I so suck at this....

I have not written on this blog in so long, and they've changed the format so much, that I had to re-educate myself on how to make new post. I have done some guest posts for MessyMarriage.com in the past months, but that's no excuse for being a slacker. I have been reading a good deal lately, and as I like to air my opinion in whichever format I can, as opposed to posting nothing, I will link my Goodreads reviews here also. This is not really a review, but some feedback for a book called Trufaced;Trusting God and Others with Who I Really Am by Bill Thrall. True Faced: Trust God and Others with Who You Really Are by William Thrall
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Truly LOVED the concept of this book. It was personally challenging. When you have been brought up in Anglo-American Christian culture, we are so conditioned to believe Busy-ness is next to Godliness. When I took off the "masks" I had been working so hard to nurture and maintain, I was kind of left with "Now What? If I'm not this person who is busy working to please God, then who am I?" Many of us have been spiritually manipulated by people who claim to be "authorities" into believing that if we are given the opportunity to do any and every good thing and we don't we "make Jesus sad", even to the point of sacrificing Family on the altar of ministry. And all of this working and performing has fed our pride and arrogance. We can never Please God until we truly begin to trust Him, and casting our cares on Him and accepting the Grace He offers is not a desprt act of weakness but a willful act of humility We have been misled by a culture who has preached Grace, but doesn't really have a clue what Grace truly is. But trusting God with who I really am, isn't really the tough part, but the "trusting others". While I agree we should not have to perform or pretend we are someone we are not, and even when surrounded by posers we should maintain authenticity and we should't live a Guarded exsistance, I didn't read anything in the book that really helped the reader understand how to build your community of Grace with trustworthy people. If we don't learn to create and maintain healthy boundaries, we will get sucked back on the Hamster Wheel in the Room of Good Intentions. But the message of the book to look at the true meaning and offering of Grace and step into it is a VERY liberating one.

View all my reviews

Mom Fail

Why is it that I fully understand that it is the difficulties in life that contribute to all the best things that make up who I am, yet, when faced with the thought of my children encountering difficulties, my first reaction is to rescue and shield them. Maybe I believe that until I came through and learned from my struggles, I was not a valuable person. My children are already valuable and wonderful and I am of the opinion that since they are already wonderful, God should spare them difficulties.
My teenage daughter is beginning to experience some of those hard facts about people and relationships that don't seem right or fair. Can't she just learn what she needs to from some ABC Family movie of the week? There are so many more academic and future success preparation pressures for kids than there used to be. When you add all the teen angst crap into the mix, things often seem overwhelming and unmanuverable. I can identify somewhat with those struggles, having navigated being fourteen myself (though, far less successfully), but I don't know what it's like to walk in her shoes. I just know a lot of what she has to deal with is lame.
My son is something else entirely. Being a ten-year-old boy is something I can never remotely begin to identify with, and he being an individual with autism makes the chasm even wider. I ask him ridiculous questions about his behavior like he was a three year old: "Now, Son, do we crumple up our paper and throw it at our teacher?" He's not an idiot! He knows he's not supposed to do stuff like that, but his frustration overrides his ability to communicate and throwing the assignment is the best way he knows how to communicate what he is feeling. Since he was two years old, we have made sure he's had therapies and gone through exercises to get him to use language to express his wants needs and feelings, and now half the time it seems everyone is telling him what he is saying and how he is saying it is disrespectful and inappropriate.
"Come on, use your words. (gasp)YOU CAN'T speak to me that way! I'm your mother!!!" How frustrating! It's no wonder the characters he identifies most with is Calvin and Charlie Brown. We encourage him to be himself then bombard him with messages that he needs to change.
I feel so caught between what I think is best for , for my children, what They think is best for them, and what the rest of the world thinks is best for them. I tend to have these big aspirations for my children and tell them how special they are, then turn around and tell them not to make waves and keep their heads down because it's safer.
I not only love my kids, I genuinely LIKE them and want them to be themselves, but how to do that in those times when who they are seems to conflict with life in general? And if they do conform to one thing, something else comes along and requires them to conform to another. It's a big, confusing, insecure mess!
But then, it sort of hit me. What truly is BEST for them, isn't to simply fall in line with the pack. It may be the most comfortable and the easiest option. Romans 12:2 says "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Who knows those children better than their Creator, who wired them and gifted them specifically for His purpose? My job as their mom isn't to try to figure out which road they should be on, but give them tools to navigate the road God has already placed them on. That road can be expected to have many obstacles, and in shepherding them to make decisions consistent with who they are, which is compassionate, loving, creative and resourceful people, and what God instructs and demonstrates for us in His word, those obstacles are manageable.
I give myself pretty good advice sometimes. I just hope I have the courage to follow some of it.

