Is Something Missing

I grew up in a very traditional Southern Baptist Church.  The kind where we sat on wooden pews and the preacher had a sing song quality to his delivery.  I’ve sat under a few hellfire and brimstone messages in my time.  I’ve seen alter calls that had half the congregation on their knees at the front of the church and the other half holding on the pews for dear life.  I grew up in a time when the women wore dresses and only dresses to church and Peggy Blevins once held together my skirt because she was scandalized that it had a tiny slit up one side of it.  To this day you can start any number of hymns in the Baptist Hymnal and I can sing all four verses.

Without looking.

Over the years I’ve seen the church, both my small country church and the church in general change.  Wooden pews gave way to cushioned pews or folding chairs.  Praise music replaced hymns.  The preachers delivered messages with fill in the blank notes to follow along on and dresses became completely optional.

If you listen to the church leaders of today, most will tell you that the church has had to change.  We are catering to a generation that has grown up on video games and reality shows and is used to being entertained.  The church needs to be culturally relevant to attract and keep the young people.  The term “seeker” became the word of the decade.

But is it working?  I’ve been hearing that young people who are very involved in the church are leaving for college and promptly leaving the church behind just as they did the rest of the trappings of their childhood.  And what about those of us who aren’t “seekers” and crave a deeper understanding of God and his Word?

And how about the reverence factor.  Do we still revere God?  Do we understand the awesomeness of who He is?  Are we teaching our young people and new believers about this?  Do we enter a place of worship with a sense of respect?

My parents and I agree that most of this has been lost.  And I think it’s sad.  Do I think God cares if we have on a dress and panty hose or a shirt and tie when we come to church?  Certainly not.  But I do think that perhaps ripped up jeans that show your boxers are out of place and that short shorts should not be your first choice when you are getting dressed for church.

A couple of years ago, reading “The Shack” was all the rage.  I only made it about a third through before I couldn’t read it anymore.  I couldn’t go with the idea of God being portrayed as someone who we’d have a relationship with just like we’d have with any other nice person we ran across.  I thought it left out the reverence that I think God deserves.

I think the church is on a pendulum.  Perhaps we swung way too far away from the traditional church in order to stay relevant.  And I swung right along with them.  There was a time I would have (and did) poo-poo the idea that there was anything wrong with shoving the piano under the stage and exchanging it for an electric keyboard (sorry, Kathy.  Do you forgive me?)

Maybe I’m just getting older and becoming nostalgic for the things of my youth.  That’s probably part of it.  I do think there were bound to be changes in the way the church does things and for the most part they have been good.  I also see a swing back toward some of the things both my generation and the generation of my parents held dear.  My church has a band but last week we sang hymns for the entire worship time.  Thank you David Crowder.  I see more emphasis on discipleship and bible study.  And I think we are doing a much better job of connecting people and teaching about the doing of Christianity and not just the being of Christianity.

Here’s what I know for sure.  My God is awesome.  He is faithful and just and merciful.  He has been gracious to me beyond measure even when I am faithless and lazy and self-centered.  Regardless of what His church is doing wrong or what it is doing right, He is sovereign over all.

He is worthy of our reverence.  It’s something I don’t think we should forget.

Finding Her Courage

Last week on a day that it was over 95 degrees outside….

Oh wait.  That would have been EVERY day……

we took the kids to the swimming hole at Fall Creek Falls.

All the cousins decided to scale the rock wall and jump into the water below.  One by one they got in line, screwed up their courage, jumped (scaring their mamas and aunts to death) and were just pleased as punch with themselves.

One of them needed just a little encouragement.

Elena getting into position

Then changing her mind

Getting encouragement from Allie

Maybe this time........

Maybe if Mama is down below......

There she goes!!!

Hitting the water.

Happy Girl.

Sometimes when you are jumping into the unknown, you just need to know someone is there to catch you.

1.  Putting my children on a plane by themselves to fly away to Minnesota.  It just seems wrong to send them hurtling through space without me.  Plus JD took them to the airport because I was at work.  He said they never looked back.  Independent girls, they are.

2.  Lucy deciding at 5am that there is something that needs a good barking at out in our backyard.  It was either a burglar or a rabbit.  Either would evoke the same frantic response from our vicious guard dog.

3.  After finding ourselves awake at 4am, JD tells me a crazy dream he had about our friend Sally.  I promptly fall back asleep and have my own wild dream about her.  My seems hazy now, but involved a farm house, a tornado and a machine hurling giant clear water balloons at the house.

4.  Walking by the girls bed and realizing they aren’t there.  I do like having my chicks around me when darkness falls……..

