My 13-year-old son is currently studying his second year of Spanish in the 8th grade. I'm very proud of him for sticking to it, and for doing so well. I know it is difficult to learn another language. But he seems to be doing well, and I am so excited to see it in practice this upcoming summer when we head to Guatemala.
I try to pick up on things when he studies. I know that the little bits and pieces I get from him are nowhere near sufficient to have conversations with our Guatemalan friends, but I figure it can't hurt. But there was one thing that jumped right out at me recently. My son was working on some translating exercises. I don't remember what the sentence was, but it had the word mas in it, which means more. I chuckled a little bit because I thought it looked a lot like mass, a word for weight and volume. I made a correlation, and it comes to mind every time I get on a scale. Sad, I know. But I digress...
But today it meant something a bit different. My husband and I went to do some shopping during his lunch break. I found this to be especially sweet on his part because my right foot is in a fracture boot and driving is very difficult for me. He's been my driver for a few weeks now. And while we were out shopping for our younger son's birthday, I saw the toy section at our local Target. It was decorated for Christmas. It was sparkling, twinkling, and singing. How could any parent shopping with kids avoid this section? It had a magnetic pull. And then it was aisle upon aisle of toys of every shape, size, and price. Every shelf was strewn with toys and mis-match things, as if a crazy tornado had ripped through, tossing toys about. What a mess!
And that's when all of these things came together. I've been living a Christ-mess. I've been letting the shopping, the decorating, the baking, and the family events become a burden to me. I've let my life become a messy toy aisle, throwing memories and loving opportunities by the wayside. Sure, the outside twinkles brightly, but my heart... it was less than lustrous. I had let Christmas become something it was never intended to be. Where was my celebration? Where was the joy? I don't know. It was lost beneath a stack of receipts, cast into a pitcher of egg nog, or shoved into an ugly Christmas sweater. It was a sad, tattered mess.
But here's the thing: the word is Christmas. Christ-more. Christ more than the shopping, more than the baking, more than anything else. The birth of our savior. Jesus Christ first, foremost, and only. If my Christmas has become so cluttered with gifts, parties, spending, decorating, baking, traveling, or anything else, that it has no room for the one to whom the day really belongs, I have made it a Christ-menos, the Spanish word for less.
A Christ-less Christmas is so empty, and so pointless. It means that you spend hours decorating your house for nothing. It means you spend a ton of money, and put yourself in debt for nothing. It means you gather together for nothing. It means that all of your time and effort is completely wasted, all so that you can spend one day of the year trying to find meaning for the other 364. It's useless, it's wasteful, it's expensive, and it's pointless.
But with Christ, it means that you joyfully create memories of happy times. You gather together to fellowship, rejoice, worship, and love one another, and the Creator who made such a miraculous event worth our time and effort every year. It means you give gifts of the heart, to let someone know that you recognize the most amazing gift of all - Jesus Christ - is available those other 364 days. You hug warmer, you embrace sweeter, you love deeper. You love Christmas, not Christmess.
I encourage you to seek out the true meaning of Christmas. I encourage you to love with the same kind of jealous, fervent, powerful love that our Heavenly Father showed when he sent the world a gift it continues to "re-gift" even 2000 years later.
Merry Christmas season, my friends.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Invasion of Privacy
Last Monday morning I got a call from my son's junior high school. He was panicked because someone had made off with his iPhone. We followed protocol and had service suspended, made a report, and even offered a no-questions-asked reward for the phone's safe return. We were disappointed that no one returned the phone. My son spent all of his allowance money that he was saving for spending money on his upcoming mission trip to replace the phone.
While away on our annual family Thanksgiving trip to Mississippi, my husband received a phone call from the bank that provides his corporate credit card. The operator informed him that a suspicious charge was made to his account in another state earlier that week. He had not been to that other state in several weeks, and he was not there at the time of the call. The operator suspended all transactions on his card, and is reissuing a card with a new account number. We thought that to be pretty weird, especially since my husband had physical possession of his card, but the new charge was made by swiping a card. His number was stolen and the crooks made a brand new card! Thankfully, the bank's fraud department was on top of it. We went on about our holiday business.
The day after Thanksgiving, shortly after I got out of the shower and my husband had gone out to the woods, I got a call from our bank informing me that a strange charge for about $260 was pending on my debit card. I did not know anything about this charge, especially since it was made in Malaysia - a country I have never been to, especially not with my debit card. The fraud department picked it up, denied the charge, and issued me a new debit card. I got a little bit freaked out at the coincidence. I quickly had the bank put a fraud warning on all of our accounts with the bank. I found it odd that Matt's card number had been stolen, and so had mine - the two accounts were in no way linked except that Matt and I are married. Weird.
Yesterday my neighbor came over. She was upset. She said that our other neighbor spotted a strange man in a white hoodie creeping around in her backyard, "casing the place". She filed a police report, and gave the police the footage from her newly-installed security cameras. He did not enter her home, but he might have, had it not been for the security cameras scaring him off. Quite frankly, I'm surprised at the nerve of would-be home robbers. This is Texas, and you never know who might be sitting atop a small arsenal, ready to blow your head off. Homestead laws... you have to be one bold dude to break into houses.
All of these things happened within the past 10 days. It's upsetting to think that people would intentionally invade my space, my privacy, my home, or my bank account to attempt to enrich their lives at the expense of my own. You haven't any right to any of my money, my things, or my family members. You haven't any right to intimidate my neighbors and create fear in a neighborhood that was otherwise peaceful and quiet. You haven't any right to create inconvenience to me or my community because of your selfishness. And you're quite lucky that no one has caught you yet.
Thankfully, the only thing we've lost is an iPhone. While it was an expensive replacement, it doesn't compare to what we potentially lost between two large charges to our credit and debit cards, and a house full of personal property. But what really pains me is that anyone thinks that it is okay to come and take what isn't theirs. To take what someone else has worked hard for is really a slap in the face to those of us who pay our debts, buy our own homes and everything in it, and treat their money and lifestyle with responsibility and respect. Never have I taken from anyone else's pocket. Never have I taken from someone else's home. And never have I disrespected someone so much as to sneak the burden of a large debt onto someone else so that I could have something nice for myself. To put it bluntly, I feel violated. I feel disgusted. And I feel angry.
My family and I have made it a point not to be stingy with our money, our time, or our home. We have never turned anyone away who was truly in need. We give to local charities, we have helped out family members, and we have helped out friends. We serve. We love. We give. I guess that's why it pains me so much that someone would circumvent our generosity and take from behind our backs. It's just cruel.
I have always encouraged giving at this time of year - and it is my prayer that these few crooked individuals don't sway my heart away from that. And I pray that my giving spirit would not be jaded by those who would try to convince me that it is better to steal than to take what is given. I do not want my holiday joy to be linked to the wicked spirits of the grinches of our world that try to cast an ugly shadow on an otherwise glorious time. Let my heart be focused on celebrating what is good, and pure, and holy, and wonderful about the Christmas spirit, not on those who would try to crush it.
