Stepping into psycho

The radio station that I listen to in the morning has a segment called "stepping into psycho" basically it is when someone who is normally main stream decided they are going to do something crazy. Follow their boyfriend because they think he is cheating, or putting spy ware on their ex-girlfriend. Something that is sort of embarrassing to admit to.

Sometimes I feel like I have stepped into Christianity psycho. Whispers in your heart, following sensible soft leading, those are things Christians do. And talk about openly. But speak in tongues (I do that as of about six months ago) or tell people that while the ultrasound has so far only detected one heart beat your friend who had dreams the first time is having some more dreams this time. Your dad who got words the first time is having more words this time....and they include other members of the family. You can't quench a hope in your heart no matter how hard you try.

So here I am. Claiming twins again. Believing that this time is THE time. Getting chills when I type that. So, if you have a double infant stroller you aren't using....hang onto it until further notice. I still believe that I could need it.

What are you so afraid of?

Well right now......

I am having a difficult pregnancy. According to my midwives I am perfectly healthy, and I am grateful for that. Truly I am. But compared to the Peanut? This is hell. I am low grade nauseous pretty much constantly. I haven't puked very often, but I could pretty much any second of any day. Just give me a reason. I have to be super careful when I brush my teeth and the pubescent boy musk that my students carry on them is NOT helping. But I would be willing to puke more often if these other two things would go away 1. The nasty "I'm about to puke" taste that is almost always in my mouth and 2. The copious amounts of saliva. Along with the gross symptoms and the exhaustion I am totally beat. And maybe not remembering is God's way of encouraging you to have a second one, but the first pregnancy was NOT this hard.. And this causes me to worry about the following things.

1. Last pregnancy was easy which equaled an easy baby. This time around does hard pregnancy equal super colicky baby? Seems like the only logical explanation to me.

2. What if this isn't the twins? Twin pregnancies are supposed to be harder than singletons. How on earth will I manage through that? For nine months? With two other children......maybe that is why I have been crying for mercy. I cannot even imagine.

3. What if I have been blogging about twins, claiming twins, praying for twins, and they never come. How many years before people think I am crazy......What if the prayer gets answered when I am 50? Peanut could be married and pregnant by then.

4. What if they do come? What if this time is the time? Then I will have 3 under 3, a full time job and a husband in PhD school. That sounds like it is worry worthy if I do say so myself. And I do.

5. Twin birth is not like normal birth, I won't be able to be in the tub, they will want me to deliver right in an operating room, I will most likely have a c-section. I am not happy about any of this.

6. We bought a station wagon off of Craigslist and not a mini-van. What if God sees this as a personal statement of unbelief and doesn't give me twins because I wasn't planning on them? What if I get them and then can't fit all the car seats, and then I can't sell the wagon, and then we have to take two cars everywhere?

7. What if this isn't really a baby? What if I am just having a weird stomach virus?

Okay....I think I'll stop before I embarrass myself further.....welcome to my head.

In the mean time

I am being called to write a very transparent post about the whole twin business that I am struggling with.....in the mean time. This person has something very valuable to say.

http://jessicagottlieb.com/2011/03/its-my-birthday-and-you-have-to-listen-to-me/

At least he's honest....

The other day the kids we babysit for twice a week were having eggs and toast for dinner that I was in charge of cooking. And while my cooking skills may have improved since high school, I'm still the girls who managed to burn canned green beans. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I think it had something to do with the phone ringing and that conversation being far more interesting than dinner.

Anyway, I had managed to think to ask Elizabeth how she cooked the kids eggs.....but I hadn't listened when she told me. Oops. Turns out the second half to that equation is just as important as the first. Who knew? My conversation with her oldest went something like this.

Me: When your mommy cooks you eggs, are they all yellow and kinda lumpy (I was hoping for scrambled. It is really the only way I know how to cook eggs.)

J: No, they are white.

Me: So they are white on the outside, are they easy?

J: Huh?

Me: When you bite them, is there yellow liquid?

J: Yeah! You bite the egg and yellow stuff squirts out!

So I knew how I was supposed to make the eggs......only I had never, ever made them like that before. And J is sort of a picky eater.....a vocally picky eater. I put the first egg in and managed to flip it yolk in tact. Then I got cocky. I tried to make three eggs at the same time while simultaneously toasting bread. I know this may sound like an easy task for most people. But what can I say, the kitchen simply isn't where my gifts lie.

So I am burning the toast and struggling with the eggs when J comes to look at my progress.

J: You aren't very good at cooking huh?

Me: No I'm not.

J: Yeah my mommy is really good at cooking (Note: this could not be more true)

Me: Your mommy is very good at cooking. You know who else is good at cooking?

J: Mr. Christian?

Me: Yes Ms. Abby doesn't have to be a good cook because Mr. Christian is.

J: (Clearly missing the gender equality lecture I am trying to give and only concerned about dinner.) Why didn't you bring him?

Very good question good sir. Very good question.

WHAAAA Get me OUT!!

The Peanut has learned a new trick, and it isn't winning her any new friends, or even getting her fed what she wants (well her OTHER new trick, licking her lips, is getting her more strawberry pie. I can't help it. It is really cute). It is only making her, and me, and her babysitter tired and cranky.

The Peanut has figured out how to crawl up the walls of both the pack and play, and the crib. She then pulls herself into a standing position. This way she can't go to sleep when she doesn't want to. Lying on her back was allowing her to drift off into dream world. The only problem is.....she has yet to learn how to move herself from her standing position to the sitting one. She gets up there, gets herself stuck, and then gets PISSED OFF. SOMEONE GET ME DOWN! WHY WOULD YOU LEAVE ME UP HERE! Now I know some of you would say that I should just leave her there until she lets go. But I tried that, for far longer than I would ever admit to on the internet. The kid has a stubborn streak (we will go ahead and blame that on her father. Yeah..... Right....she gets that from her dad.) And you would think that eventually she would fall down, but she doesn't trust me. Or if you still don't believe me Christian has a meeting on Wednesday, if you are available to babysit you can see for yourself.

I don't know quite what we are going to do about it, but I was talking to my sister Jill on the phone and she pointed out how many spiritual applications this particular situation has. How many times does God put me in a situation the exact way I need to be in it, with everything I need.....and I manuever out of the situation to a position I have decided I would rather be in? I don't want to (apologize, get up on time, tell someone that really random specific word, confront someone, the list goes on.) so I do what I want instead of what God wants. Then I get really pissed that He would strand me there, standing up, cranky, and exhausted. How could God just abandon me in that situation? HOW DARE HIM! And I don't even have the decency to wiggle my butt back where it belongs. I call out louder and angrier furious that God would leave me in this position. I thought I had at least until the Peanut's second birthday before I say my faults her dad's faults so clearly in her.

So two questions for you, A.) Who else sees themselves in this situation? and B.) Does anyone know how to out smart my 10 month old? Even Elizabeth is stumped. She always has the answer!

Have Mercy

I've been praying a lot since my last posts. About the twins mostly, when where, this time? Lord how long? And repeatedly I hear God tell me. "Pray for my mercy." So I am. I am crying out to God that He would have mercy on me. When I try to pray for the twins directly or ask God when or what to name this one if it is a singular, I get this: Pray for my mercy.

This is what I know about God's mercy. It is good, I live in it. It is different than God's grace. But I don't deserve it either. Last summer, shortly after I had Juliet I got an email that I was being surplussed. I would no longer be working at the school I was familiar with. Along with a new baby, I would have a new school in the fall. All my co-workers, my support system would be gone just when I needed them most. At least that is how I interpreted the move. While I do miss my co-workers very much, the move was merciful. My new school is a better fit for me in so many ways. Turns out as I was being a spoiled brat to God, letting Him know that I wanted what I wanted and hadn't He put enough on my plate, this is RIDICULOUS! It took about 8 hours at my current school for God to show me just how merciful He had been.

The Lord's mercy doesn't always look like I think it will. But sometimes it does. Like an impressionist painting, it is often only a picture we understand when we are able to take a step back from the situation. But sometimes it is as clear as a photograph. I suppose I will have to continue to pray for His mercy, and trust that my God is both merciful, and smarter than me.

What has God's mercy looked like in your life? Has it ever been something you initially were unhappy about?

Boppa is the best (name)

I posted this as a comment at another site and I liked it so much that I'm posting it here as well. The back story is that this lady wrote an article wondering why adults called each other mommy. Why there are mommy blogs. And why marketers market mommy jewelry, mommy sweaters etc.. Anyway here is the Post.

"I have 3 adult Daughters and 4 Granddaughters and I am thrilled when My daughters call me Dad or Daddy. My (almost one year old) youngest Granddaughter says Da and dog but not yet Ma Mama or any combination there of despite my daughters best efforts to assist her in that direction. My Daughter can't wait to be called Mommy. I am most pleased when called Boppa a name bestowed on me by my oldest Granddaughter when she was about one. Boppa is a name that I will probably be called increasingly by children and adults 'till the Lord takes me home and I can think of no greater honor. Then again no one is marketing Boppa bags or jewelry."

What is happening?

Last week I was seriously craving a burger with barbecue sauce and cheese on it. Seriously. I needed one. So we went to taco-mac and got said burger with a side of onion rings. It was delicious. And the pickle on the side was perfect. I am aware of the cliche but I am having a pickle problem this time around. I then proceeded to go outside for some fresh air and I proceeded to hurl the entire dinner up right on the patio. (Thank God it was empty.) Then I had to go tell the hostess that I was terribly sorry but I am pregnant and just hurled all over her patio. And could I please have another pickle? Okay, I didn't say that last part. But I wanted to.