One of the best things we did while visiting my family in Tennessee was to can green beans for the upcoming winter.  Last year we did the same thing and it just about killed my mom and me.  I was kind of dreading it, to tell the truth, because what I remembered from last year was spending hours and hours stringing and breaking beans while my mom labored over the hot stove and two pressure cookers and the house was a thousand degrees and felt like a sauna by the time we were done.

But there is nothing like green beans from the garden in the dead of winter when there is snow on the ground and summer feels a million days away.  So we decided to do it all again.

This year was completely different.  My mom and I kept looking at each other saying, “Why is this so much easier this year?”

One things was that we had a lot of hands helping with the work this year.

Three generations of bean breakers

We plowed through those two bushels of beans in not time flat.  Now I know why farming families in the olden days had so many children.  More hands = more work done quickly.

It still took most of the day to get them all processed.  I guess the only way to speed that part up would be to have an industrial size kitchen with 10 pressure cookers going all at the same time.  But it will be so worth it.

Thanks, Mom.  Maybe next year you’ll even let me run one of the pressure cookers, huh?

There are many things that I love about being at my parent’s house.  There is one thing that I don’t really love so much.

There are wasps everywhere.

And they hate me.

Today I was just standing there minding my own business when one swooped down and stung me on the arm.  Luckily there was no one there to witness the words that may or may not have come pouring out of my mouth.  If you’ve ever been stung by a wasp, I’m sure you understand.

At least this time I was able to keep my pants on.

Let me explain.

Last summer I was helping my mom and dad move a camper.  There were some tall grasses grown up around it and I had kind of waded in to clear out some stuff when I stumbled into a wasp nest.  Before I could make a move, a wasp flew up my pants and stung me three times.  On the foot, on the ankle, and halfway up my calf.

Do you remember this scene from “A Christmas Story”?

I said “fudge” in front of my mother.

And since the wasp seemed determined to keep heading north and I couldn’t bear the thought of a wasp stinging me anywhere north of my upper thigh, I did the only thing I could think to do.

I took my pants off.

In front of my father.

Luckily for me, my father was totally understanding.  He’s had a few wasps sting him in his day.  He just shook his head and said,

“It was the only thing you could do.”

I may just stay inside from here on out.

What to do when the temperature climbs into the high 90s in Ohio?

Why, you travel south, of course.  Cause it’s only the low 100s here.  And the humidity?  Let’s just say it’s like breathing soup walking outside.

My husband is astounded, even after all these years that I can’t tolerate the heat.  He keeps saying, “But you are a southern girl!  Why don’t you like the heat?”

Ummm.  Maybe for the same reason that you grew up in Rochester, NY where it snows for 6 months every year and you don’t like the snow.

Just because you grew up with something doesn’t mean you like it.

The heat? No.

Fried bologna on white bread with mayo and tomato slices fresh from the garden?  Yes.

I’ll probably get plenty of both this week.

Our kitchen faucet had been broken for months.  At first it was just a little bit broken.  By that I mean that the little thingy on the top that tells you which direction to turn for cold and which to turn for hot kept falling off.  Not really a problem as I still have all my sensory capacities in my extremities and had memorized “left for cold, right for hot” a while back.  Then the pull down sprayer started acting wonky.  It would suddenly just stop working and would only begin again after you punched the little black buttons on the side about a million times and said a few cuss words (out of the children’s hearing, of course).  Then it wouldn’t turn off unless you shut it off and then pushed down on the middle of the turner offer thing.  Then there was the constant explaining to guests on the proper off and push antics required each time you used the crazy thing.

And yet we let this go on for MONTHS.

Mostly because the thought of buying a new faucet did not bring me great joy.  I’d frankly rather buy another pair of pajamas.

In the end, I took my friend Betty to Lowes and we picked out a new faucet.  (Not before I’m sure she was ready to kill me for agonizing over the decision for so long.)

JD replaced it last weekend.  Works beautifully.  Simple to turn off and on.  Delightful.

But you do remember this, right?

JD and the girls were at his folks for the weekend, leaving me alone in my house for about 4 days.  So I threw a little girl’s only party Friday night and we had a wonderful time.  We all brought cold or room temperature salads and they were yummy.  The last gal left abut 10:45, I quickly cleaned up the kitchen using my new faucet and trusty garbage disposal to get rid of some excess arugula from one of the salads.  I headed downstairs where I watched a couple of shows I’d DVR’d and then headed off to bed thinking of the wonderful Saturday I had ahead of me where I could do anything I wanted.  A long walk/run with Lucy.  A visit to the farmer’s market.  Perhaps even a movie in the afternoon.  The day was mine……..

Oh, what’s that?  The light in the laundry room was on.  So I opened the door, stepped inside and

SPLASH!

Right into 4 inches of arugula strewn water.

And so I did what all good southern women have done since Scarlett O’Hara set the example.  I decided to think about it tomorrow and after making sure it wasn’t getting any worse, I went to bed.

