Why I go to church

Do you ever feel condemnation, conviction, or guilt when in certain crowds because they know that you are a "church person" (insert gasp of horror here) and it causes you to feel guarded about what you say or do? Have you ever felt like people assume that you perceive yourself and/or family as "holier than thou," because you take yourselves to church each Sunday? Have you ever heard a statement like, "I don't go to that church anymore, they're all just a bunch of hypocrites."?

For the most part I am completely comfortable discussing and sharing my Christianity, faith, religious practices and forms of worship. But until recently, I still did struggle with what to say in response to statements like the above. I don't consider myself a hypocrite, but were they right? If I sin on Monday does that mean that my visit to church on Sunday made me one? In my heart of hearts I knew that it did not...but still I struggled with how to explain and defend why I go to church and yet why I still mess it up so much.

Then this book was dropped into my lap by George. Well, his name isn't really George but that's what my kids call him. An Arrow Pointing to Heaven is the devotional biography of Rich Mullins written by James Bryan Smith. If you have heard the name Rich Mullins but can't think of why, he is the songwriter of "Awesome God" and numerous other praise songs.

"I hear people say, 'Why do you want to go to church? They are all just hypocrites.' I never understood why going to church made you a hypocrite because nobody goes to church because they're perfect. If you've got it all together, you don't need to go. You can go jogging with all the other perfect people on Sunday morning. Every time you go to church, you're confessing again to the yourself, to your family, to the people you pass on the way there, to the people who will greet you there, that you don't have it all together, and that you need their support. You need their direction. You need some accountability, you need some help." (Rich Mullins)

"Many of us base our identity on what we do, or how we look, or how much money we have. But none of these form the foundation of our true identity. When we step into the church, we find out who we really are: children of God and members of the kingdom. All earthly identities fall off of us at the door. The rich are no longer rich, and the poor are no longer poor. We are all one in Christ." (James Bryan Smith)

These two quotes could not explain my heart in any clearer manner. Both Chad and I recognize fully our need for Christ and his Church. Both Chad and I admit that without guidance and help we'd be lost souls wandering selfishly through the world. Both Chad and I believe that our weekly attendance at church is a confession to those who walk in beside us that we are not perfect, we are flawed and in need of repair. Our only hope is that the graces we receive each week in being present with Christ at His table will be enough to bring us back around next Sunday and the one after that.

I have never entered the doors of my church and thought that I was something greater and more special for doing so, but I have left my church knowing that I spent an hour with THE one who is greater and far more special than myself.

Not so Wordy Wednesday

Just because I love this picture...

Two little legs that work so well

I was in the grocery store with my kids and Andrew was doing his usual routine of reeking havoc on my sanity by refusing to stay in the adorable little shopping cart that looks like a truck. He had already performed several Dukes of Hazard quality stunts like climbing from the seat, through the window, onto the roof all in the time it took me to pick up a bag of baked Doritos. By the time we'd made our way to the milk aisle he had freed himself from the confines of the truck completely and was meandering down the aisle in front of me testing his pint size muscles by trying to pick up the gallons of milk that were inconveniently at his level. Grunting and jabbering all the while.

As I strolled up to him, sighing under my breathe (or so I thought) in sheer relief that the milk aisle is always the sign that we're nearing the end of our grocery store visit, an elderly woman from behind tapped me on the shoulder and said, "You know he's just doing what every little boy should." I was thinking, "Yeah right lady, that's because you don't have to chase him all over the store." But wisely only said, "Yeah, I guess so." She said, "I am just so happy to see his little legs working and him walking. I have a 6 year old grandson who has not yet taken his first step. He has cerebral palsy. Just be so thankful for that little guy's healthy legs and body." Too choked up to respond with anything intelligent, I simply smiled while my eyes watered up. I managed to mumble out, "Thank you for the reminder."

As I picked up the rag-muffin run-away and threw him into a football hold under my arm despite his kicking legs wrestling for freedom, I kissed his red head and said a thank you to God for the little ball of cosmic energy bound up in this boy.

This is the happy dance I'm doing right now!

I've been $100.00 off on my account for three months.

I have been cautiously watching to see if I have erred.

I think I can rest assured that I missed a $100.00 deposit.

So, I have $100.00 extra in my checking account.

