Why I Love Youth Ministry (for selfish reasons)

        Monday was a bit of a bad day. Tropical Storm Debby hit us. On that note, who is in charge of picking out these names? Wherever those people are, they are having a bit of a chuckle. Debby? Really? Debby is a name that conjured up images of mom jeans and freshly baked pies. Destruction and chaos - not so much. Storms should be manly, powerfully named. Tropical Storm Roman Maximus Centaur? I'll take it. But Hurricane Susie or Tropical Storm Roger? C'mon people. As a species, we're smashing sub-atomic particles together in a lab under the ground in Europe and we can't think of more appropriate names for damage causing storms? Ridiculous.
        Back to Monday. What with all the flooding caused by (sigh) Debby, our 70's septic system just shrugged its shoulders and stopped trying. When my husband flushed the toilet that morning, it overflowed. The bath rugs soon gave off the acidic tang of urine. At 6 am. So there we were, trapped in our house in a deluge of rain with three kids 6 and under. We went to Walmart around noon so we could all go to the bathroom and I can't say that it was much of an improvement over squatting in the yard. It was at Walmart the I noticed the black shorts I wore that day felt a little different. Upon further inspection, I noted that they were maternity shorts. MATERNITY SHORTS, PEOPLE. The worst part is, I didn't even notice for about 4 hours. So I'm standing in Walmart wearing maternity shorts while my womb is decidedly empty and has been for, oh, over a year. I may or may not have eaten 3 cake cookies that afternoon to calm my distress. In my defense, they had no panel. No panel, I swear!
         Monday afternoon came the plumber, who dug around in the yard for a couple hours and declared there was nothing he could do. The septic guys came at 4 and pumped it out. Sigh of relief. An hour later, the toilets overflowed again. Right before youth group. Pouring rain, roads flooded, toilets clogged. We whispered to each other that perhaps we should have canceled group that night.
         As is always the case, I'm so glad we didn't. The middle school age group is...interesting. They still have the sweetness of being a kid paired with the volatility of being a teen. Right on the cusp of figuring out who they are, it is a privilege to be a part of their lives at this pivotal time. Matt and I raced around playing freeze tag and balloon volleyball, our joints audibly creaking. We get to have so much fun with them, this group of kids. Youth ministry is one of those things you initially get into for others. God puts a call over your life and you do it. Maybe happily or maybe stomping your feet like a toddler all the way. Fine, I'll do it for them, to better their lives. And in the end, whether it's youth ministry or soup kitchens or third world missions, it's you who is changed for the better. Youth ministry challenges me to keep my walk with God real, to lay my struggles before others, to get in better shape so I can cream them in tag.
         Monday evening we made the decision to pack up and head to my parents, whose plumbing was intact. We left at 10:30 that night, with three fussy kids, in a downpour. It was like the Exodus, fleeing our homeland with a plague of frogs spread out on the roads before us. In the midst of driving 50 mph on I-10, tailing Matt's car as close as I can so he can guide the way, I thanked God for youth group. For pulling me back to Him at the end of a bad day. Amid the cake cookies and the Justin Beiber haircuts and the raucous games, He is there.

In Which I Try Not to Be Arrogant

Part of the adoption homestudy stuff is that Matt and I have to write our autobiographies. Relatively simple, right? I mean, who knows me better than me? But this isn't some quick, easy, tell us about you type stuff (like just about every English paper I had from 6-10th grade. Which is kind of pathetic, really. While other, smarter, classier private school kids were translating the Iliad from Latin to English and then to creole for extra credit, I was penning my very boring memoir ad nauseum. It was always entitled 'About Me' but I could've titled it 'The Life of An Average Girl in Suburbia who Wears Slap Bracelets And Watches Way Too Many Episodes of Full House.")

Now I'm wondering what the rule is on how many words you can technically stuff into parentheses. Somewhere, my 8th grade grammar nazi of an English teacher is choking on her Metamucil.

So the autobiography. This one isn't just 'Tell us about yourself.' It comes with an outline. Like with bullets and all. There's about 400 questions including your BMI (so what if I added a few inches to my height? I could be wearing high heels) and the length of our courtship before marriage. That's right. Courtship. Like we were really sophisticated and mature.

