Cheesecake is sitting next to me on the couch, filling out her application to attend a leadership school sponsored through our church.  It’s interesting…as she worked through the application, she came to a question that was running through my mind just last night.

The question asks to what extent they have been involved in alcohol, drugs, the occult, sexual activity, or same sex attraction.  Now…for the most part, I get to brag extensively about Cheesecake.  She has never consumed alcohol, she’s never smoked or tried illegal drugs, she’s never even had someone she was really interested in dating (regardless of gender), so none of that applies.

There is one glaring omission there.

Years ago, when we practiced an ecclectic collection of pagan beliefs, Cheesecake was a tween/teen who was also trying to figure out who she was.  As with many children, she wanted to do what we did.  Admittedly, our pagan practices were generally fairly benign and limited to positive things – usually just to acknowledge the equinox or solstice.  Regardless, we were NOT Christian, and we certainly were not educating our children about Jesus. 

As I thought about it last night, though, I remembered something.  At some point, Cheesecake had decided she wanted to be pagan too, and I took her out to purchase a pentagram necklace to wear.  At the time, I brushed it aside, but I very distinctly remember feeling slight horror at it.  I couldn’t tell her no – it was the faith I had chosen, and proclaimed to love.  How could I NOT want her to participate?  I bought her the necklace, educated her here and there about our beliefs, and gave every outwards sign that I was happy with her choice.

I was anything but happy about it.

Somewhere in the deepest, darkest corner of my brain, a verse was nagging at me. 

“Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.”  Mark 9:42 (ESV)

I knew what I was leading her into – and I think, even then, I knew I was wrong in my belief.  I wasn’t ready to lay down my own ego, my own ‘self’ yet…but there was a part of me that knew teaching my child to turn from Jesus was wrong. 

Years later, when I was finally broken enough to realize I couldn’t control my own life, Cheesecake never batted an eye.  When I went back to church three days later, she went with me.  She became heavily involved in her youth group, and a few months later, gave her own life to Jesus. 

We have never, at any point, told our children what they had to believe.  We have allowed them to walk their own spiritual journey.

Two and a half years later, I am thrilled at the woman she chooses to be.  I am thrilled at the choices she makes.  She has decided that, after high school, she would like to spend 10 months in our church’s leadership school.  That means eight months of intensive training in ministry, serving, and even physical fitness, followed by two months serving internationally in different global outreach opportunities. 

I try not to sit and marinate in ‘what could have happened’, but the reality is, it could have turned out much, much differently.  The people we associated with ‘back in the day’ were often people who chose to live by a different, far less socially acceptable manner.  She could have fallen in love with that lifestyle, and chosen to pursue that.  And really, how could I have told her she shouldn’t, when I had? 

Many years ago (18 years ago, approximately), when I made the decision, as an unmarried 19-year-old, to keep my baby, I cried out to God.  I didn’t cry out to some pagan diety, I cried out to the ALMIGHTY GOD.  I asked Him to make her an easy baby, because I had no idea how I was going to handle a difficult child.  To be honest, I didn’t like children.  Years of my mother running a daycare out of our house had convinced me that I NEVER wanted to be a parent. 

And yet, here she is.  I am sitting here next to a beautiful, intelligent, loving, courageous, servant of the Most High God.  At 17, when I was getting kicked out of my mom’s house, moving in with a boyfriend, eventually dropping out of college and having a baby…she’s making the decision to devote everything to God.  It just…could have turned out so differently. 

I know there’s no point in rehashing the past…I can’t do a thing to change it, and who knows, even if I could, that the outcome would have been better.

God has blessed me with her – far beyond what I ever could imagine, and far beyond what I ever deserved.

