Sometimes, I take his boots off....

So, this past week there have been two blog posts that have sparked my interest. The first was by a man who's bloggy title claimed my wife divorced me because I left dishes by the sink. The second was by a woman from a drastically different point of view and can be viewed here. The second article implored women not to be a "butt hole" wife and to stop nagging their husbands about the little things. The former blog was written by a man and implored other men to pay attention to their wives needs. For instance, if it is important to your wife for you to put your dish in the dishwasher, the author implores you to do that lest you lose her. In contrast the "butt hole wife" has lost her husband to untimely death and in hindsight she implores other women NOT to fuss and nag about the simple things like clothes left in the floor or dishes left by the sink. Both authors of both blog-posts have valid points that are exaggerated by their individual situations of divorce and widowhood.

I happen to agree with both of the authors. This may be why I took his boots off tonight.

You see, I have been married for the majority of my adult life. The first marriage was forced and hard and young and it didn't last long despite my best efforts. I decided that whenever I married again I was going to be a better wife.

Being a better wife doesn't sacrifice my feminism. It doesn't make me "less"... in fact, i believe it makes me better. I know all the feminists are gonna roll their eyes at that one and that's ok. I take great joy in making my husband happy. I take pride in making his day better when he walks into the door. I don't bombard him with complaints about what is going wrong in my world. I greet him with a smile and ask him how his day has been. Because i'm there to listen to him he doesn't care if supper isn't ready yet. He doesn't care if the house isn't in perfect order. He sees me being there for him and because of that he is there for me. He understands my struggles as a stay at home mom and I understand his struggles as the sole provider for a family of five. We have each others back. We are a team. We work at this partnership together.

So, back to the original purpose of this post....

Occasionally he leaves clothes on the floor and occasionally he leaves a dish by the sink. He's  not perfect. Sometimes I fuss about these things. But mostly I pick up the clothes and i put the dishes in the dish washer and I keep my mouth shut. This may enrage some of you, but I would like to remind you that you are not in my marriage and you do not live my life. For me, I clean up because he does all the work. I stay at home and i keep the house while he works  sometimes 16 hour days and pays the bills. My situation and the situation of those blog authors are probably completely utterly different.

That is why it is so important not to let a blog post decide where you should be in your own marriage.

Marriage is a unique process shared between only you and your spouse and God. Nothing that you are going through should ever be subject to criticism from anyone besides yourself, your spouse and our God Almighty. If your spouse is nagging you excessively or making you feel inferior for not completing a specific task my best advice is to first off be upfront with your spouse. So many times do we bottle things up and grumble over the dishes or the clothes on the floor and never let our mates know until it bubbles over into an argument. Be honest with each other. If that doesn't help, seek the advice of a Christian Counselor. Do not give up on a marriage before you diligently seek God's help in the matter. 

But before any of that happens.... take his boots off. He fell asleep in the recliner as you were getting the kids to bed and you tried to wake him up. He wouldn't wake up so you could storm off to bed, mad as heck, and leave him there to fend for himself. OR... you could take off his boots... cover him up with a warm blanket, kiss him on the cheek and tell him goodnight.

If leaving the dishes by the sink or leaving your clothes in the floor bothers her, make an  effort to show her that you understand that it matters to her and do not do it anymore.

My whole rebuttal to both of those viral blog posts is that all you need to do is respect your spouse. God calls us to be submissive unto each other. Love for each other requires us to be permissible of each other. Our faults are to be accepted or lovingly corrected by our spouse. We should never nag or demean the other party into bowing into our will.

"Wives, submit yourselves unto your husband, as is fitting in the Lord. Husband's love your wives and do not be harsh with them." Colossians3:18-19

"Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, submit to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which He is the Saviour.Now as the church submits to Christ so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything." Ephesians 5:21-24

But WAIT there's more!




"Husbands love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all no one ever hated their own body but they feed and care for their body just as Christ does for the Church." Ephesians 5:25-29

My point is that I care for my husband because God compels me to care for him. He cares for me because God compels him to care for me. I pick up his clothes if he happens to leave them on the floor without harsh words because that's what God wants me to do. He deals with my inefficiencies whatever they may be (and there are quite a few I assure you) with out harsh words because that's the husband God commands him to be. This works in our marriage. It keeps us strong when times are rough and it keeps us happy when times are sad.

I take his boots off because he is tired and because I love him. He'd take my boots off if the position was reversed. That's what makes a marriage happy. 

Whales Matter... Words Matter Too

A couple of weeks ago I was reading a news article about Sea World's killer whale problem and I made a comment on the Facebook feed stating my opinion on the matter. Now, understand, I am not a whale expert. I watched a documentary about killer whales and I based most of my argument on that. I'm not a Sea World expert either. I haven't ever been. The animals may be treated like kings trapped in giant fish bowls. I don't know. Honestly, I don't really care about it that much. I know I'm supposed to be outraged. The documentary told me I was supposed to be outraged, but, truthfully, my life is full of more important stuff (sorry whales). 