Oh, yeah. Mama needs a new pair of shoes, and a purse, and some capris, and some lip gloss.....


Not that money can buy happiness, but a little added bonus never hurts right?

Oh the drama!

I have decided something.

-Either I need to get some more drama in my life, OR
-I need to hang around people with less drama in their lives.

I am beginning to believe that there is a new drug of choice being over-used in the American home. DRAMA. If you haven't been around an addict or have not yet taken a hit from this drug, maybe you are unaware of how it displays itself and what feeds the habit. Allow me to enlighten you.

Drama can display itself in a number of ways, here are a few examples:

"Oh my back hurts. I need to see the chiropractor every week just to keep it aligned. He told me I have the back of an old woman!" (They are the only person ever to endure any form of discomfort in their lives.)

"Everyone at my job is difficult to work with. They talk behind my back, they shun me at break time, I don't know what I ever did to them, but they make working here horrible!"
(Everyone ELSE has the problem...?)

"My baby is allergic to my breast milk, three kinds of formula, and four kinds of diapers!" (Yeah, because babies don't just cry for no reason.)

"My son can't play sports because the doctor said he has the arthritis of a 90 year old man in his joints." (It has nothing to do with his poor grades or lack of skill.)

"We would love to go to church, but every time we do our kids act up!" (Only the people with perfect children go to church?)

"My house is under constant construction. We haven't had a meal at the dining room table in months. I don't know if I can take the stress of it much longer. I may go crazy! (Is this not something you wanted?)

None of the above are really such dramatic things to say. It's that they are part of a daily language that is doused with such statements. All of us have days when our backs hurt and a trip to the chiropractor just might do the trick. The difference is that to a drama addict we all must know about it and we also must know that the chiropractor really won't solve the problem because it's just a life long struggle they will have to endure. Drama addicts confuse their lives with a twisted idea of martyrdom.

I am convinced that the people surrounding themselves in drama do so for two reasons:

1. It works for them.
2. They are afraid of what they would be without it.

It works for them because they get the high they are looking for, whether it be in the sympathetic comments from the poor person listening, or in the euphoria they feel in being called, out of all mankind, to carry this burden that has never before been carried by another.

Almost all addicts are afraid of what they would be without the drama. If you strip away the ailments and the wrongs done to them, what remains? A life that must be lived authentically. A life that requires responsibility to be taken. A person that at the end of the day has only to look at themselves to find fault. A life that isn't always fair or comfortable but real and genuine nonetheless.

There are drama addicts and there are drama enablers. The enablers are almost worse than the addict. Without a listening ear, drama addicts can not get their high. So when an enabler lends their ear out of so-called 'compassion' they are really lighting the flame that produces the drama high. There is a profound difference in sacrificial loving and drama enabling. Recognizing some one's need for a break, joining in prayer for a healing, providing a listening ear to vent, or offering a back-rub is not the same as feeding a habitual way of life.

So if you are addicted to this drug called drama, kick the habit. This mama is saying...please STOP THE DRAMA!

Conversation with Kate

Kate: "Mom, you weally need to learn to controwl youself!" (wonder where she's heard that statement)

Me: "Huh? Wha what did you say?"

Kate: "You need to controwl youself and be a nicea mommy to me."
(Me thinking, yeah you are probably right...)

Me: "What are you talking about Katy?"

Kate: "You should be a betta mommy to me."

Me: "I get that, but what did I do?"

Kate: "You won't give me anodder donut hole!"

Me: "You don't need another donut hole."

Kate: "Yes I do. Juss one more."

Me: "Just one more?"

Kate: "Yah, juss one more den dat's it, alwwight?"

No I don't usually serve donut holes as an appetizer to their sugared-cereal breakfast. Only on special occassions...like Wednesday's. Besides, I was obviously showing some discretion...I had put a limit on her, plus one. I know, I know, you can come and get my Mother of the Year trophey now.

A heart for the poor

As part of a devotional that I am doing, I was challenged to have a "heart for the poor". One of the reflective questions asked was, "Do you know the poor in your own house, in your family?"

Sometimes I become overwhelmed with my smallness in this great big world. I am overwhelmed by all that needs fixing and my inability to make a difference.

But do I overlook my potential within my vocation, within my home? Do I forget that there are poor people living within the walls of my comfortable abode?

