Happy Mothers Day

A Letter from Mama

Dear Samuel & Emily,

Today is Mothers Day and you have made a fuss over me all day. You're just getting to the ages where you can see, if only for brief moments at a time, that not everything is about you. Finally, if only for brief moments at a time, you're beginning to figure out that it is all about me.

Now before I go getting all sappy and slushy lets keep it real. You make me crazy. Like I'm on a 2 prescription cocktail of anti-depressants/anxiety pills because of you two knuckleheads. Don't be fooled by a "chemical imbalance" diagnosis--someday when my liver and kidneys are shot and Dad can't wipe himself you'll be getting a little knock-knock-knock on your doors. You fight, you whine, you keep our home in a perpetual state of needing Federal assistance, you eat every 2 hours and when I pulled the couch out yesterday to vacuum I found thousands of half-eaten, abandoned goldfish crackers.

Yes, life with you isn't all rainbows. With that said, I love my life. You have made my life complete in a way I never knew was possible.

Samuel, you made me a Mommy. I went from being focused on myself to being focused on another human who was completely dependent on me. I gave you life and I sustained you but you saved me. You saved me from a self-centered life and taught me the fullness of giving yourself unconditionally to another. How can I ever thank you or show you the depths of my love and gratitude for you?

Emily, you completed me. You have taught me that I cannot run out of love. It sounds like a cliche but the more I love you the more love I have for Daddy and Samuel. It is funny because I seem to cling to you more than I do Samuel. It seems natural to give Samuel wings as I remind him of boundaries, but you are the baby and I find myself clinging tightly to the "littleness" of you for as long as I can. All of Samuel's "firsts" were met with excitement and anticipation (and yours are too) but your "firsts" have a tinge of bitterness to them because I know there are no more to come. So forgive me if sometimes I hold too tightly.

One thing that being your Mommy has shown me is how much God loves me. I grew up knowing he was a heavenly "father" but after becoming I mother I understand God's "Daddy" love for me so much more...and yet I know that is just but a glimpse of His great love for me.

I remember one night we were training one of you to sleep through the night so I wasn't going in and breastfeeding you but Daddy or I would just walk in and pat your back and then leave. You were both fast learners and after 2 nights or so you both decided it was easier to sleep through the night and have a big breakfast. On one of these nights I remember laying in bed listening to your sad little cries, my heart breaking because I wanted to go to you, hold you, comfort you and give you warm, soothing milk. I knew though that the best thing for you was rest and to learn to sleep through the night. I'm the parent, I saw the bigger picture and I knew sadness and confusion for a couple of nights was worth your well-being in the long run.

Samuel and Emily, this is how God is with us. He sees the bigger picture and when we're neck deep in pain, confusion and suffering He sometimes lets us "cry it out" because He knows there is something better for us on the other side. I will come to your rescue most of the time; when I don't though, don't think it isn't because I don't want to--sometimes I just know better. God won't always come to your rescue. He hears your cries, He sees your pain but sometimes we have to go through the suffering to be better on the other side.

I have all sorts of little lessons like these...little epiphanies that God has shown me as I travel on this journey of being your Mommy. I'd like to write them all down for you but so far I'm a little too busy getting gum out of carpet and making macaroni and cheese. Someday...

Know this: you are my greatest joys.

Love, Mama

A re-post from last year (April 2010) but one of my favorites and expressing some of my thoughts again this year.

Good Friday from a Mother's Eyes

Since I've had my own children I read the stories of Mary, the mother of Jesus, a little more keenly. I remember being 8 months pregnant with Emily during the Christmas season and thinking of how much Mary's hips must have ached as she made that long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey. I have a little more empathy for Mary since motherhood has given me new eyes.

Today I'm thinking of her again.

3 years ago this month my dear Uncle Bob was dying from pancreatic cancer. Every day he slipped further and further from this world and closer and closer to eternity. Our family circled around him except for one person--Gigi, his mother. Seeing him in such agony had become too physically hard for her own weakened condition and so she said her final goodbye to him 2 weeks before he died as he lingered in his last moments of consciousness.

I try not to think about that goodbye but when I do, tears spring to my eyes and my heart hurts and fear wells up inside of me at the thought of having to say goodbye to my own children. There is something very unnatural, something horribly cruel, about having to bury your children.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Today I'm thinking about how horribly cruel it must have felt to see her son struggle under the weight of a cross, broken and bleeding, dying for sins He didn't commit.

I see her standing at the foot of the cross, arching her neck to see her son as he labors for breath, moaning from the pain and praying for those who torture him.

Can you see her? Her hair is probably more grey and her skin more wrinkled than the 3 decades earlier. She has become a woman, made a home, raised a family and now she stands just feet away from her dying son. I can imagine that as she stands there watching his clothing being gambled for she remembers his first grin, his first wobbly steps, the way her heart stopped when she first heard him say, "Mama." I imagine that as the blood drips from his torn body she remembers kissing skinned knees and singing lullabies goodnight.

I wonder if Mary bargained with God. I wonder if she silently pleaded, "To hell with all of them, that is my son." I have no doubt that as He gave His life for us she would have done anything to give her life for His.

Mary couldn't see in to the future; she was as bound to this earth as much as we are. We know her faith was strong, the early chapters of Luke leave us no doubt that it was, but at that moment in time, as her firstborn son hung on a cross like a criminal, I wonder if her mother's heart didn't break, beg and bargain for a different ending.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Before He was ever her Savior He was her son.

Random Musings

Tonight I fed my husband and children a smattering of things I found at Safeway and called it a well-balanced meal. Salami & cheese on a baguette, tomato-basil soup (my latest obsession) and bananas. What kind of mother am I?

I came home to a house that looks like a tornado ran through it and I'm thinking of hiring a housekeeper and chef and see if they'll let me pay them in compliments.

I have to take a minimum of 2 weeks off from Boot Camp because it appears I have plantar fasciitis. I'm going to go to a spinning class that meets at the same time instead. Boot Camp Tina said it's a "hell ride." If BC Tina is calling it a hell ride I wonder if I'm going to come out of this alive? I'm taking holy water in with me.

Wanna know the best part of the plantar fasciitis "diagnosis?" Well you know I'm seeing a local podiatrist but I felt like I needed a 2nd opinion so I Facebook messaged Eric the not-a-bastard anymore. He's an orthopedic PA and had all sorts of good information for me. Because it was so much information he ended up calling and discussing it with me and I am telling you that it was only really strange to hear from my college boyfriend, whom I haven't spoken to in like 15 years (besides FB) for foot advice for the first few minutes.

I think when 20/20 does those shows on how evil/wonderful Facebook is they should include my foot story. I personally think I have a whole lot going on that would be very interesting to the American public and that 20/20 should just follow me around with cameras for a good week or so.