So anyway, I made a comment on a news story. It got 54 responses. Some of them were supportive. Some were intellectually debating my comment (from whale experts I'm certain). Some were downright rude. They insulted me personally. They made comments about my profile picture. These strangers from all across the country clicked my picture, read the small part of my Facebook bio that is public and formed an opinion of me based on that tiny insight into my life. Some didn't even go that far. They just read my comment and hated me for no reason other than my opinion. 

I laughed it off. I don't care what those people think of me. But it took a minute of prayer and self reflection to get to the laughing. I had to realize that I had put myself out there. I left a comment that sparked anger on some sides and support on others. There are people out there that never leave their homes and they sit and wait to pounce on what people put out there. I feel bad for these people but I guess I set myself up for their enjoyment.

Social media has changed our lives more than we ever thought that it could. I remember building my MySpace profile. It was new and exciting. I had been out of high school for about 5 years and hadn't seen some of my old friends in that time. MySpace brought them back into my life. I could see what they were up to. It wasn't really that detailed, just a small insight into their lives.  A couple years later I finally converted to the Facebook world and Facebook shoved these friends down my throat.

Think about how it has changed us. Why should I go to a reunion when I know what you had for lunch yesterday. Why do I need to send you a Christmas card when you can see pics of my kids every other day, every single time you pick up your phone? Letters??? -- forget it. Phonecalls? -- most definitely not. I love a lot about it, too. I keep up with friends and family that I do truly miss and care about. I have developed online friendships that have turned into true real-life friendships. The good kind of balances the bad for now. 

It's the opinions that bother me. I think we are more likely to be opinionated and downright rude to people because a screen and a few hundred miles separate us. I mean I wouldn't sit in a room at a party with a thousand people I kind of know and state my opinion on a polarizing subject and sit back and watch the chaos. I wouldn't tear someone down for stating their opinion in person-- why should I feel like I have that right via the internet?

I love a good intellectual debate. I can argue with the best of them. I don't like it when I'm proven wrong, but that's part of it too. I love politics and religion and all sorts of other stuff and I love that I can connect with people that I wouldn't normally hear from, and get their opinions and even be educated by them on subjects that I might not know that much about (eg. whales). The thing that I have to remember is that I value those friendships more than I value being right. I can step down from an argument in order to save a friendship. 

And boy have I gotten into downright arguments with people that I used to be friends with because of some political, religious, or whale-like issue on Facebook. They state their opinion - fine. I state mine - fine. We go back and forth like civil adults - fine. We start insulting each other personally because we can't agree -- wrong. Words matter. Even typed words matter (and typed words are harder to take back). (Again, thank you for the block button.)

I know I've been rambling this morning but I think that we need to step back and remember that there's a person on the other side of the world looking at her computer. She's probably a wonderful person and she probably doesn't know that much about whales. She's probably just up late and bored. You don't know her; or maybe you knew her 15 years ago, but she's probably a whole different person now. She doesn't know you either.

"Hatred stirs up conflicts, but love covers all offenses."

Proverbs 10:12

First day of school...

We started a new school year today. I'm sure most of you have already gone through this. If you haven't I'm sure you are going to go through it soon. The excitement level varies, I'm sure, with every child, but I was struck at how my own children have changed through the years.

I called up to wake up my oldest child first. His room is closest to mine and I called him on my way to wake up the others. He's 14 now. He's a Freshman in high school. It's a big year for him. He mumbled something after I called him a couple of times and I thought he might be awake. I moved on.

Middle child isn't that difficult. I call to him and he answers. He sits up in bed. I'm pretty sure I see him lay back down out of the corner of my eye before I walk by, but I'm re-insured by his exuberance (compared to the other one) and I move on to the next child.

Youngest child is easy. I gently say her name. I whisper "first day of school" into her sweet tiny ear and she gasps before she opens her eyes. As her eyes pop open she smiles and says "I can't believe it's time for first grade!" She continues as she stands up on the bed, "I'm so excited about the first day of school! I love school! I can't wait to see my teacher!" She hops on the bed. "Mama, get my stripey dress and my pink flip flops! You have to spray my hair. Mama, I can't believe school starts to day. Mama, I'm soooo excited about first grade!" She follows me back down to the kitchen and never stops her monologue.

On the way we call to the Middle Child. "I'm up." is the reply and he seems to be in the process. His legs are on the side of his bed and he is contemplating his shorts.

Next stop is the Oldest... "Wake up!" No answer. "Wake UPPPP!" Nothing. "Mama, do you need me to go jump on him? I'll get him up. I can't believe he's not excited. I'm excited. I can't wait to see my teacher. I can't wait to see my friends. Are you sure you don't want me to--" I interrupt, "WAKE UP! DON'T MAKE ME COME UP THERE! DON'T YOU MAKE US LATE ON THE FIRST DAY BACK!"

