Friday, August 7, 2009

Big Shoes to Fill

My brother sent me a video clip of Penn Jillette, a multi-talented comedian, illusionist and columnist. He is an outspoken atheist but, as indicated in this video clip, has no respect for theists who do not proselytize. As I watched the video, apparently filmed for a podcast known as "Penn Says," I gained respect for a man whose lifestyle I deplore. His beliefs are founded on the insidious lies and deceptions of "The Father of Lies," and yet he challenges me to be a better Christian; he challenges me to "walk the talk", "put my money where my mouth is." He is an intellegent and articulate man, and no doubt, in a battle of wits would give me a thorough thrashing and take me out back for burial. I don't doubt that he would find me irrational, emotional, and completely unprepared for apologetic debate -- sadly most Christians are. But Mr. Jillette not only inspires me to become better prepared for rational. intelligent conversation about Jesus Christ, but he assures me of the existence of a most powerful, omnipotent God, with love and a plan for each of us.

When asked to defend my belief in the One True God, I usually stammer and mumble something about the Bible being the infallible Word of God, about the "wholeness" of the Gospel, and about my personal experience. Truth is, I am intimidated by "militant leftists," demanding facts and answers for everything. Truth is, I am human and have struggled to believe with my heart things I know to be true in my head. Truth is, and I'm sure this is true of far too many Christians, I do not know my Bible the way I should. Truth is, being a Christian is a personal, emotional, sometimes irrational experience.

I am remiss in my skills, my Bible tools are rusty, but I make no apologies for being driven by feelings and experiences. What parent is not? We love these slimy, wailing little creatures that come into our lives like parasites, drawing from us our time, our income, even our identities. What successful mogul detests the very pursuit he lives and breathes in order to gain such success? Who wants to be handed a spreadsheet outlining the reasons "she said 'yes',"? Being a Christian, for me, has more to do with what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I know to be true from personal experience. There is not a chapter or verse within the Bible that I dispute; there are, and I'm being honest, entire passages that do not "speak" to me. I read them and ask, "Why are they there?" Or I wonder, "What does that mean?" Sometimes, like with any good book, I am anxious the "get to the good parts." Nevertheless, I do not doubt any of it is "God-breathed" (2 Tim. 3:16 NIV), and "is the power of God for the salvation of everyone."(Rom. 1:16 NIV) I attend church regularly, I read my Bible (never as faithfully as I would aspire) and pray (again, not as faithfully as I would like) but it is the things that I see when I look around that tell me God is there, He exists.

Following a Saviour or devoting your life to a belief is not and should not be some one-dimensional, algorithmic exercise designed to explain away every doubt or apparent contradiction. I don't have all the facts, I don't have all the answers or explanations, for that matter, but I know they are there waiting for me, if not in this life then in the next.

And, thank God for Penn Jillette! I have been challenged to find and share as much as I am meant to know so that I too, can proselytize in love, with feeling, as effectively as possible.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

"There, But For The Grace of God, Go I"

As my stomach churned, I read the words over, even clicked on the little arrow to watch the two-minute video clip again. I searched for some explanation, some reassurance that a mistake had been made.

On July 26, a 36-year old mother said "goodbye" to her husband and left a family camping trip with her two children and three nieces. By the husband's account, everything seemed fine when she left. Her brother later said that some time early afternoon, she called to say she was not feeling well; he said he asked her to "stay put" and he'd come to get them. Two hours later, eight people were dead in a fiery collision.
By the following week, autopsy results had shown the woman was alcohol impaired and had a level of THC, the main psychoactive ingredient in marijuana, that indicated she had smoked 15 minutes to an hour before the accident.

This is not about passing judgement, this is about grief and incomprehension. This is about trying to "wrap my head around" facts that seem so contradictory, actions that seem so incongruous with reason, and the enormity and pain of such a loss.

I am a total stranger to these people, and I am having difficulty processing this news. What must they be going through? Add to that the media attention and public scrutiny?