But don't be fooled: my generous spirit has nothing to do with my wonderful accuracy or my itchy trigger finger. It would definitely be in any thief's best interest to avoid me, my big black lab, and my handgun this holiday season.
Merry Christmas! (Now, get off my property!)
While away on our annual family Thanksgiving trip to Mississippi, my husband received a phone call from the bank that provides his corporate credit card. The operator informed him that a suspicious charge was made to his account in another state earlier that week. He had not been to that other state in several weeks, and he was not there at the time of the call. The operator suspended all transactions on his card, and is reissuing a card with a new account number. We thought that to be pretty weird, especially since my husband had physical possession of his card, but the new charge was made by swiping a card. His number was stolen and the crooks made a brand new card! Thankfully, the bank's fraud department was on top of it. We went on about our holiday business.
The day after Thanksgiving, shortly after I got out of the shower and my husband had gone out to the woods, I got a call from our bank informing me that a strange charge for about $260 was pending on my debit card. I did not know anything about this charge, especially since it was made in Malaysia - a country I have never been to, especially not with my debit card. The fraud department picked it up, denied the charge, and issued me a new debit card. I got a little bit freaked out at the coincidence. I quickly had the bank put a fraud warning on all of our accounts with the bank. I found it odd that Matt's card number had been stolen, and so had mine - the two accounts were in no way linked except that Matt and I are married. Weird.
Yesterday my neighbor came over. She was upset. She said that our other neighbor spotted a strange man in a white hoodie creeping around in her backyard, "casing the place". She filed a police report, and gave the police the footage from her newly-installed security cameras. He did not enter her home, but he might have, had it not been for the security cameras scaring him off. Quite frankly, I'm surprised at the nerve of would-be home robbers. This is Texas, and you never know who might be sitting atop a small arsenal, ready to blow your head off. Homestead laws... you have to be one bold dude to break into houses.
All of these things happened within the past 10 days. It's upsetting to think that people would intentionally invade my space, my privacy, my home, or my bank account to attempt to enrich their lives at the expense of my own. You haven't any right to any of my money, my things, or my family members. You haven't any right to intimidate my neighbors and create fear in a neighborhood that was otherwise peaceful and quiet. You haven't any right to create inconvenience to me or my community because of your selfishness. And you're quite lucky that no one has caught you yet.
Thankfully, the only thing we've lost is an iPhone. While it was an expensive replacement, it doesn't compare to what we potentially lost between two large charges to our credit and debit cards, and a house full of personal property. But what really pains me is that anyone thinks that it is okay to come and take what isn't theirs. To take what someone else has worked hard for is really a slap in the face to those of us who pay our debts, buy our own homes and everything in it, and treat their money and lifestyle with responsibility and respect. Never have I taken from anyone else's pocket. Never have I taken from someone else's home. And never have I disrespected someone so much as to sneak the burden of a large debt onto someone else so that I could have something nice for myself. To put it bluntly, I feel violated. I feel disgusted. And I feel angry.
My family and I have made it a point not to be stingy with our money, our time, or our home. We have never turned anyone away who was truly in need. We give to local charities, we have helped out family members, and we have helped out friends. We serve. We love. We give. I guess that's why it pains me so much that someone would circumvent our generosity and take from behind our backs. It's just cruel.
I have always encouraged giving at this time of year - and it is my prayer that these few crooked individuals don't sway my heart away from that. And I pray that my giving spirit would not be jaded by those who would try to convince me that it is better to steal than to take what is given. I do not want my holiday joy to be linked to the wicked spirits of the grinches of our world that try to cast an ugly shadow on an otherwise glorious time. Let my heart be focused on celebrating what is good, and pure, and holy, and wonderful about the Christmas spirit, not on those who would try to crush it.
But don't be fooled: my generous spirit has nothing to do with my wonderful accuracy or my itchy trigger finger. It would definitely be in any thief's best interest to avoid me, my big black lab, and my handgun this holiday season.
Merry Christmas! (Now, get off my property!)
Thursday, November 15, 2012
No store does more...
For nearly my whole adult life, I have faithfully shopped at Walmart for groceries. I know that sounds silly, but it wasn't necessarily because I believed that Walmart was a store that I should be loyal to, but simply put: their prices were always better. I have always been on a budget, and never really had the luxury of being able to spend money needlessly, especially once I was buying food and supplies for two, then three, and now five. Money gets tight, and food prices aren't exactly falling. Praise God I no longer need to buy baby food and diapers! But feeding a teen aged boy and two growing children doesn't exactly seem any cheaper.
I had a bad experience a few months back at my local Walmart store. I was treated poorly by a cashier. Once I attempted to report the wrong-doing to a manager, she informed me that if my customer service experience was so negative at her store, I might be better off at another grocer. I haven't stepped foot in a Walmart store since. Perhaps it is because I'm super stubborn, but I prefer to think of it as being "principled". My money is just as valuable at one of the 12 other local grocers, and I don't have to take any abuse to spend it there.
So, I have taken my weekly shopping elsewhere. My favorite place to shop happens to be my local HEB. If you aren't familiar with the Texas-based grocery chain, check out their website at www.heb.com. Their prices compare with Walmart's prices. They do not carry the Great Value store brand, but they do offer two store brands of their own that are quite good, some of their items are even better quality/taste than Great Value brand. HEB offers excellent coupons and weekly meal deal specials where you buy a main item, say a package of ground beef, and get several accompanying items for free, like shredded cheese, a two-liter soft drink, and tortillas. Voila! An instant dinner. We check the circulars for these deals because often times they are quite good and you can buy several of them throughout the week to save and freeze for future meals. All in all, I feel like there is a lot of value available at HEB besides just low prices. They have a bakery, fresh seafood, and a butcher - almost unheard of at Walmart anymore. Plus my HEB has a walk-in clinic and a drive-up pharmacy.
But perhaps my biggest grievance with Walmart has always been their service. From the "greeter" at the front door, who really couldn't give a crap whether you "have a nice day" or not, to the always unavailable customer service rep, to the cashier who really didn't want to come in to work today - and it shows. No one seems to care that you are spending your hard-earned dollars in their store or on their product. And worst of all, we take the abuse two to three times a week! I didn't realize how badly I was treated until I stopped shopping there and started shopping at HEB. Walmart will gladly take your money, but what you get in return is a sour attitude, lack of assistance, and a downright intolerance for kindness. What's up with that? They have a slogan, "No store does more than my HEB", and I believe it.
HEB does little extras that mean a lot to me. They still bag groceries for you. Yeah, those days are long gone at Walmart. And I get discounts for bringing my own reusable grocery bags at HEB. And here's the best part: they will help you out to your car, without you having to ask, and they won't accept tips for it. They help you. Amazing. HEB is a Texas-based company, priding itself of keeping the local economy strong. They buy local, sell local, and give local. HEB supports local schools and funds a special summer camp for kids in Texas (my niece used to go every year). HEB hires folks to do jobs - like stocking, cleanup, and bagging - that might not be able to be hired to work elsewhere, like folks with physical or mental handicaps. They participate in a number of charitable events throughout the calendar year, supporting our local communities and charities. Texas proud? Indeed.