Button. Have you noticed the rockin' button Heather over At The Picket Fence made me? How great is she? I have a big ol' girly cyber crush on her and her sister, Vanessa. See the code below the button? Now you can put my button on your blog and give me lots of publicity so I don't have to pay my new housekeeper and chef in compliments.

And finally. Lots of you have been asking about Boot Camp and where you too can go sign up for this particular brand of hellish torture and I have good news for you. For the rest of THIS MONTH if you go to the YMCA downtown and tell them you heard about them through The Mother Hen blog you will get your $99 initiation fee waived! How about that? And when you are so sore you can't get out of bed and all you can do is lay there and read archived posts from this blog you will thank me.

Don't Cry For Me Argentina

You'll have to forgive this blog post, it is going to be a little stream of consciousness and maybe it will contain some bad grammar and maybe some bad spelling because I think I'm a little high. The atomic fire ball in my foot is throbbing (thanks to way too much grocery shopping today and standing in lines at Costco and Super Walmart for way too long) and my arm hurts--story is coming up--and I'm under the philosophy if one pain pill is good then two pain pills are better and instead of knocking me out they've kind of wired me. Not in a where-are-the-cheetos way but in the I'm-trying-to-sleep-but-can't get-comfortable-and-can't-shut-my-brain-off-way. I'm thinking a little bit about how if I accidentally overdosed (which I don't think you can do off of just 2 vicodin) how everyone will think I'm Heath Ledger but mostly I'm feeling kind of sorry for myself.

Sidebar: I know you guys like the funny posts so I'll try to pepper this post with some funny lines but I am high and I am feeling sorry for myself so you'll have to just sit through a gloomy post. I've heard that whatever emotion you're feeling when you get drunk, that emotion is just magnified. I haven't had a lick of alcohol but I'm thinking that may be true of narcotics as well. To make up for my doom and gloom, in my next post I'm going to write about the time Traci and I found a bleeding guy in the parking lot of the Metra and drove him to Lockwood because we thought he had been shot. Yes I said Lockwood and not the hospital. I think you'll like that story.

Ok, so here's why my arm hurts. Today Emily and I ran out to my in-laws' house before we ran some errands. MIL Cheryl had picked up Em some new clothes and we were going out to get them. When we got there the front door was locked so we went around back. Well because I was wearing my sporty new running shoes and because I am in Boot Camp and all of a sudden think I am an athlete I was kind of like jogging and I bounded up the back path and on to the wet deck and totally wiped out. My arms and legs went flying and I somehow hyper extended my right arm and I could tell immediately I pulled or tore something in my bicep. (Upon reading this post this morning Hot Jeff has informed me that the injured part of my arm is not my bicep. Nor is it my tricep. Its right in the middle of the two and he doesn't know what muscle that is.)

(Um, seriously, I would make the worst drug addict ever--my skin is so itchy. Can you take benadryl with vicodin?)

I hopped right up and brushed myself off and carried on with my day. My arm has really hurt all day though and while at Costco pushing that huge freaking cart and lifting 175 pounds of frozen chicken breasts and laundry detergent I started to think about Boot Camp and how my arm may not feel better before Monday.

I'm going to go off on a tangent right now. You have been warned.

I know some of you that read this blog are not Christ followers so this may sound a little hooie-hooie or like the vicodin is talking but honest to goodness I feel like I'm being "attacked" by the enemy. The Bible is very clear that Satan is out to steal, kill and destroy. The enemy doesn't want us to thrive, live life to the fullest, be healthy or to be joyful. He wants us to be miserable and depressed and overweight (along with a whole host of other things). He is the opposite of light. He is the opposite of goodness. He is the opposite of health--he is death.

So when I make a choice to get healthy; to lose weight and join a class that is going to help me lose weight, be disciplined, live a healthy lifestyle, fight my depression with endorphins, live to see my kids grow up, He is going to hate that. I believe he is going to try and thwart my efforts. He may do that through tempting me to stay up too late watching TV so that I can't drag my butt out of bed at 4:45am. He may do that through tempting me with food. He may do that through injury.

Right now I am feeling really pitiful with my aching foot and now my aching arm. I pushed through the pain in my foot last week and I was really proud of myself for doing it and I planned on continuing to just keep on pushin' on (because I love to be a walking bumper sticker). To be honest though, I'm wondering if I can push through the pain in my foot, the pain in my arm and the natural pain/soreness that comes from a vigorous workout.

I don't mind being transparent. In fact, I know that I very often cross the line between transparency and TMI. So this is what you're getting tonight--me being super transparent and vulnerable and writing that I feel pathetic. I feel banged up. I feel klutzy. I feel fat. I feel incredibly discouraged. Some of that comes from my own insecurities of wanting to control what people think of me--something you know I've been struggling with for over a year now. God showed me this control issue that I have last year at women's retreat and has been gracious enough to keep bringing it to light so that I can recognize it, name it and then pray for the Spirit to help me let it go of it. So I am totally aware that some of this discouragement is really a fear that Shannon or Kara will just think I'm looking for excuses to get out of going to Boot Camp. I know that in my dysfunction I don't want Tina the instructor or Lori who stands behind me or that guy in the red shirt or the girl in the grey pants (all of them whom I've known all of one week) to think I'm a quitter or that I can't handle it.

Ok, speaking of the girl in the grey pants...you've been very patient so I'm going to toss in some funny. On Wednesday I got to Boot Camp and there was a lady in there wearing the same workout pants as me. And it just made me laugh because she looked ADORABLE in her pants and I looked like I was carrying around two Christmas hams in mine. It absolutely cracked me up. This was also the day and these were also the pants that taught me you have to wear black workout pants to class because the grey really shows off your crotch sweat. If I can teach you anything let it be that no one wants to see your crotch sweat. You're welcome.

So, where was I? Oh yes, about to jump off a metaphorical cliff.

I don't know where I'm going with all of this. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest. Do you ever wish I would just journal about this stuff instead of sharing it with the whole-wide-internet? You know I used to journal back in high school and college and I was a very melodramatic journaler and I was always copying lyrics from songs I heard on the easy listening station to try and summarize my feelings. Sometimes no one can say it better than Lionel Richie--you know what I'm sayin'?

Ok, one final thing before I take my loaded self to bed--I haven't had a label for all my Boot Camp writings so I've been putting it under the "Can You Believe I Don't Have a Label For This" label but I think I've come up with 2. I'm going to put a poll up at the top of the blog and let you guys vote the winner. Here are your choices: "(I Feel Like I'm Gonna) Boot Camp" or "Boot Camp Chronicles". You can also vote for your favorite in the comments section.

Thanks for listening. I would hug you if you were here. And like Kenneth the page says, "All good hugs last for at least 10 seconds."

