A Routine Shiner

She sat in her hospital crib, suddenly laughing hysterically at a simple toy.  It was clear that she was feeling the effects of the medication she had received as she swayed from side to side. She tipped over into the pillow, flashed her dimples at me and giggled.  Her smile takes up so much of her face, and I noted the curls in her hair as she grabbed my attention like she so easily does.  I reached to pick her up, but she nonchalantly said "no" and went about her play.  I noticed that she was beginning to drool from her lip, so I quickly attended to her as she folded her tiny body over to press her face into the mirror on the toy.  She was delighted by her reflection.  I was delighted by her delight, even though her ever increasing independence in the world was, at times, tough to accept....or should I say, tough to celebrate.  She owns me.

I tried to appear carefree for her for a few minutes until I realized that she wasn't looking at me anymore.  Then  I stopped.  No sense in pretending that my heart wasn't burning in my chest as the doctors ran through the simple, routine procedure.  The anesthesiologist told me how he would care for her and was completely taken by her grin.  "Are you trying to win me over, young lady?  You had me at your first giggle."  She brightened as if she somehow understood and then sunk into her pillow further with pure glee.  Her laughter filled the tense room. Not a care in the world.

As they were preparing to wheel her away, I overheard a surgeon giving a family a completely different scenario.  "This is a risky situation" and "we'll keep you updated on the progress if we make any...." As they wheeled my girl away, my eyes filled with tears as I was full of gratitude yet couldn't stand the image of her happy little carefree body being whisked away from her mommy.  She never looked for me.  She was growing up.  It's the kind of security that comes from being well-loved...knowing that your mommy will always be back...always come for you.
I will always come for her.

The 30 minute wait turned into two hours.  In retrospect, I think God just shielded me from this knowledge, because I didn't really notice.  The doctor came and explained that it had not gone well.  She was missing a tear duct in her eye that was responsible for 70% of the drainage in the eye.  He explained that she might have to have some kind of extensive surgery, but I didn't listen to anything he said.  I pictured her hair, recently having exploded into curls.  Her inquisitive eyes.  Her fingers...her toes. He gave me a reassuring smile, but I give that smile to patients all the time after I've given them a pep-talk.  I know it doesn't mean much. He left and nearly immediately, they called for the mother of Adelai Garland. I rose from my chair trying to hide the anxious desire to push down grandmas and shove people aside to get to her.

I entered through double doors and there were children lying in beds, along the walls.  Some were sleeping, some were moaning as they woke up, some were sobbing.  I saw Adelai being held by a nurse.  Her eyes were visibly swollen and, under her left eye there was a dark purple bruise forming.  Blood sat on her lip, flowing slowly out of her nose. Her eyes were closed, but she was whimpering and sort of flailing around, yet without much effort.  I said her name and she sort of lunged in the direction of my voice with a sob. I caught her, clumsy in my attempt to scoop her with all her wires.  She fell into my body with a sigh and was unconscious again.  Her breathing became calm and she was home.  I am still her home.

Her head still fits perfectly under my chin.  Her body bends perfectly into mine, as if God created me specifically for what her body would need on this day.  We blended like puzzle pieces.  As I sat and rocked her, I remembered what it was like to be pregnant with her and then to hold her newborn body as she lay like this....so trusting and so peaceful.  I hugged her tightly and took deep breathes for her, helping her to regulate her breathing further.  Her oxygen saturation got back up to 100% and they were pleased.  She woke up a little further, lifted her face suddenly off of my shoulder and stared at me, about 5 inches from my face, as if confirming that it was really me.  She was reassured and dove into me again.  Back to sleep.  It is really me.

Over time, she woke up further and suddenly, a switch was flipped.  She became angry and irritable.  She threw stuff, shoved me away as if I had made her hurt and sobbed inconsolably.  She screamed, ripping off her band-aid that eventually took the place of the IV and bled all over her favorite blanket.  A patience lives in me that is not my own, because I simply sat for awhile as she tried to hit me and waited for her.  Then, she reached for me again and I delighted in her return.

She has a black eye now.  The world has dealt her a blow.  She has spent the day content with staying on my lap for hours at a time.  When she is in pain, she suddenly turns on me, but she finds her way back to my lap.  I am her safety.  She will forget that tomorrow, but it won't change the fact that I am her home.

