Testimony and Truth

A poem I wrote...wanna hear it? Here it go...

2011-06-07T11:15:00.002-04:00

My Best

There's me who needs waking 'midst the clanging and noise

There's thanks to be given for my dear little boys.

There's sheets that need changing and the wash, it needs dried

And a child's toy needs fixing (though I already tried!)

There's baths to be given and clothes picked to wear

A quick, fleeting moment to fuss with my hair.

There's a mother to call, and a friend to console

A floor to be mopped and oatmeal to dole.

There's errands to run and books to be read

A moment to ponder the thoughts in my head.

The windows need cleaning and so do the doors

And so does the dog, who's down on all fours.

There's neighbors to talk with, and gardens to tend

There's trash to take out and friendships to mend.

There's stamps to be purchased and packages sent

A moment to wonder where my sanity went.

There's stealing a moment, there's tears to be shed

Forget the short nap, I'll sleep when I'm dead.

There's poop to be scooped, there's email to read

There's making the time to do a kind deed.

There's carpet to vacuum and corners to sweep

There's playing air hockey and secrets to keep.

The chicken needs baked, the veggies sauteed

The rice still needs boiling, 'cause there's soup to be made.

There's notes to be written and phone calls returned

But I talked much too long, now the rice is all burned!

There's prayers to be said, and a Bible to read

There's hugs to be given and husband to feed

There's lessons to live and lessons to learn

There's bridges to build, and some left to burn.

There's a scarf needs crocheting and the budget needs done

And thanks to be given to God for His Son.

There's junk food needs tossing, but the chocolate--my my!

But hubby don't need it, and neither do I!

There's love to be made and tears to be dried

There's dealing needs done with my own sinful pride.

There's movies to watch and candles to light

There are books to be written and temptations to fight.

There's yoga needs posing, there's journals need writ

To grace with the pages my candor and wit.

There's so much needs doing to hold a home together

If I list it all here, I could go on forever

There's a day that needs ending, there's the night that brings rest

There's the peace left in knowing I have given my best.

I wrote this last year and meant to post it, but forgot...enjoy.

-MBM

But Wait. There's More.

2009-11-28T22:18:00.004-05:00

Thanks, dear ones, for your well wishes and prayers as I and hubby have dealt with trouble from a stranger. I certainly have needed your prayers and am thankful for them and for your care. A couple of days before Thanksgiving (how was your holiday, beloved?) we'd received an odd phone call from her. The next morning I got three phone calls from her, asking me to take her to the hospital or to give her cab money to go to the hospital. I basically told her I couldn't help her. We didn't hear from her the next day. The day after that was Thanksgiving. No phone call from her. No phone call from her on Friday. Then Saturday night, as I was out at the store, standing in the checkout line, I got a call from hubby telling me she had called. She needed to go to the hospital, she had told hubby, and wanted to know if we could take her. We'd agreed we would call 911 (and leave the phone off the hook) if she ever came again. You'll remember that the police stood us up on three separate times when dealing with this girl. My brother is a juvenile court magistrate and advised us how to deal with her (and with the police) since we have found ourselves in this crazy and odd situation.

So, when hubby called me on my cell, I didn't want him to let her in, but it was the only way we could detain her till the cops came. I couldn't get home fast enough. I was livid. Just the thought of her made me feel like less than a nice little Christian girl; I'm ashamed to say that, but it's true. She had exploited my kindness, and I resented her for that. But this is where the rubber meets the road in our faith walk. This is where we get the chance to love our enemies. Only sweet little Michele didn't really even have any enemies. Until today.

I get home, and there she is sitting on my couch. I said, "Hi" but didn't pretend to fake the funk. There was no real compassion left on my part any more. I knew she was a con job. I got home and hubby and I played tag team. He held her there, asking that she "give him a minute" to finish up what he was doing, then he could take her to the hospital. I sneaked into the kitchen, called 911, left the phone off the hook, and the police arrived shortly thereafter. I couldn't tell them my story quickly enough. Her story changed the moment that officer stepped into our living room. Her name changed. Her whole story changed. I asked her why she lied and told me her name was this, when she told the cops her name was that. She couldn't even look us in the eye, but it was clear she was not happy with us. The cops took her -- where, I'm not sure. Her story was so shifty and had so many holes in it, I'm not sure if the girl is homeless, an orphan or if she told us nothing but lies from the beginning. My brother says to be careful, as she may try to retaliate; both hubby and I are aware of that possibility. Please pray for us, and for this young girl (who is actually 16 years old).

In the meantime, as busy as my year has been, I managed to finish two books (please see sidebar). Hubby says I should take a whole year to write the next book, and that doesn't sound like a bad idea; my plate feels really full, and another opportunity just opened up for us. More on that later that if we decide to accept the opportunity (and no, we are not adopting another child.. oh wait. Never say never, right?).

Grace, beloved...
M

Crazy Situation

2009-11-24T18:51:00.004-05:00

I've never had this happen to me before, but I think I am possibly being stalked by a missing person. I've stumbled upon the fact that I think she is a missing person, and I have tried three times to get the police to come and pick this person up, but all three times the police never came. Finally, she showed up at my door again today wanting to 'talk' to me. My brother, who is a magistrate, said that I should call 911 and leave the phone off the hook. He said the police should come then. I also noticed that a letter I had put in the mailbox (a letter to my brother, in fact) for the mailman to pick up was missing. I know that she took it, because the letter was out there when she came, but it was gone when she left. The mailman didn't pick it up (in case you were thinking that), because a) he doesn't come that early and b) I was on the front porch when he pulled up! He handed my mail right to me, but of course, there was nothing for him to take, because she had taken that letter. I've gotten others involved, and I have pointed her to some helpful resources, and have even helped her myself (which opened the door to this crazy situation), but now I'm not so sure what I've gotten myself into. She calls incessantly. The phone rings and rings...12 times an afternoon, it's crazy. I'm a little concerned.

That I Would Be Good

2009-08-03T14:25:00.000-04:00

Why I Love Dove's Message

2009-03-03T23:22:00.001-05:00

Welcome to Forty

2009-02-25T09:33:00.000-05:00

My husband. You gotta love his creativity.

Last Friday he came home early from work, which I expected. But he complained about his stomach bothering him, and said he needed to head to the bathroom (need I say more?).

Within the next half hour, my cousin calls to tell me that she's stranded at a hotel, locked her keys in her car, and has now called everyone in her phone book, and I am the last person who she's trying. Can I come and pick her up? Sure, I said. But that was after I asked hubby if he could go, as I needed to stay and get the boys dressed. He told me he needed to stay near a bathroom, and that he could get the boys dressed and I could pick up my cousin.

I had to pick her up at a hotel, where she was giving some sort of presentation to some clients she had. Wasn't this a nice hotel, she wanted to know. Sure, I said. It's really nice. Did I have time for my cousin to show me some of the rooms? They are really nice rooms, she insisted. Of course, I didn't have the time, since it was early Friday and I had plenty to do at home! But I told her it was no problem, and she took me up to the 4th floor and let herself into one of the rooms with a key. Yep, they were really nice rooms. Contemporary and stylish. Then I noticed a envelope in a chair there in the room. The handwriting looked familiar. I got this eerie feeling of deja vu right before I asked her "What's that envelope for?"

"That's actually for you," she answered calmly.
"For me?"
"Yep. For you."

Oh, no. I'd be had once again!

I opened the envelope and it was a note from Ashunoah. He was thanking me for all I do for the boys and him. He told me he wanted me to have the whole weekend to focus on me, so this would be my hotel room for the whole weekend. He said he knew I had the big prayer event I had to orchestrate for our adoption ministry, but he said he would help me with whatever I needed. He told me this was the only weekend he could book this time for me at this very special hotel. He told me to go home and pack a bag, and to take my journal, books, movies, headcoverings (on this line he told me that I was his glory...how sweet!) and whatever else I might need for my retreat weekend. I was floored. Hubby is good for stuff like this, but it had been a few years. But once again, I'd been had.

My cousin never locked her keys in her car. Hubby never had stomach problems that would keep him on the toilet; it was all a ploy to get me to the hotel!

I was thrilled, needless to say! I went home and finished cooking the items I needed to prepare for the Prayer Event (to be held Saturday morning), and I finished a load of laundry I had started. Hubby took over from there: he got the boys dressed, cleaned the kitchen, and in general was at my service for whatever I needed in order to get me back to the hotel as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, I didn't get back to the hotel till early evening. I went into my delightful little hotel room and looked around. Truly this place was beautiful. But wait! There was another note from hubby there in the same chair where I'd found the first note! This note said for me to get settled in and to be back downstairs in the hotel restaraunt by 7:30 p.m. sharp.

I got settled in, unpacked, and was enjoying some alone time when the phone rang at 7:00. I jumped! It was such a loud ring in so quiet a place! The voice on the other end was a woman's, and she told me it was time to come down for dinner.

Was Ashunoah coming to have dinner with me? Had he gotten a sitter for the kids?

No. That would be too simple!

I took the elevator down to the first floor, and when the elevator doors opened to let me out, there were five of my closest friends sitting there, waiting to see the expression of surprise on my face. My jaw dropped!

Hubby had arranged for my friends to 'surprise' me with a nice birthday dinner at the restaurant in the hotel. He even gave them a dinner 'allowance'...how sweet and thoughtful! My friends came bearing gifts (though I won't turn 40 till next Thursday), and we had a delightful evening talking and laughing. Only two of them knew each other, but they all became friends by the end of the evening. We all agreed that this very same group needs to get together again soon, so much did we enjoy our time together! I told them I would be personally responsible for making it happen.

On top of that, hubby made arrangements for one of the five friends to share my room with me on Friday night, and another to share my room on Saturday night. I had a delightful time staying up and chatting with two of my close friends --- one on each night. Oh, I had such a hard time saying good-bye to the boys on Friday afternoon! I felt like I wanted to cry. I'd never been apart from my boys overnight! (I think Zwahara [Obi] was too over it too. Hubby said that he peed on himself TWICE that weekend. He hadn't done that in weeks! Teshumawe seemed to do okay, but fell into my arms when he saw me again on Sunday). But when I got ready to check out on Sunday morning, I felt near tears. The wonderful weekend just wasn't long enough!

Ashunoah got me the most lovely bag (green, my favorite color...I'm passionate about green!), and two beautiful scarves. Since we were married on my 25th birthday, it doesn't usually feel like my birthday is a day just for me. But this year, it feels like hubby gave me a day just for me --- indeed, a whole weekend! How thoughtful and loving!

The Longest Day on Earth

2009-01-20T18:59:00.001-05:00

That's surely what it must feel like for the Obamas today. I am thrilled, overwhelmed to the point of tears and nearly speechless at today's events. What a moment....what an amazing moment in time.

God's grace....

A Little Thing Called Hope

2009-01-04T23:47:00.002-05:00

Happy new year, beloved. I hope your holiday celebrations were delightful. Our Christmas was supremely happy. Our new year celebration was much more low key, but we've had a couple of weeks now of good family celebrations, get togethers and lots of yummy food. Now it's back to life as usual, and I think I'm ready to move forward with the new year.

Regular readers may recall this recent blog post about my brother's comments on knowing Obama better than me, his dear little sis. Though we are only 15 months apart, my brother and I could never be mistaken for being close. Perhaps I was way too sensitive, but my brother's regular putdowns severely impaired my self-esteem as an adolescent and young woman. Those days are way behind me now, but my brother and I have always been two very different individuals.

But last month, I sent him a birthday card. I usually just sign the birthday cards and drop them in the mail. Sometimes, I just send an e-card. But this time, I decided to write something endearing in the card. I dropped it in the mail and forgot about it. My brother was still away on a cruise and would get it whenever he arrived back home.

A couple of weeks passed and I get this phone call from my brother.

me: "hello?"
bro: "You know you are so sweet."
me: "huh?"
bro: "You are such a kind and loving person."
me: "Um...o-kaaay..."
bro: "No, I mean it. I get this card and you are so thoughtful. I know I have this tough exterior, but you break me down every time. I know I don't say it enough, but you are really a wonderful person and I love you very much."

I wanted to cry. I'm almost 40 years old and I've never heard such tender words like that from my brother. Sometimes, as things unfold in life --- in everyday life --- things happen, things are said, and you never really realize at the time that you'll remember that event or those words for the rest of your life. But you keep living and that thing sticks with you, and when you look back over your life, you realize that even though that thing happened 17 years ago; even though those words were spoken 26 years ago; even though that image in your head has been there since you were 4 years old, you look back and still remember it clearly. Each day we make a memory and we never know which of those memories we will keep with us our entire lives through. I like to think that the words my brother spoke to me will stay with me for the rest of my life. I want to always hold onto that moment.

May this coming year hold moments --- good, meaningful, beautiful moments --- that will turn to memories and last your whole life through.

Welcome to 2009, beloved.

Grace...

Epiphany

2008-12-23T23:15:00.000-05:00

I discovered, just this year, that celebration is a discipline. Which means we don't ditch Christmas because so much of the world has commercialized it. Which means we don't treat it with contempt or grow lazy in the face of it. Drag out the tree or go cut it down. Decorate it. Bake some cookies. Talk to your kids about Jesus. Create new traditions. Try new recipes. Shovel your neighbor's walk. Make some gifts, like you did when you were a kid.

I used to think my happiest Christmases were the ones behind me, the Christmases of my childhood. But my happiest Christmases are really the ones that I've had in the past 20 years or so --- the Christmases after my dedication to Christ Jesus. My Christmases these days are pretty special, too, because I have two toddlers, but they are not why I find true value in this season. And many Christians will say, "forget Christmas; Easter is the Christian's holiday." I've heard it said and perhaps in the past I've agreed with them --- at least in theory, if not in practice.

But I think so many times we Christians let the world steal from us what should be ours, what we should own, what we should hold stubbornly to. I want to take it back. I want Christmas back. And there are God-loving Christians who say, "Christmas and other holidays are just another excuse for people to indulge in gluttony." I've heard it said, and I probably agreed. Once. But no more. As a praying, fasting, head-covering Christian woman, I know there are times to fast and there are times to feast. When it is time to fast, we should do it with all humility, focus and commitment. When it is time to feast we should do it with all joy and gladness of heart. Okay, sure...I've packed on a few pounds this season between baking cookies and 'testing' (I just gotta taste everything I cook to make sure it's good!), but it's okay, because this is simply one of many seasons of my life. The time will come to fast again. Then the time will come to feast and be merry again. Wise is the Christian who knows how to do both --- who holds these things in equal tension.

Enjoy your Christmas, dear ones. May your hearts be merry and your joy wide. Let's also remember to pray for and serve those who are hurting this season, as well. Our Lord was born (and died) for such as these.

Merry Christmas,
Muhala

Dig This

2008-12-16T12:15:00.000-05:00

Reasons and Seasons

2008-12-15T11:55:00.002-05:00

The cold weather months bring out the old-fashioned girl in me. When there are no time-constraints, I enjoy being in my kitchen, baking up goodies from scratch, throwing together a hot, bubbly soup and tossing fresh and wholesome ingredients into my bread machine. I love the idea of bread when it's cold outside. No, I'm in love with the idea of bread. I love telling the boys they'll have fresh hot bread with their breakfast in the morning. I love that they gobble it up and ask for more (as it has no preservatives, the bread needs to be eaten up within three days; we can usually consume it within two). I make a loaf of bread every other day or so. The boys are asking for raisin bread now, but I have a whole wheat loaf baking as I write this. The raisin bread will have to come after that.

It's been so much fun trying my hand at making candy. I've made chocolate covered nuts, white candy coated pretzels with chocolate drizzled on top, raisin coconut clusters and lemon fudge (tart, but good!). This week I'll start my holiday cookies. I'm even shipping out some goodies straight from Muhala's kitchen to my mom, stepmom and brother. Besides, I need to get some of this chocolate OUT of my kitchen. The boys and Noah are eating up the covered pretzels and the boys will help me eat some of the chocolate, but I don't need to be overly tempted. There's too much chocolate in the house for one woman and two sweet little toddlers.

I'm coming face to face with the fact that there will be many things I can't do right now, because of the boys. I'm facing reality --- this is a season of my life that is both present and fleeting. The boys will grow up entirely too fast (Obi will be three next month; Bo-Bo just turned two), but for now they require almost all of my attention almost all of the time. I just can't get into a project that's too deep or requires too much concentration over a week long span of time. I can do short, attention intensive projects, but I am just in a season where they need me all the time. I can feel it, too. I am not as attentive to my friendships as I'd like to be; to my blogging as I'd like to be; and there are other things I just can't give my all right now. And I frequently use the excuse, "I'll do it when the boys are grown." "I'll do this once Obi is potty trained." "I can sleep when I'm dead." and so on. I don't get all the rest I need, and I sometimes don't return phone calls or emails. Things that were once as ordinary as morning coffee have to get squeezed in or not done at all. Small stuff gets swept to the side and put on the back burner. At the same time, I love this season with the boys. We laugh, we play (I get bumps, bruises and recently injured a toe while playing with them. I pray God keeps me from cracking a rib or other such injuries!), we tumble, we shoot hoops, we read, and I spank and yell and discipline and dry tears, change diapers, clean noses, cut hair, clip finger and toe nails of two boys who can't dress themselves and can barely pee without me there. It gets tiring, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Those things that I can't do right now aren't just excuses...they are reasons; and most folks are kind and understanding enough. This is a season of my life right now, and I've got to surrender to it.

I miss my father, and this past weekend was a tough one for me emotionally. I'm pressing forward, though, and looking forward to drowning my grief in vanilla extract, flour and sugar as I prepare to bake cookies for Christmas. My father is gone, and it's still so strange. So odd. I can't back-peddle it. I can't undo it. It's permanent and that's hard. My boys bring me lots of joy, though, and that's incredibly comforting in light of the loss of my father.

Hope you are doing well this Christmas season, beloved.

God's rich grace to you and to yours...

The Beauty of Rest

2008-11-28T11:28:00.002-05:00

Beloved, I hope your Thanksgiving was both meaningful and rich. Ours was wonderful on this end. I'd begun preparations on Monday, and was in the kitchen all week, it seemed, having put in an 8 hour day in the kitchen on Wednesday. The work paid off, as we had more than enough delectible treats to enjoy, and our time with family was really good. It seems the baton has been passed to me now, and it's been that way for the past few years. We used to always meet at Ashunoah's grandparent's house for the holidays, and my mother-in-law did most of the cooking. Now it's my turn to host our holiday dinners, and I don't mind. I'm in my element in the kitchen, cooking and baking, up to my wrists in flour and chocolate, opening up cans, checking ingredients and tearing the kitchen up from the floor to the counters; it is a hot mess in there till I clean everything up. Thankfully, hubby is taking care of the cleanup today. We've got desserts and candies for days, not to mention food. Today is, technically, a serious rest day. And there is such beauty in that.

Hellos, Goodbyes and Holding My Father in My Hands

2008-11-18T22:18:00.003-05:00

We gathered in my hometown and birthplace this past weekend for my father's second memorial service. My father was born in the same city I was, but had lived for many years (and then finally died) in Wisconsin. It was another somber journey thinking of my father again. Missing him again. Realizing that I may not have actually finished grieving him, but I've two toddlers who don't exactly allow me much slow down time. I cried and grieved in the spaces I could find during the day, but life had to go on. And it still does.

My father's funeral in Wisconsin was a lovely service on an absolutely gorgeous autumn day. We could not have asked for finer weather. By contrast, weather for the memorial service this past weekend was cold, rainy and dreary, and as we were leaving the cemetery it started sleeting. It was just nasty, and we'd lost our umbrella, so we were getting wet, I had heels on and we were trying to carry the the boys. Not too much fun, and the weather reflected how I felt on the inside. I wasn't ready (again) to say goodbye to my father.

The memorial service was even more lovely than the funeral in Wisconsin, though. My father's colorful past was peppered with the fathering of seven children from seven different women. Not one of us has the same mother. Many of our mothers never wanted us to know that the man even existed. I found out the truth from family members when I was a senior in high school. Another sibling learned the truth in her late 30s. Still another sibling didn't find out the truth till she was 40. Those of us who did learn the truth of who our biological father was never learned the truth from our mothers --- always someone else. My father was married to some of our mothers, but not to all of our mothers. Two of my siblings are biracial. My oldest brother is mentally retarded. I have a sister who has the same name as I do. We are a motley crew.

As my father grew older, more mature and sober-minded, he began to see how damaging his past really was. He thought more reflectively about his choices. He began to take responsibility for his failures. He now hoped to know his children and to have them be a part of his life. He'd hoped they would want to be a part of one another's lives, too.

My father came into my life 20 years ago, so I was around to see some of his reunions with other siblings. Some didn't even know he existed. I waited patiently on the sidelines while my father rehearsed "firsts": what would he say to the daughter that didn't know he existed? How could he get in touch with a son with whom he had an "on/off again" relationship? How would he deal with the mothers of children in whose mouth he'd left a bitter taste so very many years ago?

He worked and worked and worked through his issues, finally making contact with all of his children. I'd had a brother and sister whom I hadn't even met yet. Some of the siblings had met my oldest sister, but not all of the siblings. Few of the siblings had met my brother, the mentally retarded one, who is actually the oldest.

In the past there were celebratory moments when many of my father's children would hook up and head out to Wisconsin to see him and my step mom. We made some happy memories, too, clanging around in the kitchen, taking orders on who wanted their eggs this way and who wanted them that. Making jokes, laughing --- having a good time together, as my father sat and watched with satisfaction. My father loved his children so very much. He loved to have as many of them around as he possibly could. None of us grew up together. We sometimes talk about what it might have been like had we grown up together. Would we have all gotten along this well? Probably not! There were still siblings we hadn't even met yet! It was my father's dream to get all seven children under one roof at the same time. That didn't even happen at the funeral. Our oldest brother and oldest sister weren't able to make it. My father's dream to have all of his sons and daughters together under one roof still hung thick in the autumn air, yet unfulfilled.

We gathered on last Friday at an area hotel. We agreed we would all stay in the same hotel so that we could spend as much time together as possible. The memorial service was to be on Saturday morning. Some arrived at the hotel early on Friday evening. Others of us arrived very late on Friday, and only first saw one another on Saturday morning at breakfast. We were still trying to nail down the particulars on my brother, Carl. Where would he be? At what time? Would he meet us at the chapel? Word was that the oldest sister and brother (whom many of us had not met) would attend the service. It felt a little like we were all holding our breath.

I met my oldest sister on Saturday morning, after breakfast, when she and her sons arrived at the hotel. We'd spoken on the phone a few times in recent years, but had never actually met. I ran up to her saying, "Hi, sister!" and we embraced. I met my nephews for the first time. The oldest sis was introduced and there were hugs all around. It was a happy moment. It was as if she'd always been there at family gatherings, so well did she fit in with us. It was a joy.

After meeting my sister, we had to hustle...everyone was to meet back downstairs in the lobby at 10:20 (ish) to head over to the cemetery chapel for the memorial service. I had to hustle double, because I was the only one with kids who couldn’t dress themselves yet!

Of course, we were late. But it wasn't my fault...we were waiting for some other sibling or the child of one of our siblings. We would have doubtless been late often had we all grown up together. And there probably wasn't a house big enough to hold us all anyway. Joke. Sort of.

We made it to the chapel a few minutes after 11:00 a.m. The service was supposed to start at 11:00, and we had to be out of there by noon. That was our cut off time.

When I saw him, I was taken aback. I'd never met my oldest brother, Gerald. Few of us had. Though my father had three sons, none of them looked as much like him as Gerald, the oldest. I was blown away, and it was a bit like looking at my father again, in the flesh. We embraced, and he was as thrilled to meet us as we were to meet him. It seemed that no one could stop smiling. We were looking around, meeting people, trying to figure out where our places were. We had to get the service started, as it was well after 11:00, but we were waiting for my brother, Carl, who had gone to get my sister's best friend, so she could be there for the service.

We all had our part in the service. The sister right above me in age facilitated the service. Hubby and I did Scripture readings, as did the sister right behind me in age and the brother right above me in age. The oldest sister sung the Lord's Prayer and led a beautiful prayer. The youngest sibling, and my father's namesake, gave some touching remarks, as did I and several other people who knew my father well. The service ended with all seven children lined up in the order of their ages, holding hands and singing the hymn "Let There Be Peace on Earth." It felt like I could feel my father's tears of joy. His dream was finally realized.

Afterwards, we went to the burial ground and a minister friend of my father gave a few remarks. I was choking up. It was cold. It was raining. And there, in a simple, small wooden box, my father's ashes rested. I kept looking at that small box. I kept looking at it, and decided that I must kiss it before I left. I couldn't believe that it had all come down to this: my father now gone, cremated (the cremation was done after the funeral; there was an open casket for the funeral, which I'd wanted very much), and now this was our last goodbye. Tears burned my eyes. My stepmother spoke, her voice breaking and the tears coming, but my youngest brother (the comedian) saved the moment with a humorous remark and we all laughed...even my step mom. I think she needed that laugh too.

The gathering broke up soon. Hubby took the boys back to the car, and I was standing there with my step mom and the sister right under me in age. I wanted to break out and cry; I wanted someone to grab me and hold me at that moment, so that I could get it all out. But no one did. We stood there talking momentarily. My stepmother said that the box of ashes was heavier than she thought. She would have imagined that ashes would be very light, but that wasn't the case, she said.

"Feel them," she said. "Lift the box."

I lifted the box, and she was right. It was heavier than it looked. And just like that --- just like that --- I held my father in my hands. And that was our last goodbye.

On Sunday morning, after breakfast, we all began to pack up and head back to our respective homes --- Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Maryland and Wisconsin. We'd make our way again, we promised. We would honor our father by building and maintaining relationships with one another --- that's what he always wanted and, in fact, many of us were already keeping in contact pretty well. We just have a couple of other siblings to add to the mix. It would require commitment on our part, but it was a commitment we were all willing to make. My stepmom thanked us again, through tears, for helping to make the memorial service a beautiful one. We all felt that my father would have been delighted.

Grace to you all, beloved...

The Day

2008-11-11T23:40:00.005-05:00

No one knew
When he grew
He’d choose
He’d muse
He’d win
He’d lose
But he’d get right up

He felt
He knelt
A few blows
He was dealt
And barriers
He’d melt
No one knew
He was just one
Of a few
But the first
For us
Of a darker hue
A day of rejoicing
Triumph leaps
And it runs
A man became President
Who's the color of my sons.

Age of Grace

2008-11-05T09:12:00.002-05:00

If only Martin could have lived to see this day...

Election Day (and Brother Love)

2008-11-04T09:21:00.002-05:00

This is probably one of the most historic election campaigns of our time --- I'm sure that's not new to any of you. For me, it's been memorable for a number of reasons. As a black woman, it's memorable because we stand ready to elect our first black president, and this in itself is monumental.

As a Christian, it's been noteworthy to see black Christians so enthusiastically vocal about the prospect of Obama's presidency. From hats and tee-shirts to campaign donations and brow-beating, it seems we've turned out in record numbers at the polls (I arrived at my voting spot at 6:00 a.m. and there was already a significant line as we stood waiting for the doors to open).

What's been most surprising about black Christian Obama-backers is 1. that many have little (if any) tolerance for any other (opposing) political views and 2. far too many have been significantly more vocal about their support of Obama than they've ever been about their support of Christ and the cause of His kingdom.

I hate to sound negative, but I can't help feeling that this might hurt our Lord Christ's feelings. We have knocked on doors for Obama. We have put in time and money toward his campaign. We've talked to our friends and relatives. We've been persuasive. We've studied the issues well into the wee hours of morning. We've made phone calls. We've worn tee-shirts (like my mother-in-law's) which shows Obama's picture on the front and on the back wording which reads "I'm asking you to believe". We've argued, slobbered, brow-beaten others and made fools of ourselves for the cause of Obama.

To be sure, we want to secure our futures. We aren't stark raving mad --- we just want to ensure the man is elected for the betterment of our country, for the betterment of our lives and our children's lives. There's nothing inherently wrong about that.

But what of Christ? We Christians --- when was the last time you knocked on the door of someone you didn't know in order to tell them about Jesus? When was the last time you called someone to tell them that Jesus loves them and that he died so that they could be free --- not just have a more meaningful existence in the here and now, but also life eternal? When was the last time you campaigned for an eternal purpose, looked like a fool, wore the shirts, gave too much money and had people annoyed with you to no end for the cause of Christ?

Does Obama offer hope for a better and brighter future? Well, of course. Has he shed his blood to ensure that better and brighter future and eternal life, as well? Well...no. In the eyes of far too many Christians, he has become...well, a god. We've pinned all our hopes on him, have we not? We've given him praise that might have been more well-placed at our Savior's feet. We've given Obama the steadfast devotion that belongs to Christ. We've cut others down and pushed them aside (and our religion, as well) to advance the cause something very good, yet entirely transient. Shouldn't we put our best persuasive abilities, our willingness to be spoken ill of, our most tireless efforts toward something which lasts forever? In the words of my mother-in-law's tee-shirt, I'm asking you to believe. But not only in something that is temporary and fleeting. I'm asking you to believe and invest in (more than any other one thing) that which is eternal and lasting.

A couple of years ago, when I was a campus minister, I had to raise my salary (much like a missionary has to), and I solicited all of my friends and family to invest in my (eternal) work of serving, teaching and training college students to go out into their respective professions and make a difference for the cause of Christ. You might imagine I had some (read: little) success with getting financial contributions from relatives who are Christians, my brother in particular. My brother, a well-paid magistrate, complained he had little money to give, and offered to give $25 every other month. He gave $25 one time and never gave again, though he was made aware of the need.

A couple of weeks ago, I was chatting with my brother on the phone and he said that by the end of this presidential campaign, he will have donated $500 toward Obama's campaign. He said he didn't have the money, but he found it from somewhere to give to this worthy cause. I guess he didn't remember that he gave only $25 to my ministry over a 3-year period, but my husband reminded him. Hubby also went on to point out that he gave such a large amount of money to someone he didn't even know, while giving so small an amount to someone he'd known his whole life. My brother's response?

