Don't fear the little ones

One of my most humiliating memories is when I was working with a mission trip as a teenager. One of the tasks was working with small children and I asked for a different a chore. I would rather spend the afternoon spreading soil than interacting with those scary, honest, little creatures.

I've spent the last 4 years teaching elementary school children, babysitting my sweet nieces, and nannying kids ages 1 month to 12 years. 

And I'm not the least bit less intimidated by those scary, honest, little creatures. 

God brought me to this life filled with these small, energetic, messy bundles. They terrify me to the core. If you're boring, they'll tell. If you don't meet their most basic needs, they die. The pressure, the terror, and the ultimate joy. 

When I wake up and realize I have to teach these 3rd graders, or remember I'm nannying for the day, the first feeling that passes through my body is complete and utter terror. Do parents realize what they're in trusting me with? I'm supposed to not only keep these kids safe, I'm supposed to entertain, nurture, and teach. I'd rather work at an office. 

But somehow, when I'm with these children, everything changes. Yes, absolutely, I get frustrated, and a little tired of playing the same games and watching the same television shows. I've learned ultimately though, that they aren't so difficult.

I ask a lot of questions, even the stupid ones, like "What's your favorite subject in school?" I smile til my cheekbones hurt. When they have a tantrum, I sit on the floor speaking calmly and saying on auto repeat "When you're ready to talk about what's going on, or just want a hug, I'm right here." I tell them stories from when I was a little ( a definite favorite) and make up stories about fairies and goblins. The days pass, somehow, and I leave feeling like I've actually accomplished something. I didn't build anything and I didn't make anything. Yet I kept these little souls alive and (mostly) smiling for the day. The complete and utter joy. 

I don't run away in fear anymore when I'm trapped in a small room with kiddos. I still get that tangled feeling in my insides when I see that 3 year old eyeing me. What if he doesn't like me? I've learned to keep little toys in my purse, and they come in handy when I'm stuck in a tire shop with a little kid who has absolutely nothing to do.

After all these years and all this experience, what have I learned it takes to make kids happy? It's not the toys I keep in my purse, or my clown smile, or my ready made no props games….it's talking to them. I have never ever ever in all my life talked to a child and had them reject me. Sure they could, but why would they? Another person taking interest in their life? Asking about their day, their likes, their dreams, who they want to be? Most kids will swallow that up, and I eat it up to. They think they can do anything, and I always leave them thinking that maybe I can do anything too. 

My Greatest Fears

In no particular order and without sense, rhyme, or reason….here they are: 

1. I'll have nothing to talk about at dinner parties

2, I'll never leave the country again

3, My husband will wish for somebody new

4. I'll finally get up the courage to vent my true feelings on a political issue and then change my mind the next day

5. My dog will run away and I'll not know if he's hungry, cold, or scared

6. The friends I don't keep in touch with will think I don't love them

7. Vampires

8. I won't be able to lose weight

9. All the thoughtless words I utter on the day of judgement 

10. I'll die of cancer…or a car accident..or die at all

11. All my books will be lost in a fire and an untimely iPad failure 

12.  Someone will say I'm not well-read

13 Or well traveled 

14. I'll be angry at my mom 

15. I'll never be able to frost a chocolate cake…that crap is hard

16. I won't be able to think of the perfect word I know I know at the moment I need it most

17. My kids won't be readers 

18. I'll forget the beauties of not knowing and the beauty of trying anyway 

19. I'll be so comfortable I never have to test myself

20. Zombies

21. My children will fail and I won't be able to save them

22. Roaches….just roaches

23. Nostalgia will always be better than my current life

24. Sex won't be all it's cracked up to be

25. Mississippi State will lose the Egg Bowl in the most humiliating way 

What Would You Do With It If You Caught It?

     My life is a mess. I'm pretty sure yours is too. Women, in general, tend to focus on the emotional aspect of life. Every past wrong, every good deed, every misunderstood action, somehow makes it to the forefront of our minds and actions.

     I like you, and then I'm not sure. I'm 100% ready to go through with this, and then I have cold feet. I want what's right, and then I sin. I'm a mess. A complete, utter, mess.

      Somehow, men are drawn to it. No matter how ridiculous I am, not matter what crap I post on Facebook, I come across as "mysterious." Women, without trying, come across as magical wonders who you can't pin down.

      Here's the question men: once we've let you in, once you've "figured me out" will I still be cute as a button? Once you learn that my idiosyncrasies arise from serious wounds from the past, once you see that me being "mysterious" is actually a total lack of not knowing what the hell I want, will I still be beautiful?

       If you caught me, what would you do with me? I'm guessing you have no clue. Before you start chasing after a girl with all this mystery, will these problems still seem beautiful during the day? Will you be there when I'm having an utter meltdown for no reason? Will you be there when I'm trying to work through family issues? Will you be there when I'm insecure, unkind, and selfish? 

       I can grow and my ultimate goal is to grow in Christ's love. I'll always be a mess,  but if you chase me, you might realize that I'm a mess that's truly broken to the core. I can love, I can do good, but I can't always be that tantalizing women of your dreams.

      If you caught me, could you deal with that? 

I Saw a Black Man the Other Day

The other day, I was in a bad neighborhood, trying to find my friend's apartment to grab a key. I parked behind a broken down pick up truck and looked for the right address.

I had the address wrong, so I looked up and down the street trying to find it. A few minutes passed and I saw a black man coming toward me.

He had a hoodie and a hat, a cigarette in his mouth and headphones in his ears. As I got close he saw me and said, "Hey, are you doing?"

I replied "Fine, have a nice day." 

I found the house and got my key. 