Like most parents, I would assume, I read this and think of my own children. I think of the agony of losing them under a thoroughly accidental, random situation, but a seemingly irresponsible choice on the part of someone I love and care for? What type of darkness could drive a person to make such an error in judgement? Was this something she'd been hiding from her family? an ongoing illness? or, like many families, had they tried to conceal it and deal with it on a personal level?

We all make mistakes, some behind closed doors, some with tragic, public consequences. To pretend that my discretion is any better than hers is to say that I have walked in her shoes, I have been in her head, and I have made all of the right choices. The truth is, I don't know the place she was in, nor can I say that my past actions could never have caused such tragedy.

Let us all be quicker to love than to condemn. Let us thank God our indiscretions have not been laid before the world in the form of such a tragedy. Let us ask God's forgiveness for the sins we have committed, and let us thank Him for the mercy shown to us through Christ's death and resurrection.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Why Boys Are Just Cool


If you were to look on my Facebook page, you would find a recent quiz determined I was 0% girly -- yes, 0%. However, an even more recent quiz determined that of all the characters on Gilligan's Island, I most closely resemble Ginger. A seeming contradiction? At first glance. I even took immediate offense to my latest test results -- "Ginger!" I shrieked. "You've got to be kidding me!" But, here's the thing, I am 0% girly. There's no argument. I don't like gossipping, particularly on the phone; I don't do "nights out with the girls." I don't giggle or twirl my hair or act like a bubble brain. I don't "shop with the girls" or do mani/ pedi days or anything like that. However, I am feminine, and like Ginger, love being coy and seductive. I love to laugh -- hard -- out loud -- like I mean it! I enjoy sitting with my feet up -- sometimes in the sun -- and doing an evil crossword, or reading a good book. I like to talk and share, I like nights out with my husband, I love to shop, and I love the feeling after a good home pedicure. All this to say, I've never quite fit in with the female community. Even as a child, my size and my disinterest in cheerleading and eyelash curlers put me at odds with the "fairer sex" in school. While the rest of the female population was listening to The Backstreet Boys, I had Metallica cranked as I drove like an angry Ashley Force (For those of you girly-girls, she is a funny car drag racer, and if you don't know what that is, there's always Wikipedia). Anyhow, it wasn't always easy growing up a Cartman in a Barbie world, but I've learned that rumors like names can only hurt you if you let them.
Nevertheless, in my younger years, it was more comfortable for me to "hang out" with boys. They were always doing interesting things like building forts or climbing trees. As boys got older they still had the better toys -- cars, motorcycles -- and the better entertainment -- football games, drag races. I never saw any of those girly-girls pumping their fists to a great hairdo.

Boys watched better movies. I have two or three "chick-flicks" in my list of favorites; everything else has bullets, cars or ancient tombs-- or Vin Diesel, gotta love Vin! Boys are even different in the way they watch movies. I can't help but gape in amazement as Scott, our friend Tommy, even our eleven-year-old Joe recite entire passages, replete with sound effects, from movies they've seen twice, maybe! And, the sound effects! I don't care if we were playing war with G.I. Joe or track with Hot Wheels, my bombs sounded like a Yiddish grandmother biting into jarred gefilte, and my "tire screech" sounded like a cat caught under the hood of a car with auto-start. But the boys -- they sounded like something straight out of a foley studio.

No disrespect to Elle Woods, I know she solved that big case based on some sophisticated "perm" data, but boys know cool stuff. They know about due west, horsepower, and alternating current. Back in the days of "less than a half dozen major car manufacturers," an old boyfriend schooled me in identifying the make of the car by the headlights approaching in the rear view mirror at night. (This is a skill I have all but lost amidst library book due dates and how to get vomit out of your car upholstery).