"Well, I do believe I know Obama better than I know Michele."

Ouch.

Though he's never met the man, he's probably right. He doesn't know me very well at all. But it still hurts.

All I want to say is this: Christians, vote for whomever you will. Vote your conscience, vote your values. But for goodness sake, peel back some layers and remember the difference between eternal and temporal. And let others have their choice to vote for whomever they will without cutting them down and making them feel beneath you. Remember we have a responsibility as Christians to live and to love as Christ would. And Election Day is a perfectly good time to start.

God's grace, beloved...

The Sign on My Head

2008-11-03T09:45:00.002-05:00

This blog post has been in the works for a couple of weeks --- in my mind, that is. Trying to figure out the words to say, wondering if, in fact, those words were really true and authentic, searching for wisdom, feeling excited, feeling nervous, feeling doubtful, feeling weak, then finally feeling courageous --- all of these things have formed within me during these past weeks and I felt unable, unwilling to write about it until I felt certain and sure; until it felt confirmed within me.

That Was Then. This Is Now.

I've enjoyed wearing headwraps, so I was on YouTube flipping through various tutorials on different ways to wrap a headwrap. Pretty simple, right? Somehow or other, I found myself confronted with the notion of covering my head. The emotion was so strong, it was undeniable. I felt strongly that God was dealing with me about covering my head (that is, in the biblical sense of head covering). I thought this was crazy! It just didn't seem to make sense. It seemed unreasonable. Something I'd seen on YouTube started me on a hunt. I caught wind of what sounded like some sort of crazy movement: some modern day (non-Mennonite, non-Amish) Christian women covering their heads. What?! I thought it sounded a bit ridiculous, yet I was strangely engrossed and wanted to learn more. I found myself undeniably attracted to this form of faith profession. I did more research --- Bible study tools, internet research, looking for books at the library, back to the Bible again, and to the passage that started this whole thing: I Cor. 11:2-16. It all felt so strange, so I talked to hubby, took it up with my pastor and talked about it with an old and trusted friend. I felt troubled in my spirit and it seemed I couldn't think about anything else but covering my head.

Back to the passage in I Corinthians. I've been a Christian for many, many years and read the Bible daily. I'm one of those people who has half the Bible or more underlined and highlighted. Everything is an important truth, and I've got to underline it or highlight it in some way. I write notes in the margins. I am a Bible scribbler, I confess. The wear of my Bible is pretty obvious. But when you come to the I Corinthians passage in my Bible, you'll find nothing underlined. Nothing highlighted. No scribblings. No noting of a footnote's comments. Nothing. Because I have just never been 100% about this passage. I became a Christian during my freshman year in college. I've done a good deal of Bible study between then and now. I was taught by my mentors that the 'covering' mentioned in this passage referred to a woman's hair --- i.e., her hair is her 'covering'. Besides, that was way back then; even if a cloth covering was meant or intended (as it may well have been) --- this was a whole other culture that had different customs and norms of behavior. Much of that stuff no longer applies in our current culture. And besides that, there is freedom in Christ Jesus, and we are no longer bound to certain things. Christian freedom dictates our choices. That's what I was taught, that's what (I think) I believed, and that's what I just took for granted. That passage in I Corinthians just didn't apply to me. I don't have to cover my hair with any sort of cloth covering. That was then. This is now.

Peeling Back the Layers

Yet I just couldn't get any sort of peace. Talked to Noah about it and we read the passage together again. He listened to my heart and wasn't too judgemental with me and was pretty kind about the whole thing. He was probably thinking, "Why do I have to be the one with the weird wife who is always changing in some way? First vegetarianism and now this?! What am I gonna do with this woman?!" Yet he kindly let me share my heart and was thankful that I invited him in on this journey (or whatever it is) with me. Even if he rolls his eyes to the ceiling when I walk away, he still makes me feel as though I'm the darling of his heart.

My dear pastor, when I shared my heart with him about what I'd been experiencing, advised against wearing a head covering, saying it was simply that culture's way of demonstrating submission and authority. There are other ways of doing that today, he said. After his response, I felt really confused! I felt pretty upset about it, too. I told Noah I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but asked him to pray for me. I couldn't shake the sense that God was really speaking to me about this. And not only this, but about dressing more modestly, too! Now, those who know me at least moderately well know that I am not the cutie trying to win wet tee shirt contests (not that I even could, but I digress), nor the one walking around with jeans spray painted on, or plunging necklines. Yet even though I might be considered a modest dresser by the world's standards, I got the sense that along with covering my head, I was to readjust my dress and cover more (this is fairly easy to do in the colder months; I'll have to deal with the summer when we get there). Why is this necessary? you might ask. I began to pose to myself questions that emerged about why I dress the way I dress. What's my motive for dressing the way that I do? Do I think about God's glory when I put something on? Or when I stand in line to purchase it? Am I thinking about the attention that I will draw to myself when I wear it? Am I choosing clothes that will flatter my figure and highlight all my positives? For me that wasn't necessarily wearing tight or immodest clothes, but certainly clothes that highlight my narrow waistline and slender frame. After peeling back some layers, I have found that I am very proud of being such a small size while on the cusp of turning 40. I discovered that I am vain. And I put together that vanity is pride and that pride is sin. So though my clothes aren't tight, the issues are about the motivations of my heart, my intentions. When I faced the facts, I realized that I choose my clothes based on a certain level of pride, and that what I'm hoping will show is my own glory --- not God's.

Temporal Beauty vs Eternal Beauty

Don't get me wrong. I want to dress in a way that glorifies God, but I don't want to be haggardly! And, personally, I don't think dressing in a way that glorifies God means you have to be. To be honest, I feel more beautiful with my head wrapped than when it's not. I feel...something akin to regal. I am not the woman you'd see with the floor-length flowered dress with shoulder pads and a lace doily on her head. I esteem those women, and mean no disrespect, but that's just not me. If I'm going to be covered, I want to be covered stylishly. Some may not even noticed I've changed a thing...I've not been one for short skirts, anyway; it's just not my thing. But I think my motivation for buying the clothes that I do will change. I think looser clothing that covers more will be a lot more comfortable. I think it will afford me the opportunity to think less about my size and my waistline and more about the kingdom of God and the glory of God. I think it will help me think more about eternal beauty (lasting), rather than temporal beauty (fading).

Odd One Out

Okay, so call me weird. I've always been a bit counter-cultural, particularly when it comes to my faith and the expression of it. Maybe the I Corinthians passage isn't a mandate for everyone. It's often hard to accept something from Scripture that makes us uncomfortable, that makes us look weird, that makes it hard for us to blend into the mainstream culture. Yet and still, beware of a religion that costs you nothing. Avoid it at all costs.

So I wrote my pastor, right? I said what has happened to us Christians? We show up to church with cleavage fully exposed (immodest dress is rampant in the church) under the concession of "Christian freedom" and afterwards we go out to dinner and sit down to eat a stroke on a plate. We aren't tithing (tell the truth, now!). We aren't sharing our food with the poor; we are selfish and tight-fisted. We've abandoned spiritual disciplines such as fasting, and we don't read and study the Bible regularly, to say nothing of prayer. Could we even get a prayer through if we wanted to? Why should muslim women out-do Christian women in the areas of modesty, reverence and honor?? We serve the living Christ, yet too often you can't tell us from the world, and what a sad, sad testimony that is. And that's the truth.

So yesterday it hit me. I have to do this. I have to. With all due respect to my dear, dear pastor, I respectfully disagree with him. If I feel God is leading me to do something that's not a sin and is not contrary to Scripture, I feel like I've got an obligation to respond.

And by no means am I putting myself on a pedestal, saying I am right and everyone else is wrong. Please don't hear that. And I'm not trying to start controversy. I only want to be obedient. Do I have all the answers to every issue that arises? Of course not. I'm saying that as a Christian I needed to begin to ask myself the tough questions. Is Christ only my Savior and not the Lord of my whole life? If He is my Lord, then I need to let the Lordship of Christ seep into the nooks and crannies of every area of my life: my eating, my mothering, my spending, my giving, my clothing attire and the movies I watch. The list could go on and on.

Why I Do What I Do

The real reasons why I do what I do? I really want to fit in. I really want to be loved. I really want to be accepted. I really want to be loved and accepted by the people in the world. And to be accepted by them, I must hold to their standards of beauty and to their standards of dress. Show a little more skin. Skip a few meals to be skinnier. If I hold to the standards of the current culture (to be loved, accepted, what have you), then I am bound by the standards of the current culture. And finally I am defeated and imprisoned by the standards of the current culture. I have no way out and am on an endless quest to have more, to be thinner, to be prettier, to out-do the next woman. I really don't want to be weird or peculiar, but I really hate this rat race! I want a way out --- I want to opt out of this frenzy. Here, all this time I've tried living up to the world's standards and then finally, when I'm exhausted, I remembered that friendship with the world is hatred towards God. That anyone who chooses to be a friend of the world becomes an enemy of God (James 4:4). How could I miss this?? And at first I was afraid to do this --- afraid to opt out of the rat race of worldly beauty, afraid others would see me as weird. I was afraid to stand out. I've never been very good at that, even if my ideas are counter-cultural. Now I feel more and more certain that I just have to do it. Whatever God is saying to other women --- well, it is what it is. I just know that I have to be accountable to what He may be speaking to me. I'm not trying to make judgements about other women and what they are called to do.

So, for now, my head stays covered. Both as an outward sign of my devotion to God and as a sign of my submission to my husband's authority. I am still working out how often my head will be covered. It will probably always be covered at church (public worship), as it's talked about in I Cor., chapter 11. It will probably be covered most of the time I'm out in public, but may be mostly uncovered at home. I do have much more a sense of resolve, of peace and of being settled in my decision. My plan is to walk in this decision until the Lord shows me otherwise. And for now, that's all I know.

Enjoy your week, beloved.

Do Yourself a Three Minute Favor

2008-10-29T23:00:00.004-04:00

I'm an all day sucker for a good love song, and she does a smoky cover of this Bob Dylan classic. Enjoy, beloved...

p.s. her cd is worth the purchase.
p.p.s. i like to imagine Jesus is singing this to me (and lots of other love songs); so now you know...:)

Good Love

2008-10-23T10:14:00.002-04:00

Noah (short for Ashunoah...you'll never learn if I keep reminding you, though, will you?) was late getting off for work this morning. Again. He tends to run late and I've become used to it by now. He must have said 'goodbye' three times before he actually left the house. He went into the boys' room twice...once to say 'good morning' and to to tickle (or something...I heard Obi giggling), then once more to say 'goodbye'. From their room, he headed directly out the door, after telling me goodbye once more.

I was in the kitchen and as I passed through the dining room on my way upstairs, I noticed a small bag in the corner. Hmph! His lunch! He'd forgotten it: chicken parmigiana (sp?) over whole wheat spaghetti with a breadstick and applesauce (don't ask me why I do spaghetti with applesauce...I think it's the salty and the sweet, but I digress). I called his cell, half expecting him to answer, thinking he might have already arrived at his first service call. Surprisingly, though, he answered.

"You forgot your lunch!" I begin.
"Oh no! That's right, I put it right there where I was supposed to see it!"
"Yeah, but you were supposed to come back into the dining room to see it, but you went straight from the boys' room right out the door."
"Dangit!"
"I know...you'll just have to grab something else".
"I know, because I won't even be in the area. I've got service calls way out today."
"That's okay. You can take it tomorrow. Just grab something for today."
"Okay..dang. I was looking forward to that yummy goodness, though."
"Yeah...and your lunch, too."

We both laugh. This time I beat him to the punch line. We do this sort of thing quite often.

"Alright then...that's what I was calling for," I say, smiling.
"Sweet thing! I love you so very much."
"I love you so, so much."

We hang up and I just had my first dose of humor for the day. I need it, too. Lately I've been something of a grump, though I've tried to hide it. I think I'm dealing with internal issues --- my father's death, plus re-examining my values and a few other yada, yada, yada issues. But I do get a lot of joy from my marriage and from being a homemaker and from being the one to whom everyone looks (even our dog) for food and nourishment -- physical as well as spiritual and emotional. I feel like I'm in the right place, doing the right thing --- doing the thing I was meant and called to do. And I take a lot of satisfaction in that. I was never the corporate climber type. I was never the feminist type. I told Noah once that I wanted to be a 'kept woman'...okay, so that may be a little extreme, but I do like not having to worry about the bills and how they will be paid; I like not having to worry about the insulation of the house, how the lawnmower is acting up, or having to think of the responsibility of financially providing for a whole household of folks. I realize there are a lot of women who do this well, and I believe that I could too, if I had to. But I like just being the nurturer, just being the supporter, just being the helper. I really love my place in the home, and I'm thankful (so thankful), I get to be home with my boys. It's such a privilege and honor --- even if I'm fussing at them, spanking behinds, cleaning up vomit, doing loads of laundry and constantly trying to keep the house clean, organized and liveable. This is a tough job -- 12 hour days, then on-call after that, no vacations, no paid time off, no holidays, (I even have to work on Sundays!) --- but somebody's got to do it. And I'm happy that God picked me for this.

Enjoy your day, beloved...

Muhala's Perfect Pumpkin Soup

2008-10-15T21:40:00.003-04:00

-2 29oz. cans of Libby’s 100% pure pumpkin
-1.5 cups 1% milk
-1.5 cups evaporated milk
-1/4 cup sweetened condensed milk
-1/8 tsp curry powder
-1/8 tsp ground allspice
-1/8 tsp ground cloves
-1/4 tsp nutmeg
-1 tsp pumpkin pie spice
-1 tbsp cinnamon
-3/4 cup packed brown sugar
-1/2 cup granola or chopped walnuts (optional)

Blend all ingredients (except granola/chopped nuts) together until smooth and well blended. Simmer in crockpot on low for 2 hours. Top with granola or chopped walnuts.

I love making soups during this time of year. The harvest season is my very favorite time of year and it totally puts me in the mood to make pies, breads, soups and cobblers. Tonight I made rice pudding, too. I made pumpkin soup last year using a recipe I wasn't pleased with; this year I made my own, writing down the measurements as I went along, and going back and tweaking the measurements when the soup called for a little more of this or that. I'm really pleased with the outcome. The granola topping is something I discovered quite by accident, but it works! Perfect for those (like hubby) who don't like nuts but enjoy the sweet crunchiness of granola. Enjoy!

Worldly Imperfections and Other Human Frailties

2008-10-14T12:24:00.002-04:00

So. Here I am. We returned last night from a long weekend visit (Friday through Monday) with some dear friends. Getting away was good, and I think even the boys need a change in routine sometimes. The four of us slept in our friends' guest bedroom, which is pretty spacious, and I think the boys really enjoyed being in the same room as Mommy and Daddy. Our oldest (what are we calling him? Obi, I think) moans in his sleep and wakes everyone else up. Our youngest (we'll still call him Bo-Bo as a new nickname just hasn't happened upon me yet) is very affectionate and wants to crawl up into Mommy's bed while she's still sleeping. Our friends were gracious and kind, and hubby (we are calling him Noah...are you tracking with me?) was happy to have spent his birthday weekend laughing, eating and making good memories with friends.

As for me, I'm realizing that I'm fractured and I'm trying to put the broken pieces back together again. The time away helped me to confront some of the things I'm feeling inside...that is, to better understand what's actually happening with me. My father's recent death has been a real turning point in my life. I've been at odds with how to process everything, particularly while I'm raising two young toddlers who require my attention at nearly all points throughout my days. The pain I feel over my father's death has manifested itself in other areas --- particularly in the love I'm receiving (or not receiving) from people who have called themselves friends in my life. My expectations are through the roof, and who can meet them? I think I'm a bit ridiculous to expect everyone to respond how I think they should. The world continues to go on around me, but I find that I am not okay, and I just need to call a spade a spade. As much as I've heaped upon my friends or former friends for what they've failed to give me, I am no better. I forget to return dinner requests I've taken a rain check on. I'm terrible with the telephone. I don't always initiate time with my friends the way I should. I'm not always so great a friend. Sometimes I'm a downright bad one. But my father's death, and the pain unleashed from that, seems to have spilled over into my pointing fingers. And that's just not right. I need to reassess and change things and give myself time to heal. I may be hurting for a long time to come yet; I need to give myself grace.

Still, though, I've less patience for inauthenticity. I'm too old for this. My father's death has grown me up and helped me to see things a little more clearly in some areas. I don't have time for excuses and facades and such. I honestly don't think I'm angry anymore about that --- though a week ago I was VERY angry. The anger has faded. Sometimes we must journey a different path than our friends and former friends; sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. I'm realizing that I'm okay with that --- I'm okay if we won't be in the future what we were in the past --- but let's just call it what it is. We don't have to scuffle about trying to catch up with each other, or 'dodging' each other --- whatever the case may be. We can drop a Christmas card in the mail to each other, or remember a birthday with some small kindness --- or none of this at all --- and I'm still okay with that. I don't hold it against friends/former friends, and I don't hold it against myself. It just is. So let's just call it what it is. Let's live our lives knowing we have great memories and a good history. And you know what? Maybe that's enough. I think it is. I only hope my friends/former friends won't hold anything against me. I certainly don't hold anything against them.

I've returned again to craving authenticity --- a ''let's be real with each other/let me be who God created me to be" type of mentality. I think that's spilling over into various areas of my life. I'm longing for not just what is simple and uncluttered, but for what is true and authentic. I can feel when my life begins to get cluttered again. I sometimes make changes (or compromise my standards) for what's easiest, or for what's more palatable for other people. But sooner or later, I feel I must simplify (just because I make jewelry doesn't mean I need a gazillion pairs of earrings, for example), get rid of things, make space (inside and outside) for what is truly valuable to me and beneficial for me.

In short, I'm imperfect in some pretty obvious (and not so obvious) ways, and yes, as Darius stated so well, I'm on the journey of growth. No telling what I'll encounter along the way. But I know I'm not alone, and I feel God's presence and love all around me, his Spirit ever strengthening me. I think I can do this now.

Grace, beloved...

Things I Lost in the Fire

2008-10-08T16:28:00.007-04:00

I'm realizing that it's more than simply grieving over my father's death that has me emotional. It's that I'm grieving over the friendships (such as they are) that I've lost --- or rather, the friendships without substance that have been brought to light in this loss. I'm speaking of those friends who knew full well that my father died --- who were informed in some way, whether by email, another friend, spouse, whatever --- but never said a word: no card, no spoken condolences, no hastily written email of concern or care. I realize that sometimes people don't know what to say...so they sort of let themselves be absorbed by the shadows, and say nothing at all. Which is worse...at least for me. There are those friendships that were already hanging by flimsy threads to begin with; those threads have now been severed and the shabby friendships fall away.

I'm also increasingly (and painfully) aware that there are those "friends" who have avoided me for a time because they felt I would not approve of their lifestyles (read: men in their lives whom they knew would not meet my approval).

There is an old college friend who, despite being a devout believer, kept finding herself in romantic entanglements neither her Christian parents, siblings or friends would approve of. God be thanked that she heeded wise counsel and chose not to marry a particular suitor who was weak and watered down. I was her close buddy when she was exiting another fairly recent relationship...she told me all the details --- the ins, outs and in-betweens of his exit from her life and of his new love interest. Then she took up with a new stranger. He'd come to church here and there, and once I said hello to him with my friend standing right there, and she never bothered to introduce me. She got engaged, and she never bothered to tell me. She got married and she never bothered to tell me, much less invite me to the gathering. She never got premarital counseling and most of her family did not approve of this young man, who had dealings with the law (we'll just keep it at that) amongst other things. The truth is that this friend probably knew that her choice of a potential spouse was far less than ideal. But she was, after all, getting older. Why shouldn't she get married too? We probably just wouldn't understand, anyway. Besides, it's better to marry than to burn. Right?

When I told her that I'd missed connecting with her, she gave me the tired excuse of 'being busy'. I'm so very tired of inauthenticity.

The other woman, a trusted friend of many years, received an email from me (which I sent out to a large number of people...it was just easier) informing of my father's death. What's odd is that I received a condolence email from a former co-worker who told me that my friend emailed her and told her that my father had died. So, this "friend" found time to tell my former co-worker, but never bothered calling, sending a card, or even dropping a quick email sending condolences. She never even acknowledged the email in any shape or form.

Oh, and let's not forget another friend who calls me in and out of her life as the mood suits her. And where am I? Always there, of course. Always waiting and always making every concession in the world for her. She is the friend whom I've always called 'beloved', but by her actions she proves that the current man in her life is far more valuable than a trusted friend of many years. And there is always a man. Never mind that they do her dirty, hang her emotions out to dry, eat up her food and kick her to the curb whenever it suits them. She can go for a year without talking to her dear little Muhala, pick up the phone to call again and expect everything will be just fine. I'm oh, so tired.

But this one is the straw that broke the camel's back. Go back to the 80s to a dear soul we'll call Jay, with whom I'd lost contact with until fairly recently. He is doing well, has a beautiful family, wonderful kids and a music career that he loves. Was oh sooo glad that we're back in touch again. Is oh sooo grateful for our friendship. Who oh sooo remembers how I was there for him when his father died, and will forever love me for it.

He was, of course, notified that my father had died just as soon as it happened.

Not a word from him.

I'm beginning to think that my expectations of people are just way too high. I do, though, still believe in the power of authenticity, and I'm doing myself and these 'friends' no favors by pretending everything is okay. It's not. I'm over this.

The Names We Call Ourselves

2008-10-04T13:22:00.002-04:00

It all started as a silly game, really. A few years back, we were re-watching the Kevin Costner flick Dances with Wolves. We liked that movie. We liked that people had names with meanings that were somehow connected to the characteristics they had or the kind of people they were. Wouldn't it be nice if we had such names?

So we named ourselves. This was back when it was just the two of us. Hubby named me. And he gave my name a meaning. We wanted names that sounded rich, that had character and depth. We've recently coined these names our 'native' names. And along with creating the name --- coming up with all the sounds that would comprise a name that sounded strong and beautiful --- we thought up meanings for our names. Meanings that somehow reflected something in our character or reflected how we viewed the other.

Hubby named me Muhala Akamau (Moo-HA-lah Ah-ka-MAH-ew), which he decided would mean "She who is loved by God and her husband."

I named hubby Kakitapi Ashunoah (KAH-KEE-tah-pee Ah-shoo-NO-ah), which I decided would mean "He who warms the night with his love." Ahem.

We would sometimes loosely or jokingly use our names, but recently we began to take this name giving more seriously. We jokingly named our first son, back when he was just a newborn, "lays with fist", as he often laid on his back with his hands tightly clinched. We laughed it off, but never got about the business of seriously naming him and our youngest until now.

It was a long drive from our home to Wisconsin...sheesh, we do almost anything to make the time pass. We play all our cds, talk, make up games and play them, just about anything. This trip was different, though. My father had died and we were traveling to Wisconsin for his funeral. It was a somber trip. I often gazed out the window and thought of my father, wishing this were a happy trip. Still, we determined to make something good of it. So somewhere between Ohio and Wisconsin we gave our sons their 'native' names. We were sooo very proud of ourselves; not only had we labored together to create names we both liked --- with sounds that flowed well off the tongue, and with meanings that were memorable and fitting --- but we somehow turned a sad trip into a happy one, by giving our sons strong names that they could be proud of.

You'll recall that we were married almost 12 years before Sweet Pea came along. He was the answer to many years of tears and prayers. Sometimes it felt that God had passed me over, but He heard and responded. So we named Sweet Pea Zwahara Obigawe (Zwuh-HAR-uh O-bee-GAH-way), which means "He heard, He gave, We loved."

Now to name our youngest. He is a tender boy, very loving, and very affectionate. He is the child who pats your back if you're coughing. Or who gives you a kiss and a hug if you look sad. He is also the child who is not easily discouraged --- he is a little toughie, and is willing to try challenges even if they look impossible. He is very physical, not timid and it seems his feelings are sometimes more wounded than his body if he takes a hit. He is the child who will cry if you harshly raise your voice at him. He is me all over again (except I'm not toughie, and I'm pretty timid, but I digress...). We named Bo-Bo Tashumawe Nawagaki (Tuh-SHOO-muh-way Now-uh-GAH-kee), which we determined would mean "A heart tender enough to be gentle, yet strong enough to be brave."

Now we've begun taking our native names more seriously. So. I'm changing my profile name here to my native name. Okay, sure, I've thought about legally changing my name, but I won't completely fly off the handle. At home, though, we've begun to intermittenly call the boys by their native names, and they understand that these are their 'new' names, and they respond with "yes?". It's lovely. Mostly, though, we still call them by their given, birth names, but we toss their native names in occasionally, just to keep them sharp and aware of them. Their names are so thick, though, that at first we couldn't remember them, and we had to go back and look at the paper we'd written them down on! That went on for the better part of a week, but now we seem to know them and they slip off the tongue easier.

We'd also named my hubby's cousin, Brian, but he can't remember the native name we gave him, and it's been so long that we can't remember either.

We don't expect that to happen with the boys' names, though, as we are using them regularly.

So these are the boys' new names. I've decided to use them when referring to them in blog posts (I'm always changing, beloved, you've got to read to keep up with me!), but of course, the names are way too long to write out every time I reference hubby (who's never been named on this blog), or Sweet Pea (our oldest) or Bo-Bo (our youngest), so here's the native name breakdown (stay with me here!):

Me: Muhala (the shortened form of Muhala Akamau...I'm pleased that I have the shortest of all names!)

Hubby: Noah (the last segment of the second part of his name, Ashunoah)

Sweet Pea: Obi (the first segment of the second part of his name, Obigawe)

Bo-Bo: hmmm....haven't figured out his 'nickname' yet, but I'll come up with it and let you know.

I also might surprise you and use their entire native names. Anything's possible. I do love the names.

It's a gorgeous day here, and I miss my father. I had a really difficult day yesterday. It seemed every effort to distract myself proved fruitless. I fought back tears at the park with the boys, stole off to cry at various points, and cried during last night's date night movie (Noah had fallen asleep on it, and I used the time to let out some tears). Every breeze and passing butterfly made me think of my father. There is this strange silence that hangs in the air, and its reality is biting. I can't get over the truth of this, and no one is able to spare me from the pain I feel (as much as my mother tries --- God love her --- she suggested that I don't attend the memorial service in my hometown that will be held for him on his birthday next month...she thought it would be too painful for me...yes, but why should I be spared? People die every day, and at least some of them, some of the time, will happen to be people I love). Grief feels a little like Hell is said to be: there may be a bunch of folks around you who are in the same place as you, but it's said that you do hell all by yourself. You alone have to suffer it --- you don't suffer it in groups, safe in the community of the folks you used to shuck and jive with. That would be pleasure, and there is no such pleasure in hell. Grief is a bit like that --- there are those around me who are grieving as I am --- my stepmom, my sisters and my brothers, but none of that makes my pain any easier. I mourn, I grieve, I cry and pray all by myself. Friends are a comfort and their kindness soothes me, but no one can feel this, like this, but me.

It is beautiful here...enjoy the glory that it autumn, and remember to enjoy life in all its fullness. For it quickly passes, and we fly away.

Grace, beloved...

Be Ever Wonderful

2008-09-30T15:45:00.012-04:00

We returned home from Wisconsin late Sunday night. We were exhausted. That's a long drive. Way too long. God love my husband because he drove the entire way there and back. He knows I will drive if he asks me to, but I don't even like riding for such long distances, much less driving. I told him I was going to brag about him on my blog post and he said, "Those folks are gonna think 'So! That's what he's 'sposed to do!', I said, "I don't care. I'm gonna say it, anyway!"

Hubby was wonderfully supportive throughout the entire weekend. We were at the funeral home for hours --- greeting people, taking pictures, socializing with relatives, weeping and grieving our loss, and hubby kept the boys occupied and entertained or just let them sleep if they needed to in a downstairs room of the funeral home. Ideally, I would have liked to have kept the boys at home, but things just didn't work out where hubby's mom could keep them, so we brought them along on our trip to Wisconsin. It all worked out well, though; the boys were soooo good, even though they were restless and bored nearly to tears. Their good behavior was a real gift to me at a time when I truly needed it.

Where to begin? Our weekend was jammed packed. We arrived late on Friday, but still earlier than my brother and sisters and their families. We all stayed in the same hotel, and a friend of my father's worked out some kind of deal that those who were in town for my father's funeral would get a significant discount, no matter what kind of room they wanted. It was a tremendous gift. We got a suite for one low price, and the boys loved it. They were running in and out the rooms, opening doors, drawers and touching anything they could get their hands on. They just knew they were some place new and special.

Saturday morning we all had a later, light breakfast, and before we knew it, we had to be dressed and at the funeral home by 12:30. It was a gorgeous day, and the funeral was a very short walk from our hotel, so we all walked it together --- brothers and sisters and our families. I was getting edgy. We were already running late, and we noticed we were missing a family member, so we had to wait until someone went and got her. My stepmother had already called the hotel wondering where we were. Those who know me well know I hate to be late, I really do. We all knew the family had to be there early for the viewing, and they were doing an open casket. I was nervous about seeing my father in the casket, and I just wanted to get it done already. I ended up walking ahead with my sister so I could just be there. It was like I was holding my breathe until I saw him lying there.

God had tremendous grace upon me. The excitement of being with my brothers and sisters and their spouses and kids filtered my grief. For hours we greeted and talked with people who knew my father, snapped photos and chatted amongst ourselves. The casket was ready to be closed and we gathered around my stepmother who wept. The funeral service was ready to begin and we took our seats.

This was my first funeral at a white funeral home. I've been to many funerals over the years, but they were all at black funeral homes, and I'd come to expect the usual: a 2 hour wake, followed by a 2 hour funeral, complete with the obituary reading, singing, moaning, eulogy, crying and one last walk around for the final viewing (or something to this effect).