Yes, I am now a faithful HEB shopper. I have been ever since Walmart decided to take a giant dump in my wallet. But even for all the reasons I have previously listed, HEB won my heart today.
I have been in a walking fracture boot on my right foot for several days. This will be the case for several more until I can get an MRI. Long story. But despite the fact that I'm walking slowly and with much more effort, the show must go on. I got errands to run and things to do. Moms don't usually have the luxury of stopping their routines because of illness or injury. So I waddled through HEB, getting everything on my shopping list. At the checkout, the kind woman rang my groceries, gave me the coupon discounts, and then asked me where my husband and kids were (can you tell we've become regulars?). While we were "catching up", the sweet man bagged my groceries, meticulously (just the way I like it). He too asked about my family. He calls me "princess" and "boss" a lot, because he thinks it's funny to make my husband feel like he's not in charge, something I find to be very amusing. He also always tells me, "I'll see you tomorrow," because he knows I come in at least twice a week. I think this amuses him some, like having a friend come to visit. He speaks poor English, with a speech impediment, and shows signs of mental retardation. His heart is as big as all of Texas, though, and he has a memory like a steel trap. He remembered how I liked my groceries bagged, did so, and smiled at the last one returning to the cart.
He remembered that my foot was in this ugly boot, and insisted that he walk me to my car since Matt wasn't with me this trip. He talked my ear off about this and that while we slowly hobbled to my truck. He put all my groceries up, and wouldn't let me so much as shut the tailgate. Then he helped me in to my truck, something I am more than capable of doing. At first I was a little off-put. I'm not crippled! But then I saw the love in his eyes. This little act of kindness was big to him, and I didn't want to take that away from him. I thanked him for his help and he nodded. Then he said, "I know that hurts you. I will be glad to help you next time." He showed me the store's phone number on the receipt and urged me to call the store and make sure he is working on my next visit so he can help me shop. I smiled and thanked him again. Then he said, "I will pray." I didn't even have a chance to think about what he had said before he put his hand on my boot and began praying in a combination of broken English and Spanish. Then he made a cross in the air over my foot and smiled at me, "it will get better, I know." He helped me get situated in the truck, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and shut the door.
If I have over spent by a million dollars by switching my regular weekly grocery shopping to HEB versus Walmart, I have still stored up treasure in my heart. This sweet soul did far more than bag my groceries, which in and of itself was a kindness I had not been afforded before. He has built a relationship with me, a loyal customer, based on generosity, kindness, and service. And as a representative of several HEB employees (or "Partners" as they call them), he is not in the minority there. But he certainly sticks out.
I know that if I go tomorrow or the next day, he will be more than happy to give me a smile and a wink, as he does most times I come in. I know that he will rib my husband for not being the "boss". I know that he will give my kids Buddy Bucks (special HEB "money" used in a game machine that gives kids points they can earn and save towards prizes). And I know that he will bag my groceries just the way I like them. I also know that he cares deeply for me as a person, not just a patron, and that makes all the difference.
I call him St. Peter, his name is Peter. He's very special.
I'll see him tomorrow...
I had a bad experience a few months back at my local Walmart store. I was treated poorly by a cashier. Once I attempted to report the wrong-doing to a manager, she informed me that if my customer service experience was so negative at her store, I might be better off at another grocer. I haven't stepped foot in a Walmart store since. Perhaps it is because I'm super stubborn, but I prefer to think of it as being "principled". My money is just as valuable at one of the 12 other local grocers, and I don't have to take any abuse to spend it there.
So, I have taken my weekly shopping elsewhere. My favorite place to shop happens to be my local HEB. If you aren't familiar with the Texas-based grocery chain, check out their website at www.heb.com. Their prices compare with Walmart's prices. They do not carry the Great Value store brand, but they do offer two store brands of their own that are quite good, some of their items are even better quality/taste than Great Value brand. HEB offers excellent coupons and weekly meal deal specials where you buy a main item, say a package of ground beef, and get several accompanying items for free, like shredded cheese, a two-liter soft drink, and tortillas. Voila! An instant dinner. We check the circulars for these deals because often times they are quite good and you can buy several of them throughout the week to save and freeze for future meals. All in all, I feel like there is a lot of value available at HEB besides just low prices. They have a bakery, fresh seafood, and a butcher - almost unheard of at Walmart anymore. Plus my HEB has a walk-in clinic and a drive-up pharmacy.
But perhaps my biggest grievance with Walmart has always been their service. From the "greeter" at the front door, who really couldn't give a crap whether you "have a nice day" or not, to the always unavailable customer service rep, to the cashier who really didn't want to come in to work today - and it shows. No one seems to care that you are spending your hard-earned dollars in their store or on their product. And worst of all, we take the abuse two to three times a week! I didn't realize how badly I was treated until I stopped shopping there and started shopping at HEB. Walmart will gladly take your money, but what you get in return is a sour attitude, lack of assistance, and a downright intolerance for kindness. What's up with that? They have a slogan, "No store does more than my HEB", and I believe it.
HEB does little extras that mean a lot to me. They still bag groceries for you. Yeah, those days are long gone at Walmart. And I get discounts for bringing my own reusable grocery bags at HEB. And here's the best part: they will help you out to your car, without you having to ask, and they won't accept tips for it. They help you. Amazing. HEB is a Texas-based company, priding itself of keeping the local economy strong. They buy local, sell local, and give local. HEB supports local schools and funds a special summer camp for kids in Texas (my niece used to go every year). HEB hires folks to do jobs - like stocking, cleanup, and bagging - that might not be able to be hired to work elsewhere, like folks with physical or mental handicaps. They participate in a number of charitable events throughout the calendar year, supporting our local communities and charities. Texas proud? Indeed.
Yes, I am now a faithful HEB shopper. I have been ever since Walmart decided to take a giant dump in my wallet. But even for all the reasons I have previously listed, HEB won my heart today.
I have been in a walking fracture boot on my right foot for several days. This will be the case for several more until I can get an MRI. Long story. But despite the fact that I'm walking slowly and with much more effort, the show must go on. I got errands to run and things to do. Moms don't usually have the luxury of stopping their routines because of illness or injury. So I waddled through HEB, getting everything on my shopping list. At the checkout, the kind woman rang my groceries, gave me the coupon discounts, and then asked me where my husband and kids were (can you tell we've become regulars?). While we were "catching up", the sweet man bagged my groceries, meticulously (just the way I like it). He too asked about my family. He calls me "princess" and "boss" a lot, because he thinks it's funny to make my husband feel like he's not in charge, something I find to be very amusing. He also always tells me, "I'll see you tomorrow," because he knows I come in at least twice a week. I think this amuses him some, like having a friend come to visit. He speaks poor English, with a speech impediment, and shows signs of mental retardation. His heart is as big as all of Texas, though, and he has a memory like a steel trap. He remembered how I liked my groceries bagged, did so, and smiled at the last one returning to the cart.
