimes hysterical grumblings about it.

I love my gay friends - every single one is a blessing in my life. And they miraculously love me back, despite our polar views on some critical elements in life. Even better, God loves us all and that blanket is warm, comforting, healing, and all- encompassing. Our lives are intertwined peacefully until this inevitable issue lands between us like a big flopping fish, fresh out of the water. And it keeps flopping around, doggone it! It won't settle down or be still. And now the fish has started to smell and rot, but cannot seem to throw it off the boat, no matter how hard we try. So we are stuck with this dead, stinking fish indefinitely.

Can we please throw the darned thing off the boat soon? Please? HELP.

Marriage.

Homosexuality.

Screaming, grouchy people on the evening news.

Hatred.

I just want to get in my bed and pull the covers up until everyone learns to be open and respectful to one another while we are all journeying through this together. Until there are less landmines buried under every conversation about this topic. Until we all realize that we are born of the same Creator and this stuff we bog ourselves down in is, by comparison, fairly petulant. Until there is peace, order, and honesty in our approach to solving this.

Certainly a solution cannot be accomplished if our judges can summarily negate the will of the people with a sweeping dismissal. Certainly it cannot be accomplished if the only way presented to solve the impasse is to inflict change without consent of the majority. Certainly it can not be accomplished if any American is made to be less equal or less valued or less loved than any another. There is OBVIOUSLY a difference of deeply held convictions about the questions at hand here. But are we willing to love each other through this. I declare openly that I am. I see no other way for us to make it through intact than to commit to our love for each other being bigger than our big, flopping, stinky fish differences.

I believe and teach my children that marriage is a holy, sacred, convenanted relationship between one man, one woman, and God. I will NOT teach them that our homosexual friends are entitled to less respect, love, honor, or value. But I will teach them the difference between God's laws and human laws. And I will teach them to value what is sacred above what is secular, because the sacred is eternal, holy, unchanging, unyielding, and constant. The secular is in constant flux, changing as the tides and constantly redefined by the will of the people.

Well, until a judge overrules it, that is.

And in the meantime, I am praying. And I am newly committed to pitch this wretched floppy, rotting fish overboard. As soon as humanly possible.

Tripping

Some people don't need LSD, they trip on sidewalks.
Or children's toys.
Or the very black, can't-see-it-at-all, strategically placed, napping cat in the middle of the night while navigating one's way to the bathroom.

You get it.
Apparently, I've fallen and I can't get up.

Well, I can, it's just that I'll probably be back in this carpet sprawl again in about an hour when something else hurls itself in my path and takes me down - again. It's sure humbling when the skill of walking fails you so impressively 5 times in random intervals over the course of 12 hours. I think I'll curl up right in this very spot and go to sleep. On the ground. I will become one with my carpet. Because I have spent so much time down here today that I might as well embrace the reality, right?

Signing off from the land of embedded carpet fibers and bruised knees (make that egos)...

Friendship by accident & divine design

I have a friend who fairly routinely perplexes me, often amuses me, occasionally disgusts me, and always endears me. As our friendship grows over time, (we've been known by one another for almost 5 years now) I've come to realize how much she is a unique and appreciated blessing in my life, a sensitive soul wrapped up in the most brazen potty mouth, peppered with crude humor and usually a body function or two.

Those of you who know me personally already KNOW who I am talking about. Those who don't, feel free to scroll down my links of "Other Voices". After reading those blogs, you get two guesses about who this wonder woman might be. And the first one does not count.

She is a kick in the pants almost always. As one of our mutual friends summed it SO clearly - she is the "walking incarnation of a 12-year old boy's mind in the body of an almost 30-year old woman." Yup, that's her. She is impossible to categorize beyond that. She surprises me often. But she NEVER bores me.