And when she forgets it, and then remembers it, I'll smile knowingly, with a heart bursting with love.  First, because I'm a mommy and I live for her.  But second, because I do that to my Abba Father all the time too. When I get a black eye and remember to run back to my Home, His heart absolutely bursts with joy.

I should probably remember that.  You should too.

Marriage

Dear Chase, Justin & Adelai,

Daddy and I recently celebrated 8 years of marriage.  I'm writing this letter to you kids mostly because, as I've wandered around my life the past week, nobody seems to remember what it's like to be married 8 years.  I personally have the hypothesis that they've blacked out the trauma, in light of the ease that bursts through at 20 years....or something.  I'm banking on an ease occurring at the 20 year mark, so stay tuned for that letter too.  Likely, by the time you are bursting onto 8 years, I'll stare at you with a blank look and have nothing at all to offer.  At least I hope.  

At eight years of marriage, I think you know that the person you've married is human.  And he/she is never going to be anything better than human.  Perhaps earlier in the marriage, I might have delusionally convinced myself that your dad might eventually morph into a superhero....as if he was a work in progress, and I was simply hanging on (in my perfect state) until he progressed to cape status.  But recently I noticed that he hasn't.  And he won't.  And even worse? (gasp) I'm not perfect.  

I know right?  I bet, as my own children, this blows your mind.  Come talk to me after you read this and I'll point out my few flaws that I've noted over the years.  

Anyway, the idea that your spouse is human is a nice lesson to learn because it alleviates a lot of stress to realize that your spouse is going to let you down....as humans do.  And your spouse will also pick you up...but not the way that restores you and makes all of your troubles go away.  You will have troubles when you are married that your spouse cannot fix.  If you look to your spouse as if they are super human....or even worse, like they should be super human,  all sorts of troubles come your way.  A long time ago, (and by the time you read this, a frickin LONG TIME AGO) there was a famous movie quote from Jerry Maguire in which Jerry says to the woman "You complete me."  

It's about the 8th year in marriage where you realize that this can't possibly be true.  If that's true, then every time that sadness or stress comes and your spouse doesn't fix it, the marriage gets rocked.  This past year, your daddy and I figured out how to live and love without being dependent on each other for our solid footing in life.  Maybe up until the past two years, we felt invincible together...mostly because it's just so easy for your daddy and I to be together.  We fit together fairly effortlessly. Then, life got stressful and it's wasn't easy to be us at all.  

I think you end up in one of two places in that time.  You 1) turn and point fingers and wonder why the other person isn't fixing everything or 2) put down your arms and stand next to each other until you are both ready to get down on your knees and submit to the One who really completes you.  And then, He makes you, as a couple, brand new and shiny.  And He becomes a river of Life, flowing through your home.  And you don't look at each other anymore with frustration or anger about things not working out, because you realize that you are both simply human.  

And then you look around and see that, given the 3 children under 5 years old, the mortgage, the small business, the three cats, the dog, and the budget from hell, life really should be stressful.  

So at 8 years, you sit back, hold hands and laugh with each other.  You accept that it's hard, and you thank God that He offered you a life partner who is your very best friend in the whole world.  And then you briefly fight about how your spouse never rinses off the dishes before he puts them into the dishwasher, therefore making every dish nasty and hardening the leftover food until it's a substance that resembles cement.  And you might, in the midst of that fight, be completely flabbergasted by the idea that your spouse would then put said dish into the cupboard anyway.  And you might, after that, become amazed that this does not faze him, pointing out that this might be indicative of a mental disorder or something.  Then, you'll suddenly realize that he's not looking at your eyes, but rather looking just past your head at ESPN on the TV behind you.  And then you briefly lose your mind before you come back to reality.  And then you laugh again. 

That's 8 years of marriage.  

So what I can say is this.  When you pick your person, pick somebody that you would easily call your best friend.  Pick somebody who has a good heart with great intentions.  Pick somebody who would joyfully sacrifice anything for you.  And after many years, when things get hard, don't ever forget that marriage is a gift, but life is about being refined by fire.  Your marriage should be a retreat, but God is in the process of making you holy...and He will use your marriage to refine you.  With that in mind, one might even say that the challenges are the biggest gift.  (I would not be willing to admit this when I pull out a dirty dish from the cupboard, however.)

I started praying for your marriages already.  And one thing that I pray is that your spouses love you the way that your daddy loves me.  I am well loved, that is for sure.  

I may have to do the dishes again, but I am well loved.  

Love you, my babies.  Forever and always. 

