Over and out, good buddy!

It is almost finished.

I have worked the plan, and every i is dotted and every t crossed. I just needed another week to actually reach the ultimate goal, which was no stress at the last minute. And I cringe to even admit that I don't have my bag packed at this late hour, and we arise at 3:30 in the am. Ouch! That one's gonna hurt. So we're off, and I'm signing out of the blogosphere for a little better than a week. See you back here - same time, same station. Until then, I'll leave you with some total randomness...

• I-pod's chargin' - have fallen in love with John Mayer's Room for Squares; it's old (2001) and about young singles falling in and out of love in the city - so I totally cannot identify with the content, but great music is great music. Anybody lovin' another album by him (or anybody else for that matter) that I might like?


• We had a funny family conversation on Sunday about the fact that Campbell, our 3 year-old, belligerently yells out, "Nobody!" when she gets ticked. She speaks in full sentences, so it's amusingly odd that she yells out this seemingly nonsensical word when she's about to blow a fuse. When she gets sent to her room to have a three year-old fit (anybody feelin' me here?), she screams, "Nobody!" I never really noticed it as a habit until Sunday. It's more like "Nobody" better come in here and mess with me than it is "Nobody" loves me. It's our new favorite family word.


• Carson is always trying to make up jokes. My sister is ten years younger than I am, so I remember it use to get under my skin as a sixteen year-old for her to say the lamest things in an effort to make up a joke. But I think it's pretty cute with Carson; she is so downcast when I tell her one is really not funny (she always asks) and she gets elated when I laugh. It's interesting to watch her try to get the hang of this humor thing. Last night through the bathroom door, she yells, "Knock, knock!" Who's there? "NOBODY!" Which I thought was pretty great!


• If you're new to these parts and totally bored out of your gourd, here are some links to some earlier posts that I most enjoyed writing: Turn on the Music, Crumbs under the Cushions,Numb3ers,Reflection,and Date Night.

Have a great week!

Over and out...

Fraud Alert

You may not know that Chris and I declared bankruptcy in Oklahoma in the early 2000's and that Chris is currently employed by Seven Eleven. Yeah, we didn't know that either until about a week ago when Chris applied for a credit card for his business expenses and was denied. I immediately thought it was an instance of identity theft, so we called and placed a fraud alert on Chris' credit report. You may already know that a fraud alert on a credit report alerts a potential creditor that a person's identity has been compromised and requires a creditor to exercise greater diligence in verifying the identity before granting credit. Upon further investigation, Chris was not the victim of an identity thief; he was the victim of the credit reporting agency. They had mistakenly entered information belonging to a person with a name very similar to Chris'. We are still trying to get that cleared up.

Sometimes I wonder if Jesus might want to put a fraud alert on me to indicate that my identity as a Christ follower has been compromised. I listened to a podcast today and have read several blogs lately issuing a call to authenticity - a challenge to quit livin' the life of a poser. Of all the things I want to be in life, the one thing I want to be most is the real deal. I want to be a real-deal Christ follower. But I have secondary desires that want you to think I'm a good mom, and a devoted Christian, and a great housekeeper, and an ideal wife. There is a part of me that wants to sell you a fraudulent package of togetherness. When I allow those secondary desires to supersede my commitment to realness before Christ and you, I am a poser.

And posin' ain't harmless. Our small group leader often revisits the truth that posers are more detrimental to the cause of Christ than nonbelievers - a claim that is substantiated in unchristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity...And Why It Matters by David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons. The Barna Group researched the perception of Christians among sixteen to twenty-nine year-olds and not surprisingly hypocritical was a common descriptor. Check out some observations from this study:

• We need to "realize that what [outsiders] see from Christians creates their ideas about the reality and authenticity of following Christ" (43).
• "Our culture considers having a good image to be one of the highest goals in life" (43).
• "Young outsiders believe that rather than being able to help them sort through the image-is-everything world, followers of Christ are playing the very same mind games that they are" (44-45).
• "Young adults have seen our lifestyles and heard our excuses, and they still land on the label 'hypocritical' " (48).
• "Transparency simply means admitting what the Bible says about us: we are fallen people who desperately need God in our lives - everyday" (55).
• "Transparency disarms an image-is-everything generation" (56).
• "Christian rhetoric without tangible acts of love is hypocrisy" (65).

And the truth of it is - Jesus totally called out the posers. And He repeatedly lit them up. And sometimes what is in me is so ugly and selfish and harsh and hard that I want to hide it from myself, much less share it with you. So I admit that I am what the Bible says I am - I am spiritually bankrupt, and in my genuine pursuit of Him I find my only hope for legitimacy and peace and fulfillment and joy and love and mercy.

