X Does Not Equal Y

"I used to want to fix people, but now I just want to be with them." 

 - Bob Goff, author of "Love Does"
(mandatory must read for the summer...)

Recently I had a conversation with someone who was creating doctrines out of "one-liners," essentially judging the behaviors of others with consequences they saw fitting from the Bible based on one single sentence in Scripture.

X = Y.

This is dangerous business, the doling out of judgments, biases, and "God's" reprimands.  This is what denominations and religions and cults and cliques and exclusive clubs within Christianity have been built on for ages and in more recent years, I personally see it gaining momentum.  A momentum which is building even in light of all the free love and acceptance that's preached on any given Sunday.

This business alone is God's.  Just God's.  God revives hearts.  God's mission is all of us.  God is the miraculous.

How very helpful we must feel to point out the imperfections of others...you know, because God can't see them on His own and all.  And what we have to show others in being right and proving their wrongness will sure teach them and inspire them to want to be more like us...urrr, God, I mean.

Sin is real.  And sin is painful.  And we all sin.  And the truth is, we don't sin exclusively, meaning, it doesn't only affect us, it affects our relationship with God and our loving relationship and connectedness to other humans.  Sin is a big deal.  But not so big that God can't forgive it...and never so big that we can't go to Him and receive renewal in His grace, every day, fresh each morning.

It seems it's only the humans who want to keep pointing out one another's suckiness...

I can think of two specific examples where God gave "X = Y" a swift kick in the pants.  There are tons more, but these two I've been chewing on more recently.

• One is when the super spiritual people of the day approach Jesus and ask him about this blind guy, stating, "Who sinned, the man or his parents, causing him to be born blind?"  The Message answer reads, "Jesus said, 'You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no such cause-effect here. Look instead for what God can do. We need to be energetically at work for the One who sent me here, working while the sun shines."
• Another is when the spiritual ones brought to Jesus a woman who had an affair.  They pointed out the laws written stating she should be stoned because of her behavior.  Rocks would hurt.  They would definitely kill her.  I wonder how many of the spiritual ones said stuff like, "Well, she deserves it, I mean, she's the one who had the affair..." And then Jesus said, "The sinless one among you, go first: Throw the stone."  And then it says, "Hearing that, they walked away, one after another, beginning with the oldest. The woman was left alone."

Then let's just chuck it all.  I mean, pointing fingers and segregating throughout the course of church history has clearly made the world a better place.  Either chuck it all, God, baby, and the bath water, or, better yet, because this has definitely been more effective:  let's surround ourselves with people who believe the exact. same. things. we do and then let's point out all the ways in which everyone else doesn't measure up to what it is we believe.  Yep.  That, for sure, will convey God's supernatural, unconditional love, grace, forgiveness, and Sacrifice to a hurting world.

How is it, then, that we should live?  "'Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence.’ This is the most important, the first on any list. But there is a second to set alongside it: ‘Love others as well as you love yourself.’  These two commands are pegs; everything in God’s Law and the Prophets hangs from them.” - The Message, Matthew 22:36-40

So then what?  Just love God with all your guts, and love everybody else and yourself as #2?  Is it that simple?  

And yet it's almost excruciating at times, because usually what we hate the most in others and are able to see blatantly in the behavior of others is what we most readily recognize within ourselves.
  
Radical love isn't pointing out one another's shit.  It's walking through it together.

A Whole Lotta Tongue in Cheek

Recently someone I know posted a picture of himself being baptized as an infant.  His caption had some sort of smart ass sentiment about "water boarding" and "for shame...I was just a baby." 

It got me thinking.  I started attending church at the same age he was in the picture.  That was about 41 years ago.  And church has looked like many different things over that time, including the last two years where I haven't gone to church really at all...

Why did my parents do it?  Why was I given a head bath at a mass in 1972 in Ohio, one winter day?  Why did they choose Catholic over Lutheran over Episcopalian over Baptist over some other brand name denomination?  Why did I go to CCD, First Confession, First Communion, Confirmation?  Why did we give thanks before meals, pray before bed, talk about our problems and apologize, talk to God and about Him with one another?  Was it just so I could wear pretty dresses once a week?  Was it strictly out of social obligation?  Was it because our grandparents expected it or to escape the gates of hell?  Why did we "leave" the local catholic church, anyway, and how is it we wound up in the different kinds of churches since then?  How come some people danced and clapped their hands while others were solemn? 

