Beauty - Part 1

It started innocently enough. 

I was browsing magazines at our local library. I grabbed a few, anticipating a rest on the couch where I could flip through a couple. (I'm not sure what I was thinking, but that's how the story goes anyway.)

I picked up a magazine that I guess I am the target audience for: Nearing 40 (excuse me while I blink at that number is disbelief), homemaker, mom, etc. 

I placed it in my check out pile and took it home. I found a few minutes when I should have been cleaning something and picked it up.

I was pretty disinterested by the whole thing, until I flipped to a page that sort of punched me in the face.

It read something like, "Stop Dressing Like a Mom."

Oh. Boy.

 There was this nice, condescending article about how we all needed to stop wearing long khaki shorts and polo shirts and really 

~step it up~

*ahem*

I was pretty ticked, but I turned the page anyway.

So glad I did. 

This is what I'm supposed to wear during "Playtime."

Here are my thoughts, in no particular order:

1. I have never EVER had thighs like that. I'm pretty sure I was born with bigger thighs than that chick has. 
2. I'm pretty sure that is a silk shirt. I'm also pretty sure that that shirt would not fare will with my two boys showering me with their abundant (some days) physical love. Boys are dirty. Silk doesn't like dirt.
3. Her tiny waist is pretty much like the one I had at age 5.
4. If she bends over in those shorts to pick up her phone that her kid dropped from the buggy at Costco, whatever unfortunately person that is behind her is gonna see a least a glimpse of her derriere. 
5. That entire outfit costs somewhere around $700.00. Yep. SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLARS. When I die, if which ever girlfriend (you know who you are) who decides what I'm going to wear spends more than $30 on an outfit for me, please know that I will haunt you forever. (Hopefully it will be some sort of cherry lime aid colored polyester number for my 90 year old self, but I'm good with going sooner than that too.)
6. I'd really like to see her eat that cheeseburger with all that lip gloss on, but I'm probably digressing here...

Then there was this picture:

This, as you can see, is what I should be wearing "Most of the time." So Publix runs, doctor visits, bank/post office/library runs, etc.

Okay. 

What I notice here:

1. This chick is obviously not worried about all of those oranges rolling around on the floor. She must not be of the clumsy variety, because I would be scurrying around, picking all of them up before I did a face plant in the middle of the produce section at Publix (which is also my second home.) She also obviously doesn't have children, because if she did, she would know that a 4 year old would be throwing those oranges to his 7 year old brother, who is now on the other side of the produce aisle, and the girl kid is pondering how far the juice will squirt out when she steps squarely on an orange.
2. Again, thighs? Oh right. I'm supposed to LOOK like that too.
3. White pants on a normal day? Okay, so fine, right now I do have on white jeans, but I'm also afraid to look at how dirty they are. I'm not sure what I was thinking this morning. Thankfully you can bleach white. But I'm certainly not going to wear white jeans to run a gaggle of errands. There's not that much bleach in this house. 
4. I'm sure that when she bends over to put stuff into/get stuff out of that buggy, that necklace is going to catch on the side of the buggy and nearly rip her head off her neck. Ask me how I know. (I went to Wal-Mart once after church, dressed in real clothes. Stuff like that happens to people like me.)
5. $500.00 for the outfit. Hello, orphans? Starving people in the world? Sponsor a kid? Help out a neighbor? Donate to a worthwhile charity? 

And here was the real doozy for me. 

First of all, I tried to deconstruct this picture enough just in case an errant, lost in the world wide web male type stumbled onto this post. I'm pretty sure said dude was inundated with enough estrogen by this point in the post to have fled already, but just on the off chance that didn't happen, I tried to make it PG as possible. But the real pic just shows lacy, lacy you - know - what.

 

That "L" stuff.

(I don't want any creepies finding this blog by searching for any weird words.)

So. 

I'm pretty sure that most husbands love this sort of stuff. And that's great. But they are telling me, in no uncertain terms, if I can recall correctly, that "flannel is for little girls."

Okay.

Again, here are my thoughts:

1. That lady is really, really gonna hate it when her kid throws up on all that silk. I'm pretty sure that silk doesn't do dirt or throw up. 
2. I found that I had a hugely better chance of walking/running in the morning if I slept in a tee shirt/shorts that I could run in. I'm sure that's completely lazy and totally a mental issue, but it works for me for some insane reason. And it's comfortable. And doesn't make me burn up, which may or may not have to do with my old hormonal self.
3. This is where you feel sorry for my husband, but I promise it's not that bad. And at least it's not the dreaded flannel.
4. My 4 year old still climbs in bed with me (us) at least once a week. While it's not my most favorite thing, I'm convicted about being there for him when he's scared or unsettled. And let's be real, how long will he do this? And at what age will I miss the fact that he was little enough to want to get in bed with me? And he wakes me up by patting my arm and whispering, "Mama, I need to snuggle with you..." That's pretty freaking hard to pass up. So I'm okay with that, knowing that these days aren't going to last long. At all. And I'm really not okay with him snuggling with a mama dressed for bed like that.