Turns out there was a shade of truth to our bankruptcy, huh?

"I love it when a plan comes together!"

I'm a planner. I think maybe in another life I might enjoy being an event planner. I love to have an event in front of me and break it down into a sequence of tasks to complete. Right now I have about ten lists going before we leave next week:

• A list of things to do before we leave
• A final checklist of preparations to be made for the sitter (where to place the carseats, what's for lunch, different money envelopes, etc....)
• Separate lists for the sitter, my sister, and Chris' parents (all those involved in childcare)
• A mental list of everything to pack for the girls
• A written list of items to pack for me
• A grocery list
• A strategic order for cleaning the house to create the best chances for it to still be clean by midweek

Tuesday I cleaned up after our mutant goldfish (seriously, one is six inches long at least), so they would be looking spiffy and fresh for our houseguests. Yesterday I made extra keys and carried them to an undisclosed location (in case anyone has a mishap while we're away) and tonight I cooked (and froze) lunch for the sitter and the girls for next week. I'm keeping all clothes washed and have instated the don't-wear-anything-you-plan-to-pack rule at this point, and we're still about a week out.

I have also been simultaneously planning our Clemson Homecoming trip (Chris' Father's Day gift) and our Disney trip (yes, we are lovin' some hotel points right about now).

What's interesting to me is that this is not my normal MO; I am generally not supermotivated and efficient at the same time. But give me a trip or a party to plan, and my challenge becomes to avoid stress at the last minute by executing a well-designed plan over a matter of days or weeks. Wish that transferred into other areas of my life as well. Too bad planning a trip to the grocery store doesn't elicit the same level of brain power.

Can you think of anything I may be forgettin' in my master plan?

Not sure what's up with the A-Team quotes I got goin'.

Anybody know how long goldfish live? We're 13 months and counting...

"I ain't gettin' on no plane!"

Okay, so if you read the last post, I went on a ten day trip to England the summer after my first year of teaching. It was the first time I flew, and I was very excited about it. We had a night flight, so we flew all night and arrived at 8:00 am in Manchester. Well, the flight over was less then stellar. I was in the dead middle of a row with like ten people on either side of me - ten sleeping people. So, when I needed to go to the restroom, I had to maneuver through a game of Twister; there were limbs and snores and drool and gaping mouths everywhere. I stood by the bathroom most of the night because I couldn't stand to be locked in by those hot-breathed bodies. So I wasn't afraid, just a little freaked out by the circumstances surrounding my seat.

On the return flight, I was able to scoop up an aisle seat on the very last row. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I watched the movies and listened to the airplane music and watched the screen that showed us progressing across the Atlantic and ate my peanuts, etc...

Later that same summer I flew to Miami with my mom. After we were married, Chris and I flew to Miami and New Orleans, and I really enjoyed flying. But I have only flown once in the past six years (the child-bearing years), and now I am wigged out about flying. My heart is racing and my breath is shallow just typing about flying. I kid you not.

My last flight was not pretty either. I fully expected Jesus to take me home that afternoon. Chris and I were with a group from his company, and I acted like a complete loon. He was sweet not to tell me how much I'm sure I embarrassed him. I sobbed and sat very still staring at my Bible opened on my lap, silently mouthing the words to Joshua 1:9. I know that's freakish. I know, I know.

Chris and I are going to California for our ten-year anniversary trip in about a week, and we ain't driving, so I'm thinking a lot about flying these days. I think the fact that I'm a mom has affected my desire to fly; I feel like I need to be around for my girls, so I prefer not to perish in a fiery mangled plane crash. And September 11. And the whole gravity-defying aspect really messes with me now.

So how have I gone from a person who enjoyed flying to one with a completely irrational fear of flying? And in my head I know all of the facts, but I firmly believe that my heart is going to burst and I am going to throw up and I may begin to scream hysterically as we accelerate down the runway. My stomach is churning as I type. Where's the A Team when you need 'em? Can anybody hook me up with some Mr. T medication? I want to be on his flight plan.

Just kidding, sorta...

Mr. Principal

As a first-year teacher, I was terrified of my principal. And also as a second, third, and fourth-year teacher. He had red hair and was a Vietnam Vet. His office was completely decorated with war pictures and military memorabilia; I can remember one picture so vividly. Once when I went in to speak with him, he was actually listening to war anthems, and I am not making that up. His face could turn the color of his hair, and he could go from zero to red in 2 seconds flat (thankfully I was never on the receiving end of that). I could hardly speak in his presence, and if I saw him today I would still probably act like a bumbling idiot. I think I cried in his office two times during my first year when I went to ask to be relieved of my cheerleading sponsor duties.

