stuff Christians like

#432 Spending hours reading blogs written by Christians

I need to stop reading this blog, Stuff Christians Like.

I discovered it at boomama's site and it has become my new favorite way to get lost in time. He is real, funny, and convicting. I dare you to not get hooked.

do what I say right now and I mean it or else young lady.. oh all right whatever

I've lost my mothering mojo.

I have no more mom muscle. I feel like Rodney Dangerfield. I get no respect.

Holding the line is hard work. It takes a lot of determination to be consistently strict. Kids wear you down. They aren't dumb. They know where the weaknesses in your wall are.

I know I did a better job when I only had one kid, or two. Or even three. I wasn't SO shabby at four, but I'm telling you right now--this number five child of mine, while I love her skinny eleven-year-old self with all my heart, is pushing and testing and she is relentless. I don't know if I'm just weary of the whole mom routine, or if I'm just weary in general, but I know she is getting away with stuff that would curl the toes of many a stronger mom. She is young and brave. She has tenacity and motivation. I have stiff knees and flabby resolve. With the other kids I wielded a wooden spoon. Now it's more like a white hankie.

Is it just me? Or is there a reason that birth order stereotypes endure? How many first borns out there can raise their right hand in solidarity and say that the baby of their family got away with murder? What about you youngest kids? Do you think you turned out okay anyway?

I wonder what Michelle Duggar would say about this. How do you keep your authority intact when the kids far outnumber the grown-ups, when you've been saying the same things for 26 years now, and you just don't have the energy to battle anymore? Especially because for me, right now, I have the added responsibility of keeping my mom in line. (Where does she fit in? She's the oldest person, but she acts like the youngest!)

I have to trust that God didn't make a mistake when He placed Susannah in my care. He isn't surprised by my circumstances, and He hasn't abandoned me to raise this child on my own. And as I've counseled so many younger moms.....God has no grandchildren. So I think I need to tell her, "You just wait until I talk to your Father about this." And then do it.

where do I send the thank you note?

In case you ever wondered where to send a letter to God, I have narrowed it down to Peoria, Illinois. Not sure of the street address, but I'm working on that and I'll get back to you.

Of course it could be that He was just passing through Peoria a few days ago. How else can I explain the random, out-of-the-blue "thinking of you" card I got today that wasn't signed, and included cash and a Bath & Body Works gift card? There was no return address, but the post mark was definitely Peoria. It has His fingerprints all over it, wouldn't you say?

It touches my heart to realize how He works through His children, and some day I want to be a person who hears His promptings and responds obediently and generously like that. What a blessing it must be to be that kind of a blessing. I don't know how to mail it, but I do want to say thanks, God.

In other spirit-lifting news, I found out today that my darling daughter and her two darling daughters are coming to visit for the weekend. It's my youngest daughter's 11th birthday (yes there will be squealing girls for a sleepover), and my son's senior prom, and there's a wedding shower thrown in just to keep things from being too relaxing.

Sadie dog
and I took a long walk today and ended up at my friend Annie's house. I haven't seen her since before spring break. It felt good to walk. It felt good to talk. I'm sure my lack of girlfriend time in general has contributed to my blues as much as my lack of physical activity.

So things are not quite as gloomy as they were a couple days ago, even though my circumstances haven't changed, and even though I still don't have my iPod back. The place Jim sent it to said they couldn't fix it, so now Jim is going to give it a try.

My mom has moved in now, unofficially, and the deterioration of her mind is quite depressing on a number of levels--including the loss of her and the inevitability that it's just going to keep getting worse. I've heard it said that a person with Alzheimers is much like a 2-year old, but it's harder in many ways, because 2-year olds are primarily cute and charming, and you expect to have to help them with basic concepts. My mom has 74 years' worth of being fiercely independent, resourceful, and feisty. And she doesn't take too kindly to any assertion that she can't make solid decisions. I think once I stop expecting her to be my same mom, I'll be better. When I see a wad of folded up paper towels in her purse, I won't try to take them out. I have much to learn.

Currently she's staying in the spare bedroom, but the addition we're putting on for her should be complete soon. Of course I've been telling myself that for weeks now. I am not even kidding when I tell you that the layer of dirt on my floors is grotesque. It simply doesn't make sense to sweep because the tracking-in of stuff? It's epic in proportion. There have been workmen in and out of my house since January. Almost every day.


The ledge in back of the faucet there used to be my kitchen windows.

This is taken from the same spot where my dining room windows used to be. There are french doors there now. It's looking good, but it's been a huge upheaval in the, shall we say, ambience of our home.

I know what my problem is but I don't know how to escape it -- my worst enemy is me. I'm such a disappointment to myself. I haven't worked on my grandson's birth sampler, I haven't done anything on Danny's scrapbook. All of my crafty supplies are piled up on the table because we moved the shelves from this room to the room my mom's using until the addition is done, and I couldn't set up any kind of craft project in the dining room because there's construction going on in there. I haven't been a good friend. I'm blubbery on the outside and shriveled in my soul.

But by golly, my laundry is caught up! That is the one area of my life that is consistently right on track. I've been loving this clothesline weather. One of my simplest, most soul-nourishing pleasures (besides a bunch of fresh dill) is hanging my laundry on the line. If you ever come to my house and see piles of dirty laundry, you'll know it's time to put me to sleep. (I promise a picture of my clothesline soon.)

So there's hope in the pit. There are everlasting arms that won't let me sink too far. There is much to be grateful for. More than enough, in fact.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned, struck down, but not destroyed."

Amen.

Murphy's law at church

Today was the day my mom made her choir debut. She's been practicing with the choir since the beginning of January and finally felt ready to take the stage. It was such a big deal for her that she invited my brother and his two kids to come see her. My nephew's almost 13, and my niece is 15. They don't usually attend church, but made the effort for this special day.

Susannah wanted to stay in the service, too, instead of going to Sunday School, and Dan and his girlfriend thought they'd miss the high school class to support Grandma.

Wouldn't you know that the sermon today was on sex? Sexuality from God's perspective, as it is supposed to be a picture of our intimacy with Him. Nothing inappropriate or graphic, of course, but definitely pushing the boundaries.

Squirm? No, I didn't squirm at all.

(Why oh why couldn't it have been something safe like David and Goliath?)