Today I Even Surprised Myself

I shock others regularly. Pretty much daily. And every few minutes on Thursdays while at Bible Study but today I even surprised myself. I was putting the kids in the car, buckling them in their (car)seats and I thought to myself, "I can't wait until they are old enough to buckle themselves in".

And just as soon as I thought it I gasped and "took it back". With one lazy thought I wished away several years of learning, firsts, snuggles and laughs. If I would have had a magic wishbone in front of me I would have sacrificed so much because I don't like the inconvenience of having to leave a few minutes early so that I have time to buckle both of my kiddos in. All of a sudden they would be 5 and 7 and who knows the joys I would have missed out on and I would have stood standing there, looking at them wistfully, wishing I could "take it back".

One thing I always do after I snap their buckles is kiss them. Its my little thing and no matter how annoyed I am with their putzing around they can always count on me smacking their little lips with mine before I shut their doors--why would I want to hurry those years up? I don't know...

I did get to wondering though, how much of my day is spent "wishing" instead of living? If I'm being honest, I think its a pretty substantial amount.

I look in the mirror and wish I was prettier or smaller or younger. I look at my house and wish I was more organized. I look at my husband and wish he was more romantic. I think about my Mom and wish she lived closer. I think about Ames and wish she was my neighbor. I think about Shannon and wish she still worked with Maryanne and me. I look at my ministry at Hearts and wish I had more time. I look at my time and wish I was better at managing it. I look at my checkbook and wish it had more in it. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Instead of living in the moment, enjoying the body I have, the home I live in, the life I have I tend to think ahead (or sometimes I think back).

This just came to me today so I haven't had any time to pray about it and ask God to show me some things in Scripture about it but I'm wondering what you do to keep yourself grounded in today? In the moment?

For the Haters

You know I get all the smack talk about Facebook. I understand the criticism, I get it, I really do. Even I hate Facebook sometimes; I've said to much and been misunderstood. I've said just enough and been blasted. I've said things I shouldn't have said and would have never said to someone's face and just when I think I'm never going to make another Facebook mistake I go and make another one. I get it.

But I just gotta say, for all the haters, Facebook just may have been instrumental in saving little Maggie's life this week. If prayer releases power from heaven then 100 people praying is better than 10 and 1000 people praying is better than 1000. Within hours of Maggie's birth and subsequent intubation and other life saving measures, people were praying. They were leaving comments and posting status updates and pretty soon 20 people turned into 200 and 200 turned to 2000 and now after 4 days of having her own blog up, Maggie's blog has had over 4000 visitors. That is amazing.

In Maggie's situation, where time was critical and she would be progressing one minute and at Heaven's door the next, you can bet that the prayers of the people who were literally stalking Maryanne's Facebook page released power from Heaven.

I know I'm not going to change anyone's mind about Facebook because of this one blog post and I'm not planning on doing a series of why Facebook is great or is evil. I simply wanted to write, for all the haters, that Facebook can be pretty awesome when it comes to gettin' the word out.

Dear Kind Father,

It is so easy to call You good tonight. It is so easy to praise You. For tonight, in a hospital 50 miles North of me, my dear friend is holding her baby for the first time in 4 days. For the first time in 94 hours wee Maggie is being held. She is warm. She is hearing her Mama's heart beat. She is feeling the warmth of her Daddy's chest. It is easy to call You good tonight.

You, however, are always good. You are always kind. You are always sovereign. And while I don't understand Your ways and I question Your timing, I know You are always good. You are always kind. Your timing is always perfect.

The image of a limp baby being attended to by a team of doctors will never leave me. As I stood with a petrified Auntie Jana, peaking through a crack in a curtain, we declared Your Presence in that room. As I sat holding my precious friend, whispering Your promises to her I felt Your hand on her; loving her, infusing strength in to her, filling her with hope and peace. A peace that passes understanding. Your Word is true and You never go against Your Word. You are always good. You are always kind.

Tomorrow I will get to hold baby Maggie in my own arms. I will tell her how Samuel & Emily have prayed and prayed for her and can't wait to meet her. I will tell her how Uncle Jeff has stayed awake at night praying for her and her Mommy & Daddy. I will tell her that from the moment I found out she was growing in her Mama's belly to this very moment in time I have loved her. I will tell her (with a giggle in my voice) that I'm the one who sang the "Sound of Music" soundtrack to her when she had the hiccups and that it is oh so very good to finally meet her. I will tell her that the God that her Mommy, Daddy, Grammy & Grandpa love and serve is merciful. I will tell her that He is always good and that He is always kind.

Thank You Kind Father for answering our prayers the way we wanted them answered. I know it doesn't always work that way and I trust You when that happens, but tonight, thank You. With more gratitude than I can express, thank You.

Amen.

Introducing...

You know I just love all of you; really I do. And I really value your opinions and comments and I took it to heart when you told me I should leave my blog name alone.

But then the other night Hot Jeff and I were talking DWTS and how nasty The Hoff is and it hit me, I'm The Hen. So Hot Jeff and I started referring to me as The Hen and we got a lot of chuckles out of it. Then...one night I was laying in bed not sleeping and thinking about how I never blog anymore and how I'm a failure as a house wife and how I love Bristol Palin and how I want to go on a survival camping trip and it dawned on me: "The Mother Hen".

How much do you love it? I love it. Bestie Maryanne loves it and I'm hoping my one reader, Emily H loves it. And if anyone else still reads this blog I'm hoping they love it too because regardless I am changing the name.

Welcome to The Mother Hen. Now one more thing on this subject, if you've got a derivative of 'The Mother Hen' like 'Hen Mother' or anything with Hen in it that is clever and playful then leave a comment because I may like that better than "The Mother Hen".

On an unrelated note, Hot Jeff is turning 41 next week. No big deal; he's taking it in stride and actually looking forward to putting 40 behind him because its been the worst year of his life when it comes to physical ailments. Rashes, pneumonia, pulled muscles, back pain, TMJ...the list goes on and on. Poor guy.

Well the other day I was driving home from taking Samuel to school and an old memory came to mind. When I was in high school my best friend Traci and I had a little game we'd play of pointing out old guys that were hot. Tim Allen, George Clooney, George Strait, Tom Hanks, Mr. Butler. You get the idea.

As I was getting ready to text Traci when I realized those guys were the age Jeff is now (maybe even younger). OMG ladies, I am married to an old guy who is hot.

I can hardly believe it myself. I mean I get the hot part because that man is smokin' but seriously, 41? That's kinda old. Like when we watch The Real World, its hittin' me that those slutty girls are young enough to be his daughter (but they wouldn't be because so help me if Emily or Samuel EVER even THINK about going on a MTV or VH1 reality TV show I will give them the smackdown!)