During work time for a major project that is due at the beginning of next week. The three Latinos in third block have elected to take this time to up their ante and proceed to some very physical comedy which includes but is not limited to:
*Stealing my flashlight out of my cupboard, pointing it right at me, then calling my name so I will turn and be temporarily blinded
*Saying they put the flashlight back and then organizing themselves so that one turns of the light, one waives the lit flashlight all over the room, and one beats on the desk and makes "club noise" music at the exact same time. As though a dance party has suddenly invaded my room.
*Getting out my first aid kit and attempting to put band aids all over themselves. When they are denied the band aids, coloring all over themselves with red marker and insisting they are bleeding to death.

And finally, the Peanut now says two words (maybe four, we can't tell if BAY-BEEE and da-da are purposeful). They are Hi! and DOG! both with enthusiasm dog always in a loud volume. Yesterday I had this conversation while my dad laughed from the other room:

Me: Say mama
Peanut: DOG!
Me: No....mama
Peanut: (Pointing at Colt) DOG! DOG!
Me: I'm mama
Peanut: (Squirming to get to the dog) DOG! DOG! DOG!
Me: (Redirecting) Hey, I'm mama, mama.
Peanut: (looking right at me but pointing to Colt) DOG!
Me: Fine, see if he will feed you in the middle of the night
Peanut: DOG! DOG!

In case you didn't catch that last bit...she still wakes up at least once a night........I just hope there is space between when she starts sleeping through the night and September......

Promises, promises

I have two friends who are adopting. One in state infant adoption. One international adoption from Russia. A six year old they met through FORO last summer. Both stories are incredible. Both women are blogging about their journeys here and here. I feel so privileged that they would share their stories with me (and the rest of the Internet.)

Both women have child that has been promised to them. In very different circumstances God spoke into their hearts another member of their family. And their stories speak to me. Recently one of them had a mother change her mind during the ten day waiting period that is the law in Georgia. I can't imagine. I simply cannot imagine the emotional turmoil.

I also cannot imagine going through it with the grace she is exuding. The peace and calm she uses to articulate the experience. The trust she has in the Lord. The readiness in her heart to say "I must have heard you wrong. I will follow you to the depths for my baby." I ran into her just days after she got the call. She was at a consignment sale, picking out clothes for the baby girl she knows is coming home.

I waited in line with her and she talked about the need to mourn with the Lord. To acknowledge the disappointment as she renews her strength to move forward on the path God has put her on. I was struck by this, convicted by what has not been done in my own heart.

I've blogged about it before, the promise of twins I am sitting on. The word that was spoken into my heart years before I wanted to conceive. The names given to me. The friends from afar waking in the middle of the night to pray for twins, the friend who didn't know I was pregnant asking God to open my womb and fill it with twins. But I don't know that I touched on the disappointment I felt when I saw the ultrasound. The one that announced "It's a girl!" It's one girl........hmmm. This was not what I was expecting.

To put it mildly, I freaked. And I'm not southern, so I don't put a smile on my face and let the emotions quietly rage inside. I have a good old mid-western fit and fall in it. I screamed and cried, I told God I thought He was a real a**hole. I called a few of my closest friends to tell them I could not possibly raise a girl. I wanted a girl, eventually. But this time I wanted the twins. The ones I had been telling people about, because the Holy Spirit was leading me to. People who didn't even believe in God, let alone believe that He speaks to people. And so specifically.....even some of the people at my church thought I was out of my ever loving mind! I mean, prophesied twins, boy twins at that. It's all so Old Testament, and that was a long time ago. Surely, God no longer speaks in that way.

I am hesitant to write about this because I don't want the Peanut to think she was ever anything less than completely wanted. While she wasn't the twins I was expecting (and AM expecting), she is more than I could ever ask for, and I am so glad she got here first. But I was disappointed, because I thought I had heard....I know I had heard. I just didn't  hear fully.

In the months after the peanut was born the craziest thing happened. As I understood what it meant to be a mother I realized my boys weren't with me, and I had no idea where they were. I want to adopt and am really open to the idea of an older child, sibling group, out of foster care adoption. I was terrified that the twins MY BOYS were in a home where they weren't being nurtured and loved. The comfort I received as a I sang "Jesus Loves Me" to my baby..... I clung to the line They are weak but He is strong. But I was completely unsettled, like a dog when you take away her puppies.

Until I went to my home church over the summer. And I was prayed over that God would speak clearly to me about those twin boys. And He did with one word: pregnancy. Okay, I thought maybe next time. And (in case you missed my facebook announcement) it is next time. Sooner than we had expected and interesting in timing, but none the lest perfect as a baby and God's timing always are.

But I've already cried twice over the possibility that this isn't it. Not the twins. There are just so many questions I have. If not now, then when? If this isn't it, and then we get the twins that is 4 biological children. How will there be room to adopt after that? What happens if I only have one boy? Do I name him the 3rd favorite name (which we can't agree on) because I am saving the other two for the twins. Do I name him twin one name assuming we will adopt another boy who will end up being the second twin? And the loudest in my heart.....How long Lord? How long will you make me wait for my boys? Will I be as old as Sarah, laughing at the possibility? Did I hear for future generations, what I thought was my own? Will I spend my entire life waiting on something that will never come to pass?

I haven't been dealing with these questions, with the disappointment of things not working out the way you thought they would (even though that way wasn't BAD, peanut, it was perfect). Instead I took my promise of twins and put it in the deep corner of my heart I had put my healing in and shut the door. And whether or not this is THE tine, the Lord has let me know pretty clearly that now is the time to deal with that place. And I am trying. But I am struggling with how....and I could use your help. How do you deal with promises that are in your heart.....but not yet in your life? How do you deal when you hear God incorrectly....incompletely?

The Lord has repeatedly proven He is faithful, so I need to trust Him to bring them to me. As if on cue He led me here and here, two women who heard what the Lord said about their babies.

Oh yeah, He MAKES me lie down in green pastures

I got into a car accident last week. And my mantra since then has been oh crap this hurts I'm fine. Really I'm fine. I know I am wincing a little but I am fine. I went to school on Friday, I didn't get my prescription filled. I was in denial didn't need it. I was fine really. Saturday I hit the ground running and didn't stop until 8 or so when I finally realized I really did need that Tylenol 3. And no pharmacy was open. I got it Sunday before church. Or more accurately during church (the CVS didn't open until 10).

But I didn't really think I needed them that bad. I went to work on Monday and my head was pounding the whole day. I was pretty sore by the time I got into bed. And by Tuesday morning I couldn't hardly move. I was planning to go to school the next day till I almost passed out at Walmart while simultaneously telling my sister I didn't need any thing. It was awful. I called into work on Tuesday and Wednesday and basically sat on the couch sleeping and watching the Cosby Show on netfix.

And now is the part where we talk about my issues. YEAH! I got super sick with mono in Jr. high which lead to fibromyalgia, which I was miraculously healed from. (More about that here.) So I have been out sick from everything more than your average person. And teenagers can be mean. And when you don't look sick it is really easy to assume that you are being a totally weenie pants when in fact you are not. You are actually in a lot of pain. But then a doctor suggests it is fakey, then you start thinking maybe you ARE just soft and you are already a teenager so everything in your head gets very confusing and you can at times convince YOURSELF you are fine when in fact you are clearly not. You are in fact, lying on the ground outside Walmart.

I wouldn't give myself enough grace and I certainly wouldn't just stop. I SHOULD be able to handle it after all. Why wouldn't I? Come on Abby, you pushed a baby out, just go to work sore. But I just couldn't anymore. And guess what? My kids did not light my room on fire. In fact, my room was cleaner and more organized than when I left and my department head was just glad I seem to be doing better. The only one who wouldn't give me a break was me.

God teach me to treat myself with the same grace I extend others.

Why I get mocked

Friday I was surfing the internet as my kids were working on their form poetry. A couple of kids wrote some really good villanelles. Really good. It was awesome.

So I am clicking through my normal list of blogs and one of my funny latino gentemen says to me.

"Mrs. Norman, are you looking up how to be a good mom on the internet?"

"Ummm, I guess you could say that. Yeah."

"This is why we make fun of white people."

To which one of my black girls chimed in, "For real Ms. Norman"

Attitude adjusted

So as you could see from this post I've been a little out of sorts lately. Wednesday I asked my small group to pray that I would get a celestial attitude adjustment. I had expressed some fear in praying for that for myself as God is usually as subtle with me as a two by four to the temple. It may have something to do with me lacking subtly myself. Y'all, those folks can pray! By Thursday at lunch I had realized I was feeling much better about my job, and decided to reward myself by heading Chick-fil-A and picking up lunch. The day was BEAUTIFUL and was even more beautiful when I talked to my Detroit sister and compared it to her winter warnings. (Seriously, why do people live there?) The perfect lunch run was topped off by.....my car stalling out in the parking lot. When I came back from picking up my original chicken sandwich,(McDonalds, please stop trying. Southern style is clearly code for Chick-fil-A rip off) my engine would not quite turn over, and yes I made sure it was in park.