Happy Birthday, Grandad

My Grandparents have never qualified as what you would call “Empty Nesters”. They helped raise five sets of children. With grandchildren from age six to forty-something, each set of us came in a different decade. There were lessons each of us gleaned from their example that would serve us our whole lives.
Grandma taught me how to make a bed and that brown and serve rolls were every bit as good as any made from scratch. Grandad taught me how to cheat at tic tac toe and how to run a log splitter. He was a successful businessman, in spite of his terrible memory for numbers (he never could keep count of all of my ribs; he would always lose his place and have to start over).
Spending the night at Grandma’s was never as fun as Friday night when Grandad came home from "the woods" where he worked. When he came through the door in his green coveralls, he would give us each a hug and rub our faces with his whiskers. We could always count on Dr Pepper with Rocky Road Ice Cream before bed. On Saturday mornings, he would cook Bugs Bunny Pancakes and the most perfectly cooked bacon you’ve ever tasted- not too bendy, not too crispy. And he always made sure I had a black fork. After breakfast, he would let us drive the riding mower or tag along after him doing some other chore outside.
But, their biggest legacy is one of great love and deep faith.
I would sit between them during church and Grandad would keep me supplied with a steady stream of tic tacs to keep me quiet. One precious gift he gave me was his passion and joyous expression in his singing. I loved watching him lead the congregation on Sunday nights. I can still see him conducting a chorus “Heavenly Sunlight” with my Uncle Mark on piano and mother playing organ. He infused such joy into each song. As I got older, I never understood it when people would comment how boring the old hymns were.
When I was nineteen years old, I was visiting Grandma and Grandad at the Santa Ana house one afternoon. We sat and visited at the kitchen table. Grandad was playfully aggravating Grandma, as usual, while she stood at the sink to wash dishes. He stood in the doorway, his face full of mischief, when she gasped in frustration and rounded on him with an exasperating, “Dad!”
He then looked at her with such intensity, as though he had never beheld anything as beautiful or amazing as she was right in that moment. His smile spoke a language only she could understand. Her expression softened as she first furrowed her brow, then returned a bashful grin reminiscent of her seventeen-year-old self. No one else existed.
I knew right then and there what true love looked like. No book or movie could ever duplicate it. I could never give it a just description. I also knew, that was how I wanted to be looked at one day, for the rest of my life.
Over a year later, I had met and struck up a special friendship with a certain guitar player. We were working at Jenness Park in the Sierras for the summer. We were crowded in a car full of students on the way to Lodi to see a Continentals concert. We were all laughing and having a good time, when my guitar player friend looked down at me with a look similar to one I had only ever seen once. This look didn't have the weight that comes with 70 years, but the same look with a freshness and limitless possibilities. It was surreal. I felt my heart beat in my throat. He then kissed me on the forehead, as though I were a precious treasure. I could only gawk at him. I had to remind myself to breathe. He was doomed from that moment. We were married thirteen months later.
My husband would later tell me that he knew the moment he saw me I was the one for him, but any doubts he may have had were eradicated the first time he saw me run a log splitter.