Isn't getting older just the weirdest? I mean I feel totally young. Besides a little junk in my trunk I feel like a cool college kid, or at least that I could hang with cool college kids. For example, Hot Jeff and I are watching baseball and they just showed Nolan Ryan in the stands. THAT GUY LOOKS OLD. I mean remember when he was all young and suave and throwin' heat for Texas? Now he's a poster child for Ben Gay. And have you seen Robert Redford lately? Now THAT was a hot old guy and he's 74 years old. He is like attending the funerals of other old hot guys (Paul Newman).

I've heard when it comes to parenting that the days are long but the years are short. Yep. And I'm going to add that when it comes to life the days are long and the years are short.

My advice: live life to the fullest. Go french kiss your hot old guy and buy an impractical pair of shoes.

Cluck, Cluck.

I'm Not Buying It

This afternoon I was picking Hot Jeff up from the chiropractor which happens to be next to a Christian church here in town. The billboard outside of their church gave their service times and then said "People Disappoint. God Doesn't."

I'm calling that church's bluff. In fact, I think its just that kind of "religious" talk that turns people off. The reason why I think it turns people off is because it makes Christianity out to be this lifestyle of rainbows and unicorns and anyone with half a brain knows that life, whether you are a Christ-follower or not, isn't rainbows and unicorns.

God does disappoint. You don't have to look any further than the disciples staring up at Jesus hanging on a cross to find people who God disappointed. It isn't because of anything God did; His plan is perfect. Nothing that happens isn't something He hasn't sifted through His loving hands but the disciples didn't know an empty grave was going to be found just 3 days later. Amongst all the emotions they felt on that Friday you can be certain disappointment was one of them.

My friend Lorelei who died in August from an 18 month battle with brain cancer was disappointed with God. Her faith was intact and strong as she took her last breaths but she would have been, and was, the first person to tell you she was disappointed in God; painfully disappointed He hadn't healed her.

Lorelei preached a message of authenticity and honesty with yourself and with God. Part of being honest and authentic with God starts by confessing disappointment. Disappointment doesn't equate a lack of trust; it doesn't equate disbelief. Confessing disappointment with God is simply a sincere admission that opens the door to an authentic relationship with God. Furthermore, I think God likes it when we're honest; He already knows how we are feeling so why not get the elephant out of the room and cry out our pain, confusion and ...disappointment.

I think disappointment with God can be a slippery slope. God is sovereign. He is supreme. He is holy. He is not to be trifled with. Nevertheless, you can express disappointment without being blasphemous and insolent. The Psalms are filled with prose of that ebb and flow between praise and bewilderment; worship and wonder.

So I'd like to say to the church on Liberty next to Hot Jeff's chiropractor: Ugh, give me a break. (Insert eye roll.)

Blah, Blah, Blah

If you were on tonight's prayer request email list then the next paragraph will be a little bit redundant for you but bear with me for a few lines while the rest of 'em catch up.

Bestie Cary's mom is the programming director for a Young Moms group in Albany and they kick off their year this week. About a month ago Meredith (Cary's mom) asked me to speak to the moms; I was very humbled and honored and accepted.

And then I went on vacation and totally forgot about it until Meredith emailed me this afternoon asking me if I needed anything for this Thursday's event.

Holy crap...this Thursday??

Last night I referenced the journey God is just beginning to take me on regarding authenticity and living an authentic life. Of course, because that's what I'm reading and praying about that's what is on my mind for sharing with these sweet mama's on Thursday. Yet, I'm also really passionate about praying for our children (despite my lame and non-existent PYKM's lately) and have a heart for moms who compare themselves to other moms (pretty much every mother) and how much harder that makes their journey and how it is not where God wants them to live and how He desires for them to see themselves as He sees them: precious daughters redeemed by Him and chosen for an eternal purpose of raising children.

Ok, so because I use this blog as a way to process I'm going to process my thoughts on all of the above and how it may all work together. Oh lucky you. If it all seems rhetorical and redundant I am really, really sorry. If it sounds like bunk, leave a comment. If you have some Scripture to back up my rambles, leave a comment. Ah heck, just leave a comment.

Soooo...what if living an authentic life begins with believing the Truth about who I am in Christ and not believing the lies the enemy tells me? If I'm going to be ok with who I am, actually love myself the way Christ loves me, to see myself with all my faults, quirks, scars and imperfections and still know that I am deeply and perfectly loved I need to immerse myself in His Word--the Word that reminds me of who I am in Christ.

As a mother, I can't possibly begin to teach my children about how much Christ loves them if I don't know how much He loves me. It is imperative that I spend time in His Word (ideally every day) to saturate myself in His love and promises.

Just as God has called us to authentic living, He has called us to be mothers (remember I'm speaking to a group of young mothers so the "us" is the group...) and as mothers we must believe that our homes are sacred places where we raise and pray for our children. Our homes need to be safe places where our children can be themselves, learn from their mistakes, not be afraid to make messes and where they are continuously pointed to the Savior. We can help our children in ways that we cannot see and in ways we can't imagine by praying for them; their daily needs and their mental, physical and spiritual needs.

Often times, because I struggle with comparing myself to other mothers and wives, I find myself in a terrible rut of feeling like my kids are going to grow up and be dirty pigs who have great taste in music but are way too fond of margaritas. I am a less than perfect housekeeper and the enemy knows he can speak lies into my heart and mind and defeat me as a person, mother and wife on a daily basis. On the flip side, if I can be truthful with myself about my areas of weakness and confess I need the help of a Savior ON EVERY FRONT than I am 1) being authentic and 2) defeating lies with Truth.

My home doesn't define me. The cleanliness of my kitchen or my bathrooms don't define me. I am a daughter of the King; my identity rests in Him and His redeeming blood. I am more than a wife. I am more than a mother. I am more than a housekeeper. I am His beloved.

Ok, I'm tired of rambling and processing and writing. I think its helped getting some thoughts on "paper". I am sorry if its preachy or boring or redundant. I did warn you though.

I Got What I Deserved--I Hate It When That Happens

I want you to know I almost took Bex's advice and offered myself the reward of writing this blog post after I put the laundry away. And later this morning I would like to tell you that I will be waiting to apply sunless tanner until after I unload the dishes but that would be a lie. And while I do think Bex's idea has merit, I only read it like 5 minutes ago and so I feel like I need to let it sink in awhile. Like perhaps...all day.

I have a "when and then" saying with my kids. It goes like this, "When you ____________, then you may_____________." For example, "When you finish your dinner, then you may get down from the table". I think this is what Bex is telling me to do. Oh wise Bex...you will make a fabulous mother to Fatty. I can just see her (with her flawless skin, stylish clothing and flowing blond hair), "Jen, when you finish you household chores, then you can blog". Of course I didn't hear a word she was saying because I was wondering where she got those shoes.

