I know it's been awhile. So sue me. I guess I ran out of "funny" for a year and a half. It happens to the best of 'em, right? Let's just pretend it didn't happen and jump right back in, shall we…?
I have always been thin. I am not boasting, it's just a statement of fact. People find out that I have five children, and I will inevitably hear things like, "Did you adopt all of them?" or "How in the world did you have five children?!" Note: Even thin people feel somewhat awkward when people are gawking at them and looking at their abs rather than into their eyes. At least I do.
At a jewelry show years ago, my hostess' mother-in-law was in attendance and was a larger, rather gruff woman. I loved her on the spot. She towered over me not long after we'd met and boomed out, "'BOUT HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?" I mumbled a number and listened patiently as she informed me that I needed to have my cholesterol checked, that her daughter was thin like me and she had high cholesterol. She was very convincing and scary, and I did have my cholesterol checked after that. (Wouldn't you?)
As I said, I have always been thin (other than when I was 25 months pregnant with each of my children,) but I have never, I repeat, NEVER been fit. Let me tell you, there is a huge difference. I never had much use for exercise unless I was trying to get back into normal clothes after having given birth. I, like most people, would do my time on the treadmill, then after a few weeks or months lose my motivation and go back to just dusting the treadmill from time to time.
It was also unusual for me to eat well, at least for long periods of time. I'd do okay for a month, then go back to standing at the counter eating cookies for lunch. I remember eating out with a friend of mine and asking her if she was getting dessert. She said, "Ugh. No! I've had dessert for the past three nights!" I laughed out loud and told her that I ate dessert EVERY day, sometimes in the afternoon, too! (I may have left out that I would have dessert for breakfast sometimes.)
Back in February of this year, I took a good look at what was happening to my 35-year old body and decided that the warranty was beginning to run out. I was eating like a child who has no adult supervision and doing absolutely nothing to take care of myself. I could just feel the decline. I knew that if I didn't make some major changes and if I waited until after age 40, it would be a lot harder to make the changes I needed to make. (40 isn't old, so if you're over 40 and just got offended, please don't send me a nasty message. Everybody knows that things change when you hit 40, and I'm almost there.)
So, where to begin? I knew that as a homeschooling mother-of-five, there was no chance I would be able to start working out during normal daytime hours. Major changes sometimes take major sacrifice, so I started getting up at 5:00am to spend some time on the treadmill. I learned very quickly that I love a good runner's high, so it was no problem to begin my day that early. I also was working with some light hand weights. After a few weeks I was starting to see some small results. I was losing inches, and if the light was juuuuuust right and if you squinted really hard, you could see the slightest definition forming in my arms.
I don't know when it happened exactly, but at some point I decided that I wanted more physical challenge in my life than balancing a toddler on one hip and a laundry basket on the other. The problem was, I didn't have the first clue how to get it. Then I remembered that our good friend, Brian, had done P90X. Summoning my courage and setting aside my pride, I asked him if I could borrow it and waited for him to laugh in my face. He didn't laugh at all, at least in front of me, and he brought it to me the following Sunday.
I was a nervous wreck! I had heard so many things about the program, not the least of which was that it was a form of torture that the government was considering using with prisoners of war. I was shaking my head at myself: What are you thinking?! You can do, like, ten girl-push-ups on a good day. This is for people who have actual muscles, not mothers who look like 12-year-old boys. You know you're gonna die, right?
I was shaking a little when I hit "Play" on Day 1. As I watched these incredibly muscular people cranking out wide-front pull-ups and dive-bomber push-ups, (I believe I said out loud more than once, "Oh, yeah, whatever") all I could think of was surviving to the end of the workout. (But then I had to do the 16-minute "Ab Ripper X" routine. I can't talk about that without crying, so we'll just say that it is a miracle that I didn't throw up all over the carpet during that fiasco.) The next day it hurt to wash my hands. On Day 2 I did the Plyometrics routine and was ready to quit. Greg convinced me to get through the first week of workouts. If I could do that, he said, then I could get through the whole 90 days. By the end of week one I was so sore that I was fighting tears as I attempted to walk down the hall.
If I could go back to the middle of April, I would have been documenting this whole journey along the way. What an adventure it turned out to be for me!! I ended up LOVING P90X. I LOVED it. I loved working out for at least an hour every morning. Yes, even at 5:00am! I loved watching the progress I made as I got stronger and more importantly, healthier. I finished the 90-day program without missing a workout. I was icing body parts I hadn't known existed, and it was totally worth it.
It is now mid-September and I am more than halfway through P90X Plus. There are still days when I am working out and trying to figure out which of my children is going to discover me collapsed on the basement floor, but I love every minute of it. This December I will receive P90X2 and I am absolutely giddy about it! They do push-ups with their hands and feet balancing on medicine balls!! I'm trying to decide which of my arms is going to slide off of a medicine ball first and get broken. I am so excited!
The best part of all of this has been having the opportunity to become a cheerleader for my friends who are wanting to make some of the same changes in their own lives. Ladies who are tired of being tired, and want to do a better job of taking care of themselves. The Bible tells us that we are to do just that. It's so much more than looking good in your favorite jeans, people! I want to honor the Lord by taking care of the body He has given me. I only get one chance. And I want to be here to watch my children grow up! There is an epidemic in this country, and I want to help turn the tide.
If you are looking for help in this area, please, PLEASE let me know! I have learned to love fitness so much that I decided to become a BeachBody Coach so that I can do a more thorough job of assisting people in their journey toward a healthier lifestyle. (Don't' worry, I'm still your go-to girl for jewelry.:) Get up and get moving, people. You will feel so much better!!!!!
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
WHAT Did You Call Me?!