I'm not a big fan of the "war of the sexes" mentality, nor do I think "unisex" is a term that should have ever been coined. I respect women more than I do "girls", I suppose; I am, in fact, thrilled to be a woman. I can't ignore the fact that men and boys have unique qualities about them that I find admirable and interesting, and I'm sure if I asked my husband, he'd say the same about girls as well as women. I'm even pretty sure he'd say I was not 0% girly. But then I'd have to give him a shot to the arm!

Sunday, August 2, 2009

2 Corinthians 12:9

Tonight I am "Cool Mom". We extended our weekend with the younger three children until tomorrow afternoon. So, while Scott was catching some sleep, we got showers and baths out of the way, and played one of our "family favorite" board games -- "Sorry". When it was time, we saw Daddy off , grabbed some DVD's and blankets, and ignored bedtime's most basic rule -- lights out at 11.

A couple of weeks ago we began our vacation with dinner at a local restaurant. (We dine out pretty infrequently, so this was sort of a celebration/ precursor to a week of "down time" with some of our favorite people) Our waitress was wonderful, anticipating and responding to our every need. We were joking and enjoying some small talk with her when she gave us the kindest, most gracious compliment any family could possibly receive. She told us that families like ours were rare -- we were so "in sync" and "in love". She was so generous, but I have to admit, so correct. Honestly, I am not boasting, I am always amazed at how well our family works. Apparently, it shows.

I could attribute this to an "old fashioned", Ozzie and Harriet style of parenting...

I could go on and on about the wonderful relationship that Scott and I have, the loving example we set for our children...

I could talk about the importance I place on faith and a commitment to Jesus Christ, or the admiration I have for a man who leads his family the way Scott does...

The truth is, we do work hard, we definitely love each other, but WE ARE BLESSED. There is no way around it. God has lavished His love upon us over and over again -- starting with giving us each other. Scott and I made a lot of mistakes, waited a long time, and had almost given up hope before our "fairytale" marriage came to be. And our children are just blessings, no doubt. I have seen great parents suffer a lot of heartache at the hands of a child gone astray; likewise, I have seen some pretty irresponsible parents raise great kids. It's not a "crap shoot", but it's not an exact science either. And, I won't even pretend that our family is a blessing we "deserve." God has blessed us, and for that I can offer no other explanation but grace. I am, however, absolutely breathless with humility and thanksgiving.

My family is the group with whom I most like to spend my time. I look forward to seeing each one of them, and I can't wait until the next time we are all together. There is laughter and smiles and such goofiness, there are no words to describe the way my heart fills with happiness. And, we are loud! Someone is always talking; most times, everyone is talking! We sing along to the radio together, and play silly road games like "Punch Buggy". You might think six people in a vehicle for more than fifteen minutes, would be grounds for mental health evaluations. We love it! It's noisy, chaotic, and raucous in unabandoned joy! The occasional fight does occur, but is quickly diffused and rarely requires much more than a stern warning. Most of the time everyone obeys the rules and takes care of their responsibilities. No matter what we do, we all seem to have the same goal in mind -- fun as a family. Scott and I couldn't ask for more than that, and we certainly can't take much credit -- we've been together as a family for less than three years. Praise God, that's blessing!
So, that is why I decided to steal some extra time with my favorite people, and get a little crazy breaking some rules. In a little while, it will be back to the old grind and we will again be apart. Having said that, excuse me while I go enjoy God's blessings...

One For Matthew


My nephew Matthew is another one of the amazing blessings God has lavished on me. Several years ago my brother and his wife gave birth to a little girl. God, in His providence, knew what great beauty she would add to His Kingdom and lifted her up into His gentle arms much earlier than we would have liked. Before I was ready, my brother called with the news that they were expecting again. My stomach churned; would it be OK? Are we prepared for this -- the "not OK" as well as the "OK". So, I was a little self-absorbed... Along came Matthew. He is the bright sky after a dark and menacing storm. He is a joy to be around and an irresistible temptation to squeeze. Unfortunately, my brother and his family have never lived "just around the corner," so they send me pictures, we text at odd hours, and we maintain terrific cell phone plans. My brother has been kind enough to publicly list himself as my first and only "follower" of this blog, and has allegedly used it as a means of getting Matthew to go to sleep at night. Perhaps, I can appeal to his generation's budding insomniacs should I desire to promote "Brokentobreathless" more aggressively. Anyway, this one's for you, Matthew...