Ok, where was I...oh yes, I got what I deserved.

So you may have read on Facebook this weekend (and if you didn't then you should either friend me or stop blocking my posts) that I got a speeding ticket. A ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DOLLAR SPEEDING TICKET. I think I'm going to start taking lactating vitamins and then pump and sell my breast milk to pay for it but that's neither here nor there. The thing about this ticket is that I deserved it. I was going 78 in a 60. (Lori DeBacker if you tell your husband that I will disown you. And if you don't' know who Lori is...Lori is my dear friend and her husband is my insurance agent. And former boss. But that's another story. That has to do with an evil woman who hated me for no good reason. But that's another story.)

So there I am, minding my own business on I-5 and traveling 78 mph hour in 60 mph zone when all of a sudden I got pulled over! And when he asked me if I had a reason for going 78 in a 60 I sheepishly said, "no". So he went back to his car and ran my plates and license, where he saw I have a clean-clean record for over 7+ years, and I sat in my car and prayed. I prayed fervently, "Oh Lord, please don't let me get a ticket. I'll never, ever speed again. Please, please, please don't let me get a ticket. Please let the officer have mercy and not give me a ticket. Please, please, please".

The officer came back to my window and gave me a ticket. And although I have said I would never be one of those women who cry when they get a ticket, I cried. Like a baby. Big, huge, crocodile tears fell from eyes and down my cheeks as he explained if I went to court on the appointed date the judge would see my record and most likely dismiss the ticket. More tears. And then a really slobbery, snotty, "I'm sorry I'm crying. I promise I'm not trying to manipulate you. I can't believe I'm crying". Oh how I would love to have his recording of that conversation. We could sit around and drink margaritas and laugh at what a buffoon I am.

As I drove off I thought about my earlier prayer and how God didn't answer it. I sort of smiled thinking how silly it was of me to pray to get out of what I really deserved. I broke the law but didn't have any remorse until it was time for me to face the consequence. Oh my though, when faced with the consequence I sure had a contrite heart!

If I'm being honest, I think I do that a lot. With my family, with my friends and especially with God. And here's the quirky thing: almost always I don't get what I deserve. When I'm pissy with my husband and he calls me out I say I'm sorry and we go on with our day. He doesn't get pissy in return. He doesn't read to me from 2 Corinthians about how love is kind. Nope, he just goes on loving me and not keeping a record of wrongs.

And oh my Heavenly Father...oh I haven't gotten what I deserve from Him. Max Lucado writes that if we never receive any other gift from God other than our eternal salvation that is enough for us to never cease praising Him, calling Him 'good' and thanking Him. I don't have the right to ask Him for anything else yet I do (because through the His Spirit and the blood shed of His Son He grants me access to Himself and even desires to hear my prayers). And day after day He pours blessings out on me, provides for me and my family in measurable and immeasurable ways and ever answers my prayers.

So there in my car, driving a smooth 60 mph, I thanked God for the ticket. Yes, I thanked God for the ticket because He could have reminded me to slow down through an awful accident but again, He was kind, gracious, slow to anger, compassionate, etc. etc. I thanked Him for the reminder that His grace isn't cheap and that His blessings aren't to be taken for granted. I thanked Him that, when it came to my heart and my salvation, I didn't get what I deserved.

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p.s.
A big hearty thank you to those of you who commented yesterday. I appreciate the great advice, blended with "don't sweat the small stuff" regarding the house. Jen R., thanks for the encouragement regarding God's work in my heart.

I have great readers!

Verbal Processing

I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:

On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.

In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.

In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.

In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.

The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"

I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.

I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.

I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.

If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.

One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.

By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.

Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?

The Most Dramatic Rose Ceremony Ever. Really.

Hot Jeff has discovered the ABC summer hit "The Bachelorette". Yes, Hot Jeff is crushin' a little bit on the adorable, nervous laugher, Ali. He's been getting all caught up on the last 4 weeks in bed on Ruby and despite my attempts to ignore it and read through it I have found myself caught up in the drama. I'm also rooting for Roberto--how seriously sweet and adorable is Roberto?

Anyway, after watching 11 men fall all over this blond beauty for 120 minutes I went to bed thinking about how fun it would be to be the Bachelorette. ABC is flying this gal over the world, hooking her up with clothes and she's the object of affection for 25 hot guys. Granted, many of them are certifiably crazy but it is still pretty fun when she walks in to a room and they all stop what they are doing and APPLAUD!

I began to form my own version of the Bachelorette in my mind, one where the bachelorette is me-- 33 years old and has a stretch marked, post baby bod. I'm going to direct a mini episode for you; feel free to comment and add any other Bachelorette staples that I have missed.

Opening Scene
Me silhouetted on a sunlit beach. I'm jogging and stopping every few feet because when I jog I start to pee. My swimsuit is a black one piece from Lane Bryant and skirted to hide my thighs and hips. Off camera the producer is dangling a meatball sandwich so that I'll run towards the camera.

Voice Over from Chris Harrison
"Jennifer Henderson may not be our typical Bachelorette but America has fallen in love with this 33 year old stay at home mother of two. One woman and 25 men who are all at least 10 years her junior will attempt to find love in this season's most dramatic quest for love yet".

First Scene: Cocktail Party
25 20 somethings are all standing around drinking cocktails and slapping high fives. I walk in through the french doors wearing a shimmering, floor length gown and wearing a front pack with a newborn in it. As the men start to applaud the baby wakes up and they all start to "ooh and aw". Despite never wanting anything to do with children prior to this night they know they are on national TV and the more they suck up to me and the baby the further they will go on the show.

Keith, a 27 year old accountant walks up to me and hands me a blended drink and a warmed bottle. "Can I steal you away?" he asks confidently.

As Keith and I walk out to the dimly lit pool area the camera goes to 3 gorgeous 20 somethings sitting on a leather couch. Max, a 22 year old lifeguard says, "She stunning. She's everything I've ever wanted in a woman". Blake, a 28 year old professional soccer player says, "Her hips are so wide...perfect birthing hips". The 3rd gentleman, Scott, a 27 year old college admissions counselor, nods his head in agreement and simply growls and says, "Cougar".

Commerical break for Slim Fast and Skinny Cow desserts.

2nd scene: Keith and I are sitting on bamboo furniture near a heated pool. I'm nursing the baby and he's playing a tender lullaby on a clarinet. When he finishes he takes my hand in his and says, "I know I just met you but I feel this connection to you. I hope I will get a rose tonight; I want to share my life with you and will be suicidal if you let me go tonight".

As Keith is finishing his heartfelt plea for a rose I put my breast away and hand him the baby. Cut to a confessional of Keith with candles behind him, "When she handed me the baby I knew she was putting her trust in me me. She was letting me know that she felt a connection between us...she felt the spark too. She was essentially handing me her heart".