One attribute I wholeheartedly embrace as a middle-child is that of peace maker.  I will believe the best in you to a fault, and so, I imagine that next to historical conviction, my parents raised me with faith not to cram their own beliefs down my throat or so us girls would fit a mold and be perfect, but so we would always hear from them and know from God that God is good, God made us, He loves us without condition and wants us to love others the same way because life is complicated, messy, and painful, and that He will come back for us one day, which is a good thing, not scary.

I've heard there are worse things parents can do to a child...I'm grateful my parents chose this form of "abuse" as some would see it. 

How tragic...a child was raised with loving parents who made mistakes and were learning it as they went along seeking Wisdom smarter than themselves, but deep down, at the end of each day, knew God was real even though she couldn't see Him, and that He loved her.  For shame...

The peacemaker middle-child in me isn't a score keeper.  On our family faith journey we haven't always done everything right.  On my personal journey with the Lord, I couldn't even begin to tell you all the mistakes I have made...you can do the math:  I dedicated my life to serving the Lord on May 10, 1987...if on average I screwed up 3 dozen times a day, to be conservative, that adds up to a whole lotta thankfulness for Grace and Forgiveness, that's all I know.

Last night Emily and I snuggled on the couch and watched, "Parental Guidance."  All parents and kids should see this film together.  There are some fabulous lessons all around.  In one scene Billy Crystal and Marisa Tomei, father and daughter in the film, are in the kitchen late at night after the culmination of a weeks worth of fighting and disagreements and misunderstandings and major underlying passive aggressive anger from the past.  The film is a comedy, but I was bawling.  Tomei's character had set up her life in such a way to do everything opposite from the way her parents raised her, a clear statement to them that they pretty much sucked/aka she could do it better, without their help, and quite perfectly, thankyouverymuch.

There are things I have done differently as a young woman, mom, wife, and follower of Christ than my parents, and their parents, and their parents before them.  And I've done many things the same.  Good and bad, because I am a human.

I know I will make many more mistakes in parenting as long as I'm on this earth.  I've already screwed my kids up a little, I'll admit.  But if when they are older the worst thing they can say about me is that I prayed and asked God's help in how to show them how much I loved them, well, then, I'm willing to take that risk.  We cannot force our children to believe what we believe, and it very well may break our hearts if they don't, but we can love them...yep, that part is up to us.

Just make sure you love them with all of your guts...because holding some of your love back just because it may rip out your heart will only leave you never really knowing what it's like to fully live.

"Food Fight!!!!!"

A couple weeks ago Jason was rude.  And I mean, weird rude.  

To me it seemed totally irrational and out of nowhere, and in 20+ years of knowing him, I should know...because Jason's not rude.  It's not his nature or in his character to be rude.  He's the most thoughtful man I know.

I mean, I had bought extra hot dogs and sausages.  For most guys, I’d be wearing a “Bonus Wife” crown and sash, maybe even holding a bouquet of flowers.  Any woman who bears extra hot dogs and sausages is automatically enrolled in the “Wife of the Year” club.  Clearly everyone knows this…except, apparently Jason?

I pulled into the garage from running to the grocery store.  Our dear friends were coming over to celebrate birthdays and Jason had decided we’d have burgers and brats...they’d bring a big salad.  I'd make yummy cupcakes.

By JC Harrington on July 4, 2012 at Full 500 × 333 pixels

Since starting Dave Ramsey’s “Financial Peace University” I am almost exclusively our grocery getter.  I’m the one with the cash for food purchases, where Jason’s cash is allocated for lunches during the work week.  Emily had gone with me to the store, and as we assessed who would be having dinner, I asked Em if she wanted burgers or brats for dinner.  She said, "Can the kids have hot dogs, instead?  I said, "Sure, no problem."  She shouted an emphatic “NICE,” gave me the “gag me with a spoon” face she always gives me when the word “brats” is mentioned, and then said, “ As long as the hot dogs were all natural without additives, nitrates, or nitrites.”  You know, no lips and asses.  We laughed and gave each other that, “I don’t even WANT to know what is in those other hot dogs!” look.  