I was freaking out. I was supposed to be back for a meeting at 12:25 and I had forgotten to tell anyone I was off campus! I also should have saved my two "must call if you are going to be out" people in my phone about a month ago but I haven't gotten around to it. (Dang....my procratination is showing out lately.) It hadn't even been running hot! How could this happen? I tried to sit there calmly and wait five minutes. But a few minutes into that patient five I just yelled "God, I really need my car to start!" and turned the key. No problem. I was back at school in five minutes flat. I was pretty pumped and singing praise.

Oh how easy it is to sing praise when your car starts. So my day ended and I hopped in the car, rolled my windows down and took off. Seriously, no traffic. I am officially out of my funk, Praise The Lord. When WHAM I got hit by a guy who had passed out and crossed the center line, and hit my drivers side door on the way to the tree on the other side of the street.

No major damage that I know of. I am going to get checked better on Monday because I am still really sore. This is what I know. If Memorial had been as bad as it usually is, it could have been a lot worse, with a lot more cars involved, and he probably would have hit me far more head on. Which would have been worse.

So praise God that I am not in the hospital, and maybe I will stop wallowing in the funk next time and be careful about praying for an attitude adjustment. Because I think I got one.

Operator Error

So I hopped in my car last Monday, and it wouldn't turn on. I was a little annoyed, but not extremely. It has been running kind of hot lately and I had had a big weekend. I thought maybe I had left the light on or something. Seemed like a battery issue to me. Besides, Christian doesn't really need a car on Monday, we would figure it out when I get home.

Except me and my husband......we both procrastinate. He took me to school on Tuesday and my sister Jill came and picked me up and we got the peanut. We would look at it on Wednesday....but we didn't....and Calvin came to get me on Thursday. Finally, yesterday we got around to looking at my lovely Craigslist special.

We were stumped, until Christian went to throw it in neutral and found that I had never put it in park when I got out Saturday night.....so it wasn't in park when I went to start it Monday. So it wouldn't start. Christian was so glad it was a free and easy fix he wasn't that annoyed with me.

Man, this would be far less embarrassing if it was the first time it happened..........

Agape Fail

So it's about to get real. You have been warned.

Last week my principal, who I have a great amount of respect for, came to observe my classroom. He was unimpressed. It did not go well.

There were lots of factors that went into this bad day, as there are a million factors that go into every day. Essentially, I told my kids to do xyz, but they didn't and I simply did not have the energy to walk around and tell each kid individually to get it together. So I more or less let them off. Then my principal, who really puts his money where his mouth is and gives everything he has every single day, walks in the door. And my kids are pretty much sitting there.......and some are sleeping. Not my best moment. Easily one of my worst moments as a teacher.

I wish I could say I recovered beautifully, but I did not. Pretty much the whole observation was like that.Ugh. But I am not surprised that this all went down because recently I have been suffering from a lack of love. It is love my neighbor month at 1027 church. A time when we are challenged to step back from ourselves and take a look at the people around us. Reflect on how God is calling us to serve our neighbors and heed that call.

And if I am going to be honest for a moment (you know because I usually put myself in such a positive light on this thing.....) I don't feel like it. I simply don't feel like it. I don't want to be bothered with going above and beyond. I want to do my part, and have everyone else do their part....and if there is slack have someone else pick it up. When God puts on my heart to love my neighbor, I want to tell Him it isn't my turn. How about you  choose someone else to love my students for a change and let me teach poetic language and then go home?

I know that part of it is that I am a public school teacher and it is February. March is looming and looking long. Christmas break was so long ago and spring break is not coming fast enough. And I have one of  those professions where it is just really obvious when you are and aren't loving your students (clients, patients, whatever you call them). I know that the loving thing is to be patient one more day, give the kid one more reminder as to what successful behavior is, give every lecture 100 percent because not only is it the loving thing, but my kids are already behind, and can't afford anything less. And I am tired. And loving my students takes energy that I don't have and a hope that I am not sure exists in me anymore. It takes time that I would rather spend doing something else, something that didn't require me to look beyond myself.

Wow, that is ugly. But if I am honest it is how I feel right now. These sentiments accurately reflect what is going on in my heart. And it is I love my neighbor month, and I am suffering from some serious agape fail. Snap out of it Abby.......there are people with real problems in the world.

Essays from my esses

So I had the equivalent of a who's on first spanglish conversation in my class today. It was again by my three jokers in fourth period. The conversation that had me rolling today went something like:

Me: Boy #1, what are you doing? Get out your essay!

Boy #1: Hey! I'm the esse!

Me: No, esse I mean your essay, the one you are supposed to be writing.

Boy #1: You can't call me that. That is racist

Me: Fine, write your paper. Boy #2 where is your essay?

Boy #2: (Pointing to boy #3) Right there! Esse!

Boy #3: Hey! Esse!

Me: BLAH! Everybody get out a piece of paper and write on it!

That last bell can never ring quite soon enough.

60 degrees and GRUMPY?!?

It has been a little chilly here lately. It even snowed on Thursday, and there wasn't even a two hour delay! What the heck is the point of that? But not this past weekend. This weekend the weather was so amazingly sunny, and reached 60 degrees. 60 degrees! In February! Evey year these random warm February days surprise me. Isn't it March that is supposed to be in like a lion and out like a lamb. Not south of the Mason Dixon baby!

For a short time when we first moved down here I had a job that made me tool around the city of Atlanta in prime gouge your eyes  out traffic hours. Coming down 400 at 4:30 on a Thursday afternoon? Comparatively water boarding doesn't seem that bad. But occasionally we would have these amazing gorgeous February days and suddenly the drive wasn't that bad. I could put the windows down! In February! Are you hearing me, I could drive around with the windows down before St. Patrick's day. (And not because the windows stopped working at an inopportune moment at the drive thru and the car you were driving was in lieu of a payment your dad's client could not afford to pay. Then you just had to pretend it was 60 degrees and sunny. Jill, Em, holler if you hear me.)

It didn't matter if it took 45 minutes to go 15 miles. I had my windows down. I would put my sunglasses on and smile. I would put my bare hand out of the window and start working on my ring tan. I could handle the traffic, see it as a blessing even because I had come from a place where I appreciated sunny, beautiful, February days. PEOPLE, I wanted to scream, SOMEBODY THROW A PARTY I HAVE MY WINDOWS DOWN IN FEBRUARY ON PURPOSE!

I will never forget the day I saw a guy in his convertible,  with the top down, in February, mad as could be because apparently someone cut him off. I started laughing. I could not believe that someone could be that angry when they were sitting in their amazing car with the top down in the middle of winter. This guy clearly did not know what it was like to go without the sun for a month at a time. He didn't know that there are people in the Midwest who lose their sunglasses every season because they go that long without needing them. He just didn't get it. He did not have problems, how can you have problems with your top down in February?

I wonder how many 60 degrees and grumpy moments I have in my own life. Not about the weather, but metaphorically. I mean, I have a great husband and a healthy, happy baby. I go to a job, that while tedious when it comes to paperwork, I mostly enjoy. I actually believe I am making a difference. I like my students and my co-workers. So when I roll out of bed and just don't feel like going? I need to recognize the blessing that is my life. I need to realize that over all my life is 60 degrees in February, maybe somebody did cut me off, but considering the overall circumstances, I can let it slide.

Be careful what you lick

A week or so ago we were all hanging around on the bed after we had folded some laundry, the husband, the peanut and myself. I was running in and out of the room, probably putting away the ridiculous amount of shoes I had out. Probably not. Probably thinking about how I should put them away while I walk past them repeatedley and avoiding the copious amounts of clothes I have been leaving on the futon re-organizing for a month and a half.

Anyway, the peanut was crawling around on the bed testing things out by, you know, putting them in her mouth. (My cousin calls this the dog stage.) She managed to pull the ac adapter chord out of the baby monitor and was staring intently at it. I then left the room and figured her dad would keep this day from turning into babies first emergency room trip. The next thing I know I hear a cry come out of the room....

From the husband! Turns out the peanut put the ac adaptor in her mouth and made a face like it didn't taste very good. I am sure it doesn't. Christian thought, surely if she is reacting like that it has to be no, or very little shock. Apparently the baby has a high pain tolerance? Who knows. But your tongue does in fact complete the circuit.

How many times have I done this in my life, looked at somebody else and said, "I know that is not the best idea, or exactly in God's plan.......but they haven't gotten burned by it! Surely I can get away with it too!" You can guess how many times that thinking has worked out for me......

Oh, and after we got done laughing hysterically about it, the husband asked me, "This is going to go in your blog, huh?"

Oh, yes.....because I am not in charge.

Just moments ago I found myself hollering at my students "I don't like having to defend my choices to you! I am aware of what is going on in other people's classrooms. I know what they are and are not doing. I have a reason we are doing things the way that we are."


Then I thought about the conversations I have been having recently with God. I wonder if He ever wants to yell that at me. I am so glad He has more patience than I. But maybe I need that hollered at me.
"Abby, I don't like having to defend my choices to you. Don't you trust me enough to know that I make the best choices for you? Yes, I am aware how it has worked for your (sister, friend, someone you heard about once). Don't you think I set that up as well? I have reasons as to why we are doing things this way. Trust me."

The kid with the fish

I have a good friend who lives down the street. Brooke is a single woman who loves God and the city. Basically, she listens to God and then does what He tells her. It seems to be working for her

One day, through a series of happenstance (that can only be God when you look back at them) she started babysitting for a woman who had recently left an abusive relationship and needed someone to watch her three kids while she waited tables (lets be honest, how great of a shift do you have to have in order to make it worth coming to work after you have paid the sitter?) Brooke was initially torn about babysitting. Who wants to commit your Saturday afternoons? She considered farming out the job to me and my husband, or another couple that lives in the neighborhood. But the Lord spoke into Brooke's heart and she listened.