A Letter to Married Christian Women from a Single Woman

I've been single for far longer than I wanted to be. I've tried to ignore it by traveling, getting degrees, and basically doing anything to fill that aching void for a husband. It's so hard to be a Christian woman who isn't married but wishes she was.

So many Christian married women are unnerved by us or ignore us completely. Most of these women were married when they were fresh out of college, or found someone by accident when they weren't looking for it. Honestly, I'm glad for you. Yet when you use the tired line of "You want it too much" or "It'll happen when it happens" we single women die a little on the inside. 

You don't understand. 

You perhaps never had to deal with coming home to an empty apartment and deciding to fill it with animals, books, and wine. We are a strange breed. We become the desperate outcasts of the religious world. 

I have of course have my flaws. I am a broken person, daily being put together by the grace of Jesus Christ. I can't attain perfection in this world. I know this, and I am lonely for someone. I know a husband won't fix my problems. I know that in all actuality a whole new batch of problems will come if I ever get married.

I would like for a minute to talk about the realization of marriage. Yes, marriage is hard. The divorce rate is hovering around 50%. I'm still struggling with the whole "you should be happy you're single thing." The bottom line is that you get to come home to someone who's committed to you and who you're committed to. You get to come home to a family, sex, and a life that is highly valued in Christian society. You get someone to be at your bedside when you're dying. 

Single Christian women are not valued in society. We become babysitters, nannies, and someone you can always call on in a jam. We sit at the bar when there's a table left because there's a couple behind us. 

The thing is, I love being a babysitter, nanny, and sitting at the bar. I don't like it being expected and even required of me. 

Married Christian Women….take a second to value what you have. Realize that man was not made to be alone. Fix us up with people, even though it may be awkward. Don't ask us over just to babysit. Ask us over for a glass of wine or a pizza. When we cry that we are single, don't say it's not all it's cracked up to be or make us feel bad by saying all the things we need to do to make us worthy of a husband. Imagine that you are on your own, paying your own rent, without a husband or kids or a valued place at the Christian table. Don't give us platitudes. 

Repeat the gospel, that we have Christ and that IS enough, but affirm our natural desire to be married. Pray for a husband for us. Be our friends, and not just your potential babysitters. Let us catch a glimpse into the beautiful mess of married life. Acknowledge how we feel, and maybe even cry with us. 

I Hope I Die Like Her

     Right before mom died she was in a hospice care facility. Even though she was only there a few days, I felt like I entered and left a thousand times. Despite what a hard time that was in my life, I wanted to look around. I made friends with the patients, with the families. We knew each other and supported each other in a way that only those who are waiting for death can. I especially remember a little old lady that sat by the front door.

       I remember her because she was happy and she would talk to anybody. Well, I actually I remember her because at night she had a bottle of Arbor Mist by her wheelchair. I felt sorry for her. I never saw her with family, but that doesn't mean she didn't have any. We spoke briefly about her as a family. She's in hospice and she has a bottle of wine every night? 

      Now though, I hope I die like her.  I do hope I have family around. I hope I can comfort that family with my bottle of wine and no telling how many painkillers. I want to die still appreciating my sanity and the good little things in life. I don't want to die sad and bringing down everyone around me. I want to wait on death with a bottle of wine and a smile for those who come through the door who are also waiting. I want to die sure of my future, at rest with my past, and hopefully with a lot of morphine and a bottle of Arbor Mist. 

Last night I fell asleep with a wooden cross in my fingers. 

As I was getting ready for bed, my mind to flip through hundreds of fears, my heart began to race, fear gripped my insides. The never-going-to-happens became the inevitable. I had made so many mistakes that day, God would never forgive me. I was going to lose my job. What it all my family got into a car wreck? What if my bank account was emptied and I couldn't pay my rent? I will never be able to keep my house neat. I won't be able to lose this weight. In short, I was having a full-fledged panic attack. 

Unfortunately, I don't have insurance at the moment (believe me, I'm working on it) so I haven't been consistent with my anti-anxiety medication. I have no xanax. The fear was so intense that I felt I could quite possibly die. Who could I call that would understand? I tried praying, explaining to God and begging for Him to make it stop, but I couldn't get control of my thoughts well enough to do this. 

I needed something. I needed something in my hands, I needed something tangible. I didn't know why, but in a fit of desperation I pulled an old, hand-made wooden cross from over my bed, gripped it tightly in both hands, and prayed The Jesus Prayer over and over again. (Lord Jesus Christ have mercy on me.) 

It wasn't a magical cure. I did not immediately become light as a feather. It took a lot of work to calm down. I repeated the Jesus Prayer over and over again, and anytime a fear began to creep its way into my mind, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed the Jesus Prayer fervently, imagining that the prayer was literally a fortress and all of my fears would be cut into pieces against it. 

If you had told me a few years ago that I would ever have spent a night like this, I would have been terrified. I grew up idolizing the Puritans. I would have thought having the cross in my hands was akin to the Israelite Golden Calf when Moses went up to receive the Ten Commandments. I would have thought repeating The Jesus Prayer was too similar to the vegan-eating, yoga-attending, pagan, Prius drivers. 

Recently, I have changed my thinking. I even have icons of Christ scattered about my apartment. Although there is not space in this blogpost to relate my theological understanding of icons and artifacts in my spiritual life (although I hope to do that soon) I would like to be clear that I know that cross in my hands is merely two pieces of wood fixed to one another. I know that the Eucharist is a wafer and a sip of sweet wine. I do not worship that piece of wood anymore than I worship the wafer and wine at the Eucharist. I can worship better because of things. 

I used to think that we experience God only through the mind and heart. I believe now that God gave us 5 senses to worship better. There is nothing magical in crosses, icons, incense, or books, but I'm finally ok with saying that I believe there is something mysterious in them.