Anyway, back to the story…

So, it was a Sunday afternoon.  Ryan was down for his nap while Em and I were at the store and Jason was hanging out, watching a little football.  He came out to the garage to help carry in bags once he heard the door open.  As he grabbed for several bags in the trunk he quietly said, “Why did you buy hot dogs?  Why do you always second guess me?”

I was all, “Whoa…are you okay?  Why are you being passive aggressive?”

Jason, “I’m not being passive aggressive!  I decided we were having burgers and brats and you second guessed my plan and bought hot dogs.”

I said, thinking to myself what on earth is going on with Jason, “Emily asked if she could have hot dogs.  We only had a pound of ground beef and 3 brats, so with 4 adults and three kids, 3 of which don’t eat brats, I decided to get some hot dogs, and a little extra ground beef, too, just in case.  But what’s really going on, why on earth are you so upset about hot dogs?”

Jason, “I’m not upset.  I just don’t like how you always second guess me.”

Me, “Sweetheart, I am really, really sorry.  I’m really sad that you feel I second guess you!  I totally trust you.  As the one who usually does the hosting, I just wanted to make sure we had enough food.  Have you felt like this a long time?  I’m really sorry.  I had no idea you felt so strongly about this or that you've been feeling this way for so long...you did use the word, "always."  If this is how you’ve felt all along why haven’t you told me?”

Jason, “No.  Nothing’s bothering me…it’s fine…it’s not what I meant, it came out wrong.”

I froze, really sad in my heart, like grieved-ish, that I did something to cause my non-reactive husband to be so distraught over bratwurst.  I started to throw up my walls.  Jason was dressed in his mountain biking gear, so I told him to leave and think about what was going on and we could talk about it when he got home, but we both needed space…over an 8-pack of nitrate-free hotdogs…and a little extra ground beef.

After about an hour and a half Jason came home from his bike ride.

He said, “I’m sorry I overreacted about the brats.  When you got home you opened the garage door and Lady started barking, Ryan wasn’t going down for his nap, and the Redskins had just lost.”

OH.  MY.  FRIGGING.  WORD.

Me, “Are you kidding me?!  This was all because the Redskins suck?  Sweetheart, the Redskins haven’t been good ever since you liked them in the ‘80’s.  I’m just glad it wasn’t something more serious!  You are lucky I love you and realize you had a moment of sheer stupidity to treat me like that because of the lack of athletic performance from a football team.”

"Stupid" Stuff Skins Fans Say or Do

Oh yeah…AND, guess what EVERYONE but Emily wanted for dinner? 

Burgers.  

It's a good thing the grass-fed ground beef was on sale, thankyouverymuch, Dave Ramsey!

Gender Fender Bender

I am pretty worked up about an article I read via Facebook, via Tiny Prints, via Parenting.com

First of all, as many of the fans of Tiny Prints pointed out, stick with making great prints and cards, skip the other agendas.  Their job is to make paper look great. 

So, here's the article. 

And here is where I open my can of whoop ass:

Where to even begin?!  So, these "liberated", free-thinking, "gender-neutral" parents decide to raise their "infant" as a non-gender until the age of 5 when they "reveal" his gender due to a kindergarten application process.  They wanted him, Sasha, to grow up unbiased in gender until he was old enough to choose, therefore they did not allow certain toys such as Barbies or fire trucks.  Last time I looked, you know, flipped a truck upside down, I just never seemed to come across genitalia.  Who knew fire trucks had penis' but apparently that is what these parents thought. 

First, let me get genitals off my chest for a moment:  just because people have certain body parts does not mean they should procreate.  And, if they did indeed procreate, it doesn't mean they were cut out for parenting.  Here is where I encourage people to lovingly give their children up for adoption to people who aren't able to procreate but were designed to be parents. 

The presence of genitals does not equal loving parenting.

And why do people want to be parents, anyway?  This is something people should actually think and pray about before having unprotected sex, within our outside of marriage.  *No, I am not advocating sex outside of marriage.  God didn't set this rule in place to be a big jerk who likes to take the fun out of a spicy evening.  Have a spicy evening with your spouse, that's what He was saying.  And, Yes, I am advocating safe sex.  Entirely other post I have brewing in my head about this topic...wait for it...
But truly, just because a person has gotten married doesn't mean the automatic next thing to do is to become a parent.  Especially if they are totally inclined to self-absorption.  The lifestyle and calling just won't work for you...

