Only Ten Things.

From Romans 4 -- (The Message) --

^4-5If you're a hard worker and do a good job, you deserve your pay; we don't call your wages a gift. But if you see that the job is too big for you, that it's something only God can do, and you trust him to do it—you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked—well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God. Sheer gift.

I read this just now and was reassured.  Believe me, I need to be reassured right now.  Here is why:

Around about late February/early March, Hunk O Man and I had decided it was time to put our house on the market. We'd spend Spring Break, the first week of April, doing the odd and end things to get it ready.  Then, April 12 we'd put it on the market.

So Rhonda called and said "I know it's not ready yet, but I have this couple who'd like to look at your house.  Do you think I could show it to them?"  This was the second week of March, a full month prior to the time we had planned to put it on the market.  Rhonda is not a pushy kind of gal; she is sweet and accommodating.  But we thought hey, why not?  So we cleaned it up and I staged it, and the couple saw the house.

And they loved it.

On March 22, we had a signed contract and a closing date of April 25.  But -- we had a lot to do.  I only had about 10 things to do.  The list went something like this:

1.  Re-screen the back porch.

2.  Write two research papers.

3.  Read "A Streetcar Named Desire" and write an essay on it.

4.  Paint the dining room.

5.  Write six more essays for final exams.

6.  Make two prom dresses.  Don't use a pattern, just design one as you go and copy the other from an existing dress.  Drive the 1.5 hours to Raleigh about 3 times for fabric and patterns and notions and more fabric.

7.  Pack up the entire house.

8.  Prime and paint the kitchen cabinets.  

9.  Put a door on the closet in Bug's room, paint Babydoll's room, touch up the peeling paint in the laundry room, paint all the wainscoting that ran (quite literally) everywhere in the house.

10.  Try not to lose my mind.

And you know what?  I prayed a lot, worked hard, and God made it all happen.  It all got done and everyone's mind, including mine, came out intact and functioning normally.  The job was clearly too big for us, and God got it done.  

So with such a fresh example in my head, why am I freaking out now?

Because the house we live in now is my favourite house of all the houses in which I've ever lived.  I LOVE this house.  But -- this house is on the market also.  It has been for over 2 years.  We agreed to an open, month-to-month lease because we thought we'd probably find another house.  

We had a showing on Wednesday (my birthday, no less!).  The a/c was broken and it was probably 90 degrees and 90% humidity in the house.  I picked it up but didn't really "clean" it -- too hot to run the sweeper!  I can stage a house and make it fabulous, and I didn't do that.

But -- the people loved the house.  And yesterday, I had to go back to God and ask "Really?  You would make me move 6 weeks after I moved into the house I absolutely love and you would do it on my birthday?  Really?"

Now let's just hang on a minute here, Jen.  Am I talking to the same God who enabled me to accomplish that list of the 10 things?  What is the matter with me?  What makes me think He would put me in such a position?

I hang my head as I realise this:  I had to get past the freaking out part before I could step into the trust.  I wish it were one easy motion.  But I am a horrible sinner and it is not one easy motion.  Of all those I could trust the most -- the One who has never failed me -- I seem to trust Him the least.  I know God, really know Him.  I know better than to not trust Him.

So He reassured me today with Romans 4.  Because He loves me, and doesn't want to give me too much, and He wants me to remember that He never will give me too much.  If I have to move again, there will be another list of 10 impossible things and He will get them accomplished, not me.  Or even just one impossible thing -- that I don't lose my mind and have to be sent to the nut house -- and God will still keep me sane.  

¹⁶This is why the fulfillment of God's promise depends entirely on trusting God and his way, and then simply embracing him and what he does. God's promise arrives as pure gift. 


When everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he couldn't do but on what God said he would do.


The same thing gets said about us when we embrace and believe the One who brought Jesus to life when the conditions were equally hopeless. The sacrificed Jesus made us fit for God, set us right with God.


Promise, after promise, after promise.  I am thanking God today.

xoxox

A Rant on Struggling

After being so grateful in so many ways, I almost hate to talk about this. But it's a reality of life, so while gratitude is always appropriate, so is the honesty of struggle.

And I'm struggling.