This woman is a dear, dear soul and I love her. She can call me in the middle of the night (and has) for any reason (note: calling drunk from a gay bar is not a generally accepted reason to require a pregnant me to wake up and have a conversation at midnight, but I digress...) and she has my instant and complete audience and heart. She is one of those rare people who just gives you no option but to either love her fiercely or ignore her altogether. And believe me, the latter option is not chosen by many. It's almost impossible. She is a strong, vibrant voice (even if it is profane often!) in a world too often content with milquetoast. She is the one who stands backwards in an elevator and farts just because. She is the one who is never content to rest. She is the one who is openly, honestly, and completely herself - denying nothing. There is no way to ignore that. Everyone I know in common with PM (potty mouth - I'm abbreviating now) adores her, feels very close to her, and is even addicted to her style and presence, even though some of us have never met her as our primary mode of communication is via email and online message boards.

All this lead up is getting us somewhere, I promise.

As I read through her blog tonight and choked - again - on my Dr. Pepper (while shaking my head because it is actually not legal to talk the way she does in at least 12 countries...), I was filled with a sense of gratitude for her in my life. And a realization that she is here by divine design. I had absolutely no way of knowing that this person would become such a dear friend to me, someone I love. I had no clue - but God did. Our accidental friendship is by His divine design.

And she is not the only one. Through this message board I have a joyful, active addiction to, I have met dozens of people who I would otherwise never have had the opportunity to get to know from the INSIDE out. Some of them have become closer to me than people I see everyday in "real life". I love their hearts, I love their kids, I love their stories, and I am warmed by their presence in my life.

Today, I was struck by the realization realized that, on the surface, PM and I have little in common except for an appreciation of humor (what exactly constitutes humor, however, is a long-standing debate between us) and a deep sacrificial love of our husbands and family. PM has a rank potty mouth (did I mention that?). Seriously. It's like an art for her, I swear. Whereas, I am the self-appointed demerit-dispensing profanity Nazi and have detested cursing since I can remember. With sheepish admission, I have not even heard of some of the more colorfully crass expressions she'll use sometimes, though I refuse to ask for clarification entirely out of principle. I am, by all standards and measures, when compared to the wacky, wild, in-your-face life my dear PM leads, rather benign - even dead boring.

But because we met without benefit of first impressions from the surface inward but rather from the heart outward, we have been able to create a bond based on the things that MATTER not those that are more superficial but so effective at distracting us from one another's' hearts. We share so many characteristics: workaholicism, abiding love and belief in the sanctity of marriage and parenthood, deeply - almost raw - sensitive hearts and compassionate souls, love of artistic expression, appreciation for humor (see above), and commitment to living at all times with integrity. She thinks she is not faithful, but she is - just in search of the most effective outlet. I tend toward listening to the "I am not good enough" mantra, and she is gentle enough in her own way to slap me around a bit as she reminds me of my worth. I try to reign her in sometimes, while she regularly tries to get me to get OUT more. She drinks appletinis, I drink Dr. Pepper. She has a whole different meaning for the words "rabbit" and "burrito" I won't go into. She makes me blush. I make her think. She makes me humble, I make her believe. We share stories and experiences of our kids, our husbands, our lives - and an overall connection and relationship I would not trade for anything. She strengthens me as a person and I hope I have done the same for her.

As I write this, I am chuckling because I appreciate this wild child friend of mine so dearly.

We became friends by accident. We happened to become pregnant about the same time in the Fall of 2000, and joined an online message board to share our journey with others who were also expecting and due at the same time. We were random, anonymous voices in the universe who had ONE thing in common when we met. We have become known friends, not random, far from anonymous, and have more things in common than I ever would have believed possible with two human beings who, from all outward appearance and behavior, seem so very, very different.

I believe that we became friends quite by divine intention. Partially because I truly believe that every single happening on the earth is part of the orchestration of life, designed and composed by God, I know that my friendship with the Wildest Woman in the West (well, Midwest) is not by accident. And I am so grateful for the opportunity to see her for who she really is and to love her even when I don't get it. :)

I am in awe of the manner in which God works and of this amazing person who routinely makes me want to spank her (not in the kinky way in which she would first read this to mean, but in the "sent to the Principal's Office" kind of way). I love her and she loves me, despite the fact that I am home, quietly typing this new entry on Saturday night and I know for bonafide FACT that she is out painting the town, dancing with drunk people, mooning random passengers in cars, and possibly even singing loud karaoke.

