Lent, finally.

Photo by Jarod Carruthers via Flickr

It is 11:00 in the morning and I've just stepped onto the scale for the third time today. There was the early morning weigh-in, the post-breakfast weigh-in, and the post-workout (and half a bagel with cream cheese) weigh in. None of which varied wildly from each other but all of which produced a number that was decidedly NOT to my liking.

And there, in the bathroom with that ugly number staring back at me, I got it. That little whisper-voice I've been waiting to hear for weeks. "You need to give this up for Lent."

I know, I'm a few days late. But you see, I've been waiting. Waiting for God to tell me that thing I needed to give up or add on. And nothing seemed quite right.

Chocolate? Sugar? Both good things to give up, but I knew they were wrong for me. Wrong because I couldn't make my heart be right to do it. Wrong because they'd put the focus onto myself and how many pounds I might lose if I gave them up. It would be a diet exercise, not a surrender one.

But this, this is the ultimate surrender for me. Taking the focus off of myself, off of trying, off of believing that I am no more than that number that stares back at me every day. Isn't that the purpose of Lent? To stop focusing on ourselves and turn our focus to God? To die to self? Of all the ways I can think of to die to self, this is probably the most difficult for me.

So I'm stepping off the scale for the next 40 (or so) days. And I'm not putting it away (because I always know where it is) and I'm not asking my husband to hide it (because he's really bad at hiding it). I want it there staring at me every morning as a reminder that when I am focused on myself so intently I lose my focus on God. When all I see are my short-comings and the things that I want to work on in my life I miss seeing the things that God wants to work on in my life. I start to think that what I do for myself is more important than God working in me and through me. I forget that my weight does not determine my worth in God's eyes.

Photo by Josh DiMauro via Flickr

Can I admit that right now I'm scared nearly to tears? Can I confess that I'd rather God told me to give up something else? Can I be honest enough to say I want to ignore this whisper as a figment of my imagination?

This is where I'm broken. This is where I need a resurrection.

Pinterest, and a love song

Pinterest. That great scrapbook of the internet where we go to plan our dreams of houses, weddings, children and a 5-star gourmet kitchen. You can learn a lot about people by spending a few minutes looking at what they pin. This one dreams of urban homesteading. That one loves all things old-fashioned and romantic. Another wants to travel the world. Edgy, soft, bold, quirky...all of these come through when you look at what interests people.

Pithy quotes and bumper sticker philosophy abound. Sometimes I see something that I agree with wholeheartedly and pin it to an inspiration board.

From the lovely elembee.com via Pinterest

Sometimes I see things that just make me roll my eyes and move on because of the superficiality, misspelling, or really poor theology.

And then there are pins that I see that irritate me so much I decide to devote a blog post to them. Why? Well, because I CAN!

This is one of those pins.

via Pinterest

Oh, this bugs me. I suppose it particularly bugs me because it is the time of year where we are told that love must be summed up in grand gestures of flowers, cards that cost almost as much as flowers used to cost, and jewelry. Because she doesn't know you love her if you don't buy her something from THAT store.

Yes, in order for love to be worth it there must be passion! It must be superlative! Big! Exciting!

Hogwash! (Because I use old fashioned words like that.)

Do you know what love looks like? Love looks like me, waking my husband the other morning and asking "Can you get the boys up and ready, because I'm not feeling well at all." And him doing it. Just getting up and doing it because I asked.

Love looks like a kiss goodbye in the morning and me truly hoping and caring that he has a good day.

Love looks like him when the first was tiny, holding him in the middle of the night so that I could sleep.

Love looks like him trying to find the right words to tell me how much he loves me and always worrying that he's not good enough at saying it. And I would take ten fumbling words from his heart over the most eloquent poetry any day.

It doesn't always look mad and passionate. Some days it looks like just getting by, just putting food on the table and getting the kids to bed. And if I ran away looking for mad and passionate I would miss the truth. And the truth is this: real love is extraordinary in ALL its forms. Never think that just because it doesn't look like a Hollywood screenplay that it isn't real love. Never think that just because your love story doesn't have fireworks and your toes don't tingle that it means your love is less than perfect. Look at your love on your own terms, not what someone else tells you it should be.

In the end we all find our own definition of what extraordinary love is. And I wouldn't trade this love for all the world.

The 5 stages of sickness

Stage 1: Denial. A scratchy throat? Nah, it's allergies. Or...something. I'm not getting sick. I don't have time to get sick. I'll just drink a lot of water and tomorrow it will ALL be gone. And look, I ate a lot of fruits and vegetables today so all of those vitamins are swimming around in my blood doing their job. Free radicals and antioxidants and all that stuff. Yep, by tomorrow morning I'll be just fine.


Stage 2: Anger. All right. WHO gave this to me? Did one of the boys bring it home from school? Was it that child who coughed without covering their mouth? Someone out and about who SHOULD have been home? It's not fair. I don't have time to be sick. Why can't people just stay home and keep their germs to themselves?

Stage 3: Bargaining. If I just get better I PROMISE I will clean the house from top to bottom! Everything will be clean and beautiful and fairies will dance over the sparkling surfaces of my kitchen tossing rainbows and joy everywhere. Just PLEASE let me feel better.

Stage 4: Depression. I will never feel better. I have always been sick and I will always be sick. There is no health. Pass the chocolate, it is the one joy I have left in life. Except I can't even taste it.

Stage 5: Acceptance. OK, so I'm sick. I've been sick before and it passed, so will this. At least I can stay home and work in the comfort of my robe and slippers. I think my cough is turning the corner into something slightly less miserable. I'll go drink another mug of tea.

Happy cold and flu season, ya'll!

By Andrea Joseph via Flickr

Old school

"I had an argument with one of my friends in class today," he says. "We were talking about businesses we would create when we grow up and he said he wanted to have a weapons store. I said I didn't like that because it is about killing people."

"Some of the kids tease me at lunch and say I am old school because I say a prayer before I eat."

Photo by vakoom via Flickr

"I don't think I trust those science people and their evolution stuff."

Oh, God help me. I'm so not ready for this. I'm not ready to handle even one of those issues let alone all three in the span of a fifteen minute ride home from church when it is already past their bedtime. Can I please go back to the days when all I had to do is sing 'Jesus loves me, this I know' to them? Back to the days when we weren't on the 'read through the picture Bible in a year' plan and I didn't have to try to explain why all those people had to die and reconcile that with a God who loves completely.

I'm still trying to wrap MY mind around issues of deep theology and ambiguity and being okay with questioning, I'm not ready to deal with it in a nine year old. How do I explain that there are things we don't know to a child for whom logic has an answer for everything? How do I explain that there isn't anything bad or evil about scientific fact and that it is perfectly all right to weigh everything and come to his own conclusions? How do I explain why some people don't believe in God, or why they think it is silly to pray before a meal? How do I explain that two people can love God with all their heart but believe very different things on so many issues?

photo by Sylvain Masson via Flickr

I want it to be easy for him, but it isn't. It will never get any simpler than it is now. All I have to offer is the heart of a broken mother on her own long journey.

All I can do is pray every day, "God help me."

I take his face in my hands and look into his eyes. "I don't know the answer on this", I tell him. "But this one thing I do know for certain from the Bible. That God loved YOU so much that even if you were the only person on earth he would still have sent Jesus to die for you. THAT I know, even when I'm not sure of any other answers."

And for now, just for this evening, that seems to be answer enough.