I’m a pretty old-fashioned girl when it comes to a woman’s role. For example, I feel that it is my God-given responsibility as the wife and mother in this home to clean house, do laundry, and prepare the meals. I have no problem with the idea of a wife submitting to her husband (okay…sometimes, because of my sin nature, I do have trouble submitting,) and I believe that God designed woman as the “weaker vessel”. I'm totally okay with being dependent upon my husband to care for and protect me, because I know with everything in me that it is what God intended.
I detest the whole “women’s lib” movement. It is a slap in the face to a God who designed men and women for very specific, very different roles in order to complement one another in life. How could I respect Greg if he was always screaming for me to come kill a spider? (Apologies to my brother, Nate, and his precious wife, Suzanne, who is the spider-killer in their home because my brother is a wimp—I’m kidding, he’s a Marine, so he’s no wimp. He’s just more afraid of spiders than he is of terrorists. At least he has a sense of humor about the whole thing. I love you, Brother.)
When “liberated” women get all up-in-arms over my being a stay-at-home mom who home schools her children (*gasp!*) it kind of bugs me. I am always on the conservative side of a debate over such matters.
So, it came as a surprise to even me when I discovered that I was reacting to a particular internet article in a manner completely opposite my typical reaction.
I recently saw a post on the wall of one of my Facebook friends that was a link to a photography website. It was called “Moms with Cameras”. When I was unable to connect to the link via my iPhone, I decided to do a Google search instead. What I found was interesting: several links to news stories with similar titles.
I clicked on one such article and began to read. The writer was describing how the new trend in photography is this new “moms with cameras” phenomenon. The article stated that since D-SLRs (Digital Single Lens Reflex cameras) are getting so much more affordable, the photography industry is being inundated by these so-called MWACs. (Mom-With-A-Camera.) These moms are buying these cameras to take pictures of their kids, and they end up starting photography businesses.
Now, let’s set aside the fact that I bought my D-SLR in order to take pictures of my kids, having no desire whatsoever to become a professional photographer (which I am not.) This article positively made me bristle! I thought, “These jerks don’t know me at all!” They have no idea that when I take up a hobby, I am as serious as a heart attack about it.
When Jackson was a baby, I decided that I wanted to make a cross-stitch project to hang in his bedroom to match the Noah’s Ark theme. I had never attempted such a task, but I was determined to do it for the sake of my precious baby and his nursery decor. I chose to cut my needle pointing teeth, so to speak, on a 5 x 7 Noah’s Ark cross-stitch for my niece. I finished it in a couple of weeks and was pleased with how it turned out. The project that I chose for Jackson’s bedroom was 16 x 20 inches, had SCADS of colors and detail, and was extraordinarily elaborate. Keep in mind that this was only my second cross-stitch project ever, and I jumped in with both feet. It took me a total of about three months of work, but I finished it and framed it, and the result was beautiful.
When I decided to start couponing, I didn’t say to myself, “Hey, I think I’ll clip a couple of coupons out of this mailer and save 75 cents at the grocery store next week.” I read books, scoured the internet, talked to as many coupon-clipping friends as I could, and within weeks was saving hundreds of dollars in one shopping trip. I had a coupon box that would make Ellie Kay proud, and was laughing out loud on my way out of Meijer because I had just taken those people for a ride.
It is no different with my newfound love of photography. I spent six months saving for this camera. Do you seriously believe that I, of all people, am going to be satisfied with a few snapshots of my kids’ birthday parties or some group shot where everyone is blinking into the glaring sun? I think not.
Some of you know me, and some of you don’t. But if there is one thing my family would say about me, it is that I don’t do anything halfway. I have five kids, for pity’s sake—that’s a woman who’s not afraid to take on a project!
I am a wife, a mother, a friend, a pretty darn good jewelry lady, a pastor’s wife, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a great cross-stitcher (you ought to see the Christmas stockings I’ve made for the kids,) a singer, a blogger, an avid reader, a home school teacher, a referee, a doctor, a seamstress, a stuffed animal vet, an encourager, and a devoted follower of Christ. I’m not just some “Mom with a Camera.”
So don’t even think about painting me with that brush.
I detest the whole “women’s lib” movement. It is a slap in the face to a God who designed men and women for very specific, very different roles in order to complement one another in life. How could I respect Greg if he was always screaming for me to come kill a spider? (Apologies to my brother, Nate, and his precious wife, Suzanne, who is the spider-killer in their home because my brother is a wimp—I’m kidding, he’s a Marine, so he’s no wimp. He’s just more afraid of spiders than he is of terrorists. At least he has a sense of humor about the whole thing. I love you, Brother.)
When “liberated” women get all up-in-arms over my being a stay-at-home mom who home schools her children (*gasp!*) it kind of bugs me. I am always on the conservative side of a debate over such matters.
So, it came as a surprise to even me when I discovered that I was reacting to a particular internet article in a manner completely opposite my typical reaction.
I recently saw a post on the wall of one of my Facebook friends that was a link to a photography website. It was called “Moms with Cameras”. When I was unable to connect to the link via my iPhone, I decided to do a Google search instead. What I found was interesting: several links to news stories with similar titles.
I clicked on one such article and began to read. The writer was describing how the new trend in photography is this new “moms with cameras” phenomenon. The article stated that since D-SLRs (Digital Single Lens Reflex cameras) are getting so much more affordable, the photography industry is being inundated by these so-called MWACs. (Mom-With-A-Camera.) These moms are buying these cameras to take pictures of their kids, and they end up starting photography businesses.