One afternoon I was at the drink machine in the teacher's lounge, and he walked by and came back to ask, "Ms. Eaddy, what are you doing this summer?"
"I don't have any plans."
"Do you think you can chaperone the trip to England?"
"Sure." I went and took out a dang loan to go to England because I was too afraid to tell him no. I am not lying.

He observed in my class once during my tenure at that school, and I think he and my students looked on me with pity the entire time. I stammered. I spoke with a quiver in my voice, and I shook like a leaf. When Mr. Principal walked out the door, one of my students asked, "You were nervous, weren't you?" I nodded the affirmative.

But here's the thing. He was a really nice guy and a great principal. When I cried in his office, he gave me tissue and allowed me to use his private restroom to mop my face. When the district planned to transfer me to a middle school for my second year (due to enrollment decrease or some other number game), he brought me in and told me he would do everything he could to keep me there, and he did. He graciously took away the cheerleaders after my first year and he found a way to help pay for my plane ticket to England. And after the debacle he witnessed in my classroom, he sent me a gift certificate to Chili's to treat myself. He was a great guy.

I was the issue. I was insecure as a new teacher. I perhaps placed too much focus on his stern side and not enough attention on his kindness. I created this skewed perception of him even though I had personal experience to the contrary. So, here's the question. Is perception reality? Perhaps, it was reality to me that he was terrifying. But perception is not necessarily truth. He was truly a generous and thoughtful leader.

My perception is not truth. It is tainted by my own opinions and biases and preferences and emotional state and lack of sleep and too much caffeine and bad hair day, etc... Whether I'm thinking about my perception of you or other people or a restaurant or God or whatever, it's important for me to realize that the filter through which I see the world may, in fact, hinder me from seeing truth.

Something to chew on...

My Prince Did Come...

In honor of Father's Day, here's my June submission for She...

We don’t shop as a family. That’s a no-no for us; it’s just too nutty with a six year-old and a three year-old. Some families do it masterfully, and they make me want to run over them with my shopping cart. In the interest of our sanity, we just abstain from family shopping. So, one Saturday we whizzed through the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A. I inhaled my lunch, so I could run in to Dick’s Sporting Goods to buy a birthday gift while Chris and the girls finished lunch in the car (restrained eaters can be a good thing). In the store, I dashed around, searching for the gift, hoping all was well outside.

When I crawled back into my seat, everything seemed peachy. No one was crying; lunch was done; each daughter was playing with her kid’s meal toy, and Chris looked calm - a little glazed over - but nothing major. I had the gift, the last of its kind on the shelf, and our mission was successful and complete.

There was more, however, to the story than I, or even Chris, had been aware of. As we were driving home, Carson began to elaborate on the events that transpired in the car while I was shopping. “Momma, while you were in the store, Campbell snatched my toy and wouldn’t give it back.”

“So what did you do? Did you tell Daddy?”

“Yeah, I tried to, but he didn’t do anything. I called him and called him, but he wouldn’t pay attention. I finally yelled, ‘What’s a parent good for?’ and he still didn’t listen.”

I swallowed a smile and glanced over at Chris, who was hearing all this for the first time too, and commented to her, “Well, you guys must have worked it out okay, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My husband’s ability to tune out the noise generated by the sassy women in his life is an attribute that probably serves him well. It has probably evolved as a defense mechanism – his psyche’s way of protecting his sanity. ‘Cause he’s the lone male in a house with three girls (two little, one big – all bossy).

He is our protector, provider, our resident comedian and fix-it man. He bears sole responsibility for anything we deem man-related like pets, grass, leaks, light bulbs, oil, trash, tires, wires, insurance, retirement, plants, and so much more. Little stuff like affirming our beauty, reading our minds, rolling with our mood swings and contradictions, pacifying our whining, speaking reason and peace into our lives, looking courageously into the face of pure, full-blown female meltdowns, and surprising us with tokens of his affection. We’re not an easy crowd, I know.

So what’s in this arrangement for him, you might ask. He is adored by us. Our daughters dig their daddy. He was just away for two weeks, and Carson cried every day. Campbell was ticked at him for leaving, and I was somewhere in between those two reactions.