Matt just sat down and typed it all out in one sitting. It's even slightly funny. His section on his personality is perfect. Lists his good characteristics without sounding full of himself. It's well-written. It's a perfect blend of honestly and humor. It ticks me off.

Whenever I try to write that section I either downplay my positive characteristics to the point that it looks like I shouldn't be trusted to keep potted basil alive (which is probably true) or I sound incredibly narcissistic - I'm the most awesome person you'll ever meet! I was the VP pick before Palin! Chuck Norris has me on speed dial!

So how do I make myself sound good enough without being too good? I'm not sure but as it turns out, the actual definition of awesome is to inspire awe. That may be overstating it a bit.

I'm thinking about using one of those middle school papers. "I really love jello. Jello makes me happy. I want more jello." I think I could swap out jello with children and voila! There's the paper.

It's hard to speak of my glowing parenting skills when my baby has had cheerios and goldfish the entire morning. Instead of the organic quinoa and broccoli casserole he normally has. Cheerios and goldfish! Like he's carb-loading for a marathon. Oh and when I apply temporary tattoos to my kids before sending them off to VBS. I'm probably on some sort of list now and I can expect a visit from a committee to 'see how we're doing.' That list is titled 'Unfortunate Children of Heathen Parents.' Hey, at least I put the happy butterfly on her ankle instead of her neck, like she originally wanted. That would bump us up to number one on that list. And get us a red circle around our name.

I'm off to write that bio. I'll have the dictionary open for synonyms of 'slightly above average parenting' and 'not quite mediocre.'

It will be phenomenal.

Things to Think On - June 2012

Recent articles I've read, quotes to appreciate and so on.

How Parents Enable Kids' Creativity - The Wall Street Journal

        "This idea of making something is very fundamental to human beings, and children really get that,"    says Mr. Dougherty, "We are not just consumers. We are makers of things."


What Americans Keep Ignoring About Finland's School Success - The Atlantic


         Decades ago, when the Finnish school system was badly in need of reform, the goal of the program that Finland instituted, resulting in so much success today, was never excellence. It was equity.


The Trouble With Bright Kids - Harvard Business Review Blog


            "Smart" praise kids were much quicker to doubt their ability, to lose confidence, and to become less effective performers as a result.


And from the Raising Real Men Blog (http://www.raisingrealmen.com/2012/04/the-goal/) 


             Your goal in life is not to be a teenager. Your goal is to become a man, and we’re going to help you become a man. What are the characteristics of manhood? We want to look at these virtues, things like honor, diligence, courage, and integrity, things that even a young man like you can develop and practice in small ways around the house …”

Picture Books We Love - Clever Jack Takes the Cake

Oh how I love new books. The shiny feel of crisp pages, the smell of wood and ink not yet worn off with use. A princess' 10th birthday, a boy with nothing to give - this is a great story. We follow Jack on his journey to the castle. He is met by bears and trolls and other such delightful plot twists - and proves he is indeed clever. The artwork is medieval in a wonky sort of way. We've had this book for a few weeks and it's already showing signs of love. That's a good thing over here.

Adoption you say?

Adoption is one of those subjects that usually elicit a strong response in people. I find, even at the beginning of this process, that people seem to fall into two categories. The first is quite positive. The exclamations of "That's wonderful!" and "How exciting!" Usually with a hug and perhaps a foray into their own lives, how they've always wanted to adopt. The second response is bewilderment. I find that it's older people who know we have three kids and are confused by the fact that we want to adopt. I was talking to an older (50's-60's) doctor at work and he asked if we are planning to get pregnant again. When I told him that no, in fact we are planning to adopt, his brow furrowed and he said "But you can have children - so why?"

So why indeed. 

When Matt and I were first married, about 11 years ago, he mentioned that someday he wanted to adopt. Now this was a man who dropped out of college to become a youth pastor so I chalked it up to the fact that he was a better person than I was (which is true). Over the years, we've moved a bit and changed jobs, as is often the case. To be honest, it's just plain easier and cheaper for us to have kids - we have been blessed with abundant fertility. Adoption was shelved in the back of our minds, along with finally getting around to making a will and going somewhere tropical. 