I was told this funeral service would be lickety split. Maybe 30 minutes in all. I found that unbelievable! After a couple of hymns, there was a prayer, obituary reading, a first, second and third Lesson, remarks from the family, friends and associates --- and we were told to please keep the remarks to two minutes.

There were remarks from a couple of friends before my sister got up to speak. After her, I got up to speak. Through my tears I bumbled something about my father continuing to live on because I have his hands...so the work I do with my hands will be as if he were doing it. I have his ears, his mouth...so the things I hear and the words I speak will be as if he were speaking them. I wrapped it up quick, though, because I am a woman of the letter. If the man said two minutes, then what I've got to say will take one minute and ten seconds. After me, my brother Carl choked through a few words. Then my youngest brother got up and made a few humorous comments (which lightened the atmosphere).

And then, the oddest thing happened. My father's oldest friend, Ruby, got up to speak. Picture this: a 73 year old woman with taut, smooth brown skin, salt and pepper hair pulled back into a bun, with clear, sharp speech that never mis stepped --- the sort of woman who apologizes for little, having paid her dues early in life; the kind of woman who walks with her head up and her back straight and owes no one a (damn) thing. That's Ruby. At least that was my impression of her. Early on I learned she'd been a vegetarian since the age of 11, and I was completely inspired to continue on as a vegetarian, despite the temptation to do 'what's easiest' or at the very least, be like everyone else so I don't have to stand out....but I digress.

Ruby stepped to the mic and didn't sit down for 20 to 30 minutes. And in that time she told us the entire history of how she'd met my father as a high school freshman. She remembered the very words he spoke to her the day she met him back in 1949. She spoke of their friendship and his devotion to her and hers to him. She wept a little. Then she went back to talking. Then she got choked up and was silent for a moment. Then she threw up her hands in resignation: "Ohhh! I can't DO this in 2 minutes! Ramon was not a 2 minute man!!" We all cheered and laughed. What an amazing gift for story telling this woman has!

The service was soon over (the eulogy was shorter than Ruby's talk), but there was a reception aftewards, after which we headed over to my dad and stepmom's house and stayed up late talking, munching mixed nuts, playing board games, and looking at old photo albums. We had the best time reminiscing, enjoying one another and celebrating my father's life.

By the next morning, we were all pretty tired, but enjoyed one last breakfast together before we took off in our various directions. There had been so many relatives and friends who came from far and wide to show support to my family at my father's passing. I met first cousins I never even knew I had. One of my relatives from Trinidad who spoke with a thick accent spoke of many of my father's relatives who still live in St. Croix.

God has blessed me richly over the course of this past week. It's been a week and a day since my father died, yet I've experienced an outpouring of love from so many people...from cards and monetary gifts to emails, phone calls and messages left on our answering machine --- I've felt God's love through the caring words, sentiments and actions of others. My father would be so very pleased.

Much more to write, but it will have to come later. I've been trying to get this post up since Monday.

Photos above:

1. my sisters and me (I'm in the middle).

2. my brothers, sisters and me (everyone towers over me!)

3. Miss Ruby (my father's longtime friend) and me.

We Were Autumn

2008-09-25T09:51:00.003-04:00

Writing helps me process my grief, so I hope you won't grow weary of words about my father. Yesterday, during the day, I was feeling better, like perhaps I could make it through the day without tears; like I was coming to terms with the reality of his death; like I was beginning to accept it.

But as the day wore on, my heart grew heavier, and I found myself still resisting the idea that he was gone --- thinking maybe this was all some huge mistake, or like I was soon to awaken from some bad dream --- anything to make it not real, not true. And getting us packed for the funeral...what dress to wear, what earrings --- "no, not those. Put them back. This is dreadful. Why do I even want to look pretty? I do not feel pretty." Putting aside the boys' clothes --- sweet little pants and dress shoes with matching little vests and little ties. Sickness at the pit of my stomach. Do you understand how dreadful it is to be expected to look nice when you are going to a funeral --- how contradicting it feels to dress up for death? I began to feel weighted down again last night, heavy and burdened. I wanted to write to my sister to tell her how I feel. Everyone seems to be doing okay...better than me. How can that be? How can you not sound sad? How can we laugh? I feel guilty for going on living while my father is now dead.

I didn't even know I felt that until I wrote it just now.

Indeed, writing does help me process my grief.

Thoughtful of my father to die in autumn, my favorite season. He'd come to see us many times over the years, though we lived far apart. The above photo was taken in autumn, eight years ago. This is how I remember my father. You may recall that I didn't find out about my father till I was 19 years old; I lived a childhood without him. But I am now 39 now, and God gave us 20 years to make memories, and I believe we made good use of that time. I can say that with a sense of peace. Lots of folks don't get 20 years with their father, but I got 20 years, and 6 months. That's a tremendous grace.

Grace and Peace

Encouragement for Today

2008-09-24T11:27:00.001-04:00

Today

2008-09-23T16:59:00.003-04:00

Thanks all my blogging friends for your kind, loving and supportive words. I'm not sure which day it is that the tears stop...it seems like I will be sad for a very long time. It seems like someone else's father died; not mine. It seems like it's happening outside me and all around me, but not actually to me. But it is. It seems like I should be able to pedal backwards and undo his death. Make it so it's not really true. But I'm finding I can't undo his dying, his death, and that's a very hard reality to face.

There is one thing that gives me comfort. I know I was a special daughter to him and that he loved me with all his heart. He gave me credit, some years back, for teaching him to open his heart to love, to be willing to step through a door whereby love is ushered in. That seems like quite a big order; one I shouldn't take credit for, but when I remember his words, it reminds me how much he really loved me. When I saw him in June, over Father's Day weekend, his whole demeanor changed...this was going to be a great day simply because I walked through that door. That's what the expression on his face said! I know he loved me deeply and thought me to be a beautiful daughter. I really feel like God used me to serve him all these years, and just to be God's light in his life. I feel like I really did that; it's just that I didn't think my assignment was up. It really hurts. Today I feel angry, but it's no one's fault. It's just hard today in ways it wasn't yesterday.

The News...

2008-09-22T15:43:00.000-04:00

He's gone.

Living and Dying

2008-09-19T15:42:00.001-04:00

I am trying to come to terms with the fact that my father may be dying. My stepmom is trying to come to terms with it, too, but it's on a whole other level. Imagine losing your best friend, your lifelong companion --- to feel as if there's little hope, and that there's nothing you can do about it. Just imagine. Imagine how it must feel to want to hold on tightly to someone, to secure him to this earthly world, when he's made it clear he's ready to go? I love my stepmother dearly and to see her in this kind of pain gives me an ache deep in my heart.

So the doctors recommend hospice at this point and he may be moved as early as tomorrow. My father lives in Wisconsin, and I'm not able to be there, which is difficult for me...I really want to be there. I could have my mom-in-law watch the boys for a few days, and I could take off --- but she is in Jamaica on a trip she'd had planned for a while. I'm so glad my sister and I made a trip to see him on Father's Day. I'm sooo thankful that we did that. Please pray for my father and for my stepmom as you think of it. She is a wonderful woman and gave my father one of her kidneys years back when they were looking for a match. She was the right match. In more ways than one.

Still not sure whether or not the blog will be private...I'm still praying on it; if it does stay public, I'm sure I'll not be putting up photos as much, which saddens me a little, as I love adding photos of my life and family to my blog posts. I think this old photo of my father was taken when he was still in school --- high school or college maybe. He's 72 now...he was born in November.

Love to you all...enjoy your weekend. Autumn is in the air, and I eagerly await it.

Making Room

2008-09-18T15:42:00.003-04:00

I'm cleaning my home office, and it feels a little like I'm cleaning my soul. I need to get rid of things. Stuff. Anything. I need what's left to represent who and what I am, what I'm becoming, what matters. Simplicity matters much to me, so I'm thinking of ways to clear things out. Space means a lot to me and, since this is the smallest room in the house (it's the perfect size for me; I don't need anything too big, I just cannot have too much stuff. Then I start to feel squeezed in, like I'm overwhelmed by stuff in a room meant to give restoration and peace.

I started with my desk, then moved to my book case. I love all my books, but even some of them (a good number, really) had to go --- not given away, just moved to my downstairs storage area, till I decide I won't be needing them anymore. We just cannot keep everything, people. When new stuff comes in, other stuff has to go. I wish hubby would let me at his downstairs office area. Ooooh, that I could have at it!

I've been low on the radar, I know. Won't you forgive me? I told hubby I'm trying to organize my life...like clearing out my office is the starting point, and that I can't move forward until I've got that piece of my life organized and squared away. My office is the soul of our home --- at least for me, so it's fitting that I should begin here. I'm waiting and hopeful that the Lord will speak to me as I clean, clear out and de-clutter.

Also, new news. I'll just say that I've had some concerns recently with one of the boys' birth parents --- an issue has been raised that I'm not comfortable with (nor is hubby), and protecting my privacy is now more important to me than ever. This blog is, let's face it, pretty public. So, I'm praying about whether to make this blog a private blog or keep it as is. I welcome your comments on this. Hubby has never been fond of the idea of my blog being private...he always thought my blog was out there to encourage and bless people. I do hear him. It's hard having children you didn't give birth to. Most parents never think twice about the privacy issues that affect adoptive parents in a world that has now, thanks to the internet, become much more accessible. We'll see how that unfolds. Anyway, do keep us in your prayers.

I'll see you on the other side of a more organized life!

Until then, I remain

Hannibal Buress - really funny

2008-08-21T23:49:00.002-04:00

And Now the Good News

2008-08-14T23:54:00.005-04:00

Having to wrap up this marriage series, I think it's important that I end on a good note, because marriage is good --- really! Yes, in spite of the ups and downs, ins and outs, misunderstandings, arguments and frustrations, it really is worth it. Both hubby and I agree we would never want to be single again! That alone is saying a lot. There is a comfort, a familiarity, a security in a good marriage that is almost beyond description and terribly hard to duplicate. It's no wonder people want in.

I could go on and on about this topic, but there just isn't the time to tackle issues like change and transition, growing older or parenting. I'd planned to tackle the delicate area of sexuality in marriage, too, but there are endless topics and I'd be on this series forever!

Couple of things, though: I made up for the lack of photos in the last few posts by creating a "Story of Us" slideshow (forthcoming) for your viewing pleasure. I can't BELIEVE some of the pictures --- did we really wear glasses that BIG?!

Okay, so there were a number of areas/issues in marriage I didn't hit in this series, so I'm open to questions. Just think of anything I haven't covered that you'd like to know (personal, or general), and I'll do my best to answer (within reason, of course!).

Enjoy your weekend, beloved...

News We Can Use: Read at Your Own Risk

2008-08-07T05:25:00.005-04:00

Some of the best marriage advice I've ever received came early on and went something like this: "Prepare to not have your needs met."

Several years later another friend would tell me something I've never forgotten: "Marriage doesn't solve the problem of loneliness."

We know the Bible doesn't advocate divorce and most of us truly want to stay married in a divorce-ridden culture. But how can we do that?

First, you've got to realize you can't do it alone. Marriages are renewed by prayer every day, and the Holy Spirit can infuse even seemingly hopeless marriage situations. I learned three important marital truths early on that I still rely heavily on today:

1. Pray
2. Pray!
3. Pray!

I don't think there's anything I've done more consistently over the long haul that's yielded more notable results than prayer. And I don't mean praying with your spouse, necessarily. If you can, good. All the better. If not, then pray by yourself and this all the more. Here are a few other suggestions for the marriage road.

1. Get rid of fairy tales. I actually read one marriage book where the author (a pastor) said he'd had numerous people come to him telling him (confidently!) that they'd married the wrong person, and that they had now found the person God wanted them to marry! They basically wanted to be extended congratulations and approval that what they were doing and feeling (divorcing old 'wrong' spouses and marrying new 'right' spouses) was right. This blows me away, but why should it? Even solid Christians buy into the "fairy tale myth" ("Someone will come along [most likely my "soul mate"], sweep me off my feet and we'll live happily ever after!) that's been nurtured by the media and other venues, and we've bought into it hook, line and sinker. Since girlhood we women have imagined a knight in shining armour, coming to save the day, whisking us away and loving us unconditionally forever. News bulletin: that Man has come and His name is Jesus Christ!

In truth, Christ is everything we are looking for, but we are looking for a Jesus-with-the-flesh-on kind of love affair. That kind of pursuit will ALWAYS disappoint. In big ways and in little ways, because no one man (or woman) can ever, ever, ever be everything we will ever need. Only God, through Jesus Christ can be that. Wants to be that. Longs to be that.

2. Get hold of cold, hard facts. Before you get married, do your homework. Be sure you are aware that, statistically speaking, you have a 50/50 chance of marriage success or failure. Be sure you are ready to have your needs go unmet. Be sure you are ready to give, give, give -- till it hurts --- and many times get little in return. Be sure you understand that, at least at some point in your marriage, you may be holding up the marriage deal entirely by yourself (you and God, that is). If you are happy at points, then that will be the icing on the wedding cake. If your spouse loves you and honors you and cherishes you for many, many years, count it an extravagant grace from God.

3. Get hold of the spiritual parallels of marriage. God loved you when you were unlovely and bent on serving yourself. He didn't give up on you. When you turned your back on Him, He still loved you and gave you your next breath. And gave you another chance. Now it's time for you to return the favor --- to your spouse.

4. Get over yourself. It's not just about you and your personal happiness. It's not even always about the kids being happy. Stop believing cultural lies that say it IS about us and that everything we do should make us happier. BEGIN embracing God's truth about humility, servanthood, giving, loving and forgiving (ooooh, I am sooo preaching to myself, here!). And no, I'm not talking about letting yourself be beaten to a pulp each and every night. I'm not talking about tolerating your spouse's incessant adulteries. I'm really not talking about extreme situations here, as most of us don't find ourselves in them. They are out there, yes, and they are real, and God cares about these situations and so should we. We shouldn't condemn individuals who have gotten divorced or thumb our noses at them. We don't know anything about their situation, so we should stop thinking we do. Most of us (Americans, anyway) find ourselves in the average-joe marriage situation with a 'good-enough' or well-intentioned spouse who is usually well meaning enough, but broken in many areas, incredibly human and far, far from perfect. Holding onto what we have maritally sometimes means letting go of who we are personally, when those things don't line up with what God's word says we should be.

5. Get Around to Giving. Even when it hurts. Even when your needs aren't being met. Even when you aren't noticed, or complimented or rewarded by your spouse. Think you're a Christian? Here's where it plays out. Think you're spiritually mature? Let's see how well you can hold your tongue when you've talked till you're blue in the face, but your spouse still just doesn't get it. Or always takes the defensive. Or would rather watch television. Think the Lion's den is just for missionaries who must die for their faith? The Lion's Den is for the average American woman who finds herself lonelier than hell because her husband hasn't noticed that she's lost 15 pounds and would rather watch nothingness on television rather than talking to her. The Lion's Den is for the marriage partner who must love his/her spouse even though they've gambled away the mortgage payment for the fifth time this year. It's for the marriage partner who must deal with abuse from in-laws while the spouse remains passive. Want to serve God, serve others for little recognition but growth in holiness, dependence on God and incalculable eternal rewards? Ah, then marriage is for you!

6. Get over the idea of someone else. Here is something that hubby and I have noticed about friends of ours who have gotten divorced or who have left their marriages. Very few have left them without someone else waiting in the wings. Few of us want to leave our marriages to have no one. We don't want to be alone, really. We just don't want to be with our spouse anymore. Might there be someone out there better suited to us than our current spouse? Most likely. Do we have permission to pursue him/her? Absolutely not. I'd be lying if I said I haven't had opportunities to have an affair. I'd also be lying if I said I haven't given into emotional affairs in the past (that is to say, connecting deeply --- spiritually, emotionally or both --- to another man and allowing him to have that same deep connection with me and allowing those feelings to grow beyond platonic, even if I've never touched him beyond a handshake). Am I ashamed? Most assuredly I am. And I'm doubly thankful for God's grace and mercy. One of the things I've learned through my experiences is that there is no one else. The grass is never greener, even though it seems to be. There are still problems with other folks you could get involved with; they're just different problems, different issues, is all. Anything can seem like a dream at the onset when emotions are high. Anyone can seem perfectly compatible with you. But toss in 11 years, a couple of kids, a few job losses, a few pounds, a few family deaths, feelings of disconnectedness and a sexy new secretary and you're clearly going to end up right back where you are. Let go of the fantasies. He's/she's not out there. Even if he/she is, you don't need him/her, because you're married and there is just way too much complexity and sin involved in all of that. Trust me, just let it go, and run off and have a love affair with Jesus. I remember watching a movie about William Wilberforce wherein he mentions to God that he loves the idea of 'sneaking off' to be with Him. I feel the same way! Renew your passion for Christ...sneak off to be alone with Him. Get caught fasting. Or bringing a meal to a widow. Get cold busted. lol.

Oh, goodness, beloved...I could go on for days, but I must end here.

Forgive me if this post sounds cynical and oppressively realistic and even harsh. It's not meant to. It's meant in love and intended to give insight that, unfortunately, the world-at-large just isn't giving right now. It's not to say that marriage can't be joyful to the nth degree. Indeed, it can be and often is! But often it isn't. And we need more directives on how to stay married when the balances aren't tipped in our favor. God help us!

More soon...

We Were...Well, Ordinary.

2008-08-07T04:23:00.004-04:00

The reason no photo accompanies this marriage series post is because I'm up at 4:30 a.m. typing it, and I'm at hubby's computer instead of mine. It's too much to lug down photos from my office to scan on hubby's printer. I shouldn't even be up at this hour, but at I've had a bowl of cereal and I'm at least trying to make the most of it. I've recently kicked myself off of two pretty big prescriptions, one of which definitely aids in sound sleep. So, here I am. All yours.

It's pretty easy, I think, for a couple to go from extraordinary to just plain ordinary. It's smeared all over the American landscape. And maybe we weren't ever really such an extraordinary couple (come to think of it) --- perhaps just an ordinary couple in extraordinary times with extraordinary emotions. We never even bought into the whole 'soul mate' thing (call me cynical, or call me experienced, but I still don't). We got married because we never had a reason to break up, we got along great, and we were ready to take our relationship to the next level. Plain and simple.

You've heard me say before that marriage is a series of highs and lows. We just hope for the highs, though. We vow 'for better or for worse', but we hope for better. We vow 'in sickness and in health', but God knows we hope for health. When the marriage lows come, I'm not sure we know quite how to handle them, in part, because we don't have the proper tools. I think the other reason is because we didn't really expect we'd have any, and when they come, we think the marriage has gone bad and we are ready to end it.

Marriage has an intriguing appeal to most, in part, because we think it will make us happier. Happy+Er (+ me!)= happier. Whatever makes us happier must be good for us, right?

But I contend that marriage isn't for everyone, and that marriage isn't designed to make us happy. What if God intends it to make us more holy than happy? Okay, that's an uncomfortable truth that flies in the face of today's me-centered culture, but it's a truth nonetheless.

And by the way, what if the happiest you will ever be is just as you are?

But we are in constant quest (so it seems) to be more and more happy. For the record, I believe that most average couples get married because they fall in love and feel like they want to spend the rest of their lives together. They want to make each other happy, and not just themselves necessarily. Or at least that's the way it feels when we are in love.

When we have fallen out of love, we want to make ourselves happy.

But back to ordinary. We are, I think, at our core, just ordinary folks trying to stay married when we do get married. We want successful, rich, admirable marriages and many of us have them. At least on most days. But I think we are not always prepared for ordinary days when we are overtaken by bills, poverty (or insufficient income; money challenges are a BIG marriage deal breaker), pornography addiction, home improvement projects, long work shifts, long glances at our sexy neighbor (let's just keep it real!!), too little time together, parenting challenges, in-law woes and a seemingly endless list of life responsibilities. It's easy to become ordinary. It's sometimes hard to maintain the little things that make you (or once made you) an extraordinary couple.

Books on marriage abound. I feel like they are coming out of my ears. Our Sunday school class at church is one especially for married couples, and hubby and I love our class and love having the fellowship of other couples we've grown to know and love over so many years. I've lost count of the number of marriage books we've gone through as a class (in both our current class and in our past Sunday school class centered around marriage). There are certainly more than I care to name. At this moment, I can't remember seven good truths from any of those books that have deeply impacted my marriage in much-needed ways. What marriage book doesn't talk about good communication? How to have a budget? How to make time together?

In our most recent book (that we've just completed), I came across a truth that surprised me to read about; I think I might actually remember this one, and actually have it be useful to me in my marriage.

The truth, in a nutshell, was that when you've done all you can do, and your spouse still doesn't change, keep on doing the good you're doing (even when you don't feel like it) because, after all, it's just not your spouse you're doing this for. You're doing this for God. And you should do all of your work as unto Christ, and not unto man, because you know that it's from God that you'll reap your (eternal) reward.

Now there's some truth I can use.

How do we make it when we've become an ordinary couple and all those 'helpful' Christian marriage books aren't so helpful, after all? How do we maintain? How do we keep serving and loving?

In my next post, I'll try to give some pointers. So stay tuned...

Fish Fry '08

2008-08-04T09:04:00.007-04:00

This past Saturday was our annual Fish Fry family reunion. We always have it the first Saturday in August and it almost never rains. Saturday was no exception, and instead of a repeat of the hot and muggy days we'd recently been having, the weather was cooler and far more comfortable. We couldn't have asked for a more gorgeous day.

Relatives came from afar --- Florida, Tennesee, and various other spots in Ohio. Relatives here host visiting relatives; my favoritie cousin, Niecie (or Auntie Ne-Ne, to the kids), her hubby and kids always stay with us for the weekend, filling us up to a household of nine individuals and one dog (ours). We always have a good time. They come in on Friday night and we stay up late talking, singing, practicing for Fish Fry Idol (more on that later) and doing lots of laughing. We also fill the house with goodies and we munch on yummy things --- fruit, chips, popcorn, cookies.

Before Ne-Ne got married three years ago (and before the boys), we were only a household of 4 during Fish Fry weekend: Ne-Ne, her daughter, hubby and me. These times are good, but those times were sweet and silly and we relied on each other more, I think. We'd sing old R&B hits together, go shopping together for our Fish Fry dish ingredients, cook our Fish Fry dishes together and do lots of bonding, in general. We would always be among the first ones to arrive at the Fish Fry and we hardly ever strayed far from one another. We still do a good deal of bonding now--- the kids miss us lots and when we are finally together again, they are always hanging onto us or trying to snuggle one of the boys. Our lives are more chaotic now with kids and families and Ne-Ne and I now get less uninterrupted talk time. We used to talk and stay up to the wee, wee hours of morning. Now, we are all exhausted too early in the evening, passing out on couches, taking quick dozes while in the middle of a conversation --- that sort of thing.

The Fish Fry is a moving, living, evolving organism. It changes over time. There are kids in the family who are now in their teens. They've grown up with the Fish Fry and for them it has never NOT existed. It first began as an attempt to enjoy relatives at momentous, happy occasions instead of just at funerals. It carries on successfully, year after year, for that very same reason. It's hosted at the home of older cousins of ours who fish earlier in the year, catching, cleaning and freezing all the fish we'll eat at the Fish Fry (catfish, perch, walleye, blue gill, etc.) There are also hotdogs and chicken there for the kids who may not like fish. Everyone brings a side dish and there's a ton of food but it goes way too fast.

In recent years, we've implemented Fish Fry Idol, a Fish Fry main event that everyone looks forward to. Family members get their acts together --- dancing, miming, singing, storytelling or joke-telling and compete for the Fish Fry Idol trophy. Winners are determined by round of applause. This year's winner, our cousin Dietra, praise-danced, rendering a beautiful performance. I snapped some really great shots of her and some of the other performers (young cousins of ours formed a dance group called Find the Robot; this was their first year performing, but they had to stop dancing, since their music got cut for explicit lyrics). Can't wait to share the pics with you.

We usually have a few games, but this year we added a new game. It was a Karaoke game, in which you choose a song from a list of songs on sheets that were handed out. You had to know EVERY word of the song, and you had to sing along, using the mic, as the song played. At any point in the song, your music would get cut, and you had to continue singing along without the music, while judges checked your sung lyrics against the actual lyrics of the song. If you said a wrong word, you got buzzed and you were out. Sounds easy, right? But there are often points in any song --- even the ones you know well --- where you aren't quite sure what's being said, so you just sort of sing over that part, adding what you think the singer might be saying. Folks were getting buzzed left and right! I did a song, got my music cut early on in the song, kept singing, got my words right and won a McDonald's gift certificate. Too cool!

The line dances are one of the most highly anticipated events of the Fish Fry. We usually do that later, after the food and after Fish Fry Idol. We love doing (or trying desperately to learn!) all the line dances (some might be new) that are popular. Ne-Ne and I love the Janet Jackson one and there's a really hard one for Mary J. Blige's song "Fine". I didn't even bother trying to learn that one!

Sweet Pea and Bo-Bo did really well this year. They were running around playing, eating and didn't seem to mind too much being handed off to new relatives. This afforded me new freedom! This meant I could stay for the line dances, participate more in games, and next year I hope to compete in Fish Fry Idol. Shoot, the boys will be big enough to perform with me!

Lots more to tell, but I have to cut it short here. I'll post some Fish Fry pics (including yours truly singing!) or a link to them soon. Keep an eye out. I'll also pick back up on the Marriage Series now that the reunions are behind me.

Click here for interesting details and spiritual insights from a Fish Fry some years back.

Have a great week, beloved!

Reunion News

2008-07-29T03:24:00.005-04:00

The main event of our 20 year class reunion was a riverboat dinner cruise near Covington, Ky, just outside of Cincinnatti. It was not especially well-attended, considering we had a class of nearly 300. I think it had to do with cost ($50 per person) and the fact that the price had to be paid by a certain deadline. Friday's event, a meet-and-greet in a restaurant at a local hotel was fairly well-attended, so I heard. We weren't able to make it back to Dayton, though, till very on Saturday morning, so we missed Friday's event. I really didn't think that portion would be so well-attended, but turns out I was wrong.

I knew early enough that I had to adjust my expectations of my 20 year reunion; I just didn't know how much. I honestly don't think it could have gotten any better than our 10 year reunion which was nearly perfect in every way. I simply had a ball. And it wasn't that there were a ton of folks that I was really close to at that first reunion; a few, but not many. The best part was connecting with folks I didn't know very well in high school; it was like making a bunch of new friends I'd never met before and re-establishing ties with old ones. I got new signatures in my yearbook and exchanged contact info with so many people, in hopes of keeping in touch. Two of my best friends and homeroom classmates, Chris Bass and Tony Alford ("most popular" and "friendliest", respectively; I was voted 'quietest') were at that 10 year reunion and it was great to see them again, as none of us lived close to one another.

Chris and his wife didn't make this reunion, much to my disappointment, but it was great to see and connect with Tony again, who now lives in Atlanta with his new wife. He has not changed a bit, and is just as warm, friendly and good-natured as ever. It was a delight being able to spend some time with him again.

I also got to see a friend of mine with whom I was good friends during high school, but who wasn't in my graduating class. She ended up marrying one of my classmates and was there at the reunion with him. Here's a photo of me with her and our valedictorian (center).

I was also delighted to see that Anjanette Baker (who was in my homeroom class) and Robert Daniel (we were in the same 7th grade class), who dated while in high school are married and still together! Anjanette mentioned, I think, a brief break in their relationship, but spoke of their marital commitment, staying together and working things out; marriage is hard work, she said. I admire their commitment to each other and their children in an age where marital fallout is rampant. It was a delight to see them still together after 20 years. At the end of the evening, they were asked to stand and were recognized for their many years of love and commitment. It was so fitting.

I should say that, no, this reunion wasn't nearly as fun as the 10 year. This was due, in part, to the fact that it just wasn't especially well-attended. The dinner cruise was a party of 60 out of a class of nearly 300. There were no white classmates at this event. I was told that only two white classmates attended Friday's event. Our school population was maybe 75% black and 25% white, but we had more white classmates at our first reunion. There is just really no comparing the two reunions.

This reunion was significantly more sobering. I wasn't expecting that. I wasn't expecting to hear that four of our classmates had died; I didn't think we'd had any deaths in our class yet. This was particularly saddening. I knew one of these classmates fairly well, and think we exchanged junior high crushes. I'd heard he'd been killed in the military and through internet research later discovered that he'd been dead since the early 90s; he was only 21 when he died.

This was the first time there were classmates that I honestly did not recognize. One, who was very overweight in high school, was now significantly lighter (a result, perhaps, of gastric by-pass) and was only recognizeable to me because of her eyes. She suggested to me that most people didn't recognize her. Many more were, as might be expected, considerably heavier than high school (not unusually so, though). But more than this, I saw age in our faces, for the first time since graduation night. We'd been through things now: job losses, divorces (remarriages?), hysterectomies, relationship failures, parenting challenges, family deaths, life tribulations --- and it all seemed to show somehow in our faces. We had become the people that the kids of our graduating class considered 'old'. One of my classmates is now the assistant principal of our high school; one is now a teacher there. It was sobering to see that we were now, in some ways, unrecognizeable --- a far cry from the puny and inexperienced kids we once were. I've been able to keep slim, but I know I look a lot different. My life experiences show in my face, too, and in the dark circles under my eyes. Also, braces in my early 30s seemed to change the structure of my face making it considerably more narrow. I didn't wear glasses in high school either. At our 10 year reunion, we said to one another light-heartedly, "Do you remember me?" and "Of course!" was most often the reply. In year 20 we ask this question with greater seriousness, and find the pause in reply completely acceptable and understandable. Faces looked significantly different and names were a far reach. Having class photos and yearbooks there to peruse really helped a lot.

Our night ended late, as hubby and I hung out with Tony and other classmates till the wee hours of the morning, but it's a rare joy to see them, so we'd be crazy not to seize the opportunity. The plan is to do a cruise in five years with another area high school of the same graduating year. Sounds like it will be lots of fun.

Stay tuned for the marriage series which will resume shortly. This weekend is our annual family reunion, so we will be busy entertaining, hosting and lodging relatives from out of town. Should be lots of fun. More on that later.

