Who?

I bought an O magazine tonight at the drug store. I blame Clare's teacher since Clare and I are required to find pictures in magazines that begin with letters of the alphabet for Clare to cut out and present to class each week. Not having many of these (Runner's World is surprisingly lame in the alphabet picture arena), I am forced to buy them. Magazine covers are temptresses. With the fabulous jeweled greens on the cover and cover story that read "Find Your True Calling: A Guide to Discovering Who You're Meant to Be," I quickly threw it into my basket and rushed to get out of the store. I was partly excited and partly ashamed. Neither emotion really mattered because for $4.50 I was about to be enlightened. After I put Clare to bed, I started my journey. I read the first article. I completed the first brainstorm. I asked my husband to describe me in three words. I took the motivational style test. I read the successful sidebar stories. What did I find, you ask?

I love to run (ok, come on Oprah. You can do better than that). I love photography - mine and other people's (Still a cheap parlor trick since everyone does). I love to sing (so what, who doesn't?) I want to play the piano again (You are right, O, I did really love that and I really have been thinking about taking up lessons again). Then she did it...her crafty little test produced one interesting result. I really love unique paper and want to learn to make my own paper art to combine with pressed flowers and poetry, mine and other people's (What? Hello crazy, where have you been hiding?).

The truth is that I didn't find out too much that I didn't know, but it also wasn't the worst way I'd ever spent an evening alone. The interesting thing is that I did very much feel the -

girl, you're amazing. Get out there and do what you love - you have our permission and encouragement to do so - vibe once I finished and was pretty excited about taking these talents or passions of mine a little more seriously. The experience also challenged me to sit down and not just figure out what I like, but to match it with situational goals that I am to discuss with a friend (Nice touch, O, accountability does help motivate people to do)

I'll give it to Oprah, it was worth $4.50 to get cracking on my personal to-do-list. I'm accountable to Oprah now so I have to do something. Someday soon I'm going to call about piano lessons, look for more updated camera equipment on craigslist, and pick up some flowers and homemade paper. Anyway, it all sounds like a really fun way to spend some time and to give me something useful to fill up the winter nights coming up. Oh, and If you get crappy hand-made gifts from me this Christmas, just understand that I've simply discovered "the me" I've always meant to be.

Do you want to get well?

“Do you want to get well? Get up! Pick up your mat and walk” (John 5:6,8, NIV).

Do you want to get well?

That seems like a strange question, doesn’t it. But sometimes we can get so used to being soul sick, we don’t even realize that we are not truly well. Sometimes the chains we wear shackled to our hearts become so comfortable, we get used to the pain and forget what it is like to be well. Perhaps some of us have never known. But the big question is – do you want to get well?

Do you want to be free?

"Of course I do", I hear you say. But do you really? There was a certain man that Jesus encountered who faced the same crossroads in his life. In Jerusalem, men and women with various infirmities congregated at the Sheep Gate Pool. Surrounding the pool were five porticoes or shelters, where sick people clustered, waiting for the “moving of the waters.” They believed an angel of the Lord came down from heaven at certain seasons and stirred the pool. When the people saw the waters ripple, they all made a mad dash to jump in. They believed that the first one to make it to the pool would be healed. One man, an invalid, had been waiting by the pool for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw the man lying there and learned that he had been doing so for thirty-eight years, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6). That seems like an unusual question – or does it? Sometimes we get used to being “sick.” We become attached to our wounds. They become a part of who we are and we can’t imagine life without them. For this man, healing meant a drastic life change. He would have to get a job, become a responsible adult, and stop lounging by the pool all day.

Oh, we say we want to be free, but do we?

Pain can become an idol. Not that we worship it in a good sense. But we worship it as an awesome force and allow it to control our lives. When we allow our past to control our lives and dictate our future, we are giving it the power of a god and making it an idol. Author Richard Exley wrote: “We can hug our hurts and make a shrine out of our sorrows or we can offer them to God as a sacrifice of praise. The choice is ours.” Did the invalid want to get well? He had not asked for Jesus’ help. It seems he clung to his illness and blamed it on those around him – a victim of circumstance. “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred,” he said. We don’t know if he had lost the will to be healed, was afraid to lose the income of a beggar, or simply had accepted lameness as his lot in life. In any case, he came face to face with the one who could set him free. The man never did answer Jesus’ question. Jesus simply said, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk” (John 5:1-8). And he did. Thirty-eight years is a long time to be immobile, and yet, in my own life there were some things that had held me back for the same amount of time. I was paralyzed by feelings of inferiority, insecurity, and inadequacy because of messages from my past. Then Jesus asked me, “Do you want to get well?” Satan wants to use our past to paralyze us. God wants to use our past to propel us! The choice is ours.