Love 

Mommy

Mommy and Daddy Christmas 2011

Robbed

Chris and I went to Hawaii.  Again.  I know, right?  Don't you want to punch me in the face?

I totally understand the desire.  In my defense, it was for one of my best college friend's wedding...and we stayed in a hotel that was cheaper than staying in Salem.  And we had a mileage thing and a companion ticket thing, so it was definitely not a Hawaiian resort kind of trip, but more of a "How-cheap-can-we-possibly-do-this" jaunt across the sea.  We accomplished a fairly cheap trip, all things considering. 
Have you stopped hating me yet?  We stayed in a hotel room where there wasn't even artwork on the walls.  I mean, come on.  That's almost like camping. 

So, while in Hawaii, I came with a mission.  I may have insinuated this before, but I've been sort of in a drought lately with respect to God.  Specifically, He has felt far away...distant...like He's moved on.  I am well aware that I have been projecting that sense onto Him....and it's more accurate to say that, in retrospect, I had moved on.  I couldn't remember when it happened and how I ended up so far away, but I wanted to come back.  Being out in the dessert doesn't really feel tough until you've come into the valley and drank Living Water.  Going back to the dessert after that really sucks.  (I know, poetic, right?)



And as I was studying the Word on the beaches of paradise, I remembered an argument I had with Him at the end of November.  Or....should I say an argument I had at Him.  You see, I have spent a majority of my whole life trying to fit into this world.  The truth is that I just don't.  It's impossible to feel like you fit in when you are a zillion feet tall in 7th grade, for example.  Or a freshman on the varsity volleyball team.  Or the new kid x 5 in various grades.  The list goes on.  I didn't really even ever fit into a family for very long....so potentially, I have been trying to fit in or blend into the scenery for as long as I remember.  I mean seriously.  Can't a 5'10 girl get a break one of these days? 

So I got angry at God when He made me into a freak. The kind of person who feels rage boil up in her heart about commercialized Santa Clause stealing the hearts of children everywhere.  This past month, I initially and passionately fought for Jesus as the center of Christmas...until I started to see myself standing all by myself.  And then the thought flashed in my head of "He has made me a Jesus Freak and I'll be all by myself."  So I got angry at Him for changing me so much. And I took it to Him and let Him have it.  He was gentle, and reminded me quietly that I was not a citizen of this world, but I'm pretty sure I responded with something graceful like "that is so stupid." 

I'm always super mature.  It's a wonderful attribute of mine. 

So back on the balcony....I apologized and prayed that He would teach me down to my soul about my citizenship.  I prayed that He would change my heart so that I would know where I fit in, and rejoice in it.  Then I walked down out of the hotel and went and sat on the beach and wagered that I wouldn't move until He said something.  I sat for two minutes, and then suddenly Chris came down as the football game had ended.  I had the sense that my prayer had been heard, but I didn't get anything...just Chris' face.  And I was all "God?  I don't get it."  But I was quickly distracted and the day ended uneventfully. 

The next day was Tasha's wedding day.  We decided to rent a car and drive to North Shore to check out the waves before coming back to get to the wedding at 4pm.  We were in the best mood and enjoying the sudden freedom that a car brings.  I appreciated Waikiki beach, but it wasn't really my style and I longed for quiet beaches and countryside.  We impulsively decided to pull into the state park at Waimea Beach.

We carefully selected our parking spot in the center of the parking lot, right in the front with people everywhere.  I hid my purse in the backseat, thinking that tinted windows would dissuade anybody further from investigating possible loot and Chris put his bag over my purse too.  I grabbed my camera and we were off to scout out the beach. 

Chris at Waimea Beach in North Shore

It was pretty amazing.  There were enormous waves crashing into the shore and they didn't seem to come much further.  It was some kind of reef or something, so the waves crashed into the ground, then got swallowed up immediately by the next wave.  They were loud, like thunder.  We watched as people tried to body surf the waves and then get smashed into the ground.  I even saw a grown man crawl quickly away from the wave like a infant with an element of panic on his face.  I totally got the feeling though.  No judgement here, dude.  Even if he cried for his mommy, I would get it. 

