Speaking Out: A Few Thoughts on Democracy

I have heard a lot of comments about protestors in the last few weeks. Comments like, “It’s getting old, enough already” or “What is the point?” Some people think that protestors are just being whiny or sore losers. 

I respectfully disagree.

Here’s the thing: part of what makes our country great, no matter who is in charge and despite what the current rhetoric is, is the idea of "We the People." We, the citizens, still have power to make change. Our votes count, our voices count, if for no other reason than because those currently in office need our votes to stay there. 

That’s still how it works: we vote for a representative, and if he or she fails to represent us, next time we vote for someone else. I think our system, though not perfect, is a good one. If our politicians want to keep whatever power they have, they have to listen to their constituents. They have to listen to US.

When we the people make our voices heard, through protests and marches, social media, and our votes, politicians are listening. And if they think they need to distance themselves from the White House or it's policies to stay in office or retain their power, many of them will...eventually.

 

So I am proud of all the women and men out there making their voices heard and standing up for what they believe in. I hope that we will continue to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. I stand beside my brothers and sisters crying out against the banning of refugees, the suppression of truth, and the opposition of the free press. I am thankful that I live in a country where individual and collective voices are valued.

And to those who wonder why we march or tweet or post or call our Congressmen, it’s is because we still believe in checks and balances, democracy, and justice for all. And we still have hope that our voices will make change. 

Green Bean Casserole and Family

You know how you evolve and grow as a person, and now that you are older you are wiser and more skilled and really awesome? Until you’re back home with your family…then suddenly, somehow, you are the same kid you used to be, with those awkward quirks and sad lack of knowledge? How does that happen???

Prime example: Thanksgiving dinner. 

Let me give you some background:

When I was younger, This was pre-Pinterest, before HGTV and The Pioneer Woman, or even Google. There were not thousands of amazing recipes at my fingertips, complete with reviews and tips. And cooking just wasn’t on my radar. I never learned how to cook. I was never really interested in it, nor was I made to do it, until I was out on my own and I had no choice…and no clue whatsoever.

Nearly ever year at one of our family gatherings my sister recalls the time I had to call her to ask how to make pork chops and rice. My first few years of marriage I had to call my mom time and time again to ask questions about the simplest of foods. Grilled cheese. Boiled eggs. Spaghetti.

Needless to say, once I was married I had to start taking food to Thanksgiving along with everyone else. And I was relegated to rolls and green bean casserole. Which, at the time, was fine by me. Green bean casserole only has, like, 3 ingredients, and the recipe is right there on the can in case you forget it. And, well, rolls. Nothing to screw up, no pressure.

Fast forward 10 or so years, and guess what, folks: I am no longer a cooking newbie. I am a bonafide adult, with a family and a home. Thanks to the internet, I am capable of concocting delicious dinners that amaze and delight. Guess what? Following a recipe is not that difficult! No longer am I limited to vegetable soup or chicken casserole. Now I’m all, Mexican street corn, chicken parmigiana, and pumpkin pecan cobbler. 

But not with my family, folks. Every Thanksgiving my sister makes the fancy potatoes, my mom makes the meat and the stuffing, and me? Green bean casserole and rolls.

Well, not this year. This year I took a stand. This year, I was in charge of dessert! I made Mocha Fudge Pie, and it was delicious. People had seconds. Leftovers were fought over.

Okay, so I still brought rolls. But that’s okay, I broke out of the mold, and I showed the world (my family) that I am not that same little clueless kid I used to be. I am a capable adult.

You know what, though? I also realized that some of those old family roles are not so bad after all. They are the stuff of shared memories and laughter, bonds strengthened and stories passed on to my children. I love my family, I love our old familiar rhythms and our new traditions. I am blessed, and I am thankful for our gatherings, green bean casserole and all.

What a Week

We decided to start potty-training my almost-2-and-a-half-year-old on Saturday, despite my better judgement. The weekend before the first full week of school. And only roughly two weeks after switching to a toddler bed.

This was the same Saturday that I woke up with a scratchy throat. I had a sinking suspicion that I was catching the cold both of my kids already had, but I wasn’t too worried about it yet.

Then on Sunday I felt worse. Still not awful, but definitely worse. 

Meanwhile my head would NOT stop itching. I was thinking, “Man, I really have to call that dermatologist tomorrow. This is one serious case of dandruff.” I mean, the itching was out of control. I took a shower in hopes that some dandruff shampoo would help until I could get to the skin doctor. 

That’s when I saw them: BUGS. In my hair. Not one, but THREE little bugs. I screamed and called for my husband to come look. He confirmed my worst fears: I had lice. And that meant all of us probably had lice, because the kids’ heads had been itching for a few days as well. 

As a teacher, I know that lice likes clean hair and anyone can get it, you shouldn’t be embarrassed, etcetera etcetera. Well, all of that went out the window and I PANICKED. I went immediately and bought a lice removal kit and an extra bottle of shampoo while I was at it. It took us three and a half hours, but we treated the whole family. We also stripped all the beds, washed all the sheets, towels, and dirty clothes in the house, threw away all our pillows, and sprayed our furniture. I was NOT letting these things stick around.