Grace, beloved...

Twenty Years!!!

2008-07-25T15:53:00.002-04:00

This is the weekend of my 20 year high school class reunion, and I'm so excited! Like an old classmate of mine said recently "How can it be our 20 year reunion when I'm only 25?" Ha! I hope to take lots of pictures and share some good conversations with old classmates. Our 10 year class reunion was a blast. I hung out with folks I wasn't even that close to during high school. It's like we are the same old people --- yet completely different people at the same time. I hope to share some good photos. See you on the other side of the class reunion.

Have a great weekend!

Under the Mercy,
Michele

We Were Struggling

2008-07-25T14:54:00.008-04:00

And it seems we were struggling right from the start! Despite the fact that we had virtually 'smooth sailing' through our courtship and engagement (we had rare disputes, and when we did, we ironed things out sufficiently), we now bickered constantly. We couldn't go one week without arguing. I can't even remember what all the arguing was about (probably hubby can't either), but we had some serious knock down drag outs. One time I was trying to leave our little apartment and he was physically blocking every door. I tried to exit through our patio door, and he'd block that, too. I'd get all up in his face, twisting my neck (like we black women can do) and afronting his authority. He called me a bad follower (true) and said that was the reason he wasn't a good leader. I was insecure. He was insensitive. I was disillusioned with sex ("is that it?" I thought it highly overrated; he expected me to enjoy it more); I was busy with school and work (we were both at different universities in neighboring towns and rented a small apartment sort of between the two towns); I was a graduating senior juggling a 21 credit hour load while working part time and struggling to have a decent marital beginning.

Don't get me wrong, we were in this to stay. We never spoke about divorce (we mentioned it once in 1997, as we angrily stomped down a street spewing angry words at each other; even then we never said the actual word, as I recall. It was more like, "You want to end this --- YOU do it. I'm not going to do it!" "I'm not going to do it, either --- YOU do it!" I yelled back. Never before or since has it come up again). When things were good between us, they were really good. But when they were bad? Step back --- there was about to be an explosion. When things were good we were the best of friends. When things were bad, you cut cut the tension with a knife.

Looking back I see a few things that might have helped our situation and here are some recommendations I'd give to another couple (things which we didn't have at that time).

1. Take a week's honeymoon --- somewhere. We got married in the middle of a semester, during finals; we got married on a Saturday and were back in class again the following Tuesday. There was all this build up at first --- gotta plan a wedding, got to get this, gotta go do that, and then all of sudden --- life! I wasn't prepared for that. I cried the whole first week of our marriage and neither hubby or I really knew why. Back then I couldn't find the words to express what I was feeling, but I can now. I think we needed a week away to get our minds around the fact that we were actually married and to contemplate deeply what that meant. A new life together isn't something that should be so briefly embraced...a couple should, I think, have a good number of days to really celebrate who they are together and to really embrace new experiences in a new place as a newly married couple. We didn't really have that, and now I really regret that.

2. Don't date too long. I think we dated too long. Almost two years. When we knew we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together, we should have married then. By the time we got married, I felt sort of 'spent' in my emotions; sort of like the height of the emotional element of our relationship was behind us, and we hadn't even married yet. I would have enjoyed feeling that depth of emotion as a newlywed, but we were long past that warm, fuzzy stage. I do think, for practical reasons, that that's good too: we should have a lot of head sense and really view our life commitment to a person from a reasonable and objective place. It's hard to explain, but after so much time together without being married, some of the mystery (if you will) is lost. At least it was for me.

3. Have an older, Christ-centered couple to mentor you as a newlywed couple. We needed that desperately, though we probably didn't know that at the time. I needed an older woman with whom I could talk to about everything --- sex, my insecurities, my expectations, his expectations, what to do the right way. Seemed like I was doing everything wrong. Believe me when I say it was the grace of God and a whole lot of prayer that kept us together during those difficult three or four years.

4. Have a regular date night. We have that now, but didn't have that then. Hadn't even heard of it. It would have given us a time where we could just focus on ourselves as a couple and just be together.

5. Pray together. That seems to go without saying, but it seemed we couldn't stop arguing long enough to do that (!); but it's still a really important part of the marriage covenant, I think. If you aren't praying together, then go pray by yourself, but pray.

I'll say this: each passing year got better for us. The second year was better than the first, and the fourth year was better than the third. Things got pretty good after the fourth year and we could hardly believe we were that same couple from year one. We almost didn't recognize ourselves.

There were still some underlying issues --- monsters that sought to defeat us. And they had to be confronted.

We Were Married

2008-07-23T09:45:00.014-04:00

Ah, that blessed day (that's my brother there giving me away; my father didn't want to stir up too much controversy by being there...he never said it, but I understood and don't hold it against him). It's true what they say about your wedding day passing by in a whir, and that you hardly remember all the details (that you worked so hard to get down to a tee!). My mind was racing and everything was happening so fast. Except the fact that my mother and brother (who were riding together) were late in arriving (coming from another city), and I thought for a minute I was gonna have to snag one of the attendants to have someone walk me down the aisle. But soon, as I waited nervously, I heard my mother's quick steps (seems I'd know them anywhere), and I knew it'd be okay. And it was.

Hubby was crying like a baby as I walked down the aisle (I have a photo of that, but it's not very clear), while I remained dry-eyed and somewhat detached. I regret that now --- that I didn't lose myself to emotion on the day we got married. Hubby did totally, and I'm ashamed to say that the reasons why I didn't aren't very clear to me. Maybe I wanted I wanted simply to be in control of myself...that I was afraid to see what that part of me would look like if I did lose myself to the emotion of the occasion.

I was amazed to see how quickly the ceremony lasted. We were married in a matter of minutes (we had only a brief reception with appetizers and sheet cake --- yes, child, sheet cake of all things! [I'm still totally embarrassed by that now!] in the church fellowship hall downstairs). It was crazy to both hubby and me that wow, one minute you're single and the next minute you're married. One minute it's not okay to have sex, and a minute later it is so okay to have sex. What a difference a day makes, right?

The day went off pretty much as we'd planned it, and it was a full, long, busy and totally exhausting day. Few days in my life were as long and exhausting as our wedding day. You are bone tired, but guess what?

You can't go to sleep because you've got a marriage to consummate! And so began our journey and I scarcely knew what lay ahead.

More to come...

Grace, beloved.

Finally!!

2008-07-16T22:46:00.004-04:00

We finished painting the interior of our house, and the carpet is due to come tomorrow morning. This was SUCH a labor intensive project, but it is SO worth it. We love the colors. Check out the Flickr photos on the sidebar.

Enjoy, beloved...

We Were Funloving Friends

2008-07-16T20:25:00.003-04:00

And still are This photo was taken in 1993. What good is it to be with someone you don't really enjoy? Why date someone whose friendship you don't long for? Being friends first is good; it's just plain good. Those emotional, 'in love' feelings will come and go. It's the nature of romantic love to wax and wane. But if you really are friends, you will enjoy each other regardless of how you feel. Friendship is the stuff that remains when all the glittery stuff has faded away.

Laugh together. Create your own language. Serve each other. Stop trying to always get your own needs met and think about meeting the other person's needs. I know that's hard to do, but if you are to be married for life, you'd better get used to this selfless thing. You'll need it more than you know.

We Were in Love

2008-07-11T17:33:00.005-04:00

I guess this series is as much for me as it is for any of you. I think there are some things I need to recount, revisit, re-examine and accept. Improve, even. And, since writing is the way I process, I am sort of 'processing' anew, I think.

For hubby and me it was a hard and fast fall. Whatever 'falling in love' meant back then. I think it meant for us what it meant to most folks who casually or excitedly use the term: you long to be near each other, you want to do everything together, you miss the other terribly when apart, you could talk and just be together for hours on end --- not even doing anything, just being. All of you is wrapped up into all of him and all of him is wrapped up into all of you. And it just happens. You fall in love.

You know falling in love is really a worldly sort of word, in a manner of speaking, and I've come to struggle with using it to determine or to define the love and commitment you come to have toward and with your spouse. Falling in love might get you married; but it isn't always the thing that keeps you married --- nor should it really be. Yes, it is so in the world, in the current culture and the current way of viewing things. You fall in love, you get married. You fall out of love, you get divorced. This is the acceptable and even common way of the world.

Christians, of course, are called to something higher and greater. We're a peculiar people, and we should reek of peculiarity. This passion that sweeps us off of our feet and throws open the doors for falling in love is a beautiful, whimsical, yet fleeting thing. In the Old Testament book of Song of Solomon the passionate and tender love shared between lovers is an allegory of God's relentless love for Israel and, ultimately, the Church. This is a beautiful book, some verses of which have been popularly used during wedding ceremonies.

Falling in love can be a euphoric experience, and it was no different for us. We were only dating eight short months before we got engaged (engagement with a ring and everything. We set the date pretty quickly, too). Before we started dating, though, hubby was kinda-sorta "talking to"/"getting to know" another young lady who was attending a Christian college out of state. It was a brief sort of thing, and hubby wasn't down with the long distance thing, I don't think. Plus there were some other issues with this young lady that made him feel they wouldn't be a good match. So that was nixed. Before that, he was in a pretty involved relationship with a woman we'll call Laurie. She was a really nice young woman, and I grew to like her a lot and she liked me, as well (in spite of herself, she later told me!). But this wasn't a good match either.

Before hubby, there were two other men I loved and would have/could have married. Jesse and then Martin. But right before hubby I was nearly engaged to a man I also fell hard and heavy for (my emotions are weak...I used to fall pretty quickly!), but who break my heart into a million devastated pieces. I think he might still live here in the city, too. I ran into him a couple of times after hubby and I married. Early on he recognized me and even once told me he'd heard I'd gotten married. Once I ran into him in a restaurant with his present girlfriend (hubby and I were married then, too). In the last 7 to 10 years I've run into him a couple of times and I don't think he recognizes me. That was a really, really bad relationship and I really regret it. I really didn't love the man at the time, though I thought I did. I think what I felt was fear, though fear of what I'm not exactly sure. I just know he had me on pins and needles all the time, and I couldn't give enough in the relationship, but in the end, he just didn't want any more of it, or of me, and I was heart broken, but tried to remain really strong.

The day hubby and I met (hubby loves to tell this story) our respective churches were having a joint fellowship for the first and only time in the history of either church (he was attending the church I would eventually join; we were married there; I was attending the church we are now members of and have been for over 10 years). My former beaux was singing in the choir of our now current church and hubby was singing in the choir of our former church. So my former beaux and I were having one last negative exchange ("Don't you think that dress is a little too tight?" "Why should you care?") and he went off in something of a huff in one direction (he was negative and draining), and hubby came bouncing in to say hello to me from a different direction (he was positive and cheery) just as my former beaux was walking away. Neither of them knew each other. They were just two guys who sang in the church choir of the churches they belonged to. Odd and crazy, but yes...Old beaux out, new beaux in. Literally. Oh, and yes, I was on the rebound. And, for the record, yes, my dress was too tight. I would never wear a dress that tight today! But I think I was trying to provoke the old beaux. I was still a fairly immature Christian.

I should say early on in this series that I'd never engaged in oral or sexual intercourse before marriage. I say that carefully because, though I was still 'technically' a virgin, I was no angel. I was 25 years old when we married (it was my 25th birthday on our wedding), and I feel like I made it --- but just barely! It is really, really, really hard to love someone deeply and not be sexual with them. It was agonizing! I think one of the things that made it easier for us was the fact that I'd never had sex before. We both agree that if I had, we might not have made it.

More to come soon...I feel like a free woman! We finished painting the house! More on that later, too.

Enjoy your weekend, beloved...

We Were Young

2008-07-08T09:05:00.004-04:00

I was talking to my mother recently about marriage and she mentioned that she thought hubby and I were perfect for each other. The statement bothered me. We were talking about marriage and relationships, in general. My brother recently broke up with his longtime girlfriend, the first serious relationship he’s had since the breakup of his marriage a few years back. He wasn’t happy with his wife, so he left the marriage. He grew to be unhappy with his girlfriend, so he broke up with her. My mother doesn’t think she’ll ever remarry --- she likes her independence just fine, thank you very much. “Besides”, she said, “Marriage is harder the older you get”. You get two older folks, set in their ways, then you’re trying to blend decade-long habits, “train” the spouse (and spouses do have to be trained…more on that later. Remind me, though, as I’m liable to forget!), and so on. It’s just too much work. “See, you and your husband,” she went on to say, “have it easier. You married when you were young. And his mom and I were talking about it, and we both said that you two are perfect for each other.”

I have got to dispel the myth that hubby and I are perfect for each other. Let’s just get that out of the way right now. He’d tell you the same. Why did my mother say that? Well, in part, I think it’s because that’s what she really believes. The other reason, I think, is because it’s easier for her to think, in today’s divorce-ridden culture, that the only reason two people stay together is because they’re “happy” or, in her words, “perfect for each other.” If two people stay together because of their commitment to the marital bond, out of devotion to Christ and obedience to God, if they go the long haul because they value the vows they made and they care about keeping their word, then it somehow nullifies people getting divorced simply because they’re “unhappy”. It means that people are staying together for a reason bigger than themselves, and that’s just plain hard to hear in today’s “me first” culture. We want to know that it’s okay for us to divorce simply because we can’t stand the person we wake up to each day. We need our divorce reasons (trite though they may be) validated.

Don’t hear me being judgmental about folks who are divorced. That’s not where I’m coming from. To be sure, there are biblical grounds for divorce, and even some pretty good non-biblical reasons for divorce and separation. My mother herself separated from a husband who was physically abusive to her and to my brother and me. He may have ended up killing one or all of us, quite honestly. She had to get us out of that situation. But I’m not talking about those exceptional situations. I’m talking about the folks who divorce because they “grew apart”; because they fell “out of love”; because they just don’t want to be married anymore or some such fluff you might frost a cake with.

You think hubby and I haven’t grown apart? You think I wake up each and every morning feeling in love with this man I met 16 years ago and haven’t broken up with since day one? You think I haven’t ever had feelings of not wanting to be married anymore? One must think such things if one thinks hubby and I are perfect for each other. So, I’ve come to dispel that myth.

That doesn’t mean that hubby and I are together simply because we feel we have to be. Don’t hear me saying that. We love each other deeply and have a strong desire to have a meaningful, rich and successful marriage. We are happy together (at least on most days!). But that goes above and beyond whatever emotions we may feel from day to day. We don’t depend on our emotions in order to stay married. If we did that, I’d be divorced ten times over by now. The things that got us married aren’t the things that keep us married. Let’s be realistic, after all. Do you think hubby and I are the same people we were 16 years ago? Of course not! We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t grow and change. And who can make guarantees that we’ll grow and change in the same direction? No one can. There are no guarantees (to that end, anyway) that you and your spouse will be the same person that each of you married 5, 10 or 20 years ago. We were young. I was just a girl, really; one struggling to become a woman. And hubby was just a boy struggling to become a man. When I think back to the young man he was, how could I not fall in love with him? He was funny (sooo funny. Still is!), sensitive, attentive, devoted, treated the women in his family with such respect and tenderness (I LOVED that…that is still, in my mind, a good clue as to how a man will treat his wife. How does he treat his aunts, his sisters, his mother?). If ever there was a time when we were perfect together --- in almost perfect harmony with each other --- it was during those early days when we first fell in love. It seemed this feeling would never grow old --- it felt as though we would always be like this! What could change it? Our love could conquer anything….we were bigger than anything simply because we were in love and nothing could cut in on our passion for the other. But there was plenty I didn’t know about love that I was destined to learn --- the hard way. Stay tuned to find out more details on that.

These photos were taken in October of 1992; we’d been dating only 3 months. Oh, my goodness we were all pudgy like puppies! It seems like only yesterday we were like this, but it was 16 years ago, and it flew by in a flash.

More to come…

Upcoming Series

2008-07-07T09:50:00.004-04:00

This weekend I've felt compelled to write about marriage in all its depth and glory, and to talk openly about various aspects of marriage --- what it is, what it is not, perceptions (both false and true) and all that I've come to learn in these 14 years of marriage. I'll talk particularly about my relationship with hubby (with pics and all) --- our failures, our successes, how we manage to keep it all together (or ways we fail miserably when we don't) and what is true, lasting, truths we must come to accept, all the little nooks and crannies of marriage that folks like to talk about, as well as the aspects that are rarely spoken of or quietly swept under the rug. In short, I'll talk about the journey and, as always, you can trust me to keep it real.

Please be patient with me as I post...I'm still balancing a lot just getting the house painted before the carpet comes. I'll try to post as often as I can while I'm writing on this series. Should be good stuff, so stay tuned!

Hope your week is off to a good start, beloved.

Enjoy your day...

A Little Bit of Glory... A Little Bit of Grace

2008-07-02T20:39:00.004-04:00

Some of you know that our oldest, Sweet Pea, has an affection for city buses. Or, "titty" buses (pardon the usage!), as he calls them. We are working on pronouncing things correctly. He has a tendency to use the -f sound in place of the -tr sound. So 'train' becomes 'fain'. And 'truck' becomes...well...you get the idea.

And truck is one of the words he uses a lot!

But back to buses. He loves buses, so I told him that one day we would have to take a ride on the city bus. Well, he kept asking me about it, so I thought today was as good as any to take a ride on the city bus. I went online, found out what time the bus was due to come our way, what the fares were, etc. The bus stop is just one short block from our house, so I wouldn't even need a stroller for Bo-Bo. Good.

I was afraid we'd missed the bus, as it was late, but then it showed up. "Look, Sweet Pea! The city bus!"

"Titty bus, Mama, titty bus!"

He got so excited that he was squealing with delight. I don't think he thought it was actually going to stop, so he yelled, "Bye-Bye, titty bus!"

"No, no...it's going to stop, and we're going to get on it."

I explained to him what the ride would be like: we'd get on the bus, pay our fare and find a seat. I forgot to mention that there'd be other people sitting on the bus.

It must have been mother and child day or something, because the bus was loaded with pregnant women and women with young babies or a little bit of both. We fit right in, and the boys were very well behaved. I think more out of timidity and caution than anything. This was a new experience for them, after all.

This was gonna be a breeze. We'd hit downtown, drop into the little nut shop that had been there for years, I'd buy the boys a snack, then we'd take the 12:36 p.m. bus back home. We'd walk around a bit and then go and wait for our bus. Simple.

Not. There was some sort of Independence Day celebration that was being set up for, so part of the main road was blocked off. Buses weren't running up that way like they normally do, and there were detour signs all around. I didn't think much of it, but I was disappointed that the little nut shop wasn't there anymore. I just knew they'd have some little goodies the boys would like. Oh, well.

We headed to our bus stop and I sat with the boys. I've only been driving not even seven years now, so I used to take the bus all the time. Got to know lots of people, made a few friends and bus drivers became casual buddies. As I sat there with the boys, I thought of the one bus driver who, some years back, kept flirting with me, bothering me. He was insistent about it, too. Every time I got on his bus, he had something to say to me: it didn't matter that I was married, he was married, too, yada, yada, yada. It had gotten so bad that I was one step short of reporting him. Sometime thereafter, hubby and I were invited to another church, as friends of ours were singing there. I saw this very same bus driver, there at church with his wife. He saw me, but do you think he had anything to say?

Nope.

End of story. So, I sat there at the bus stop downtown with the boys and we were all a little dazed. It had been a long time since I'd caught the bus. This was a wake up call. Crowds of black kids and young, mixed girls stood around. Someone was smoking a joint right there at the bus stop. Bold as you please. Overweight women pushed strollers of napping babies and called out to acqaintances.

"Hey...where da baby at?"
"He wid his dad."
"I know das right!"

Teenaged boys yelled out to others across the street.

"Hey! The remix tonight at seven. Be there!"

Older women sat clutching their purses, and two well-dressed white men passed out Christian literature inquiring where you'd go if you were to die tonight. He handed one to me.

"Hi, I'm a believer."
"Amen, amen!"
"Good to see you," I said, trying to assure him that I really was a believer, and not just trying to blow off his brochure.

Then, while young men around me were swearing and pulling up their droops, one of the well-dressed white men stood on the corner and started preaching the gospel:

"My friends, I want you to know today that Jesus died for your sins. He came and lived and died for you. Won't you come to him? Friends, won't you give your hearts to him today? God loved you so much that he didn't want to leave you in your sins. He sent Jesus to take on the sins of the world that the world could be reconciled to God through Christ. And friends, it is appointed for men once to die and after that the judgment. Friends, where would you go if you died today?"

Hearing the gospel again --- fresh and new, brought tears to my eyes. My whole life is wrapped up in this gospel, I thought, my heart stirring.

I pulled out my cell phone to look at the time and dang...where is that bus? It was supposed to come at 12:36, and it here it is 12:46.

We waited. The boys were getting restless, and so was I. We got up, we walked around, then we went and sat back down.

We waited. And waited.

And waited.

Our bus never did come. How can you get stood up by your own bus on the first day you take your kid for a bus ride? What the heck?

So, we hopped on a #2. It was the best thing coming since our last breath of air.

It was packed on the #2, let me tell you. I had Sweet Pea on my lap, Bo-Bo in the seat beside me, and it was tight. People were already standing and we hadn't even left downtown yet.

I was so thankful to have a seat. At least for the moment I felt safe...finally on somebody's bus after over an hour of waiting. I was overwhelmed by all the people; so were the boys who sat wide-eyed and dazed.

Then, a person in a wheel chair had to get on. That meant she would be needing the seats that the boys and I were in, because that whole area of seats would need to be moved. So now I and the boys were standing. The bus hadn't started moving yet, but I told the boys to hold on as best they could. They looked...well...they looked pretty nervous about it all. Some nice man was trying to hold onto Bo-Bo so he wouldn't go lunging forward when the bus started to move. I was trying to hold onto Sweet Pea as he tends to be the more timid of the two, even though he's older. It was tight, man. Let me tell you, it was tight.

The bus started moving and it threw me with such force that my behind landed squarely into the groin area of the man behind me.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I offered.
"You a'ight," he said.

I bet I am!

We were a mess...I'm just a little thing...trying to hold my own against gravity on this bus and trying to make sure that my dear boys don't end up rolling to the back of the bus. Or tumbling to the front. Some nice woman offered to hold Bo-Bo in her lap, but I knew he'd be hysterical, so I thanked her but told her 'no'.

The bus was moving, moving and we were being slung forward and backward. We were a hot mess. Sweet Pea was growing hysterical.

"Mama, uppie! UPPIE!"

Just then (by God's good grace!) two people got off and there were two seats opened. The boys and I squeezed into one seat (both the boys were on my lap at this point), and there was a seat open beside us, soon occupied by a black woman with ailing knees.

"Oh, thank you, Jesus," she muttered, as she plopped into the seat beside us. "I got arthritis in ma knees." I offered a small smile and nodded.

She started a conversation with the woman in the seat in front of her, whom she seemed to know.

"Yeah, it ain't the same, girl."
"Nah, uh-uh," said the other woman, not turning around.
"Yeah, now see...back in our day, it wadn't like how it is today."
"Uh-uh".
"People comin' and going and doing as they please witcho stuff."
"Das right."
"Yeah, cuz back inem days, people respect ya sh!t. Oh, lawd, scuze me. The babies..." she said, tossing a sideways glance at me and the boys. I offered a small smile.
"Mmm. Hmm."

Then, something amazing and beautiful happened. An elderly woman got on the bus. She moved slowly and someone who was standing yelled up front "Tell her, there's a seat back here!"

Someone else repeated it: "Yeah, there's a seat back here for her!"

The woman was slowly making her way back to the seat. A passenger, still standing herself, took the elderly woman gently by the arm to guide her back toward the seat. The bus hadn't moved yet, but another man took her gently by the arm, as if passed onto by the first woman. Several people helped this elderly woman get safely to her seat. It was such an act of mercy and beauty, I knew at that moment I would write about it and remember it for a long time.

Finally, our stop came. This wasn't our normal bus, but it would get us as close to our house as any other could --- about a six block hump (up hill, no less). We weren't in a hurry, so we took our time. Bo-Bo's short legs will only let him go so fast.

When we were getting close to our house, the sight of our house was more refreshing to me than it had been in a long time. We have a big hole in our front yard, where hubby has been promising to plant a tree, and our new door has been installed, but it still needs some finishing touches. My father-in-law moved the bench on our porch to a new spot and I really like it. Our little house was just a sight for sore eyes --- a little bit of glory, a little bit of grace. We made it home in one piece.

Later, as I got the boys ready for bed, I asked Sweet Pea if he enjoyed his bus ride today, and we both just burst into laughter. It amazes me the things he seems to understand about adult conversation. He has a sense of humor and it's crazy. Oh, and you should know that Bo-Bo can clap on beat. Yes! He was a year and a half old, and when I first saw him clap on beat I was like, "Nooo...this can't be!" But it is --- he can actually clap on beat. You know we are a rhythmic people, but I love seeing it show in Bo-Bo so early on.

Just as we were about to say our night time prayers, we heard the ice-cream truck go by.

"Mama, Ice-Cream f_ck!" Having heard enough profanity for one day, I corrected him.

"Sweet Pea, it's Ice-Cream Tee-Ruck. Now, let's pray."

Goodnight, beloved. Grace to you...

Happiness By Another Name

2008-06-26T21:01:00.002-04:00

Found this gem over at Father Francis' blog. Thanks for this! A more relevant quote I've not encountered in a long time.

"We do not find happiness by being assertive. We don’t find happiness by running over people because we see what we want and they are in the way of that happiness so we either abandon them or we smash them. The Scriptures don’t teach us to be assertive. The Scriptures teach us—and this is remarkable—the Scriptures teach us to be submissive. This is not a popular idea."

-- Rich Mullins

I Am Not Afraid of Color! I think.

2008-06-23T11:26:00.005-04:00

I'm not entirely comfortable with this home improvement stuff (read: I'm not entirely comfortable with the consumption that becomes necessary for home improvement to happen). Most of you know we live in the inner city, not the suburbs, that drug activity in our neighborhood is not uncommon, that it's not the best neighborhood, but certainly not the worst. We bought a house that we could afford, one beneath our means, anticipating that I would one day stay home with our children. This has worked out really well. I'm reminded of that when I get to talking with a girlfriend who tells me she needs to be at work at 8:00 a.m. and that she wishes she could stay home with her and her husband's two young children. I think the trade off --- living within our means in an inexpensive, but roomy house as opposed to living above our means in a pricey house --- is worth it. But. Let's face it, we've got work to do, and that takes some money. At least some of it does.

So, I've been praying about it. We've lived in our house for over 8 years now and have done precious little up to this point. But now, things are getting a little bad. The paint on our house is peeling badly, but that's a project that will have to wait. We want to do new siding, but can't afford that at this point. Maybe in the next two years. We did get new windows, a new furnace and did a couple of small home improvements in the last couple of years. This year, we are getting our hands dirty, and our old (very old) house is getting some much needed attention.

Painting is a big job for small budgets, though even painting can get expensive when you consider the paint, painting tools needed for the job, etc. But it's less expensive than other home projects, especially if you do it yourself. And it gives the room an entirely new look. But that's not why I started my lastest painting project.

It's my mother-in-law. She bought us new, whole house carpet, but before it's installed, the rooms where the carpet will be (living room, dining room, stairs and the upstairs hallway) should be painted. I really don't want to have to think about painting AFTER new carpet is installed. So, I'm on a mission. And hubby and I have been a bit more courageous about color. We've attempted to step outside of the 'eggshell' comfort zone. That's not so bad in theory, but it doesn't always play out the way you hope.

We've picked up lots of color swatches and booklets/brochures showing different rooms painted in various colors. This has been really helpful. In one of these booklets, we saw a room done in a pale yellow, cream and a darker beige-ish color, and we thought that this warm look would be great for our hallway upstairs. So, you know me. I'm off!

The yellow in the photo is so, so, well...yellow! Still, I am beginning to get used to it, and even like it. Today I am working on the cream part of the project and will hopefully do the beige/brown-ish sometime this week. I've had some very HIGH walls to paint thus far, and hubby will have to help me with a couple of extra walls that require too high a ladder for me to confidently ascend. Pray for my success in this project!

If you think I look bad in this photo, you should have smelled me. That's a newly painted yellow wall right there next to me. Not so bad, right? I am a painting hot mess these days, trying to get this whole project done before the installers want to bring in the carpet next month. I've found some helpful painting tools so I'm able to move a little faster. But in some cases I'm working at night once the boys go to bed. Our house is a mess (which you KNOW I can't stand!), but it may as all wait till everything gets painted, then I can clean up and put things back in their place.

We pulled up the old, smelly carpet in our bathroom and replaced it with ceramic tile we found at a most excellent deal. We've also begun to purchase new doors. Our current front door, is humorously referred to as the 'drive-by' door, as it has all these holes in it that resembles a door tattered in a drive-by shooting.

So, little by little, we press on to get some things done around the house. It certainly keeps us busier than we'd like to be, but we hope that our efforts will make for a more comfortable home environment, seeing as we may be here for a while. Also I've created flower beds outside (from seeds), and it's so exciting to see things growing! Our back yard is a work in progress (very much so!), but we are beginning to do things there too. That's a project, though, that will have to unfold over the course of a couple of summers. We can only do so much in a season, and most weeks it's enough for hubby to even cut the grass!

Enjoy your week, beloved!

The Rebound of Dookie Brown

2008-06-23T11:20:00.002-04:00

Okay, so I'm not entirely sure that the Dookie Brown color had a real rebound, per se. But it is what it is and one must make the best of it! The wall you see here is the dookie one, the opposite wall is also this color, but the opposing walls are slightly more gold. I'd said sometime last week that I'd want to repaint it next year sometime, but who knows, really. For now, dookie brown it is, and we've come to feel okay about it. We redid the room with a new comfortor, mirrors, wall plates, night stand and lighting (one set of which has yet to be put up), so it rounded out nicely, I suppose.