He remembered that my foot was in this ugly boot, and insisted that he walk me to my car since Matt wasn't with me this trip. He talked my ear off about this and that while we slowly hobbled to my truck. He put all my groceries up, and wouldn't let me so much as shut the tailgate. Then he helped me in to my truck, something I am more than capable of doing. At first I was a little off-put. I'm not crippled! But then I saw the love in his eyes. This little act of kindness was big to him, and I didn't want to take that away from him. I thanked him for his help and he nodded. Then he said, "I know that hurts you. I will be glad to help you next time." He showed me the store's phone number on the receipt and urged me to call the store and make sure he is working on my next visit so he can help me shop. I smiled and thanked him again. Then he said, "I will pray." I didn't even have a chance to think about what he had said before he put his hand on my boot and began praying in a combination of broken English and Spanish. Then he made a cross in the air over my foot and smiled at me, "it will get better, I know." He helped me get situated in the truck, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow," and shut the door.
If I have over spent by a million dollars by switching my regular weekly grocery shopping to HEB versus Walmart, I have still stored up treasure in my heart. This sweet soul did far more than bag my groceries, which in and of itself was a kindness I had not been afforded before. He has built a relationship with me, a loyal customer, based on generosity, kindness, and service. And as a representative of several HEB employees (or "Partners" as they call them), he is not in the minority there. But he certainly sticks out.
I know that if I go tomorrow or the next day, he will be more than happy to give me a smile and a wink, as he does most times I come in. I know that he will rib my husband for not being the "boss". I know that he will give my kids Buddy Bucks (special HEB "money" used in a game machine that gives kids points they can earn and save towards prizes). And I know that he will bag my groceries just the way I like them. I also know that he cares deeply for me as a person, not just a patron, and that makes all the difference.
I call him St. Peter, his name is Peter. He's very special.
I'll see him tomorrow...
Friday, November 9, 2012
Costs of freedom
This morning I had the pleasure of going to watch 777 elementary schoolers sing some of my favorite patriotic songs, in honor of Veterans Day. This happens to be one of my favorite holidays, despite the fact that Texas has chosen not to make it a school-free day. It truly is a day to reflect, rejoice, and reunite. What can be better than that?
My sweet Wes and his third grade class sang the songs for each of the branches of our Armed Forces, and it was nothing short of spectacular. Before each song began, the class would shout out which branch they would be singing about. They started out, "United States Army!" and several of the invited guests, wearing bits and pieces of their Army uniforms from wars as far back as the Korean War would stand and be applauded. "Over hill, over dale..." As the men (and a few women) stood, the crowd erupted in applause. The few men too old and weak to stand on their own were assisted and the students began clapping even harder. It was precious. And the best part is that these kids, all under the age of 11, couldn't possibly understand that they were in the presence of greatness. "United States Navy!" A few more folks stood, including a man who looked barely old enough to enter the service, but an injured Veteran nonetheless. He was wearing full dress uniform. "United States Marines!" A smaller group stood, and applause erupted loudly when two of the teachers also stood to receive cheers. Finally, "United States Air Force!" The kids never lost a beat, singing through all four songs. "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder..." and a gentleman, with the assistance of his wife, stood slowly and saluted the third graders. Tears streamed down my cheeks. It was one of those precious moments when you realize that something amazing has happened, and you wonder if anyone else bore witness. If it weren't for the three rows of grandparents and two canes in my way, I would have gone to that precious man and hugged his neck. He lowered his arm and was assisted back to his wheelchair, but not before finishing the last verse, "Nothing will stop the US Air Force!"
It's hard for kids Wesley's age to have the kind of perspective we have. I know that Wes views Veterans as real American heroes. He worships his Uncle Jay, an Iraq Veteran. He thinks it's super cool that he's related to so many amazing Veterans and service members. He treasures them. But I wonder if any of his classmates understand how incredibly valuable these folks are. How much they are a part of not just American history, but the history of the world. How much they are embedded into the very fabric of our nation, and what kind of sacrifice was offered so that my sweet Wes and his third grade class would have the privilege and honor of reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, and could sing The Star Spangled Banner in a small school gymnasium with children of all races, religions, and cultural backgrounds. Is it possible for a 9 year old to fathom the immense pain of loss and the grief endured for their freedom? Can they understand how much blood is left on the battlefield, and how much pain is stored in the minds and hearts of every combat veteran? Can they imagine what kind of cost war comes with? And do they appreciate the service of people who must leave family and friends to do jobs that no one else can or will do, to ensure the safety of our country, and the freedom and privilege we hold dear? Do we, as adults, even understand it?
As I write this, I sit staring at a pile of pictures. I have grandparents, uncles, sisters, in-laws, cousins, and friends who have or are currently serving. In fact, my brother-in-law left for Afghanistan yesterday. To say that I am proud of my heritage is an understatement.
My heart felt so big, and so full, and so proud today. I stood in a room full of super heroes. I stood in a room full of people who put country before self. I stood beside families who knew what the word sacrifice meant, and had paid the price many times over. I knew I would never be able to repay these veterans for their courage, their commitment, their honor, their sacrifice. But I wouldn't give up on trying.
After high school, I had the privilege of joining the United States Navy. While my naval career was short, to say the least, I take great pride in knowing that my country had called on me to be a member of an elite group of citizens. To ever be counted among the greatest of our country is far more honor than I deserve. But I am grateful nonetheless. I wish now, now that it is too late for me, that I had been able to honor my commitment to the fullest and given back to a nation that has given me so much. What I cannot do in the past, I will try to make up for in the future. Gratitude is paid forward.
I want to honor my family of Veterans. I want to make their courage and commitment known to the world. I am proud of them for doing what I could not. And I want to honor the members of my family that served, even in times of amity, and sacrificed of themselves to ensure safety and peace.
If you haven't yet, teach your children how to honor and respect America's greatest defenders. Teach them how to cherish and treasure the generations before us, and teach them to do it while those generations are still here to appreciate it.
My sweet Wes and his third grade class sang the songs for each of the branches of our Armed Forces, and it was nothing short of spectacular. Before each song began, the class would shout out which branch they would be singing about. They started out, "United States Army!" and several of the invited guests, wearing bits and pieces of their Army uniforms from wars as far back as the Korean War would stand and be applauded. "Over hill, over dale..." As the men (and a few women) stood, the crowd erupted in applause. The few men too old and weak to stand on their own were assisted and the students began clapping even harder. It was precious. And the best part is that these kids, all under the age of 11, couldn't possibly understand that they were in the presence of greatness. "United States Navy!" A few more folks stood, including a man who looked barely old enough to enter the service, but an injured Veteran nonetheless. He was wearing full dress uniform. "United States Marines!" A smaller group stood, and applause erupted loudly when two of the teachers also stood to receive cheers. Finally, "United States Air Force!" The kids never lost a beat, singing through all four songs. "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder..." and a gentleman, with the assistance of his wife, stood slowly and saluted the third graders. Tears streamed down my cheeks. It was one of those precious moments when you realize that something amazing has happened, and you wonder if anyone else bore witness. If it weren't for the three rows of grandparents and two canes in my way, I would have gone to that precious man and hugged his neck. He lowered his arm and was assisted back to his wheelchair, but not before finishing the last verse, "Nothing will stop the US Air Force!"