They love to climb on Daddy, attack Daddy, tickle Daddy, and slide down Daddy. They like to pretend to be baby jaguars and Daddy is the zookeeper. They like to pile on the couch and pretend they’re on a boat in a terrible storm where crew members and supplies keep falling overboard. They like to play Roly Poly car where they drive this car and make lots of imaginary stops on their journey to nowhere. They stand on their princess picnic table in the back yard and chant a gazillion times, “Go, Daddy, go!” as he competes in one volleyball game after another. They invariably say, “I want to go show Daddy” when we’ve done something different with their hair or when they’re donning some new duds. They’ll just run and stand before him without saying a word, and he perceives how tickled they are with themselves and understands that they are awaiting his admiration. And he gushes – much to their delight. They like to date him, dance with him, and devour his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (I am not allowed to make them if he is anywhere on the premises).

We have a plaque in the girls’ bathroom that reads, “My prince did come…His name is Daddy.” And he is just that. So, though his life may be filled with more prissy and pink than he might prefer, there’s no shortage of female adoration either.

Earlier in the school year, Carson was sharing about a flirtation between two classmates that was blossoming during recess on the playground. I stifled the urge to rant against romance in 5K, and quizzically asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

My heart sank when she replied, “Yes…..” in a coy tone.

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

Totally unprompted and never having had this conversation before, she replied very confidently, “Daddy’s my boyfriend.” And I breathed a grateful, grateful sigh of relief…

Unity

This is the last post of my little anniversary series. It's actually something I've been thinking about for a while; it just makes the most sense when framed in the context of marriage.

Chris and I were not similar creatures when we started dating. He was driven, disciplined, calm, and level-headed. I was driven and the similarities seemed to stop there. Discipline and self control have always been huge weaknesses. I was emotional, volatile, and sometimes irrational (sound like a barrel of fun, huh?). We did have fun, so I think we have always had the same sense of humor and adventure and family. But there were some glaring gaps in our personalities initially. And so when the pastor read in our wedding Genesis 2:24, "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh," nothing magical happened to fill in those gaps. We came into our marriage bringing a lot of differences, which made for some fiery evenings, to say the least. But God's first mention of the institution of marriage in the verse above emphasizes unity and the notion of becoming one flesh - and I happen to believe He means more than the obvious and literal here.

Over ten years of marriage, we have kinda morphed into the same person. We like to do the same things, eat the same things, listen to the same things, go to the same places. I am much more disciplined than I have ever been, and he's a better communicator than he once was. It's this very interesting dynamic of retaining our own identities while becoming one flesh - same goals, same values, same passions, etc...

Recently I came across this concept in a different context in the books of Ezra and Nehemiah (8:1) in the Bible (also appears in Judges 20:1). Ezra 3:1 says, " When the seventh month came and the Israelites had settled in their towns, the people assembled as one man in Jerusalem." A nation, God's chosen people, assembled as one man. Not as one tribe, but as one man. What in the tarnation does that mean? I think it means just what I explained about me and Chris. They were a nation compiled of many differences: preferences, occupations, how many sheep they owned, etc..., but What united them was so big that it allowed them to show up to worship as one man. Same goals, same values, same passions.

We see this same sentiment in Acts 2:44, "All the believers were together and had everything in common." This is shortly after Jesus is crucified, and the Church is brand new. What unites them is so big that it allows the believers to have everything in common." Same goals, same values, same passions.

So, what's the takeaway? God can bring people together in such unity that whatever is still different no longer matters. He did it for me and Chris. He did it with the Israelites. He did it in the new Church (the Bride of Christ, mind you).

He has not changed. He still wants to do it in our marriages, in our nation, and in His Church. And I thought the unity candle was just a sappy illustration for a wedding...

Wedded Bliss (and Not So Much)

In keeping with the anniversary theme we've got going, I (with the permission and assistance of my dear husband) have compiled some memories from our dozen years together:

Best surprises:

• His proposal during dessert on my 24th birthday. We had actually gotten into a really dramatic fight the night before because I thought he was never going to ask me to marry him.


• He planned a surprise weekend away in Wilmington for our sixth anniversary. He arranged childcare, made reservations, and had all of the logistics completely squared away. I did find out a little in advance, but that was through no fault of his own.

Worst surprise:

• For our first Valentine's Day together I hired a barber shop quartet to serenade him at my apartment. I thought that was so cool, and I would have loved it but he was not so much into four older men dressed up in period costume singing turn of the century love songs to him. I get that now...

Best gifts:

• Both of our girls were born close to Mother's Day (April and May), so on each of the Mother's Days immediately following the birth of a daughter he gave me a nice big-girl piece of jewelry. In both cases we were both still very sleep deprived and shell-shocked, so that may explain it, but I am grateful nonetheless...