..everything that I’ve been missing.  Give me your love for humanity.  Give me your arms for the broken hearted, the ones that are far beyond my reach.  Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten.  Give me Your eyes so I can see.  Yeah.”  ~ Brandon Heath, Give me Your eyes

Give me Your heart, for the broken hearted…

One of the things that is hardest as a parent is watching your children slip.  I know that sometimes there are lessons you have to let them learn the hard way.  The bad thing is, many times there are ways we can step in – a call or email to a teacher here, a lie (exusing your child’s absence) there…and all of the sudden, you are the one who has created the monster.  Your child has no fear of the repercussions of their actions…because mom or dad always bails them out.

Since becoming a Christian, I’m often overwelmed by the concept that no matter how much I love my child, God loves me more.  WAY more.  It is a beautiful thing, really – having insight to the unconditional love of God…but overwhelming at the same time.  How can we comprehend anything that great? 

I understand, in a miniscule measure, His love for us….but also His heartbreak when we turn away. 

I was introduced a couple of years ago to a girl the same age as one of our daughters.  She’s a gorgeous girl – one you would think has everything going for her.  As many friends of our children have done, she friended me on Facebook, so I see any of the updates she puts out there.  The hurt, and the seeking I can see in her…well, it’s almost physically painful, as I remember my own life as a teenager, and even many years ago, when I was still seeking God. 

I believe that we were all created with a desire to be in relationship with God.  When we aren’t, there’s a piece of us missing that we struggle to fill.  Some try to fill it with sex, others with food, some with shopping or material things, and some with empty relationships.  I have definitely learned that empty people have a hard time filling others up.

The only one who can fill that void is God.  The bad thing is, you can’t just tell someone that.  Well, you can, but people laugh it off as trite, or as you being some sort of religious kook.  There are some people who will never be open to hearing, or feeling that, or who need to be at their very breaking point before they can see it.

Looking at our daughter’s friend, it’s like seeing a glass full of water.  As time goes by, the water just evaporates – it empties bit, by bit…sometimes the water level leaves a mark.  Sometimes the water becomes fouled as it sits there.  But bit by bit, it’s gone.

When I think back about the day I was saved – the first time I ever really physically felt God’s presence, I knew the true meaning of having a cup that overflowed – with fresh, sweet, water of the spirit.  I remember walking on air that day – fully filled by the Spirit, and knowing that, no matter what happened, or how anyone reacted, it was ok.  I was like walking around in my own little Holy Spirit bubble. 

I wish I could give that feeling to others.  I wish I could impart it to them, so they would understand the beauty of that puzzle piece snapping in to place – the feeling that no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, you are completed because the part of you that longs for that spiritual union is fulfilled. 

But it doesn’t work that way. 

And in that understanding, I feel the heartbreak God must experience as we do more and more that drives us away.  More and more that makes it harder for us to believe He is truly there, waiting for us, forgiving us, and loving us no matter what we’ve done, what we’ve been through, what lies we’ve bought in to.  He never promised us the road wouldn’t be hard, only that he would be with us through it – and I know now that He heals every hurt we give to Him.

As a ‘fixer’, it’s hard to watch someone riding the train to more and more hurt.  It’s hard to watch a self-destructive life implode, never knowing how far down someone has to go.  We’re told we are the light and the salt in the world…that if we just keep letting God shine through us, others will eventually see, and seek for themselves. 

But I have never been good with waiting. 

Matthew 6:33-34 (NIV)

³³ But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. 

A friend of mine from church posted on her facebook today that she’s trying to decide what to do about Santa in regard to her 2 year old daughter.  Do they go the traditional route, and pretend Santa is real until she’s older, and one day has her sweet childhood reality ripped to shreds by a classmate, or do they tell her from the start that Santa isn’t real? 

I grew up believing Santa was real.  Every Christmas Eve, Santa (who sounded an awful lot like my grandfather) visited our family in person, with a gift for each child.  As we grew older, Santa’s voice changed (puberty?), and he started to sound more like my uncle.  But he would visit us each year, give us our gift, and then go back on his way.  Overnight, though, he would drop off toys and fill our stockings for a nice surprise in the morning. 