God told Brooke, you are single and you will never have more time than you do right now. I want you to do this. Can we pause there for a second.... I know that there are some serious struggles to being single. I can't imagine how hard some of it all is and I don't want to be one of those married people who is all "single is FUN single is FREE what the heck are you complaining about!" Single is lonely sometimes, waiting on God is hard, feeling a little like your adult life is in limbo must be kinda weird....like you are pregnant without a due date. I think it is cool that Brooke recognized that God had her in a circumstance purposefully. He wasn't all "Hey, when you are partnered up, then you can do something. Till then, chill out." And God doesn't say to me "You were of use to me when you didn't have all those husband, baby, house strings. But now that you have all those obligations I don't expect you to serve me." He uses the circumstances He put us in in the first place.

Anyway, so Brooke goes to babysit. She sees that this mom, Elizabeth, is doing everything she can, but seriously: not enough hours in a day (Lord, can you do something about that? 26?). She comes back to the small group we host at our house and asks if maybe a group of people can come over to weed wack her backyard. Brooke's heart is burdened for Elizabeth.

Elizabeth starts attending 1027 and bringing her kiddos. She feels loved their. I have the peanut and she finds the time to take her three children grocery shopping and then bring my family dinner. Meanwhile, Christian and I are trying to come up with the perfect childcare plan. We only need someone two days a week, surely, surely we can just trade with one of the part time mom's at the church, right? They have one kid, we have one kid..... then we started praying about it. Three days later Christian and I confered. It went like this "I got a name, did you get a name?" "Yeah, what name did you get? "What name did you get?" "You first." "No you." (We are so mature.) "I got Elizabeth" "Good, me too."

I called her and the conversation went something like this. "Do you want to swap two days a week childcare for two nights a week childcare?" "Yes." "Great."

And now? I hate using the term "babysitter" because that isn't what the relationship feels like to me. Bonus parent maybe, advisor, parenting mentor, really good friend. Bearer of wine and dinner after a parent teacher night from hell. Yeah that too. She adores the peanut, and we adore her kids. Her daughter calls the peanut her sister and makes up stories to the picture books as she holds the book out to show her the pictures.
I was talking to Brooke, about how blessed I feel. About how when I was still in the hospital the Lord put Elizabeth so heavy on my heart I asked Christian if we should change the peanut's name. About how she has blessed my family so incredibly by answering the Lord's call. She told me she felt like the kid with the fish. She brought what she had (three hours on a Saturday) and the Lord has multiplied that beyond her wildest dreams. The Lord has multiplied her gift to meet the needs of the people around her. How cool is that?

And that is my prayer. Lord, help me to hear you. And may you multiply the fish that I bring.

The Good Daughter

I grew up in a house with two older sisters. The Lord deemed my parents as excellent girl-raisers. So they got three girls. A couple at my church is expecting their third girl, I believe it is a compliment from God. A sign that they are doing a remarkable job with the first two.

Anyway, while each sister has her different strengths and weaknesses, there is definitely a thick stripe in all of us that marks us as from the same tribe. We all marched in the marching band in some capacity, we all did the musicals, we were all in the high school choir at some point and took some honors classes. We all came to know the Lord at relatively young ages and were active in our faith by high school. This didn't escape the eye of many teachers and various peers.

One way that we attempted to distinguish ourselves, mostly in a joking manner, was being "the good daughter." I am not even sure how it happened, how we started yelling it. But one of us would announce, "I did the dishes, so I am the good daughter today!" or "I'm the good daughter because I helped cook while everyone else sat around on their butt!" When Em was the only bearer of the grand-babies, she had serious good daughter status. How do you compete with that?

Later it morphed into, I am the good daughter because I am the only one who didn't mess up today. I won't broadcast their business on the internet, but I remember the day that two major mess ups came in, one on each sister. I was the good daughter that day for sure. I remember it happening because it was so rare!

We still do it, joke about being "the good daughter." If you are the first one to call on a birthday or anniversary, or if you are the only one in town. You are the good daughter. It is all in good fun for us. But I agree with the sentiment that there is a sliver of truth to everything you joke about.

I think we, me...my sisters...all of us, we like the idea of being favored. Who doesn't want to be the favorite? If you are the favorite then the good you do is extra good, and the bad you do isn't so bad after all. Who doesn't want to be seen through that lens? The part that makes it a little messed up, is the comparison aspect. If I am the favorite that means I am held in MORE favor than someone else. I don't think only children think being the good kid is any big deal. Of course they are the favorite, there isn't another choice.

That is how the Lord is different. He doesn't operate with a concrete amount of favor and once He runs out, sorry about your luck. God is big enough, His love is big enough that everyone can be His favorite. (Someone on the prayer team at my home church prayed that over me, I am not smart enough to realize this on my own.) No seriously, wrap your mind around that. This second you can start claiming that according to God, YOU are the good daughter. Somebody at work not treating you right? That sucks, but rest in the fact that you are God's favorite. Really hard on yourself because you can't lose the rest of the weight you are trying to lose? Keep trying, God favors you.

It doesn't make any sense if you think about it too hard. How can each person be favored, doesn't the word favor connotate picking something above the rest? (Whoa there English teacher I think you are taking your job a little too seriously.... What you gonna diagram the next sentence?) It does. Normally. But God doesn't have to operate within those rules. His love is big enough to allow me and you to be His favorite. So bask in that. You are favored by God. God favors you.

All of this is true, you have to believe it. Because today I am His "good daughter."

Enough already

I grew up in a pretty middle class exsistence. Two parents, two siblings, a dog. Sometimes things were tight, but mostly if we really wanted it, our parents found a way to make that happen. Even if that meant picking up a paper route to get to horse camp, or an after school office job to get to Spain. I certainly didn't know what it meant to not have enough food, even if it wasn't the fruit snacks and doritos that graced my friends cupboards. We got by.

At the lake, where there were more people to feed and keep happy but there were the incredibly generous grandparents, as well as some sort of system in place to insure everyone got their piece. A caper chart, a line going by age, an aunt telling the older cousins "only three meat balls till everyone has had some!" There was either so much that everyone could have as much as they wanted (candy on the porch), or some system in place to make sure that everyone at least got enough (half a pan is more than one serving, put the lasagna back).

In the fall of 2007 I started teaching at a "high needs" school. High needs is politically correct for poor. In this case really poor. Ninety-eight percent of my students were on free lunch. The other two percent had lives so chaotic no one bothered to fill out the form. It was my first experience with never enough. The books we were assigned by the county to read? There weren't enough for every tenth grade classroom to even have a class set. You had to anticipate the reading of them, and then sneak in and take them before the other teachers. Even then I only got 28 for my class of 34. We didn't have enough desks. In fifth period it was first come first serve. My kids would race to class in order to ensure they did not have to sit on the floor. In October we ran out of paper. This was a complete shock to me, but teachers (older and wiser than me) had seen it coming and squirled away as much as they could the previous months. They still ran out. I ran out of extra pencils and paper. There weren't enough expo markers or computer time. There wasn't even enough toilet paper in the student bathrooms.

It is crazy what always running out of things does to people. You are constantly scheming to get what you need. Constantly. If there are ten extra pieces of paper in the fax machine, you take them. If you find an extra dry erase marker on the floor you put it in your pocket. You do not stop to consider that it is someone elses. You need it. Do I have extra tape? Technically yes, but I am going to shrug my shoulders and say "sorry" because I can be pretty sure that when I do eventually run out of tape, there will be none available. When you get an email that says: come by the library if you want xyz, there is a stampede of grown people. It makes you stingy, it makes you take things that aren't yours. An incredible amount of your energy is taken up by figuring out how you can get what you need.

I think it is easy to judge behavior when you don't understand. I remember when I was seventeen and earning my gold award at a homeless shelter for families. Whenever we gave the kids anything, even if it was the same thing to every kid, they would steal it from each other. I thought this was ridiculous. Now I get it. Who knows when you are going to have a chance to get another pencil? Better take as many as I can get now.

It wasn't until I started teaching in this environment that I truly understood why God would describe himself as "enough" as "more than enough." If I believe that God is more than enough for me, (not just sing it, but really believe it) then I would act in a manner that shows I believe all of my needs will be met. I would give more. I could give away so much more because I wouldn't have to worry about stockpiling. So much of what I don't give comes down to trying to make sure I have enough just in case. But God says He is the enough. I don't have to scrimp and save. If someone else asks for something I have I can certainly give it to them.


I also don't have to take more than I need. For me right now that means food. I don't have to take a ton of something. I can take enough, and trust that that is enough, and I will have an opportunity to eat more of it at some later junction. (Isn't that weird? I am an adult. I do my own grocery shopping, I don't have to eat 15 packs of fruit snacks because I can buy them whenever I want. Why do I feel like I need all of them RIGHT NOW? I have issues.)

I'm not saying that I don't have to be responsible, or a good steward of what God has given me. I can act in a way that proves I have a never ending supply closet somewhere in my home. Because I do. Because God is enough.

In defense of feeling ambiguous about breastfeeding.....sort of

You reopen a blog thinking you were going to write mostly about Jesus and two months later you tell the world about your boobs. What can I say, God works in mysterious ways?