Youngest is quiet long enough after my outburst that I hear a thud-a -thump-thud-thump from the upstairs room. This usually means he has emerged from bed or he has fallen out one or the other. I hear him trudge down the stairs to brush his teeth and I am reassured that, whatever the case, he will survive.

We make it to school on time; earlier than I had imagined possible. They all leave me to go to their class rooms. One more year off to a typical start. I have my pictures to prove it to all my friends. I got all three there and they even smiled for a picture.

On the way home I got to thinking about their individual reactions today. It occurred to me that the oldest, the one that had been doing it the longest, was the hardest to get excited this morning. My middle child was reluctant, but he didn't take much prodding to get up and dressed. The youngest was excited. She was ready. She was eager. She hadn't discovered that it isn't cool to be excited about school. She still posed for pictures and hugged her teachers. She was on fire for school. Summer vacation didn't steal her joy. It didn't lure her away from her excitement about school.

Well, this got me to thinking about my own spiritual life (and other peoples spiritual lives). When I got saved I was ON FIRE for Jesus. Much like my youngest was excited about school. I read my Bible every day. I bought a Teen Devos book and read that every day. I studied my Sunday School lesson. I spent time with God in prayer every night and most mornings. I was excited about my new life as a Child of Christ.

Years have passed and as I look back I can see years that I have spent that I was less enthusiastic. Christianity seemed to me like the upper grades seem to my older kids. I wasn't bouncing out of bed on Sunday morning. I went from attending every other Sunday to not attending at all. I went on a spiritual summer vacation...I lost my enthusiasm for Jesus. I was still saved but I had let the world steal my excitement during my break from my church. It was the same with my kids. They all love school but they had let the summer break steal their excitement too. 

It took years for me to get back into a church family after I lost the excitement. Thankfully I have found my way back. The thing is, with the church comes the excitement. Just like when my kids got to school today and they saw all their friends, they came home with stories of their day and what everyone had been up to. I leave church and I am on fire again; just like I was when I was younger. The people encourage me. The people nurture my faith. The pastor leads me. God speaks to me when I am there. I feel his presence. 

Sure, I feel Him in my life other times, but I'm more in tune with Him when I have surrounded myself with people that know Him and crave His presence. I'm more confident to share His good news with people when I have been reaffirmed and reassured in a regular meeting with other believers. 

I guess what I'm saying is don't grow tired of your education in Christ. Remember that first grade feeling, remember that new believer feeling. Remember how you wanted to shout to the rooftops that you were a saved believer in the one true Christ. Keep going to regular meetings with other believers to reaffirm your faith. Keep the joy in your heart. Jesus loves you.... What do you have to be sad about?

 "Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity."

1 Timothy 4:12

21 Years...

21 years... A fraction of a lifetime...a blip on the timeline of a life.

11 years... Even smaller... it passes in a blink of an eye... such a small window of time.

8 years.... Minuscule... so small an amount of time that it might get overlooked in the story of a life... it's the time between graduation and marriage... it's the blip on the radar between the first day at a new job and getting a big promotion ...

All these years mean something to me.

21 years ago I was innocent. 21 years ago I didn't have any fears in my world. 21 years ago my mama and daddy could defeat anything that gave me nightmares. 21 years ago I was a little girl.

21 years ago a guy drank a bottle of whiskey (or a bottle of vodka, or a case of beer) and decided to go for a drive. 21 years ago he thought that he was untouchable. 21 years ago he probably thought that he wasn't that drunk, thought he'd only had a couple. 21 years ago he thought he was fine. 21 years ago he destroyed a community. 21 years ago he killed a girl and a boy. 21 years ago he sent 2 grieving parents to an emergency room. 21 years ago I stopped being a little girl. 

I was 11 years old. It was a Sunday. I had bought all my school supplies. I had a new back pack and a new binder. I can still close my eyes and smell that new binder smell. I sniff a binder today and I am not taken back to a happy childhood memory. New binder smell takes me back to that Sunday evening that changed my life forever. I hate the way that new binders smell.

I had a 3-D binder that year. It was 1993 and 3-D stuff was all the rage. It was pink and it looked like it had bubbles all over it. The bubbles were an optical illusion. Mead really out did themselves in 1993. 

I sat in my living room and tore my new pens and pencils out of their paper and plastic wrappings. I placed them carefully in the slots in my new JanSport back pack. I put the paper in my binder and separated it with subject dividers. I was ready for sixth grade.

It was going to be our big year. We had talked about it all summer. We had hoped and prayed that we would get the same home room. We were ready to start changing classes but we really didn't want to have to do it alone. We were sure that we could tackle anything together. We were going to open house on Monday.