My brother and I were born eighteen months apart. It must have looked like our parents were on a roll there for a while, but Paul was born and they broke the mold (or were forced to destroy it by the Men In Black) We fought all the time, sometimes viciously which, in all honesty, I regret. My mother claims I would pluck him and smack him as he slept in his crib, if I thought no one was watching. I say, clearly he was asking for it. My brother has asked me, more than once, if I remember breaking a hairbrush over his head during a fight. I'd like to take this opportunity to say "I have no recollection of this event." And, if I was to one day remember it, I'm sure the evidence would show that he had it coming. I do, however recall one wicked fight in which he wanted to watch "Felix the Cat" and I wanted to watch "General Hospital." As any soap opera junkie will testify, "General Hospital" in the early '80's was "the one" to watch, and Felix? Well, let's just say Felix would garner the support of a few felines and a couple of dogs who thought they'd tuned in to Food Network.

Even our own cat had no sympathy for my brother. When Paul and I were young my father delivered a cat to our home, put it in our basement and never told my mother. In the afternoon I discovered it, and my poor mother promptly "shooshed" it out into the rain. The bewildered cat sat outside the door until Mom called Dad to relate her story and he, in turn, shared his. From that day on, "Blackie" (we were a very inventive lot) would lay siege to my brother, pinning him in a corner of the room, hissing, snarling and swiping each time he moved. If he twitched, it was likely his legs would be in the next ad for Neosporin. Paul would stand motionless, crying and whimpering until my frustrated mother would yell for him to "make a break for it." As he did, Blackie was hot on his heels, ready to swipe at the first opportunity. It would continue like that, sometimes from corner to corner, until my mom intervened or our ferocious feline tired of her "cat and mouse" game.

Blackie wasn't the only one who knew how to keep my brother in check. Paul was born in July. His summer birthday enabled my parents to come up with a creative way to celebrate (pet names were not our only niche) -- we would recognize Paul's special day with a birthday cake on the beach. I saw this little tradition as a way to assert some control via extortion. It didn't matter if the weather was hot and steamy or if we were bundled up to our necks, the threat of "no birthday party on the beach" was never far from reach. If my brother refused to get up and change the channel, it was "no birthday party on the beach." If he tried to eat the last pickled egg, it was "no birthday party on the beach." A couple of months ago, when he and his family were being relocated to a job ten hours away, I wanted to use "no birthday party on the beach", but felt that somehow it might have lost its edge. As we reminisced one day, about my early training for labor negotiations, my brother seemed a little resentful of my "strong arm" tactics. I had to remind him that, based on our parents' success rate of actually getting our family vehicle to make it to the beach, it was not manipulation, but psychic ability.

As Paul and I look back on our tiffs and our KO's, we laugh. Yes, he is gracious and forgiving enough to laugh with me. I can't help but notice how ironic it all is. My brother stands six feet or so to my five foot, four inch frame. When I reach up to hug him, my chunky little arms can't even make it around his broad shoulders. Despite his size, Paul has always been a "gentle giant", leaning on me for strength and in some cases, muscle. Based on our history, that may seem to be the irony, the close relationship we have despite our past and despite the miles between us. But the real irony is that in spite of all my bullying and posturing, Paul is truly the "bigger person." He has forgiven me for things I have struggled to forgive myself; he can love me and depend on me enough to ask my help, regardless of the way I treated him. He has become a much better person than I ever pretended to be.

And that, Matthwew is the truth about Daddy. Sleep well, my angel, sleep well.