oh nooooooes!

Little Frog

My youngest nephew, Little Frog, is a huge Looney Tunes fan and when he's being good he gets to watch it as a treat during his rest time. Today was one such day so we (my sister, mother, and I) were mystified when he left his rest time and his cartoons and came to the living room in tears. After much cajoling we finally figured out what had upset him so badly:


Apparently, the episode that came on was in black and white instead of in color. 


He was convinced that the television was broken and he could no longer watch Looney Tunes. We couldn't convince him otherwise and he cried himself to sleep. We couldn't stop laughing for a good ten minutes as he sobbed and someday this picture is getting shown to a girlfriend.

Papa Prays

It is a very great gift to be given parents who pray for us.

Quirky Kids and Cup Art

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hope

Hope is a quiet creature. He doesn't precisely sneak back in because how can something that is so looked for sneak? Yet, for all my waiting and praying, for all my searching and midnight vigils at the front door, I woke up this morning and found Hope standing there in companionable silence- as if he'd never left at all.

-Zonoma

Macaroni Power

Once upon a time, before the advent of slumber parties and hulu, Friday nights were Forced Family Fun nights. We ate junk food and sipped root beers while we played board games. The boys and I planned for Fridays all week long, hammering out important questions like, “Pizza or nachos?” and “Monopoly or LEGO Star Wars?” For the record, I started opting for LEGO Star Wars because I got sick and tired of being bankrupted by a seven year old. When the big day finally came around, Little Man (aka: Captain Awesome) would catch the bus to school while Trooper and I got busy cleaning the house.

On the particular morning I’m remembering, the house needed more attention than usual but all I could think about was the warm, fuzzy blanket on the couch and how nice it was to have Trooper cuddled up next to me watching cartoons. As a result, when the bus pulled off that morning I curled up with Trooper on the couch and fell instantly, blissfully asleep.

Why is it that when we compromise it is our loved ones who seem to suffer the most? When I woke up and realized how far behind schedule I was, I panicked. I began to clean like a madwoman, brushing off poor little Trooper’s repeated attempts to help with phrases like, “This is a Mommy-sized job. Go play.” I was making pretty good time this way until I began to unload the dishwasher. That's when I hit a speed bump. I wanted to ‘get it done’ so that I could tackle the mountain range of dirty dishes covering my kitchen counters. Trooper, though, was in a helpful mood and he knew that unloading the dishwasher was a job just his size because it has been his job for nearly six months now.

Have you ever watched a preschooler unload a dishwasher? It is excruciating. Painful, even. I am fairly certain that this in the only span of daylight that my young son moves at less than 90 miles per hour. He is ‘busy’ by nature and never really walks anywhere but rather dances everywhere. I’ve worked a long time to make sure he understands the importance of walking slowly with mommy’s dishes and he is ever so careful with them now. He practically tiptoes, cradling one dish in his two little hands, all the way to the other side of the room and puts it away. He then allows himself a little victory dance for being so clever before running over to the dishwasher for another plate or bowl to put away. The concentration needed for this harnessing of energy is immense and he is so relieved by the time it is time to put away the ‘plastic’ and the ‘silverware’ that he is back to dancing his way to the pantry where they belong, even more hyper than when the dishwasher was opened.

Please remember, I was a woman on a mission. I had a house to clean and a meal to cook so that I could relax and have Forced Family Fun Night with my children, come Hell or high water!

My youngest son, oblivious to my personal mission statement and the exasperated looks I was giving him, was nearly finished unloading the dishwasher when he began a kung-fu style fight with an invisible foe. He whirled and kicked and began to make ‘cool’ sound effects like “whoosh” and “kaPOW” in all the right places-- all while wielding a dripping silver colander and a dangerous looking wooden spoon. The fight must not have been going well for him because as I opened my mouth to tell him Just hurry up!, he pulled out the big guns. Before I could get the words out, he thrust the colander into the air and brandished his spoon with a flourish and shouted, “MACAWONI POW-WAH!”

I’m not sure where Macaroni Power rates when compared to Superman and the Justice League or the X Men and the Mutant League but I know that it had an immediate effect on me. Instead of hurrying my son along, I found myself thinking, “I did it again.” I got so caught up in ‘how’ I could get things done that I forgot ‘why’ I was doing them. Wasn’t the whole point of cleaning the house so that I could spend time with my children? It took a new and dubious superpower to remind me of that little fact.

Macaroni Power, who knew?


(rewrite, original 02/2008)

legacy of truth

The seeds of my faith in God were not planted within a church or by a caring friend. They were planted by my parents. My father is a great man… it is only now that I can look back and begin to catch a glimpse of the legacy he is building for each of his daughters. Though we rarely attended churches, it was not unusual for us to discuss his (and later our) faith. In some of my favorite memories my mother would find my father and I pouring over some often read passage of Scripture while he tried to help me understand with something more than a child’s eyes. My father rarely answered any questions without pulling out a Bible and showing me the answers in black and white. He never fielded a question and never told me I wouldn’t understand. Likewise, he never tried to hide ignorance if he didn’t have an answer.