Anyway, I follow the site Babble pretty closely. Yesterday they published an article about breast feeding vs. formula feeding that I thought was pretty reasonable. I also thought it wasn't really anti-breastfeeding. It just wasn't pro breastfeeding. But, as you find out when you get pregnant, somehow having a baby makes your body in a weird way public property. Thats right, even if you haven't posed for Playboy, people, strangers, strange people who don't even HAVE boobs, are allowed to have an opinion about your boobs. And what you should and should not be doing with them, and where, and when, and for how long. It is totally weird. Really, truly, weird. I wish there were a better way to describe it. It's weird.

Most articles and blog posts you read take a really strong stance. And I get it, I do. I do think breast feeding is important and most women not doing it for longer is simply a product of our incredibly crappy maternity leave and care in this country. I think everyone should be super positive and encouraging about breastfeeding because if it weren't for a friend stopping by after her 12 hour shift to get the peanut to latch, another friend paying for a lactation consultant, and some excellent advice from my sister and aunt who used to be a la leche league coach, I would have never been able to make it work. I was supported, that is why it worked for me.

But, there is a difference between being supportive, and making people feel like crap if they opt to formula feed. Especially if they have given it an honest try. Breastfeeding while Juliet was tongue tied was the most painful experience of my life. I had fibromyalgia for years, and pushed out a baby, and breastfeeding made me want to DIE. But that is a sign that something is wrong, so if that is how it is for you RUN to someone who can help you! So I get a little bristly when someone (even on the internet) puts "hard" in quotations marks when they feel like women just use it as an excuse. They, apparently didn't get their nipple chewed off by their oldest (the first time the peanut yells YOU DON'T LOVE ME! She will see the scar....by 16 she'll be like mom, put your boob away, fine I won't wear this short skirt) so maybe they should back off.

So I do support breastfeeding, but I do think that sometimes the hard gets glossed over because people want everyone to try it. In my experience not being totally honest about anything only makes that thing more difficult for everyone. With that I will say, there are pros and cons. Oh and I am only one person with only two boobs the experience that I am describing only applies to those two boobs.

Pro: It is free. You burn extra calories. It is ridiculously convenient. Seriously, no going for a bottle in the middle of the night or worrying about if you will have clean warm water available, is the baby here? Are my boobs here? Good to go.It made air travel very easy for us. Crying? Nurse her, she stops. There is something very cool about your body being able to provide for your child. For me, getting Juliet to latch and then going through the whole tongue tied thing made me feel like God uniquely designed me to advocate for her. It gave me confidence that I could be this babe's mom. I love coming home from work and her bouncing around like a maniac because she wants to get to me. Maybe if I wasn't the bearer of the boobs she would still do this because I am her mama. But I do love that moment. It has provided some very sweet moments that I may have missed because I am so go go go. I had to stop, and let her eat, and just hang out and hold her. I needed a reminder to do that sometimes. Especially when she was very little. You don't have your period. How cool is that?

Con: It hurt until we got the tongue untied, then it still hurt for a little bit. But we worked through it. I got approached for nursing in public, and it made me a little skiddish to nurse wherever whenever. Though I did get the opportunity to tell someone if they didn't like it they could arrest me. I also got a profuse apology from the property manager. I felt kinda like a bad-ass. I also got over the skiddishness. I hated pumping. Hated it. Leaking, but they make pads that work great. For me the cloth ones didn't cut it. I needed the disposable ones. But don't forget them when you teach high school boys! I have been more bra sizes in the last nine months then I was during my entire pubescent period. I thought they would just get big, then go back. It did not occur to me how much milk I needed to be making would be evident just by looking.

Looking at this list I think for me the pros absolutely way out the cons, and most of those cons would not have existed if a.) someone would have told me or b.) I would have had a normal experience. But pumping, it still sucks (no pun-intended). I do wish the way we talk about breastfeeding would be more approachable in this country. Instead of "breast is best" I think I will go with "hey, everybody likes boobs, even your baby, why don't you give 'em one!"

In which I become an internet sensation because my baby chokes on dog food

We're having a little problem at our house. Our kid is a dog food lover. She has gotten increasingly mobile in the last couple of days. She scoots all around the house and is delighted when she gets under things, the excersaucer, the end table, the dining room table. In her new found mobility she has also found the ultimate goal of cruising around on her belly.

The peanut is totally into the dog food. She makes a bee-line for it and none of her favorite toys can distract her. Not even the stuffed dog that can say and spell her name. Heck, not even the actual dog can distract my child from the dog food. She loves it.

She loves playing in the dog food, playing in the water, and most importantly (and unfortunately) shoving as many pieces into her chubby chubby cheeks as she possibly can. Until, of course, some mean parent comes by, jams their finger in her mouth and makes her get rid of everything in there she was storing for later. It is truly gross. And a little dangerous, as she bites your finger with her four sharp teeth the whole time you are getting the dog food out of her mouth.

When I posted the dilemma on Facebook my two dear sisters pointed out that perhaps the eating of dog food is genetic. They cited the one time I ate dog food, in a car, because my two lovely sisters dared me to do it. Thanks guys. Now the whole world knows that you tortured me that I ate dog food. But the presiding parental sentiment was that I should let her do it because she will anyway. Alas, dog food is a choking hazard and I really don't want to be the parent who let her kid choke.....on dog food. Imagine the headlines.

But maybe my sisters are on to something. She may not get the dog food loving from me, but I can't deny I like things that are bad for me. Exhibit A: Reality television, especially anything featuring the Kardashian sisters. This can't be good for me, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. And Netflix offers episode after episode on demand. It's bad. Exhibit B: Food, in college I ate a grilled cheese sandwich and two pints of Ben and Jerry's for dinner on more than one occasion. Because I could, also because I could and only go a tiny bit over my meal plan. I wish I still had a meal plan.

I can't be the only one. Anyone else attracted to the proverbial dog food in their life?

Oscar Who?

Apparently the Oscar nominations have come out today. I only know because I hear people talking about how they have never seen those movies. (Although, Toy Story 3 got nominated, that is on my: When does it get on Netflix? list.) Not only have I never seen the movies that are nominated, I have no interest in seeing most of them.

My taste in movies isn't what we would call refined. I used to like those dark and twisty films, the ones where nothing came out right and everyone ends up more messed up than they started. At least, I think I did. Maybe I spent a short period of time pretending I liked those films.....hmmm....

Ever since I started teaching I have had little use for the Oscar worthy films (except, the exceptions: Babe, Up, Wall E, Beauty and the Beast). When I go to a movie I want to see something that takes my mind off of everything, something that I can escape into for a moment. I read too many essays of kids who have survived far too much. I am not really interested in having that mess portrayed on film. I know it exists, and I know that I don't ever want to know how it really is. My kids are far too good at describing it all first hand.

Call me low brow (after all I do like dips and soups featuring Velveeta) but I like movies that end.....well....more or less happily ever after. I like to feel good after I have left my cushy seat and sticky space on the floor. At least, I like to feel emotionally good, I also enjoy the slightly sick feeling of too much popcorn. But I like those 90-120 minutes to take me to a place where the couple who should end up together does end up together, where parents don't mess up epically, where lost dogs find their way home, and if I am really lucky animals talk.

I have been thinking recently about how Christ followers truly are strangers in a strange land, aliens in an alien world. We are not meant to be forever in this world, and thus are not totally comfortable here. I am not saying I don't enjoy my life, or there aren't moments that don't feel absolutely perfect. But I think those rapturous moments are preludes to the rapture. Glimpses of the amazing life we have waiting for us in heaven. I think it feels wrong sometimes because this isn't the way God designed it. I know that. Deep in my soul I feel it. Lots of people do. I think it is why we don't want to watch movies that remind us of that ugly truth. We all are longing for our happy ending. And God says we're going to get it.

The baby slept through the night?

This morning I woke up at 5. I was in shock because the peanut normally wakes up at like 3 claiming she is starving. STARVING! Help her parents are starving her!!!! We usually don't go in until she has cried for ten minutes, she has never failed to just start screaming louder at the ten minute mark. If she knew how to call child protective services, she would and scream at the top of her lungs THESE PEOPLE WON'T FEED ME! This would be fine, but she is almost nine months old. I was told babies start sleeping through the night at 6. I was lied to.

But last night I didn't wake up, until I sat up at five shocked that I hadn't been woken up earlier. In my haste to get out of the house on time I guess I was pounding around pretty loudly. Christian woke up to make sure I hadn't fallen down the stairs. I promised him I had not and then remarked "Hey, the baby slept through the night!"

Turns out the mommy slept through the night. Thanks honey, for covering the 3 am feeding.

You know, I have heard some version of this story numerous times by numerous parents......only it is always the dad who is the heavy sleeper........

Sometimes, it all comes down to boobs

So, my day job is teaching high school kids. I think the litmus test for teaching high school should be do you think immature high school boys are funny? If the answer is no, you will be unable to keep your sanity. However, if the answer is yes, you can be entertained all day. This particular post has no spiritual application. I just thought the conversation was hilarious.

I have a large Mexican contingent this semester in my last block. These three boys have promised to keep my on toes. No post lunch napping for me! This was the conversation we had the other day.

Me: Okay, now that we know what plot is I want you to get into groups of two or three and think of a movie you all have seen. Then I want you to diagram the plot. I will call on you in 5 minutes.

Boys (to each other): Okay we all have seen "Girls Gone Wild"

Me (interrupting): You can't do "Girls Gone Wild"

Boys: Why not? We've all seen it. You said, pick a movie you've all seen, we've all seen it.