Naked Redemption in ChiTown

2008-06-16T17:33:00.011-04:00

My father has seven children, of which I am the fifth. He had a stroke earlier this spring, and I'd been worried for him, praying for him and calling to check on him in Wisconsin, where he, my step mom and younger brother live.

Father's Day weekend afforded a good opportunity for hubby, boys and me to head to Wisconsin for a visit, one that was also coordinated with my sister, Michelle, who lives in Indianapolis. We'd been keeping close tabs on him, and when we understood he wasn't doing so well, we decided it would be a good time to visit. My sister would head to Wisconsin from Indiana, and I would head to Wisconsin from Ohio, by way of Chicago.

We'd planned an inclusive trip which was, in part, orchestrated by my mother-in-law who wanted to head to Chicago to see her own father, who is 83 years old and in good health. She hadn't seen him in a number of years, and she wanted to spend Father's Day with him. So we planned to head out of Ohio early Friday morning, hit ChiTown, spend some time with my hubby's grandfather (whom I'd never met in all the 16 years we've been together), then head to Wisconsin sometime on Saturday, leaving Mother in Chicago to spend Father's Day with her father, while we headed to Wisconsin to spend Father's Day with ours. So, we had a plan.

But, as you probably well know, beloved, our plans often fall flat on their faces. Such was the case with ours. Friday morning we had trouble with our original plan to rent a van. There's a long story with that, but I'll spare you the details. Long story short, we didn't leave Ohio till sometime late Friday afternoon, and we made it to Chicago late Friday night, babies tired, and the rest of us spent. We crashed, getting to bed maybe 1:00 a.m. or so. We slept almost too late for breakfast, but hubby and his mom made a mad dash for it and slid under the gate before it descended on them. I can have a granola bar and apple and be just fine. I fed the boys bananas and melon pieces, trying to take my time and not rush around every moment the way I seem to do at home.

My mother-in-law managed a late checkout time for us, which was nice. God love that woman. She is a tremendous help to me when she is around (she lives in another city south of us). She helped me pack all the boys clothes, took in the pants that were a bit too big, sewed up a blouse for me that was a little too low cut, and in general paid for nearly everything on the trip. As if that wasn't enough, she engaged the boys from her third row seat in the van, feeding them goodies, playing with them, and handing us refreshments all along the way. She didn't help drive, but I can't complain, because she is every bit of an excellent helper and support to me in nearly every way. She is an exceptional grandmother.

Finally, we hooked up with hubby's grandfather, and I was amazed at his simple little apartment. It looked more like a college student's dorm room, though, than an apartment. Pictures were taped to the walls --- pictures of my hubby as a baby, my mother-in-law as a young girl, and other pictures of his children (my mom-in-law is one of nine). He leads a pretty simple and low-key life, and the fact that he lives without assistance from others is itself pretty amazing. Still, though, I couldn't help but feel the emptiness in his life, a certain void, a certain lack of spiritual connectivity. Do I want to live like this when I'm 83? Probably not. But what judgments can I make of him? His life is of his own choosing, and he lives in a manner he has chosen for himself. Yet I could feel deeply that something substantial, rich and beautiful was missing from his life. I looked at old photos of him, and he was smooth --- hair slicked back, full lips, light brown eyes. Where had that man gone? As I conversed with him, I could see the eyes of that man from long ago, the lips, certainly; and the hair was still slicked back, only it was gray now. Certainly he turned around for a moment and he'd grown old. Isn't that the way it happens?

As if visiting hubby's grandfather wasn't sobering enough, we headed for Wisconsin to visit my father. We were, of course, later in arriving than we'd planned, and there was terrible flooding that caused all kinds of troublesome detours. We arrived safely, and I fell into my stepmother's arms, and those of my sister, Michelle, who had arrived earlier that day. My brother, Ramon, was also visiting from Milwaukee and I was taken aback at how much older he looked, and I told him so. He was really a man now.

Immediately, I felt my father's absence. He'd been in a rehab facility now for several weeks, months even, and the house felt quieter without him. He was such a talker, and would talk your ear off from the time you came in to the time you got into the bed that night. He loved to have all of his kids around him, and my brother Carl usually visited with us, but he wasn't able to make it this time. I really felt Carl's absence, too. He and his wife Angie bring a lot of life (and a little bit of ghetto...ahem!) to that quiet, predominantly white Milwaukee suburb. My stepmother is white, and I've two biracial siblings, the youngest of whom is my brother, Ramon.

I love being at my father's house. During this visit, I was especially taken by the green space on my father and step mom's property, the abundance and richness of my step mom's flower garden and the peace and quiet of the neighborhood. My father's house is one of beauty, but also one of great relaxation and comfort. I've take for granted the comfortable roominess of the family room and the way we all seem to gather in the kitchen, even if we're not eating. I've come to love the fuss my stepmom makes over us every time we visit, though we insist she shouldn't. We rise for breakfast to the sight of fresh flowers, relaxing music playing, the smell of monkey bread or an assortment of teas to choose from. Ellen is such a servant! But this time I took my father's home more seriously. I sat in his chair in the computer room. He loved being on the computer. I studied his African art. Years ago he had an art gallery and he loves African art. I noticed the books that lined the shelves in the family room. I studied old photos in frames. Then I went back again and sat in my father's computer chair. He spent long hours in that chair studying his ancestral roots, and sending silly email forwards. Those forwards used to annoy me. Now I'd be happy to get one.

After we were all settled, we headed out to the rehab facility where my father is. Michelle and I knew we had to prepare ourselves for a diminished Sunshine (my father gave all his kids and their spouses "Sun" names...a silly but fun thing for him to do. My father is Sunshine, my sister Michelle is Sunset and I am Sunrise). My sister had been there earlier to visit him and prepped me on how he was responding and how her brief earlier visit had been. I took a deep breath and listened. She said that he recognized her but I was nervous he wouldn't remember me. I was really concerned about that and prepared myself for the fact that he wouldn't know me.

When I saw him in his bed, he didn't look in my direction, as the stroke affected his right side and I was coming from that direction. When I got into his field of vision and he saw me, I wanted to cry because he recognized me! He looked at me and his face lit up and he almost cried at the sight of me. "Can you imagine?" he said clearly and just kept shaking his head, eyes brimming with tears. "Ellen!" he called out to my stepmother, "Can you imagine?" He was thrilled to see not only me, but hubby and the boys, too. I reminded him that Bo-Bo was born on his 71st birthday. He just watched the boys and smiled.

Thankfully, my father's speech isn't slurred. But what may be almost equally as frustrating to him is that he knows what he wants to say, but he can't always string the words together properly. We spent a lot of time just listening to him and nodding our heads. Or trying to finish his sentences, or 'helping' him along in the conversation. At one point, I felt like I knew what it must feel like to be my father at that moment. You look at your daughter's young boys, and you remember that you were once that young and full of life and promise. But now you are old and ill. You can't walk to the bathroom, and someone must help you get dressed and you can't finish your own sentences. And that soon you'll just be a memory, or the turned up corner at the end of a faint smile. Or a story that daughters share with sons. You think that you are almost ending and, perhaps, you wish you were already done, so that you wouldn't have to be a burden to anyone, or live in a way you never really wanted to live in the first place. But instead, you smile, thankful for the company. You let people talk loudly to you, as if you are deaf, or slowly to you, because the sign on the wall says they must. You listen as they speak to you condescendingly, as if you are a three-year-old. Maybe you wonder when it will all end, but for now you smile, because your daughters have remembered you and they have come from long distances to see you. You know you are important to them and that they love you. You think they are your favorites. You think maybe you wish you had told them things that you are now unable to express adequately or sensibly. And anything they may have wanted to know --- any questions they may have wanted to ask you --- well, it's too late now for any sensible answers.

I thought of all of this in a moment, as though I had the briefest, yet clearest, perception of what my father may have been feeling. I wanted to sneak away and weep. I'm far from being a big woman, yet my father is thinner than I am. He is thin and weak and must take naps like a baby, as he is tired out easily. And he doesn't want to eat. Sometimes he might eat once a day. We hope twice a day. We hope and pray his appetite is stimulated, that he doesn't continue to waste away, with a wish not to be tube fed.

What is life, that it slips away like this? That we vanish, melt into thin air? Where does time go when yesterday is gone and a new day has come? Will I see my father again on this side of life? Or was the goodbye I said the very last one I will say? I am afraid I won't see him alive again, and I am not yet ready for that reality. And yet I must be. I must be.

Our visit was over too quickly, and too quickly we were headed back again to Chicago to pick up Mother, to head back to Ohio. The weekend was gone and I thought of my father as I stepped back out into the cool Chicago night. It occurred to me how very much each of us needs redemption. My father knows he was no saint during his life. He has seven children by seven women, and has been married more times than I care to mention. Yet God was gracious and gave my father a good wife, to whom he has been married for 35 years next month, who serves him as the sun is setting on his life, who even gave him one of her own kidneys when he needed one, and serves him even now, spends as much time with him as possible, though few visitors come to see him---- weeps silently when alone, I'm sure, though she is a brave woman with a tough exterior. God's grace has been lavish in my father's life and my only hope and prayer is that he can see that clearly now. We all need redemption, a Savior who won't reject us and still stands waiting with open arms, though he's waited over the course of a lifetime --- a long lifetime even --- yet it is as a day to Him if we would only give Him our hearts.

This is a ridiculously long post, beloved, yet this is the first opportunity I've had to process what this past weekend really meant. It's the first moment I've had to really grieve the small pieces of my father that I feel I'm losing every day. We've had a long trip back, and hubby and I drove through the night, keeping each other awake, playing word/song lyric games for the better part of 300 miles. We got back to Ohio just as the birds were chirping --- about 5:30 a.m. this morning. Hubby slept for an hour and had to get to work (he's still there as I write this), and we had such a good chance to connect on a deeper level during the long drive back. That was one of the best parts of the trip. My time with my father makes me see things differently now. I really want to make the most of moments that pass far too quickly. Then we fly away.

Grace, beloved, grace....

Trust and Humility

2008-06-05T09:40:00.005-04:00

I'm resurrecting a poem I wrote for my husband a few years ago. I was sifting through old poems and stumbled across it. It is so apt these days, so needed, when we are buzzing past each other at the speed of life. Sometimes we are like ships passing in the night; he works long hours and I'm always running around trying to get things done at home or with the boys. It's nice to slow down a bit and remember the love we really have for each other, my side of which is reflected in this poem. He read it again this morning, too. It always makes us both teary-eyed to read it. Enjoy.

Trust and Humility

with perfect memory
i could remember your fine details
and all the forehead kisses
i forget too quickly
in the haste
of the day
with impeccable remembrance
i could recall
the exact color
texture
shade
of the warmth
of your scent
which has grown so recognizable
to me
over the delicacy
of time
i would know you
in the dark
without sight
or even
touch
but your presence
is the air
that i breathe
and all i know of love
i have learned
from you
and people see me
warm, kind
(perhaps)
but i know
it is you
you are truly
the greater between us
and
with flawless
recollection
i could frame
your beauty
perfectly in my mind
in my heart
and i would never
forget
and
it is not that i have loved you
with great elaborateness
or display without blemish
it is that i have
often loved you
imperfectly
with insecurities
and uncertainties
and frequent retreat
but your servanthood
is ever before me
and you have taught me
to love
not blindly
or recklessly
but simply
righteously
with
trust and humility
and
like a river
the passage of time
engulfs
the small, ordinary moments
that pass between us
such is the cycle of life
we are young
but we will
grow old
and
even then
with sacred reflection
i will
remember

The Evolution of T&T

2008-05-31T20:51:00.004-04:00

Hey, look --- that's us up there! Niiiice....

That photo of us was taken 14 months ago (Bo-Bo was still a baby in arms; I am carrying him in this photo) by Andre, our friend from church who takes the most wonderful photos. In fact, we are scheduled to do another shoot with him in a couple of weeks. Now that the boys are older, it should be a lot more fun. Bo-Bo is going through a "don't-wanna smile" phase, though. But we'll see if we can't tickle him.

It's nice to give the blog a face lift, though I'd had that previous skin for quite a while. Blogger is even more user-friendly, though, so changing over was a snap. It's nice to get some different colors moving around in this space.

Enjoy your weekend, beloved.

I'll Write a Song for You

2008-05-28T12:08:00.005-04:00

Here's a pic of Sweet Pea poking around in our compost heap. Of course you can't see him singing along my favorite song, but here's a YouTube video of sweet lil Nia belting out the same song. Enjoy!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2008-05-28T11:50:00.003-04:00

"Okay, Bo-Bo. The word is truck. Say it."
"Guck"
"No, TRuck. Say it."
"Guck."
"Trrrruck."
"Guck."
"Bo-Bo, look at Mama's lips. TRRRRRuck.
"Guck."
"Trrr. Trrr. Trrrrrrr."
"Terrrr."
"Good! Trrrrrrr."
"Terrrr."
"Very good, Bo-Bo! Now say trrrrrrrruck."
"Guck."
"Bo-Bo! Trrrrr."
"Terrrr."
"Good. Trrrrue."
"Trrrue."
"Good! True."
"True."
"Good! Now say True-uck."
"Guck."
"Okay, we'll just stick with true. Sweet Pea, the word is truck. Say it."
"Vuck!"
"No. Trrr. Trrrr. Watch Mama. Trrrruck."
"Zuck!"
"No, trrrr. Trrrr."
"Turrr."
"Yes! That's good! Trrruck."
"Fu..."
"No! Don't say that! The word is Trrrr. Look at Mama. Ch ch ch ch ch-ruck."
"Vuck!"
"Oh, Sweet Pea. We'll get it yet."
"Mama! Titty-bus! Bye-bye bus!"
"Yes, Sweet Pea. It's a city bus."

For Karoda

2008-05-28T11:43:00.005-04:00

This blog is for Karoda who asked me to share how my creativity/art has changed and evolved now that I'm a mom.

That's a really good question. I think one of the more major things that has happened is that it's hard to find the time to write about really good ideas and/or inspiration I feel. To write the way I'd really like takes a good deal of alone time, and I don't get a ton of that these days. So, I've found things that I can do when the kids are around, like making jewelry or gardening; these are things that I didn't discover until after kids. It's challening, though, to feel like I'm growing as a writer (though writing is still my first love) when I'm always running around doing this and that and seeing to the boys. Still, I'm blessed by and thoroughly enjoy my rather new creative outlets.

Hope that answers your question, dear one. :)

For Sandy

2008-05-27T19:44:00.003-04:00

Okay, Sandy. This one's for you.

You asked me to talk about something God delivered me from. Hmmm. I think deliverance from suicidal thoughts has been a major one. Long after my first real suicide attempt, I really struggled with suicidal thoughts for quite a while. It wasn't always a constant thing, necessarily, but it was always there in the back of my mind, and sometimes it would move more towards the front. But I don't entertain those thoughts any more. Seems now I'm just too busy living my life and enjoying each day that God has graced me with. I realize now, more than ever, what a true gift each day really is, and what a great grace it is to be alive and to hear my children's laughter, to work in the yard, or to write about something that's heavy on my heart.

I also think (and this one is pretty big, too) that God majorly delivered me from being an insubmissive wife. I used to be mouthy, controlling, fit-having and sometimes had just plain old 'in-yo-face' attitude. Moreover, I wasn't a very good follower and could be pretty condescending. I was a take-charge-leave-it-to-me-I-don't-trust-you-to-do-it-so-I'll-take-the-lead type of wife. I wasn't very cute! I think it will take hubby to tell you just how much I've turned around, but suffice it to say, the Holy Spirit really convicted me and gradually (ever so gradually!) I changed. Now I'm just the very opposite (almost to a fault), and you might think the old Michele and the current Michele are two totally different people!

But they're not really. They're both me!

Did I miss anything, Sandy? Anything else, chile?

So, yeah. That's my story, and I'm stickin' to it.

Enjoy your night, beloved. And you, too, Sandy. :)

Lunch With Mrs. P.

2008-05-26T22:50:00.004-04:00

I'd put off having lunch with Mrs. P for too long, and I was glad we finally had a chance to connect. You'll recall I'd met her during the winter time on a trip to the post office. She was admiring the boys, and we ended up talking for a long while, standing there in the post office. We exchanged phone numbers and this weekend we were finally able to spend time with each other again.

Mrs. P is 79 years old -- a black woman born in the south in 1929. I wanted to hear her whole history (some of which I heard during our long conversation at the post office): what it was like for her growing up, how she met her husband, what her family members were like. I was sure I'd met a friend who could minister to me --- an older Christian woman who would give me sage wisdom and offer godly counsel in lots of areas. To be sure, I was expecting to gain something from her, to be on the receiving end of the relationship.

It didn't take me long to figure out that just the opposite was true. I was here to minister to this woman. We hadn't even ordered our meals yet when she broke into tears, remembering her relatives (her mother, father and all her siblings are now gone; most likely many good friends, too) and trying to tell me about them, but she just couldn't go on. Later on, I kicked myself for being so insensitive. I was trying to learn about her, but I hadn't considered the pain that recollection would bring to her.

Later, she told me I was a blessing to her; that she hadn't many friends she could talk to. That she was lonely. I could tell her the same. She has been married for 45 years and adores her husband but, as someone once said, marriage doesn't cure loneliness. But those who are single know little of this. I didn't have a clue when I was single, 15 years ago.

There are those friendships, I think, that we pursue for ourselves and then there are those friendships we pursue for the sake of others. I'm thankful that God thought enough of me to use me in Mrs. P's life. And I'm thankful for the things I am learning about giving in friendship. Mrs. P is a dear woman. She confessed that she is afraid that one morning, she just won't wake up. I could tell her the same. I think I am learning a lot about life in the things she says and in the things she doesn't say. I am learning what it means to hear when no words are spoken.

Where We Meet

2008-05-26T18:49:00.003-04:00

So here's where you and I meet, beloved. This is my area, my office, my prayer room and "Mama's Side" to the boys (the other side of which is the bathroom/playroom/everything room; a baby gate is in the divider. There's a door there, too, but I usually don't close it). But now the monitor you see here bit the dust recently, so I bought an older, used one.

We purchased this house 8 years ago today, and when we first saw the house, this room was clearly a diamond in the rough. The walls were bad (someone had started to paint over the blue walls with white paint, but the job was never finished), the hardwood floors needed to be redone, and it was just plain ugly. But I knew it had potential. When I was a young girl I really had no place to go where I could be alone and pray. I shared a room with my brother. Very, very early in the morning I would sneak into the bathroom and read the Bible. And when I had something to talk with God about, I could always go to the bathroom, but I couldn't be there for long. We had a small house and I couldn't be hogging our only bathroom.

So, I always said that whenever I bought a house (this is the first house we've ever purchased) it would have to have an 'extra room' of some sort. Some place where this introvert could go to be alone, pray, read, reflect and have some getaway space. I knew when I saw it that this was the spot. Since then, though, we've turned this sun room into a very liveable and comfortable space. Now there's wallpaper here and we've re-sanded the hardwood floors. There's the most wonderful bookcase that we found at a second hand store (no place of mine would be complete without books!), and hubby's grandmother passed on to me the L-shaped desk. On the north side of my cozy little spot is all the stuff I bead with (trays, beads, wire, tools, findings) and a tall hutch too, on which I make jewelry, though I've not done a ton of beading lately.

Last summer my passion was beading, but this season it seems to have turned to gardening. Me ---who'd never planted a seed in my entire life --- now out digging up bad soil, replacing it with better soil, pulling up weeds and rocks and getting dirt caked in my fingernails and tossing wiggly worms into our compost heap. Yep, I love it. I'd planted some seeds a few weeks back, but our dog started digging up that area, and I was upset and thought that all my hard work of weeding, tossing out rocks and cultivating the soil was all ruined. But just a few days ago I noticed something's sprouting there. I can hardly believe it! I can't wait to see them grow up into something truly beautiful. The prospect of that is exciting.

Today I worked hard prepping and cultivating another area that will be a flower bed, and I planted a multitude of seeds, which I'm eagerly waiting to germinate. We'll see how it all turns out. Gardening is hard work and made all the more challenging when you're trying to keep your eye on two toddlers who are playing with their sticks and rocks and things. They love being outdoors, especially our oldest. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, but he (oddly) loves playing with rocks and poking at our compost heap while he's sitting on his little log. He is a sight to behold. I think he will be a scientist or something.

We don't live in a fancy-schmancy house. At least by American middle-class standards. We don't live in the suburbs and the paint on our house is peeling terribly and the bannister outside our bedroom windows upstairs might just cave right in if we have another hailstorm. But we have plenty of space (3 bedrooms, my office and a huge bathroom upstairs; living room, dining room and a huge kitchen downstairs; a full, mostly finished basement [part of which is hubby's 'space'] that holds a half bath, ample storage and a laundry room, too], great neighbors with whom we've built good friendships, and since we are not over-mortgaged, we don't worry about losing our house in a shaky economy. We actually have financial margin and aren't house-poor. We don't use credit cards and we try not to incur debt, so our home improvements are done little by little, which can sometimes be frustrating, but also terribly rewarding. Oh, and I forgot the best part: our house is filled with lots of love.

On another note, I must be getting old. You know you are getting old when 60, 70 and 80-year-old men look at you and lick their lips. Last week I took the boys to see hubby's grandmother, who lives in an apartment complex, many of the tenants of which are seniors. I walked in and was greeted warmly by a group of old men. As I passed them, one of them looked at me as if, after 50 or so years of searching, he had finally found his soulmate, the love of his life, his true north. I almost didn't know how to act. It wasn't as if he oggled me and gave me the once over or mumbled profanities. It was more sincere then that. Maybe I reminded him of a deceased spouse in her younger days. That would be sweet.

Enjoy your week, beloved.

Too Sexy

2008-05-25T16:57:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I was getting dressed to go out and have lunch with Mrs. P, my 79-year-old friend whom I'd met at the post office earlier this year, when it was still winter. I wasn't sure what I was going to wear, but for me, unless I'm headed to church, it's usually jeans and a shirt of some sort. Sandals if I can get away with it.

I was getting dressed and something was bothering me. I had on my favorite jeans, a snug, but not 'skin tight' fit and a white shirt my mother-in-law had picked up for me, likely in the junior department. It was a long shirt, not immodest, was white cotton, and a little on the young side for my taste, but white is one of my favorite colors, and it goes with everything, so I put it on. And hoop earrings. Silver. And a short silver necklace with a small cross pendant. I looked at myself again. What was it? Something was bothering me about what I was wearing, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

As I was on the long stretch of road that led to the restaurant I was to meet Mrs. P at, it hit me. Too sexy --- that was it! It fell on me like a small load and I felt ridiculous for not thinking of it earlier. Something about my whole ensemble --- everything I had on --- it made me look, well, too sexy.

Now I realize that the dominant culture welcomes and even encourages young women (and older, too) to look sexy. Everything is sexy these days. A car is sexy. We can't sell a mattress or toothpaste, for goodness sakes, without 'sexy' entering the picture.

But it hit me all at once that I don't want to be sexy (well, to anyone but hubby, anyway). I was uncomfortable because I think my outfit exuded something that really didn't represent me, who I truly am on the inside, or the woman I'm aspiring to become --- more holy, more pure, more wise and humble and more peculiar. I know we're to be a peculiar people, but sexy isn't peculiar to me. It's the norm, it's ubiquitous, it's inescapable, so it seems, from our present day culture.

I decided that I don't want to be sexy...if I ever did at all. Ever notice how singer Amel Larrieux plays down sexiness, embraces modesty and hardly ever shows much skin? Now that's peculiar. I hope to become more like her in that way but, more than that, become the Bible's definition of a beautiful woman --- one who follows her hubby, pursues purity and reverence and possesses the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit (I Peter 3:1-6). Is it that the older I get, the more I see how fleeting physical beauty and 'sexiness' really are? When we are young, though, really young, they seem to be attributes of real substance; they seem to really matter. But in the end, they don't really. But sometimes we don't see that till later.

Just sharing my thoughts, beloved, and thanks for allowing me to do so. What else shall we talk about this week? Give me some ideas. Ask me some questions.

And by all means --- enjoy your Sabbath!

Priceless

2008-05-20T19:26:00.004-04:00

One trip with the kids in the family car (2000 Mitsubishi Galant) = paid in full
One tank of gas = too much
One faulty c.d. player (estimated repair cost) = $100
One c.d. -- The Essential Earth, Wind and Fire = $13.97
One two and a half year old child, singing (in the back seat) to the words of his mother's favorite song (I'll Write a Song for You) with such sweet abandon and so pure a face that the mere sight of it makes his father cry while driving = priceless.

Enjoy your Tuesday, beloved...

The Power of the Pick

2008-05-15T12:10:00.004-04:00

"Oww, Mama, Oww!"
"Hush! Talk to your daddy about letting me cut your hair close. He won't let me. Now be still."
*whines*
(mumbling to myself): "Grown man letting a child wear an afro, I don't know what kinda..."
"Owweee!"
"Would you rather grow dred locks?"
"No, Mama."
"Then hush and be still!"
"Down, Mama, down?"
"No, I'm not finished yet."
"No, Mama, Noooooo!"
"Hush! I can't believe you have hair this fine and got the nerve to be tender-headed!"
*whimpers*
"Hush, and be still."
"Ah yoo, Mama, Ah you."
"I love you, too. But you're still getting this hair combed."
(from a distance) "Ah yoo, Mama, Ah yoo!"
"I love you, too, Bo-Bo. Now play with your toys and stay outta this."
"Owweeee!"
"Hush! Turn around and let me see. Good. Wait..."
(ducking)"Noooo..."
"Hush! Okay. Good. You can go."
*Smiles*

Enjoy your Thursday, beloved, as much as I'm enjoying my boys.

Mean Mama Syndrome

2008-05-11T19:19:00.004-04:00

I am becoming my mother. Kill that. I've become my mother. I felt it one day a few days ago. I was fussing at my boys and I could feel the same face muscles tensing up, the same tone, the same pursed lips. I felt so precisely like my mother at that moment, I could hardly bear it.

There are other moments.

"Pick up those toys and pick up all the books on the floor and put them on the bookshelf. It's a mess in here!"

"Stop that whining up there, and hush!" I yell from downstairs, then add, "If I have to come up there I'm spanking everything born in 2006, now hush!"

Or, when my oldest wraps his arms around my thigh and whines as though I must entertain him, I fuss, "Go play with your brother; that's why I got you a human for your first birthday, now go!"

It's true. You know the details, beloved. We brought Bo-Bo home the day before Sweet Pea turned one, and had the biggest birthday bash any one person should have, much less an introverted, party-hating one-year-old. God love my mother-in-law for all her planning and thinking that a big party would be such a good idea.

But there are still other moments. The moments I am carried away by love and not feeling so up to my ears in toy trucks or scraping off soft, smelly poopie from the inserts of potty chairs. Those are the moments when I tell Sweet Pea he is my dream come true, and the answer to many years of prayer filled with many, many tears. There are the moments when I rock Bo-Bo to sleep, even though he weighs nearly what I do, just because he seems to pick up on my momentary flashes of compassion and tenderness and seeks to milk them for all that they are worth. I tell them about the story of their arrivals. To Sweet Pea I say that I couldn't believe this was the baby we were supposed to take home. He was too beautiful! This was him? No way! To Bo-Bo I say that I could hardly sleep the first night he was with us. We had a house full of relatives there for Sweet Pea's first birthday party, the attendance of which easily rivaled our wedding reception, and I was over-extended, busy at every turn, bumping into a relative at whatever room in our house I entered, but I was still so thrilled, I couldn't sleep. When we heard a cry from an infant, people in the house said, "Which baby is that?" I was completely overwhelmed with joy. Beyond words. I lay there in the dark, trying to pray, trying to find the word, but nothing would come.

There are those rare and spirit-guided moments when I see the glory of the story that God has written for us, and it is a beautiful story. Even on those days when I feel like a mean mama, I feel among all women most blessed.

What I Don't Need At This Moment

2008-05-06T22:22:00.001-04:00

1. Another place to be
2. Another thing to do
3. A set of twins

Tabouli, Tuesday and Tales of a Mattress

2008-05-06T15:11:00.003-04:00

It's so hard to take Sabbath rests when you're a mother, and even moreso when you're a mother of two boys, both toddlers in all their glory. It makes for a fun life, with invaluable, fiercely memorable moments, but also a very busy daily routine. Yesterday alone, I worked in the back yard (the boys were playing with sticks and rocks), pulled weeds from the areas I plan to plant flowers, pruned the rhododendron, mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the living room, dining room, and hubby's office area in the basement, did two loads of laundry, cleaned the downstairs bathroom and thankfully there were leftovers so I didn't have to cook. Add to this feeding, potty-training, engaging the boys and mediating their selfish spats and you can easily come up with one over-worked woman in need of some serious rest. And that rest hardly happens on Sundays, unfortunately. Sometimes it does, but between rushing to get these boys fed, dressed, on the potty and out the door by 8:30 a.m. and returning home around 2:30 p.m., rest become elusive.

So I've created (out of desperate need) Sabbath Tuesdays, also sometimes known as Sabbath Mondays. But today it's Sabbath Tuesday, because I had to have a prep day in order to have a rest day (it's all so complicated!). Ah, the joy of sweet rest. At least as much rest as you can have attending to kids all day. There will probably never be the perfect Sabbath rest until heaven, but we can carve out Sabbath days and even Sabbath moments, because our bodies and minds need real rest and the welcome opportunity to slow down. We need to sit and read. We need to examine our souls, examine our lives. We need to write. We need the freedom to just be --- a freedom not often afforded in our cluttered, helter-skelter lives, so we must steal it.