Cut to me in a different confessional with more candles. My lipstick has rubbed off from kissing 25 men on both of their cheeks all night but my hair is perfectly coiffed. I'm wearing one of their suit jackets over my sleeveless gown. I say, "I handed Keith the baby so he could burp it. I don't really feel anything between Keith and I...I don't think he's genuinely in this for me".

As the camera cuts from the confessional and scans the empty heated pool Chris Harrison's voice comes over and says, "Our bachelorette Jennifer has had a chance to meet our 25 handsome bachelors. Who will she send home to their mothers and who will she give a rose to. Find out next in our most dramatic rose ceremony ever."

Next commercial. More Slim Fast ads and a few diapers and Disney Land ads mixed in.

Scene 3: The Rose Ceremony
I'm standing holding the final rose. I'm biting my lip and twirling it in my fingers. A toddler is clinging to my leg. The camera spans the 25 men standing in 2 rows. 14 of them have roses pinned to their lapels. The camera gives a close up of Keith, who is still holding the baby, and Jack, a 22 year old radio dj, who is wearing a t-shirt under his suit that says "Spank Me".

"Jack." I say with a bittersweet smile. Jack walks forward, "Jack, will you accept this rose?" "You know it" he replies with a wink.

Chris walks in and stands next to me. "Gentlemen, if you did not receive a rose tonight please come say your goodbyes".

Keith walks towards me with tears running down his cheeks and he's holding the baby towards me. "I thought we had something and Junior and I really connected. I wanted to play catch with your kids and take all inclusive vacations with you".

I smile and kiss him on the cheek.

As Keith walks away a large noise is heard off camera and Hot Jeff storms through the doors. "What the hell are all of you doing in my house? Jen, why are the kids still up? The city called me at the office because the neighbors are complaining about the 6 limos lining the street. Dammit Jen, somebody better tell me what's going on here".

The screen goes black and then to a picture of me hugging a dark haired man. There are sirens in the background and police lights flashing in the distance. I have a blanket wrapped around me and I'm crying. Chris Harrison's voice comes over scenes of me kissing different men on different beaches and on top of sky scrapers and in helicopters, "In our most dramatic season in over 9 years Jennifer seeks to find love. Will it be with one of our handsome bachelors or will her husband win her back?" Cut to a scene of me dressed in a ball gown in a gazebo. "All this season on The Bachelorette".

I Found My Password

Ok, so I didn't really lose my password...I'm just a total slacker.

And since today is FAQ Friday I'll make up a question that suits what I want to write about...

How's your vacation going?

Oh, thanks for asking. My vacation is going wonderful. I didn't realize how much I needed it.

I have this misconception that vacation equates big trip with daily activities that typically include a Disney character. As I've reflected these last few days I realize I have had this misconception and while a busy vacation is a wonderful get-away its typically not all that relaxing. This Montana trip has been SO relaxing.

More times than not, when we come out here Jeff has stayed home. Not because he hates my Mom or Montana but rather because we are coming for 2-3 weeks and he just doesn't have that kind of vacation time to just blow on one trip. So, Hot Jeff is out here with me (spreading his hotness to the friendly folks of the Big Sky Country) and so I don't have that pull of loving being here but really missing my husband. 2 words: huge release.

Another thing is I really underestimated how much recovery I would actually need after my little kidney stone incident. I've been surprised at some of the residual pain/discomfort I've had and how I have needed to take a pain pill or two and watch a movie on Mom's couch. Its been so nice to have the freedom to do that.

Lastly, as I shared very briefly and flippantly a few posts ago, my Shrink increased my depression/anxiety meds from 20mg to 40mg. As you may or may not know, any change in that kind of medicine typically takes 3-4 weeks for the effects to be felt. This week in Montana has been the 4th week and its has been astounding to me to see the change those extra 20mg have made in my heart and head.

Its interesting to me that God allowed my physical and emotional needs to culminate and come to a head simultaneously. During my time on the couch or sleeping in late I've reflected and in turn praised and thanked God for giving me this week of relaxation which has brought my body and heart restoration. I truly feel like "my old self' again and I know the Lord has used the power of medicine and science to bring healing from head to toe.

In the last few weeks of emotional struggle I have felt the El Roi (the God who sees me) so close to me. Not necessarily speaking in a booming voice and giving me "aha" moments every morning but more a of a quiet arm around my shoulders loving me and comforting me. I've felt His Presence reminding me that we all have seasons of silence and struggle, and in my case, even when all circumstances are going perfect and we don't even have a "reason" for sadness or strife. Sometimes the internal strife needs just as much attention as the external.

So that's my last week of internet quiet in a nutshell. Thanks for being patient. Thanks for your funny comments. Thanks for reading my rambling thoughts day after day. Thanks for loving me through this online journal. I take full responsibility for your poor kids who most definitely haven't been prayed for all week long--poor babies.

I've Been Thinking...

Bestie Traci emailed me a couple of days ago saying her Grandmother came to her son's recital and was on an oxygen tank! She couldn't believe how old her grandparents were getting and that when she brought it up to her mother she found out they were even getting Meals on Wheels. Soooooo, this got me thinking...

Why are all these fabulous things like meals on wheels and assisted living wasted on old people?

Ok, "wasted" perhaps the wrong word choice. It makes me sound like I hate old people. I don't hate old people.

My sweet Gigi recently sold her home and moved in to an assisted living apartment in the city. She seriously has her own little apartment in a 2 story building in which she has all her meals prepared for her, her laundry done for her, her apartment cleaned (even the bathroom!) and the option of having her bed made, which she does herself. They have bingo and bible studies. They have a van that takes them places like the store, the library, church. Its pretty awesome.

Am I the only 30-something here who really wants to move to an assisted living facility? Food, laundry, cleaning? It sounds like heaven instead of what it really is...the last move before heaven. (Sorry, had to go there. You know you were thinking it.)

Seriously, sign me up. Put me on a waiting list because it sounds down-right dreamy. And what if they had assisted living for young families? They could have built in kid gyms where we could all take our kids and let them play while we sit around and play pinochle and drink margaritas iced tea.

We could have Grey's Anatomy night and big facility wide Survivor pools. The van could take us wine tasting on Saturday and to church on Sunday.

I mean really, why should you have to be incontinent to have all the fun?

Real or Plastic?

Really people, only one comment on ATH's Facelift? I know I kind of just sprung it on you and didn't even do a poll or anything but only one comment? For the record, the one comment came from my Bestie of long-standing, Traci (23 years and counting) who wanted to know if Slutty Vixen had made the changes. No, my super-hero/alter-ego did not make the changes and here's how you know: there is no black lace anywhere. SV totally would have made the background black lace to subconsciously suggest under-garments.