Owls

I recently saw a cartoon by autistic people depicting themselves as Owls forced to function in the daytime. How the light was bright in large eyes and the hustle and bustle of the day was confusing and scary and so loud to acute hearing. The environment was such that it was impossible to function as they were designed. They could not simply be Owls.
We, as adults, often forget what it was like to be kids. We get so preoccupied with how things are “supposed” to operate that we often go into “fix it” mode, rather than “understand it” mode. Perhaps if we took some of the time we spend worrying about things and applied it to getting in someone else's shoes thinks would “operate” much more smoothly, because our perspective on “supposed to” would change.
We fail to recognize that the lonely, overwhelmed, “small” feeling we dismiss as anxiety is our body reminding us how it was to be a kid- insecure and trying to find where we fit in this crazy world. In the years I have been a parent and those spent working with small children, I have made a conscious effort to remember this perspective. But I have no capacity to fully understand the perspective of my son who lives on the autism spectrum. Though the “small, where do I fit?” feeling is probably universal, no matter our age or wiring. But recognizing how to hear and communicate that feeling with my son is difficult.
My son is a “ranter” and a “raver”. He hates to “cry”. He does not like the sensation of tears coming from his eyes. I think it embarrasses him on some level when he can't make them stop. But He will holler and yell and pretend cry if he falls down or isn't getting his way. It's a learned response that he believes is an appropriate way of communicating “I am sad” or “I am hurt”. He will also speak up when he is trying to control something he does not understand and is trying to make it fit into his world. But Sometimes he simply acts out and he doesn't understand why. And he doesn't act out because he LIKES it, but because He simply does not know what else he's supposed to do.
The other day he came home from school and told me, “ I got in trouble today again Mom. I grabbed [my teacher] and got sent to the office.” I went through the whole, “Do we grab our teacher when we are angry?”, and “Do you like being sent to the office?”. In retrospect, those are incredibly stupid questions. The answers are both “NO” and “NO”. Do I really think he doesn't KNOW that? When I ask “Why did you feel like you had to grab your teacher?” the answer is “I don't know”. I have come to understand that “I don't know” means “I don't know how to answer your question”.
Later, after sitting quietly and reading for a time, he said, “Mom. I don't like getting in trouble.” He tried to look at me, but the tears came. He quickly looked away and rubbed his eyes.
I can't know what it's like to be him and feel how he feels and navigate this world with his challenges. But I totally know how it is to feel completely misunderstood; to not be able to explain what is going on inside me; to look at the place I think I might fit and not like it. I can identify with that. And It Sucks. It's a little bit like an owl, trying to function in the daytime.

Facing the The Winter of our Discontent

This is what you would call a “first world problem”. In light of tragedies and injustices internationally, this really is a silly, insignificant “annoyance” rather than a PROBLEM. But, then again, Is it? In any case, I know that my marriage is strong enough to survive this trying time, but it will require quite a bit of creativity and getting out of our comfort zones. I'm speaking, of coarse, about the NBA Lockout.
I am traditionally NOT a sports fan. My general view on sports as an industry and our country's preoccupation with it is not favorable. But this is not that particular rant. So I'll save my takes on corruption in our higher learning institutions, and how it's illegal to do to animals what we do to fighters and football players....blah blah blah....Like I said, this is not THAT particular rant.
It's not even a rant about the Lockout and who's right or wrong. Which Gazillionares are greedier, the owners or the players or the agents or the lawyers? I think everyone can agree that it's the fans and the individual communities whose economy's are dependent on Basketball Games being played to operate who are the losers. And I find it absolutely insulting and distasteful that each side is using that fact in an attempt to manipulate the other to cave. At this point, as an American, I'm actually surprised the government has not stepped in subsidize these Gazillionares so both sides get their money and the local economy doesn't go in the toilet. OH WAIT! They already used that money to bail out banks and Car companies. Sorry, NBA, you tanked too late! (Don't I keep saying, “It's not THAT rant”?)
No. As is typically the case, my complaint is purely self centered.
When my husband and I met, it was truly corny “Love at First Sight” type stuff. An honest case of the near audible voice of God telling each of us, “That is the person you are going to spend the rest of your life with”. We became attracted to each other in every possible way- physically (I'm mean, we're totally hot. Who wouldn't be?), Spiritually, Intellectually (which had to take A LOT of searching on his part, because I was never the sharpest bulb in the shed). But outside of our Faith, we really only had one thing in common, and that was our love of Music. But we wanted to know and share everything about each other, so that it opened our worlds to so so many new things and ideas. Some things we just learned to “tolerate” but others, we learned to actually enjoy. He accepted Pink Floyd into his catalog, and I, Metallica. I developed a fondness for Hash Brown Casserole, and he, sushi. He discovered an inner liking for Disneyland, and I, the NBA.
I lived in Houston in '93-'94 during the Rockets run. I found myself, much to my surprise really getting into the action of the game. I quickly dismissed it as bandwagonning sensationalism, and didn't pay any attention to Basketball until I hooked up with Tony Green. I found, again to my own amazement, watching the '98 Finals and actually come OUT OF MY SEAT as MJ dominated the game between taking breaks to vomit in the locker room.
Music, sadly, has filtered out of my life. Without a performance outlet for it, I sort have become bitter and really don't even listen to it much anymore. And Tony, who lived guitar every day, now has other priorities.
So, We had Basketball. He, a “Die Hard, Faithful even in the Del Harris years”, Laker Fan. Myself, a “whomever is playing against that Laker's to annoy my husband, except Miami” fan. I came to really enjoy watching certain players play, and others, I liked their off court personalities. I found myself listening to Sports Radio (of all things!) just to learn more about the game and the culture of basketball. I started watching 4th quarters of playoff games, to watching the entire playoffs, to watching The All Star Weekend Festivities, to actually being excited in the fall for Thursday nights when I'd get to see my friends, EJ, Kenny, and Chuck. (Well, Okay. Just really EJ and Chuck.). My husband and I ended up with the closest thing to a “shared hobby” we'll ever get. We had this new thing to talk about, where I could ask questions without feeling like I'm annoying him.
Now, a season without Basketball, and what to do? I really have ZERO interest in Historical Presidential Biographies, and while he DID read the Harry Potter Series, He's draws the line at Twilight (aside from watching the first film for Mocking purposes). I suppose it's a new challenge. Keepin' it fresh. Being Creative and Consciously making as effort rather than relying on the status quo.
But I'm still going to miss Taunting my husband about Mike Brown.