For this woman's accidental gift of divine friendship, I am forever grateful. God knows what he is doing when he places people in our lives. Even when one of them is SUCH a perpetual potty mouth.

And the other is such a perpetual nag about it.

Waiting for lightening

Gideon is a hero of mine.

Judges 8 tells his story and I have LOVED it since the days of my Picture Bible.

This basic, salt-of-the-earth man was visited by angels who told him God wanted him to start a battle against some guys who were trying to take over his country, and to glean some valuable lessons about faith along the way. Gideon, as one might expect, was a bit taken aback by this Godly proclamation in his otherwise unremarkable life (not to mention the shock of the angelic host stopping by for dinner - I think he may have been having lasagna) and not at all sure that he was hearing God correctly and/or if he was, that this whole "war" thing was something he could do in his wildest dreams.

Gideon: "You got the wrong man."

God: "Um, no. I'm pretty sure I'm looking for you."

Gideon: "Well, I am having a really hard time processing all this. If you are REALLY God and this is REALLY your command for me, I need some more evidence. Tell you what: I will put this piece of fleece on my lawn tonight. If it is wet in the morning and the lawn is dry, I'll know you mean business and that you are God and this is all very kosher, OK?"

In the morning, the piece of fleece was sopping, the lawn was crispy, and Gideon was still fretting.

Gideon: "God, please don't be mad, but I am still on the fence here. I am going to put this piece of fleece out here again tonight and if it is DRY this time, and the lawn is wet, THEN I will know that you are God and this is your will for me, and I will quit stalling, believe and hop to it."

Sure enough, nice dry fleece and soaked lawns greeted our hero the next morning.

Gideon's heart filled with newfound awareness and realization that God was CALLING HIM, directing him to deliberately use his talents toward a wild, amazing, remarkable end. And Gideon did go on to lead an army into a battle that he won, thereby seuring a destiny for an entire nation of people.

When God calls us, it is obviously wise to answer. See, God has this thing about not letting go. He's relentless about His promise to direct us in the ways that will give us a hope and a future - leading us torwards Him. Thus, it is even wiser (though less obvious at times) to listen to His whispers rather than needing to wait for lightening to strike before the faith in our hearts is ignited.

I regret that my own "Gideon-esque" tendencies do sometimes lead me to deny the rain, hail, and thunder, until lightening strikes and I realize, "hmm, maybe there is a storm out there after all."

Such is the case right now with my singing, my voice. Vocal music has always been my special gift from God that stands apart from all other gifts in my life. I know I am meant to use it specially, and I have in the past. But life gets in the way if you let it. I have, of late, heartily resisted listening to that still, small voice that has told me now that I am REQUIRED to use my voice and my singing as a blessing to others. I have responded to this in many ways, none of them with much degree of intellectual honesty, and none of them centered around a true sense of faith, of surrender, and of desire to do whatever it is God wants me to. Until now. I am finally getting the lightening bolts I have been waiting for.

Seven people in the last eight days - that's roughly one per day - have told me they have been blessed by my voice/singing/music and would I consider singing more/in this choir/doing this event/etc? SEVEN random people. In eight days. OK God, the fleece is awfully wet now. I am hearing you, finally.

I think I have flung my fleece on the lawn about a dozen times and the last time, it actually caught on fire and then danced around a bit. God was showing off, but His point was taken.

I am done waiting for lightening. Remembering Gideon, I will seek to listen for the early pangs of God's whispered voice in my life before it becomes a throbbing bellow of exasperated thunder.

So I need to be singing. Next step is figuring out how to make that happen, but I am determined now.

I heard the lightening.

coming home in the morning

It's 2:14 a.m. What does a.m. mean, anyway?