21 years ago I went to my room and played with my Barbie's. We didn't attend church regularly on Sunday nights back then. I happily surrounded myself in my Barbie fantasy land. I was almost too old to enjoy Barbie's. I would have never played with them with my friends around. Never would have played with them around most of my friends. My best friend still liked to play with Barbie's. She and I would comb their hair and change their clothes all the while talking about which boys we liked or which girls had made us mad the week before. 21 years ago we both stopped playing with Barbie Dolls. 

I was playing with Barbie and Mississippi Burning was on Channel 11 that night. The grown up part of my 11 year old self wanted to watch Mississippi Burning. The child part wanted to brush Barbie's hair so I did both. It's weird the things you remember.

There was a knock at my door. I always kept it locked to keep my brother out. I figured it was him. He was the only on that ever knocked. I put Barbie down and stomped to my door. I was surprised when I opened it to see my Daddy.

He was crying. My daddy was crying. I don't think I had ever seen my daddy cry before this night. My mother ushered my brother into my daddy's arms. I looked down the hallway and I see my grandmother crying. I assume that my Papaw is dead. I sniffle and prepare myself for the worst possible news that an 11 year old girl could imagine.

It's not Papaw.... that was the thought that had me relieved and devastated in all of a second.

.....

I don't remember how he said it. I remember him being honest. I remember him crying.... a lot. I remember him saying there had been an accident. I remember him saying that Crystal and CJ were dead. My best friend and her little brother were dead. 

The rest of the night was kind of a blur. I remember someone put Grease 2 on the TV. I laid on the couch, in a fog and saw parts of it. I cried a lot. A few of my friends called, but what sympathy can another 11 year old share? How were any of us expected to cope with this?

I went to my room again eventually. I shut the closet doors on my Barbie's. I never played with them again. I sat on my bed and I looked at the guardian angel portrait that hung above my bed and I asked God "Why?" 

11 years and 8 years.... Hard to imagine that as I look at my own children. 11 years and 8 years and they were gone from this Earth. They were on their way to church. Less than a five mile drive from their home. The drunk driver that killed them was less than a half a mile from his home. LESS than a half a mile... And you know, as angry as I still am, I can't help but think that he was a young life, too. Younger than I am now... I don't know him, but I can't fathom that he could ever forget about the lives he extinguished. The community he ravaged.

It took a while but I eventually accepted that God's ways are not our own. God has a plan for every life. I wish I could have a Jimmy Stewart moment and see how different my own would be had it not been for Crystal. Had she lived it would have been so different. Had she never existed it would have been even more different. Her 11 years and her brother's 8 years meant something to me.

21 years and I still tear up thinking about them. 21 years and I still look back and wonder what might have been. 21 years and I believe, firmly, that they are waiting on me. They are in the arms of my Savior and they are waiting to greet me on the other side. I thank God for the 11 years that Crystal was in my life, including every slumber party and pizza hut trip and whispered secret in the dark of my room...and for the 8 years that CJ pestered us and begged us to play Nintendo baseball with him... even for that time that he whopped me in the head with a golf club when we were building forts in the woods. For every memory, I am truly grateful.

August 8 will be 21 years. 

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

1 Corinthians 1:3-4

Author's Note:

Last week a 10 year old girl and her 8 year old brother were killed along with their grandmother in a car accident near Tallahassee. They were from Thomasville, AL, which is just a hop over from where I live now. They were buried this weekend. Their father buried his children and his mother. The city of Thomasville was devastated by this tragedy. 

Alas, life goes on...the Thomasville schools started back today. I have thought about them all day. I am praying for the children as they adjust to life without their friends. I am praying for that father and his wife as they learn to live without their children. It took our little community years to repair our hearts from our tragic loss. I know what they are going through and so I pray even harder for their comfort.

Thanks to VBS

We start Vacation Bible School tomorrow night. It's a big deal. Maybe it's just a big deal in the south, but since that's all I've ever known, it's a BIG deal. I'm teaching the 4,5, and 6 year olds. I'm positive that they are going to have questions that stump me. I'm sure that they're probably going to teach me a lot more than I can teach them. They're still in that innocent, almost untouched, child of God stage. They're sweet but they are extremely curious.

Bible schools, like just about everything else, have gotten much more extravagant than they used to be. It's all fun. It brings in more kids. The more extravagant that your VBS is the more children that will attend. "Did you hear that (fill in the blank) Church is having a bouncy slide on Tuesday? Did you hear that every kid gets a free toy and a t-shirt?" 

Some of the bigger churches are even more extravagant... if that's possible. And that's fine. If it brings children to God I am all for it. I can't help but worry that the message of God gets lost in all of the extravagance. Are the children really seeing the saving grace of God beneath the Bouncy House and the Pizza Hut nights? I truly pray that they are.

We didn't have anything like that when I was little. I guess it doesn't matter if it's extravagant or simple. If the church members that lead it are like minded in the teachings of Christ then God is going to show up and He will move those children in the way He wants them to be. 