Post- Potter Depression

Well......I guess that's it. It's not really an “empty” feeling- just a final one. I suppose when the book series ended, I still had the films to look forward to, the interpretation of which to speculate and scrutinize upon. Now, it truly is a closed book. There's nothing new to discover. No new perspectives to be gained. How ridiculous to grieve a fictional world, but grief, like a lump of wet concrete is what is sitting in my stomach (along with half digested popcorn kernels). But with this type of grief, there's no element of hope or a “better place”. It's like when the road comes to the end and there's nowhere else to go- just a big blank wall in front of you.
Is this a taste of how it feels for people who don't believe in an afterlife? You come to the end and there's not even a dark chasm to stare into? Just “Nothing”? THAT IS SAD.
I know it sounds like I'm taking Harry Potter WAY too seriously, or death WAY too lightly, and to those who find offense at the comparison, I am truly sorry (however, if you know me, I'm sure you just assume the former). But, truthfully, I really could never even conceive of the concept of “the end” before, and I'm starting to understand it just a little bit. I never fully appreciated what vastly different experiences death is for people without Hope.
My husband's mother passed away a couple weeks ago. We are going through our stages of denial, anger, sadness....etc...But our brand of grief has never been for an “ending”, but for a different sort of “continuing”. We don't grieve for her. We grieve for US. We are the ones who have to make the adjustments to a life where she is now physically absent; where I get a pang when I can't get the right amount of cinnamon in the coffee grounds the way she did, so we could sit in the breakfast nook at her round table and just chat and sip our yummy coffee. But I have never had to consider her “gone”. She has passed out of the phase of being from having to trust God for the answers into knowing His answers were always there; from having to overcome doubts and make the choice to rest in Hope, to today basking in knowledge, satisfaction, and the completion of being in the Presence of Her Lord.
As a recipient of her love, I truly feel a sprinkling of that excess joy her spirit is now saturated with. A joy in knowing she is not limited to our memories of her, but is currently thriving. A joy that my body can not contain, so I HAVE to cry in order to let it flow, because if I don't, if I just “stuff it”, it will cease to be joy. Joy must be active and growing. Joy that is choked and cut off will become bitterness, and bitterness will ERODE what Hope we do have. How people live without Hope or experiencing the fullness of God's love for us I just don't know. I suppose it explains a lot about the current condition of humanity.
So, I am left with the words of Albus Dumbledore, “Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.” Who would have ever guessed that living with Harry Potter for the last decade or so would have increased my compassion and for Lost people? I guess my question now is : What is my responsibility to inspire those people to experience Hope, accept Love, and license joy in their lives? And by what vehicle can I most effectively put that into practice? Well, if I need ideas, I suppose I'll have to ride more trains. As Harry Potter AND Micky Mouse were both “born” on Railway Journeys, it may be a place to start. And I have to fill that little space that has until now been reserved for “The Boy Who Lived” with gratitude, Blessed Assurance, and and increased capacity to love others.