Adopting a child is generally considered a Christian thing to do. Of course, non-Christians adopt all the time too for much the same reasons. Infertility, wanting a child of a specific gender or charity. But really, in its basic form, making a child from a different family part of your own family is a God-ordained process. Who is commanded to care for widows and orphans? The church. As such, it is one of those things that many Christians (especially, it seems, in my generation) consider, along with going on mission trips, volunteering at soup kitchens and going to seminary. All of these endeavors are good, full of generosity. And as Christians we are all called to these things in general. Loving God and our neighbor as ourselves. 

There comes a time though when God calls you to specific things. We're not all meant to be third world missionaries or pastors or some such. We're not all meant to adopt or homeschool or whatever it is.  We're supposed to do some of these things personally and support them in others. We are called to adopt.  Both as a family and as two separate people, living out a relationship with Christ. After Noah was born, I really started to feel God was leading us to adoption. It was time, after 10 years or so of mentioning it in passing. Matt was always for it: yes, sure, let's adopt. I began to read. To research. Because that's what I do. The more I read, the more I was broken. The more I researched, the more I felt that it's not simply a nice thing to do. It's an act of love. A declaration of war against a society that puts more value on bald eagles than babies. A symbol of what God did for me, personally. I was dead in sin, I was hopeless, I had no chance of life outside Christ. But he grafted me into the vine of His family and accepted me like I was born into it. 

There's a song popular now (probably by MercyMe)and one line in it is 'Break my heart for what breaks yours.' I had been broken for adoption and there was no other choice. I was filled with urgency, wracked with despair over the plight of these most vulnerable. Children who have a debt over their lives simply because they were born. In the wrong country, the wrong time in history, the wrong circumstances, whatever the reason. Matt was always positive for adoption but without the desperation. Then one morning he called from work. In tears. Now he doesn't cry a lot. And it's usually either something momentous, like the birth of our children, or it's God. So I knew something had happened. A co-worker of his recently adopted a 7 year old from China. They had chronicled the process in a blog. Matt read it and God had broken him too. He called and told me and then said "We have to do this. Now." He heard a news story about the increase in sex trafficking in China due to the one child policy and the abundance of males. And a love for another daughter was planted in his heart.

God has worked in both of us to the point of being broken over adoption. We both travel personal roads with God that join in the bigger road of our family. There's much more to say about adoption in our family but that's probably enough for now. Your eyes are tired. Go get a glass of something cool and refreshing - you deserve it.

Tut-tut, it looks like rain

When Kate was a newborn, she was given the gift of a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh by our dear friend Margaret (and Katie's namesake). It's a classic Pooh, with light colored fur and a soft pink tee. He is beloved and worn, now with rubbed dirty fur (despite weekly washing) and torn tee. He has purple nail polish on his paws from an impromptu day of beauty. He is Kate's constant friend and monster repellent.

It's mid morning on Monday. Noah is asleep, most likely dreaming of goldfish and milk. Jack slept over at my mom's house and is probably eating his weight in chocolate cereal right now. I told Katie to get Winnie the Pooh and we snuggled up on the chair and read. She is learning to read and sounded out some words and asked me to use my finger as I read so she could follow. We read and let the words wash around us, this magical world of a bear and his boy.

My little girl is getting older, as little girls are wont to do. We let her get her ears pierced last week after years of her asking and cajoling. She chose sparkly pink butterflies and is very serious about turning them and cleaning them. When we go to the store she is usually in a tutu and carrying a purse, her strides confident and happy because she feels cute. I see glimpses of her as a teen sometimes as her lovely face thins and changes with age. She will be a wonderful person, I know.

This morning, though, she is little. Her body melts into mine as we imagine Pooh on his adventures. We laugh at his ill-fated rain cloud escapade - will he ever outsmart the bees?

                Hand in hand we come
                  Christopher Robin and I
                To lay this book in your lap.
                       Say you're surprised?
                       Say you like it?
                       Say it's just what you wanted?
                              Because it's yours-
                              Because we love you.


                                              -from The World of Pooh, A.A. Milne

To Shred, Rip or Burn?