We walked a bit further and then decided to jump back in the car because we were on a time crunch if we wanted to get a glimpse of the whole coast and then drive back to the wedding.  So we scurried back to the car and as I came around to my side of the car, my mouth dropped.  The entire rear passenger side window had been smashed. It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up and realize that everything was gone.  They had taken every single visible thing in the car.  My purse with my wallet was gone.  Chris' bag with his phone and both of our running shoes (in case we decided to hike) was also gone.  And my phone, with hundreds of pictures of my babies....gone.   So many things...suddenly gone.  They had not gotten Chris' wallet, however which had been in the center console of the vehicle.  I quickly grabbed for my camera and confirmed that I still had it....and then I kind of lost it...as in, I lost my mind completely.  I was crying, and spinning around in circles like a mad person looking for anything that they might have dumped.  I looked around as if the thief had stayed to observe my reaction.  Chris took one glance at my response and promptly told me to go back to the beach and pray. 

So I went back and sat next to those enormous waves.  As I mentioned before, they were powerful, but didn't advance very far.  I looked at the shoreline and sat about 2 feet behind the obvious water mark.  About 45 seconds after I sat, I got hit in the face with a huge wave....while holding my camera.  So I also frantically crawled like a panicked infant up the sand hill and laid down on my back and looked into the sun and said "REALLY?"

"Really?  I try to run after You and this is what I get? Silence and a stolen purse as a lovely addition?"

Then I thought about my upcoming flight back to my home where my babies were and a flood of anxiety hit me like a ton of rocks.  How would I ever prove to them that I was Jessica Garland?  I had absolutely nothing with my name on it.  I had brought everything.  They had been suspicious of me on the way here because I had forgotten that I was wearing a bobby pin.  I was so screwed.

Me: "Father, they won't know who I am!"
Him: "I know who you are."

It is hard to describe the feeling that floods your soul when He answers.  It's like a peace that comes from the opposite place that you'd ever guess.  Usually I would talk myself into a peaceful state....yet the peace that comes from Him is from inside and spreads out.  It is as if my thoughts are the last thing to join the peace train. 

Him:  "Your citizenship is not on a piece of plastic.  It's written on your forehead.  I will always know who you are because You are mine. You belong with Me."

Prayer answered. 

Sunrise, Gold Beach

Then I looked, and behold, the Lamb was standing on Mount Zion, and with Him one hundred and forty-four thousand, having His name and the name of His Father written on their foreheads....Revelation 14:1

Yoga

I had three ceserean sections in 5 years. When you say it like that, it sounds all dramatic. But I'm all about the present moment, and in the present moment, that translates into constant back pain and an unimaginably weak stomach. I'm serious. I keep trying to do situps or planks, and it's very sad.

I bet the kids in Africa would say that too. It's that sad, people.

So I got fired by PT, then I tried Chiropractic stuff and it helped a little, then I tried therapeutic massage and that helped a little, but all this to say that nothing helped enough to make it not hurt every day. And believe me, I would like nothing more than to stare Chris in the eye and joyfully announce "It's not my fault that I need a massage every week. It's your fault, because I carried all your babies." That is a win that would be the winner of all wins. But it isn't working.

Then it happened. Somebody recommended Pilates and Yoga to me. I almost laughed out loud. I might just be the least flexible human being on the planet. I touch my toes if and only if my knees are bent. In my defense though, I'm super tall. My feet are really far away. I can't be blamed for my freakishly long legs. Maybe you can touch your toes because they are way closer to your body. I'm just sayin.

The hour that I could go to the yoga/pilates mix came, and I quickly looked up the class on the internet and watched a youtube clip. I was blown away by how easy it looked. All they were doing was standing around. No joke. They stood there, counted some numbers, lifted an arm and then stopped. I can totally do that. No problem. I hope I don't embarrass all those people when I come in and look super bored by their non-existant workout. I mean, two words. College Athlete.

So I went to class and picked a spot in the very back, just in case the class was too easy and I wanted to duck out and get a real workout. The girl up front looked like I could break her in half if she got between me and a piece of pizza. And her voice was like sugar and definitely not the voice of an athletic coach. Whereas I've been yelled at much of my athletic life, she was all quietly saying "okay everybody. When you are ready, go ahead and stand up on your feet, real quietly. When you are ready. It's so nice to see all of you today."

If these people break out into song or something, I'm out of here. We are not even wearing shoes. This is not a workout.

And it begins.