Now, let’s set aside the fact that I bought my D-SLR in order to take pictures of my kids, having no desire whatsoever to become a professional photographer (which I am not.) This article positively made me bristle! I thought, “These jerks don’t know me at all!” They have no idea that when I take up a hobby, I am as serious as a heart attack about it.
When Jackson was a baby, I decided that I wanted to make a cross-stitch project to hang in his bedroom to match the Noah’s Ark theme. I had never attempted such a task, but I was determined to do it for the sake of my precious baby and his nursery decor. I chose to cut my needle pointing teeth, so to speak, on a 5 x 7 Noah’s Ark cross-stitch for my niece. I finished it in a couple of weeks and was pleased with how it turned out. The project that I chose for Jackson’s bedroom was 16 x 20 inches, had SCADS of colors and detail, and was extraordinarily elaborate. Keep in mind that this was only my second cross-stitch project ever, and I jumped in with both feet. It took me a total of about three months of work, but I finished it and framed it, and the result was beautiful.
When I decided to start couponing, I didn’t say to myself, “Hey, I think I’ll clip a couple of coupons out of this mailer and save 75 cents at the grocery store next week.” I read books, scoured the internet, talked to as many coupon-clipping friends as I could, and within weeks was saving hundreds of dollars in one shopping trip. I had a coupon box that would make Ellie Kay proud, and was laughing out loud on my way out of Meijer because I had just taken those people for a ride.
It is no different with my newfound love of photography. I spent six months saving for this camera. Do you seriously believe that I, of all people, am going to be satisfied with a few snapshots of my kids’ birthday parties or some group shot where everyone is blinking into the glaring sun? I think not.
Some of you know me, and some of you don’t. But if there is one thing my family would say about me, it is that I don’t do anything halfway. I have five kids, for pity’s sake—that’s a woman who’s not afraid to take on a project!
I am a wife, a mother, a friend, a pretty darn good jewelry lady, a pastor’s wife, a daughter, a sister, a cousin, a great cross-stitcher (you ought to see the Christmas stockings I’ve made for the kids,) a singer, a blogger, an avid reader, a home school teacher, a referee, a doctor, a seamstress, a stuffed animal vet, an encourager, and a devoted follower of Christ. I’m not just some “Mom with a Camera.”
So don’t even think about painting me with that brush.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
How to Save Money (Sort of)
Who doesn’t want to save a buck?
Everywhere you look these days you can find tips for saving money. Websites abound with advice from clipping coupons to learning how to make things less expensively than you can buy them. There are books upon books about how to save money on everything from groceries to vacations to car or home purchases.
These are tough times, and our family is no different than any other. I’ve been “doing the coupon thing” for almost a year and have saved thousands of dollars in the last twelve months just by making that simple change to our lifestyle. I plan meals according to the items that I have stockpiled in the pantry and freezer, and on a typical weekly shopping trip, I save around $100.
We, like most other families in America, used to buy on credit. Notice that I said “used to”. Two years ago this month we made our last purchase on credit: a one-pound, four-ounce Chihuahua whom we named Razzle. My jewelry business was doing well, so we justified the purchase by planning to pay her off the following month. I probably don’t need to mention here that during the following month I didn’t end up making the money that I had been hoping for, “other things” came up, and we were unable to pay our tab in full. We had major buyers’ remorse over that dog, but our children loved her, so we were stuck. (Until we gave her away a year later. We think of her each month when we make that payment to the pet store…) One day, about a week after we’d brought her home, Greg and I spent an emotional time in prayer, asking the Lord to forgive us for being so irresponsible with the money that He had entrusted to us, and we vowed to stop buying anything that we could not purchase with cash.
It took some getting used to, but we LOVE the freedom we have as we climb out of debt rather than spinning our wheels each month by paying minimum payments and racking up interest that would have us shelling out (in the long run) hundreds of dollars for a $20 purchase. A little more than three years from now, we will have no debt except our house. It is a wonderful feeling to know that by the time we start the first of five kids on braces, we’ll be able to pay cash.
You may be wondering how you, too, can save money and get out of debt. If you’re like me, it is really easy to run into the store for a couple of things and end up with a cartload of stuff that you don’t really need. Maybe you’re asking yourself, “How do I stop doing that? How do I make myself stick to buying only what my family really needs?”
Well, I want to share with you the VERY best advice that I have gleaned from my experiences raising five children. It’s not rocket science, but let me tell you, it is keeping me so closely to my budget that it makes me SICK to think of spending money on anything unless it is an absolute necessity. So here it is. The #1 BEST way to stop spending money on useless stuff:
Take up an extremely expensive hobby.
For me, that is photography. A year ago, I asked a dear friend of ours to take the kids’ pictures because I got sick of telling the people at the Target Portrait Studio that we wanted appointments for five kids, making sure they understood that we wanted individual portraits and group shots, then we’d get there and they had given us one 15-minute time slot. The pictures taken by our friend turned out so well that that very day I started saving money for a nice camera.
I was able to purchase my new camera (the Canon T1i) in December. It didn’t take me long, however, to discover that photography is not a cheap hobby. Lenses cost anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars. My wish list grows every day: portrait lens, macro lens, wide-angle lens, polarizing filter, studio background and lighting, 5-in-1 reflector/diffuser, Mac Book laptop, photo editing software, photo printer…the list goes on and on. And this is just for personal use! At least at this point, I’m not making plans to do this professionally. But check out what this baby can do!!!
(I took all of these pictures myself.)
I have great motivation to not spend money on the movie I saw in the $5 bin at Walmart that I watched one time in elementary school and that I think might have been funny. My children don’t really need new socks…the holey ones they’re wearing are allowing their feet to breathe, and breathing is a good thing. According to the First Lady, obesity is a threat to our national security, so I can stop buying snack foods to keep in the house. In the afternoon when the kids come asking me for something to eat, we just sit around the table together looking at my fancy camera bag. You see? There are all kinds of corners you can find to cut when you have a hobby that would otherwise drain you dry.