Me: You can't do that movie because it doesn't have a plot.....Not that I have seen them, but from the commercials on TV, there is no plot

One boy: Sure there is the exposition they tell their name, then they are like no no I can't then-

Me: No boobs! The rule is no boobs so you can't do "Girls Gone Wild" choose something else.

Later we were doing this activity where you circulate a story so each group does a different piece. They received a story about a princess trying to find her father.

Boy: Then right as the bounty hunter is about to kill the dad, the princess flashes him-

Me: Don't I have a no boobs policy in here?

Boy: Flashes him with her flash light and he is blinded for a second so he misses with the ax. What were you thinking teacher?

Me: Oh, of course, what was I thinking......

Boy: Oh and we diagrammed our movie

Boy 2: Yeah it is "Dear John"" but no homo

I walked away. After the battle of the boobs I didn't have the energy to fight that one......

Seriously Starbucks? Trenta?

Yesterday Starbucks announced that it is going to start serving their coffee in even larger proportions. As if my bladder needed more to handle (teachers can only pee during hall passing period you know.) It is like 30 something ounces. Basically it is like going into Starbucks and coming out with a Big Gulp.

I know the Starbucks Trenta is a bad idea for me. I do. But I also know that there will come a day when I will look at the difference in price and decide what the hey, it isn't that much bigger than a venti. Then I will walk out of the store with a gallon of sugary iced coffee goodness that is a single serving as it only has one straw coming out of it. That is what I will tell myself anyway. Then I will pee myself faster than when I was nine months pregnant and decided I could hold it all the way home from work. Another bad decision in my life.

I can't help it. I like too much of a good thing. I like to overindulge. Food, staying  up too late, reading into the wee hours of the morning because just enough isn't enough for me. I want whatever I want until my stomach hurts, my eyes are bleary, I pee myself. There are people in my life who are so good at discipline and  moderation. I am praying I become more like them. Especially before I have the Starbucks trenta option presented to me.

Apparently I would rather get in a wreck than be wrong......

Sunday I went to my pastors house after church. Tim and Pam are so amazing about sharing their life, and food, and heart with people. I have learned so much about the value of breaking bread with people and transparency at the Wolfe house.

Anyway, they live on top of a hill, while the ice was mostly gone there were still patches of slushy stuff on the side of the street where I normally park. The sun was out, I didn't need my coat, my tires were firmly on dry pavement. Ice was not on my radar. I know that I had just spent an entire week hanging out at my house because the ice on the roads weren't safe for the school buses. Our local news spent the entire week showing film of cars sliding on the ice and smashing in to things. And yet I was completely oblivious to the ice where I was about to park.

I pulled up and slowly my car lost traction. Before I knew it I was stuck on the only patch of ice left on the road big enough to get stuck on. This cannot be happening, I thought. I am from Toledo, Ohio and every Christmas we would make the trek to north of Albany. I am not new to snow banks and black ice. So why was I spinning my wheels on a patch of icey slush smaller than an area rug?

The truth was, I wasn't paying attention. People who know me well can tell you that this is a theme in my life. I bring the baby but not the freshly packed diaper bag, I miss a turn I have taken every day for 6 months, I forget to sign in (something I do every. single. day. at work). I do all of these things because I am not the best at paying attention. People who know me really well can tell you that this is also the case in my spiritual life.

I will really struggle with something. Selfishness, anger, lack of discipline, the particular sin doesn't really matter. I think about it, pray about it, remember to be vigilante. Pretty soon what was once an icy road of anger is now just a slushy patch. And when I stop paying attention, I run right into it. And before I know it I am stuck. And then things really get interesting.

My tires were spinning, my car was sliding and yet I didn't think I needed to get anyone to help me out of my little situation on the hill. I still thought I had it under control. All I needed to do was to back up enough that my tires were no longer on the ice. Then I could drive around the corner to my second favorite parking spot and pretend as though I had everything together all along. What kind of yankee gets their tires stuck in Atlanta ice? You have got to be joking!

So I tried backing up, which led to sliding around a little bit, and a little bit more, and a tiny bit more. I tried trying to go forwad, then backward. I tried and I tried till I was practically touching a car on the other side of the street and Pam and her neighbor are outside of her house watching me. Lovely. So much for that no one has to know thing.

After getting the neighbor to move their car so no one has to call the insurance adjuster I became completely unstuck. I was fully embarrassed, and well aware that there really was no one to blame but myself, and that my refusal to admit I was stuck in the first place only made my problem worse (or maybe I just blame it on the lack of four wheel drive......) Which is also the case spiritually. And I doubt I am the only one who has this problem.

The scenario is always the same, I sin. I feel convicted.  Instead of acknowledging the sin, asking for forgiveness, and truly repenting, I pretend it isn't there. Full speed ahead! Even as the tires on my spiritual life are spinning and squealing. Pretty soon the rest of my life is slipping out of my control too. But I don't repent. I don't admit that I messed up and need some help. Before I know it I have some sort of wreck in my life that is far beyond the initial slip. Because I wouldn't stop and acknowledge that I have a problem.

I spin my wheels, I back pedal. I do pretty much everything but stop and look at my Lord and tell him, I am stuck. I refuse to repent, to God or anyone else in my life. I decide to turn my life into a car wreck. I'm learning that this isn't the best way to go. I am learning to hit the brakes and call for help.

Your 3rd grade teacher lied to you.

In the third grade you suddenly realize you are not amazing at every single thing you do. K-2 you are completely confident that you are the bomb. It doesn't matter what it is or if you've done it before. Any subject, any time you are the master.

Somewhere in the third grade your confidence shrinks. You suddenly realize that you may not be THE BEST at everything, you may not even be great at everything. So you don't want to try anymore. Why do something if you aren't sure you are going to succeed at it?

That is when your teacher introduces the concept of YOUR best. She tells you that as long as you do your best than that will be good enough. Your best, she says, is all anyone can ask of you. This mantra continues throughout elementary school, and follows you to middle and even high school. Just do your best people tell you, your best is always good enough.

When your ten this is true, when you are 27.....sometimes it isn't. In fact, sometimes, it is a big fat lie. When you are 27 and teaching a core subject at a high risk school, when your kids can't read and are expected to pass a standardized reading test at the end of next school year, when you are supposed to be a good wife, and mom, and teach like your hair's on fire. Sometimes, your best in one of those categories sucks. Big time.

Sometimes your best, is your best and it totally blows. People get disappointed, 18 year olds don't graduate, heck sometimes you totally screw your kid up. (I'm hoping that doesn't happen...) And what do you tell people, "Hey I know that blew and may have permanent consequences, but it was my best and Miss Pansy with the kitty-cat sweater told me that my best was good enough, so there you have it."

I guess that is where grace comes in. I have always understood that God's grace is sufficient to take away my sins. But somehow I have been leaving that sufficient grace on the cross, like some kind of cosmic get out of jail free card. If I use it now, I won't have it for later like....I don't know.....the final judgement. I am beginning to understand that my conception of grace is vastly inadequate. God's grace covers my inadequacies every single day. I don't have to be the perfect teacher or mother or wife, because God's grace covers me.

But having that sort of grace extended to me means I have the responsibility to extend that grace forward. When the guy in front of me brakes for no apparent reason, when my students act like idiots because they are 16, when people disappoint me. I am expected to understand that just like God's grace covers me, it also covers the people I interact with, and that covers me to.

So your third grade teacher lied to you. Sometimes your best is not good enough. But God's grace always is.

P.S. I applied for a dream job, one that showed up on my Facebook feed after I told God I would like to do X, could you invent that job for me? Thanks! Pray with me that God's grace will cover me and grant me favor even though I am minimally qualified.

some thoughts on my spiritual growth part two.

After I was saved and introduced to the Holy Spirit I graduated from college, married my wife, and moved to Ohio where she had a job. We regularly attended a Christian church (Disciples of Christ). I really liked the disciple’s tradition and lack of formality in their worship service. I learned that the disciples, more commonly known as the Christian church, came out of the second great awakening that occurred on the then American frontier of Ohio, Western Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Indiana, and Illinois. Most historians date this revival from 1800 to 1830. Great camp meeting were held for days and weeks at a time, at places like Cane Ridge Kentucky, with speakers preaching 24 seven. People were warned not to climb the trees as they might be injured if they fell out in the Spirit and fell out of the tree. The Holy Spirit manifested in many different ways. Many were saved and the Awakening literally turned the heathen frontier into a Christian territory.

The Christian church was originally non-denominational and even anti- denominational. Communion was open and any believer was welcomed to participate. Communion was celebrated as part of the service each Sunday, baptism was by immersion of the believer. Babies were dedicated. Two saying that pretty much summed up the disciples beliefs. “No creed but Christ, no book but the Bible” and “in the essentials unity, in the nonessentials liberty in all things charity”. Each believer is able to work out his own salvation with fear and trembling. Each church is governed solely from within the congregation. The regional and national offices are set up to help the churches within their geographic areas to things that each church could not do alone, like church camp or mission work.

When we moved to Toledo at the age of 24 my wife and I went looking for a church that was either Methodist or a Christian church Disciples of Christ. After a few weeks we found a Christian church in which we felt at home. We initially started going because Kathleen liked the choir. We soon found that this church was filled with loving people and love was one of its core values. My spiritual life began to grow rapidly.