The morning found most of the water gone but bits and pieces of salad from last night’s dinner stuck firmly to the floor.

I then made a decision which shall haunt me the rest of my days and is sure to give my family ample opportunity for mocking me.

I put a load of sopping wet towels in the washing machine and turned it on.

Wait.  It gets better.

I then put Lucy’s leash on her and we went for a nice one hour walk around the neighborhood.

I KNOW!

What in the world?!

It will come as no surprise to you, gentle reader, that I arrived back home to 4 more inches of water in the laundry room.  Luckily, while on my walk I ran into my neighbor who gave me the number of the best sewer and drain people in town.

The very nice man on the other end seemed so pleased that I had interrupted his Saturday morning with my pesky drain problems.  And so to teach me a lesson he gave me a lecture on garbage disposals.  His speech went on for several minutes.  I’ll condense it for you.  Basically it boils down to this.

Garbage disposals are from the devil.  They should never actually be used.  If you do feel you just MUST use the devil’s machine, you must feed it carefully only one tablespoon of food at a time.  You must then follow this with copious amounts of water, ice cubes and perhaps a cup of bleach.

And then he says, “You know I’ll have to charge you time and a half to come out today and fix it.”

Exactly what was I supposed to say to this?  “Oh no thanks, then.  I’ll just leave water and rotting food in the basement til Monday.”

If he had attempted to  extract a promise of my firstborn, I probably would have agreed.

Two hours later a nice young man named Michael (who appeared to have crawled through many sewers and drains already that morning) made a lot of noise and cleared out the drain.

Turns out it was sludge, food and lint from the dryer causing all the problems.  Not a thing to do with JD’s recent plumbing job.

So he shall keep his plumbing license for now.  He’s going to need it.

Somebody’s got to get rid of that darn disposal.

New Favorites

I am very picky about my pajamas.

Clearly, this is going to be one of my more serious posts.

But now really.  It’s hard to find just the right thing to sleep in.  I have friends who solve that problem by choosing to sleep in nothing.  I have a fear of the house catching on fire and me perishing because I’m too ashamed to run out of my house naked.

These are perfect.  Light and cool and loose but not too loose.

The perfect thing to wear should you ever have to vacate your house in a hurry.

I’m making this tomorrow night for a little girl’s get together I’m throwing.  Should be just the thing to cool us all down after the hateful hot and humid weather we’ve been having.  Come on over and I’ll pour you one.

The first lesson?

Little boys are not like little girls.

Little boys have lots of energy and it needs to go somewhere.  And it needs to go there fast.  And furious.

Little boys have some sort of magic power that enables them to produce rocks and sticks and dirt and bits of everything else from what seems like right out of thin air.  And they stick all of it in their pockets.

I learned to check those pockets right quick before throwing them in the washing machine.

My bathrooms needed cleaning more often.  Little boys do not have good aim.  Nor do they always remember to put the seat up.

Or down.

I also learned that our house was a nice place with some of that little boy energy in it.  Even if we didn’t always know what to do with it or it sometimes needed to be redirected or harnesses in a little bit.

Yeah.  That harnessing bit?

The lessons were about to get harder.

I like being in control.

(That wild cackling you hear?  That would be my family laughing their heads off at that little bit of understatement.)

Now I’ve lived long enough and had enough things happen that I know that control is merely an illusion and that we all live right on the razor’s edge of chaos at any given moment.  But still, most of the time I still operate under the illusion that given the right tools and circumstances I can make most things turn out right.

So it appears that God is feeling the need to teach me some lessons in this area.

JD has been involved on and off before and in the early years of our marriage with a national mentoring program.  Once we were here and settled in and knew that we’d be sticking around for the long haul he felt nudged to get involved with this program again.  After a long application process he was matched up with a little 7 year old boy.

In the interest of protecting his privacy, I’m not going to go into all the details of his story.  But the short version is that he lost both parents in a very horrific way on his fourth day of kindergarten.  This left him in the care of his very loving but devastated grandmother who suddenly found herself not only grieving the loss of her only child and daughter but suddenly being the full time parent to a 5 year old.  Add to the picture that she also suffers from a physical ailment which keeps her from moving very quickly or easily.

And they have no one else.

No one.

No family.

For several months we have been having “Sam” at our house.  He’s been hanging out with us and we’ve been getting to know him.  The girls have been so good at welcoming him into our home and our family.

So when his grandmother needed some medical procedures performed we were happy to offer to have him for the time she would need help.  She thought it would be about 4-5 days.  I knew it would be longer and we were fine with that.

We had him for two weeks.  It was both two of the most rewarding and challenging weeks of our lives.

The lessons we learned?  Stay tuned.

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