Worst gifts:

• He gave me a rolling desk chair (not even leather) and the plastic mat that goes under the chair (with the spikey things on the underbelly) for Christmas. In his defense, I had said that we needed to buy each other practical, inexpensive gifts that year. I have not ever said that again.
• I gave him a basketball goal and a martin house on two different occasions. They apparently were the worst gifts because they are still in the boxes in our garage. I have come to understand that it's not really a gift to him if he has to work for it. So from here on out I'm going with no assembly required. In my defense, I think he asked for the martin house.

Best vacation(s):

• St. Simon's Island, Georgia: We are always in the mood to go to St. Simon's. This vacation had a dubious beginning (see below) but turned out to be life-changing, seriously. We were in the worst spot our marriage has been in to date when we took this vacation, and that was only two years into it. During this trip, God literally grabbed Chris' attention and that has made all the difference for the both of us (if you have the chance you should ask him to tell that story - he kinda had a Jonah moment). We have been back to SSI once since then (my best surprise for him) and had another grand visit. I'm thinkin' it's time to plan another trip, and I highly recommend you consider the same. It is charming, to say the least.
• New Orleans, Louisiana: We went to New Orleans to celebrate the completion of my Master's, and we researched it for months. Chris interviewed every person he ever encountered who had been, and I read months and months of Southern Living to compile a list of restaurants. There was some kind of convention there during our stay which made finding a room quite impossible. We went through a roomfinder service and stayed in a carriage house behind a local's home in a primetime location. We took a class at the cooking school and feasted at all hours of the day on beignets and cafe au laits at Cafe Du Monde. Aside from the fact that it was absolutely 463 degrees every day we were there, it was a so-fun trip.

Worst vacation:

• Clearwater, Florida: Chris and I planned a vacation to Clearwater, and we were so excited. We left Flotown like at 6:00 in the morning and drove a gazillion miles there. As we drove into Clearwater, we hated it. When we arrived at our hotel, we hated it. We ate at a place on the beach, and I spent the rest of the night sick. We woke up the next morning, checked out of the hotel, went to Busch Gardens in Tampa, and drove all the way back to St. Simon's Island, where we had the best vacation ever.

Worst mistakes:

• We got married and instantly decided we had to buy a house. We were big boys and girls then, and we couldn't live in an apartment and be a real married couple. We caught the house bug worse than any case I've ever seen. So we found this FSBO and it was too cute and it was on a quiet street and it was owned by this sweet widow and her daughter and we just HAD to have it. Foolish, foolish, foolish! So we left our very adequate $385/month apartment to pay more than this cute hunk of home appraised for. Did you hear me? MORE THAN IT APPRAISED FOR! It gets better. We sold it nine months later for quite the substantial loss. Gotta love that! I do have to say that we took that beating to heart and pledged not to lose another dime on real estate. Thankfully, we have made much wiser choices since then.
• While we were in our cute over-priced starter home, we needed a pet. Oh yes we did! We became the proud parents of a beautiful cat I named Hunter. She was a sassy cat, a little on the mean side, but smart and bossy. Anyway, during the transition of our move, Hunter died. I am glad I am so much smarter than I use to be. I decided that if we got another Burman it would be similarly tempered. We could only find a male and he is not-so-much like Hunter. We had Hunter for about eight months, and we have now had Samson for eight and a half years. Lest you worry, he is very well taken care of, but he is the most annoying cat on the face of the planet.

So, thanks for indulging me the trip down memory lane. Anybody willing to share...

Perspective

I'm waxing philosophical these days (I can't say that without thinking of Daniel-son, "Wax on; wax off...") about the past decade at the occasion of our wedding anniversary. We hired a babysitter for this past Friday night so we could go to dinner to celebrate. I desperately needed to straighten the house before the sitter arrived, so I thought the girls might enjoy watching the wedding video. My plan had been to let them play and watch the wedding while I ran around the house putting things in their correct places. Well, ... we all got sucked in. I stood in front of the TV and watched the entire thing. The girls flipped and wallowed and climbed and somersaulted on the couch while keeping their eyes glued to the screen.

Campbell kept screaming at her daddy to look at her (she could only see the back of his head at the beginning). "Momma, Daddy won't look at me." And, of course, both girls wanted to know where they were.

And I kept pointing out my big, cheesy grin, exclaiming how excited I was to marry my prince. "Why isn't Daddy smiling?" Carson wanted to know. Good question, I thought. They both pounced on him with that one when he got home. Carson was enthralled with the whole princess aspect of it. Her favorite part (and mine I must admit) was when the music was playing (dueling trumpets from the choir loft and balcony, the chiming of the hour, and the traditional wedding march - I can hear it now!) and everyone was standing - awaiting and honoring me. Isn't that every bride's favorite part? Honestly, that's my favorite part even as a witness to the occasion. Carson loved that and declared that she would not have all those blasted songs if she did in fact change her mind and decide to get married (in her mind the best man is already taken and she is perfectly content to live with him for the rest of her life).