Not that this is anything new. My struggle began very early. When I was six, I was throwing up and having stress from hives. At twelve, I considered jumping out my second story window in order to kill myself -- and then logic (God's Spirit in disguise) prevailed, and I realised I'd probably only break an arm or leg, land in the bushes below, and certainly get into trouble for doing it!

At fourteen I went to family counseling. This continued throughout my teens. In my early twenties, I saw a couple of chiropractors who manipulated me and tried to put me on very stringent diets, to no avail. The considerations of suicide came far more often and were far more serious. More counseling followed, along with the occasional chocolate milkshake.

In my thirties, I considered at one point checking myself into the local hospital's "stress center." A counselor told me I should be on medication -- except that I was pregnant -- surprise! Later, another doctor gave me medication for seasonal affective disorder. Several times I considered running away to France and changing my name, disappearing from society entirely. Seriously. I would consider what name I'd have, and look forward to being bilingual, and wonder how I would live without my kids. Would they look for me? What if they found me?

In my forties -- actually, about 5 years ago, I saw a wonderful doctor who put me on something called Effexor. Once my body adapted itself to this drug -- it takes several days of unpleasant symptoms -- I felt like everyone around me finally saw the real me. Life was very, very good.

And then Hunk O Man lost his job, and we had to move, and my blood pressure was through the roof (a side effect of this medication). More medication was prescribed to combate the hypertension. We moved. We all coped -- I survived. I changed drugs to Cymbalta, hoping it would alleviate the blood pressure problem. I vowed to exercise. I coached and coaxed and held it together for my girls, who missed their friends up north. And then they made new friends, even better, and things began to balance again.

Living in the south has been, for the most part, quite wonderful. The people are gracious and kind. But slowly, I have been turning into someone I am not. My prolific creativity has ebbed to a creative bent with occasional spurts. I sleep a LOT. I have gained almost 30 lbs. When I sleep, I dream -- then wake, then dream, then wake, etc. I wake up feeling "end of the day" tired, and by the end of a normal day, I am bone-numbing fatigued. I crave sugar. I drink caffeine to survive, and then when I hit the wall as it wears off, I take a nap. And then another.

And then we have the allergies to virtually everything. And worse, the allergy meds!

Recently, when Babydoll asked why I was crabby, I told her that between the happy pill side effects and the allergies and the menopausal symptoms, it's a wonder I'm ever not crabby.

I feel quite useless, actually. My house is a mess, my kids are wonderful but I don't keep after them and keep them consistent as I should, and the people at my church wonder if I really exist. It's like Hunk O Man, this great minister of God -- and his phantom wife.

Waah, waah, waah. And yes please, I would like a little cheese and crackers with my whine.

Now before all of you go prescribing all sorts of remedies for me, please understand -- I don't tell you all this so that you will do that. While I appreciate (honestly and truly, I do) everything you will tell me, I am a complete and total information junkie. I will take it all to heart and try and process it and practice it. And it will be too much and I'll end up throwing my hands in the air and giving up.

So instead, I would ask that you pray for me.

I read this passage this morning, from Second Corinthians 4:7 --

We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That's to prevent anyone from confusing God's incomparable power with us. As it is, there's not much chance of that. You know for yourselves that we're not much to look at.

Yep, Paul, no kidding. Although I would like for this clay pot to function a little more efficiently if it's not too much trouble! A happy pill sort of loses its essential function when you become happy but fat and sleepy and lassaiz-faire all the time.

I also read this, from later in the chapter, Second Corinthians 4:16-18 --

So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There's far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can't see now will last forever.

So often in my life I have felt like giving up. But not this time -- I feel instead, and am encouraged by a very good friend, to hit my knees. All this is so temporary. Discomfort and nusiance is gone in an instant. It may come back, but it never stays long. And what is ahead is just so much bigger and better. This gives me great encouragement in my struggle.

And while my body is struggling, my relationship with God is actually quite good; better than it's been in years and years, actually. Prayers are being answered, circumstances in my family are improving. God is so good to us! It's a stark contrast to the sorry state of my physical body.