You read it here first, people. Leave me a comment and I promise that I will send you an autographed copy of my first book.
Everywhere you look these days you can find tips for saving money. Websites abound with advice from clipping coupons to learning how to make things less expensively than you can buy them. There are books upon books about how to save money on everything from groceries to vacations to car or home purchases.
These are tough times, and our family is no different than any other. I’ve been “doing the coupon thing” for almost a year and have saved thousands of dollars in the last twelve months just by making that simple change to our lifestyle. I plan meals according to the items that I have stockpiled in the pantry and freezer, and on a typical weekly shopping trip, I save around $100.
We, like most other families in America, used to buy on credit. Notice that I said “used to”. Two years ago this month we made our last purchase on credit: a one-pound, four-ounce Chihuahua whom we named Razzle. My jewelry business was doing well, so we justified the purchase by planning to pay her off the following month. I probably don’t need to mention here that during the following month I didn’t end up making the money that I had been hoping for, “other things” came up, and we were unable to pay our tab in full. We had major buyers’ remorse over that dog, but our children loved her, so we were stuck. (Until we gave her away a year later. We think of her each month when we make that payment to the pet store…) One day, about a week after we’d brought her home, Greg and I spent an emotional time in prayer, asking the Lord to forgive us for being so irresponsible with the money that He had entrusted to us, and we vowed to stop buying anything that we could not purchase with cash.
It took some getting used to, but we LOVE the freedom we have as we climb out of debt rather than spinning our wheels each month by paying minimum payments and racking up interest that would have us shelling out (in the long run) hundreds of dollars for a $20 purchase. A little more than three years from now, we will have no debt except our house. It is a wonderful feeling to know that by the time we start the first of five kids on braces, we’ll be able to pay cash.
You may be wondering how you, too, can save money and get out of debt. If you’re like me, it is really easy to run into the store for a couple of things and end up with a cartload of stuff that you don’t really need. Maybe you’re asking yourself, “How do I stop doing that? How do I make myself stick to buying only what my family really needs?”
Well, I want to share with you the VERY best advice that I have gleaned from my experiences raising five children. It’s not rocket science, but let me tell you, it is keeping me so closely to my budget that it makes me SICK to think of spending money on anything unless it is an absolute necessity. So here it is. The #1 BEST way to stop spending money on useless stuff:
Take up an extremely expensive hobby.
For me, that is photography. A year ago, I asked a dear friend of ours to take the kids’ pictures because I got sick of telling the people at the Target Portrait Studio that we wanted appointments for five kids, making sure they understood that we wanted individual portraits and group shots, then we’d get there and they had given us one 15-minute time slot. The pictures taken by our friend turned out so well that that very day I started saving money for a nice camera.
I was able to purchase my new camera (the Canon T1i) in December. It didn’t take me long, however, to discover that photography is not a cheap hobby. Lenses cost anywhere from hundreds to thousands of dollars. My wish list grows every day: portrait lens, macro lens, wide-angle lens, polarizing filter, studio background and lighting, 5-in-1 reflector/diffuser, Mac Book laptop, photo editing software, photo printer…the list goes on and on. And this is just for personal use! At least at this point, I’m not making plans to do this professionally. But check out what this baby can do!!!
(I took all of these pictures myself.)
I have great motivation to not spend money on the movie I saw in the $5 bin at Walmart that I watched one time in elementary school and that I think might have been funny. My children don’t really need new socks…the holey ones they’re wearing are allowing their feet to breathe, and breathing is a good thing. According to the First Lady, obesity is a threat to our national security, so I can stop buying snack foods to keep in the house. In the afternoon when the kids come asking me for something to eat, we just sit around the table together looking at my fancy camera bag. You see? There are all kinds of corners you can find to cut when you have a hobby that would otherwise drain you dry.
You read it here first, people. Leave me a comment and I promise that I will send you an autographed copy of my first book.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Quick Meal: Cheeseburger Pasta
My friend, Jaime Treadwell, sent me this recipe to share with you! Her son is allergic to dairy, so she just leaves the cheese off of his portion. This is an awesome recipe and healthy, to boot!
Thanks, Jaime, for sharing it!!!
Family-Favorite Cheeseburger Pasta
1½ c. whole wheat penne
3/4 lb. lean ground beef
2 Tbsp. finely chopped onion
14½ oz. diced tomatoes
2 Tbsp. dill pickle relish
2 Tbsp. prepared mustard
2 Tbsp. ketchup
1 tsp. steak seasoning
¼ tsp. seasoned salt
¾ c. shredded r-f cheddar
chopped green onions, optional
Cook pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat until meat is no longer pink; drain. Drain pasta; add to meat mixture. Stir in the tomatoes, relish, mustard, ketchup, steak seasoning and seasoned salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 5 min. Sprinkle with cheese. Remove from the heat; cover and let stand until cheese is melted. Garnish with green onions if desired. Yield: 4 servings; Nutrition Facts: 1½ c. has 391 cal.; Diabetic Exchange:2 lean meat, 2 starch, 1 vegetable, 1/2 fat.
Enjoy!!
Thanks, Jaime, for sharing it!!!