I did well up with tears several times. It was the sweetest day of my life, and it was so fun to be transported to that place again, sharing it with my two precious daughters and all of those people I love. The most striking observation this time around was how much has changed in a decade. I was able to look into the faces and hear the voices of many dear people who are no longer here: our wedding director, a fantastic college friend, a grandmother, the mothers of two of my bridesmaids - one who read a poem in the wedding. Marriages that have dissolved; criminal hairdos that have been rectified; weight gained; weight lost; health that has deteriorated. Friendships that have thinned due to time and distance, so what a joy it was to be there again! Not sad at all - a nice trip and a healthy reminder that time moves faster than I really care to grasp. By the grace of God I am given this moment, may I live it well...

First and Ten

On June 6, 1998, Chris and I were married at 5:00 pm in my sleepy hometown of Marion, which means that we indeed celebrated our ten-year wedding anniversary yesterday! For our first married Valentine's Day, I wrote him the story of our first date as part of his gift. I have decided to post that story tonight in celebration of how God has blessed us with ten wonderific years of marriage. I am inclined to make two observations at this juncture...

• After rereading this story, we were not the picture of a super healthy relationship from the start. It may have been more like one idiot deserving another (at least initially). You'll see...
• We are now old as dirt!!

At Last...

During January and February of 1996, I was probably healthier and happier than I had been in a long spell. I was enjoying my first year of teaching; I was completely free and unencumbered. I had my own place; I had shed a good bit of weight for my best friend’s wedding. Her nuptials were the catalyst for a few needed changes in my life because I anticipated that Page and Julian’s wedding celebration would be the social event of my life that year (and, of course, she did not disappoint me). The dating opportunities in Anderson had proven to be limited which then resulted in a few unsavory Saturday night experiences. As the festivities ensued, I did meet a promising Citadel graduate (even though I kinda sorta had a date to the rehearsal party and wedding). Chris Cawthon, the Citadel chap, and I had hit it off quite well. I remember coming back and furiously cleaning the apartment, listening to the whines of Willie and Shania (Nelson and Twain, no doubt). I was hopeful that a suitor would come calling one weekend soon. And he did. Chris called and requested a Saturday evening date for February 10.

I was so elated, and the timing couldn’t have been better. I figured that if things went well enough I might even snag a Valentine’s gift that year. Once again I cleaned and obsessed over every inch of my living space. Everything had to be perfect to ensure a positive impression. That day I lounged and leisurely prepared for my first real (enjoyable) date in Anderson. I took my time spiffing up to present myself as the quintessential modern woman, every hair in place and every fake nail flawlessly polished. I was feeling stylish and sassy.

I think he was due to arrive between 5:30 and 6:00 because it was still light outside. Anyway, whatever time his e.t.a. had been, it came and passed. He phoned to announce that he was lost, so I reviewed the directions and set him on his way again. Thirty to forty-five minutes elapsed after his call, and he’d only been a couple of blocks away when he was lost. The phone rang.

It was a girlfriend calling to chat. Of course, I had assumed it would be my disoriented date. At this point, I started to question the character and/or common sense of this gentleman. I related the sequence of events to Holly, and we pondered the possibilities; however, in the midst of our ruminations, the doorbell sounded. I abruptly terminated the call and opened the door to find my date, looking a little disheveled but still quite handsome. “Hey! Come on in. What in the world took so long?”
“Look outside,” he responded. I half expected to see a tornado or similar natural disaster flashing by my window, for surely there must be some good reason he was an hour and fifteen minutes late. I opened the blinds and saw nothing but a fine February dusk. My reservations regarding his mettle were resurfacing.
“Do you see my car?”
“No.”
“I just totaled it a few yards away. I walked here; see, there’s all my stuff out of my car.”
“Oh,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
He recounted his misfortune and assured me that we’d still be going on our date, if I drove, of course. I felt sorry for what had happened to him and made every effort to be sensitive. He would have none of that; he appeared nonchalant and impervious to the near total destruction of the car he had purchased only months before.
The first stop on our date was a dark, trashy garage in the armpit of Anderson. While waiting for the not-so-sanitary owner of the dark, trashy garage, my hand accidentally brushed his on the emergency brake.
“Please don’t try to hold my hand,” he quipped.
“Jerk,” I thought, liking the challenge.
We then ventured to our dinner destination where he inquired about my plans for the following weekend. I’m sure that I wanted him to know that I was available, without seeming too available.
“I’m not sure; I might have a friend coming into town, but I don’t know. What are your plans?
“My cousin’s getting married in Savannah, and I’m in the wedding. Weddings are usually a lot of fun, like Page and Julian’s. They’re also a great place to meet people; that’s why my friends and I decided that you never take a date to a wedding. Those occasions are swamped with single bridesmaids.”
“Jerk,” I thought, realizing there was no chance for a date the next weekend. I was really beginning to wonder what I had done to incur the punishment I was receiving from this virtual stranger. I was usually very good at dating, so how had this date gone so awry?
We took in a movie, The Juror, where I watched the film alone while he abandoned me to call and discuss the details and consequences of the wreck with his parents.
“Jerk,” I thought, mystified that he could be so unaffected by my charm and wit.
As it turns out though, he had played his game well. Through mutual friends, he had researched my dating habits and knew that I needed a challenge to keep my interest. Through lengthy conversations that transpired after the events detailed above, we were able to unearth common goals, interests, and beliefs, and a mutual appreciation and attraction between us. On a date that seemed to have gone so badly, I found someone with whom to share my life.