A boy who feels slighted because of the attention showered on his younger siblings and the responsibilities weighing on his young shoulders. A girl who is often left alone to play because she is content and meek, yet longing for a playmate. A two-year-old who doesn't understand why her book is less important than a stack of dinner dishes and so assumes that she is. A baby that wants an adult to drop to the floor and do nothing but diddle with him for an hour. A husband who would give anything for his wife to willingly and lovingly sit too close to him on the sofa while he watches a baseball game.

Why are they so easy to overlook? Why is it easier to see the family up the street lacking in financial security than it is to see the crushed spirits, broken hearts, lonely tears, and disregarded feelings living within my own home?

Lord, help me to take some of the burden off of my son's shoulders and allow him to be a carefree kid. Help me take time to do something special with my daughter while she still longs to be with me. Help me shower my innocent 2 year old with attention so that she never doubts her status in my heart. Help me to drop down to my baby's level and see the wonder that he sees everyday. Help me to put my husband before myself and remember the fire that he fuels within my heart. Help me Lord, to see the poor and change the world starting within my home. Amen.

Things like this don't usually happen at my house

Don't let the fact that I took pictures and posted them

dissuade you from believing that the artist

was not hunted down and punished.

That makes me laugh as much now

as it did when it happened.

Okay, so I laughed AFTER the culprit

left the room for their punishment.

Oh my goodness, I love being a mom.

Without kids, what do you laugh at?

Play-dates?

What's the deal with play-dates? When did this phenomenon take over stay-at-home motherhood? It obviously is a town thing because it wasn't a topic of conversation when we lived in the country.

I am a moody woman, alright? By the time next week rolls around I may not feel like entertaining someone else's child in addition to mine. I have four kids. They can play together. That is what siblings are for and that is one benefit of having a larger family.

Whatever happened to the spontaneity that once defined childhood? Like driving by a friends house, seeing them running around their yard and then riding your bike over to see if you could play. Or asking a friends' parent after school if your buddy could come over and play that afternoon? I do not remember my mom ever scheduling play dates for me or my siblings.

Certainly my children play with other kids on a regular basis. But the key difference is that it is spontaneous and usually un-planned. You know, the "Mom, Johnny's out in his yard playing war, can I go see if I can play too?" kind of thing. Rarely do I even have to call a mom to see if it's okay. We just holler out to our kids to come home when it's supper time. We have the benefit of living near a park and in the summer it becomes a central location for many neighborhood kids to meet and play together.

I don't have the time or desire to schedule dates for my children. The only people that need to be scheduling dates in this house are me and my husband.

I know that there are occasions when some planning is indeed necessary, and we have those times here in our house too. But they are the exception, not the norm. With all that is involved in running a household filled with little people, routines, and adult commitments, scheduling in play dates is not high on my priority list.

Some of you may be able to make it work ideally for your home. You may have a smaller family, you may have better time management skills, you may enjoy the entertainment that another child provides your child, you may think you are socializing your child better than I am, you may not especially like the neighbor kid, it may bring you great joy to run your hind end off. Me, not so much.

Not to be left out

Okay, I'll play as long as you all promise to refrain from using that four letter word beginning with m, containing another m and two e's. I was beginning to feel like a party-pooper so here's my take on it, and thanks Aisha for quasi-tagging me.

This real mom....

questions her role daily
questions God's wisdom to put her in this role
wonders how much therapy it will take to reverse the affects of her mothering
wishes that her spouse could see when she is drowning in it all

wishes that she could just admit it without feeling guilty
stresses over what the kids watch, see, and hear
wonders if some of the behaviors in her kids will ever change
hopes that some of the behaviors in her kids are here to stay

hates herself for yelling at her kids
laughs at her attempts to be a super-mom
realizes that her family will have to settle for a sane mom
prays that she'll have what it takes to make it through the seasons of parenting
knows that with God all things are possible
and His grace is enough.

As if our home isn't fruity enough...

I am convinced that most breakfast cereal has the nutritional value of sawdust. I, however, refuse to feed my kids goat food. I know, I should embrace the natural and give to them the bounty of the earth. But I am not a mom who counts the daily sugar, fat, carb, and calorie intake of my children. It's just not my nature to be so healthy...to appease my mothering guilt I give them a kid vitamin with an OJ chaser and call it good.