Family-Favorite Cheeseburger Pasta
1½ c. whole wheat penne
3/4 lb. lean ground beef
2 Tbsp. finely chopped onion
14½ oz. diced tomatoes
2 Tbsp. dill pickle relish
2 Tbsp. prepared mustard
2 Tbsp. ketchup
1 tsp. steak seasoning
¼ tsp. seasoned salt
¾ c. shredded r-f cheddar
chopped green onions, optional
Cook pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, in a large skillet, cook beef and onion over medium heat until meat is no longer pink; drain. Drain pasta; add to meat mixture. Stir in the tomatoes, relish, mustard, ketchup, steak seasoning and seasoned salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; simmer, uncovered, for 5 min. Sprinkle with cheese. Remove from the heat; cover and let stand until cheese is melted. Garnish with green onions if desired. Yield: 4 servings; Nutrition Facts: 1½ c. has 391 cal.; Diabetic Exchange:2 lean meat, 2 starch, 1 vegetable, 1/2 fat.
Enjoy!!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Forgiveness
The first time someone asked me if I had been a cheerleader, I laughed out loud. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am now friends with many ladies who were cheerleaders in high school. It’s just that I would not have been friends with them when I was actually in high school.
I was nowhere close to what one would describe as being a part of the “popular crowd” during my growing up years. During the summer between my sixth and seventh grades, my dad was called to pastor a church in a community that we discovered later was known for having residents with a lot of money. I don’t really know how my parents managed to live there—they certainly didn’t have a lot of money. But they did make sacrifices so that they could raise four children and be in the same community where the church was, as my dad always felt that that was an important thing for a pastor to do.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that the kids at my new school didn’t play by any of the rules to which I was accustomed. At (such-and-such) Middle School, if you did not have exactly the right tag on your jeans or the little blue rectangle on the backs of your canvas shoes, you did not belong. Needless to say, my wonderful, loving parents could not afford those tags or blue rectangles.
So, my adolescent years were quite difficult for me. Not always, of course. I had my good friends. But there were some very memorable moments that God would use to shape me and make me into the woman, wife, and mother that I am today.
Some of these events are too embarrassing to mention. In fact, I have a pit in my stomach right now even thinking about some of them. But I will give you an overview of some of the more minor incidents:
In the fifth grade my best friend, Katie, was in the other of two fifth grade classes. She informed me one day (with a sick look on her sweet face) that everyone in her class had made a pact to not speak to me. (Everyone except her, of course.) She didn’t know why they had decided to make this pact, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.
I was in a fifth/sixth grade combination class. One day, the 6th grade boy in my class on whom I had an enormous crush informed me laughingly and in front of everyone in the room that he had been told of my crush. I was, of course, mortified and never wanted to go back to school.
When I was in the seventh grade, a similar situation took place, only the object of my crush was sitting right beside me as he was informed by another classmate of said crush. That scene plays in my mind like a bad movie. I can still see everyone laughing at me as I tried to shrink into my chair.
Do you remember the Express jeans of the late 80’s? The ones with the button fly and cool, triangular flaps that folded down toward a tapered ankle? (Nice.) Those jeans were, I think, about $45 a pair, so of course I didn’t have them. Oh, I wanted them like crazy. But that amount of money would have fed the four of us kids for a week, so Express jeans were O-U-T. I got the next best thing—knockoffs that were poorly acid-washed. BUT, they had the right fly and the flaps. I couldn’t WAIT to wear them to school! I had a cute little white, collared shirt (collar flipped up, of course,) to wear with them, and I had redesigned my big bangs to complete the look.
I was as nervous as a cat as I sat in my homeroom class, waiting for the popular kids to come in from the bus and hopefully not notice my clothes. Nothin’ doin’. Two girls who were particularly intimidating to me walked in together and noticed me simultaneously.
I will never forget this as long as I draw breath: they looked at each other and screamed. Screamed, I said. Then they took turns slowly walking past me so that they could check out the fake tag on my jeans. Horror of horrors.
Sitting in class during my sophomore year, our teacher left the room for what would become a defining moment in my life…
In this particular class, I was unfortunately seated in a desert wasteland of normal kids, surrounded by other teens who were of the popular group, all friends with each other, and apparently in need of some entertainment at my expense. I was dating a nice guy from another school at the time, and on that day I happened to be wearing his leather jacket. (Can anyone say “1992”?) The moment our teacher stepped out, the kid who sat next to me turned to me and said, “That’s a nice jacket.” It was as though he’d been waiting for this opportunity to mock me. My heart sank. I knew what was coming, and my face was already heating with embarrassment as his friends all turned in their seats to observe the exchange. He continued:
“Is it yours?”
“No.” I quietly replied.
“Whose is it?” He asked, chuckling.
One of the girls close by gave a weak attempt at saving me. “Leave her alone.”
“Whose is it?” He pressed.
I am going to throw up. “My boyfriend’s,” I responded in an almost whisper, inwardly cringing.
He laughed out loud. “YOU have a boyfriend?!”
I was horrified beyond words and couldn’t stop the flow of tears no matter how hard I tried. I was fully aware that no one in their group saw any worth in me, but it was so humiliating to have it out in the open like that.
From that day forward, I became a very confrontational person. It didn’t matter what the subject, if I felt like someone was attacking me personally, I attacked back with a vengeance. I took sinful pride in the idea that I could and would stand up for myself. I wanted people to say, “Oh, you don’t want to mess with her.”
I carried this confrontational attitude into our marriage. Greg and I had the typical arguments during our first year of marriage, but I fought dirty. One time my mom even asked me to my face, “Why are you so mean to him?” Of course it made me angry.
About ten months into our first year, I came home from work to find Greg sitting on the couch waiting for me. I could tell with one glance that he wanted to talk about something important, but I had no idea what it was. I unloaded my things and sat down gingerly, while inside I was preparing for a fight.
Greg didn’t waste any time on small talk. He looked straight into my eyes and said, “You are not the gentle-spirited woman that God intended you to be.”