Okay, once there was this prophet, this priest, and this king...

I really may be about to show off my ignorance, but I am reading Vintage Jesus by Mark Driscoll and Gerry Breshears and have just learned one of the coolest things about Jesus that I've ever heard. And it isn't really that earth-shattering or surprising, but the packaging of it is so fresh that I can't keep my brain off of it.

The three most prominent positions in the Old Testament were held by prophets (who spoke for God), priests (who conducted sacrifices and mediated between God and Israel), and kings (who obviously ruled over Israel). In Jesus' mission to come and completely fulfill the OT, He came as one man completely and ultimately fulfilling all three of those roles. As the ultimate Prophet, He proclaimed God's Word and spoke Truth to the world. Heck, He was Truth walking around in a carpenter's body. As the ultimate Priest, He made sacrifice and intercession for us. He is our mediator and provides access to the Father. As the ultimate King, he has dominion over everything, and we are subject to his authority over every area of our lives.

Is that the bomb or what?

I am symmetrical and tidy and organized and planned, and I flat out dig the fact that our God is One of order and perfection. The absolute beauty of how every element fits together so snugly and accurately blows my minuscule mind. Pure beauty!!

Mark Driscoll shares, "As prophet, Jesus was actively pointing out sin in my life through Scripture and the Holy Spirit. As king, Jesus was revealing to me the implications of his rule over my entire life. As priest, Jesus was kindly and patiently forgiving my sin and changing my life through his Word, his Spirit, and the people whom he had brought alongside of me as friends. Early in my Christian life, I was blessed to see Jesus in each of his three roles and experience the difference it makes to see how they work together in a perfect way."

Boom-Yow! LOVE IT!

Rock Star Love

Campbell, our three year-old, is not an eater. On some days I am really concerned about how little she has eaten, and now she has suspiciously developed a distaste for her vitamin too. So..., Chris and I have put some teeth into our "eat at mealtime" policy; her practice had become mealtime antics at the table and then play the "I'm hungry card" at naptime, bedtime, or any other opportune time. We have begun to withhold certain privileges (like books in the bed at naptime or bedtime) if she doesn't eat. I know making rules about eating is a tricky thing, and we do not require she eat all of her food. We just expect her to take the opportunity to eat when a meal is provided. That's probably our main battleground with her right now, so when she does eat well (and we have definitely seen some improvement) we pour on the praise. "Campbell is a rock star!" I must have gushed recently. Now, I'm sure she has no context for what a rock star is, but she is totally down with being one. Yesterday I asked her to give me a squeeze, and she said...

"I'm gone give you some rockstar love,"

and she clasped her arms around my neck and squeezed ever so sweetly.

I LOVE IT!!!!! That is one of the coolest things I have heard in a long time!

One other Campbell funny before I'm done. Will you indulge me? This morning Carson and I were involved in a high brow geography discussion on the way to school. We were discussing continents, time zones, and hemispheres. Where is Ghana? Which continent do we live on? Which hemisphere do we live in? Are the people in Ghana going to bed now since we are just waking up on this side of the Earth, etc... Right about the time I mentioned that we live in North America in the Northern Hemisphere, Campbell - quite annoyed and frustrated with the fact that she could not participate in our conversation- belted out, "We live in FLORENCE!"

She even takes a similar tactic when we pick Carson up from school. I love hearing about Carson's day as soon as she gets in the car. I give her a kiss as she crawls into the backseat, turn off the music, and start firing away questions about what was for snack? who did you play with at recess? was anyone absent? did anyone get a color change? did you eat your lunch? how was art? etc..., and as Carson settles in and begins to relate the events of the day Campbell very often launches into the loudest, most obnoxious version of the ABC's that you have ever heard.