So I've been eating wholesome, good, mostly vegan foods for a little over a month now. What do I miss? At first, I missed dairy --- milk, for sure, and yogurt sometimes even. But now I'm getting used to the vanilla flavored soy milk, so I don't miss milk as much anymore. I miss coffee and I miss chocolate (though Kashi makes a wonderful chewy cookie with all natural ingredients I simply love; it does have a little milk and egg in it, but they are the last ingredients, so I don't make a big deal. I've had one a day till the box was gone. They are simply delicious), but I don't miss as much as people might think. I really miss coffee, and it's not just the coffee I miss. I miss the way sipping coffee with friends makes me feel. I love the aroma and the warm, safe feeling I get from drinking it, so I confess, I don't think I want to live the rest of my life without coffee! I don't really plan to. Last week I smelled some ribs and they smelled SO good and I said, "Lord, I don't think I can go the rest of my life without ribs!" Mind you, I eat ribs maybe once a year, if that! It's just that the flesh, thinking itself deprived, grabs ahold of even the rarest of indulgences and succumbs to enticement just to prove itself liberated. It's like the Christian who curses all the time, just because he/she can. It's not really freedom at all.

I go vegan mostly, but vegetarian when in a pinch or when going out to restaurants. At least for now; but I can tell you I must, by necessity, return to coffee at some point. Last Saturday hubby and I and the kids went out to breakfast. I simply love when we go out to breakfast as a family. We only do it every other month or so, but I just love those times. I ordered multi-grain pancakes with sugar-free syrup, hashbrowns and okay, yes, two eggs -- sunny side up. No meat. Even without the meat, I enjoyed that breakfast like I've enjoyed nothing in a long time. I think part of special is sometimes. I think I heard that once from a Bob Evans commercial. I eat lots of grains, fruit, nuts, more grains, some salad, veggies and dried fruit. A lot of the food I eat is high in fiber but also high in calories, so (much to my husband's delight) it's not like I'm losing weight or anything. Hubby doesn't like me too thin. I just ate tabouli, which is pretty good, but probably not something your average American would want to eat all the time. It's mostly a parsley salad, with chopped tomatoes, lemon juice, canola oil and cracked wheat, I think. It's nice for a light lunch. Enough about food.

Yesterday hubby and I got a new mattress. This is significant. We got our first mattress just before we were married, 14 years ago. We moved into our new little apartment (it was so small that if you got a large box of laundry detergent, you might have to rearrange the furniture. It was so small, in fact, that we could never get fully unpacked. Stuff just stayed against the wall in the living room, but I digress...) six days before we got married, to get it all set up. We got the bed all set up and in place, and I slept in the bed, while hubby slept out on the couch in the living room, until we were married. It's the only mattress we've ever had, and after 14 years it was beginning to come apart, literally, at the seams. So we found a new one, a little pricey, excellent quality and we tested it out in the show room, and it was just right. If we could keep it another 14 years, it would be well worth the money. We could hardly wait for it to get delivered, which it was yesterday. They brought the new one in and took the old one out --- with all its old tears cried over this or that --- loneliness or childlessness or some such thing, all the boys' pee stains when I'd change their diapers on our bed and got caught off guard with a surprise 'squirt'; it caught spit-ups, heard arguments, absorbed more tears and was warmed by Saturday morning snuggling and "Shhh! Don't wake the babies!". It was a good mattress that served us well.

Our new mattress makes the bed so high we almost (literally!) need a step ladder to climb into that puppy. Seriously, I can almost touch the ceiling when I'm sitting up. It is high. The kids can't climb into it, and pray they never fall out of it when we lift them into it! A higher bed we've never owned. But my, my, my, it's immensely comfortable. Almost like mother's arms.

I've stolen this time...I must get the boys.

Till next time, beloved...

Return of the Mac

2008-05-01T21:20:00.001-04:00

I’ve felt for a while that I’ve needed more margin in my life. Deciding that you need more margin is the easy part. The hard part is excising certain aspects of your life so you can gain the margin you need so much.

I hadn’t realized this before (or maybe I had but ignored its truth), but making and photographing jewelry projects to post on the beading website I write for was taking more time than I thought. I enjoy it, so it never really felt like a ton of time. Plus the extra money is nice. And Emma’s nice to work for and very laid back in her expectations of me. Still, it hit me late one night while I was finishing up a beading project; I wanted to spend time with the Lord, but needed to finish the beading project, it was too late to do both, and it looked like the beading project was going to win out. I felt really badly about that. Despite the fact that I’d cut back in other areas to avoid having to cut back in my well-suited blogging/beading job, I emailed Emma the next day and told her I’d have to cut back on my blogging. She was very understanding, and the nature of the website may change in the future, which may impact the way I post and write about beading projects. This could be good for us both.

Of course, we Christians know in our heads that money isn’t everything. But how do we flesh this out in our lives? Is money keeping us from becoming everything we could or should or would be? Is it our master or is it our servant? Do our decisions reflect biblical truths about money? Are we really living what we believe?

And it wasn’t just about missing the freedom to spend time with God the way my heart dictates (being in constant conversation with God is good, but I still need to carve out regular ‘still’ times when I can lay at His feet and rest in His presence); it was that I was missing writing, too. Sure, my blogging/beading job called for some creative writing (one of the best parts of the job), but it wasn’t enough. I think I have a real call from God in my life as it relates to writing, and I was beginning to think and feel that I wasn’t caring for this gift the way that I should. I’d devoted so much time to blogging about beading, that I sorely missed blogging about life --- observations and spiritual insights on the ordinary and extraordinary journey of life itself.

So, here I am. I feel like I’ve come back to really what is home to me, and it feels good to be blogging more regularly again. Pray that I stay --- even as I work to balance all the essential elements of a busy life as a wife, mom of two active toddlers and a follower of Christ.

Enjoy your weekend, beloved...

Nine Mothers

2008-04-29T09:10:00.004-04:00

As Mother's Day nears this year, I've never had so many mothers to remember! Last week I bought nine cards. I've truly been blessed by and am so thankful for each one. Here's to all of them:

1. My mother: She's loving and compassionate; in her life, nothing comes before my brother and me, for whom she's shown exceptional sacrifice.

2. My mother-in-law: She's almost everything you might hope for in a mother-in-law. She's a good dream, and not a nightmare! She offers to help without being pushy, gently gives suggestions without trying to be controlling. She's an exceptional grandmother who dotes on and engages our boys. She is fun, affectionate and never shows up at our door empty-handed. When she's in town she's an amazing helper with the boys, affording me some time to take a break. I appreciate her immensely.

3. My hubby's stepmother: A successful career woman, quiet and gentle, she is lovingly supportive and is great at remembering birthdays and anniversaries. She's an exceptional cook, and it's no wonder she's fantasized about having her own restaurant.

4. My stepmother: Also a succesful career woman, she bakes from scratch, setting the mood and atmosphere for infrequent visitors like us, who don't often get to Wisconsin, where she and my father live. She is an exceptional woman, having loved and been devoted to my father for well over 30 years. She gave him one of her kidneys when he needed it. There isn't anything she won't do for those she loves. Trust me, you want this woman in your corner.

5. My hubby's grandmother: Lovingly called "Mama Dear", she is the family matriarch and all loving memories of my hubby's childhood trace back to her. No one sees my hard work with the boys better than she does, and she never tires of praising my devotion to them and often tells me that I'm a good mother (she will never know how much it means to me to hear that). She has become a good friend to me over the years, and I am closer to her than I ever was with my own grandmother. She loves me like I'm a blood relative and trusts me enough to hand me a check, knowing I will absolutely use it wisely. Every family should have a "Mama Dear".

6. Birth mother #1: What can you say about the woman who carried your first child? We were amazed when we first met her. Our physical resemblance to each other was enough to knock her own mother almost off her seat when she first saw me. Here is a woman who, along with Sweet Pea's birth father, chose hubby and me to be the parents of a baby they were too young to raise. They had never met us. They'd only seen our pictures and read our letters to them. We never met her till the day we picked up Sweet Pea from the hospital (3 days after he was born), but we were impressed: she was gentle, softspoken and thoughtful --- giving us a card to congratulate us on our new son and remembering to give us her ultrasound pictures so we'd have pictures of Sweet Pea when he was still in the formation process. There are not enough words to express the gratitude I feel. Sweet Pea is just the most beautiful, complex and wonderful boy. I can already tell we will be very close. I shall never forget the tears of his birth mom, her courage, her sweetness, her great sacrifice.

7. Birth mother #2: As if it could get any better than birth mother #1, along comes birth mother #2. I never expected to be as emotionally close to a birth mother as I am to her. She is loving, loyal, honest, open, humble, vulnerable, trusting. I love her more than she knows and am so thankful for the 'distant' friendship we have formed and the ways God is using us in each other's lives. I so feel His hand at work in the way our hearts connect to each other. She is so very dear to me; we love each other deeply. She is the one person in the world who understands what a deep bond and connection I have with Bo-Bo. She once told me that she knows he is truly my son; that God only used her to give birth to him. A more courageous and strong woman you'd be hard pressed to find.

8. Foster mom of our youngest: If, for some reason, you can't be united with an adopted child right after he's been born, you'll want this woman to love and care for him until you can bring him home. Joey is an incredible, wonderful woman of God who loved, nurtured and cared for Bo-Bo for the first 10 weeks of his life, till he came home with us. She wrote down all of his 'firsts', gave me all the dates of them, and all the corresponding pictures, with all the mementos that marked his birth. Absolutely amazing. She placed in the arms of virtual strangers a child that she had loved and nurtured for 10 weeks. She cried and cried the morning that she placed him in our arms, but assured us this is a typical routine, and that she'd be fine in a few days. I shall never forget her tears, and her words through her sobbing: "Just let him know he was loved." Little did she know that Bo-Bo's full blood brother would be coming into her care in less than a year. She loved and nurtured him for even longer than she did Bo-Bo, before she placed him in the arms of ---

9. Nancy: She and her husband took Bo-Bo's baby brother from Joey's love and care and placed him in his new loving home with them. Nancy's a great mom --- loving, laid back and affectionate. I'm thankful for both her and her hubby, who were willing to come alongside of our family so that Bo-Bo and his biological brother could grow up knowing each other, loving each other and together trying together to better understand the mystery and bittersweet nature of adoption.

Enjoy your day, beloved.

Little Known Facts (About Me)

2008-04-27T16:57:00.005-04:00

Hmmm...some memes I've come upon while hanging around the blogs of others recently has me thinking about posting some interesting things about myself that some of my regular readers may or may not know. Okay, so here are twenty:

1. I didn't learn to drive till I was 32. Before that, I either rode the bus or hubby picked me up. My grandmother didn't learn to drive till her late 40s or early 50s, during the course of her second marriage. My mother doesn't know how to drive. I still feel a strange closeness to those who ride the bus.

2. I have a birth mark, high on my left cheek bone, that my mother used to say is shaped like a tornado. I spent my early childhood years in Kansas.

3. I have an extraordinarily long memory history. My earliest memory is of my mother's godmother disciplining me; we were still in Ohio, and I think I wasn't quite two yet. We moved to Kansas in July of 1971, soon after I'd turned two. During our journey from Ohio to Kansas, we stopped at a hotel and my father took a picture of my brother and me on the hotel bed. I remember posing for this picture; I was two years and 4 months old.

4. I like to think I remember being conceived; I have a strange 'memory' of floating in and out of cloud-like surroundings amidst layers and layers of deep blues. I know. Strange.

5. I can balance a broom on any one finger for an indefinite amount of time.

6. I have a sister named Michelle (two l's).

7. I was recently in a local T.V. commercial about recycling. I think it's still airing on a cable channel here. We don't have cable.

8. During my senior year of high school I was voted "Quietest".

9. My ring size is exactly half my shoe size. I wear a size 6.5 shoe. Small bones run in my family on my mother's side. When my mother married, her ring size was a 2.

10. I tried to kill myself when I was 15. Television commercials about depression bring tears to my eyes still.

11. I lost a lot of my hair several years ago when I was on a drug for gynecological problems. It didn't stop shedding till I started taking biotin, a vitamin supplement, that a friend told me about. I have a head full of hair.

12. I'm a bit of a neat freak; I can't abide clutter.

13. Every day I need a good bit of time alone with my thoughts.

14. I think I've had mild cases of obsessive/compulsive disorder in the past. I don't check and re-check like I used to (thank God), but I check the bottoms of my feet, the sheets and the ceiling before getting into bed. I think it's due, in large part, to the fact that we had roaches during a significant part of my growing up years. Hey, you'd be checking, too!

15. Words of affirmation is my "love language". I need to hear that you think I'm wonderful. :)

16. I'm often critical of myself and don't always forgive myself easily.

17. My oldest son is named after a neo soul singer.

18. I was once "slain in the spirit" when a televangelist, whose authenticity I doubted, touched me on the forehead.

19. I buy most of my clothes from thrift stores (but you'd never know).

20. I love windchimes.

Got 20 of your own?

Archive Meme

2008-04-19T23:37:00.005-04:00

I've been tagged by Faraja to do an archive meme. That means that I have to go through my archives and give links to five of my favorite posts, but there are certain rules. They are as follows:

Link 1 must be about family. Link 2 must be about friends. Link 3 must be about yourself. Link 4 must be about something you love. Link 5 can be anything you choose. So there you have it. And away we go!

Family: Meet the answer to my many years of prayers and tears. I love this post. Re-reading it brought tears to my eyes.

Friends: This one made me laugh out loud and brought tears to my eyes --- both at the humorous way the post was written, and also at the truths and lessons within it. It's a long one, indeed, but do read it if you can, even if it takes more than a few sittings. It will be well worth it.

Me: One life-changing surgery can make all the difference. I'm still enjoying a great and active life (running after two toddlers!) post total hysterectomy.

I love: Funny...I actually have a blog post here that covers almost everything (my kids weren't born yet, though).

Anything: Features some meaningful thoughts from Brennan Manning. I wrote this post well over three years ago, but oh how on target it still is.

Anyone else up to this challenge?

Why 'No' is So Empowering

2008-04-14T10:39:00.004-04:00

For the past week (and a day!), I've been eating vegan, and it feels pretty good. I'm not sure what happened; just one day I said, "This is it." That was on April 4th. Mostly, I think I grew tired of feeling the way I was feeling --- mentally and physically. I'm not sure how long this stretch will be (I did it several years ago for three months), but for now, it's here.

You might wonder what I actually eat since, at least for now, I'm not consuming white flour, sugar, dairy, eggs, meat or fish. My husband calls it, "Nuts, bulbs, berries, pieces of bark, small bits of rock and slivers of diamonds," that's our 'joke' for healthy eating and how we've come to describe it in a humorous sense (hubby's not doing vegan, so he pokes fun at me in those terms).

Actually, he's not far off. I eat a LOT of nuts, then some fruit, beans, veggies, and whole grains --- brown rice, whole wheat pasta, etc. I also eat lots of raisins and a good deal of dried fruits, too. I drink water and any juice that's 100% juice. I think I've taken for granted how much SUGAR is in all the foods we eat. I can't even tell you the amount of sugar I was consuming each day without even giving it much thought. I'm not a junk food junkie, either, and never really was a bad eater before this vegan stint started. But when I look at labels now, I'm amazed that sugar is in just about everything! Why on earth would you need sugar in dried pineapple? Isn't it sweet already? And papaya? What's the point? I've been disappointed to find there's sugar in some of the dried fruits I've wanted to pick up; I've had to pass them by.

My plumbing (if you catch my drift) is getting cleared out in a major way. Who knew that would happen? Also, I feel clearer mentally, which feels wonderful in itself. Hubby is not happy about this whole thing; says he doesn't like when I don't eat what the rest of the family eats. My feelings are hurt because I don't feel his support (in times past, his words have discouraged me; also it's just tough eating this way when your spouse doesn't), but I'm pressing on.

Saying 'no' has taken on a whole new dimension. And people start looking at you like you're crazy. Dinner invites are tough. Recently we were invited to dinner with some friends who grilled out and had a porterhouse steak waiting for us when we got there. There were all sorts of inquiries:

"You don't want any?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you."
"Really, you don't want any?"
"Nope, I'm good. Thanks."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"What about the tenderloin part? I could cut that part off for you."
"No thanks. It's fine, really."

People don't give up easily! At this particular meal, all I could eat was the salad and a baked potato. I was getting "the look."

We always have refreshments in our Sunday school class and we all take turns bringing each week's refreshments. Yesterday there was a spread: eggs, sausage, grits with butter, biscuits, juice, sweet treats, you name it. I brought my own Kashi granola bar (Kashi is great, by the way. I think I want to work for them at some point in my life) and had a small cup of juice. The eating part of our Sunday school class is a HUGE part, and there's a nice chunk of time carved out just for eating and going back for seconds and thirds. I munched on my granola bar and finished the chapter we were supposed to have read for that day's class.

"Michele, you don't want any?"
"No, I'm good."
"You sure? You don't want anything?"
"Nope, I fine. Thanks."

Mind you, there are several folks in our class who may not eat for reasons of fasting, just not wanting any, or trying to diet (our Pastor --- God love him, has placed a big emphasis in our church on proper and healthful eating; he himself eats only organic. It's a big movement at our church; many, many people have lost significant weight, including our pastor and his wife, who lost well over 100 pounds. Good stuff). But I was getting "the look".

But suddenly, I felt empowered. I'd given my 'no' and no one could change it. No one could change my mind. It was my choice to make, I'd made it, and it was a good one. The glory of all the delicious foods present would last only a short time --- an hour, at the most. But the glory of a clean body and mind? That would last much longer.

Grace to you in the coming week, beloved!

Chasing the Dream: Forty Years Later

2008-04-04T09:45:00.003-04:00

As some of you know, our little Bo-Bo (himself adopted) has a full-blood little brother, not quite a year under him, who was also placed for adoption. Bo-Bo's birth parents wanted us to adopt him, and I wanted to take him, too --- achingly so. But it was just too much; Bo-Bo himself was not yet a year old, and Sweet Pea (also adopted) wasn't even two. Hubby worked a lot, and I knew there was no way we could give him the love and attention he deserved with two other little babies in the house. It was a heavy burden on my heart for a long time.

Finally, though, the little brother (we'll call him Ko-Ko) was adopted by a white couple who lives about 45 minutes away from us. We'd all met one another and agreed we wanted to raise the boys to know each other and be in relationship (the couple also has another adopted son who is bi-racial). When we first met them, though, Ko-Ko was still in foster care, and so we'd not met him yet. But last weekend, we took the expressway trek to their house and met Ko-Ko for the first time. His squeals of delight sound just like my Bo-Bo's. He's a chunker, too, just like Bo-Bo was (and is! that boy thinks about food 24/7!). Bo-Bo is now 16 months and Ko-Ko is almost 6 months. We had a delightful afternoon with the family, munching on sandwiches, cookies and chips and talking about all our boys. Ko-Ko, in his first teething stage, was juicy like a watermelon and tried to eat my nose right off my face. SUCH a sweet and handsome boy he is. We took pictures of Bo-Bo hugging and kissing Ko-Ko --- what a momentous occasion: two brothers meet for the first time --- with a whole life and future before them.

Then here we are, the parents. Four of us. We've all decided that the parents will be "Uncle/Aunt" to the other couples kids. Here we stand: hubby and I in our Christian faith, Ko-Ko's new dad was raised Catholic, but I didn't get the sense that he was following it all that much these days. Ko-Ko's new mom is studying to become a Jew, and meets weekly with a rabbi. So here we are, two families joined together through love and adoption: whites, blacks (a couple of kids a mixture of the two), a Jew and old catholic and a couple of born-agains. We sound like a joke you'd tell on a bar stool, yet here we are. And isn't this what Martin Luther King lived and died for? What are we if not the fulfillment of his dream, forty years later?

Grace, beloved...

True Colors

2008-04-02T22:57:00.004-04:00

We are painting our bedroom, and I'm not sure I like the color all that much. Actually, we've two colors to paint it: two walls will be one color and the other two walls will be, maybe, two shades lighter (if it's possible to understand what constitutes a shade; is a shade even measurable?). My husband hates to paint (his words), so I'm doing most of the work on my own (with God's help), but hubby was kind enough to lend a helpful hand last night and finished the second wall I'd hoped to finish by midnight. In the midst of painting the first wall, a seemingly perfect description of the color I was using dawned on me.

Dookie.

Dookie brown. Think harvest gold meets brown mustard, but dookier.

Yep, that was it. The paint looked like the color of dookie --- poo-poo, dung, boo-boo, poopie in all its characteristic hues.

Lord, help me, I thought.

I kept conversing with the Lord about this dookie-colored paint, and we were having quite a laugh about it. It's good to keep your sense of humor (and your head ) in these sorts of situations.

And just so you know, there is no going back. Once you start out with dookie, you're committed, because it's so dark a color, that you can't paint over it, and it's just not worth the trouble, if you do. I kept trying to think of it in positive terms --- a deep squash, maybe. Nooo...brownish-gold. Mmmm. Not quite.

So we've two whole walls painted dookie. I kept thinking, I can do this. I think there's an interior designer lurking in me somewhere, and I'm bound to fish it out with dookie as bait. I can do this. A framed picture with burgundy and green hues on dookie wall #1 will make this wall livable, for sure. This is the wall --- the first wall, the main wall --- we see every morning before getting out of bed. We've got to find a way to make this work. And we will. For the love of everything good, we will. I found a picture today that I think will work well there. Even a nicely framed mirror might also help to add depth to our small, very square bedroom.

Tomorrow I begin on the third wall ---- dookie minus two shades. I think this color will work very well, and we've great curtains to help the whole thing come together. We will see.

Enjoy your night, beloved.

The Sixth Hour

2008-03-21T12:59:00.002-04:00

As we near Easter, and on this very holy day today, it occurs to me just how selfish I am. Instead of thinking on Christ, I think mainly of my own pleasure. I think that in a couple of days I can turn back and eat those things from which I fasted for Lent. I think mostly of what I’ve sacrificed; I think little of what He sacrificed. I think of the little ways I can please me; I rarely contemplate all the big ways Christ pleased His Father. I think of turning back to self, comfort and safety; He thought of going forward, risk, sacrifice and, ultimately, the exchanging of His own will for His Father’s. I think of the small physical pains I am feeling this afternoon. But they are little in comparison with His wounds, whereby we are healed. I am writing this in the sixth hour, so that I might think more of Him and less of myself.

Surely he took up our infirmities
and carried our sorrows,
yet we considered him stricken by
God,
smitten by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our
transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us
peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

Isaiah 53:4-5

And this --- from my Lenten devotional Bread and Wine, Amy Carmichael’s Calvary Love --- speaks aptly to this moment:

If I wonder why something trying is allowed, and press for prayer that it may be removed; if I cannot be trusted with any disappointment, and cannot go on in peace under any mystery, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If the ultimate, the hardest, cannot be asked of me; if my fellows hesitate to ask it and turn to someone else, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I covet any place on earth but the dust at the foot of the Cross, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

That which I know not, teach Thou me, O Lord, my God.

Amen and amen.

Grace, beloved…

Waiting for Judas

2008-03-08T14:51:00.002-05:00

In my Lent devotional, Bread and Wine, Madeleine L'Engle takes from her own"Waiting for Judas" and writes:

...And when we meet our Creator, we will be judged for all our turnings away, all our inhumanity to each other, but it will be the judgment of inexorable love, and in the end we will know the mercy of God which is beyond all comprehension...

...There is an old legend that after his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit. For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent he looked up and saw, way, way up, a tiny glimmer of light. After he had contemplated it for another thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards it. The walls of the pit were dank and slimy, and he kept slipping back down. Finally, after great effort, he neared the top, and then he slipped and fell all the way back down. It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb up again. After many more falls and efforts and failures he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room with twelve people seated around a table. "We've been waiting for you, Judas," Jesus said. "We couldn't begin till you came."

To Keep a True Lent

2008-03-08T14:42:00.002-05:00

I found the following in my Lenten devotional called Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter. It's a poem that was written by 17th-century poet Robert Herrick. It's called "To Keep a True Lent". (It deeply moved me).

Is this a Fast, to keep
the larder lean?
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep?
Is it to quit the dish
of flesh, yet still
To fill
The platter high with fish?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragg'd to go,
Or show
A down-cast look and sour?
No: 'tis a Fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat
And meat
With hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife
And old debate
And hate;
To circumsize thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin
Not bin;
And that's to keep thy Lent.

I Am Not My Hair

2008-02-28T23:47:00.003-05:00

Changes at our house. My husband is starting a new job, and I am starting new hair.

It's not that I didn't love my thick and kinky tresses. I loved what they represented and what they said about me. I love that they represented the authenticity that I hold so dear. I loved that I was not afraid to be who I really am, and I loved that I called good what others might label as 'bad'.

I loved that I kept on steppin' when my husband's grandmother said "I've never known Michele not to do her hair." I love that it didn't bother me or matter much.

I loved that it was counter-cultural.

In the end, though, it was a time-management/hair-management/versatility issue. Since going natural my hair had grown thick, more course and pretty strong and healthy. I've always had a thick head of hair, and being natural only made it moreso. Managability was a big issue; particularly when it would take me hours to put twists in (my favorite style was twist-outs), then the additional time it would take for me get the comb through to comb it out reasonably to prepare it for washing. Being versatile with my natural hair was a challenge and a challenge that just required more time. I needed to simplify, and I knew it. I'm home with two toddlers that keep me going all day. On the side I blog for a beading website, and have other responsibilities, like my church involvement and leadership in our adoption support group. Practically speaking, I needed a hair that was less time consuming --- at least in this leg of my life journey. I didn't want to return to press and curl. Besides, I'd given away my hot comb with no plans to buy another. I'd not had a perm in 13 years, and decided I wasn't ready to go bone straight, either. I opted for a very mild relaxer that seems to be a good fit for me. I never really knew how people felt about my hair before, when it was natural (did I care? Probably not very much). But people came out of the woodwork when I showed up with straight hair. "Look at Michele's hair! It looks sooo nice! It's looks so healthy!" Comments galore.

It all made me think of my friend Roxanne from church. She wears her hair natural, always has. But she was going through some things (with her marriage, in particular) and decided to go straight for a while. When she showed up at church with straight hair, people were all over her. People who had never noticed her before. All of a sudden she was now 'somebody'. She went home and got rid of that straight hair quick. I understand why, too.

India.Arie said it best. Roxanne is not her hair, and I am not my hair. We all have our reasons for wearing our hair the way we do. I'll always be an advocate of natural/naptural hair. It just wasn't practical and simple enough for where I am in my life right now. I may return to it someday. I may not. Regardless, there is more to me than my hair, no matter how bouncy my hair is or how much my highlights glitter. The attention my hair gets now doesn't faze me like it did before. I think I'm different in that regard and I think I've learned some things along the way. I imagine I'll keep learning more as I go on.

I hope you are off to a good start to your weekend, beloved. Do rest some, play some, and enjoy your Sabbath.

A Simple Cure

2008-02-06T15:39:00.001-05:00

It's hard to believe it's February already. Already our 14th wedding anniversary (and my 39th birthday) are, as of yesterday, just a month away. I think hubby is cooking up something special. What could it be? I'm not much of a jewelry wearer (my own handmade earrings, always, and sometimes a bracelet I whipped up), but I do love receiving jewelry gifts from my husband. They are always SUCH special gifts.

A couple of weeks ago I met the most wonderful lady, whom we'll call Mrs. P. We met at the post office as she was admiring the boys. We stopped to chat and stood there for maybe half an hour just talking. In that time (while the boys stood helplessly and restlessly by waiting for me to finish!), I learned that she'd had several miscarriages before her total hysterectomy. Finally, she and her husband adopted a son, who was just three days old when they brought him home. That was their only child. As we talked, I thought to myself that I would be about her age when my boys graduate high school; I assumed she was in her late 50s or so. As we talked on, I learned that her son was almost my age, and as we talked on further I learned that she was in her 40s when she and her husband adopted him. I was standing there doing the math in my head:

"Well, then...that would make you..."
"I'm 78, " she offered freely.
"What?!" I was floored.

Now, don't hear me wrong. This woman was never a drop-dead gorgeous sort. She wasn't that kind of beautiful. She had salt and pepper hair, wore glasses, but her skin! I know black women are known for wearing their age well, but she was exceptional. Her skin was taut and beautiful. It was amazing. I've never been that off when estimating someone's age. At least I know it wasn't just me. As our conversation wore on, I learned that people at her church often asked her "What on earth are you doing?! You've got to be doing something!" She said she doesn't do anything special. Moreover, she is close to turning 79! I'm convinced that when she hit 58, she just stopped aging. We had a delightful time sharing and talking. She bent over to pick up Bo-Bo like he was a 5 pound sack of potatoes --- no struggle at all for her! And Bo-Bo is no waif, and that's putting it mildly! We exchanged addresses and telephone numbers and have been exchanging notes in the mail. She sent me one of the sweetest notes I think I've ever received. It reads:

It was awesome meeting someone like you. I feel like I've known you forever. You will always be a part of my life. Thanks for listening. You will be the daughter I didn't have. Give my love to the boys.

How sweet was that? Next weekend we have plans to have breakfast together where I hope to hear her entire life story. I'm sure I could learn so much from her. I'm all about gaining wisdom.

Enjoy your week, beloved.

Moments in Warm Winter

2008-01-06T19:53:00.001-05:00

Hubby has taken the boys out, and I have a few moments to myself. What a treat! My husband (and all of us, I guess) are in something of transition, as he will soon be leaving his job to branch out into the appliance repair business with a partner. He's been doing appliance repair for a long while now, but I think this is a welcome and needed change, and I think it's something he's really looking forward to, but is still a bit nervous about at the same time. I'm happy for him to be moving away from where he is; his gifts really lie in dealing directly with the customer, and he's so great at giving the best customer service. I think his partner is a good guy with a heart for business and working hard. He's a believer, too, married with four kids --- five and under (his wife is a stay-at-home mom, too), and they've both very similar goals of working hard and taking care of their families.