I loved these talks- and sometimes debates- with my father. I still do, though they are rarer now. They didn’t always clarify the particular point I was asking about but they always left me wanting to find more for myself, to KNOW. You see, my father’s greatest gift – his legacy – to me was that he taught me to think.

Knowing how to think is a fine thing but it was my mother who quietly directed this skill, this fascination with philosophies and cultures and histories. Moms are funny like that, at least mine was. She never tried to enter the dizzying displays of intellect that my father seemed to stir up. She always waited until the quiet moments – she was the center of the home. The eye of the storm in times of crisis and it was her that taught all of us the value of honesty. My mother never let me hide behind my intellect, she always forced me to look into the mirror and see what was broken, what needed fixed before I could move forward. Frankly, she scared the bejeezers out of me. It was like she could read my mind. She can still do it, too.

I accepted Jesus into my heart at a very young age, about 7 or so, and grew up open to the teachings I heard. The older I got, though, the more doubt began to take hold. By the time I was in high school, I vacillated between being completely on fire for Christ and wondering if there was a God out there.  I remember wondering if, in two thousand years from now, people wouldn’t read about me and others like me in their history books and laugh at the foolishness of ‘Christianity’, much as the modern free countries now view the Aztecs’ notion of human sacrifice and the other ancient cultures that seem so backwards to us.

I felt a tremendous amount of guilt for even entertaining the idea that we, as the Church, had it all wrong. What if we already missed the boat? What if I wasn’t really forgiven? What if ‘it didn’t take’? What if Jesus was some long-haired, pot-smoking charmer with lots of groupies and not the Son of God? Now, looking back, I know that these are not original questions, nor were they especially deep. They are profound only because they are, in a sense, a rite of passage for every person who ever encounters the Gospel that Jesus surrendered his divinity for a mortal life of servitude and frustration and death all to give us a chance to spend eternity with our Creator God instead of separated from him. I also realize that I was fortunate enough to have a father who invited questions like this.

 I remember when I finally admitted to my father how worried I was that we would be mocked by future generations. How did we know we were right?  I don’t recall exactly when this conversation took place, nor do I recall that my dad had all the answers. I just remember his response: “You can’t know that, Jessica.” I was disappointed by this and yet, at the same time, I was oddly comforted by the idea that no one else knew, either. This put me instantly in the company of great thinkers throughout the ages. I wasn’t alone, nor was I stupid or faithless for thinking these questions. In fact, I had unwittingly become a Truth Seeker.

When you seek Truth, do you know what happens? He finds you. No matter what path you tread, if you are earnestly seeking Truth, He will find you in the end.

It is an ongoing process, I don’t think one can ever find the entirety of Truth.  Do you? (That would be the equivilent of expecting to fathom all the depths of God!)  I’ve long since stopped allowing myself to feel guilty for the questions I ask. Children are allowed to ask questions of their parents. Why shouldn’t I ask them of my God? I’ve discovered that God is big enough to handle all my questions.

Why is this idea of seeking out Truth for yourself so important? It’s not like Truth comes in different breeds, like dogs. Truth is Truth is Truth. It will never change. What makes finding It for yourself so important is the journey. Truth may not change, but you will. To quote a good friend of mine:

I question whether somebody who hasn't questioned themselves in their own beliefs can really say they carry those beliefs at all.

It's the point where you become a person in your own right, free from whatever formative influences from your youth.  Simply being a Christian, Hindu, or anything else because that's how you were raised and nothing more is an insult to yourself, and it lessens what you think you believe in.  That's not any kind of spiritual or intellectual journey at all, it's an excuse not to take one in the first place.

Socrates said "The unexamined life is not worth living," and I tend to agree with that.  Any belief that in your mind and heart can't endure the rigors of your own questioning hasn't earned your belief at all, and by the same token once it has, you know in that moment that it's true.  And for people who never went through that process, never took the time to try and get a handle on what they believe, why they believe, and whether they want to believe it...that's one of the big reasons they can’t imagine a thing like faith, and will probably never understand it.       –Exeter,  December 2007

It is the testing of what we believe and why that brings our faith to life. It is the trying of our beliefs in the crucibles of our minds and hearts that make them tangible. How often do we sit in our seats on Sunday mornings and listen to a message, nodding in agreement, and accept every word we hear as true because a pastor said it? Sometimes, we even feel something stir inside our chest, our pulse picks up and something resonates in us… our hearts hear the echoes of truth and we get excited. Then, we go home and turn on the game and… the stirring fades away and we get disappointed. How often does this happen? How often do we find ourselves simply existing between random nuggets of truth that are spoon fed to us from a pulpit? Far too often! Isn’t it better to challenge each message you hear in your heart? To rush home and study the given Scriptures in context. Don’t allow yourself to swallow everything put in front of you. Challenge them by going home and opening your Bibles… God is not going to be offended, I promise.

My challenge to each of you for this coming year is this: Become a Truth Seeker. Don’t believe everything I say just because I get up here and teach. Who am I when you have a God you can go to? Who am I? Do I read different words than your Bibles present to you? No. I teach nothing that you could not discover for yourself by opening up your Bibles and reading. When you begin to do that, then call me. We’ll chat.