Something you may not realize about lice is that you can’t just treat it once and be done. The box says you have to go through everyone’s heads with the removal comb EVERY SINGLE DAY for a week after using the shampoo, then use the shampoo again in seven days. Let me tell you, my family has a lot of hair.

In the meanwhile, it was still my first full week of school. At a brand new school for me. Where I am now doing by myself the amount of paperwork that four people together used to do. 

Then my cold got worse, and turned into a sinus infection. I had to miss a day of work, which only made my paperwork load even worse because now I was a day behind.

So basically, the rest of the week my routine was like this: Get up, get everyone ready and to work/school, clean up the pee from around the potty because the toddler wants to pee standing up, take medicine and try to breathe, work on paperwork all day long, drink water and hope no one notices that you just spit mucus into your trash can, scarf down lunch, work on paperwork some more, blow my nose for the thousandth time, stay late working on more paperwork, go home, take more medicine, keep trying to breathe through the congestion, comb through everyone’s hair with the lice comb, help with homework, help the toddler go potty, clean the bathroom rug which now reeks of pee, wash towels/pillowcases/clothes (because the lice could still be lurking around, refusing to die), eat something, get the kids to bed, then back in bed, then back in bed again, then go to bed without actually sleeping much, since you can’t breathe and/or the decongestant keeps you awake. 

And while you are lying awake, trying to sleep, question your sanity.

The good news is, we survived. We are now all lice-free, my paperwork is mostly done, our afternoon routines are reestablished, and the two-year-old, though not yet potty-trained, is doing just fine. And after 2 rounds of antibiotics, I am finally feeling better.

There should be some great lesson here, but I’m not sure what it is. Parenting is hard? Life is hard? I don’t know. Just the fact that I lived through the week and can almost laugh about it is probably a testimony to God’s grace. Mostly I just wrote it down so that in a few years I can look back and shake my head and laugh as I remember that time we decided to potty-train our toddler the same week school started back and I was at a new school and we all got lice and I had a sinus infection…or not. We’ll see.

Love and Sacrifice

Yesterday on my run, a couple of ladies close to my age were running ahead of me. One of them was pushing her child in a jogging stroller. If you have ever tried to run while pushing one of those things, with a small child in it no less, you know it is NOT easy.  They are heavy. The friends ran like that for a while, and I was thinking how easy my run seemed in comparison, when I saw the mom’s friend take over the stroller and begin pushing it herself.

That small act struck me as so beautiful. Because she took on her friend’s load, they were both able to keep running.  I couldn’t help but think about my Christian faith, and how we are called to bear one another’s burdens.

I will be honest, generosity and self-sacrifice are not my strengths. And it’s not like I haven’t had plenty of examples in my life. My father was definitely a generous man; after he died, we heard countless stories of how he had given people medicine when they couldn’t afford it, or paid for a youth to go on a church trip, or let a debt someone owed him slide. I did not inherit this trait from him. Most of the time when I have extra money,  I want to spend it on myself.

Then there’s my husband, who is much better at this than me. He always says, “Dónde comen dos, comen tres,” or, “Where two eat, three can eat.” If we have enough, then we have enough to share. I keep hoping some of that attitude will rub off on me…

I have even experienced others’ generosity myself. More than once, we have been in need and others have stepped in to help us. When we needed a new air conditioner, when our car died, when I had heart trouble, and when I had my babies, people came to our aide with money, meals, and more.

And let’s not forget the all-important example of Sam. Where would Frodo have gotten without him?

I know that God is calling me to learn from them. Well, maybe not Frodo, but at least my father and husband. Many times when I see a need, I justify not getting involved, or I hesitate because it’s not convenient. But love requires sacrifice; it won’t always be easy. Just look at Christ’s love for us. My prayer is that instead of seeing what I don’t have, or justifying my way out of serving others, I will learn to be grateful for what I have and see ways in which I can love those around me. I pray that I will have the courage and love to push the stroller for my friends when they can’t push anymore.

“We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters. If someone has enough money to live well and sees a brother or sister in need but shows no compassion-how can God’s love be in that person? Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions.” – 1 John 3:16-18

Why I Run

Why do I run?

I start my run for many reasons, some more noble than others. On bad days it’s because I feel like I am just one missed run away from being not-so-skinny. Or because I made the mistake of opening the magazine and my abs did NOT look like hers. Or because of that apple fritter I just couldn’t throw away and instead ate in its entirety for breakfast this morning.

And sometimes it’s to escape from my house for just a few minutes alone. To have a few minutes of quiet without hearing, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

On good days I run because I’m training and its running day, or for a chance to be outside and enjoy the sunshine.

But none of those are the reasons that keep me running. At some point during almost every run, I think, “Why am I doing this to myself?” When a voice in my head tells me it’s too hard, I can’t do it, I don’t have to run that far, what keeps me going?