So let me have it. Love it or hate it? Love it but wish there was more color? Hate it and wondering what is up with all the polka-dots? Really don't care because you just come to see pictures of Hot Jeff?

Thinking about my blog's recent facelift got me thinking about cosmetic surgery. Now let's just get this out there...I'm not talking reconstructive surgery or surgery for any medical reasons. I am talking good old fashioned snip-it-if-its-draggin' or saggin'-surgery. Like for example, if I were going to go under the knife I would have my neck tucked (I have a disproportionately large neck), my boobs lifted, my belly and thighs sucked dry and my butt completely removed and replaced with Jessica Alba's. I would also have the freaky taken out of my pinky toes because why not, I'm already under and out of commission for 8 weeks and I really do have some freaky in my pinky toes.

I just don't see it happening though. I think we should try to improve our bodies with diet and exercise and then make peace with who we are and how we look. First of all, most of us have these "flaws" because of child bearing, breast feeding and aging. Aren't those all really wonderful things to embrace? To be proud of? To wear as a badge of honor? And, by the way, my Shrink just bumped my Celexa dosage up from 20mg to 30mg so if this all sounds a little unlike me its just because I'm medicated.

On the other hand I understand that life is short and shouldn't we try to be happy in that short time? If that means having a nose job or a boob job or a tummy tuck or a cheek lift of whatever else helps you feel a little better about yourself, isn't that ok? I could be persuaded, in fact I'm making the argument, that some people are so hindered by an outward feature that having cosmetic surgery may help them to be even more the person God created them to be.

So give it to me straight ladies--how do you feel about cosmetic surgery? And if I get one comment about breast reconstruction after a double mastectomy I'm going to come egg your house because that is totally NOT WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Also, Christy from My Presidents suggested I comment on other people's blogs to increase traffic to my blog. I typically don't read other people's blogs because I find it messes with my own voice but I tried it and no kidding, one lady had 125 comments on one of her posts. 125 comments!! Are you kidding me? You guys so have your work cut out for you.

Stylin' and Profilin'

So a little something I've learned about myself is that I'm not very stylish.

I first started wondering about it last week when I overheard a Mom at Samuel's preschool say to another Mom, "Don't mind my sweat pants; I'm on my way to Jazzercise". I looked down at my own pants: sweat pants. And I was not going to Jazzercise; I was heading to Costco. Insert my puzzled look.

So with that in the back of my brain I went to pick out something to wear out of my closet a few days later and had 7 Eddie Bauer black tees staring back at me. Yeah, maybe not a fashionista.

Shannon, who has been getting a ridiculous amount of love lately in this blog, is a serious fashionista. My friend Heidi actually calls Shannon her "fashion icon". One day Shannon pulled off some crazy tights with a short yellow skirt, an adorable top and black fingerless gloves. If I wore that I would look like a drunk bag lady; people would start calling the authorities and asking if there was a mental patient on the loose. "She is wearing tights. And a yellow skirt. And fingerless gloves. She looks positively crazy and perhaps a little dangerous. She was trying to walk with a sexy swagger but she tripped and now her knee is bleeding through her ripped tights."

Not all of Shannon's outfits are that edgy and whenever I see her I say, "Ooh that's so cute" and she always says the same thing, "TJ Maxx".

Introduce Hurdle #1 to me becoming a stylish hottie: I don't like to shop. Gasp. And in case you are wondering, yes I do have a vagina. I just do not like to shop. In fact, I'm not even sure where TJ Maxx is located.

Introduce Solution to Hurdle #1: Give Shannon $20 and let her start buying things for me at TJ Maxx when she is there, which sounds like is about once a week. She gives me new stylish item (that she got for a bargain) and I give her another $20.

I may not be very stylish but I'm a thinker for sure.

There Is No Way To Title This Post

Last night I was trying to fall asleep and was writing this post in my head, as I so often do. The one thing I kepy struggling with (until I hopped up, took a Tylenol PM and solved that problem) was what to title this post. I'm still not sure. So after you read it know that I'm opening it up for suggestions and the winner gets a $5 Starbucks card.

Yesterday was my Bestie Shannon's sexy photo shoot up in Portland. Our friend Valerie is a super fabulous and talented photographer and does a sophisticated photo shoot for women called "Little Black Book". Just in case you think Shannon has turned in to a big porn whore, you should totally go check out Valerie's website and see a sampling of the beautiful pictures she does. She transforms regular ol' women, wives, moms into supermodels and afterwards they feel beautiful, sexy, empowered and captivating. Shannon asked me to join her yesterday and it was such a fun experience.

First of all, the finished product, a leather bound black book of pictures is going to be an anniversary present for Shannon's husband Drew so mum is the word, got it? I'm pretty certain I have a huge following of attorneys down at the Attorney General's office where Drew works so I'd ask all of you to keep your mouths shut until after August.

The morning started off at a ritzy hotel in Portland and Valerie had hired a makeup artist to sex up spruce up the clients before their shoot. When we arrived, our sweet twenty something friend Emily was there getting the last finishing touches on her hair and makeup. Talk about red-hot sex bomb...oh my gosh--Emily is smokin' hot and gave me even more reasons to hate twenty somethings.

When it was Shannon's turn in the chair we got to meet the very adorable, very down to earth, very talented Jennifer Walker. She's a real life makeup artist and I was pretty sure Tom Bergeron was going to step out a closet at any given moment and tell Shannon she was going to be on Dancing with the Stars. Jennifer even had one of those tall director chairs for Shannon to sit in and good lighting. As Shannon sat, I pressed Jennifer for color tips and Shannon and I found out we're pretty much doing it all wrong. Shannon isn't supposed to wash her face with Cetaphil (I seriously thought real-life makeup artist Jennifer was going to need to be resuscitated when Shannon told her that. She went all silent and pale but we couldn't tell she was pale because she had such beautifully applied blush.) and I should stop doing my makeup in the car. She gave us some other helpful tips about moisturizing and so forth and then it was my turn to be shocked. And when I say "shocked" I am severely understating my emotion. It was more like the feeling you felt when one day your presumed dead uncle mysteriously showed up on a flight you were on and told you that not only was he alive but he is not your uncle but really your father and that he is responsible for the kidnapping of your husband who is wanted by the KGB for being a double agent spy. Yeah, it was more like that.

Are you sure you want to keep reading and hear what she told me?

She said I shouldn't wear dark lipsticks but more pinks.

I will stop and give you a moment to gather yourself.

Here all this time I thought I looked like this:



But perhaps I really looked more like this?



Don't you just hate it when that happens?

A Story About Treasures

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Matthew 6:21

Three weeks ago Josh Mann gave a sermon that blew the doors off my little world. I didn't actually get to listen to it until a few days ago; we had missed church that weekend and so while Hot Jeff and Samuel were out grocery shopping and I was holding a feverish baby Roo I downloaded the sermon and listened. Click on Josh's name and the link will take you to SAC's podcasts. Click on "Welcome to Babylon" to listen to the sermon; it will change you!