He was bracing himself for an explosion, but it was not to be. I positively crumbled. I don’t recall ever having wept so forcefully before or since. Greg knew about my school years. He knew of the torment that I had endured. That night, Greg gently led me through a time of prayer and forgiveness toward those who had caused me pain. I realized then that the anger to which I was holding so tightly was causing me more anguish than it could ever cause the ones who had no idea that I was still carrying it like a shield.
If you have hurt in your past--deep, scarring events that have tormented you for years--I beg of you to let the Lord wash those hurts away. I was so miserable in my sinful anger. The bitterness that I thought was protecting me actually had me in bondage.
You may think, “Well, you don’t know what I went through. It was a lot worse than some kids being mean to me.” You’re right. I have no idea. But I do know that Christ endured more pain, more torment than you or I could begin to imagine. And He did it for you and for me. He did it because He loves you so much that He wanted to take the punishment that you and I deserve.
Colossians 3:12-13 says, “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” God doesn’t promise that it will be easy, but He does give those who have believed in Jesus the strength we need to be able to let go of the hurt and the bitterness.
Trust me, once you’ve let go of the sinful anger that is weighing you down, you will feel like the world has been lifted from your shoulders. I can honestly say that I have forgiven the ones who hurt me so deeply. Those years are behind me, and those experiences have been so useful in teaching our children how to treat (and how not to treat) others. The Lord Jesus has made me into a completely different person than I once was. Numerous friends and family members can and will attest to that.
My prayer for you is that you will allow the Lord to make you into a different person, if need be, and will give you the strength and courage to forgive the one(s) who have hurt you. He has forgiven you of infinitely more than He would ask you to forgive.
I was nowhere close to what one would describe as being a part of the “popular crowd” during my growing up years. During the summer between my sixth and seventh grades, my dad was called to pastor a church in a community that we discovered later was known for having residents with a lot of money. I don’t really know how my parents managed to live there—they certainly didn’t have a lot of money. But they did make sacrifices so that they could raise four children and be in the same community where the church was, as my dad always felt that that was an important thing for a pastor to do.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that the kids at my new school didn’t play by any of the rules to which I was accustomed. At (such-and-such) Middle School, if you did not have exactly the right tag on your jeans or the little blue rectangle on the backs of your canvas shoes, you did not belong. Needless to say, my wonderful, loving parents could not afford those tags or blue rectangles.
So, my adolescent years were quite difficult for me. Not always, of course. I had my good friends. But there were some very memorable moments that God would use to shape me and make me into the woman, wife, and mother that I am today.
Some of these events are too embarrassing to mention. In fact, I have a pit in my stomach right now even thinking about some of them. But I will give you an overview of some of the more minor incidents:
In the fifth grade my best friend, Katie, was in the other of two fifth grade classes. She informed me one day (with a sick look on her sweet face) that everyone in her class had made a pact to not speak to me. (Everyone except her, of course.) She didn’t know why they had decided to make this pact, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.
I was in a fifth/sixth grade combination class. One day, the 6th grade boy in my class on whom I had an enormous crush informed me laughingly and in front of everyone in the room that he had been told of my crush. I was, of course, mortified and never wanted to go back to school.
When I was in the seventh grade, a similar situation took place, only the object of my crush was sitting right beside me as he was informed by another classmate of said crush. That scene plays in my mind like a bad movie. I can still see everyone laughing at me as I tried to shrink into my chair.
Do you remember the Express jeans of the late 80’s? The ones with the button fly and cool, triangular flaps that folded down toward a tapered ankle? (Nice.) Those jeans were, I think, about $45 a pair, so of course I didn’t have them. Oh, I wanted them like crazy. But that amount of money would have fed the four of us kids for a week, so Express jeans were O-U-T. I got the next best thing—knockoffs that were poorly acid-washed. BUT, they had the right fly and the flaps. I couldn’t WAIT to wear them to school! I had a cute little white, collared shirt (collar flipped up, of course,) to wear with them, and I had redesigned my big bangs to complete the look.
I was as nervous as a cat as I sat in my homeroom class, waiting for the popular kids to come in from the bus and hopefully not notice my clothes. Nothin’ doin’. Two girls who were particularly intimidating to me walked in together and noticed me simultaneously.
I will never forget this as long as I draw breath: they looked at each other and screamed. Screamed, I said. Then they took turns slowly walking past me so that they could check out the fake tag on my jeans. Horror of horrors.
Sitting in class during my sophomore year, our teacher left the room for what would become a defining moment in my life…
In this particular class, I was unfortunately seated in a desert wasteland of normal kids, surrounded by other teens who were of the popular group, all friends with each other, and apparently in need of some entertainment at my expense. I was dating a nice guy from another school at the time, and on that day I happened to be wearing his leather jacket. (Can anyone say “1992”?) The moment our teacher stepped out, the kid who sat next to me turned to me and said, “That’s a nice jacket.” It was as though he’d been waiting for this opportunity to mock me. My heart sank. I knew what was coming, and my face was already heating with embarrassment as his friends all turned in their seats to observe the exchange. He continued:
“Is it yours?”
“No.” I quietly replied.
“Whose is it?” He asked, chuckling.
One of the girls close by gave a weak attempt at saving me. “Leave her alone.”
“Whose is it?” He pressed.
I am going to throw up. “My boyfriend’s,” I responded in an almost whisper, inwardly cringing.
He laughed out loud. “YOU have a boyfriend?!”
I was horrified beyond words and couldn’t stop the flow of tears no matter how hard I tried. I was fully aware that no one in their group saw any worth in me, but it was so humiliating to have it out in the open like that.