It's hard for kids Wesley's age to have the kind of perspective we have. I know that Wes views Veterans as real American heroes. He worships his Uncle Jay, an Iraq Veteran. He thinks it's super cool that he's related to so many amazing Veterans and service members. He treasures them. But I wonder if any of his classmates understand how incredibly valuable these folks are. How much they are a part of not just American history, but the history of the world. How much they are embedded into the very fabric of our nation, and what kind of sacrifice was offered so that my sweet Wes and his third grade class would have the privilege and honor of reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, and could sing The Star Spangled Banner in a small school gymnasium with children of all races, religions, and cultural backgrounds. Is it possible for a 9 year old to fathom the immense pain of loss and the grief endured for their freedom? Can they understand how much blood is left on the battlefield, and how much pain is stored in the minds and hearts of every combat veteran? Can they imagine what kind of cost war comes with? And do they appreciate the service of people who must leave family and friends to do jobs that no one else can or will do, to ensure the safety of our country, and the freedom and privilege we hold dear? Do we, as adults, even understand it?
As I write this, I sit staring at a pile of pictures. I have grandparents, uncles, sisters, in-laws, cousins, and friends who have or are currently serving. In fact, my brother-in-law left for Afghanistan yesterday. To say that I am proud of my heritage is an understatement.
My heart felt so big, and so full, and so proud today. I stood in a room full of super heroes. I stood in a room full of people who put country before self. I stood beside families who knew what the word sacrifice meant, and had paid the price many times over. I knew I would never be able to repay these veterans for their courage, their commitment, their honor, their sacrifice. But I wouldn't give up on trying.
After high school, I had the privilege of joining the United States Navy. While my naval career was short, to say the least, I take great pride in knowing that my country had called on me to be a member of an elite group of citizens. To ever be counted among the greatest of our country is far more honor than I deserve. But I am grateful nonetheless. I wish now, now that it is too late for me, that I had been able to honor my commitment to the fullest and given back to a nation that has given me so much. What I cannot do in the past, I will try to make up for in the future. Gratitude is paid forward.
I want to honor my family of Veterans. I want to make their courage and commitment known to the world. I am proud of them for doing what I could not. And I want to honor the members of my family that served, even in times of amity, and sacrificed of themselves to ensure safety and peace.
If you haven't yet, teach your children how to honor and respect America's greatest defenders. Teach them how to cherish and treasure the generations before us, and teach them to do it while those generations are still here to appreciate it.
Matt's uncle, Calvin - United States Army Special Forces
and cousin, Jacob - United States Army (active duty)
My cousin, Tera, with her husband, Gregory - United States Marine Corps, Iraq
My beloved grandpa, and my namesake, Lee - United States Army Air Corps (now known as the US Air Force), World War II
My dad, Loran - United States Army, Vietnam
My uncle, Randy - United States Air Force, Vietnam
Matt's father, Ray, and wife Linda - United States Army, Kosovo
My brother-in-law, Tyler - United States Army, Afghanistan
My brother-in-law, Jay - United States Army, Iraq
I also want to honor my grandpa, Bryon, my sister, Kori, and my brother-in-law, Michael, for their service.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Four More Years...?
It doesn't matter for whom I voted. It doesn't matter if "my party" won or lost. It doesn't matter if I am in a red state or a blue state. At the end of this historic night, we all look up at the same set of stars, and we all live under the same flag. Right? I mean, that is true, right? Because if you are on social media, you wouldn't know that. The sounds of the Civil War of our history books has been replaced with the tippity-tap of fingertips on keyboards, and the buzz of smart phones. Everyone has an opinion, and everyone's opinion is right. Apparently, we have all lost our minds. At least, that's what Bahrain must be thinking.
Of course, you don't see Bahrain clicking away on their laptops or iPads about the President Elect that they did not approve of - they don't have the privilege of voting. They are just one of several maps on our globe that isn't blessed to have a say in their government. Perhaps some of the foul-mouthed sore losers on Facebook would prefer to live there?
I love Facebook, I really do. So much of my family is on Facebook. During military deployments, long-distance moves, and even family vacations, we use social media to share our adventures and pictures, stay on top of family matters, and just keep in touch. I love that. I love having just one more way to be involved in the lives of my nieces and nephews, and keep tabs on siblings. Even my grandma has a Facebook page. It's a wonderful tool. But it has really become a mine field in the last 45 minutes. I have never been so ashamed of some of my family and "friends" as I have tonight. I'm praying that what I see isn't true colors, but just outrage and fear, or even pure overwhelming joy. Some of the comments blow me away. Statuses that read "F*** you if you voted for Obama" and "If you voted for Obama, you are a huge ***hole". Seriously. And one of my favorite throw-backs from 2008, "I hope you're happy now that the Anti-Christ has risen again." Lest we forget the more subtle, "The Bible warned us about this." It's not one-sided though. You might like to know that "Obama wins. Romney supporters can suck it." And one of my favorites: "Knock-knock. Who's there? Obama, b**ches!!" Perhaps I am not as good a judge of character as I had hoped. It saddens me to think that people I had once held in such high esteem have lowered themselves to this. Four more years of this administration I can handle. Four more years of this kind of insensitive (and unnecessary) political banter, I'm not so sure I can.
There is no need to pollute such a wonderful blessing like Facebook (or Twitter, etc.) with unkind words, harsh (and untrue) phrases, and hateful and bitter accusations. It serves no purpose, and has no altering outcome - except that it will alienate us. After all, if your propaganda before the election did little to sway the vote, surely you understand that it has no bearing afterward, right?
Bottom line: My life has no room for negative energies. I can ill afford the every day struggles of motherhood, household management, and my own health, let alone adding the drama of a sore loser or an arrogant winner to the list. I need loving guidance of people who support me, pray for me, cheer me on, and encourage me in the way that I strive to do for them. I need for Facebook to stay one of those "safe places" where I can read a funny message from my sister, send a picture to my grandma, and read a joke posted by a high school classmate, without making me feel the same discomfort about the harsh place that the world just outside my doorstep seems to be. If you are one of these folks who is destroying Facebook and other social media for me, just know that you are on my "Fecal Roster" and I will discard you in the same way. (Actually, I'll just "unfriend" you, but that doesn't sound dramatic enough.)
Look, I don't much care to talk politics. I gave all the opinion I'm gonna give when I cast my ballot. But I will say this: we, as a nation, have spoken. We have elected a leader. We need to unite to support not the man, but the office to which he was elected. Regardless of how you feel when the polls close, he is and will continue to be our President and Commander in Chief. That office deserves respect. If you really don't like it, perhaps you can take refuge in someplace like Bahrain. You won't need to worry with liking or supporting the president there. And you won't need to bring your iPhone, either.