I was pondering all of this tonight. I was hanging my paper parrots and lanterns and stapling palm trees to the wall tonight and I couldn't help but to reflect back to the Bible schools of my youth. They were simple but they were effective. We had fun and we learned about Jesus.

We didn't go on many big trips when I was little. We had a big family and vacations were expensive. Most of my summer days were spent outside. It was hot outside. We rode bikes, built forts, worked in the gardens. Two or three days a week (on a good week) we drove 20 minutes to the pool that we were members at and we swam. Vacation Bible School was a break in the summer monotony. I looked forward to it. It was always in the morning, 8 or 8:30. It lasted until just before lunch. It was the break in my summer where I saw a lot of my school friends. It was exciting.

The schedule was always the same for all the years I was a part of Bible School. We had group assembly. We lined up outside the church. If you were lucky you got picked to hold one of the flags or the Bible. If not, you followed behind the lucky ones and marched into your class's designated pew. We pledged the American Flag, the Christian flag, and the Bible. We prayed together. We sang songs. We had a mission story. We prayed again. We were dismissed to our classrooms. 

Our teachers taught us memory verses, gave us gold stars for bringing our bibles, taught us bible stories, and let us do crafts. We went to the fellowship hall for cheap cream filled cookies and red or purple kool-aid. The older ladies of the church always served the snack and you could always convince one of them to give you extra cookies or Cheetos. We had outside time and, there, we played "Duck Duck Goose" and "Drop the Handkerchief" and the ever popular "Red Rover". It was simple, but it was fun (it was also insanely competitive).

When our parents picked us up we were hot, tired, and hungry. We had to practice our memory verses so that we could get a star the next day for reciting it back to our teacher. Five stars meant we got a prize on Friday. Friday was our fun day, we had games and usually balloons, sometimes water guns. It was fun. It wasn't fancy or high tech. It was full of love and dedicated Christian adults (mostly women) who gave up their time and money to teach children about Jesus.

The VBS that I'm privileged to teach this year is also simple. It's just like the ones I grew up going to. There are a few dedicated teachers that put time and effort into teaching children about the love of Jesus. We don't have huge light and sound shows, we don't have bouncy house fun night. We have fun, fellowship, and we will teach your child about Jesus. 

I was saved at Vacation Bible School when I was 9 years old. I will never forget how happy I was that day. Those wonderful teachers and the pastor at Beulah Baptist Church led me to Christ. Bible school is important. As I prayed for our week with other workers tonight I couldn't help but remember that day that I walked down to my pastor at Bible school. I was so excited to tell my parents when they picked me up. I wanted to tell the world about my new salvation. I was a new person, a saved person, thanks to Bible School.

Now, as I strive to teach the children that are in my class this week, I will remember every sweet lady that taught me as a child. I appreciate your sacrifice now. I know you had a hundred things to do, but, you put it all aside to come to the church and teach me about Jesus. Thank you. Thank you.... And thank God for Vacation Bible School.

"Then Jesus said, "Leave the children alone and don't keep them from coming to Me, because the Kingdom of Heaven is made up of people like this."

Matthew 19:14 HCSB 

 

They Taught Me About Jesus

I haven't written in a while. Truthfully, I've been woefully uninspired. Each time I start to write on this site, and back out because of a lack of inspiration, the blogger saves that post as a draft. Sometimes my drafts are a few words-- sometimes a few good paragraphs-- but each time they don't amount to enough to please me, much less my rag tag audience.

I've always been an over-achiever. I've always wanted to please. I guess being #3 girl before the #1 boy in the family line-up makes you want to always shine. I did shine, very much so (in my opinion) in my youth. I was in plays, honor choirs, had straight a's, was gifted, had a very high ACT score, was a class officer and on the student council. I shined so stinking bright.... but none of that mattered. Yes my parents appreciated it. They were proud. They loved me. They hoped to see great things for me. They will tell you that they have seen great things from me. They just didn't see them in the way they believed that they would when they looked at their #3 bundle of  joy.

They never expected me to become pregnant out of wedlock, to marry at 17, to deliver their first grandchild at 18, their second at 20, and divorce at 21. They never expected me to find love in a different state and remarry at 24, move to Alabama, and have their third grandchild at 26. They never looked at their sweet little third daughter and expected any of that.  They didn't sit through my performances and expect anything out of me. 

They taught me. They taught me to be good. They taught me to be smart. They taught me to think for myself. They taught me to fight for what I loved. They taught me to realize when it was time to walk away. They taught me that I needed to be able to provide for myself. They taught me that education was important. They are the reason that I had a career to fall back on after my first marriage fell apart. They taught me to think for myself. They taught me about Jesus. They took me to church and they taught me how to worship. Of all the things that my parents taught me, and they were great teachers, this was the most important.

