God Is Enough

It’s been so long since I blogged, I’m surprised I still remember how to type (typing is not necessary for playing Zuma on Facebook).  Actually, I think that I have just been unable to express my circumstances or feelings since the beginning of this year.  All of my efforts and energy have been focused on just holding myself together.  And who wants to let people in to see all of the messy details of living the unexpected in life.  But, I am so over keeping it all inside.  I am so sick of secrecy when I myself am an open book.  Want to know something about me?  Ask.  And, if it’s regarding an opinion… chances are pretty good that I’m going to share my opinion even if you don’t ask. J

But, right now I am struggling.  Almost a month ago, I had the worst experience of my life.  At 16 wks pregnant, my water broke- with no warning – in the middle of the night.  I barely made it to the bathroom before Stella was born.  There was absolutely nothing that anyone could have done to save her.  It was just too early.  I’ve done things I never imagined I would have to.  My midwife walked me through cutting the umbilical cord and delivering the placenta in my own bathroom.  What no one tells you about when a baby is still-born… is that you have to figure out what to do with the baby’s body.  I can’t tell you how excruciating it was to try to make the “right” decision in the middle of all of that, when there are so few options.   I had no idea that most funeral homes have policies about babies… apparently 20 wks is the cut off (at least the places I checked) for having death-services performed.  It seems that no one quite knows what to do in these specific circumstances, and I just wanted someone to take me by the hand and say “This is the way.  This is what is done.”  I really didn’t want to have to blaze that trail for myself.

Yesterday, I had the second worst experience of my life.  It’s a long story that is still way too painful, but suffice it to say that I learned that my husband has broken our marriage vows.  You know, on one hand that seems so personal to admit.  I’m so embarrassed.  And yet, I’m so SO tired of the secrets.  They have made the worst time in my life just a little worse.  Ok, a lot worse. 

And God has been quiet with me.  Usually, I can go into my prayer closet and come out with clarity.  I can be face down on the floor, crying out to him and he always answers.  But, last night I was searching for answers and I heard silence.  I didn’t “feel” what He wanted me to do.  I wasn’t feeling led to pack up and leave, but I wasn’t feeling led that I should try to work this out any longer.  (This wasn’t the first occurrence.  We’ve been through this, and recovered, before.)  I was really beginning to think that maybe God was ok with whatever decision I made.  Maybe he understood my pain and exactly what I would be going through to go back through therapy and try to solve problems that I have lived believing were solved long ago, and He was leaving the decision up to me.

But, as I was praying and crying out to him again this morning at one point I said “I trust you, God.  You are enough.” And I stopped because I realized that was the conclusion that he had been waiting for me to reach.  Regardless of whether I leave, or I stay… God is enough.  He will get me through.  This is all temporary and I need to keep my focus on Him.  And then I said “I just want YOU to be glorified through this in some way.” And I can’t think of any way that He can be glorified through me leaving at this time.  I’m not promising that everything is going to be ok, or that it won’t end in divorce if things don’t change… but, I can’t think of that right now.  I just have to concentrate on being obedient in the moment, and God will lead me to where I need to be.

And still I wonder if I’m not “getting it”.  I’ve always admired people who were able to lift their hands and praise God with joy in the midst of pain.  People have endured way worse than me and they’re still able to maintain that joy.  Does it count, when I don’t FEEL the joy in the moment, if I still lift my hands and praise Him?  Does it count if I trust Him implicitly with the outcome… but still worry about what the process of getting to the outcome will be?  Because I just don’t know.

Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Ps 73:25-26. God is enough.

Equality Schmality

Forget equal rights for women... what about equal rights for men?  The nay-sayers of the women's-lib movement cautioned that with equal rights comes equal responsibilities... no more holding the door for women, no more standing until the women are seated at the table first.  If women wanted to be equals in the workplace, then they would have to put in just as many hours as the men and not head home at 4pm to tend to the wee-ones.  Well, like it or not, women took that ride!  Here we are in the 21st century.  I hear reports on the news that women's mean salaries are approaching, if not surpassing, men's mean salaries.  I know that when I was a working single mom, I definitely logged too many hours in the office away from my kids.  Whether I'm old-fashioned or enlightened... I'm here, baby.  Rights, responsibilities and all!

But... what about the men?  Maybe there is a slight disconnect here.  And yes, I'm referring to a difference in responsibilities.  I'm not talking about the Working Dad vs SAHM show  down.  There is no way to measure who works harder, and it probably differs from family to family anyway.  No... I'm talking about just the everyday responsibilites of being a parent... an adult.