Lets just say that within 15 seconds of the class starting, the voice of mockery in my head quickly changed to whining. It was an instant shift. My body was bent into all sorts of directions that are not possible. The sugary voice would tell me to have my hand on the floor with my foot as an assitant while the entire REST OF MY BODY WAS NOT TOUCHING THE FLOOR AT ALL, but rather pointed up to the sky. SERIOUSLY. And hold....for 45 seconds. During that pose, I kept thinking that if I fell and smashed my face and broke my nose, I would never ever go to the Emergency Room because I would not survive the embarrassment of explaining that to my coworkers.

And the very worst part is that when I looked around for just a HINT of validation on the faces of my fellow classmates, they looked SERENE. Tranquil even....as if they were on a beach in Hawaii and the breeze was brushing their face gently in the sunlight. Except that their legs were up in the sky and they were holding up their entire body with a few fingers and a couple toes. Unreal. I know for sure that I muttered fairly loudly in a nearly silent room "You have got to be kidding me, right?" before noting the entirely relaxed, peaceful faces of my collegues.

At one point, I was a total pretzel and the sugary voice told me to, if I could, reach back and grab my left foot with my left hand. I laughed to myself, thinking "there is no way my foot is even back there". Just for kicks though, I reached out behind me and, lo and behold, MY FOOT WAS THERE. I didn't even know my foot was there.

That is some kind of messed up situation when you don't know the exact location of your foot.

By the end, my entire body was shaking, sweat was dripping down my face and I wanted to cry for my mommy.

And this is weird, because when you go to a cardio class like spin (my go-to fave), you walk away fully knowing that you got your butt kicked, but it was like an army soldier guy that whooped your buns, so you are kinda proud and you wear your yucky disgusting sweat with pride.

This round, with the yoga people, I feel like I got my buns kicked by some tiny lady who was petting little kittens and meditating while I died of total exhaustion from doing nearly nothing, except it felt like everything.

At the very end, you are supposed to lay down on your mat while the lights turn out and.....well I'm not sure what you are supposed to do. Something like stare at the ceiling and, like the sugary voice said, "let your thoughts come and go and pass by" or whatever. So I laid there, all relaxed and thought carefully about what muscles had not been obliterated and might assist in getting me up off the floor. It took 4 minutes of "relaxing" to figure out that they were all shot and I had no strength left.

So, while the rest of the tranguil, serene people stood gracefully up off the ground, I dragged my lifeless body off the mat, and quickly left the room sans dignity, like the college athlete that I am.

I guess I'm going back though. Lack of dignity and total humiliatation comes second nature to a mommy of three under 5. I mean, honestly, it was just another hour in the life of Jessica Garland, right?

Exactly.

Darkness

I haven't blogged in a really long time.  There are a ton of reasons I could list.  Holidays...traveling....chasing the children....listening to Adie yell NO multiple times a day....working myself into a coma at night.  There is no doubt that I am swamped by life.  I am so far behind on laundry that it's not even funny. 

But the real reason is that I think the winter time is hard to swallow.  It's dark all the time, and somehow it makes me feel like I'm behind on everything.  There is something about it being dark before dinner is served that leaves me with the sense that I didn't accomplish much in those 8 hours that I had.  And when it's cold outside, I find myself dreading going outside to scrape the frost off of my car and kick myself for the 43rd time for not starting my car earlier.  So my real desire is to curl up in my warm blankets and hibernate until the sun comes back. 

I lost my coat.  Isn't that stupid?  I had a winter coat and I can't find it anywhere.  Every time I go to save money to buy a new one, I can't stand the voice in my head that relentlessly lists all the things that my children need over my coat.  As a mom, it's easier to shiver every day than it is to be warm and remember the needs of your babies.  So I'm really cold lately.  And on top of that, we keep our house cool enough that the butter doesn't even get soft on the counter.  We've saved a bunch of money by bundling up this year, but I still feel cold.  All the time.  Have I mentioned that I feel cold?  I'm cold. 

I think, if I'm being honest, that it started in Las Vegas.  I've never been to somewhere like that.  I've never seen that level of openness to depravity and greed.  I've had a rather PG rated life, so walking the strip and being handed pornography from a 40ish year old Hispanic woman really hit home.  She looked like a mother.  I look like a mother.  I recognized the worn out, stressed, tired and worried mess on her.  That's me.  I wanted to stop and say something. 