Without Jesus I wouldn't have made it past 17. If I hadn't had Jesus then, I would probably have aborted my baby or given him up for adoption. I would have broken up with his father. I would NEVER have forgiven myself. In my attempts for self preservation I would have taken a life. I would have put myself above all else. I would have disappointed myself. I would have turned to drugs and alcohol and I would have hit rock bottom. But, thankfully,  my parents taught me about Jesus. 

Without Jesus, and if I had married and had those babies, I would have tried to save my first marriage.... but i wouldn't have tried as hard. I wouldn't have been as hard pressed to make it work had I not had anyone holding me to the vows we took that day. I would have looked forward to the day that I could have dissolved our union. I would have looked forward to a life of multiple partners and a life of freedom from society's boundaries. I would have never hit rock bottom after my many attempts to avoid divorce, and have asked Jesus to lead me to a man that would follow Him with me. I would have never have found Jason.  Thankfully, my parents taught me about Jesus.

My parents took me to church. My parents made me sit up straight and pay attention. My parents made me wear scratchy dresses and uncomfortable shoes. My parents fought with me and three other children and still got us there on time on Sunday mornings. My parents made me go to Sunday school and Bible School and made me memorize my assigned verses. My parents led me to Jesus. 

So many things come up on Sundays. Seems to me like more and more things happen on the weekend nowadays than when i was a kid. Maybe it's the same amount; maybe I just didn't notice. Or, Maybe I would have had plenty of other things to do-- had my Mama and Daddy not seen fit to have me in church. I thank God every day that they saw fit. I thank God for Christian parents.

Train up a child in the way he should go, 

And when he is old he will not depart from it.

 - Proverbs 22:6 -

Don't Fake It Til You Make It!

Fake it 'til you make it. 

These were the battle cries of my nursing education. In many cases they worked. I could convince people that I was equally convinced of certain patients' diagnoses. I could often say I was efficient in IV Initiaton and then "try three times and out." It worked up until I was successful in starting one. Honestly, IV's didn't take that long. I was trained and prepared for those.

Unfortunately, the "fake it til you make it" philosophy would only get you so far. Eventually, you HAD to make it. There was NO more faking it after a certain point. I assume this point was different for each nurse. I remember well when mine was.

I had a fifty something female surgical patient. I had been nursing on the med surge floor for about a year at this point and I felt completely sure of my self. My patient was ordered a foley catheter as part of her AM surgical prep. I confidently secured the catheter kit from the supply room. I took it to the patients bedside.
 at 5am I woke the patient and confidently explained what was about to happen to her. I walked out feeling 100% sure that I could accomplish my goal. I was a registered nurse now. School was in my past. So what if I had never started a catheter on a female. It was something a nurse should know how to do. No need to be nervous.

I went into my patients room and brought a CNA with me. I told her what we were there to do and I confidently swept her bedsheets back. She spread her legs as instructed and I opened my catheter kit as i was trained. I prepared her sterile field and I froze. I took the catheter out of the box and contemplated where I could put it. The patient tried to help, she really did but I was too proud to accept any help. I insisted that I knew what I was doing. I was determined to fake it until I made it.

Unfortunately for the patient, my stubbornness ended up in a couple of unsuccessful catheter attempts. I had to eat crow and ask the oncoming day-shift nurse for assistance. She was a seasoned nurse and after one look at the patients' chart she looked at me and said, "come on then, I'm not doing this on my own." We went in and this seasoned nurse explained to me, step by step, what she was doing, and why she was doing it, and where she was putting things. I watched, amazed, and saw my first ever female urinary catherization.

"Fake it til you make it" is a phrase that's widely used in many technical college programs. I'm sure that, as it was proved with me, eventually you will have to MAKE it. The phrase says you will. I was unprepared in my moment of making it. I don't blame it on poor teaching, I had some of the best in the state. I blame it on my own lack of preparedness. I wasn't ready to make it. 

More importantly, I wasn't ready to admit that I needed help. I needed to admit that I wasn't able to "fake" it anymore. It was the worst thing that any graduate nurse had to do. I had to humble myself to the mercy of the seasoned older nurse. I had to let her teach me. After that incident I never had to ask anyone to help me cath again. In fact, I became the nurse people called to help out when they couldn't cath a patient.

So this got me to thinking about a couple of things.....

1) "Fake it till you make it doesn't work with God" It didn't work with my senior nurse, It's not gonna work with God. He knows what our works mean. No matter how many good works we do, If we aren't doing it because we trust in Jesus then our works don't matter. There is no such thing as faking it til you make it for salvation. Faking it means an eternity in hell. We all know you don't want that. Please contact me to find out how to find salvation.