One of the stumbling blocks that impaired my spiritual growth was my belief that I needed to know all the answers to the questions I had before I could fully believe. " Why did Jesus have to die on the cross so that God could forgive our sins?" When I let go of that question and just accepted that God had that answer even if I couldn't get my mind around it my spiritual growth accelerated. I decided to accept the mystery and trust God. God used that trust to grow me spiritually. He also eventually showed me the answer to that question.

About this time something happened which profoundly effected my life my family our church and the entire community. God sent my church a new pastor. (to be continued)

To Mrs B. Thank you.

I got a Facebook message today letting me know the husband of my first speech coach is seeking stories to tell at her funeral. I am so grateful I was a part of this woman's team. There is so much more that could be said about what she did for me. I hope that I can have half the impact she did as a teacher.

I got a B in Mrs. Brenizer’s freshman English class. While I had always been an A/B student, English was not where I got my B’s. Especially from my speech coach. Wasn’t she supposed to give me the benefit of the doubt? But Mrs. B didn’t give the benefit of the doubt, her legacy in my life as a teacher and a speech coach were her high expectations. Mrs. Brenizer expected that you do your best, always. She had an incredible ability to know exactly when a student was giving her their all, and when a student was giving her what it took to get by. She knew I could write better, and was the first teacher to call me on it.

As my speech coach, she was the most intimidating figure to perform in front of. I know I am not the only one who thought that. We used to talk about it, the four girls who would be her last team, in the hotel room late at night. (We were securely in our room late at night because we didn’t want to know what would happen to us if we broke curfew.) You would walk into her room; she would be behind her desk. You would perform. If you did really well there would be a head nod and a small smile. That was it. I worked hard for those head nods, those smiles. I knew she meant them. If you got a “good job” or “nicely done” at the end you had really nailed it.Those weren’t given out lightly and I still remember the ones I got. I worked hard for Mrs. B, because she expected me to.

My junior year was the last year Mrs. Brenizer would teach. It was a dark time in my life as well. I had an unexplained illness and dropped all my classes but one. I remember my parents asking if I wanted to drop out. The only reason Ididn’t: I still wanted to compete. I know there are a lot of coaches out there who would not have had time for me. I came to school sporadically, I sometimes missed practice, I had to call out sick the second day of a two day tournament. Mrs. B recognized that I needed the team. She also recognized that even though it wasn’t very good, I was doing the best I could. And she always accepted your best.

I owe a lot to Mrs. B. I continued competing in college. I met my husband on the Ball State speech team. (We were duo partners.) I have a baby girl and teach English in inner-city Atlanta. Three years ago the administration of the school I teach at found out about my background and asked me to start a team.

I thought of Mrs. B a lot the two years I coached. When my kids were knuckle heads, when judges wrote rude things on the ballot, when my kids were giving me less than their very best. I couldn’t help but wonder what she would have done. It was also the first time I truly appreciated how much work she had done for us. Last year my students admitted to me that while they had no problem performing in rounds, they were intimidated by practicing for me. When I asked why, one of them explained, “Well, everyone else is just like that was pretty good. But you always expect more from us, you don’t think it is good until it is like…. the best we could do.” In that moment, I knew I was doing right by my kids. I still hope Mrs. B would be proud of me, smile, nod her head, and maybe even give me a rare “nicely done.”

Be Still....

My grandmother is 87 and a spitfire. My daughter gets the red head recessive gene that must have been hiding in me from my grandmother.  I can remember staying up late with my cousins and at two in the morning as we were sneaking in to go to bed and not disturb anyone, we would find grandma, cleaning the sink. When you do as much as she did in a day, you need to squeeze somethings into the two a.m. slot.

This Christmas was the first time I saw her slowing down. I suppose it is time, but it is difficult for her. It is a struggle I understand deeply. It was one of the hardest things about having fibromyalgia, operating at a slower pace.

I can't tell you the rhyme and reason of the way the Lord moves. I have always believed that God could heal me, but it took over ten years. Hardness of heart on my part I am sure was no small part of that. But I do know that in much of that I learned some pretty incredible lessons:dependence, discernment of the Holy Spirit, there were even a number of divine appointments in there when I couldn't get out of bed at church camp.

One thing I definitely learned was that the be still part of "Be still and know that I am God" isn't a suggestion. I  have always heard it in a voice like a yoga instructor. Breathe in, breathe out, relax, be still. But as I have been re-reading the Anne of Green Gables books (I don't know that I ever got all the way through them....) I keep reading that phrase. When Anne is working herself into a tizzy, talking to much, freaking out about what may happen, Mirilla yells out "Be still, child!" This is not a friendly suggestion, it is an exhortation, Stop! Stop talking, stop worrying, stop thinking, stop moving! Be still!

Being still isn't something America values. It isn't something you are supposed to do when you have a million things on your list and your life is spinning out of control. You are supposed to grab the horns, pick yourself up by your bootstraps, doing something to help yourself! Not what the Bible says. God says "Be still! and know that I am God.

Transparency

You've been thinking a lot about why you write in second person. You enjoy writing in second person but think some of your thoughts are better served in first person. You also know that you have been writing in second person as a way to distance yourself from what you write. You know the only person you are fooling is....well....you. You've decided to take the first person plunge. In the name of transparency.

Transparency is something I think is important. Especially as a christian. If I can't or won't tell people in my life about  what I am doing, I probably should not be doing it. That whole business about Christ being the light and the devil being the king of darkness have really rung true in my life. Fancy that, what the Bible says works out to be true, even in my own life.....especially in my  own life.

It is important because if Christ is the center of my life, then I need the space around him to be transparent. Like my living room window. I have this painting that I did hanging above my couch in my living room. It is of Atlanta, and the space around it looks like the city is burning all over again. While it was not intentional while I was painting, I now think of that fiery color as the Holy Spirit descending on my city. Anyway, the painting can be seen really well at night if the curtains are open and the light is on. Because my windows are transparent. If they were made of that foggy glass that throws cool shadows on the floor, the painting would never be seen from the outside, only if you were invited into my home.

I think Christ is like that painting, and our lives are like the walls and windows in my living room. The world is dark, but the light is on in my house because Christ is in the center, and just like my sofa sized painting you really can't miss Him. Not because of anything I have or have not done, simply because of who Christ is. But I have discovered, that if I want to, I can close the curtains to my life. Only let certain people through the door. Then only those I allow can see the way Christ is working in me. It seems safer somehow.

But if I believe that what Christ does in me is a beautiful work, if I really believe that He is the worthwhile part of my life, then I will pull back the curtain and make sure the windows are clean. It will feel a little uncomfortable at first. I will cry in places I am not supposed to, or reveal struggles no one talks about because that is where the Lord is working. But in my discomfort, my awkwardness, there will be Christ, sitting in my Living room.

Gifted

You don't like that word. Gifted. It freaks you out. This whole post freaks you out. This whole thing freaks you out. As does your etsy shop. You really think you might throw up right now. But God is teaching you about gifts, His gifts. He gave some to you turns out and He wants you to write about them. So you do, even though you don't want to. You were thinking about not writing it then one of your 16 year old students wrote you an essay about what they believe that convicted you. Okay God, you get it.

Your first experience with the word gifted was in the third grade when you took the test that put you in the gifted class. You were three points shy. This wouldn't have been such a big deal except both of your sisters were in the gifted class. You think you disappointed someone even though everyone assures you you did not. You eventually test in, but already that word gifted is somehow loaded for you. Giftedness is somehow tied with disappointment.

You have been afraid lately of the gifts that God has given you, especially because He seems to be asking you to use them. Repeatedly, all at once. You had sort of been hoping you could wade in to all of this. You see, you don't like to say things like "I am good at painting" or "I wrote this. I think it is worth reading." Maybe you don't think it is lady like. Maybe you are afraid that others will disagree. Maybe you very secretly don't believe that what you do is any good. You know it is probably the last one.

Your sister says to you "This guy at work went off on a tangent and I think it is for you." Just a few weeks ago you wouldn't have believed that God would use a stranger at your sisters work to deliver a message to her that was meant for you. That sounds crazy, but crazy seems to be happening lately. You are learning what God will do to get your attention.

Your explains the metaphor that this guy used, when he proclaimed boldly that he was a gifted teacher. You think about this. How the gift often represents the giver. You think of some gifts that people have given you that you are particularly proud of, the quilt your grandmother made for your wedding gift, the key ring one of your favorite students sculpted out of wire with your last initial on it. You love these things because they were made just for you, and because they express perfectly your relationship with these people. The quilt from a master seamstress as part of a bigger family tradition. (You are from a big family with even bigger traditions.) The ring from an excentric student who can concentrate better when he is keeping his hand busy.

You know that the same is true to the gifts that God has given you. They were also meant to represent the Giver and the relationship He has with you. He is a creator and He wants you to create. He created poetic circumstances and beautiful metaphors, He wants you to explore them. He created art and thinks people should have access to it. By sharing His gifts you are sharing Him, not telling everyone how great you are. And even if people interpret the works that God is doing in your life as that, then maybe that is okay. God thinks you are pretty great.

More than that you think of the gifts you have given people. Just last week your sister wore the sweater you gave her last Christmas to church. When she got a compliment on it she said thank you, my sister bought me this. You do that, when people compliment the physical gifts others have given you. The giver gets the credit.  In devaluing the gifts, you realize you are devaluing the Giver. You decide you aren't going to do that anymore. You think you might just be good at this blogging thing.

Some thoughts on my Spiritual Growth part one.