My disgust for their (people in the article) parenting lies deep.  And yes, I'll probably get feedback from some out there reading that I'm judgmental and "to each his own"  or "their own" in this case.  But this is my blog and here is my spiel.

For the liberated, free-thinking people who believe they are allowing their child the ability to choose their gender by avoiding their gender altogether for 5 years or however long some may choose, they are denying them their basic human right.  And that's just on a political spectrum of being a human born in the United States of America.

What about the bigger, much more important picture of a human being born on God's beautiful green earth?  God designed each of us with gender.  It was the beginning of our identities.  "And God created them, male and female, He created them...AND IT WAS GOOD"  (Bold, mine!)

The stereotypes, both positive and negative, that surround gender are man-made. 

"Fire trucks are for boys."

"Barbie dolls are for girls."

"Pink is a girl color."

"Boys should like blue."

Penis' are for men.  That's the part they are made with.  Vagina's are for girls.  It's the part designed for them.  Penis' and vaginas are not stereotypes.  They are genitalia.

Have we really not come that far in the last several hundred years, at least here in America?  Em and I just completed one of my old books from when I was in Junior High called, "They Led the Way" about early American women who stepped over popular stereotypes like women's suffrage, education solely for males, and women running for public office.  And what about equal rights?  What is that all about if the basic truth of an infant is taken away from them for their most formative years?  Who's going to pay Sasha's counseling bills?

My friend would call this a "First World Problem."  I'm FOR SURE posting on that another day.  But seriously!  In the Third World, sometimes parents don't name their children for several years because of the high infant mortality rate.  Is this fair?  No!  It's child neglect and abuse just as much as denying a child to know their basic gender.  How EDUCATED, UNBIASED, and FREE-THINKING, are we that these are the issues we face in the First World and not if we should or shouldn't even name our dying child who is starving to death or has fallen sick with a horrendous disease that could be prevented through medication or clean sanitation and a balanced diet?!

THESE ARE REAL SOULS, PEOPLE!

I went to High Tea the other day to celebrate my mom's remission from breast cancer.  We were served at this "girly function" by men....  And let me clarify, it's not a "girly" disease.  Men have breast cancer, too.  They don't have cervical cancer, and women don't have prostate cancer, but if a "non-gender" raised boy gets prostate cancer one day, don't you think he'll know he's a boy?

Our society is becoming more and more perverted, meaning sick and corrupt, as it becomes more and more "free" in its thinking.  This is not to say people should not be free to think for themselves or make choices of their own.  By all means.  God created us with FREE CHOICE.  It was His first gift to us, but it came with a heavy price.  We're trying so hard to drop lines that divide, creating GRAY, but not in the areas that matter, and so what will the next generation do?  Dear God, please come back before we have to see...

What these parents could have done to love their child unconditionally rather than try to control his environment in the strictest of ways, was to love the child they were given, who incidentally was a son, to be a healthy, happy, and confident person. 

Our jobs as parents are not to freakishly try to control our children by boxing them in from the fears we ourselves have, and I'm talking to over-controlling Christian parents here, too.  But its to teach them, direct and guide them, watch for their God-given gifts and strengths to shine through and then nurture those gifts through direction and unconditional love, even establishing healthy boundaries, so they can be the best they can be, not be who we want them to be.  This is good parenting. 

Not hands-off ignorance.

Deep breath.  Okay.  I'm off to get my son from his crib. 

He is a boy and he can be whatever God has called him to be, for God's glory, not my own scientific experiment or political agenda.

Generations

Here's a video my mom just sent me...

Will our generation forget those who have lived before us?  Those that worked so diligently and made our cushy lives possible?  The ones that no matter how crotchety they may seem on the outside, endured more in their lives than we can even fathom?  The part of the population we curse for driving/walking/existing too slowly in front of us? 

Those still living, though not to the fullest, maybe with the aide of diapers and pureed food, without memories able to be shared?

Are we so busy living our lives that we forget simple things, no matter the age, like saying, "Hello!"

Are we annoyed because we have to repeat ourselves several times in order for them to hear us?  That we have to raise our voices because their hearing aids aren't in...

I don't think so.

I think we, and by "we" I mean anyone who hasn't gotten AARP literature in the mail yet, are afraid.