There is one cereal, however, that I am boycotting and refusing to purchase ever again.

These delicious flakes of sugared fruitiness manage to stick to every imaginable surface, but are next to impossible to wipe or sweep up until they have returned to their original, hardened state. I can't imagine what the inside of the body must like once these are ingested. I would guess that the lining of my children's stomach probably resembles the contents of this 'empty' cereal bowl. This ridiculous excuse for a cereal is impossible to eat if not flooded with a gallon of milk.

Andrew somehow manages to wear more of the pebbles then he swallows. I caught him using his flakes as finger paint on his tray as well. I guess it's a play-and-eat kind of food. Just what every parent looks for when at the grocery store. Forget the cool toy in the box, the real question is whether it will stick to my son's head feeding his artistic side, if not his belly.

What do I have to look forward to? Walking on mushy fruity pebbles for the next several days.

Only a Shadow...

Some of you may remember my New Year's Resolutions. Number 15 was to learn to love Shadow. Guess what? I did.
Shadow and I had a flawed relationship from the beginning. We adopted him when I was 8 1/2 months pregnant and he was 6 months old. Our relationship was more of a step-mother/son type. The early days of our relationship were the toughest, oh who am I trying to kid, all the days of our relationship were tough. But it was a love-hate kind of chemistry thing. It was a lot like having another husband around. Shadow found ways to frustrate the crap out of me, and he also found ways into my heart, like when he'd put his head on my shoulder as he sat behind me and the kids at story time. On a daily basis my emotions would run from, "Get that #*&!$%@ dog out of my sight!" to "Oh Shadow, you're such a good boy."

Well, this past weekend we had to make a tough decision. We've known since the beginning really, that Shadow was just not the right fit for our family. We jumped into our relationship with him without enough research and planning and we were paying the consequences daily. With each dollar we dished out for him, including such accessories as wireless fencing, dinosaur sized pet carrier, heat lamp, heated dog bed, not to mention the countless number of household items that found their early death courtesy of his chewing fetish, we found ourselves saying, "should we just let him go?"

I am not a quitter. I find it a deplorable trait to drop something mid-stream because we're tired of carrying the burden. Of all the members of my family I think I'm the most distraught with the decision we made, even though I know that sometimes you just have to admit defeat and turn a bad choice into the right one, it still feels like I just gave up.

So, Shadow found a new home. On a farm, with room to run and exercise and a family that would welcome him indoors as well. The family has two boys with which Shadow can run and play. (Well that's what I tell myself to appease the guilt, they probably sit and play a STUPID video game all day while he whines for some attention). Do I regret it? No, but I am not proud of it either.

The kids shed a few tears, well Nicholas and Olivia did, Katy just asked, "Can we get a cat now?"

(that is our final family picture with Shadow, taken just minutes before he became part of a new family)

Our family

Happy Easter!

He is Risen!

Allelulia!!

click here

Watch The Lamb

I tried posting a more kid friendly version of this video, however it did not work. There is one on YouTube that is animated that I highly recommend for kids. This one contains images from the movie "The Passion", so watch with caution around your children.

No other song portrays the Passion in a more beautiful and painful way. Please take time to listen, watch, and be changed.

Thoughtful Thursday

You may have noticed a bit of a tone change around these parts in the last couple of days. No, I am not contemplating the deeper meaning of life or discovering my inner preacher. I just feel the need to take the focus off of Heidi Jo and what she knows and turn it to something far more worthy and far more interesting for a few days.

If you have always read my blog because you enjoy the humorous (hey, I try) take on everyday life, don't take me off of your favorites yet...that girl is still here. But part of my vision for this blog is that it represent a 'slice' of my life. What does that mean? I try not to use my blog to recount my daily happenings down to my latest bowel movement and marital spat. I would not go so far as to cross them off of my blogger fodder altogether because hey, if it's funny why not share?

My goal is not to open the door of my life and invite you in for tea, but to draw back the curtain and to give you a glimpse of how I perceive life through the goggles that I wear. I just assume that you, like myself, enjoy the feelings of sanity and camaraderie that wash over you after you've read a post about something that you can totally relate to but weren't sure if the rest of the world experienced.