2) Don't be afraid to ask for help! I'm sure that my patient would have loved me a whole lot more had I stopped prodding her with that 14fr foley and asked a more competent nurse for help!! Instead of putting her care first, I put my pride first and refused to ask for help until the absolute last minute. I even blamed my failure on the patient and pretended that it was somehow her fault that I couldn't get the cath. If I had asked for help from the beginning I would have learned to trust my mentors on my own shift. I would have learned that I was not the only one that didn't know EVERYthing from the get-go. I would have learned the importance of asking for help before my patient suffered. Same thing in my Christian life. If I had asked for help when I knew I was failing, instead of relying on my own merits to get me out of trouble; I would have come to understand God's unfailing forgiveness and his own sacrifice through His son Jesus. I would have known, sooner, that I could learn from my mistakes, and even better, I could be forgiven for my failures...... and that was the greatest lesson of all.
   

My iPhone is only a NanoSecond Old in the Cosmic Year... whatever that means...

So, I ordered a new phone today. It's only been a couple of years since my last phone. My phone still works fine. But for some strange reason i HAD to have the new phone. My husband got his phone (we are iphone people and i still have a 4s to clear things up) and it's so much faster than mine. He gets his weather radar to pull up a whole second before mine does. His texts come through faster. His safari pages load way faster than mine. When we ask, "Who's that guy? I know he's been in something else...", his IMDB finds the answer before mine even loads the home page.

Two years ago, I had the hot phone. Two years ago no one knew who siri was. Two years ago people asked me to look stuff up to settle arguments. Two years ago my phone was cool.

This got me to thinking.... out of the last two years of my life, the only thing that has stayed true, that has stayed constant, that has not changed, faltered, or failed me, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I've even got an app on that old iPhone for the Bible. Technology is a rapidly changing monster. I love it because I'm a technogeek, but I still know that God is the greatest creator. 

We tuned in to the new show Cosmos the other night. It's a really interesting science show. It's broadcast on network television which is unique because of the barrage of "reality" shows. Tuning in I understood that the show was about the universe: it's infinite reach, it's origin, the earth's place in it. The show did a good job explaining the Big Bang Theory. It also made a jab at Darwin's Theory of Evolution. It never mentioned Creationism, but I've learned that scientists almost NEVER mention Creationism. I watched this and let it go. I can debate a scientist another day. 

They focused a lot on the "Cosmic Timeline." The fact that humans have only inhabited the earth less than a minute of the "Cosmic Year." The idea is that the Earth is aged at 6 billion years and humans are aged at less than 10k. We are but a blip on the "cosmic" radar. I understand this from a scientific standpoint, but does it shake my beliefs in God? NO! I'm sure God has answers to these questions and if I am worried about these questions when I meet Him I am sure he will answer for me. (I doubt I'll be worried though!)

The show then moved on to Giordano Bruno, the Italian Astrologer, from the late 1500's. He was burned at the stake for heresy by the Roman Catholic Church. He preached plurality of worlds, that extraterrestrial life exists beyond our solar system. He was way before his time in his beliefs. He knew that the earth rotated the sun and that the moon orbited the earth. He was a smart guy. The church at this time was super suspicious of anything different. You have to remember that the Protestant Reformation was happening almost simultaneously. The old church was burning almost anyone that so much as snickered at the stake; much less, a man who preached that there may be life outside this earthly plane.

I fail to see why Mr. Bruno is relevant to the story. The television series made it out like the priests were evil and sinister. They brandished animated crucifixes on the screen in front of poor innocent Bruno's animated character. They depicted an animated Bruno rising out of his cell, arms stretched out (reminiscent of Jesus on the cross) into the heavens to see the planets as they orbited and solar systems beyond ours. The producer's intent was not lost on me. They wanted Christianity and Creationism, to be depicted as foolishness. They want us to appear to be the bad guys. They want our arguments to seem ridiculous to anyone that considers themselves "educated."

I am educated. I am smart. I was taught about the Big Bang and Darwinism and all the other theories in classroom after classroom. I still believe only one theory holds true; NOT because I'm smart, not because I'm educated. I believe in an almighty Creator because HE makes me BRAVE. I believe because I have FAITH. I believe because I have HOPE in a life after this one. I believe because my life has been CHANGED because I trusted in a SAVIOR who died to set me free. I'm no less smart because I believe. I think I'm smarter because I have something to believe in. If you haven't experienced this hope please contact me and we will talk about it. It's so easy to trust and let God take over. I encourage you to do the same. 

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible." Hebrews 11:1-3

Loads of Laundry and Loads of Prayer

 This is a post from a month or so ago.... I got so much feedback on it i thought I would share here too. Enjoy!


I got angry tonight. It happens to all of us sometimes, I know. I also had one of those moments where God pretty much turns me on my head and shakes the anger from my soul, but I will get to that part in a minute.