I believed, for the most part, until I was 6 or 7.  My bedroom window was at a 90 degree angle from our family room window, and I remember sitting up, looking out my window, and seeing my mom and stepdad stuffing stockings and putting santa presents into each of our piles.  I suppose it wasn’t much of a shock – I had suspected as much (thanks to the kids at school, and having MUCH older brothers), but that confirmed it.

I became a parent at 19, and I will admit – I was on a mission to keep all of those little charming childhood mysteries alive for my daughter as long as I possibly could.  When it was just the two of us, it was easier, and I delighted in every little tradition (including the long standing family tradition of Santa visiting on Christmas Eve!).  After our family grew to 4 children, we tried to maintain it, but the older kids did eventually spoil it for our youngest son.  However – now we have BonBon, and the question of what to do comes up again.

We were driving home last night, just Cheesecake, BonBon, and me.  A few of the houses and shops around our neighborhood have their Christmas lights up, and she delighted in each, yelling “KWISSMAS TWEES!” every time we passed one.  I asked her, Chloe, why do we have Christmas, and she yelled “SANTA!”  Yeah, not exactly what I was hoping for.

So it’s a decision now…do we keep that childhood fantasy going (as the world would say), or do we drop that altogether, and focuson the real ‘reason for the season’.  We want her to know Christmas is about Jesus – the greatest gift ever given to those of us in this world. 

I think what we are really against is promoting Santa to further the “Getmas” mentality.  We don’t want Christmas to be all about what we want in the physical.  While the real story of St. Nick, the original footprint for Santa Claus, is debatable, one of the common stories is that he was a young man, from a wealthy family, whose parents died, leaving him a wealthy young man.  Through various acts, he gave away his wealth, trying to remain anonymous, to help others in need.

THAT is a concept I would like our children to understand and embody.  Giving to help others – with the credit going to God’s provision.  I don’t see much in modern Christmas that shows that.

So what will we do differently this year….

Well, the bigger family Christmas will be the same – I can’t change them, but I can change what we do for our own family.  I think we will still have the children make out their Christmas list, but rather than just a big list of ’wants’, we will divide their lists into 3 categories - NEEDS, Wants, and wish.  Three things they need, 2 things they want, and 1 wish.  I also want each of them to research and present to the family one new tradition they would like us to do as a family – something that we can do each year to make Christmas time special for all of us – and hopefully that will carry on to their own families. 

I struggle with how Christmas will change, as the inevitable happens with my Grandmother.  In some ways, it will be freeing somewhat – it will be time to start these new traditions with my children.  But I will mourn the old traditions. 

And I will look forward to the new ones, and to the little girl who is going to be so excited over everything she gets to discover this Christmas – in particular that it is the day we celebrate the greatest gift we were ever given…Emmanuel.  God with us.

I’m having a hard time blogging lately.

I open the browser.  I write.  Sometimes I even write a lengthy post.  Then I stop, look at what I’ve written, and either leave it in the drafts unfinished, or just delete it entirely.

Everything I write seems like just so much drivel lately.  I used to love blogging, and would do so several times daily, as I came across articles, or had thoughts, that I thought would be entertaining enough to blog about.  I’m sad, actually, that I am not finding as much to blog about anymore.

Then again, I don’t find a lot of things as entertaining as I used to, thanks to the work God has done in my life.

In the last week or two, we’ve decided that it’s time for me to go back to work.  It’s not what I WANT to do, but doing so will alleviate a lot of stress financially, and with Hubs’ job.  Things have gotten stressful enough at his job that today, chest pains brought us to the ER for a nice, long visit, and then an admission for overnight observation.   A couple of the jobs he’s considering are consulting jobs, that would include out-of-town travel, and better pay, but the benefits are super expensive.  Me working ensures better benefits, and, if necessary, a paycheck while he finds something less stressful.  It’s a leap I am not thrilled to be making, but I know God will work it all out for good.   I KNOW that.  Doesn’t make it easier to think of leaving my baby, even with family and friends, all day while I work.