As a mom, whether our husbands are at work, at play or just busy around the house; we must continue to take care of our children and our homes the same as we always do.  (And this is true for working moms and SAHMs)  So, why is it if WE are the ones who must be absent for a time, that we are supposed to just be happy that our children were not allowed to drink bleach while we were gone?  We are somehow expected to juggle rebellious teenagers and destructive toddlers (AND teach them both to be upstanding citizens while maintaining our patience) all while ensuring that they are all are fed (in a healthy manner) and clean, that the laundry is complete so everyone has clean undies, and attempt to keep the house in a condition that doesn't resemble the aftermath of a hurricane.  But, when the shoe is on the other foot - "adult supervision" transforms into; watching the game on tv but will come running if there is a loud crash or screaming; diapers can be hanging off from the amount of pee in them... but don't need to be changed unless there is actual poop... and even then there is a delay of 15-20 min just to make sure that it wasn't just gas they smelled; food consists of man-formed meat and any processed item that the child(ren) do not have to be tricked into eating... and even then there is no such thing as washing a dish or actually putting that empty bag of Funyuns in the trash can.  And when it comes to cleaning - the kitchen is considered "clean" if there is nothing in the sink, regardless of the pots and pans left on top of the stove.  Do they realize that "cleaning the bathroom" isn't just scrubbing the toilet?  That toothpaste splatters on the mirror don't magically disappear over time, or that the hand soap bottles have to be dusted?  And worst of all... that no matter how good of a marksman they are... their aim in the bathroom is not great?  Guys... there really is a bottom side to those bowls that you pee in.  Maybe men should have equal responsibility for equal pay.  (Which is nothing. :-))

But then, I get that Divine tap on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear... "Do you really want that?"  Don't I enjoy the fact that I'm providing something for my family that no one else does?  Doesn't my heart warm slightly when my toddler is crying and as she comes running, she passes all of the "fun" people in her life and throws herself into my arms? The arms of the person that makes her eat green things.  Don't I enjoy the fact that even though Dad may never say no to a request for cookies, that they get excited when I cook something?  And then I feel a peace about my unequal life.  I'm doing exactly what I'm called to do.  Isn't THAT what matters?  My husband isn't called to be a mom!  How would our family function if we both wanted to be "mom"?  What if he wanted to stay at home and mother our children and clean the house? We wouldn't have a home, or I would be working a "paid" job and not doing what I love to do.  Our life would be completely upside down all because I wanted equality. 

I consider myself a pretty smart cookie... smarter than most people, but my husband is the smartest person I know!  Smarter than me.  I love the fact that I respect him and his intelligence.  I feel sheltered and taken care of and life's decisions are not all on my shoulders.  I trust his judgement implicitly, and we can't both be the head of the family.  There is no country that has two presidents, or two kings.

I truly believe that we are not all equal.  We are all VALUABLE, but not equal.  How can we be?  We were each created with our own unique gifts, talents and desires.  We can't be a world full of just leaders, or followers, or total bums.  I suppose our world has to be filled with a mixture, and we each are supposed to fulfill our purpose.  So, today I choose to embrace our inequality.  Suddenly, the pile of dishes in the sink (because I was working on a project last night) doesn't seem so high; it's just a reminder that Clint loves me enough to cook dinner while I worked.  And the half eaten 100 calorie bag of cookies in the playroom is just evidence of Clint's love for our daughter. The rolled up used diaper in her bathroom reminds me that he gave her a bath and played with her before putting her to bed last night.  Yep... our life is just as it should be, and I am thankful.  I'm going to dust the hand-soap bottles now, but I'll do it with a smile.

Making REAL Southern Sweet Tea

I am a southern lady, and I like it that way.  But, sometimes when it occurs to me that not everyone else in the world is the same way, I think about how odd some of our traditions are.  Don’t get me wrong… I understand the purpose behind most of the traditions and sayings… and I think that Southern people are some of the best peeps to be around.  I love that we associate comfort with food, and that is a southern woman’s answer to almost every possible trial in life.  Your husband left you?  Let’s get together and eat a whole tub of ice cream!  Someone in your family passed away?  We will fill your house with enough fried chicken, corn casserole and peach cobbler to feed you and a small army for a month!  And not just the tough times…. Prayer meeting at church? Everyone bring food! Prayer just goes better on a full stomach.  (Southern Baptist women are by far the best cooks on the face of the earth… just sayin’)  Just had a baby?  We’ll take turns bringing food to you for weeks!  Family gathering?  Food!  And every holiday known to man is associated with some type of food to us.  There really doesn’t even have to be an “occasion”.  There has never been once that I have crossed the threshold of my Nanny’s house that she didn’t attempt to feed me… even if I had eaten right before coming there.  When people come to my house, it’s just natural for me to ask “Would you care for something to eat?  Let me get you something to drink!”  I WANT to feed anyone and everyone that comes to visit… and even some who don’t.  I take drinks outside to our lawn people when they come.  They have no clue what I am saying (and vice versa), but they are sweating and working in MY yard and that makes it my responsibility to offer them refreshment.