For me, this early morning, it means a quiet triumph, peace, and abundant joy. The kids and Copper have long since drifted off, and the house is quiet except for the little black satin cat under my chair who whirrs softly as she slumbers. For me, the triumph is in carving out this time for my own soul. This cavernous dead-of-night time when most of the world in my time zone (Las Vegas excepted) is asleep truly invigorates me. There are no interuptions, no distractions, no excuses. I get to be me, real, unaide and uninhibited, in front of God.

I have slacked with God lately. In any journey you take with a best friend, there are ebbs and flows. My dear marriage to Copper is an example, as are any number of my deeper relationships. Fault for the ups and downs is often difficult or even superfluous to define and establish. But with God, when relations strain, when distance happens and paths diverge, when "Ebbing" occurs, the fault is ALWAYS with me. I am the human, He is the Creator. Talk about your ultimate trump card. I am always the one who falls away from my nourishing daily interraction and into famine, and then inevitably sprints back incredibly thirsty, bruised, lonely, humbled, and grateful for the open, familiar, comforting, strong, warm enveloping embrace of the Lord.

It feels indescribable to be on pace, striding through life again with God at my side, rather than watching me plod off on my own track with arrogant, stupid confidence, alone. In 31+ years, I am still dumbfounded at myself when I make the same mistakes over and over, and over, again. I seem to be in forever pursuit of the Godly good sense to CONSISTENTLY pursue His path, not my own, with unblemished regularity. His path may require a machete at times and feel to-the-bone lonely at others, but the ultimate destination is one I can never find by myself. I need Him. Daily, moment-to-moment, as elemental as breathing. I need God. When I have lost my way, I feel like - like the instincts a mother has when her child is sick. I know there is unhealth at my core, evne when I cannot diagnose exactly the cause, and I and yearn for spiritual restoration - for complete healing: to be well, whole, and home again.

My unaided choices are always so short-sighted, so meaningless. Even when I manage to "get it right", it is a hollw victory because it is on my own terms and with selfish motives and pursuit. So why do I keep wandering off from the path of rigtheousness? The result is always the same on these little forays into "self-sufficiency-I-am-an-island-unto-myself-Type-A" nonsense. Certainly I have learned the pattern by now: I enjoy the ride for an increasingly shorter time (if onyl for it's lack of accountability alone) get inevitably over-extended, panic, grapple and deplete myself to the very limits, and then - bang! Off a cliff or into a wall I go. Or, increasingly more often, into complacency, laziness, worry, lonliness, self-doubt, despair, and apathy.

The latter set is a FAR MORE DANGEROUS environment, because it takes awhile to realize how far from home I've allowed myself to stray when I am not nursing big wounds and thus compelled to turn back. When you make impact against the proverbial wall, you definitely know it. But when you gradually wander off in pursuit of important meaninglessness, it often takes awhle to get your bearings and understand exactly how long it's been since the breadcrumbs ran out and the path back ran cold.

I am ever thankful for God's forgiveness and unending mercy to me - to all of us. Particularly in the face of my tendency to limit my own capacity for mercy and grace by stringent criteria meant to sharpen but so sadly often used to impale. I am grateful I can come back from a long walk alone and be greeted with a hug first. Because I am always welcomed home so eagerly, I am unafraid of what comes next in my soul-shaping process, however daunting it always promises to be. Because He loves me, I can face fire. Willingly and openly. Bring it on. Because He loves me through it and I can borrow His strength, His wisdom, His words, and His heart for people.

Bring it on.

May I always remember what it feels like to come in from the cold. And may I take it to heart and reach out in love first always, following His example, rather than my own piety. Praise God for the eternal welcome mat that extends to His family, no matter how far they allowed themselves to wander, how long they have been traveling, or how late the hour they return.

Even if it is 2:37 a.m.

Humbled and shaped by His grace alone, I am grateful to be again, near enough to God to feel His hand on my life, deliberately . At the end of this latest "ebb", I find peace the passes my understanding. It is intoxicatingly satisfying and inexplicably worth the wait.

Soli Deo Gloria.