You know, I really do get the whole thing about creative people being wacked out. We really are. Many are so wacked out that they accomplish great things while being unbelieveably self-destructive. While I am not quite that brilliant -- far from it! -- I teeter along the edge. I feel as if I have emotional cerebral palsy. I do my best to get along in my circumstance, and see others breeze through their circumstances, and wonder how that feels. How does it feel to be content and happy and able to let things go, and not have emotion blow through you like some kind of uncontrollable hurricane? And this without drugs? Is there a cure? Certainly there is hope.

So I am seeking Him yet again, knowing I cannot breathe without His grace and mercy, and knowing an answer will come in His time. Maybe it will be another drug. Maybe it will be a release from all the drugs and a healing. Maybe it will learning to cope with the current drug in a new way.

But it will come. He has given me faith, and I love Him for it.

xoxox

But Enough About Me. Let's Talk About You. What Do You Think of Me?

Let me just share a couple of things about myself today. Things I thought you might want to know.

First of all, I have the highest degree possible to attain in the ancient art of Wei-Ning. I know! Impressive, isn't it? I started when I was just a baby, and as of now I'm not only an expert, I have BEEN an expert for most of my life. Just ask my mother.

Wei-Ning? (It's pronounced "Why-ning").

Secondly, I am an excellent mother and I take no nonsense. Here's an example: the twins were 5, Barbie was 4, JB was 2, and Babydoll was 1. I was completely fed up with the mess everywhere. Nobody would help, nobody would put toys away, it was a mess. And of course that was during the crazy-without-drugs days, so I threw a fit. I yelled. I ranted. And I said this: "If you're going to act like pigs, I'm going to treat you like pigs!"

Lunch in those days consisted of PB&J (half sandwich cut in a triangle), a container of yogurt, and some fruit. So in keeping with "treating them like pigs," I fixed everyones plate and set it on the wood floor in the kitchen. 'Fine!' I thought. 'Eat like pigs!'

If you are -- or ever have been -- the mother of a toddler (or several toddlers), you know that this was not at all a punishment. It was rather, a picnic. They were thrilled that I would let them eat off the floor. I can see the thoughts even now running thru their tiny minds -- "No getting strapped into a chair! Wah-hooey! This rocks!"

Obviously I saw their clear enjoyment and I realised that even God was laughing at me, and likely thinking it was far past the time for me to just get over myself. This did not make me happy immediately. But pretty soon I lightened up.

There was another time in my excellent mothering career when we had lots and lots of candy in the house. I think it was probably winter -- January, I think -- when all the Halloween candy and Thanksgiving and Christmas goodies had just piled up. So one night, I was very tired, and it was Sunday night after church, and everyone was looking at me for dinner.

I put all the candy in the center of the table and told them to have at it. That was dinner.

See? I told you I was the best mom. Just ask my kids.

I am missing them all terribly today. True to my utmost degree in Wei-Ning, I cannot be made happy. I am tired of the bickering and constant noise when they are here, and I need a break. Then when three or four of them leave, I miss them terribly.

It's hard to be me. Truly. Let the violins begin.

Hunk O Man, Rose, Bug, and Barbie have been gone on a trip to visit colleges since Tuesday morning. They've had a great time, laughing and seeing people. I've spoken to them every day. The prospects at every school so far are very good.

They'll be home tomorrow, and I can't wait. I do miss them. It's entirely too quiet around here. The dishes take no time at all. There's no laundry. The TV is never on, and the dog is stalking me for lack of people to greet and see. Bleah. Even JB and Babydoll miss them.

Are they home yet?

xox

Monday

Dear Migraine,

Please go away.

Thank you,

jen

PR Non-dish

I realise that I didn't post about Project Runway yesterday. The episode really made me a little sad.

The designers were all supposed to create an evening gown based on a photo they took at the New York Botanical Gardens.

(BTW, the NYBG's were gorgeous)

What actually happened, though, was that three of the designers -- namely Jerrell, LeAnn, and Korto, ganged up on Kenley and were very mean to her.

Kenley has had her moments. She is very young, and probably things come out of her mouth that shouldn't. She has some growing up to do. She is also very direct. Basically, it adds up like this: no tact+tells the truth+very opinionated+wants to win=upsets everybody else a lot of the time.

She may well be what I would term "Hoo! What a piece of work!" But that isn't really my point here.