Maybe I wanted to say that I'm sorry that our world is so dark and hard...that we live in such a way that she got to this place.  I wanted to tell her that she had options, but then I realized that I wasn't so sure that she did.  I tried to make eye contact with her as she attempted to hand me the card, but she never looked up and quickly passed me by. Then I kinda got knocked back on my heels a bit.  Is this the world that I actually live in?  And shouldn't I, of all people, know this?  I mean you don't work in an ER as a mental health evaluator without seeing depravity.  But maybe I had limited it a bit....as if mental illness or drug abuse was the only darkness in this world.  But she didn't look like she fit either of those.  What gets a woman to stand on the strip and forcefully hand out porn to people walking by?  It was like my eyes were opened to a level of yuckiness and I just want to close them again.  I hated that place.  I hated it so bad that I cried and pleaded with Chris to let us go home early, no matter the cost. 
But I still can see her face. 

So in the darkness, I just sit.  I don't try to fight it anymore.  I am just waiting to figure out how God meets me here.  It's been dark before.  But before I knew God, I sort of wandered around in a frenzy.  I'm not sure how I thought that being in a frenzy made it all better, but that was my go-to mode.  Now I'm just waiting.

And isn't that what Christmas is all about?  Practicing the art of waiting....with glee and excitement, my kids wait for Christmas morning.  They find it exhilarating to wait, and the joy builds each day.  We are counting down the days until His birthday.  Counting down until He comes. 

Me: "God, You always come meet me when I'm so excited about you.  But I'm not excited about much these days and it's cold down here."
Silence.
Me: "Do you only respond to me when I'm full of joy?"
Silence.
Me: "You've left me all alone and I'm scared.  I see darkness everywhere and I miss the blindness where it all looked bright and full of promise.  I can't understand where You went.  I don't know how to find You again.... I think I wandered away and I'm not sure how to get back..."
Silence.  And then -
God: "I'm here. You never found Me because I was always here, and I came down to your darkness so that you could be warm in the light again.  Just be quiet and keep your eyes on Me.  I will fill you again.  Just wait."
 Me: "But don't you know that I don't wait well?  You should have a monopoly on knowledge about me.  I don't wait.  I never wait.  I'm a miserable disaster when I wait.  Can you do it sooner?  I think sooner is much better than later.  Why wait when you can do it now?"
Silence.
Me:  Ooooh....Nice touch.  I will wait then...since You gave me absolutely zero options. 
Silence.
Me:  I guess I'm waiting. 


And I'm waiting.  One thing I know about Him is that when He fills you up, it's a water that overflows.  I can wait for that.  I'm not a fan of waiting, but I'll wait for Him. 

Into the darkness, He comes like He promised.




Have you not known?  Have you not heard? 
The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.  He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength.  Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. 
Isaiah 40: 28-31

Jess vs Bacon; the Sequel

I am on a serious quest to become domestic in the kitchen.  It has sunk in that we are not the people that eat out every single day anymore, and so faced with the tension of having taste buds beyond Hamburger Helper, I've been backed into a corner. 

I'm the wife/mother.  We are hungry.  There is nobody to turn to except me.  Our situation is nothing if not desolate.  Just like my ideal camping trip is running barefoot through the Marriott, my ideal time in the kitchen is grabbing a soda on my way to the phone book to call for pizza.  Thus far, I've really enjoyed the kitchen.  It's a really great place to get cereal each morning. 

Everything about the kitchen baffles me.

For example, about 6 months after we married, we moved into a new apartment.  I had the pleasure of unpacking the kitchen and about 6 weeks later, Chris confronted me with the information that he had located the clothing iron in the kitchen drawer with the mixing stuff.  He was looking for the actual mixer, and could I please inform him of the location of the actual mixer?

I thought for sure that he was a total idiot.  (I didn't love Jesus then, clearly.)  I rolled my eyes and said "Ugh.  You are such a man.  That is the mixer.  I'll show you the iron."  I grabbed his hand (real condescending like) and walked him over to the closet.  I swung the door open and grabbed the iron.  "Here it is. See?"
"That's the mixer."
"No it's not."
"Yep, look closely."
I looked at the item, but only to gather evidence to prove to him that he was, in fact, an idiot. 
And the idiot was me. 
In my defense though, they look really similar.  Next time you are at my house, at least give me a chance to show you that they kind of look similar.  They are almost the same color....and they both have handles.  I mean, if that doesn't justify the confusion, nothing will. 