To that end, hubby has been working extra hard. Until he puts in his 2 weeks at his current job (sometime later this month) and moves into working fully with his business partner (Brian), he's sort of juggling two jobs: working all day, then doing additional service calls for Brian after work. He's a trooper and doesn't complain too much, but he's not seen much of the boys. A lot of times they are in bed when he gets home. That's part of the reason I'm really feeling (more and more) like we are done with having kids. I used to feel like I had a third child in me, and the idea of it is still nice, but realistically I have to look at what I can handle alone. If hubby is gone for 13 or 14 hours a day and works some on Saturdays, too, that means I pick up the slack and it's all I can handle just to keep up with the two of them. Sweet Pea will be two at the end of the month and thank the dear Lord about that Bo-Bo is walking. I feel like I can pack away the sling I carried both babies in (I LOVED that thing...thanks, Christie!) and just look ahead to the future. Also, since Bo-Bo's little brother got adopted and will be living not too terribly far away, I expect to have him as often as we can, so he can run after Sweet Pea and Bo-Bo. Today I saw a picture of Lewie for the first time, and oh my goodness, if he doesn't look just like Bo-Bo. It's Bo-Bo all over again. I think all three boys --- and Lewie's new big brother, Ben (that would make four) --- will keep me busy enough. I really want to be able to pour into Lewie's life and really be a big part of it, so stopping here just makes sense. When does saying we're done become hard? When we get that call.

Telephone: Ring!
Me: "Hello?"
Caseworker: "Um, yeah, Michele? Hi...we've got another baby here. It's a girl this time. We need black parents and you guys are the only couple we can find. Will you do it?"
Me: "Well, no...um...er...tell me more about the...well, no...but...how old is she? What's her story?"

And the rest is history. You know me.

I am doing some blogging about jewelry making ---- how to's and that sort of thing. You can come visit me at http://www.beadage.net/blog/ to check out some of my posts. I really enjoy making jewelry, as you know, but really feel like I need to find a space to focus on some things so that I can really grow in this area. I still have the beading blog at http://sianelli.blogspot.com/ that I use to post my thoughts and feelings about my own work and also pics of new items I'm creating and selling. It's nice to be able to have work I love doing and then being able to do that work from home, so I can be here for my boys. What a real luxury when you stop and think that the vast majority of people in the world don't get presented with opportunities like this. It's truly a blessing. And yes, it is sort of juggling a lot, but I'm trying to keep things balanced.

I should end here. I hope your Sabbath was restful and meaningful, beloved and that your coming week will be good.

The Journey Towards Home

2008-01-02T00:36:00.002-05:00

Today we met Bo-Bo's little brother's new parents. Who's on first, you ask? Well...you'll remember that Bo-Bo's birthparents had another baby in October, and that he was placed for adoption, too. We wanted to take him...my heart was heavily burdened, and I wanted to take him so badly I could taste it. My friend Christie says that it's a good thing God gave us husbands because othewise we'd have nothing to temper our "heart" decisions. We need the balance of sound reasoning. In and of ourselves, Christie and I would be out to save every child imaginable. Who doesn't need a loving mother? Aren't we commanded to care for the orphans and widows? Huh? Huh? HUH?! Anyway, hubby said we just couldn't do it and one day recently, I understood why.

We were out one day, the three of us --- Sweet Pea (almost 2), Bo-Bo (13 months) and me (almost 39) --- headed for the post office to mail Christmas gifts to Bo-Bo's little brother. I had the package, but I wasn't exactly sure how I'd get the package into the post office with Bo-Bo and Sweet Pea. "Lord help me," I sighed. I knew it had to work out somehow.

I thought for sure I could get Sweet Pea to hold the package. It wasn't very heavy, after all, and he's a big boy. But no. He had to whine (insert Mommy's imitation whiney voice here). "Pick that up," I told him, trying to be commanding, but knowing it was a losing battle. So I held Bo-Bo (who, at that point, wasn't walking, but he started walking around Christmas...yay!) like a football in my right arm (the winter coat doesn't exactly make him any lighter, either), somehow squeezed the package into the same arm that Bo-Bo was in and held Sweet Pea's hand with my left hand, as we crossed the parking lot, heading for the post office door. When we got inside, I set Bo-Bo down (he's been a good cruiser for weeks and weeks, so he had no problem standing by himself, as long as he was holding onto me), set the package down and kicked it forward each time we needed to move up a step. When we were next in line to be waited on, I kicked the box all the way to the clerk, while holding Bo-Bo and calling out to Sweet Pea to hurry up and come on.

Long story short, I have my hands full. Now that Bo-Bo is walking he's all over the place. Earlier this week he missed a step coming down the steps and split his head open to the white meat. Well, not really. But it was a pretty deep gash. We got it to stop bleeding, but I think he'll have the scar for a long while. And, God bless his sweet little self, he's a bit top heavy and his head tends to have quite a bit of directional pull and he seems to knock it all the time. He's got a bit of a goose egg there now, poor thing. He is the sweetest boy. Tonight he let me rock him and get as many kisses as I liked. He's SUCH a mama's boy. Why wouldn't I want to adopt his brother, too?

Bo-Bo's brother's new name is Lucas. But they'll call him Lewey. Or is it Louie? At any rate, it's sweet, and I can't wait to meet him and hold him. Lewie (let's blend the two spellings) is being adopted by an older white couple (they seem to be late 40s, early 50s maybe?) who have a biracial almost 8 year old boy, whom we also met today. They are a really nice family....very down to earth. They are so excited to pick Lewie up. Nancy said she's envisioning sleep overs with the boys, and we are too. We are glad to have Bo-Bo and Lewie grow up knowing each other and loving each other, and we know we'll be a part of each other's lives for a long time. Today was the first of many visits. We were talking about what to call one another. Bo-Bo and Lewie are full-blood brothers, and Sweet Pea and Ben are brothers to Bo-Bo and Lewie, but what are Sweet Pea and Ben to each other? Cousins? In-laws? How do you name that? I say let everybody be brothers and toss all the boys in together. I told Nancy that when our boys get bigger and move to the bigger bedroom, we'll have to add extra beds for Lewie and Ben. It's good to plan things with them in mind, and I'm just excited that, even though we couldn't adopt Lewie, we get to be a big part of his life. I'm so excited about that. I think I want to be called "Mimi". Cute, huh?

Grace in the new year, beloved!

After Anna

2007-12-22T14:29:00.001-05:00

Other famous deaths (of particular interest to me) of 2007:

-Sidney Sheldon -Writer
-Marcel Marceau - Mime artist
-Liz Claiborne - Fashion designer
-Bob Evans (founded restaurant of the same name)
-Luciano Pavarotti - Italian soprano of opera music

Snowy Season

2007-12-16T13:29:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how swiftly snow has overcome us here. What's more amazing, though, is what an affection I seem to be developing for the winter months; I'd had more than enough of summer by summer's end --- indeed, before summer's end, and eagerly anticipated autumn, my favorite of all the seasons.

But I've recently realized how the snowy season suits my contemplative moods much better than summer. I love to look out the window at the snow and the wind blowing and feel safe and warm. I love snuggling beneath the covers with my husband. I really enjoy shoveling snow (though my hubby scoffs at my doing it) and find it the best exercise. Once, in our old house (the one before this one), I shoveled the entire driveway, which was long and wide, and sweated so, I felt that I might have dropped 5 pounds in the hour it took me to shovel the entire driveway. Here, it only takes me 45 minutes or so. Our driveway isn't nearly as big, but I shovel it, and I shovel the back and front steps, the sidewalks in front of and behind our house and, sometimes, I shovel part of our neighbors on both sides, too, if I have the time and energy. I hope it snows a little more this week so I can shovel some more. If I didn't have the babies (those sweet giblets!), I'd go up and down the street shoveling neighbor's drives for half of what they pay others to do it. Also, I've had wild fun sliding down hills in days and years gone by, and hope to make lots of fun memories with the kids going sledding.

Of course, this is spoken by a woman for whom winter hasn't officially even arrived yet! I suppose it remains to be seen whether or not I'll feel the same way by winter's end. I'm sure I'll be more than ready for spring. But, if one has to endure Ohio winters, it's at least good to have a good attitude about it all.

And speaking of attitude, I've had to change mine about where we live. I'd somehow stumbled upon a convent's website a couple of weeks ago. I was completely absorbed by everything I read on that website. I kept clicking this link and that, reading about the lives and work of the nuns, reading about how they eat, and what their day consists of. I don't know what ever brought about my interest in monasticism, but I think I could have been a nun in another life.

Anyway, as I was reading about this and that with regard to the nuns' lives and commitments, I read something to the effect that often 'the idea that things will be better somewhere else is an illusion'. That statement profoundly struck me. Even though some time ago I'd changed my attitude about continuing to live where we currently do, I don't know that I'd changed my perspective to the degree of commitment reflected in that statement that I'd read. To be content where one lives is one thing, but to commit oneself to it as if another place would be no better, nor might one be any happier, is another thing entirely. It's akin to the notion posed as a question I once asked a cousin of mine who, as a thirty-something single mom who had never been married, sought to become married: "What if this is the happiest you'll ever be?" I inquired of her. It's also not unlike the statement a friend of mine made some years back, "Marriage doesn't cure the problem of loneliness." How true! To be sure, we long for other circumstances (and as it was for me, other places to live) because we think they will make us happier. But, as my wise friend told me a few months ago, "Another house won't make you any happier, Michele." True also! But to admit that I am where God wants me to be, and to accept as true the idea that things will be better in another place is simply an illusion is quite the yielded heart I long to have.

So, when I was shoveling snow one day recently, I was prepared to answer a question I didn't know I'd be asked. I didn't even know I'd be prepared to answer, because I just never thought about it. A man and a woman walked together down my street as I shoveled the sidewalk in front of our house. All is peaceful during my snow shoveling times, and I love that! All is peaceful and quiet within me --- just me, God, snow and my blood pumping, and quick beating heart. There is no sound around --- just the low howl of the wind and I love the union that I feel with my environment and with God.

But as I shoveled along, I looked up long enough to see this couple walking down the middle of my street (yet unplowed by the city's plowers). They were talking and he was smoking a Black and Mild. I looked up and my eyes caught his, he said hello and I returned the greeting.

"Hi, how are you?"
"Good," he said, and his friend looked up and greeted me too.
"Don't you love it here?" The man asked me. Surprised, I didn't miss much of a beat. "I do," I said, smiling.
"See?" he said, looking at the woman, walking by his side. "I love it over here!" he said, smiling, and on down the middle of the street they continued to walk, their figures growing smaller against the snowy backdrop. I shoveled on, but I keep hearing the man's question, "Don't you love it here?" and my quick answer: "I do." My contentment grows on.

Enjoy this Christmas season, dear ones. Prepare to release those things you had planned to keep. Dare to release the temporal and dare to lay hold of the eternal. May your desires ever be in keeping with God's will for you in Christ Jesus, and may the joy that accompanies God's divine gift to the world in His son, Jesus Christ, ever strengthen, delight and compel you now and in the coming year.

He is soon to come!

Grace, beloved...
Michele

2007-11-11T23:39:00.001-05:00

It's quiet in the house now; the boys have been down for hours now, and it's been a good weekend. Yesterday we had a late breakfast at IHOP. Man, they have good food. I'm all about the multigrain pancakes, but theirs aren't just multigrain. There's other nuts in there, too, and those pancakes are SO good. I had a plate full of three or four meats but I gave those to Sweet Pea, who turned down the country ham, but ate the sausage. And the bacon. The eggs were perfect and so were the coffee and hashbrowns. But I was having a good time even before the food came out. It was just so nice to be out with hubby and the boys; the weeks fly by so quickly and hubby works a lot, so it's so nice to have the family together times on the weekends.

Today was one of those days that begs a nap. We came home from church and it was rainy and dreary and cold. Bo-Bo fell asleep in the car seat as we neared home, "Wake up!" I yelled as I pulled at his foot. He sleepily opened one eye. Then another. "Nooooo...we are waiting till we get home, then we're ALL going to take a nap...so, wake UP!" He slipped into oblivion once again. Still the boys went down well for a nap, and we all had a good two hour nap. Naps are rare treasures to stay at home moms with two kids under the age of two. I sooo enjoy them when I can get them.

Bo-Bo turns one on Wednesday, which is also my father's 72nd birthday. The holidays are sneaking up on us fast, and I can hardly believe it's November. My favorite season is passing far too quickly. A couple of good autumn rains and the leaves are off too many trees. I so treasure this season. Tonight I made pumpkin soup, which made me think of the Sabbath (pumpkin soup is a good Sabbath soup), which made me think of my dear, dear friend Christie, whom I called as I was finishing up the soup. I do so miss her, and love our phone conversations, and there is certain to be laughter when we've not talked in a long spell. Tonight we laughed at my ridiculous behavior over a pigeon named Gabriel. We were talking about boy names, and she mentioned she likes the name Gabriel, and I told her I really liked it too. I told her I rescued a bird from our front lawn a couple of years back; it was a pigeon that took some sort of fall, I think, and hubby set up a spot for him, and I changed his little cotton bedding every day, and I tried to feed him and nurse him back to health as best I could (ugly little bird it was, for goodness sake!). I'd gone around looking for him the proper food, and I fed him from a dropper, and I grew to love that sickly, ugly bird, and when he died (and, at the end, I knew he would), I just cried, and I prayed to God about it and I was crying and snottin' over this ugly little bird, whom I named Gabriel, and Christie and I were laughing loudly about how ridiculous I felt and sounded. How an ugly bird can win your heart! Oh, what a spiritual lesson in that. I'm convinced there's a spiritual lesson in nearly everything. If you just look.

Goodnight, beloved...

Baby Update

2007-10-29T14:57:00.001-04:00

Thanks, Sandy, for reminding me that I needed to update this blog on things with Bo-Bo's new baby brother. I finally did talk with the woman I mentioned, but not until the next day. Of course, I was holding my breath, hoping to talk to her and hear that she and her hubby were interested. To my surprise, though, this couple already has four kids. I thought they only had three (not that three isn't a lot!), and maybe wouldn't mind making it four. But turns out they already have four and, needless to say, have a full load. Also, their adopted kids have been adopted out of public agencies, meaning the cost is next to nothing. I think finances would be as big an issue for them as to us. I hope, though, to talk to the caseworker this week and hear some good news. I'm just waiting to hear that a family has been chosen for him. I just wait and pray, so please, beloved, keep praying with me!

Grace,
Michele

As If I Can Squeeze Another Thing Into My Day

2007-10-23T22:13:00.000-04:00

Well, I have, I guess. I use the margin time I get when the boys go to bed (after I high five God that we made it through another crazy day!) to create more jewelry. It's become, I suppose, the creative outlet I never knew I needed. You think I could have discovered this, like, three to five years ago? Or in, I don't know, year 7 of marriage, when kids were still a twinkle in our eyes? I could have left my day job for this stuff. Well, maybe.

Truth is, I've not been selling as much stuff as I've been doing commissions. (You can check out the stuff I make at www.sianelli.blogspot.com). But I'm even putting most of those on hold for a while, so I can work on sharpening some skills and trying some new techniques that I'm excited to work on. Never once in my life thought I had an artist (of any sort!) in me, but I'm really enjoying creating jewelry, and find it really unwinds and relaxes me. I could get lost in this world for hours.

So this morning I was praying for Bo-Bo's little brother (our youngest will be called Bo-Bo from now on, as it's what our oldest, Sweet Pea, has taken to calling him, and it sort of fits him in a really warm and loving way), another black couple came to my mind. Maybe them? I thought, as I prayed. Maybe, yes!

Here's a couple that hubby and I met at a church we visited a while back (GREAT church). They must live in our neighborhood because periodically we run into them in our neighborhood grocery store, Block Buster, etc. In fact, lately, I'd been running into them even more. Which was sort of weird. Here's this couple that we met once, but keep bumping into. We could see ten or twenty other folks that we know, but I probably bump into them more than anyone.

So I thought of them, right, because I think they have three kids and a couple of those kids are adopted. I remember that we were chatting at one grocery store recently about it, because I noticed they had more kids than the last time we bumped into them. I asked if their youngest was adopted (the couple is clearly black, but their youngest looked bi-racial, so I assumed she was adopted). When they told me she was adopted, I told them our two boys were adopted, and they were pleasantly surprised. We talked on about how there is such a great need for black families and how there are so many kids out there who need a home. I could tell she really had a heart for adoption.

Once I got her on my mind this morning, I was determined to call her today. When I did, I got her voicemail, but left a message saying I wanted to talk to her about something important, and could she please call when she gets the message. She later called as I was walking out the door with the boys (I literally had one child buckled in, and was about to take the other one to the car when the phone rang).

"Hello?" Caller i.d. said 'private', but I thought it might be her.
"Michele? Hi."
"Oh, hi! I'm glad you called back; we were just on our way out the door."
"Us, too. I just wanted to call you to tell you I'd call you later on tonight."
"Okay, sounds good."

So off I went with the boys. We had several errands to run, but our first stop was the bank. It took me, maybe 10 minutes to get there from our house, and I used the drive-through because it was cold and rainy and, let's face it, with two babies, it's just easier.

Who should pull up in the drive through right next to me?

"Michele? Hi! You had to go to the bank, too?"
"You have GOT to be kidding me!!!" (she laughed too, thinking that our running into each other so often is becoming a bit of a strange phenomenom).
"I'll talk to you later on tonight," she called out as she drove off.

This is just weird, I thought. I hope this is a good sign. Maybe this is the couple, the family for Bo-Bo's little Bo-Bo.

I'm waiting for her to call even as I type this. I can only hope and pray.

Have a good night, beloved.

Grace,
Michele

Life Without Him

2007-10-17T23:41:00.000-04:00

I'm really struggling, these past few days, with the thought that the full biological brother of our youngest adopted son won't be living with us. Though I thought, initially, this thing was going to get easier as the days wear on, it seems to get harder. Why did this have to happen now? Why couldn't it have happened when our boys were a little older? Maybe then having him come home with us wouldn't seem like such an insurmountable mountain. It's like this battle between my head and my heart and it's very hard. Folks tell me I'm wise not to add another infant to our family so soon --- our youngest not yet one, and our oldest not yet two --- but it doesn't always feel so wise. Sometimes it feels selfish. But deep down I know that both our kids and my husband (not to mention other areas of my life) would suffer if I took on a newborn right now. We literally have no more space in our car. As it is, folks ask if our boys are twins: they are now both in forward facing car seats and are very close to the same size. Our youngest is dangerously close to walking and is pretty tall and can reach almost anything our oldest can. When hubby came home and our oldest went out to the front porch to meet him, our youngest cruised his way to the front door and was trying to turn the knob!

So my heart is breaking a bit, because I feel like my boys --- even though they are adopted --- are my very flesh and blood. And since my baby's full blood brother is in need of a home, it feels a little like I am turning away from my own flesh and blood. It's really hard. And then, when I look at our youngest during the day, I can't help but think of his brother, and I just grab, kiss and snuggle him --- hoping that, somehow, in giving him extra love, I'm making up for the fact that we can't take his brother. I hope he won't someday be upset with me for that.

But what can I do? Are we supposed to keep taking the children our children's birth parents keep having? What if in a year or two our oldest son's birth mom has another baby she wants to place for adoption? Or (heaven forbid) our youngest gets another sibling a couple of years down the road? I just don't know. There are no easy answers.

The one thing that's comforting me is that this dear boy is with a loving foster couple --- the same couple who kept our youngest from the time he was born till the time he came home with us at 10 weeks. They are such a loving couple and I know he's getting lots of love and is being well cared for.

Oh, if we can ever miss something we never had, I do so miss that child...

Grace, beloved...

Shocker

2007-10-12T08:48:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I spoke with one of our case workers who headed up the adoption of our youngest son. We brought our dear boy home with us in January of this year, when he was just 10 weeks old. We met his birth parents and really liked them, and they us. Soon after the birth of their second child, our son's birth mom found herself unexpectedly pregnant again. They didn't feel they could handle a third child, with their second child being so young, so they opted for an adoption plan and chose my husband and me to be parents to this dear, sweet boy who stood in need of a loving family and a home.

You'd be hard pressed to find a sweeter baby than our youngest. He is such a loving and very affectionate boy. I love him with all my heart.

Yesterday we got a call from our case worker, and our conversation went a bit like this:

Caseworker: "So, do you think you guys would want to adopt again?"
Me: "Well....my hands are pretty full right now with both the boys being so little."
Caseworker: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Well, yes...why? Do you have another black child in need of a home?"
Caseworker: "Are you sitting down?"
Me: "Yes."
Caseworker: "Are you sure you're sitting down?"
Me: (becoming alarmed): "Oh no...Is (insert birth mom's name here) pregnant again?"
Caseworker: "She just had the baby. He was born earlier this week."

It's a good thing I was sitting on the floor; had I been sitting in a chair, I might have fallen out of it.

This child is now being placed for adoption (is currently in the same loving foster home our youngest was in before he came home with us at 10 weeks), and guess who the birth parents want the baby's adoptive parents to be?

You guessed it. Us.

Our hands are so full...so much so, that hubby and I both said the only way we can ever see ourselves adopting again was if one of our children had a sibling being placed for adoption. We meant it, too, but --- as much as in my heart I'd love to take and raise this dear boy with our other two wonderful sons --- I just don't think we can do it. Or should, even. We have a son that's not yet two, a son that's not yet a year, and to take on a newborn? I just don't think that would be fair to our two boys or to my husband. I'm one of the best multi-taskers I know and even I don't think I could juggle all that. Something would suffer --- either my boys, my husband or my sanity.

I can't believe this. Once I found this news out, I literally thought about it every hour around the clock till I went to bed. I was talking to myself, mumbling to myself, praying, looking at our youngest, asking him what he would want us to do (of course he has no idea what I'm talking about, but still. How could I not look in those big, almond shaped eyes and not ask him?). Our youngest is going through separation anxiety and cries every time I leave the room. Even our oldest still has a lot of baby in him, crying for this and for that.

Hubby and I together decided we probably shouldn't do this now. It would be one thing entirely if our oldest was three and our youngest was two (that would even be hard, but it would be a little better). And let's not even speak of the financial costs incurred with adopting through a private agency again. By God's good grace are both our sons adoptions paid off (we know it was God, because we just did not have $17,000, which is about what it took to adopt both our sons).

We also decided that no matter where this child is placed we want these boys to be involved in each other's lives. That's important to us. And, on top of everything else, there is a shortage of black families to adopt children. There's always a shortage, so it seems, which is one of the reasons we've been called so much.

Please pray that God would find a good, loving Christian home for this baby boy.

Have a good weekend, beloved.

Something New

2007-09-21T15:42:00.000-04:00

True to my word, I've tried to do as little today as I could possibly get away with. The boys got baths last night so they are good to go. But Sweet Pea didn't get his teeth brushed today. Neither did his mom. But hey, there's always tonight.

Also, I did crank out a couple of pieces of jewelry today. I made two bracelets and an earring/bracelet set. The photo here is of the last bracelet I made, and it's my favorite for today. I had to re-string it, though...I got the clasp on then realized that my sequence was off. Tsk Tsk! I am usually so good about checking that as I go along, but alas, it was an oversight, so I had to restring it. The bracelet is comprised of glass beads, metal beads, metal bead caps and Swarovski crystals (in this weird, but lovely color of green). I finished it with a metal heart toggle clasp. I am a true lover of vintage and antique jewelry, and it's not uncommon to find an antique flair in much of the jewelry I create. So far, I've created no duplicates...everything is a unique, one-of-a-kind piece. If a piece has given me trouble and challenges in its creation, I'm more than happy to be done with it and never do a piece like it again! But those pieces that I've really, really loved, yes, the temptation has been there to do a repeat. But I've not succumbed. I've already finished making all the Christmas gifts for the women in our family.

Okay...I gotta get going. It's time for the boys to be up from their naps. Please say a prayer for our case-worker who's handling Ellie's adoption. She just found out she has breast cancer. They've caught it in the early stages, so that's good. She'll still have to undergo radiation, though. She is a dear, dear woman and she's been VERY supportive of us and a great advocate during our adoption journey. Her name is Shirley, so please pray for her as you think of it.

Two blog posts in as many days! Whatever shall you do with me, beloved?

Grace,
Michele

Strawberry Letter 23

2007-09-20T22:20:00.000-04:00

It is odd that I've heard that song --- that 1977 classic by the Brothers Johnson --- twice this week. This song always makes me think of that year, 1977, when we left Kansas (and my mother's physically abusive husband, whom I knew, up to that time, as my father. I'd later learn he wasn't my bio father, but that is another blog post) and moved back home to start all over again. My mother was no longer the stay-at-home mom she'd always been back in Kansas. Now she worked full time and I was left to tend to my own hair. That thick, impossible mane that even she would dread combing. It accidentally locked sometime between 1977 and 1978 because I was 8 years old...too young to be combing my own hair (thick, resistant storm that it was!) and I was not prepared to comb it from the roots the way I needed to. I still remember the day my mother discovered I had matted hair deep below the surface and I remember sitting in a chair in the kitchen of our small, roach-infested apartment while she tore at my hair with hot fury, and pressed it straight with the hot comb. I still remember the ache I felt at the back of my head when she was done. I had cried and she had blessed me out for failing to comb my hair from the roots. That was the last warning I needed. My hair never matted again, praise God.

The song lyric, of course, is never really sung as 'strawberry letter 23', only as 'strawberry letter 22'. You'll have to visit Wikipedia yourself to find out the reasons for this, but that will give you something fun to do. Then you'll feel a little smarter about some little known fact.

I always loved the song, and when I hear it, it always takes me back to 1977 when I was an 8 year old little girl trying to get used to a new place, a new way of doing things. I was such a timid little thing, and very much a mama's girl. Now my mother was responsible for supporting my brother and me and she had to work full time. I missed her affection and when she returned home in the evenings she was very tired. I remember overwhelming her with my need of her, and I remember the cutting rejection I felt when she would say, "Michele, let me get in the door good and catch my breath for a minute. Dang." It hurt, and over time I grew to be, well, less needy.

Now that I'm older I also recognize what it is to be tired and to have two little ones who look to you for everything. I have become my mother. I think sometimes I'm too short with Sweet Pea, and then we both end up being frustrated. I think I have this thing about space. In fact, I'm sure of it. I got an email from one of my friends a couple of days ago. She asked how the boys were and hoped I was getting the time alone I needed, introvert that I am. It is hard to get that time alone, and after a few days I really begin to feel it. This week I am spent. Just spent. But back to the thing about space. I never really put the pieces together like this before, but I'm realizing I don't like to be crowded. In our old house, we had a small kitchen and it would drive me nuts when one or two people were in there at once. It felt like they were all on top of me! We moved to our current house 7 years ago and the kitchen is pretty big. I hardly ever feel crowded in there, but I still don't like it when people are wandering in and out of the kitchen when I'm trying to cook. I thought it was just a weird, personal thing, but now with the boys hanging off of me every second of the day, just about, I realize it's a space issue. I love my boys with fierce and enduring love, but I can't even go to the bathroom without them right up on me. Our upstairs is such that the bathroom is the epicenter of all activity. The bathroom is pretty big and is between the bedrooms (small) and my home office (even smaller). So everything and everyone just meets up in the bathroom. I've cried my eyes out in the bathroom. I've had deep discussions with hubby in the bathroom. I've looked into the bathroom mirror and watched myself grow older. At night, before we put the boys to bed, we pray in the bathroom. If you look at the boys' baby photo albums many of the pictures taken (if not most of them!) are taken right there in that same bathroom. The bathroom is basically the boys' play room during the day. So when I have to go pee, they are right there. I sit down on the toilet for a moment of peace and here comes Sweet Pea plopping a toy car right into my underwear. "Step BACK!" I yell, "Mommy has to POOPIE!"

So yes, it's an issue of space. But, in truth, I love having my boys near me. I love when they sit on my lap and I love that Ellie is such a snuggle bunny who needs lots of affection. But I am still an introvert and I still need that alone time to recharge.

Tomorrow I'm planning to do as little as possible. As little as I can get away with, that is, with two babies. But I really need to slow down a bit. I haven't made any jewelry all week and I think I need to crank out something beautiful to indulge my creativity.

I love that Jesus is a God for the weary and those who really need to rest. Today I took a nap when the boys did; I only slept for an hour, but when I woke up I felt even more tired than I did before I fell asleep. I just felt bone tired. I know that it's God who gives me the strength and energy to go on when I feel like I can't, or when I feel like I'm entirely too old to be having kids this young. Boys, no less. I just get up because I know that if God has called me to do something, He will give me the energy to get it done. I'm really gonna crash tonight.

Rest well, beloved, and enjoy your weekend.

Grace always,
Michele

Under the Wire

2007-08-29T23:27:00.001-04:00

*pants*...looks like I'm making it back to you in a month...just under the wire. Tomorrow is the last day of August, which I can hardly believe. Where did the whole month go?

No matter. Autumn is my favorite month and I am eagerly looking forward to crisp, cool mornings, good coffee and the gorgeous fall colors as the backdrop for my life. I think I'm a much nicer person when I'm cooler. Phew. August is one hot month.

Things are going well. Sweet Pea came down with croup (that cough that sounds like a dog or a seal barking) and we took him to the emergency room early Saturday morning. All four of us went and we returned home, exhausted, at about 4 in the morning. We all slept till 11:00 that same morning, and Sweet Pea was doing better. His breathing was better, which was a huge relief to me, but the cough kept up for another day or two, as did the fever, but he's doing much better now.

I've determined that my two sons are opposites --- much like their mom and dad. The world would be so boring if we were all the same, right? So our oldest is in some ways like me...he likes things in order (strange that we can tell that already!), and does a pretty good job at clean up time. He's also a bit more complex, moody and, like his dad, is a night owl. He'd stay up till midnight, if we let him. He is not a morning child! He loves to play...later for all that huggin' and kissin'! Let's play with my cars...vroooom! Our youngest is noticeably different. Our oldest never took to stuffed animals in any way, shape or form. He'd look at it and politely toss it out of his crib. Our youngest snuggles up with his bunny every night. He needs to be in bed by 8:00 or he's grumpy. He's all smiles when he wakes up in the morning. He loves to be hugged and kissed on and seems happy-go-lucky like hubby and hubby's mom. All is well with the world with him. Also, he's sensitive. Hubby can raise his voice with a firm "No!" and that sweet thing will start to cry. But he also likes to rough house with his brother and dad. There's a recent picture where I took a picture of both of our sons and our youngest is smiling and patting the back of our oldest as if to say, "Hey! Good to see you! Lighten up, already, would ya!" and our oldest is looking hot and bothered as if to say, "Why are you touching me?!"