Back to the point. Part of the view that one gets when standing outside of my window, includes my family's faith. To close you all off from this portion of me would be less than authentic. It is indeed a very big portion of who I am and what this family is all about. I hope that it does not offend but inspire.

God bless you on this Holy Thursday.

Anyway.

People are often

unreasonable, illogical,

and self-centered;

forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may

accuse you of selfish, ulterior

motives; be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will

win some false friends and some

true enemies; succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,

people may cheat you; be honest

and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,

someone could destroy overnight;

build anyway.

If you find serenity and

happiness, they may be jealous;

be happy anyway.

The good you do today, people

will often forget tomorrow;

do good anyway.

Give the world the best you

have, and it may never be

enough; give the world the best

you have anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,

all of this is between you and God.

It was never between you and

them anyway.

This is most commonly attributed as being written by Mother Teresa, however there is no proof of who wrote it.

Trade your heavy heart

Palm Sunday and Holy Week, is an especially challenging time in our church season for me. Through the readings and participation of the palm waving and singing "Hosanna!" I feel truly present and an active participant in the days leading up to the crucifixion of my Lord. I think that's the point of all of the physical symbols in my church, to give us a tangible grasp on something that we can only otherwise understand by faith.

I leave Palm Sunday with such a heaviness of heart and under such conviction...because I, unlike the original palm wavers and singers in the streets of Jerusalem, know the rest of the story. I know that just five days after welcoming him amid shouts and acclamations we whipped him, beat him, spit on him, betrayed him and abandoned him. I am part of this hypocrisy and it hurts. My heart hurts. I know that I wasn't physically there. But my sins were. My sins of doubt, embarrassment, shame, pride, sloth, jealousy...they were all there, represented in the people on the road that day.

My upbringing taught me to focus not on the death and crucifixion of my Lord, but on the final outcome, the purpose, the reason, the Resurrection. My journey into Catholicism has taught me that while being joyous in the Resurrection and the victory over death and the cross, I must NEVER forget what put Him there.

While we celebrate with our African American, Native American, Jewish American brothers and sisters in their equality, having the rights that all of humanity should indeed have, what a disservice to the sacrifice they made if we forget slavery, concentration camps, the Trail of Tears and all other forms of sorrow and torture endured to defeat sin.

We aren't asked to walk morbidly around for 365 days of the year as Catholics. We are asked to slow down, think deeply, love strongly, ponder anew for 40 days what Christ did for us that we may be free from the pains of our own sins. These final days are ones that will leave me longing for the joys of Easter, longing for the promises fulfilled.

Who knew?

I think that of all of my household appliances I am most in love with my dishwasher. It requires so little on my part and that's the way I like it.

Yeah a frig is nice, but I still have to go to the grocery store and buy the food to put in it, I still have to clean out the left-overs that become moldy science experiments, I still have to wipe down the shelves when a half-drank glass of milk gets knocked over in the back. And it's not like it sends the food out prepared or anything, I still have to figure out what kind of meal can be made out of broccoli and cottage cheese.

Yeah the stove's pretty convenient too, but I still have to pre-heat it, I still have to wipe down the top every time I use it, I have to take the food out when the timer goes off to avoid burning our broccoli and cottage cheese...well it does have a fancy timer thing that will automatically shut itself off, but that requires me to READ THE DIRECTIONS. Seriously, who has time for that?

No, I love my dishwasher. You load it, you pour some soap in, you shut-it, you push a button and two hours later everything comes out sparkly clean. There is the un-loading thing, but my husband seems to enjoy that job so I'm pretty okay letting him do it.

I love that you can put just about ANYTHING into a dishwasher as well. Well, maybe you're not supposed to but you can. I hate cleaning, so anything that I can stick into my dishwasher to avoid physically having to clean it myself, I will try. For example, the bathroom garbage cans. It disgusts me how dirty a stupid garbage can can get. It holds garbage, I know...but I just can't bring myself to 'clean' a garbage can. YUCK. Did you know that most bathroom garbage cans will fit on the lower rack of your dishwasher? Problem solved.

I've since looked for other household items that I could stick in there. The toilet won't fit, the kids...well that would just be child abuse. Chad put his foot down the other night when I asked if he thought I could put the electric fry skillet in the dishwasher. Apparently not a good idea.