From that day forward, I became a very confrontational person. It didn’t matter what the subject, if I felt like someone was attacking me personally, I attacked back with a vengeance. I took sinful pride in the idea that I could and would stand up for myself. I wanted people to say, “Oh, you don’t want to mess with her.”
I carried this confrontational attitude into our marriage. Greg and I had the typical arguments during our first year of marriage, but I fought dirty. One time my mom even asked me to my face, “Why are you so mean to him?” Of course it made me angry.
About ten months into our first year, I came home from work to find Greg sitting on the couch waiting for me. I could tell with one glance that he wanted to talk about something important, but I had no idea what it was. I unloaded my things and sat down gingerly, while inside I was preparing for a fight.
Greg didn’t waste any time on small talk. He looked straight into my eyes and said, “You are not the gentle-spirited woman that God intended you to be.”
He was bracing himself for an explosion, but it was not to be. I positively crumbled. I don’t recall ever having wept so forcefully before or since. Greg knew about my school years. He knew of the torment that I had endured. That night, Greg gently led me through a time of prayer and forgiveness toward those who had caused me pain. I realized then that the anger to which I was holding so tightly was causing me more anguish than it could ever cause the ones who had no idea that I was still carrying it like a shield.
If you have hurt in your past--deep, scarring events that have tormented you for years--I beg of you to let the Lord wash those hurts away. I was so miserable in my sinful anger. The bitterness that I thought was protecting me actually had me in bondage.
You may think, “Well, you don’t know what I went through. It was a lot worse than some kids being mean to me.” You’re right. I have no idea. But I do know that Christ endured more pain, more torment than you or I could begin to imagine. And He did it for you and for me. He did it because He loves you so much that He wanted to take the punishment that you and I deserve.
Colossians 3:12-13 says, “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.” God doesn’t promise that it will be easy, but He does give those who have believed in Jesus the strength we need to be able to let go of the hurt and the bitterness.
Trust me, once you’ve let go of the sinful anger that is weighing you down, you will feel like the world has been lifted from your shoulders. I can honestly say that I have forgiven the ones who hurt me so deeply. Those years are behind me, and those experiences have been so useful in teaching our children how to treat (and how not to treat) others. The Lord Jesus has made me into a completely different person than I once was. Numerous friends and family members can and will attest to that.
My prayer for you is that you will allow the Lord to make you into a different person, if need be, and will give you the strength and courage to forgive the one(s) who have hurt you. He has forgiven you of infinitely more than He would ask you to forgive.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
What's the Point, Anyway?
There is a multitude of reasons for blogging. Some people do it because they have a service to offer. Others use it as an outlet for venting their thoughts and feelings. Still others enjoy having a blog so that they can share their latest goings-on with family and friends who they don’t get to see very often.
The whole idea for most bloggers, though, is that we like to have a place where we can be transparent with our readers. I decided to start this blog as an encouragement to others who might be experiencing similar difficulties in their spiritual walk, raising their children, or dealing with companies that couldn’t make a leak-proof diaper if their lives depended on it.
I do often wonder, though, what’s the point? Does anybody really care what I have to say? (I’m not fishing for compliments. I know that you do care, or you wouldn’t bother to read this.) Do the things that I write and post here make a difference in anyone’s life?
Sometimes I would like very much to use it as a platform for venting my anger and frustration, but that wouldn’t be very encouraging to my readers, would it? But, I’m human, right? It’s my blog and I can say what I want, right?
So, how’s this for transparent: I feel like a complete failure most days. A failure as a mother. A failure as a wife. A failure as an “independent jewelry distributor”. I have no business being a pastor’s wife. I am married to a man who makes his living by studying the Bible, and I don’t even know where mine is at the moment because I haven’t cracked it open for days. I yell at my kids, I say the word “crap” on a daily basis, and I often assume the worst about people just because I am disgruntled about something.
I recently started to read a book in which the author was encouraging readers to think about what the cross means to us in our daily lives. Is it just a story that we think about each spring as we’re filling up plastic eggs with candy, or is it the driving force behind everything we do? I had to be brutally honest with myself and admit that most days I walk past the cross with my iPhone and a digital photography book in one hand while pushing the vacuum with the other. I’m aware that Jesus is there, having taken the punishment for my sin, but do I really care? Am I truly thankful? And by thankful I mean do I go about my activities each day with a song in my heart and a prayer on my lips, constantly mindful of the fact that his life, death, and resurrection set me free from my sin? Or do I give Him a cursory nod as He is bleeding and suffering for me, and then walk away as I post my status on Facebook?
Friends, if you don’t hear another word I ever say, please hear this: Jesus paid the price that we could never have paid. He gave His life willingly so that we could live eternally. We cannot do anything to earn or deserve heaven. If we repent (turn away) from our sin, and acknowledge Him as Savior and Lord, he will welcome us into His family with open arms. We will still sin, for we have a sin nature. But He will forgive us if we but ask, and He will sanctify us (make us more like Christ) if we pursue sanctification.
And that is the point.
The whole idea for most bloggers, though, is that we like to have a place where we can be transparent with our readers. I decided to start this blog as an encouragement to others who might be experiencing similar difficulties in their spiritual walk, raising their children, or dealing with companies that couldn’t make a leak-proof diaper if their lives depended on it.
I do often wonder, though, what’s the point? Does anybody really care what I have to say? (I’m not fishing for compliments. I know that you do care, or you wouldn’t bother to read this.) Do the things that I write and post here make a difference in anyone’s life?
Sometimes I would like very much to use it as a platform for venting my anger and frustration, but that wouldn’t be very encouraging to my readers, would it? But, I’m human, right? It’s my blog and I can say what I want, right?