But, sometimes I think of the things that are a little more odd.  For instance,… I am not a “smoker”, but I have smoked in my lifetime, and I can only do so sitting down.  I don’t know why, but as a southern lady we are taught that it is “crass” (how’s that for an old-fashioned word?) to smoke while walking.  And standing is only marginally better, but acceptable if you have vacated your seat for someone older or more fragile than you.  I think of my dearly departed Meemaw… she smoked almost her whole life, but I can’t think of one instance where I saw her walk and smoke.  The only time I saw her stand to smoke was when she had visitors and they occupied the only two chairs on her porch. She would stand leaning against the railing as she delicately puffed.

A few others:  Never wear white pants/shoes between Labor Day and Memorial Day (I know it’s acceptable these days, I just can’t bring myself to do it); You can be as catty and vindictive as you want with your words, as long as you say them with a smile and a sweet southern voice; Similar to the previous one, but still distinctly different – You can criticize anyone about anything, as long as it is preceded or followed by the phrase “Bless their heart….” (example. “He really tried to make good grades, but he’s as dumb as a rock… bless his heart!  Or  “Bless her little heart… she thinks those white pants look good on her.”)

In the south, we are raised to be careful when gossiping (not that southern ladies would gossip!) because in the south we keep up with relations for several generations.  So, just because you’re talking about someone from two counties away, doesn’t mean that you aren’t about to insult the great-aunt, or third cousin twice removed of the person you are speaking to!

Of the UTMOST importance… as a southern hostess… always have REAL sweet tea on hand to offer guests.  The idea of having unsweetened tea and allowing people to add their own sweetener, or *gasp* real sugar, had to have been the work of either a Northerner, or Satan himself.  Drinking a glass of unsweetened tea with undissolved sugar crystals swirling around is nothing like drinking a tall glass of sweet refreshing tea!  I can hear the ice cubes clinking against the glass now.  Ahhh.... nectar of the gods.  And, if you don’t know the secret to making REAL southern sweet tea… I suggest that you find your best “Southern” gal-pal and fall on her mercy to beg for the secret. 

In The Closet Again....

In the small group portion of Ladies Bible Study on Wednesday, one of the other ladies used the phrase "On my knees in my closet..."  I was a little taken aback, because I seriously thought that I was the only person who goes into my closet to pray.  One of the other ladies must have been a little surprised also, just in a different way.  She asked to clarify if the lady meant literally- her closet, or was it figurative.  I learned that apparently it IS a "term" that I didn't realize existed.  And after Googling it, I found that there are many people with literal "Prayer Closets".  Who knew that I was so normal?  Well, maybe I shouldn't go that far....

I love my closet.  My closet is located inside my bathroom, so if I am in my closet with the door closed, then there are at least 2 doors between me and the rest of the world.  I have no idea if my family realizes what I do in there so much.... maybe they just think I have IBS, or some affliction that it would be embarrassing to mention.  I usually start out looking at the clothes and shoes... either trying to figure out what is left that I can still fit into without looking like a reject from a sausage factory... or touching some of my favorites that I am convinced I will wear again.  But, even when prayer wasn't my original intent (sometimes it is just a sanctuary where I can't hear the toddler chasing the dogs with the plastic golf clubs) I always wind up on my knees.  It is where I am most real.  It is where shouldering the burdens of others and trying to lift them up is not neccessary.  It is where I don't have to smile and tell people that I am fine after my miscarriage last month.  And really -- I am fine.  I have such joy in my life, and I am so blessed.  But sometimes, I just lay it all down and for a little while it is ok if I am not ok.  There are other times that I'm just so overwhelmed with how much HE loves me, and other times that I am praying for other people in my life.  Whatever the reason, I am finding that I spend a lot of time "in the closet", and I'm ok with that.