Of course, you don't see Bahrain clicking away on their laptops or iPads about the President Elect that they did not approve of - they don't have the privilege of voting. They are just one of several maps on our globe that isn't blessed to have a say in their government. Perhaps some of the foul-mouthed sore losers on Facebook would prefer to live there?
I love Facebook, I really do. So much of my family is on Facebook. During military deployments, long-distance moves, and even family vacations, we use social media to share our adventures and pictures, stay on top of family matters, and just keep in touch. I love that. I love having just one more way to be involved in the lives of my nieces and nephews, and keep tabs on siblings. Even my grandma has a Facebook page. It's a wonderful tool. But it has really become a mine field in the last 45 minutes. I have never been so ashamed of some of my family and "friends" as I have tonight. I'm praying that what I see isn't true colors, but just outrage and fear, or even pure overwhelming joy. Some of the comments blow me away. Statuses that read "F*** you if you voted for Obama" and "If you voted for Obama, you are a huge ***hole". Seriously. And one of my favorite throw-backs from 2008, "I hope you're happy now that the Anti-Christ has risen again." Lest we forget the more subtle, "The Bible warned us about this." It's not one-sided though. You might like to know that "Obama wins. Romney supporters can suck it." And one of my favorites: "Knock-knock. Who's there? Obama, b**ches!!" Perhaps I am not as good a judge of character as I had hoped. It saddens me to think that people I had once held in such high esteem have lowered themselves to this. Four more years of this administration I can handle. Four more years of this kind of insensitive (and unnecessary) political banter, I'm not so sure I can.
There is no need to pollute such a wonderful blessing like Facebook (or Twitter, etc.) with unkind words, harsh (and untrue) phrases, and hateful and bitter accusations. It serves no purpose, and has no altering outcome - except that it will alienate us. After all, if your propaganda before the election did little to sway the vote, surely you understand that it has no bearing afterward, right?
Bottom line: My life has no room for negative energies. I can ill afford the every day struggles of motherhood, household management, and my own health, let alone adding the drama of a sore loser or an arrogant winner to the list. I need loving guidance of people who support me, pray for me, cheer me on, and encourage me in the way that I strive to do for them. I need for Facebook to stay one of those "safe places" where I can read a funny message from my sister, send a picture to my grandma, and read a joke posted by a high school classmate, without making me feel the same discomfort about the harsh place that the world just outside my doorstep seems to be. If you are one of these folks who is destroying Facebook and other social media for me, just know that you are on my "Fecal Roster" and I will discard you in the same way. (Actually, I'll just "unfriend" you, but that doesn't sound dramatic enough.)
Look, I don't much care to talk politics. I gave all the opinion I'm gonna give when I cast my ballot. But I will say this: we, as a nation, have spoken. We have elected a leader. We need to unite to support not the man, but the office to which he was elected. Regardless of how you feel when the polls close, he is and will continue to be our President and Commander in Chief. That office deserves respect. If you really don't like it, perhaps you can take refuge in someplace like Bahrain. You won't need to worry with liking or supporting the president there. And you won't need to bring your iPhone, either.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Politics as Usual...
Before I go any further, I want to make a few things very clear. First of all, I am not tied to any politician or political party, nor do I have any financial stake in the immediate outcome of the presidential election (though I would argue we all have one in the long term). These are my opinions, on my blog, and I share them freely in the spirit of love, friendship, and truth. I am not seeking an argument or debate. This is not intended to promote any particular party or candidate.
I am a largely undecided voter.
Now, I want to start by saying that I have had the unfortunate chore of eliminating and blocking several people from my Facebook list because of unnecessary comments made around the politics and candidates making headlines. I've had to stop hanging around some friends and even family members because they have become, honestly, quite obnoxious. I have tried to remain quiet about it, tolerate it, and ignore it. But the truth is that my patience is wearing thin and I just can't take much more. I thought about just staying away from Facebook altogether, and I do feel that Facebook is where the majority of the issues seem to start - everything from "like this picture if you think Romney is a fraud" to "share this picture if you believe Obama is trying to sell Americans to Iraq" - but Facebook is one of the tools that keeps my family informed, being that we are all spread out around the world.
I think it is critical for anyone who has the right to vote to do so as an informed citizen. In the digital age, information is available everywhere. And the Internet can be a very useful tool. But it is also a political mine field, if you don't know how to navigate fact from crap. So much of what I see sprayed all over Facebook is simply manufactured, based on trashing the opponent instead of building up their own campaign or party. And thus, the rumor mill is perpetuated and lies are spread like a cold virus. It is important to get information - real, good, solid information - from a reliable source. If you go looking for dirt on Obama on an ultra-conservative website, you will surely find it. And if you're asking liberals to bash Romney, I'm sure they will gladly oblige. Know your source, and make sure that what you're reading and absorbing is fact, not fiction.
Let's clear the air. Some of the worst comments made on Facebook involve the following:
Romney doesn't have multiple wives, and to my knowledge, he's not seeking to allow for that to be legal, either. I'm not really sure where this came from, but I did see it recently on Facebook. Ridiculous. I guess someone has seen a few too many episodes of Sister Wives.
President Obama is not a Muslim, just in case you were wondering. I know the rumors were flying like crazy about this, but it's just not true. The President himself said it wasn't true. I guess you could argue that he could be lying, but why? And what if he was Muslim? Why is that an issue? Our country is founded on the belief that everyone is welcome to worship who and how they choose. It most literally is the reason we even exist! Furthermore, to say that all Muslims want to kill America is absurd. Muslim extremists have made a name for themselves in this arena, but I cannot underscore the word extremists enough. Extremists from all religious and cultural backgrounds make problems around the world - hence the word extreme. Remember The Crusades? Yeah, us "Christians" aren't immune from the violence, either. But I digress.
Romney never said anything about dodging service in Vietnam because he had a "greater purpose" in life. Hoax. Subscribe to snopes.com or factcheck.org. He never said anything of the kind. He was in college at the time of Vietnam and had deferments. His last deferment would have expired in 1970, but was given a very high draft number and was therefore never called upon to serve.
The democrats are not trying to take all of your guns away. That's ridiculous. We have a constitutional right to keep and bear arms. Keep that thing holstered. Nothing to get excited about just yet. And if it ever does look like "gun control" gets out of control, come on down to Texas where we still reserve the right to succeed and once again become the Republic of Texas. I promise no one is taking guns outta this place.
And Romney didn't get away with not paying any taxes. Ever. Seriously. I'm done talking about this.
And the worst of all the offenses is the rumor that President Obama is trying to somehow sabotage the United States and deliver us into the hands of Iran. I'm guessing this is also because he is the anti-Christ. Ugh. Really? We really need to get into this discussion again?
Look, the bottom line is that both candidates have their good points and their bad ones. Both parties have their faults and failures. No one party is a clear winner for all Americans. That is why we have this fantastic thing called the right to vote. If you feel strongly that one candidate or another is the right choice for you, I highly suggest you exercise your right and cast a ballot. Let your vote be your voice. Speak through the polls, and keep Facebook friendly.