Sharon Jaynes is the author of this devotional, which I have posted separate from my daily devotional that I receive daily as part of "Girlfriends in God"

because today I needed to laugh, and momma always provides...

I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way so I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness.

Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but it's still on the list.

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

The early bird might get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.

Evening news is where they begin with 'Good evening', and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.

How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?

Some people are like Slinkies - not really good for anything, but you can't help smiling when you see one tumble down the stairs.

Dolphins are so smart that within a few weeks of captivity they can train people to stand on the very edge of the pool and throw them fish.

I thought I wanted a career. It turns out I just wanted pay checks.

Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says "If an emergency, Notify:" I put "DOCTOR".

Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut and still think they are sexy.

(It's perfectly ok to laugh at silly little sayings that belong on bumper stickers. Enjoy)

Stick

Clare picked up a stick today that resembled a divining rod and started walking toward the road. Sugar, her pet cat/guerrilla warfare enemy, started running toward us. Clare saw him , smiled broadly, and ran back toward him (with the stick).

"Hey, Sugar, let's play stick" she yelled.

As she darts down the driveway with the thing, I'm thinking to myself, "Wow, she's about to wail on Sugar." I was right. Not such a fun game. I tried to explain that being hit with a stick, even if the person hitting you is happy and laughing, really isn't a lot of fun. What I didn't realize at that time was that he was waiting for his opportunity to play his game with Clare. Oh, it was on.

Fast forward twenty minutes. She's sitting next to him, while he is calmly draped over a railroad tie, in a moment that can only be described as angelic. Mason and I are commenting on their love for each other and how she'll never have a cat love her as much as Sugar does. She's rubbing his head and he's loving all of her affection. It was a really sweet moment right up until the moment when she left her arm near him, but turned her head toward us with a smile that said, "isn't he just perfect?"

With one single swipe, the love was gone and she was screaming with a gashed and bloody arm. Sugar got up and sauntered into the garage with what I can only imagine was a look that said, "How do you like that game, huh? Claws with Clare is my favorite. Next time you better check yo'self with that stick." Meanwhile Clare, between her gasps and screams, was asking me why Sugar would do this because she was being so gentle and sweet. At this point, I might mention that I am laughing uncontrollably. It was such a horrible parenting moment. I'm not sure what was sadder, the fact that Clare was screaming crying with a gashed and bloody arm, or that we were both laughing so hard that all we could do was comfort her as we laughed. We'll just write this one down in her book for her therapist later on.

All you need is love?

Oh man it’s been a tough week. I understand that every parent has them, but man-oh-man I had hoped my precious little girl would be different. It’s been the solid gold week of “I don’t care about you Mommy.” Not simply the “I don’t care about you”, but the “I won’t listen to you, I will try to hurt your feelings over-and-over, and I will smile while doing it to show you I really do not care about you” all freaking week. Does anything hurt more than your child hurting you? I think not.
I mean, I love my baby. L-O-V-E her. None of you other mothers can possibly understand. You certainly do not love your child/children as much. That is why your children do not worship the ground you walk on. See, I exist to make her happy. I worry about her well being, take care of her, and think about her morning, noon, and night. I wash her clothes and buy her new ones when she outgrows the old ones. I make sure she is well fed and buy her the special snacks and treats that she likes most. I wake up every-single-night to cover her back up and calm her when she’s had a bad dream. I buy Valentines and help her write her name. I plan birthdays a year in advance and Christmas, too! I kiss all of her boo-boos and make everything better. If she says jump, I often find myself jumping. I’m trying to think of something I have not or would not do for her. It’s a give and take relationship. I give and she takes. So obviously she will love me because I am the best mother in the world and she will feel compelled to love me deeply for the rest of her life, right?

What’s that?

What did I hear all of you other mothers collectively say?

Wait…did I hear you correctly?

You mean…we all do this?

You mean…it’s not your fault that your child snubs you and turns his or her nose at your love and affection?

You mean…this is universally what it means to be a mother?

I am truly shocked!

Tongue-in-cheek aside I walked about this week like I’d been kicked in the heart, while my little one kept finding new ways to kick me harder. By Wednesday night, after putting her to bed early for the fifth night in a row because of her behavior, I had to excuse myself and go hide in my bedroom. In there, I fell on the ground moaning and crying so hard and loud that, at one point, I wondered whose voice I was hearing. I imagined Mason running to hide. I imagined myself running and hiding. I imagined Clare smiling in her bed enjoying the whole scene.