My wife teaches English composition. She has her students write an essay called "this I believe". This I believe that becoming a Christian has happened to me and is happening to me. 20 years ago I thought I knew what it was to be a Christian. I now know I didn't have a clue. 10 years ago I thought I knew what it was to be a Christian. I didn't have a clue. Five years ago. I thought I knew what it was to be a Christian. I didn't know. I believe I still don't know but Iam and I am becoming a Christian. The Bible calls this moving from glory to glory.

I was raised in the Methodist Church (later United Methodist) or more specifically in two Methodist churches. During nine months of the year my family attended Jesse Lee a Methodist Church in the suburbs north of New York City. This church had many fine people and Christians but was a little liberal or at least sophisticated. We believed Genesis but were taught in Sunday school (8th grade) that Genesis was probably written by four writers with letter names X or Z or Q or whatever (I had no idea Moses wrote Genesis). Jesse Lee had a congregation of 350 or so parishioners. Despite the liberal bent it was long enough ago that Jesus and the Father were still being taught in a pretty much orthodox fashion. The Holy Spirit was mentioned once a week in the confession of faith.

During all or part of the summer months I attended Whitewater Methodist Church in the small farm community of White Water Indiana where my mother grew up and most of her family still lived and went to church. I was baptized (as an infant) in this Church and my parents were Married here. At the Whitewater Methodist Church you sang "Sweet Hour of Prayer" and "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" and you meant it. At the Whitewater Methodist Church Jesus WAS Methodism and Christianity (except for this one Sunday school teacher who thought that Christianity was following the 10 Commandments. It seems every church has one) and you prayed to Jesus or God the Father. They seemed to know the Holy Spirit at Whitewater better than Jesse Lee but as a part of a relationship with Jesus not as a separate person of the Trinity.

During my college years I spent quite a lot of time in Whitewater on the weekends where I would go to visit my Grandparents. At the time the Whitewater Methodist Church had a wonderful man of God named Charlie Radcliffe pastoring there. I was going through a period where Christianity was pushed into the background of my life and Rev. Radcliffe drew it forward. at the end of my senior year in college I had a very powerful experience with the Holy Spirit. Holy Spirit showed up in power at a moment of great need and I was engulfed in a blanket of love and joy and peace. After that time I could tell you there's a Holy Spirit like I can tell you there is a desk. This is also the time I count as my conversion when I turned my life over to Jesus.

To be continued

Obedience

You didn't expect this. You certainly don't understand it. You were at church Sunday and the Holy Spirit came on so thick you were expecting a vision. You haven't gotten a vision since your healing. You sit and wait for it. Close your eyes super tight, relax them, sit up, sit back, the Holy Spirit as thick as that day two years ago. No vision. The Lord tells you He is going to show up a little differently today. And yet you didn't expect this.

God gave you free babysitting this year. You asked for it, and God gave it to you. You expected that part. (What can you say, you've already confessed on this blog that you are spiritually spoiled.) This relationship has become so much more than equal babysitting. Elizabeth has been God's grace incarnate so many times you tear up thinking about it. And this was not the most convenient year for her to meet others needs. A single mom, three kids, a shaky income. She babysits your peanut even when she doesn't need you for babysitting that week. You fight about who has the easier end of the bargain, both claiming to have the long end of the stick. She loves your baby so well, she loves your whole family so well. You get a glimpse of what it might have looked like to live in the church Luke talks about in Acts. If even just the smallest sliver of a glimpse.

On Sunday she was having a rough day. It all came down all at once at church. (Doesn't it always? Neither of you seem to have the capacity to break down in private, only in public. Sigh.) But as you talk through everything the Lord meets her needs, and not just her needs but her desires. The ones God spoke in her heart, just for her. The bricks fall into place, the sky opens, the promise she had told you about in October, the one she was allowed to cash in in 2010. That impossible promise is redeemed in the matter of 15 minutes in a conversation between friends. And you got to be there.

And then, there was more. MORE. You shake even now as type this. If God keeps showing up like this you will be completely ruined for the everyday. You will be shocked when God doesn't miraculously appear. God has you open up an etsy shop. Even now as you type this, you know it sounds crazy, ludicrous, almost patronizing even. Your friend needs a better job and you tell her to sell baby sweaters online.

You have increasingly done your Christmas shopping online. You don't like going to stores by yourself and your husband hates crowds, plus you can shop online at work. Somehow you found the website etsy and have been stalking it. You aren't quite sure what appeals to you about it, but it is really freaking cool. You have played with the idea of starting a shop, and while you haven't listed anything yet you registered and have played around a little with the skeleton of it.

As she comes over that day, everything falls exactly into place. You take pictures of the things she has made and make your baby model them. You know you aren't a great photographer and yet every picture snaps magically into place. The Holy Spirit shows up so thick again you both have trouble breathing, like the air is too thick or something. You keep thinking about how crazy this all is. You both figure that if anything comes out of this it will be all God. Because what you two are doing makes no sense.

You put the shop together on Monday morning. You knew it was what you were supposed to be doing. But you kept shaking your head at how silly this was. Why this God? You tell the Lord He doesn't make any sense. He tells you that is none of your business, He is asking for obedience. So you do it. Monday night late you check it on a lark. You know there are shops that go months and months with no one even looking at their stuff. You have a sale. And because God has a sense of humor it is the item with an owl on it. Owls, you hear your dad's voice in your head, are a sign of the prophetic.

In case you are interested www.etsy.com/shop/abbyknorman

The Promised Land

You've been thinking a lot recently about promises. You know that God has so many promises in the bible that you can claim. And that is all well and good and everything, but sometimes you want more. You have come to the conclusion that the spiritual inheritance God has given you through your family makes you very, very spoiled. Your hearts yearns for more, not just for the promises God promises to everyone, you want the promises God whispered into your heart. The ones that are made just for me.

On facebook today you find out that God blessed Camp Ray Bird with an additional 109 acres. You remember fondly the summer you worked at this camp. You remember praying for that land the entire summer. You felt the Lord speak into your heart that summer, that land belonged to Camp Ray Bird. And yet the deal was not closed that summer as you were so sure it would be. God told you that land was theirs, how could the talks stall out? This was not how you had pictured it.

Later you find out that you were not the first person to pray for the land surrounding the camp. Various camp directors have been praying for that land for 40 years.

You seriously doubt you are the only one who heard the Lord declare that land for Camp Ray Bird. Maybe the director heard it the first time he prayed for that land 40 years ago. Maybe he retired, and went on to be with Jesus thinking "this is not how I pictured it, I was sure that land was ours. You wonder if he ever became disheartened, yelling out to God "where is the land that you promised me?"

These wonders come very close to home, too close to home. Because you are still wondering about a promise God gave you. You have the most amazing baby girl, a gift that you cannot believe God blessed you with. You could never be good enough to deserve her. But this was not how you pictured baby's first Christmas when you were round enough to play Mary in the Christmas pageant last year.

When you were giving your kids their final exams last year you also were waiting for your ultrasound appointment, the ultrasound appointment. The one that ends in "it's a ____!" But you felt confident in how that appointment was going to end. You knew what you had in their, and despite the fact that you had showed no other medical symptoms, you knew that the day would end with not just boy but boys. Twins.

You didn't come to this conclusion lightly. Heck, you didn't even want twins. Two cousins and a speech coach had had them and twins looked hard. One at a time until you were done, that is what you had always said. But the signs for the twins were flashing like neon vacancy script on a cheap motel. The names the Lord pressed into your heart two years before you were even trying to conceive, the night you were visiting Camp Ray Bird and the Holy Spirit took hold of your hands. You laid them on your womb and prayed for it to be filled with those boys. The dream you had a week after you knew you were pregnant. The one you knew was more than just a dream. Your friend praying for you to be filled with twins twenty minutes before you told her you were pregnant. The numerous words your dad received, even after the first ultrasound. The second not just a dream.

Then there was the owl. Your dad had been talking about owls for weeks, months even. Owls were supposedly the new sign of the prophetic. They can see into the night. (As an English teacher you appreciate God's use of metaphors.) The morning of your due date your sister and you take a walk with her giant pit bull mix to really get things going. When you return home and head into the back yard there is a giant owl waiting for you on the tree in your backyard. As you, your sister and her giant dog approach. You had never seen that owl in your neighborhood, you have never seen it since.

You are absolutely in love with your baby girl. She is the most exquisite child, the best parts of your husband and you plus an extra amazing all her own. And as you rock her to sleep at night, you pray for her brothers, the ones that are in your heart. The ones that God promised you, and by extension, her. Even the song that you sing to her every night, the one you picked just for her has mention of these brothers. You didn't plan that.

You get choked up when you talk about them to your dad, the person who has had so many words for these boys, your boys. You tell your friends how crazy it is, but you miss them. You didn't know before, what it was like to be a mother. But now that you know your heart pulls at the idea that your sons are not with you.

You were pretty angry at God when you got that ultrasound that said girl. You attempt to blame it on the pregnancy hormones but your freak out was pretty epic. Why would God tell you twin boys only to give you a girl? Why would He urge you to tell non-believers when it wasn't to be? Why so many words, so many signs if you weren't carrying those boys?

You don't know. You still don't know. But the Lord has made peace in your heart. You are eating up every single second of this baby's first Christmas. And hope that next year it will be a babies' first Christmas.

Hey! Ray Bird Ministries does such an incredible amount with every single dollar God has blessed them with. They are so so serious about sharing the gospel and making disciples y'all so please consider checking out their website and being a piece of the great land promise!

www.raybird.org/new_land