There are little things that motivate me. Like the music in my ears telling me “You better lose yourself in the music, the moment, you own it, you better never let it go, you only get one shot." Or the thought of Tris and Katniss and how strong they are, how they wouldn't stop. Yes, I just admitted that Eminem and Young Adult fiction motivate me...don’t judge, running’s hard!

Then there are things I tell myself while I run:  You are strong. You can do it. You’re almost there. You have to do this!

But in the end, it’s how I feel after a run that makes me finish and come back for more.  I know that my body is strong, because my legs took me farther than I thought I could go.  I know that my mind is strong, because I didn’t give in to the voices in my head telling me to quit.  I did more than just complete a workout; I set a hard goal for myself, and I accomplished it. I am euphoric. I am a runner!

Don’t worry, fellow believers. I haven’t gotten cocky or too caught up in my own strength. I know where my strength comes from, especially after a health scare a couple of years ago. I haven’t forgotten that every good thing comes from above, that it’s because of Him that I can run at all, and that tomorrow I may not be able to.

And so, for now, I run.

Dealing with Change

Change is inevitable. It is also terrifying for someone like me who likes to always be in control. But it seems this summer is going to be a summer of changes, and they may not be slowing down anytime soon.

As someone who doesn’t like change, I chose the wrong profession. Teachers are in control of their classrooms, but that’s about it. Every year come May, I start wondering if before next year I will have to move classrooms or not, if I will work with the same people next year or new people, which grade level I will be teaching, etc. And this year is worse than ever as my school is undergoing major change and becoming a new system, and I go back and forth from feeling excited and optimistic about the possibilities for the future, to wondering if I will even have a job.

And then last night the real bomb went off. My best friend in this city is moving. Not just to a new city, but a new state. It was the last straw, one change too many. And this is the worst type of change, because I have no control over it, and it is not a professional loss, but a personal one.

I feel like I am in mourning. What will become of our friendship? She is wonderful and people love her wherever she goes, so I know she will have no problem making friends in her new town. And I will be here, left behind, and lonely. And over time, will she forget about me? Our kids were supposed to grow up together. We were going to take trips with our families. This is not how it was supposed to be.

Not to mention my sadness for her as she is suddenly and unexpectedly uprooted from the life she has made for herself here and dropped into a new place where she knows no one.

I woke up sad this morning, and I couldn’t help it. I cried. I called my husband to talk about it. I told him, I know it seems overdramatic for me to be so sad. I mean, she is moving, not dying. We will still talk. I mean, my mother’s best friends for as long as I can remember have lived in other cities, and they are still very close.

His response was, “What are you clinging to?”

And I know he’s right. I should be clinging to God, not to people, or at least more than people. And I need to let go of my need for control and trust God’s plan. Maybe I will look back on this time in my life and think, “Wow, I grew so much from that summer. Look how much God taught me about depending on Him,” or whatever.

 But right now, I don’t really want to hear it. I just want to think about the sweet times I have spent here with my friend, and how all that is changing, and how I can’t do anything about it. And I just want to cry for a little while.

What Happened to Queen for a Day?: Reflections on Mother's Day

So on Sunday, as I grumbled and complained not-so-under-my-breath, my husband said, and “Are you always going to be in a bad mood on Mother’s Day? You did this last year, too.”

And it made me think. Why, on the one day of the year that is supposed to make me feel appreciated, affirmed, and fulfilled, was I angry and annoyed? Again??

Obviously I anticipated being treated like a queen for a day. Or maybe even a whole weekend. I mean, is it too much too expect to be waited on hand and foot by my husband, served and doted on by my perfect, well-behaved, compliant children (who, incidentally, get along well all day and don’t fight),  have everything done for me and do nothing I don’t want to do, for at least one entire day? Not to mention presents. I am a mother, after all, and it is my day.

Yet inevitably, Mother's Day did not fulfill my expectations of being the most perfect day of the year, in which everything goes according to plan. My children fought with each other. My two-year-old had a fit over who knows what. My older son had a fit because did not want to wear khaki shorts and a nice shirt for church pictures, he wanted to wear a baseball shirt and gym shorts. Not that it mattered, because we were late to church anyway. And my husband did not want to change every single diaper all day long, and we just had sandwiches for lunch because he didn’t have time to cook, and for some reason the house did not magically clean itself, even though it was my day. So yes, I was in a bad mood. This was NOT how it was supposed to go.

Clearly, my expectations were, er, a little high. One might even say unreasonable. And my attitude was, well, not so great. Fallen, even.

Because in the end, I wanted my husband to anticipate my every need and desire and fulfill my deepest longings, but the only One who can do that is Christ. And I wanted my children to be perfect and sinless, but they are sinful and imperfect, and in need of a Redeemer, just like me. Despite my family’s best efforts, and the truth is they were very sweet to me and tried to make my day special, my expectations of a perfect family in a perfect world will never be fulfilled in this life. Just like I will never be a perfect wife or mother. Not even on Mother's Day. Thank God for showing me that I am still in need of His mercy and grace. Yes, even on Mother's Day.