I think it's a testament to God's thoughtfulness when I see how very different both boys are. I hope this means that, despite differences they may share over the years, that they will somehow find the common bond of love and grow in love for the other. They are such beautiful boys, vastly different, but I love them both in such a fierce way. I feel very blessed to be their mom.

We have kicked around the idea of moving, as in buying another house. Though for right now, it's all just in idea form. God only knows what will come of these ideas, but I am praying about it all.

I've been up entirely too late these past couple of nights...I stole a nap when the boys went down for theirs earlier, but I really need to get to bed now. It's almost midnight.

Enjoy your summer's end, beloved. Autumn is just around the corner!

Grace,
Michele

Feeling Purple

2007-07-29T19:02:00.000-04:00

Today is Sunday, July 29th, and if I'm to get up at least one blog post a month, I'd better hop to it.

Of course, I'd like to get up more than just one blog post a month, but really, who am I kidding?

I'm doing well if I still have five good people who still check in here from time to time (Sandy, Faraja and BJ, hats off to ya!), but I often have to remind myself that writing is good for the sake of writing itself, not necessarily for what one gets (or doesn't get)in return. I have to say that my personal journaling is pretty up to date, and that's good --- even better, perhaps --- since there are things I'd pen in my personal journal that I wouldn't write in a blog post. Still, I don't think I set out intending to write only occasionally on my blog. I've clearly rearranged some priorities, and blogging has not come out on top as it once did.

Mothering has now become more full time (if that was possible!), now that our oldest is 18 months our youngest is 8 months. In some ways it was easier when both were younger --- Ellie slept more, and Sweet Pea (our oldest) wasn't yet in toddler mode, which meant that I wasn't yelling and running around as much. But in other ways things were tougher back then: Ellie was completely dependent on me and Sweet Pea wasn't yet walking and everyone had to be carried ('everyone', 'everybody' and 'alla yall' refers to just the two kids, but it more aptly conveys the feeling of dealing with bundles of things from bundles of kids. Ha!). Still, we are all growing and adapting to one another's stages. Mom is going through some sort of crazy mid life crisis where she's becoming a vegetarian, thinking of locking her hair and running around talking about 'authentic this' and 'authentic that'. Daddy is ready to throw hot grits on debt (debt free or bust!) and Dave Ramsey's Total Money Makeover receives free advertisement every week courtesy of hubby. The kids can discuss their issues between each other, which I sometimes hear them doing at night or early in the morning from their cribs. Oh yeah and speaking of which, it's time for Sweet Pea to move to a toddler bed.

Despite the fact that I'm menopausal, am embarked on something of a mild late 30s crisis, living in a house with no A.C. (like the majority of the world, quiet as it's kept) and was nearly wiped out during the few 90-something degree days we had earlier in the summer, I've managed to develop a passion for jewelry making. Yes, jewelry, and I'm not even a big jewelry wearer. I own stock in simplicity and understatement, yet I really love creating bright, beautiful and colorful pieces. I've never been a big fan of purple, yet suddenly I'm feeling very purple...feeling like purple has the potential of becoming a favorite color, and it really is a rich and interesting color, isn't it? Who was that who said that God likes the color Purple? Alice Walker? Anyway, yes. Purple is beautiful and green (my favorite color) is too. I could get lost for hours making jewelry --- earrings, necklaces and matching bracelets. I could spend almost as much time in Pat Catan's or other craft stores, just picking out this or that bead, some inspirational clasp, or just getting ideas of what colors go together well. I have never been an artsy-craftsy type of girl. Ever. Now suddenly, I'm hoping to sell a few pieces? What on earth has come over me?

Also, a great website I've stumbled upon called (ironically) StumbleUpon has hipped me to some pretty interesting websites (let me know if you're interested in joining, and I'll send you my username so you can check out some of the colorful and interesting pages I've accumulated). One website I stumbled on gave me great insights about beading and jewelry making and I've sort of run wild with it. Good stuff. Really good stuff.

My hair, it seems is returning to much of its natural state, and I'm pretty pleased about that. My friend Yiniva and I started the 'natural hair' thing together a little over three months ago. We were both committed to it --- no chemicals, no heat, no kidding (!) ---but found that since it was such a new thing to both of us (read: we were a bit cowardly, you might say), it was easier and more affirming to do it together. When Yiniva walked through my door this past spring with an afro she was initially unsure about, I encouraged her and praised the beauty of her hair (as did her hubby who LOVED it, and wanted her to do it sooner), and when I had a bad hair day or ran into a former church friend (the church is former, not the friend) at the grocery store who chatted me up while stealing glances at my hair --- yet saying nothing(!) --- Yiniva encouraged me, or laughed with me. But we know, bad comments or good, we are staying the course. The advice I gave her ("Girl, you can't go into this thing caring about what people think of you or say about you. This is not the way to go if you are looking to get tons of compliments.") I ended up needing to take myself on the days my husband's grandmother (dear woman that she is) mentions that she's never known Michele not to 'do' her hair. I'm passed a good deal of that stuff by now, and so has Yiniva (pronounced Geneva), who has slipped on confidence with her afro with the same ease and familiar comfort you might find when you slip on your favorite pair of faded jeans. It just works, you know? As for me, I'm not an afro sort of girl, and there is just TOO much hair I'm workin' with here. You'd be amazed at how quickly hair will grow and thicken when you just wash and comb it. Period. I'm holding a deceptively large amount of hair in what appear to be short twists. Twists have become a comfortable, attractive and low-maintenance style (thought it's not the press and curl/permed 'done' look some grandmothers were raised to appreciate, I certainly have received quite a few compliments on the style), and keep my big hair considerably tamer. I'm pretty creative and am sure I'll experiment with some other styles once the weather cools a bit; I've never been the one who says, "I can't go with a natural style. Whatever on earth would I do with it??". But it's just too hot --- and August is close at hand --- to fool around with something other than trusty-dusty. It just has to be that way for now.

Gotta run...hubby is waiting on me, and this post has gone on for probably too long. Making up for lost time, right?

Have a good week, beloved.

Grace,
Michele

Close to Home

2007-06-26T15:21:00.000-04:00

This is so sad to even write about, so this won't be a long post. The slaying of Jessie Davis and her unborn baby girl (read the story here) has now made national news. This always seems to be the sort of thing that happens out there --- way out there -- to some distant family whom you read about or hear about on the news. You pray for them and hope they will eventually be able to put the pieces of their lives back together again. But when the family, and the victim herself, are members of your church --- when you can remember when little Blake was a small baby, and when you can see for yourself the obvious close knit tie shared by the members of this family --- what has happened to them is unspeakably grievous all the more.

I applaude Patricia Porter's (mother of the slain victim) strength, courage and trust in God during this devastating time in her and her family's life. Though she is burdened with her own grief and pain, she asks that people remember the family of Bobby Cutts, Jr (responsible for Jessie's death and that of her unborn child), particularly his other children who are also affected deeply by this crime and the subsequent media coverage and publicity.

Pray for the comfort of this dear family, and particularly little Blake who, at just two and a half years old, has lost his mother and may not see his father for a very long time, if ever again. And pray for the community who grieves alongside this family. Pray that we might serve them in ways they need it most.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

Who We Are

2007-06-19T16:40:00.000-04:00

As for me,

I am a Christian.
I am a servant.
I am a writer.
I am creative.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
I am a friend.
I am a daughter.
I am a reader.
I am organized.
I am diligent.
I am devoted.
I am faithful.
I am cautious.
I am wise.
I am humble.
I am conscientious.
I am compassionate.
I am merciful.
I am loved by God.
I am valuable.
I am a realist.
I am practical.
I am traditional.
I am non traditional.
I am old-fashioned.
I am postmodern.
I am intuitive.
I am counterculteral.
I am discerning.
I am disciplined.
I am upright.
I am a finisher (if I start something, I see it through to completion)

Care to post some of the things that you are? If so, be so kind as to alert me to the post on your blog. I'd love to check it out.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

I Remember You

2007-05-10T21:36:00.000-04:00

It was a lovely epiphany, really. I occasionally pop into Classmates.com, and this time was no different. Except for one thing. Thirty years ago I lived in Kansas City, Kansas, and I saw that someone new had added herself to the elementary school I attended while I lived there. Her name was Vickey. When I left Kansas thirty years ago I had a best friend named Vickey. I've been searching for her for many years. Obviously I've done internet searches for her for about the last ten years. Before that (or along with that), I'd check Kansas City phone books hoping to find her listed under her maiden name. I figured she'd probably be married, but who knew what her married name was? I was 8 years old when we moved away and left Kansas, and there are no friends there that I keep in touch with. Yet I never forgot her, remembering her first and last name, hoping to find her some day. I just had to.

I had a gut feeling. This Vickey I found registered on Classmates.com did not have the same last name as my Vickey. But perhaps she'd only registered under her married name. And this Vickey began kindergarten in 1974 at the elementary school I'd attended in Kansas. That's the year I started kindergarten. That would have put this Vickey either in my kindergarten class or another class at the same school. How many Vickeys could there be there at the same school in the same grade? What were the chances? I just had a gut feeling.

I Googled her (under what I presumed to be her married name) and within a 30 minute time frame, with God's help, I found her husband's name, email address, home phone and home address just like that. No paying someone else (or some online 'people finder') for 'insider' info. I now believed that I'd come closer than I ever have to finding her. I wanted to call the phone number at that instant, but it was late. I had to wait till the next day. So I prayed: "Lord, I think this is her. Please let this be her. And if it is her, please let her remember me."

The next morning I got the boys up and dressed, and I knew I had to get them quieted down before I could call. I couldn't exactly have them whining or crying in the background. I needed space and a few moments of some semblance of quiet. I called. And took a deep breath. A man answered. I asked to speak to Vickey. He told me to hold on a sec. I took another deep breath and sat down.

"Hello?" It had to be her. Please, Lord. Let it be her.
"Hi, Vickey, my name is yada, yada, yada ...my maiden name was yada, yada, yada, and I think you may have been a classmate of mine," It felt like I was running my words together, like I'd surely have to repeat something; she couldn't be catching all this! But I continued. "Is your maiden name Reese?"
Then it came so quickly, it couldn't have been real: "Yes. I remember you."

The tears didn't come right away, but they did later. Even now as I write this, it's hard to believe it's true. But it is.

She remembered. Not just me, but she remembered my brother, and my mother coming to pick me up from school and walking me all the way up Wood Street, toward the Seven Eleven store (our house was right behind the Seven Eleven store). We talked about our kindergarten teacher and our second grade teacher, and I was amazed by her memory. She said she was surprised that I remembered her!

But how could I forget? We lived in Kansas in the early and mid 70s, and my mother's husband was physically abusive. My mother, brother and I lived in fear and dread every day, uncertain of what each day would hold. On top of my volatile home life, I was terribly shy, timid and a cryer on top of that. I wasn't your social butterfly type. Vickey became my friend when I needed it the most. She became my voice. She would protect me, defend me and stand up for me. She always seemed so brave, so self-assured. A leader. I was definitely a follower and I definitely needed Vickey, and she never let me down. I always wanted an opportunity to thank her, and to tell her that I loved her.

My mother had been saving money secretly for a couple of years. She'd made the plan for us to leave in May of 1977, after my brother and I were done for the school year. We were not to tell a single soul of our plan to escape. If my father ever got wind of it, we could be sure there would be hell to pay. So we said nothing. To anyone. It was silly, now that I think back on it, that I failed to get her address to write to her. I just didn't. We left, and we were gone. After 30 years (to the month) I got to explain that to Vickey. Finally. She said she never saw me again after second grade and she didn't know where I went. She said it all made sense to her now.

Vickey is alive and doing very well. She went to college and became a teacher. She married, and (like me) has been married for 13 years this year. She has two young children and is a stay at home mom.

It's hard to believe I don't have to search any more. I have finally found her, and I don't intend to let her go this time! I think we've tons to catch up on after thirty years, and I'm so looking forward to it.

Enjoy your weekend, beloved.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

The Evening Post

2007-05-03T21:42:00.000-04:00

It's May and spring is here already. Good. The generous doses of sun have done my heart and mind some good. At the end of most days, though, I am pooped. By the time I put the kids down at 8:00 and have some time to myself (much pursued margin!), I am too pooped to do much of anything. I just feel like sitting and staring into nothingness. But. I am trusting God to give me strength when I am weary and Sabbath rest-deprived. Lots going on at home, and some unexpected changes, too, but in all we are doing well. The boys are thriving like little green leaves and Sweet Pea is bouncing off the walls on most days. I can see that the baby is eager to get bigger and stronger so he can chase Sweet Pea and play ball with him or something. He's just eager to be able to do all the things Sweet Pea does --- I can just see it in his eyes. It's also such a sweet thing to watch their growing relationship evolve. It's good to be a mother in May. It's tiring, yes. But boy, is it good.

Hubby is doing well, and I'm trying to be a better wife. It's so hard to put things on the back burner with your true love when you are running hard and fast and full steam ahead after two children under the age of two. These two precious little ones aren't the only ones who need me, and it's good to still be needed after being married for a good piece. I must admit. At times, it gets to feel like I'm the Queen Bee around here...the only girl, and everybody --- everybody! --- wants a piece of me. But one of the greatest gifts I can give our children is to love their father and to show my admiration, respect and love in meaningful ways.

I am going through some life change, I think. Maybe. Does this happen shortly before 40, but after 37? I'm suddenly feeling the need to be authentic and drop the guises. Suddenly wearing sandals and not having my toe nails polished is not oh-so-important to me. Maybe what I'm feeling the need for is the simplicity I often speak of. I think I'm really craving it. So I take what I feel is authentic and mix it with a little simplicity and see what sort of water color I come up with. No, I haven't turned vegetarian yet (at least not permanently), but I'm asking myself what I think about food and eating and my personal responsibility in all of this, to say nothing of my body being the temple of God's Spirit. And I've bid farewell to some that I'd thought were friends, but possibly weren't. Or maybe they were, really were, but just aren't right now. And I've cut some emotional ties to things (read: people) I once felt so deeply tied to. I'm seeing that perhaps I was never as important to them as they were to me. There is no way to dress up the truth that someone doesn't care as much for you as you thought they did. Wanted to believe they did. Sometimes it's hard to say good-bye, but you know that moving forward without them is facing the reality of things. It's finally removing your rose-colored specs.

And, yes, the hair. Ooooh, the hair. I guess you can say I've gone natural and authentic with that, too. Of course, as I've mentioned before, I've been perm-free for 12 years, but I've only done more natural styles here and there, not consistently. I've always returned to the hot comb. To the flat iron. To the curling iron, hot rollers and blow dryer. But not since April 18th. No heat on the hair. I'm just dealing with what God gave me. I've come to realize just how soooo much heat (all the time) has been so damaging to my hair. Thankfully, I haven't had that coupled with the damage of a chemical relaxer, but I've still got work to do in getting to a healthier stage with my hair. So I'm starting from square one, and trying to reverse some of my hair harming decisions by trying to do things the right way this time. And also I've been trying to come to terms with what it means to love the hair that God gave me as a black woman. Who am I trying to be? Why have we black folks ruined our perceptions of beauty by calling one hair texture 'bad' and another hair texture 'good'? I think we've bought the lie that whatever most closely resembles Eurocentric beauty is the gold standard. It's what's best, most beautiful and most preferred. We believed our mothers when they told us our hair was ugly and nappy. And they believed their mothers before them. How can we shake ourselves free from this? I don't know that I have an answer, but I just feel I have to start living what I say I believe about all of this. So maybe this is my mid life crisis.

I don't feel great about the decision every day. It's sort of like a marriage...you may not wake up feeling in love every single day of your married life, but you know you ain't goin' no where; you're staying right here. Some days I look in the mirror and just shake my head. Lord Jesus, please help me today! I am tryin' to live this stuff out! And so I press on...

It's getting late, and I've got to do an entry for my family blog before bed. Do enjoy your May days, beloved. Spring is truly a beautiful thing.

Love and Nappiness,
Michele

Blogging Break

2007-04-21T20:52:00.000-04:00

I'll be taking a break from blogging to work on a writing project and to focus more on some personal journaling. I've got too many writing balls in the air, so that means blogging has to go on the back burner. At least for now. I'll at least try to post something each month, though. Stay tuned...

Grace and Peace,
Michele

When They Grow Up

2007-04-18T17:02:00.000-04:00

In light of the events at Virginia Tech on Monday, it's difficult not to think of the grieving parents of the students killed there. Of course, not all the shooting victims were students (the loved ones of the other victimes are also in my prayers), but I can only imagine what it must be like for a mother and father who sent their beloved son or daughter to this school and fully expected to see them alive again. But won't. I imagine there must be a sense of satisfaction when a child graduates from high school and is preparing for college. There must be the feeling of having raised that child well as he/she prepares for this next stage in life: college. And oh, the things those parents would have to look forward to: college graduation, maybe followed by that first real job. Then marriage, maybe. Then maybe kids. Oh, to have a grandchild to spoil and love.

But this won't be the reality for many of the families of the shooting victims. It is terribly sad, and terribly grievous.

Galatians 6:2 reads: Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.

Let's remember the families and loved ones of the victims (including the family of the shooter; I can only imagine what they are enduring at every turn) not only in the coming days and weeks, but also in the coming months.

I remember in college I had a friend named Joe who lost his brother. He said one of the things most difficult to deal with was feeling that life went on as normal for everyone else, yet for him it would never be the same again. Let's be sure to keep praying for the victims' families --- even when life goes on as normal for us.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

Authentic, Natural and All Things Simple

2007-04-11T14:00:00.000-04:00

Last night I had the opportunity to hear a poet and author speak whose autobiography I'd read about a year and a half ago. I'd looked forward to hearing him and, while things started out well, they ended on something of a sour note for me. That's why the poet will remain unnamed. There is something welcoming about a well known person who is down to earth. Shows up in jeans. Doesn't seem to take himself too seriously. Speaks as if he's having a personal conversation with you.

Then there's something off-putting when the same person starts name-dropping. Congratulating himself. Saying he's one of the most beautiful people he's ever met. Telling how many languages his books have been translated into. Talking about his opportunities in Hollywood and what acting parts he's been offered. And basically how he's a big shot this and that. That's how he wrapped up his talk, and I was growing more disappointed by the minute.

Of more interest to me was a former student of mine whom I bumped into there. She was an incoming freshman when I started my first semester as a campus minister. I always really liked her, but her busy class schedule kept her from continuing on in our campus fellowship after that year. We got a chance to catch up a bit, and I was particularly impressed by the fact that she'd gone natural with her hair --- got rid of the perm which straightened her hair and went natural with a small kinky/curly afro. Goodness, I loved it. I told her I love it when I see young women embracing who they are and start being honest with themselves and the world around them. So often, we as black women are told (or raised to think) that our hair isn't 'done' unless it's straight from root to tip. We've been led to believe that our kinky hair is ugly and unacceptable, and that's just not true. It's a lie we've been fed all our lives, and believe me, it's not an easy thing to undo. You don't just get up one morning and decide to wear a 'fro. As this young woman and I talked about (and as I've often shared with other black women as we've conversed about hair), it's a mindset and a mentality. Feeling like straight is the only way we as black women can wear our hair is a mindset and a mentality that aren't easily overturned. I remember the first time I wore my hair in twists out in public. It felt strange. Very strange. I felt like people were looking at me and thinking why on earth doesn't that poor child go and comb her hair. It just took a while for me to feel okay with it. To believe that my kink was God's creation and that it was really good. You know?

I'd been thinking lately about my need to journal (pen and paper) more. The journal I most recently finished was packed with the birth of two children, a hysterectomy and lots of changes and adjustments in between. It's time to begin again. And I was thinking recently about what it means to begin anew and to embrace the things that I hold close to my heart. What is it that I want others to really know about me? What is it that I want to be remembered for? How can I better have my life reflect the simplicity I so deeply believe in? How can I live more authentically? And as I ponder these questions, my student's courage to step out and go natural with her hair was a real inspiration to me. Yes, I gave up my perm some 12 years ago, but I still struggle to find natural styles that really suit me. To be honest, I haven't been really diligent about trying. But I'd like to change here. And in other areas, too. To begin to stand up and be who I really am without feeling I need to apologize for it. Lots more on that, but I think I need to begin to pen these thoughts in my own personal journal.

Hope each of you had a meaningful Easter. Ours here was wonderful.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

Students Log Off My Space for Lent

2007-03-29T12:51:00.000-04:00

Check out this great article here. Certainly gives me reason to check my own time online.

Peace,
Michele

Journey

2007-03-19T10:28:00.000-04:00

I could rightfully name this blog that. So much of life is that --- whether quick snatches of time or long, arduous chunks of it. A friend of mine named his daughter that. I wish I'd thought of that. Wish I had a daughter to name Journey.

So this weekend was something of a journey, too. I guess it started on Thursday when I started feeling worse. Most of the family had already been sick, but it had yet to kick into full effect mode with me and the same for our youngest, too. So finally it did sometime between Thursday and Friday; throughout the early part of the week I realized that mothers just can't really take a day off to be sick. Especially stay at home moms, like me. Thankfully, though, by the time things really got bad for me (Friday), hubby headed straight home after work, and I headed straight to bed. Saturday I lounged around and took (count them!) two naps. Two. I thought momentarily that I just might be in heaven. I'd forgotten what a good day of real rest felt like. My God, did it feel good. Brought to me in part, mind you, by my dear mother-in-law, who came to stay the weekend. She cooked, grocery shopped and cooked some more. I'd lost my appetite sometime on Thursday, but got it back sometime Saturday morning when I smelled sausage and pancakes cooking. So not only did I not cook at all this weekend, but I didn't do much of anything till I started feeling better on Sunday. I did some laundry ("love you always and forever. Signed, laundry") and helped hubby clean up the kitchen after Sunday's feast, courtesy of my mother-in-law.

My mother-in-law, God love her, cooks and eats much differently than we now do. We are now a couple of generations from grandparents who were born down south and who subsisted on things that don't usually find their way to plates at the McClendon household. Chitlins. Pig feet. The list could go on. My hubby jokes that his mother can cook all the vitamins out of a vegetable; says she cooks vegetables so long that the green ones turn white. Be that what it may, I was more than happy to eat a white vegetable that somebody else cooked for me while I was sick. Hmph. But then there are still the generational eating differences. Well, some of it isn't generational at all; some of it is just the difference between normal folks and not so normal folks. My mother-in-law (the same one who made the pancakes for Saturday morning's breakfast) spread peanut butter over her pancakes. Then she topped them with banana slices. Then she poured Mrs. Buttersworth over the whole concoction. Diabetic woman that she is. Karoda? Sandy? Faraja? Stephen? Kali? These are ya people. Come and get ya people!

Okay, so it's not just the pancake madness. I mean, hubby himself gets possessive over the last bit of Mrs. Buttersworth, whom he must now share with his soon-to-go-into-a- diabetic-fit mother. No one's fighting over my low-calorie syrupy call-it-what-you-will. Eventually, though, my mother-in-law concedes. So, it's not just the pancake madness. It's the way we eat things.

For instance, Sunday night's clean up of the kitchen might demonstrate a little more of what I'm talking about.

hubby: "Mother, what do you want us to do with these slices of tomatoes?"
mother: "You can use those."
hubby: "On what?"
me (thinking only): "Yeah, maybe on a nice sandwich with some lunchmeat and lettuce."
mother (yelling from the dining room): "On that cabbage I made in there!"
me: "Mother, we don't eat like that."
hubby: "Yeah, slices of tomatoes on vegetables, vinegar and carryin' on."
me (laughing): "Yeah. Shooo...if it was green, my mother would fry 'em up!"
mother: "I've fried red tomatoes. Just dip 'em in that cornmeal...umm hmmm."
hubby (shakin' his head): "You have eaten some stuff. Mother, remember when you used to eat those one cookies in the morning with that one kinda frosting spread all over them?"
mother: "Mmm hmm. I would get so sick."
hubby (imitating mother, making hurling motions): "Oh, my goodness...sooo sick....I don't...feel...so...well..."
mother (laughing): "Yeah, I couldn't take it."
hubby: "Yeah. Your body would throw itself into a fit. It would go into shut down mode!"
me (talking slow and monotone, like a robot): "This-woman-is-crazy. Must-shut-down-operation."

We all laugh at that.

Thankfully, I'm feeling much better today. It feels like I have a lot to catch up on. Thankfully, too, I had a rare indulgence today: a non-interrupted, non-abridged full devotional time. It happened almost by accident, though. I was up entirely too early this morning to feed the baby who had been sleeping through the night, but now that he's sick, he's been waking up at regular intervals. That's another blog post. But I'm reading a great devotional for Lent, and I was reading about what it means to feel like a common criminal...like when the clerk forgets to take off that white, plastic thinga-ma-jig when you buy a blouse or something, and you walk through the doors and you're assailed by security guards who think you're trying to shop lift. The author of this particular devotion was relaying the story of a woman whom that really happened to, yet she couldn't make the connection of understanding how Jesus was treated like a common criminal when He went to the cross. What did that have to do with her? And I am also reading a book about humility, and I read some things in there that made me think about my own pride in little areas (and big ones, too), and how we would get along so much better with other folks and with God too if we could just learn to be more humble. God, that's a HUGE blog post. I think I'll say some more on that soon. Then I went to sleep and had a dream that India.Arie and I were good friends. I can see being friends with her. She seems pretty organic, authentic and pretty in touch with who she is.

Then I woke up and thought about prayer. And about the things I pray about. And about the things I don't pray so much about. Like, I tend to pray a lot about, you know, world poverty, AIDS in Africa, global injustice. I don't pray as much as I need to about folks' souls. Let's face it --- this is Testimony and Truth, after all --- people are dying and going to hell every day. Every day. Good folks. Smart folks. Cultured folks. Lots of the folks that people run after and want to be around --- tons of folks that people admire are going to hell. Today, even. I know that's not very popular to say or to talk about. But I think it needs to find its way back into my prayer life. Back up to the top of the list. This is important. This is vital.

More to say, of course, but the kids need breakfast, which will soon be lunch if I don't ska-daddle. Top of the noon to you, beloved. Have a good day.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

Inviting the Lie

2007-03-11T19:00:00.000-04:00

We have all been there. Sometimes our vulnerabilty and weakness invite the lie: Just this once. I can never be too thin...just a few more pounds. We're not having sex, so it's not really adultery. Just because I love money doesn't mean I don't love God. No one has to know; besides it's better for them if they don't.

It's easy to invite the lies that feed our egos. Our emotions. Our greed. Our flesh. Those doors are waiting for us to open them each day. We even feel better when we do --- at least for a little while.

In the end, though, after we've believed a lie for long enough --- after our spouse has found out, after we have wasted away to bones believing that we'll finally be beautiful, and that there's at least some element in our lives that we can control, after we've emptied our last bottle, after we've nearly consumed ourselves to death --- finally we are tired. Weary and empty we throw ourselves at the feet of Jesus and say, "No more. Please, Lord, no more."

I want to be free of the things that want to hold me back from loving and pursuing God and others passionately. Sometimes I need to be rescued from no one else but myself. And I want to stop believing the lies that assail me every day. I want to finally believe I'm whole in Christ and that He is enough, beloved. Finally enough.

I don't have all the answers on how to begin that journey. But I'm almost sure it starts with being tired; with being fed up, and wanting something vibrant and bright and pure. At least that's the way it's been with me. Sometimes the journey isn't a straight shot. Sometimes (oft times) it's a winding road, and along the way we see all the lies we could be believing. But we keep going. We don't stop to fraternize. We don't even pause to consider, we just keep going.

The truth is that we are finally waking up when we realize that what we've been believing has been a lie all along. It didn't just become a lie, and it certainly didn't just turn into a lie when finally we realized it had deceived us. It had always been a lie.

This Lenten season, and certainly every day, I don't just want to know what the truth is; not just believe a group of facts in my head --- I want to live the truth I know. I want to live close to my core by living the values in my heart. I'm tired of lies. Now I want real truth. Don't you?

They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator --- who is forever praised. Amen. --- Romans 1:25

Grace and Peace to you this Sabbath, beloved.

Michele

Some Things Never Change...

2007-03-08T00:37:00.000-05:00

Including my ability to change my mind! So we are back to a public blog now, as you can well see! I'd done posts and pictures for the past month or so while the blog was private, but I created a new 'family blog', which is now private (for those devoted, wonderful and special readers), and T&T is now public again.

It's been much of a chore creating a new blog and moving posts and pics there, and I'm pooped by now. Off to bed. More to come soon.

Grace and Peace,
Michele

Quickie Post

2007-01-05T19:11:00.000-05:00

Not much time (at all!), but a few things to say! First, thanks Sandy, Christie and Faraja for your comments on the last post...you three are such dears. And, Sandy --- I just noticed your post about what you got for Christmas. What's this I hear about a special friend and some perfume?! Girl, I think I deserve an email on that one, cuz shooo....if there is someone special, you know I want to hear about it!

Color me beautiful --- I love my hair! I don't think I've ever liked my hair this much walkin' outta nobody's shop! Mad props to the hairdresser! She's a might slow, but she gave me the most beautiful highlights. I don't even know what color this is...honey-blonde? gold? Goldish-brown? Brownish-gold? Wheat and honey???? Heck if I know! Ah, but it's like a new me. Or like hubby says: me, but not me. I love that it fits my personality; it's like this woman has known me for ten years and knew just exactly what I'd like. It's understated, but still noticeable (I don't like to grab attention when I walk into a room...but hmmm...maybe after I've been there a while!).

Okay, I've got to get this boy up and feed him. More in a couple of days...

Have a great weekend, beloved...

Peace,
Michele