So my full assault, all out combat against the kitchen is going pretty well.  Sometimes I get flashbacks though.  And because I wanted to clarify for any reader of this blog that I am not one to look up to in any way, I thought I would share a vintage Jess & Chris story.  Yesterday I made homemade baked potato soup, which involved cooking bacon.  On the stove.  By myself.  I give you: 

Jessica vs Bacon; the Day it Disappeared
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It was a cold morning in 2004.  Chris and I were living in our very first apartment together.  We had been married about one month.  This was pre-children, so I have absolutely no clue how we spent our weekends.  I think we just sat there and took it all for granted.  We probably slept in, went to a movie, worked on homework when we felt like it, and basically just did nothing.  What do people without kids even do?  I can't even make a joke about it.  Seriously.  What do people do?

Anyway, it was mid-morning and we decided to make a big breakfast.  And by "we", I mean Chris.  Chris was making breakfast, and I was planning on eating it.  I was watching TV and Chris was cooking when he realized that he had forgotten something critical at the store.  I think it was eggs.  Anyway, he gave me the option.  Did I want to go to the store and buy the eggs, or did I want to stay home and watch the bacon?  I was intricately involved in the cribs episode on MTV, so I decided to watch the bacon.  I became frantic as he was leaving though.  "Chris, you know that I don't know what to do with bacon, right?"

"Honey, it's not hard.  Just turn it over a few times.  I'll be gone for less than 10 minutes.  You'll be fine.  Just keep an eye on it."  And he left.  Me.  Alone.  With bacon.

I walked into the kitchen and stared at it.  It was sizzling.  So I turned it over and it the grease popped and burned my finger.  I felt that was inappropriately aggressive for a pork item and, grabbing my finger that had been set aflame (not really), I went back into the living room, thinking to myself "I'll just watch until the next commercial and then flip it again."

I walked out of the kitchen into the living room and noted that 50 Cent's house was insane.  I watched his cars, and his living room and his ridiculous kitchen.  I wondered if being shot hurt.  And did he know what it was like to drive a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee and make 8.37/hour right out of college?  And I wondered if I could rap.  What if I had, like a secret talent that I didn't even know about?  Then I could rap and have a gold toilet, just like 50.  Except that I wasn't sure if going number 2 on a gold toilet was that enticing. 

The commercial came on.  "Time to check the bacon!" I thought.  I looked up and couldn't see anything.  The entire apartment was full of smoke. 

I ran the 5 steps from the couch to the kitchen and couldn't see the bacon at all.  I turned on the fan, and there was nothing in the pan.  Even when the smoke was being blown away from it, there was nothing there.  So I grabbed the pan and took it out to the porch. I put it on the ground and, leaning up against the wall, I slowly slid to the ground.  What happened?

Just then, I heard the front door open. There was a long pause (presumably as Chris' vision became accustomed to the wall of smoke), and then I heard Chris yell "Honeyyyy?....Helloooo?....Where are you?"

"I'm out here, Chris.  Outside."

He joined me and looked concerned.  "Are you okay? I was gone for 8 minutes....."

"I don't know what happened!  The bacon is gone.  Where did it go?"  I pointed to the pan that was completely black and devoid of any substance indicative of food.

"I think the bacon is the black clumps on the pan."  And gosh darn it if there weren't several black clumps of ash.  He looked incredulous.  Kind of like a man that married a woman 6 weeks ago and found out that she can disintegrate bacon in 8 minutes.  After he pledged to stay forever. 

"I can't believe it! I just watched one portion of the Cribs episode, and when I came back, it was all gone! Did you know that bacon disintegrates?"

"No.  No I did not."

"Me neither.  Well.....do you want me to help you with the eggs?"

"Um...nope.  I...uh...think I'll take the breakfast from here, sweetie."

"You sure?"

"Really sure." 

"Is it because I'm horrible in the kitchen?"

"Absolutely.  100% yes."

That was the last time I was allowed to look at bacon on the stove.
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So last night, I'm happy to report that after almost 8 years of shying away from the diabolical bacon, I cooked it from start to finish.  And it didn't disappear or anything.  It was touch and go for awhile there, but I'm happy to report that it was a success. 

Take that, bacon.
Pretty soon, all the kitchen appliances are going to be in the kitchen and I'm going to be known for cooking food that people eat. 
I can't promise about where the clothing iron will be though. 
That machine right there is a straight mystery.   
Maybe I'll try the iron in my 40s.  Don't want to get too crazy over here.