So, how’s this for transparent: I feel like a complete failure most days. A failure as a mother. A failure as a wife. A failure as an “independent jewelry distributor”. I have no business being a pastor’s wife. I am married to a man who makes his living by studying the Bible, and I don’t even know where mine is at the moment because I haven’t cracked it open for days. I yell at my kids, I say the word “crap” on a daily basis, and I often assume the worst about people just because I am disgruntled about something.
I recently started to read a book in which the author was encouraging readers to think about what the cross means to us in our daily lives. Is it just a story that we think about each spring as we’re filling up plastic eggs with candy, or is it the driving force behind everything we do? I had to be brutally honest with myself and admit that most days I walk past the cross with my iPhone and a digital photography book in one hand while pushing the vacuum with the other. I’m aware that Jesus is there, having taken the punishment for my sin, but do I really care? Am I truly thankful? And by thankful I mean do I go about my activities each day with a song in my heart and a prayer on my lips, constantly mindful of the fact that his life, death, and resurrection set me free from my sin? Or do I give Him a cursory nod as He is bleeding and suffering for me, and then walk away as I post my status on Facebook?
Friends, if you don’t hear another word I ever say, please hear this: Jesus paid the price that we could never have paid. He gave His life willingly so that we could live eternally. We cannot do anything to earn or deserve heaven. If we repent (turn away) from our sin, and acknowledge Him as Savior and Lord, he will welcome us into His family with open arms. We will still sin, for we have a sin nature. But He will forgive us if we but ask, and He will sanctify us (make us more like Christ) if we pursue sanctification.
And that is the point.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Julie's Got Nothin' On Me
If Julie Powell (of “Julie and Julia” fame) had 65 messages on her answering machine in one day, left by salivating agents and publishers, why don’t I? Let’s leave out for a moment that I don’t have an answering machine. That’s beside the point.
If you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, the story is based on the true story of Julie Powell, a young married woman who decided that she would cook through Julia Child’s entire cookbook in one year and blog about her experiences in the process. Julie recreated 524 French recipes in 365 days. It’s a cute story and the movie is relatively clean. (There are a few bad words and an almost-love-scene.)
I will admit that what Julie did was pretty impressive, but I may just have one up on her. You may be asking, “What? Did you cook 525 French recipes in 365 days?” No, I did not. But for the past 365 days of my life I have done something infinitely more amazing.
For the past year I have allowed five children to live in my house. And trust me, there have been many days out of the past 365 when just allowing my children to live to the end of the day was quite a feat.
Not only have I allowed said children to live here, I’ve kept them fed, clothed, schooled, piano lessoned, and churched. I’ve kept their teeth clean, their laundry clean, their dishes clean. I’ve broken up their arguments, I’ve laughed at their made-up jokes, and I’ve watched their favorite movies with them.
These children have benefited from my kindness over and over in the past 365 days. I’ve bought them toys on their birthdays and Christmas, and I’ve made sure that they had fun things to do on occasion, including trips to the zoo and to the movie theater.
They’ve been showered with hugs, kisses and love. They’ve been taught Scripture, and they’ve been encouraged in their knowledge of the Lord.
So I’d like to ask you to please vote for me. I don’t really know where you would go to vote for me. I’m not running for anything. There isn’t a website that is taking nominations for a “Nice-Lady-Who-Allows-a-Ton-of-Kids-to-Live-in-Her-House” of the Year award. No agency is asking people to text in their choice between a movie made out of either my life or some other lady’s life. Although if someone was brilliant enough to make a movie out of my life, I know that it would bring in dozens of dollars at the box office.
But if you ever have a chance to choose between me and someone who just cooked all year (which I also did,) please pick me. I thank you, and these children thank you.
Let’s see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that. (No, I mean it. Can we please see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that? I could really use the money…)
If you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, the story is based on the true story of Julie Powell, a young married woman who decided that she would cook through Julia Child’s entire cookbook in one year and blog about her experiences in the process. Julie recreated 524 French recipes in 365 days. It’s a cute story and the movie is relatively clean. (There are a few bad words and an almost-love-scene.)
I will admit that what Julie did was pretty impressive, but I may just have one up on her. You may be asking, “What? Did you cook 525 French recipes in 365 days?” No, I did not. But for the past 365 days of my life I have done something infinitely more amazing.
For the past year I have allowed five children to live in my house. And trust me, there have been many days out of the past 365 when just allowing my children to live to the end of the day was quite a feat.
Not only have I allowed said children to live here, I’ve kept them fed, clothed, schooled, piano lessoned, and churched. I’ve kept their teeth clean, their laundry clean, their dishes clean. I’ve broken up their arguments, I’ve laughed at their made-up jokes, and I’ve watched their favorite movies with them.
These children have benefited from my kindness over and over in the past 365 days. I’ve bought them toys on their birthdays and Christmas, and I’ve made sure that they had fun things to do on occasion, including trips to the zoo and to the movie theater.
They’ve been showered with hugs, kisses and love. They’ve been taught Scripture, and they’ve been encouraged in their knowledge of the Lord.
So I’d like to ask you to please vote for me. I don’t really know where you would go to vote for me. I’m not running for anything. There isn’t a website that is taking nominations for a “Nice-Lady-Who-Allows-a-Ton-of-Kids-to-Live-in-Her-House” of the Year award. No agency is asking people to text in their choice between a movie made out of either my life or some other lady’s life. Although if someone was brilliant enough to make a movie out of my life, I know that it would bring in dozens of dollars at the box office.
But if you ever have a chance to choose between me and someone who just cooked all year (which I also did,) please pick me. I thank you, and these children thank you.
Let’s see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that. (No, I mean it. Can we please see Nora Ephron make a movie out of that? I could really use the money…)
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