Our spirited lil' rock star...

Afternoon Interrupted

Be careful what you ask for 'cause you just might get it. You know, there's a reason cliches become cliche; there's a life truth behind the worn out phrase, and it is repeatedly expressed and affirmed because.... well, ... it's true! Case in point, my afternoon...

I have been praying for a greater focus on my girls - a greater concentration of my time, my energy, my creativity, etc... As a very task-oriented person, I can very easily and happily fill my day getting stuff done. I, like perhaps many of you, have to be intentional about having quality time with my children. It is so the desire of my heart to pour all I have into them; it's not my natural bent though, I have to admit. So, I've been praying about that, especially with the aroma of summer wafting on the breeze (two half days of school remaining).

Around 4:20 I asked the girls if they would like to go to the park, and both jumped on the opportunity. We began the clean up, potty, pack snacks and drinks, gather the sand toys, grab the cell phone, appropriate shoe choice rigmarole. Twenty-five minutes later we walked out the door, and a nanosecond later I realized I had just locked us out of the house. I immediately turned around to glance through the door window to see my keys properly hanging on their key hook. And not only that, the emergency-secret-hidden-if-you-get-locked-out-key was improperly hanging right beside them. Oh well, ...

Ordinarily, Chris would have been home soon, but not tonight. He wasn't expected home for hours and hours. I have an aunt who lives in my neighborhood, but we have neglected to give her a key for just this kind of occasion. My sister works in town, but she always uses the emergency-secret-hidden-if-you-get-locked-out-key, which may in fact explain why it is not in its hiding place (when all else fails, blame the little sister :-). My mom had the nearest key, which was forty-five minutes away. She graciously drove over after work and rescued us.

But as soon as the realization hit and a plan was in place to remedy the situation, I saw this for what it was - an opportunity to spend some time with my girls. An opportunity with no options for folding laundry, preparing for school tomorrow, pecking on the computer, etc... We headed to the back yard with our drinks and snacks to swing. I set up a little snack shop; the girls rode bikes; we went for a little walk; the sky was overcast and windy which made for perfect emergency-locked-out weather. My mom came over, and the four of us grabbed dinner. Funny thing is - the afternoon was better than if I had planned it myself.

Life can be like that a lot, don't you think?

?

As a very green, short, super young-looking twenty-two year old teacher fresh out of Clemson, I had to learn some quick tricks for survival in a high school classroom. Never show fear was certainly one of them; Establish a community of mutual respect was another. I liked to inform my students that I ran a benevolent dictatorship (a term I stole from someone else). But the lesson I have found to be most applicable in my day-to-day life is one that I learned very quickly as a teacher: Admit when you are wrong or do not know the answer. A hungry pack of high school students love nothing more than the opportunity to pounce on a know-it-all nubie. They will eat your lunch if you are not strong enough to be humble before them. Weakness they will devour, but humility they can respect. That's a principle that has served me well in my relationship with Him.

I have had a not-so-fabulous week spiritually and emotionally. It's been a week of doubting and wrestling and seeking and questioning. I got a question for God that I don't think I get to know the answer to on this side of eternity. "Father, why do You allow_____________?" And the content of my question is not important because if we're all honest we could probably fill in that blank with a number of scenarios. Cancer. Natural disasters. Child abuse. Birth defects. Divorce. The fragments of earthly pain could go on endlessly... And I don't really and truly get to understand the answers to those questions, so how do I move forward in my relationship with Him when I run smack into a wall of doubt and questions?

After days of asking to feel His presence and reassurance, asking for joy and peace and hope again, I came to the strength (certainly provided by Him) to humbly say, "I don't know the answer, Lord. I don't know the answer to this question, but I am banking on Your promises:

• There is no darkness in You (1 John 1:5).
• You will never leave me or forsake me (Hebrews 13:5).
• You are ever faithful and just (Deuteronomy 32:4).
• You can take anything in my life and work it for good (Romans 8:28).
• You are merciful and gracious and compassionate (Nehemiah 9:31, Psalm 86:15).
• You are still in the healing business (Psalm 147:3).
• You love me more than I can wrap my brain around (Revelation 1:6)."

So I am clenching with a tight fist His 100% track record in my life. 100% of the time, He has been right on time, true to His Word, perfectly faithful and involved and present. So in the face of circumstances I do not understand, I am making a conscious choice to trust in His character and believe in His goodness. That is a decision I can will myself to make, even if my emotions aren't on board initially.

So I humbly admit to you that I don't know the answers to a lot of life's hard questions, yet I will praise Him.