It all started with laundry. I HATE doing laundry. Well tonight I cooked a big ole supper, one of those that messes up every single dish that I own. After I sat down to eat I remembered that I hadn't put Emily's sheets in the dryer. So, i put my plate aside and go to the dreaded laundry room. My laundry room is my deep dark secret. I don't mind washing the clothes. Heck, I don't even mind putting them in the dryer. It's the part after that that I can't stand. So, sometimes, maybe once or twice a month (especially around vacations or holidays) the clothes will make it out of the dryer and no further. At this point they seem to call all of their laundry buddies and have a big ole party just outside of my dryer. Tonight they had attracted many friends... about six loads worth. All those clothes and I still had to put Emily's sheets into the dryer. This meant that I would have to pull yet one more load of clean stuff out of the dryer and let them join the party. So I do that (what's one more load) and go back to the kitchen to retrieve my cold plate.

By this time Emily and Jason have finished and their plates are stacked next to the sink. Not in the sink, no, that would make too much sense. Almost as much sense as in the dishwasher, but that's a different story. So I quickly eat my meal and immediately start cleaning all the dishes. No help from the husband, or the daughter, my boys are in MS, but had they been here they probably wouldn't have helped either (grumble grumble grumble). I put the last plate in the dishwasher and it's time for Em's bath. I wrangle her into the bath tub. I have to get her a towel out of the laundry party cause there aren't any in her room. While she's bathing I remember her sheets and pull them out of the dryer and put them back on her bed. In the mean time I find yet another load throughout the house and i put them on to wash.

After Emily is in the bed and Husband is watching some show about surviving in the wild (how would he survive without three shirts a day?), I go to the laundry party and bust it up. I'm grumbling, and fussing, and fuming. And then I pick up one of Sam's shirts. It's not a special one but it's one that he wears a good bit. I stop and say a prayer for him, and hope that the next time that he wears this shirt that he has a good day. I pick up the next item, one of Emily's dresses that she has worn so much it has holes in it and I laugh and fold it carefully. LAUGH??? But I'm still angry, no time for laughing and praying and sentimental folding..... i fold some towels and bath cloths (they're easy) and then dig back in. I find some of Jason's grease stained work clothes. I thank God that he has a job and that he provides for us. A pair of Nolan's jeans with grass stains (thank goodness he can run and play and slide in the grass), Emily's shirt with a chocolate stain (thankful that we have so much food that we even have dessert), And it starts coming easier and easier...

I'm praising God for each piece of laundry and praying for each person in my family that it belongs to. Before I know it, all those clothes are put away and I'm not angry anymore. In fact, I'm happy, and grateful. What a silly problem to have too many clothes when others don't have a warm shirt to wear. How silly to complain about putting clean clothes away when others long for clean clothes. Like I said, God shook the anger right out of me and replaced it with all these praises. He's good about that. I'm writing this so that next time it piles up maybe i will remember to be thankful instead of angry.

"My dearly loved brothers, understand this: Everyone must be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger,  for man’s anger does not accomplish God’s righteousness.  Therefore, ridding yourselves of all moral filth and evil, humbly receive the implanted word, which is able to save you." James 1:19-21

St. Valentine and the Devil

Earlier tonight, I may have ruffled a few feathers earlier when I mentioned Satan and Valentine's Day in the same sentence. My original post was, "Valentine's may just be a holiday devised by Satan to destroy loving relationships..... I don't think I have ever had one that didn't start or end with a fight. Opinions? and even success stories are welcomed...." I'm not implying that Satan is responsible for Valentine's day or that celebrating Valentine's day some how invokes Satan. What I am saying is that we allow Satan to totally ambush and ruin our sweet Valentine's day. Everything that Hallmark tells us to expect is ruined by sin. We have to compete with our friends and wish that our husbands give us a Facebook worthy gift. We secretly (because of that devil on our shoulder) hope that we get a better, more expensive gift than that girl that has the Facebook perfect husband. This often turns into seeds of resentment or jealousy or envy in our own relationships. We resent the fact that our husbands only got us a box of drugstore chocolate when Facebook Fannie's husband got them a watch. We are jealous that Neighbor Nancy got earrings when all we got was a watch. We are envious that Perfect Patricia's husband got her a car when all we got was a night out on the town. The thing is that real husbands, real men, don't think about valentine's day. It slips up on them. They are too busy thinking about their wives every single day of the year. They are too busy making every day special to care about one single day. The other thing is that all those women with the fabulous gifts wish that they could spend one Thursday afternoon just talking to their husbands. They wish for once that their husband's would stop them in the midst of cooking and cleaning and tell them that they are beautiful and that they are loved. My point is that Satan takes every opportunity to seep into our lives and tell us that we aren't good enough, or pretty enough, or loved enough. Valentine's Day is an excellent opportunity for him to do just that. It's happened in my life before. It will almost assuredly happen again. In the meantime, I'm gonna focus on the fact that I am loved and cherished, even though he may not always have time to pick out the perfect card. I know he loves me and whether it be flowers or candy or a smack on the cheek I'm not gonna let Satan ruin those special moments in our marriage. I'm learning this one step at a time.... "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in LOVE. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." Eph. 4:2-3