I am a largely undecided voter.
Now, I want to start by saying that I have had the unfortunate chore of eliminating and blocking several people from my Facebook list because of unnecessary comments made around the politics and candidates making headlines. I've had to stop hanging around some friends and even family members because they have become, honestly, quite obnoxious. I have tried to remain quiet about it, tolerate it, and ignore it. But the truth is that my patience is wearing thin and I just can't take much more. I thought about just staying away from Facebook altogether, and I do feel that Facebook is where the majority of the issues seem to start - everything from "like this picture if you think Romney is a fraud" to "share this picture if you believe Obama is trying to sell Americans to Iraq" - but Facebook is one of the tools that keeps my family informed, being that we are all spread out around the world.
I think it is critical for anyone who has the right to vote to do so as an informed citizen. In the digital age, information is available everywhere. And the Internet can be a very useful tool. But it is also a political mine field, if you don't know how to navigate fact from crap. So much of what I see sprayed all over Facebook is simply manufactured, based on trashing the opponent instead of building up their own campaign or party. And thus, the rumor mill is perpetuated and lies are spread like a cold virus. It is important to get information - real, good, solid information - from a reliable source. If you go looking for dirt on Obama on an ultra-conservative website, you will surely find it. And if you're asking liberals to bash Romney, I'm sure they will gladly oblige. Know your source, and make sure that what you're reading and absorbing is fact, not fiction.
Let's clear the air. Some of the worst comments made on Facebook involve the following:
Romney doesn't have multiple wives, and to my knowledge, he's not seeking to allow for that to be legal, either. I'm not really sure where this came from, but I did see it recently on Facebook. Ridiculous. I guess someone has seen a few too many episodes of Sister Wives.
President Obama is not a Muslim, just in case you were wondering. I know the rumors were flying like crazy about this, but it's just not true. The President himself said it wasn't true. I guess you could argue that he could be lying, but why? And what if he was Muslim? Why is that an issue? Our country is founded on the belief that everyone is welcome to worship who and how they choose. It most literally is the reason we even exist! Furthermore, to say that all Muslims want to kill America is absurd. Muslim extremists have made a name for themselves in this arena, but I cannot underscore the word extremists enough. Extremists from all religious and cultural backgrounds make problems around the world - hence the word extreme. Remember The Crusades? Yeah, us "Christians" aren't immune from the violence, either. But I digress.
Romney never said anything about dodging service in Vietnam because he had a "greater purpose" in life. Hoax. Subscribe to snopes.com or factcheck.org. He never said anything of the kind. He was in college at the time of Vietnam and had deferments. His last deferment would have expired in 1970, but was given a very high draft number and was therefore never called upon to serve.
The democrats are not trying to take all of your guns away. That's ridiculous. We have a constitutional right to keep and bear arms. Keep that thing holstered. Nothing to get excited about just yet. And if it ever does look like "gun control" gets out of control, come on down to Texas where we still reserve the right to succeed and once again become the Republic of Texas. I promise no one is taking guns outta this place.
And Romney didn't get away with not paying any taxes. Ever. Seriously. I'm done talking about this.
And the worst of all the offenses is the rumor that President Obama is trying to somehow sabotage the United States and deliver us into the hands of Iran. I'm guessing this is also because he is the anti-Christ. Ugh. Really? We really need to get into this discussion again?
Look, the bottom line is that both candidates have their good points and their bad ones. Both parties have their faults and failures. No one party is a clear winner for all Americans. That is why we have this fantastic thing called the right to vote. If you feel strongly that one candidate or another is the right choice for you, I highly suggest you exercise your right and cast a ballot. Let your vote be your voice. Speak through the polls, and keep Facebook friendly.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
"I Am Afraid"
I took the title from the blog of a sweet Pakistani girl who is paying for her words with her life. As we speak, Malala Yousafzai is in a hospital in Peshawar, Afghanistan, lucky to survive an attack on her life because she was brave enough to say that enough was enough. It is in her honor that I write.
Backstory.
Malala Yousafzai is only fourteen years old. Her wisdom seems far beyond her years. But I think that is because she has had to grow up in circumstances that do not allow for her to enjoy her youth. She lives in fear because she is held in the oppression of the Taliban. She began an anonymous blog a few years ago describing her life under Taliban rule in her community in the Swat Valley. Even at eleven years old she understood the consequences of a life lived contrary to the medieval rule of the Taliban. One night, with her fears and anxiety coming to a head, she dreamt of helicopters and Taliban militants and wrote the now-famous "I Am Afraid" post.
SATURDAY JAN. 3: I AM AFRAID I had a terrible dream yesterday with military helicopters and the Taliban. I have had such dreams since the launch of the military operation in Swat. My mother made me breakfast and I went off to school. I was afraid going to school because the Taliban had issued an edict banning all girls from attending schools.High Praise.
Only 11 students attended the class out of 27. The number decreased because of Taliban’s edict. My three friends have shifted to Peshawar, Lahore and Rawalpindi with their families after this edict.
On my way from school to home I heard a man saying "I will kill you." I hastened my pace and after a while I looked back if the man was still coming behind me. But to my utter relief he was talking on his mobile and must have been threatening someone else over the phone.
In 2009, Malala was nominated for the International Children's Peace Prize, and was given Pakistan's first-ever National Youth Peace Prize for her outspoken support of girl's education. Recently she led a delegation of children's right activists, sponsored by UNICEF, that made special presentations to provincial leadership in Peshawar. Prime Minister Raja Pervez Ashraf said in Parliament, "she is our daughter" and her urged support for her cause.
Gunshots.
Gunshots.
Malala boarded a school bus to head home after a day of studies. Reports claim that a gunman boarded the school bus and began asking some of the girls if there were Malala Yousafzai. When the first two girls said that they were not her, they were shot. Eventually Malala was found, and shot twice - once in the neck, and once in the head.
The Taliban quickly claimed responsibility for the attacks, saying that Malala is "the symbol of infidels and obscenity."
The Taliban quickly claimed responsibility for the attacks, saying that Malala is "the symbol of infidels and obscenity."
At this hour.
As of the time I write this, the bullet has been successfully removed from her neck and doctors at the Combined Military Hospital in Peshawar have said that she is "out of danger." Doctors have confirmed that her brain did not suffer permanent damage. They say that the next 3-4 days are critical.
I Am Afraid.
I have fear also. I am afraid that what we have seen is only the beginning. I am afraid for a society that believes it can solve issues by subjugation and oppression. I am afraid for communities that struggle to survive against their own people. I am afraid for children who grow up too quickly, understand war too well, and die too young.
This fourteen-year-old girl has done so much more to advance her culture in her short years than I have ever done in all of mine. I celebrate her. I honor her. I want to be like her. She was brave in the face of conflict, and fierce in times of struggle.
It is easy for me to look across the span of many oceans and say, "I fear for them" and then, just as easily, forget them. But then I look inward. What about me? I'm afraid for me, too. I fear that I have within me nothing that is braver than a few meaningless words on the internet. I fear that I do not have courage enough to stand up and say, with a voice bigger than my oppressor, enough is enough. I fear that in the face of danger I will cower, instead of standing up for what is right.