Conversations About Grandma

My husband and I are people of the Christian Faith, and as “Believers” we feel it's important to instill spiritual values in our children. Because of this, we did what any good evangelical parents are trained to do- let the church do it! The modern church is a wonderful place where we can bring our kids to an over the top, entertaining, faith circus- complete with bounce houses, Sponge Bob Videos played on huge screens, and snazzy music at top volume (“if you want to have fun like this forever, kids just say this little prayer to Jesus and it's done!”) Yes, if MY Sunday school resembled a Nickelodeon game show set, I would have invited more friends. So, if the goal for the Contemporary Suburban Church is further indulging already privileged children so their parents will tithe- they are succeeding. But what if you have a kid for whom loud storytellers and Jumbo-trons are like razor blades over his entire body? Perhaps, in that situation, that particular method of evangelism is flawed at best.
We have been blessed with a son who has Autism Spectrum Disorder. He has a symmetric, right angled mind in a world of abstractions. He has little patience for perspective other than his own- because he really believes his way is the correct way. If he thought it was wrong why would he bother with it? He has a near photographic memory which is helpful for math facts and spelling, but “exceptions” to grammar rules annoy him. If there are exceptions to rules, than THEY AREN'T RULES, merely typical occurrences. We are learning how to communicate with him. Usually, our daughter has to be the translator, as she seems to understand her brother better than anyone. When we ask him if he wants a hand picking up his Legos, and he answers no, that does not mean he doesn't want help, it means he would prefer it if we didn't amputate a limb and give it to him. So, when we put our son's spiritual enlightenment in the hands of “First Church of the Sensory Overload” it was what we call an EPIC FAILURE.
I was so discouraged. How was he supposed to learn about Jesus if he didn't go to Sunday School? Then, God punched me in the gut with the fact that it wasn't the churches job to expose him to Christ, it was mine.
Our daughter and son differ as much as two siblings can. She is relationally gifted, finds beauty in the abstract, and is suspicious of absolutes. The Understanding that God exists and he sent his son Jesus as a sacrifice to atone for our sins, was not all that difficult for her. With her brother-his thought process is more like, “okay, you're telling me there's this God guy who has to be a giant because he was big enough to create the whole universe and he has this son who was killed brutally, (so, he loves ME, but allowed his own son to be murdered) and came back to life as this itty bitty man who wants to live in my heart so when I die, I can't come back to Earth, but go to this mythical Heaven place that is in outer space? But SANTA 'how's he supposed to visit all the children of the world in just one night?' Clause is supposed to be a load of crap?”
yep, that's pretty much the gist.
Ugh! He must think I'm a terrible liar or I'm an idiot. The kid has been completely opposed and a bit frightened by the idea of God. He plugs his ears, hums, and leaves the table when we pray at mealtime. When he was little, he used to “pray”/recite Linus' Luke 2 scripted monologue from A Charlie Brown Christmas. I would think, “At LEAST he's got THAT in his brain somewhere. It's gotta' one day count for something.”
Our prayer as parents has continually been for God to reveal Himself to our son. All we can do is tell him the truth, but that has usually met with, “I don't want to love God.” or “Jesus can't love me”, which breaks my heart just a little bit each time he says it, but we still try.
The concept of “death” has also been interesting to try to explain to him. He began to understand that life wasn't like a video game, where when you get three chances to “die”, and even after your last one, you can just start the game over- it was permanent- you didn't come back. His grandmother is, as I write this, very soon to make the transition into death. As she has become more ill, we have attempted to explain this to our kids. He says “but I don't want Grandma to die”. We don't either. He doesn't like it, but he seems to have come to accept it. And perhaps it is, in part, because of all these conversations about Grandma, that I came into the living room the other night to find my faith filled daughter speaking with a gentle intensity to her brother. I began making vain comments about doing something irrelevant, when she told me, “Mom, wait, Chase says he wants to believe in Jesus.”

............It was a very long second before I could process this information. I wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming. I didn't say anything. I sat next to him on the couch while he told me that God had “written a letter” to him on the palm of his hand, telling Chase He loved him, so “I want to believe Jesus and I want want to forgive everybody and God forgives me for anything bad I have done.” I sat next to my autistic son as he prayed salvation into his life- not a script, but his own words- to who was now, not just “God”, but HIS God.
It's funny how things work out. That discussing his grandmother's illness would be the catalyst that would help him put together all the little nuggets of truth we've tried to give him. We can't “bring” anyone to salvation- not even our own kids. God has to be the one to do it Himself, and each of us has to either accept or reject Him. All we can do to help that along is expose them to Truth and live that Truth as best we can. I seem to always be asking “Why?”, and He always seems to answer, “I got it.” Hopefully, my faith will one day be as strong as my children's.