My job as a nurse requires me to educate my patients on their health. I tell people how to keep their cholesterol in check, their blood sugars level and their BMI at a respectable number.

Pause while I take another bite of full-fat ice cream. With peanut butter cups in it. And high fructose corn syrup.

Mmmm, corn syrup.

Now that Noah is about a year old, I can no longer, with good conscience, use the ol' 'I just had a baby' excuse. After 3 kids, my stomach has settled into a comfortable 4 months pregnant look. Which is adorable when one is actually 4 months pregnant. The cuteness is now considerably diminished.

So I do what any normal American woman would do.

Consider weight-loss surgery. Or liposuction.

And then add up the cost and go back to my ice cream. It's soothing. So it looks like I'll have to do the dreaded diet and exercise way to lose weight. Darn common sense. I like to run but can't do it very often due to my husband's work schedule. Well, let me clarify. I don't really like to run. Hate is actually the word that comes to mind. But I like the way I feel afterward. Like I did something other than clean dried chocolate off my yoga pants all morning.

A couple days ago I picked up my copy of 30 Day Shred and went at it. It seems to me that workout videos have gotten more extreme titles over the year. Shred, Burn, Insanity, Asylum, etc. I'm already nervous enough without the added pressure of a borderline violent workout. Besides, 30 days? I'm looking at a solid 45, possibly 60.

I would shake my fist at Jillian Michaels but my arms are too sore to lift.

I can barely bring the spoon of ice cream to my mouth. Which, I suppose, is the point.

Mysterious Benedict Society

The kids and I are really enjoying our current read aloud - The Mysterious Benedict Society. I read it years ago but Jack and Kate are finally at ages that they can appreciate this book. It's actually part of a trilogy and I plan on getting the boxed set at some point to finish it.

The basic premise is that Mr. Benedict has formed a team of gifted and skilled children to help him combat a nefarious global plan. To join the team, the children must pass a series of tests. The reader gets to solve the puzzles along with the characters. After joining the team, the children, lead by the aptly named Mr. Benedict and his quirky adult sidekicks, are sent on the dangerous mission. It's your basic good vs evil, save the world book. Except with fantastically gifted kids.

Fun, right?

What I love about this book, besides the thinkiness, is the characters. There are so many wonderful kids books that feature characters that are kind and brave and full of ingenuity. These are the books I want to read - to make my kids think, to savor good writing line by line.  My hope for my own children is that they are thoughtful in their actions, especially to others, and they have a firm sense of who they are in this great big world. 

Into the Deep

This year (and the last) has been momentous, busy, somewhat confusing. Last year we welcomed our third child, Noah.  A birth is always an occasion to celebrate, to rejoice, to partake in the wonder that is an epidural. We moved. Across town - but an undertaking nonetheless. Our previous house was in a small, newish neighborhood. Our neighbors' porch stared right into ours. Really put a damper on quiet evenings. So we purchased a home across town with more land and a pool (this is Florida, by the way - and now "This...is...Sparta!" is in my mind.). Lots of decisions have been made in the last year. To begin a youth ministry at our (new) church, to go back to school and get my bachelor's in nursing, to adopt from China. Each of these decisions deserves its own post and will most likely get it in the days to come.

These days are a bit overwhelming but I remind myself of the old adage 'One day at a time.' Paperwork is daunting, my transcripts are numerous and scattered (I'm too educated. At least on paper.), the laundry is laughing at me. This is a journey, a sojourn, lead by the One who holds my heart. I can sense we're turning a corner in our lives, deep into an unknown land. Exciting, wild, most likely fraught with perils and victories.

Everyday I remind myself to look around. To nibble those dangerously cute baby thighs a bit longer, to read one more book before bedtime.

The days are busy and long but man, they'e good.

What makes you so special?

There must be a million blogs.

So why should I add one more to the blogosphere (see? I know what's going on). First of all, people stop me all the time. In the grocery store, on the street. They shake my shoulders and wail in desperation "I must know what you're thinking right now!" I'm just giving the people what they want.

Also, this is just a way for me to chronicle our lives at this moment in time. What we're doing in terms of homeschooling, adoption, and other such things. A way for family and friends to keep up with us, if they're so inclined. And so begins this journey.

You're welcome.