We are afraid of getting old.  We are afraid of not being in control.  Afraid of the unknown.  Afraid our bladders may give out or we'll need a new set of teeth...or more realistically, we're afraid of being alone.

"When I grow old, I want to live to such and such an age and then go quietly in my sleep..."

Who frickin' doesn't?!  I mean, that's my grampa's dream, but it's still not happening for him just yet.

Old people aren't scary...they are just you and me, but crinklier and a heck of a lot wiser.  They all have stories, boat loads of them, some seasoned with beauty, others with pain, loss, sadness. 

On a daily basis, I don't sit around and think about old people.  My mom does.  She visits my gramps every. single. day.  This winter we've been passing the "sick" baton more than I like, but when I think of it, not that I want to get my grampa sick, but avoiding visiting him b/c my kids are sick is a lame excuse...

It's about as irrational as my faulty thinking 5 and a half years ago when I literally thought:

I don't want to kiss Noah on the lips because he might get sick...and die, or something!

I mean, really!  What the honk?! #$%^&* 

So, instead of being afraid of having nothing in common with an old person, let's ALL stop focusing on ourselves (this is written by me, to me, in case you are getting cranky at me, thinking I THINK I have it altogether...this is a smack down for me, too!), that we even need to find ANYTHING in common, and let's sit and just LISTEN.

Be specific with questions: 

• Do you remember how old you were during the Depression?  Were you born yet?
• What did you and your siblings do when your parents had to work?
• Did you ever date anyone before you met Grandma?
• What are some of your earliest childhood memories?
• What did you and your friends like to do for fun?
• When you met Grandpa, do you remember what you first thought?
• What was your wedding like?  Or did you elope?
• What was your first job?  Your favorite job?
• Do you remember what life was like around the Civil Rights Movement?
• How old were you at your first memory of our country going to war?
• What was your favorite subject in school?
• When you were a kid, what was your dream job or a goal you wanted to reach in life?  Did you?
• When did you know you wanted to marry Grampa/Gramma?
• What was it like to be a parent for the first time?  Were you scared?  Did you want to do it like your parents had or change up a few things?
• Lots and lots of questions...

Yes, some of their stories will be completely crazy, maybe even inappropriate for the grandkids to hear, but who cares?!  They are real people with real stories to tell...I just wonder how many of their stories have never been told...

So here's a dare:  I dare you to get yourself an old person.  If you have one that you already spend lots of time with, great!  That is so great!  Maybe introduce that special old person to another old person. 

My gramps is in a residential care home with about 6 other old people.  They all have their own recliners and most of them nap the whole day long, but whenever we walk in with Em and Ryan, they wake up.  Em went there the other day with my parents and took her stacking cups...she did a little "show" for the folks.

Feel free to come here and post a story about your old person or put a link to your blog so we can read it.  The point is, there are lonely old people "out there" that would love just a "hello...."

Afraid to take them candy b/c their teeth will fall out?  Afraid to kiss them b/c you might make them sick?  Afraid to sit and listen, look into their eyes, and hold their hand b/c you might be touched by something bigger than yourself?  That you might fall in love with the old person and then they'll go and die...

It's okay.  No one ever was condemned for loving their neighbor...

Ooh, ooh, ooh

I just got to the Mall of America to walk aimlessly for a few hours in peace and quiet, take in captialism in its grandeur, look forward to purge more from my closet...But, I must tell you all something the guy next to me on the plane said. It will for sure go in the chapter, "What Not to Say to the Parents of a Dead Kid" or "Dumb Things People Say"...READY, HERE IT IS...

"I'm sorry. That must be so hard. But, I think the worst age would be to have a teenager die. That would be hard."

He started off right...then he kept talking. Just don't. Just be done with "I'm sorry." Zip. The. Lip. You know what, losing Noah 12.5 years and months shy of being THIRTEEN wasn't easier! Oh, yeah, I guess since I didn't get to know him as long or as well as a mom who had a teenager! What the freak?! $%^&* Do people really think one age is easier than another?! $%^&* WOW #$%^&* WOW Okay then, if one age is easier than another tell your dying grandparent or parent or spouse or sibling or older child (OR YOUR HEART) that at least they have lived for X amount of time and see what their response will be. NO! DON'T! JUST LOVE THEM AND DON'T DO MATH!

Okay, I feel better. I'm off to find another wireless spot for lunch.