My point would be that no matter what, you don't gang up on somebody like that. You don't leave her out to dry. It's a competition, folks, and you don't decide one talented person doesn't get to belong simply because you close ranks and keep her out.

That's exactly what they did. It was so unfair, and I felt terrible for her.

To add insult to injury, Korto started in on her about how she got what she deserved -- while they were sitting in the green room, waiting for a decision on who would be out. And this after Korto, Jerrell, and LeAnn had stood there on the runway and said that they would like to be in the running with each other. Every one of them stated clearly that they wanted Kenley to be out.

This wasn't based on her designs or her ability -- on which the competition is actually based. It was all about watching a bunch of kindergarten-minded bullies gang up on the odd kid.

Bad timing, Korto.

Shame on all of them. The judges left them all in, and said they'd all be on the chopping block once they created a collection.

In other words, everybody should PLAY NICE. I think they all needed a nap!

And if you've watched the runway shows from Fashion Week, which happened in September, you know that not only Kenley got to show her collection, but so did Joe and Suede. So the end result is the same for all of them -- they all got to have that international exposure that Fashion Week affords.

In the end, I think there should be some code of honour that says that you can't "throw your fellow designers under the bus." Just my opinion -- and this specifically because I was a little girl who was frequently the new kid at school, who never felt like she belonged (even in my own family), and whose creativity made her somewhat odd, honest, and definitely in need of a huge dose of tact! My greatest goal in life is to speak the truth IN LOVE. At 49, I'm still working on it.

So you can see why I can give Kenley the benefit of the doubt. She'll probably grow up to be a very nice person in the end, and a great designer to boot. Everybody deserves a chance, and especially when the others gang up on you and force you out. Good for her for standing her ground.

I should probably also mention that I'm really miffed today because the dishes aren't done and my sewing room is messy after somebody used it to do a project either last night or this morning.

Plus, Hunk O Man was telling me how to drive when I took him over to drop him off to drive the bus for the tennis team to their away match.

HOWEVER, in all honestly, this man could write a book on how to drive. He recently got his CDL, along with his motorcycle endorsement. I think he has almost everything you can get in the way of driving and licensing. He really does know his stuff.

I think I'll take the dog for a walk and refresh my attitude with some of the unbelievably gorgeous sunshine outside today. Man. If ever there was a reminder that God is good and most things are of no eternal significance, it's that sunshine!

xox

My Alter Ego

I've been questioning myself lately as to whether I should stay on my meds. I take Cymbalta. When I first started it, I felt like finally people could see me for who I really am. Finally the person appearing on the outside was the same one I knew on the inside.

However, I've found myself in recent weeks to be kind of blah. Things go undone, and honestly, I just don't care. I'd like a clean house and laundry all neatly folded and tons of sewing projects done, as well as the ability to be a faithful youth sponsor and dynamic church worker. It ain't happenin'. I simply have no motivation. I'm just even -- not up or down, not motivated, just -- blah.

So I decided to take a couple of days off. I did get a headache, but that was manageable. And then yesterday, it happened.

Volcano mom appeared.

Honestly, I could have created an entirely new person with all the meanish lava screaming that I was doing. Evil Demon Lava Person, and straight from the pit of hell -- on the way to church!

I was mad about several things, and one was my fault. I think I was maddest at myself.

But -- I took it out on four of the girls. I screamed and yelled. I turned into the Momster. All that energy I have when I'm not on my meds goes right into anger, and impatience. Honestly, I probably get about the same amount of stuff done because I use up all that valuable energy just being angry.

So --

My good friend and sister Gail said "Take your meds now. As in right now." And I did. I sat alone in church -- Hunk O Man preached, and hit a grand-slam with his sermon. It was fabulous.

Afterward, I walked home. It's about a half-hour walk at a brisk pace, but I kind of moseyed along, picking up the trash when I saw an available trash can (our town would be so pretty if people would just pick up after themselves!). By the time I got home, I was very chilled out and myself again.

Sadly, the moral of this story is that I get to live with the middle of life -- a loss of passion and drive that I always had before. But I also get to live without the angry monster that emerges when I am not taking the meds. If this is why those who are extremely bipolar go off their meds, I see why. I don't blame them. And yet, although the cure is sometimes worse than the disease, it's mostly not. Being even-tempered is a very good thing.