“JESUS!” I cried out, “Please, help me.”

It is my experience that Jesus kind of does and kind of doesn’t help in these situations. It depends on my definition of help. I want the cool, sparkly, fairy-wand help. I want a fairy godmother to come and make everything bloom and give me a beautiful dress to wear and send me to the ball with a catchy song. I want some giant hand to come and pat my back and wipe my tears and tell me it’ll all be ok. I don’t want to be the mommy for a minute. I need my God, my heavenly father, to help me. I want my baby to need me. I want my baby to love me. I want this week to be over. None of these happen while I’m crying. So, I cry louder and longer.

Jesus isn’t Disney.

He’s a listener and a whisperer.

After awhile I collected myself, went back into her bedroom, turned on her light, and gently asked her to sit next to me. I pulled her tiny little body as close to my tired and hurting heart as I could. With all of the love I am capable of, I told her that I didn’t care if she loved me or not, that I loved her and I always would love her no matter what. I promised her that she could never do anything to make me not love her. Even as I said those words, I knew she would make me prove them over and over in our life together. I guess she needed to know that because all of the ugly stopped and she was my baby again. I mean it came to a complete stop.

Thank you for that little call to action, Jesus. You whispered just the right words and gave me just the right answer even if there weren’t any magical sparkles, a dress, a ball and a catchy song to go with it. Thanks for being plain old Jesus for me.

Jeremiah 33:3
Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.

Ugh Pugs

Clare has been wanting a puppy for the last year. Our dog, Molly, really isn't a great dog. She's kind of like a stuffed animal that eats and has to go to the bathroom. It's not that she's not wonderful, she's just not the right fit for our family. But if you adopt a dog and give her a second chance, you're committed for the long haul, right? Even if she hides 231/2 hours a day under the sink and shivers in fear each time you walk in the room. Anyway, poor Clare needs a four legged friend to love her back, when she's trying to hard to be lovable. So, puppy has been on the tip of her tongue for most of her life now. Recently she's been very specific with her request, requesting not just any puppy but a Pug (my word they are cute). Mason and I have researched the breed, looked at the logistics of bringing another life into the house, and decided this is a reasonable dog for her to set her sites on. (I should note here that we never 'priced one out'). Since I do not want to bring another thing into the house that is my responsibility, I've told her that she must make sure to help take care of Molly every day in order for Santa to seriously look at getting her a pug puppy for Christmas next year. Her new job each day is to feed Molly, which is going very well. I am now counting on the fact that she'll get bored with it. After listening to her tell yet another person that Santa is bringing her a Pug for Christmas, and this person responding with how she has had Pugs all of her life and they're so wonderful....lalalalala...squeal...lalalala...yay....I decided to look for breeders in Alabama. Whew, we have a few thank goodness. At that moment, I also decided to price them out; you know with the whole five year old birthday Disney World trip and all in October, I might want to go ahead and put a little money aside for the precious little bundle of Christmas present. HOLY CRAP! Rarely, and I mean R-A-R-E-L-Y, does the price of something take my breath away. This took my breath away, literally. I was thinking a couple of hundred dollars, maybe five hundred at the max, but no! In order to get Clare a puppy from a reputable breeder and not a puppy farm it's going to cost us around two thousand dollars all told. I felt a little sick to my stomach. I still feel a little sick to my stomach. Like I said, I'm kind of hoping the feeding the dog thing peters out because I need a reason to get her an off brand puppy...you know the cute ones at the pound that cost $75 dollars. Bet you that I won't be reminding her every day to feed Molly. I might actually start feeding Molly before she wakes up just to stunt her little Christmas dream, "I'm sorry Clare, Molly doesn't eat any more either." If that doesn't work, I'm starting the Christmas fund. Don't be surprised when you see me standing at the end of the interstate exit with a jar and a sign that doesn't ask for food, but shows a graph of how much I have left to collect. Oh and all of you Pug owners out there, if you see a four year old little girl coming and asking you questions about Pugs please tell her they're mean little bitey things and that she needs a mutt instead. Thank you in advance!

We assemble
Singular moments
In silent memories

Time shifts
We understand everything
And nothing

For us
Pine trees are babies
Beads are lives

We swing
Straight into the sky
Like Birds

Shoes transposed
Speak
I love you