Since making that decision, I’ve made a few other choices.  I have dropped my BSF class, which is sad, but it was also two hours worth of homework .  I skipped Hearts and Moms the last two weeks, instead spending time with my Grandma, and helping a friend out who needed someone to watch her kids while she went to a doctor’s appointment.  Strangely, it felt really freeing.  While I missed some of my friends, I didn’t miss getting up, rushing to get to church, and then feeling like 1/2 my day was gone.  Plus, my house was really clean.  Clean house equals happy me.

I thought, to some extent, I would feel more separated from God, without that ‘spiritual food’ to keep me in sync.  Strangely, not at all.  I’ve actually kept up on my Bible reading, and felt more relaxed, and therefore closer to God – so maybe He has taught me a lesson here.  Less is more, do what I like to do (media), and don’t stress about the other stuff!  We’ll see what that means in the future, especially as I go back to work.

And now, I’m actually going to hit publish on this post, despite it not being anything I’m thrilled with, and go back to watching America’s Funniest Videos for the 5th hour with my hubby.

Why don’t they make hospital chairs more comfy???

It started out a while back.

She stopped wanting to eat.

She stopped sleeping.

She had this wracking cough – horrible to hear, worse to see, as her frail body convulsed and she gasped for air.

Night sweats followed, as did the complete lack of interest in continuing to live.

She lost weight.

Her children came…meetings  were had, tempting meals were made, final decisions were legalized. 

And then she perked up.  She got better.  She reacted to the meds and the attention.  Things looked better.  A little more time was stolen.

On Monday she was put on oxygen full time.  I haven’t been to her house to see.  In my mind’s eye, I see the image of my grandfather, tethered to an oxygen hose that was long enough to reach from his bedroom, to his chair in the living room, and into the kitchen.  He would walk a few feet at a time, stop to rest, and continue on…a pale image of the rugged man he once was.  A pale image of the grandfather, cigarette in hand, who had stepped in and been the only real father figure I knew growing up.

Now she has the same sentence.  Oxygen, at all times.  She didn’t want to leave her house before – too much hassle, and too easy to sit in her chair, reading or watching tv. 

On Friday, a different call.

Lung cancer.  She has lung cancer.  She doesn’t know yet.  The call was courtesy of my mother, who has medical POA, and also works with the doctor she saw.  So no timeline yet, no difficult conversation with my her yet, but the rest of the family knows.

Ironically, my grandfather never had lung cancer.  60 + years of smoking, and he died of emphysema and COPD.  It was a horrific death…his lungs collapsed on several occasions, and the chest tube to help them reinflate was horribly painful for him.  In the end, that was what led to his death – he refused to have it done again.  He made them let him slip away – the opposite lung unable to compensate.

I can’t help thinking how he would feel…to know the woman he was married to for 49 years is dying of lung cancer.  She never smoked – and sure, there are lots of ways to get lung cancer, particularly when you grew up in the generation that found out a little too late that asbestos was bad. 

But let’s face it.  She was around his smoking every day for 49 years.  What are the odds?

And so the bumpy road begins.  When my mother and I talked yesterday, I was too in shock to take in her emotional state.  My husband immediately asked how mom was doing – and I realized my insensitivity.  I called her, and immediately asked  how she was.  She instantly broke down in tears.  There she was, not my mom in that moment, just another woman facing the death of HER mommy.  She is terrified of the suffering she knows is coming.  She is a respiratory therapist…she sees this every single day.  She doesn’t want her mother to go through that.

But this is the road we are on.

My grandmother mused a few months ago, when this was initially starting to happen…what if she didn’t hear God’s voice after she dies?  We’ve struggled with that – was it a statement of lack of faith?  Was it just a silly musing?  Is she really worried? 