Anyway, I listened to the sermon Monday afternoon and when I went to bed that night I was in that sweet spot between being awake and falling asleep when the above Matthew verse came in to my head. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Josh didn't mention it in his sermon so I wondered where it was coming from. I floated in my little wake-sleep state a few moments longer when the verse came to mind again, For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Immediately after, for a lack of a better term, I had a vision. This is the story of that vision.

Jesus walked along side me; His face was blurry and I am uncertain of where we were when Jesus asked me to show Him where I kept my heart. I beamed with pride and my pace quickened as I led Him to a beautiful treasure box. The box was decorated ornately and the brass handles glistened and sparkled. Jesus and I kneeled before the glorious box and I looked at Him eagerly to make sure He was ready for me to open the box. He nodded, urging me to do so. We peered together over the side to see my carefully placed Bible, Bible studies, finished and unfinished that I have studied. My "ministry" opportunities lie next to a tenderness for missions. I pointed to my church attendance and hoped He'd notice it is sitting next to books I has read about becoming more like Him. Underneath it were pages and pages of things I had written about Him and how much I love Him and next to it there was a photograph of me at the age of 11 asking Him to live in my heart and be my Savior...my joy and pride were nearly seeping out of me as He looked over the items in the treasure box.

"But where is your heart?" He asked. Confusion washed over me, "It has to be in here", I thought to myself. Jesus interrupted my thoughts and touched my hand to stop me just as I began to rifle through the box of sacred items looking for my heart. "I thought it was here", I said in a whisper.

Jesus followed me as I led Him to another treasure box not far from the one I had just foolishly and pridefully shown off. I started to explain, "My heart is in this box. It is my family. I'm a mother...how could my heart be anywhere but in this box?" If Jesus sensed the defensiveness in my voice He didn't comment.

The box, a little bigger than the one before, sat modestly. It was scribbled all over with crayons and the latch was hanging on by one screw, the other lost long ago. Although I felt shame that my heart had not been in the prior treasure box, my guilt faded as I began lifting items out of the box, each one justifying why my heart was here rather than in the other. A moth eaten wedding dress covered sentimental souvenirs of my children's childhood; a pair of baby shoes, a well loved binkie, a lock of hair in an envelope. Every time I pulled an item out I was flooded by warm memories. I tried to overlook what else I saw in the box: the guilt, the wasted time; my comparisons to other mothers now threatening to spill out over the top of the box. I felt my eyes welling up with tears but I kept digging...I knew my heart was underneath it all, lying at the bottom of the box.

I was on my second run-through the box when Jesus gently touched my shoulder. "It isn't in here either". His voice was calm and tender, but knowing; He pointed to a box in a dusty corner. "No, its not in there" I weakly protested. I knew that box well; its wood was worn smooth from being packed around with me for as long as I could remember. At different times in my life the box had gotten too heavy for me to carry and I would unpack it and take out things that no longer suited me but really I had gotten very clever in my packing and had learned how to fit everything in perfectly.

"Lets take a look", Jesus urged. I protested again, this time with a little more conviction but before I could say 'no' again He was lifting the lid. My pride stared up at me. In this Light it didn't look as appealing as it had in the past. I knew my heart wasn't in this box but I decided to pull everything out just to prove Him wrong. There sitting next to my pride was a rope of defense mechanisms and tucked in next to the rope was a little pill box filled with sarcasm, unwholesome talk and self-righteousness. Growing in a pot was a thriving flower and each petal had words on it: self-doubt, image management, short-tempered and controlling. The root had grown since I last saw it but it was still the same, fear. Other trinkets were thrown in the box but I saw no need to look further. I shut the lid and exclaimed, "Nope, its not in here".

Jesus looked at me kindly, "I think you should look again" He said. He carefully lifted the lid again and I saw it. There was my heart. Tangled and choked by the other things I had stuffed in the treasure box but there nonetheless. Too shocked to cry, I gingerly reached in and touched the life force, repulsed that I had been all too eager to keep it in this place for so long.

"Guard it.", Jesus warned as He handed it back to me, "Now lets go".

Out of habit I bent down and hoisted the heavy treasure box. Jesus looked at me curiously and then smiled. He took the box from my arms and set it on the floor next to my feet. "You can't take this with you. We are going somewhere together and you can't take this with you".

For a brief moment I considered not going with Him; how could I leave my treasures? Just then I felt my heart beat in my chest, the rhythmic thump, thump, thump promised rebirth, renewal...consecration.

Good Friday from a Mother's Eyes

Since I've had my own children I read the stories of Mary, the mother of Jesus, a little more keenly. I remember being 8 months pregnant with Emily during the Christmas season and thinking of how much Mary's hips must have ached as she made that long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey. I have a little more empathy for Mary since motherhood has given me new eyes.

Today I'm thinking of her again.

3 years ago this month my dear Uncle Bob was dying from pancreatic cancer. Every day he slipped further and further from this world and closer and closer to eternity. Our family circled around him except for one person--Gigi, his mother. Seeing him in such agony had become too physically hard for her own weakened condition and so she said her final goodbye to him 2 weeks before he died as he lingered in his last moments of consciousness.

I try not to think about that goodbye but when I do, tears spring to my eyes and my heart hurts and fear wells up inside of me at the thought of having to say goodbye to my own children. There is something very unnatural, something horribly cruel, about having to bury your children.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Today I'm thinking about how horribly cruel it must have felt to see her son struggle under the weight of a cross, broken and bleeding, dying for sins He didn't commit.

I see her standing at the foot of the cross, arching her neck to see her son as he labors for breath, moaning from the pain and praying for those who torture him.

Can you see her? Her hair is probably more grey and her skin more wrinkled than the 3 decades earlier. She has become a woman, made a home, raised a family and now she stands just feet away from her dying son. I can imagine that as she stands there watching his clothing being gambled for she remembers his first grin, his first wobbly steps, the way her heart stopped when she first heard him say, "Mama". I imagine that as the blood drips from his torn body she remembers kissing skinned knees and singing lullabies goodnight.

I wonder if Mary bargained with God. I wonder if she silently pleaded, "To hell with all of them, that is my son". I have no doubt that as He gave His life for us she would have done anything to give her life for His.

Mary couldn't see in to the future; she was as bound to this earth as much as we are. We know her faith was strong, the early chapters of Luke leave us no doubt that it was, but at that moment in time, as her firstborn son hung on a cross like a criminal, I wonder if her mother's heart didn't break, beg and bargain for a different ending.

Today I'm thinking of Mary. Before He was ever her Savior He was her son.