Although I am not bipolar, I am clinically depressed. I have no idea why, and I have no idea when it started except to say that I can't remember a time when I wasn't like this. I sat and looked at God yesterday and questioned Him: "Why do I have to take all this medicine? Why the Cymbalta and Zyrtec and Sudafed? Why can't my body just function like everyone else's?"

Then I looked up and heard "My grace is sufficient for you." Even Paul had a thorn in his flesh. And I have nothing to complain about.

It was then that I thanked Him for His mercies, and for that little pill that I take every morning. He has made a way for me to glorify Him, and I owe Him my next breath and heartbeat. He will provide the motivation.

So I'd better get going. I have work to do . . .

Heard Just Now from the Other Room

Barbie, (who's in the kitchen and popping in and out of the bedroom to ask how you make dump cake, is this enough butter, can I use two cans of cherry pie filling, etc):
"JB! Get in here and clean the kitchen!"

JB, in a small voice: "I'm right here, why do you have to talk to me like that? Sniff sniff"

We all know JB is not phased at all by Barbie's yelling. It is just funny.

Barbie: "JB WHAT have you done to the computer? It is so slow!"
JB: "I'm downloading Maple Story! Don't click! No clicking!"
Barbie: "WHY do you have to play that stupid game?"
JB: "Do not click! No clicking! You'll make it freeze up!"
Barbie: "Well I'm clicking because you've already had your hour."
JB, from the kitchen: "I did not have my hour! I was downloading."
Barbie: "Did too!"
JB: "Did not."
Barbie: "Did TOO."
JB: "Did NOT!"
Barbie: "DID TOO!"

Hunk O Man: "We need to leave in about 15 minutes, girls."
Babydoll: "For what?"
Hunk O Man: "The Church picnic. It'll be tons of fun."
Babydoll: "Why was I not notified of this church picnic?"
JB: "Dad, it's freezing outside. Why are we going to a church picnic?"
Barbie: "DID TOO!"

Then nothing for a few seconds.

Then . . .

JB, singing: "Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends?"

Me: falling on the floor with laughter.

Thank you, God, for giving me this hilariously nutzoid family. What a crew!

No Blogging Allowed

Oh! The sewing to be done!

Angry Frog is not amused. I'd better get going. That will be me you see, chained to the sewing machine, at the mercy of my children, let go only to make pizza tonight.

:)

xoxox

So What's on Your Fridge?

I think a fridge can say a lot about a family. I'm curious to know what's on yours.

Mine actually contains some truly fantastical, almost magical things --

Like the amazing, invisible, color-coded Chore Chart:

The Bible Verse that Nobody Ever Sees Anymore:

The Coolest of the Cool Uncles, my brother The Droid:

The Never-ending Project List:

The Ever-Changing Grocery List:

The Magnetic Words that form Ridiculous Sentences:

Earnest T:

Hunk O Man Many (Skinnier) Years Ago:

Comic Relief:

And always, Chocolate on Top.

So what does your fridge say about you?

xox

Miracle of the Moment

I sang special music for church yesterday. I did "Miracle of the Moment" by Steven Curtis Chapman, and put together a slide show for everyone to watch. Since we only moved here 2 years ago, it's easy for everyone to forget that we really did go thru the insanity of small children underfoot all the time. So I gave them photographic evidence that it really happened --

They've Taken Over. Somebody Help Me.

Lord have mercy.

Makeup, toothpaste, squirt gun, hairbrush. Teenage girls have been here.

Tennis stuff everywhere. Teenage girls have been here.

Dirty dishes not done yet. Whose week is it? Teenage girls have been here.

Rock Band has overrun my living room.

HAS SCHOOL STARTED YET?

If Only . . .

If only I could be thin as I'd like -- about 20 lbs. less -- without dieting.

If only I loved vegetables more than chocolate.

If only I could accomplish more sewing projects in a day.

If only I needed less sleep.

If only I could be the perfect mom, balanced between parent and friend.

If only I could spend less time on this computer and yet still read and learn as much.

If only I could knock out that wall between the kitchen and the family room.

If only I could finish painting Rose's room.