I'm absolutely sure that there is a time and place for that stuff, and that's fine. But I'm not dressing like that every night. I don't get to sleep all that long (it seems like) so who cares what I'm dressed like? And I don't want to know what that little outfit costs.

Orphans.

I flopped the magazine closed at this point and tossed it back into the library stack.

I looked down at my usual outfit. Tee shirt and shorts. No makeup. Hair pulled back. Glasses on.

I didn't feel beautiful or put together or non-mommy-fied.

I was also mad at myself for caring. But the doubt crept in.

"Should I dress better during the day?"

"Should I wear make up every day?"

"Should I wear you know to bed every night?

"Should I do my hair, eat less, exercise more, wear more lip gloss, try more, try harder, care more, care at all...?"

It all just made me mad.

Stay tuned for Part 2. If you made it this far.

Ah, sweet blog...

...quite honestly, I haven't missed you.

At all.

I hate to say that, really. We've done a lot of thinking together. You've been far more patient than any human could ever possibly have been. You've allowed me to type, delete, re-write, think aloud, process aloud, pour out my heart and soul, and provided a safe place for me to do so. 

And I so appreciate it. 

But here lately, I've found a new friend.

Pen and paper.

We used to be the best of friends. Then technology introduced a newfangled friend; you. But this old friend and I got reacquainted. And I sometimes wonder if the new that we abandon the old for is really all that better for us. I certainly fell back in love with the simplicity of a pad of paper and a pen. We spent many early mornings and many late nights and fleeting yet significant moments in between communing together. And they have served me so well.

It was with trepidation that I thought of you, dear blog. I wasn't sure how I felt about you. 

I thought that maybe we could be more casual acquaintances, with my passing through occasionally to post pictures of all the great things we do in our fun little world and update you with the plethora of cute things my amazingly perfect kids say.

Because sometimes this seems like a one sided, quite lopsided actually, relationship. Yes, you are patient but you are also noncommittal, perhaps even blase. Blood, sweat and tears have poured out here and sometimes all that passion feels unrequited.

So maybe the release is itself the means and also the end. 

Or not.

I glanced longingly at my yellow legal pad and my at the moment favorite pen when I felt a post welling up in my heart and mind. To say that it's a topic, and a post, that I'd so love to avoid is an enormous understatement. But it will have to come out. And it will do so here, not ensconced in the privacy and intimacy of my legal pad.

And that's okay, if that's how God so chooses to use me at this moment. He's quite unconcerned about my comfort, and this is even okay with me. I supposed there's a time for my wrinkled, well scribbled in legal pad and there's a time for this sweet blog.

I hope I remember how to blog. It's been a little while. It's most likely like riding a bike. You never forget how to...

This so hard. And good.

Worth It

Read that. Just read it.

My Current Obsession

True to form, I get attached to something and wear it out. Currently it's this album by a guy called John Mark McMillan:

The Medicine

This is the song that is currently on repeat:

I love this album so much that I almost don't want to listen to it. If I wear it out, I'll get tired of it and have to put it aside for awhile. So I want to listen to it, and I don't want to listen to it.

Listening to music is probably a normal thing for most people. I'm not sure I have a normal relationship with music. Through my "boot camp" at times when this music would end, I would have a hard time catching my breath.

That's weird. 

I was like that during labor too. During a particularly difficult contraction, it was not unusual for me to yell, and I do mean yell, "TURN UP THE MUSIC! I CAN'T HEAR IT ENOUGH..."

The music was blaring at times. That sweet hospital. They were so very kind. 

But that's not normal. It's not normal to be sad when a song ends only to dash across the kitchen and pound "replay" to make it play again. 

But I'm okay with my musical obsession.

And I'm hoping this guy can quickly crank out another album. Before I wear this one out.

Shut In

God broke it down here lately.

Man, did He. 

He stripped me of all my earthly securities, pointed out sin, demanded my every thought, word and deed. He even handed me two weeks of illness. He made me journal. 

It was boot camp.

I read the Navy Seals motto a couple of weeks ago:

"The Easy Day was Yesterday"

Yep. That was it. 

I avoided Facebook and Twitter. At His suggestion.

I don't miss Facebook.

I do miss Twitter.

Fine. I cheated and read the feed a couple of times of this pastor guy up on the East coast that makes me smarter. He posted an article about something like God doesn't talk to humans. Only Jesus does (and did.) Even in the Old Testament. 

As soon as God lets up on this boot camp thing, I'm going to study that out. It sort of blew my mind. How could that be? How could I have missed that all these years. If it's true.

Anyway.

I like the quiet that my brain feels with out social media. I don't know how to make it work right now. I miss the theology of Twitter, odd as that sounds. It's the one place that I get loads of that. 

Well, blogs, which God didn't exactly take away. 

But I haven't really cared about those. That's weird too.

I have been reading more. In between getting steam rolled by Scripture. And that's been really good.

I'm trying to figure out if and how social media fits in my life. This blog is stuck with me, since it's how I outwardly process so much. I will admit that having a pen and paper has been nice, though. I love the simplicity of tearing away at a sheet of paper knowing that no one else will ever read it. 

You get really raw and real that way. Which I what I try to be here, but there are just some things you can't say or don't want people to read.