As one younger in the faith, in a family where we are all firmly convinced we know the correct answer and everyone else is wrong, I’ve been hesitant to ask her.  She has her own image she wants me to see…one firmly and unwaveringly faithful…a life given to Christ at the age of 9…but I don’t know.

She’s my grandma, and this is going to be a rough road.  My mother had projected, before this diagnosis, that Thanksgiving was unlikely…Christmas EXTREMELY unlikely.  And I don’t know.  I don’t know what that looks like.  I know our family (Extended) has decreased in closeness quite distinctly since my grandfather died.  I know it will be worse when my grandmother goes.

So I mourn her life light dimming, and I mourn what is to come.  I mourn my family, and the end of traditions that were a mainstay of my life growing up. 

We can make new traditions, as difficult as that seems.

But my grandma…not being part of them…I just don’t know how that goes.

I had a hard time getting up this morning.  I was in bed, snuggled under the covers, next to my very warm husband, with soft, comfy pillows, and NOTHING I had to get done this morning – aside from getting kids up and moving.  I also knew, while a shower would feel great, getting out of the shower would be FREEZING.  So I just stayed where I was, a little longer than normal.

I started thinking about motivation. 

A little later, I was listening to pandora, when ‘Come, Now is the time to Worship” came on, and while I do like that song, one line bugged me.  “Still the greatest treasure remains for those who gladly choose you now.”  It bugs me.  I don’t do what I do to serve my Lord, my King, my God – because of what He will give me later.  I do it because I am in relationship with Him, because I LOVE Him, and because I want to meet the needs of His people.  If your parents have something they need done, you don’t do it because of what they will do for you, you do it because it needs to be done.

I remember feeling this way when I was a teenager.  I took confirmation classes in the church I grew up in, and there was so much emphasis on ‘storing up treasure in heaven’…what??  Jesus IS my treasure! 

I think this is part of what is frustrating me particularly in one of the situations in our life right now.  We can see work that needs to be done.  But our hands and feet are bound up in red tape, waiting for the ok to do it.  I don’t think God wants us to wait for an ok.  But at the same time, He’s certainly capable of removing the hindrances if He chooses.

So we wait.  Our motivation is to serve.  Our motivation is to meet the need of God’s people, even if it’s not perfect. 

I’m just not so certain the motivation of others is where it should be.

I’m sitting here eating a great, fat, creamy spoonful of peanut butter. It’s not what I want, really, but it’s what’s handy, and I’m too lazy at the moment to make myself something else. So it is what it is. It is my peanut butter, and for now, it is making me moderately happy.

Today is one of those days…where every failure I have ever had is poking it’s head up, and cast it down and stomp on it though I may – there are more behind, waiting their turn. I have prayed. I have cried. I have told myself I am being silly. I have told myself this must be PMS. (Timing’s wrong, but that WOULD be a lovely excuse.)

The entire world has imploded in on me this week. I have a million deadlines for things due to others – and most of them are incomplete. I’m fighting a virus – and it won’t go away. I’m feeling inadequate as a wife, mother, woman, Christian – heck, you name a role in my life and I will tell you how I’ve screwed it up in the last month.

I’m having a huge, weepy pity party, when it comes down to it, and I’ve no one to pass me the tissues.

It’s led me to a great speculation on the nature of really LOVING each other. I’m not talking sexually, or mother to child – but loving those around us – truly being there for them when it’s really, really needed.

~~hold on – just noticed the time – I must go put pants on before the kids get home from school~~

(another failure – pants wearing)

(Oh stop judging me! I got up and dressed at 6 am – just threw my pants in with the load of laundry I did this afternoon, and hadn’t put real clothes back on yet!)

~~ Anyway ~~

(now that I have pants on)

I went to a baby shower yesterday for one of the new mamas-to-be at our church (Seriously – there are about 100, I swear), whom I think is super-awesome, as do about 50 other women who were also at the shower! One of the women who coordinated read this really awesome poem that struck me pretty hard:
It’s called “Loving Jesus” by Megan Breedlove. I would cut and paste it here, but it’s pretty long – so go read…I’ll wait…
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Wow, you’re a fast reader!