So, I've decided to embrace it!  My mission this weekend is to have that specific area designated as my "Prayer Closet".  Maybe a rug/pillow to make it a little more comfy, I have a few built-in shelves that will be perfect to hold a candle, my bible, my bible study materials etc.  I hope that my home is always a house where God dwells, but I kind of feel like I'm sprucing up a guest room for company.  I'm so excited to be making a special place to honor Him.  And, maybe I'll let my family in on the secret so they'll quit trying to push the bran products. J/K about the last part.


PS. My unanswerable question for the day:  my daugher loves bananas and the baby ravioli.... but if she loves them so much, why does she rub half of it in her hair?  And would it be bad to just take her in the back yard and hose her down instead of going through the WHOLE bath-time routine in the middle of the day?

Coffee = Sanity, Maybe

Can I just get a I.V. direct line of coffee into my bloodstream?  If it was not for coffee, I'm pretty certain that I would have lost my sanity about 8 days ago!  Why is it that whenever you start a diet -- actually, I'm pretty sure that it's the same regardless of what you're giving up, be it food, alcohol, cigarettes, crack cocaine -- that everyone around you turns into unforgivably annoying lunatics?  I started the Hcg diet a week and a half ago, and I'm attempting to live for 40 days on a 500 calorie a day diet.  No comments, please. I'm not an idiot, I've done my research into the science behind this diet.  500 calories a day is not sustainable, unless you're getting the daily injections of Hcg... which I am.  My problem is not with hunger, it's with my brain that keeps telling me that I want FOOD!  :-)

It's SO difficult, but I've seen that the weight will come off as long as I stick to it exactly, so it really is all on me!  Either way, I walk away from this diet with a better feeling because 1 of 2 things will happen.  1) (my favorite) I get smart and stick to it until the end and fight the weight off and enjoy the closet full of clothes that have been missing my attention for months  or 2) I realize that I don't really despise my body and curves as much as I thought I did, because the reward is not worth the pain.

Coffee has kept me sane, though.  When my toddler has crumbled oreos from the kitchen all the way into the living room to mix with the milk she spilled on the entertainment center, and my dog has copped a squat in his favorite place (the dining room, for crying out loud!), my teenager announces that regardless of the fact that I've been cleaning all day.... everything except myself, that is, that she needs supplies for a project... by tomorrow, and my husband is lost and wandering around the house in search of the clothes that he threw in the floor last week, little does he know that they made their way to the laundry room (not sure if he knows we have one)... NOT that they got washed.  They're crumpled up in the floor underneath the pillowcase I used to clean up the dog vomit and the thousands of towels that somehow get used by only 4 people every week (hence using the pillowcase)...

...and all of this makes me want to just pull a chair up to the pantry and stuff my face with Ho-Ho's, Ding-Dongs and Doritos!  And, maybe some bacon for good measure.  It really has nothing to do with being hungry.

It's not only people that get on my nerves, but also those annoying little kid shows.  Seriously?  What is up with that show Yo Gabba Gabba?  Maybe the lack of food is making me looney, but does the tall red guy resemble an, um.... uh, a huge red "personal massager" with nubbies, or is that just me? Sophia loves that show, and Barney. I know that some parents ban Barney, but who wouldn't love Barney?  He keeps my Energizer-Bunny daughter entertained for more than 30 seconds at a time AND he sings about taking naps. He's tops in my book. Although, he is slightly annoying with his perkiness, and he does seem just a mite too friendly with the kiddos.  Have you ever noticed that if a kid goes off alone, he always follows the lone kid instead of staying w/ the crowd?  Just sayin....

Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of a blog, lately.  I had a conversation with a friend this weekend and she told me that she believes that our very first passion in life is actually what God's plan is for us.  It makes perfect sense to me.  I've been wondering for a few years about what I WANT to do, what will make me fulfilled.  I've come to the conclusion that I have no idea.  I am just waiting and learning until God decides to reveal his plan for me.  I'm not 100% sold that my first passion (for reading and writing) is His plan for me, but it's always been there in the back of my mind as an option.  I've avoided it for fear of failing.  That's what draws me to Math and Science.  In those subjects, things just are what they are.  There is a right and a wrong answer.  Not so with writing.  I thought a blog might help me get some thoughts out of my head and onto paper (or screen) where I can work with the tangible.  Even if no one reads these words, they have already helped me by taking a step toward DOING something.  I feel better already!  I think I should celebrate with chocolate... but, instead I will just sip my black hazelnut coffee.  Yum.  Oh wait, I'll do that after I discover how my daughter has managed to drench herself in water when the bathroom doors are all closed.  Do I want to know?  SERENITY NOW!