Like how much sin God has exposed in my life these last two weeks. 

Nobody wants to read that stuff. 

So I don't really know where to go from here. Not that I have to go anywhere, necessarily. 

I am ready for this leg of boot camp to be over. 

You know, so I can get a shirt that says, "I did God Boot Camp, and I Survived." 

(would they put that comma on a tee shirt? Hm. I probably wouldn't. I don't like how it looks.)

And I got sanctified a bit too. Most definitely.

I don't think they make that tee shirt. But I did order a shirt with that Navy Seals motto on it. Just to remind myself of these last weeks. And to remind myself that no matter how hard they were, ultimately eternal good came from it. And that's a good thing, no matter how raw you feel at the end of it.

And I wore out this song:

I've posted it before, but really. Can you hear this too much?

Because it's true.

I am a living, breathing testimony to it.

Course of Study...

I found myself able to choose a new thing to study. It was a good feeling. As I read in Luke, my heart felt drawn to the Gospels. I needed to fellowship with Jesus in the New Testament. I wanted to see His name on the page. I wanted to soak in His words.

The Lord spoke, quietly.

Isaiah

I think I groaned. 

Not that I don't love the Old Testament. I do.

And some of my favorite scriptures in the entire Bible come from Isaiah.

I just pouted a bit and said, "But Lord, I just wanted Jesus..."

And He replied, "What better way to fellowship with Jesus than through Isaiah?"

Oh. Okay.

So off I go. This Old Testament devotee who loves to study it, longing and craving to study the Gospels and being sternly sent to study Isaiah. Oh the irony.

I love this living Word.

My thoughts on certain national news

It was on otherwise peaceful Sunday night. 

News sprang forth, on Twitter no less, about the death of bin Laden.

Celebration erupted.

That made my spirit twist just a little, and I couldn't figure out why the celebration made me so uncomfortable. 

Was it because of the assertions, with all apparent certainty by the hordes of commentors, this man was in hell?

That certainly is nothing to celebrate. The thought of an eternity separated from God is unfathomable to me. That is nothing to be celebrated.

And as the risk of sounding sort of Robbellish, how do we know? That bin Laden is in hell, I mean.

 I know, he's an evil man.

Then why did I think of my sin that was covered on the cross?

I'm not as bad as bin Laden. Really.

 I do know the horror and destruction that his man caused. I do. 

And as my 4 year old climbed in my lap this morning, I thought of a 4 year old bin Laden. Did he ever crawl in his mother's lap? Did she kiss his head and rest her cheek on his head too? 

Am I humanizing a monster? 

My point is that he was a child, full of hope and wonder, and then sin crept in. 

And then we know where that sin ultimately led. We were all there on September 11th.  There are other attacks too. Vicious attacks against American citizens that provoked, and still provoke, emotions beyond description.

I'm not cheapening what this man masterminded and executed.

I am pointing out that what caused this destruction was very simply sin. The same sin that we battle. 

And the "fact" that bin Laden is in hell is simply not our statement to make. God alone decides that. If we state very simply that bin Laden is in hell, are we not doubting God's ability to save? What if God did decided to save bin Laden? What if when we get there, bin Laden is there? Would we be shocked? Horrified? 

How could God save him?

And how could God save me?

I've prayed that bin Laden came to know Christ. Does that make me simple and idealistic? Sure. But I'm not sure that's wrong. 

And I can't think of a Scripture that indicates that any amount of sin disqualifies one from being saved. 

In fact, a verse that I keep hearing quoted a lot lately says that God is "...not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance." (1 Peter 3:10)

One person wandered aloud if perhaps he wanted justice for bin Laden more than salvation for him. This person went so far as to call this a symptom of his "American-ness." 

That's a lot to think about.

I kept thinking about all the times in the Old Testament where God not only ordained war and murder, especially when it involved sinners and/or sins again His people. God's people even rejoiced when their enemies were vanquished.

I couldn't find as much of that in the New Testament. It seems like that part of the Bible is filled with God's show of love in the gift of His Son to not only those that believed, but to those who He died for that were sill in sin. 

And I'm sure I'm missing a lot there. 

I also keep thinking about Sproul's thoughts on justice. He says we can't fully understand or appreciate justice until we fully understand and appreciate mercy.

And I'm not trying to call out hordes of people who celebrated about this death. 

I just have a deep desire for the people of God to respond in a way that would and should represent the Christ that we serve. And maybe celebrating this man's death is totally okay with God.

 I do know that God's arm is not too short to save. I am so thankful that He saved me. I am so thankful that I am not a slave to sin anymore. I'm so deeply humbled and grateful for His gift of His Son, in that He saved me from sin and from an eternity of separation from Him. 

I'm praying for our missionaries who are serving in the Middle East who may become targets more because of their nationality. And I'm praying for our military for the same reasons.

And I'm fully aware that I'm pondering things that I really have no business pondering. I don't know everything involved in all the political inerworkings of Washington. I don't doubt that killing bin Laden was the best thing to do. I'm sure that decision was made my people far more educated than I. It's not his death that I question. Maybe it's just the response to it.

And maybe the response is just fine. I just have to ponder it. Because that's what I do.