Anyway – I listened to that poem – and it’s been a rough week around these parts. School has only just started, and we’re already fighting to get homework turned in on time, reading done, etc, and still get the things done that need to be done at home. We’ve had plenty of hard parenting moments, and I do believe my 11-year-old’s teacher probably beleives I am the most lazy parent EVER because I have forgotten on a few occasions to check his assignment book (or taken said 11-year-old at his word that he was done! He wasn’t, despite his assertions to me!). The tone of her last email was rather “Could you PLEASE just check his assignment book nightly and MAKE SURE that he has completed all of his assignments.” She tried to make it sound like she knows what I’m going through – because she has kids too. I just wanted to say – Lady – I will bet you FIVE STINKING DOLLARS you have never gone through with this kid what I have gone through – and that’s not even MENTIONING his older siblings.

BACK TO MY POINT.

Loving one another – so the poem – made me really think about what it means to love my children. I mean – loving them – it just comes naturally. But REALLY loving them – and showing it – being God’s hands and feet to them – well…I will admit there are days when I would be ashamed to stand before God and have HIM see how frustrated I was with HIS sons and daughters.

And that brought me around to others. Sure, we’re great about trying to show God’s love to the homeless now and then, or to someone at church who is hurting – but what about those around us every day? What about those who have been with us through thick and thin? What about those who know every fault we have, and love us anyway? What about those whose faults drive us nuts on a fairly regular basis, but whom we choose to love anyway?

I think it’s easy to take for granted the people in our life who love us anyway. It’s easy to get frustrated and walk away from those who have given us the most of themselves. I think it’s important to remember, when we run off being “the hands and feet of Jesus”, to remember to be that to our kids, to our spouses, to our parents, and to our friends.

It’s easy to talk the talk, but are you walking the walk?

I am one who is prone to liking my ‘alone time’. It’s rare for me to feel like I need company for anything – maybe because I live in a house filled with 6 other humans and 2 large dogs. That’s doubtful though, because this is how I have always been. I’ve enjoyed the company of a good book more than hanging out with other people, and making the adjustment to sharing my life with my husband – having another human with whom I NEED to spend time – has not always been easy for me.

So this is a good verse for me to remember when I am feeling the need for retreat – not that solitude is a bad thing in moderation, but God made us to be together – with each other and Him!

The verse:
A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken. ~ Ecclesiastes 4:12

My prayer this morning, as I tried to figure out what I was energetic enough to cook for breakfast: “Oh, Dear God, thank you for toaster strudels.” And that was 100% sincere.

And I also might have said a very similar prayer about coffee.

Too much going on right now – working on my business, trying to nail down everything we have to for our church Wednesday night dinners (a lot of administrative stuff), planning wedding catering, doing a garage sale, planning food for our Step Out event this weekend, trying to get my book club book bought and read, and then just the regular running of our household which is enough in and of itself.

And I am exhausted. This week has kicked my tail, and it’s not even over yet.

And I have determined I am terribly nosey. Hubs was up late praying (tongues) and I am immensely curious as to what he was praying ABOUT, and he doesn’t even know. Guess I know what *I* need to pray for!! LOL

Loving my morning time with the kids, having breakfast and doing our devotions. It hasn’t ended up with all of the kids taking their own time for their devotions as I had envisioned, but it’s ok. We’re doing them all together the way we had started last year.

The morning routine is going ok, but we had placed bets on how long it was before people started ignoring their alarm clocks again. I am sorry to say I was right, and it happened last week. ::sigh:: I can’t blame them – I had a REALLY hard time not hitting snooze this morning. It made me VERY thankful that I live in a place where I can have a hot shower any time I want. It is my saving grace first thing in the morning. Second saving grace: Coffee. Thanks God.