Repentance

I am not guilty of many sins that our society would deem outrageous.  I don’t drink.  I don’t steal stuff, I tell the truth too much of the time and I live a rather boring life of laundry and dishes and chasing after three children that I adore.  I spend my money on groceries.  I don’t do drugs.  I’m boring.  I haven’t killed anyone and I am at least 48% sweet, 45% sass and 7% inconsistent.  And I try to take care of people who don’t get cared for very often.  I even attend church all the time.  I don't have any felonies.  In the top 10 worst things I ever did list, #7 is when I intentionally failed a history test in 6th grade so that I would fit in with the cool (and apparently stupid) kids.  So scandalous.   

Hand me my mocha and my girl scout badges and lets move on. 


Except that in the last 36 hours, I've come to realize that I really have so much to be ashamed of.  So much. 


A 6 year old member of our church family is battling brain cancer.  My heart just breaks for this family…the kind of broken heart where you sit in a dark room and sob.  This beautiful little boy has had five brain surgeries and this is his third relapse.  All I can really think about is how unfair this is....and how undeserving this family is of this brokenness. 

And I think about the part where God changed my life in three and a half minutes as I thought Justin was dying during his absence seizure.  It took three and a half minutes of believing that I was losing my little boy before I gave up every ounce of belief that I had any contributions to offer and promptly got off of my throne.  Three and a half minutes got me to a place where I waved the white flag of surrender and begged for the Lord to take over everything I have.  Three and a half minutes.  Even now, any time I have the smallest hint of desire to follow my own impulses, the face of my baby turning blue whips me into shape in a mere moment.  Three minutes of staring at my worst nightmare, and my life changed from top to bottom. 

So I think of sweet Louise, a mom who loves her children with a heart of gold.  She is no different than me.  As I think about her experiences, I am struck by the cold hard truth that there is no reason that she is in her spot, and I am in my spot.  I have three healthy kids.  I’ve never received a glimmer of bad news with my children.  Even the moments where I thought Justin was dying resulted in a doctor looking me in the face and imploring me to believe that my baby was okay.  I’ve never wondered at the health of my kids.  I’ve never miscarried.  I’ve never wondered if I was going to miscarry.  From the moment that I heard their heartbeats to this moment that I'm sitting here typing, I've only had wonderful happy news.  And one thing that I know for sure is that I don't deserve this. 

I lived a good solid 10 years of my adult life with my back to God.  My sister recently reminded me of a time where I literally said "Why does this world have to be about God? Why can't it just be about me loving my family?" I snubbed Him and considered Him irrelevant.  I wanted Him, but only if He would do everything that I wanted Him to do.  And I'd take Him, as long as He didn't ask me to do stuff that I didn't want to do. 

But that's not the worst part. 

I understand today that the moment where I sit up from my kneeled position at the throne of God and ask for anything at all on my behalf, I've taken His blessing for granted.  Because how can I stop thanking Him for the health of my babies?  How can I complain that I don't have money for gas, or I'm not 100% sure where the grocery money is going to come from?  How do I grumble under my breath about laundry or get frustrated at how difficult it is to keep up with my housework when I'm working 30 hours a week?  How is it that I have such fleeting gratitude that I get flustered with my seizure disorder?  It's horrifying, really....to realize that the most important aspect of my life has been shielded for absolutely no reason at all, except grace. 

I think the more I understand grace, the more debilitating it becomes.  I don't mean debilitating in the sense that it's bad, but more in the sense that I can't hardly breath.  He is so good and I deserve so much less.  He shields me from so much, when I deserve total exposure. 

And it gets worse. 

Not only have I taken it all for granted, but to think that He sent His Son to die. God the Father experienced such remarkable pain in order to reconcile us to Him. 

I just didn't deserve that.  And if He struck me with lightening every time I forgot that I didn't deserve it, I'd die 1000 times a day.  My default is entitlement to everything good. 

I guess my point is this.  I have so much to repent for.  Sometimes I get all focused on the 10 commandments that I just forget the whole point.  If I would just see that He has rained blessing upon blessing onto me, I wouldn't have time to do anything except for throw everything to the ground and sob in worship.  At that point, it's probably not very difficult to not covet what others have...to not lust...to not lie, steal, curse, idolize or worship a different God.  At some point I feel like you would end up yelling "Oh Father, please don't give me anything else.  Your blessing is too rich....I can't stand anymore grace. I will be ruined."

That's where I am today.  Brokenhearted and overwhelmed with the grace.  Up until yesterday, I read the Bible and thought of the wealthy people as ridiculous.
Now I know they were talking about me.

 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us. -Ephesians 1: 3-8