If only I could take just ten minutes -- not 90, and not 0 -- to sit outside in a lawn chair.

If only Baby would clean up her room and get organised.

If only I could think exclusively good, pure, and happy thoughts.

If only I lived on the edge of some body of water -- a pool, a puddle, a canal, a stream, a river, a lake, an ocean --

If only I were as great at landscaping as I am at decorating.

If only they made a drug that made me happy without raising my blood pressure or losing my passionate edge.

If only this were heaven.

But it's not! And it's gorgeous outside! And I've had two cups of half-decaf coffee, and I have all day to accomplish. And best of all, His mercies are new!

Happy sigh. Aaaahh.

Some Internet Thingy Thinks We're Smart

Wow. I had no idea.

How to Handle Stress 101

I didn't used to handle conflict well. I still am pretty bad at it, but not in the same way.

I have the spiritual gift of prophecy. That means I am compelled to speak the truth -- always, no matter where, no matter when. I used to blurt it out. This tended to create conflict.

Now I am a little better with timing. I am told this is called "tact."

Also, I used to hold everything in until I just blew up. Or I would just blow up because it was too much at one time. I was Volcano Mom. My kids can tell you, and I have begged God to erase their memories (and my own) of all the times I was a Volcano Mom. I have now figured out that it had to do with too much information coming in.

Perhaps I am autistic. Seriously, I should investigate that. Or perhaps I am just a serious introvert who is incapable of controlling the volcano.

Now I do better. Of course, I take crazy drugs, so I am somewhat tactful and I can handle the normal amount of information coming in.

(However, I am still crazy, the good kind of crazy -- I now have a bruise on my right elbow from my persistence in trying to hug my daughter. Bug is in her "I vant to be alooone" stage, which she frequents frequently, and so I wrestled her to the kitchen floor on Saturday. But I got my hug!)

Anyway -- I say all this because I have become a sounding board for a couple of people. What a compliment!

I try to be a good listener because I am a very bad one by nature. I just wanna talk about me. I love that quote from "Beaches" where Bette Midler says

"But enough about me. Let's talk about you. What do you think of me?"

So I've been listening lately to some frustrated people, and that has totally stressed me out. But not in a bad way -- rather, in an empathetic way. This is unusual for me, since I approach most problems with a "that's life, deal with it" sort of attitude. Although the cry of my early life was "But Mom, it's not fair!" I quickly changed when I became a Mom and had to answer questions like "But how come she gets one and I don't?" I responded by saying "Because I love her more than you."

I really do still say that. Respond to a ridiculous question with a ridiculous answer. My kids have always understood that.

So last Wednesday night, I decided enough with all this stress, I'm taking a sleeping pill and forgetting it all. I won't dream crazy dreams that make me tired, and I won't wake up to Hunk O Man's droning snore.

So I took the OTC generic sleeping pill. And I slept like a rock.

FOR TWENTY-FOUR -- 24 -- HOURS.

I tried to wake up Thursday morning. I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed. I brushed my teeth. I sat down and fell asleep in Hunk O Man's chair.

Dragging myself into the kitchen, I drank a cup of coffee. I walked into my bedroom and sat down on the bed. Uh-oh. Which turned into another 5-hour nap.

I got up. I stumbled around with my eyes half open. I drank Diet Coke. I puttered around. I tried to function. I walked into things. I tried to form complete sentences. I did pretty well for about 2 hours. I think I even fooled my family, except when it came to cooking dinner.

Then it was time for bed! So I got my crossword and settled in. I was asleep again by 11PM.

I woke up Friday morning refreshed, got up at 7AM, felt great, and got tons accomplished. I felt amazing! We got ready for the yard sale the girls hosted on Saturday, I went with B to the new Aldi store and Sam's Club and Harris Teeter. I bought fresh beets and hot dogs without nitrates.

When I got home, I checked the answering machine, and it was the newspaper lady, saying that she'd left a message with "sum-bahdy, sayin' yew wazzunt up yay-ette." The tone of disapproval in her voice made me cringe. I am going to kill whatever kid told her I was sleeping all day yesterday.

So the moral of this story is this: Be nice. And don't get stressed out.

(And if you do, take half a sleeping pill)