This fourteen-year-old girl has done so much more to advance her culture in her short years than I have ever done in all of mine. I celebrate her. I honor her. I want to be like her. She was brave in the face of conflict, and fierce in times of struggle.
Change.
I was recently told, "Dana, you can't save the world." At first, I felt a deep sting. I felt offended. I realize that this statement is not altogether false. Alone, I cannot save the world. But if everyone on the planet decided to defy that statement, something amazing could happen. Maybe the world would not be transformed immediately into a peaceful place of harmony and love, but we could give it a head start. If we treated the planet with respect, and the people on it with value, how much better off would it be? Maybe there would be far fewer Malalas being airlifted to hospitals with gunshot wounds. Maybe there would be far fewer roadside bombings. Maybe there would be far fewer ozone watch days, and fewer patients suffering from shortness of breath. Maybe we would be economically safe(r) and maybe we would be able to really talk about issues instead of slinging mud. I cannot promise these results, but is it not worth a try? Malala would think so. Malala did think so. I am willing to bet that at some point someone told her she could not change the world, either, but generations of school girls in Pakistan will think differently.
Enough is enough.
It is easy, looking through the red, white, and blue glasses of the American way to say that it is wrong for any government to oppress women in this way. But a little tolerance would go a long way. I understand that religious differences and cultural freedoms are what makes each country and culture unique and special. I would never be in favor of Americans busting in to make a society more like American society. I think America is great, but it wouldn't be so great if we weren't a society made up of so many other unique societies. I respect the religious beliefs and cultural etiquette of other countries and groups. If Muslims or Afghans believe that women should not be educated, I respect that. It's difficult to accept, but I respect that.
What I do not respect is using the threat of death for anyone who disagrees. What I do not respect is "bullying" your people to follow your rules. And I do not respect the violent blood bath of a child to prove your view.
At some point, we, not as Americans or Canadians or Afghans or whomever we associate with, but we, as human beings, must stand up and say enough is enough. There has to be a better way to communicate our feelings and our views than through the vicious slayings of our own citizens. This message I not only speak to those in Afghanistan, Pakistan, China, Mexico... but right here at home.
Enough is enough.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Momma Grace
Tonight I experienced one of the lesser joyful parts of motherhood: discipline. I always swore that I would never discipline my children the way I was disciplined, but I suppose children always say that, as none of us are exactly big fans of having to be corrected or punished. But as I have had to experience this painful part of parenting on more than one occasion, I have begun to take notice of my parenting style, only to discover that I have, in fact, become my own mother - a thought that both frightens and intrigues me.
I feel that in my 13+ years of motherhood, I have learned a trick or two. I have gained wisdom not only through the experience of those who went before me, but also through observation of my own parenting technique - or lack thereof - and through the kind of gentle prodding of my Heavenly Father. I can only hope that these sources have led me to be a better mother than had I attempted to parent solely by my own instinct.
Tonight, my only daughter, also my youngest child, tested me, as she often does. Her personality is nothing like me or my husband, though her stubborn nature comes honestly from both sides. She is flighty, unique, and creative. She has an imagination as big as creation, and is deeply sensitive and dramatic. Organization is most definitely not her forte, and she is often driven by flights of fancy rather than reality. She's not delusional, just delightfully optimistic and fantastic. While all of these qualities make her special, unique, and wonderfully different, they can often drive me to the brink of insanity. I can't relate to her. I don't understand her. I feel disrespected and defied, when I often think that she means me no harm, but simply doesn't exactly live in the same dimension as I do. Her priorities are not the same as mine, and she places no value on things like time, place, or practicality. She looks at me with the innocent confusion of a deaf person being spoken to by a mumbler, simply unable to understand why I would be angry at her for something as simple as not putting her clothes away. My anger seems to be such a surprise to her, not because she honestly didn't think disobedience wouldn't annoy me, but because she doesn't consider her laundry to be important the way I do. It is given very little value, and is often instantly dismissed because there are art projects to complete, and fairy tales to write - things which rank so much higher in her kingdom than in mine. And I get so frustrated, so angry, so furious...
After repeated attempts to get this precious gift from God to put her clothes away, I began to implement a spanking system. For those who are not fans of corporal punishment, I should warn you to please look away. Every time she didn't do as she was told, I gave her a spanking. And she would earn one additional spanking every time she repeated the violation. My hope was that after 5 or 6 spankings she would just give up and behave. But the child earned 17 spankings in one evening, all for not putting her clothes away as directed. You can see my frustration. No parent enjoys spanking their child. But we do it because we need to correct a specific undesirable behavior. After giving the 17th spanking, I decided that this method was simply not working. I had to do something big, something drastic, to get her attention and nip this clothing issue in the bud. I decided to take away Buddy, her beloved pet crawfish (yes, a pet crawfish - but that is a whole different story). I grabbed up the fish bowl and told her that Buddy was going to live in our neighborhood pond. That child fell to pieces. She told me she would take 20 spankings right then and there if I would let her keep Buddy. My heart broke. Was I prepared to crush the child's heart over folded laundry? Was I prepared to handle the consequences of not following through on a threat? I honestly didn't know what to do. An honest-to-goodness Momma Dilemma of the worst kind: how to discipline your child without scarring them for life.
The child is a mess. At any given time she has no idea where her shoes are, she can't locate a hairbrush to save her life, and she may or may not have done her homework. But that complete and total walking disaster is the heart of my heart, the soul of my soul, and the reason I even get to earn my stripes as a Momma. She might be a mess, but she's my mess. And I'd give anything for her. Anything. If she's willing to take 20 spankings to save a crawfish's life, how much more am I willing to sacrifice for hers?
I decided I needed to walk away and think about it. I sent her to bed, and began a walk of shame down the stairs. I felt so bad for having put the child through so much over those stupid piles of laundry. I yelled at her, saying "it wasn't worth 17 spankings for those clothes, was it?" But I found myself asking, "it wasn't worth breaking her heart over those clothes, was it?" Ugh. Maybe it was, but maybe it wasn't. I didn't think I was really teaching her a lesson about putting clothes away so much as I was teaching her that violating mom's rules results in harsh punishment, and keeps you from the things you love.
What if that's what life was really like? You screw up, you get shunned. It's not. I know that when I make mistakes there are real, sometimes painful, consequences - and I definitely don't want my kids to think the world is a place where mistakes are without consequence. But when I mess up, God gives grace. God doesn't take everything I love away from me because I sin. Grace. That's what it's all about.
Perhaps it's ironic that the child that gives me such fits was also given the middle name of "Grace" before I ever even knew how much I would need to be reminded of the need for it.
Monday, August 27, 2012
A Mother's Second Wind
I have said for months, maybe years now, that being a mom is a thankless job. It's hours and hours, days and days, of diapers and midnight feedings. Then later there's nightmares, first-day-of-kindergarten jitters. Followed by homework help, the first day of junior high, acne. Then, before you know it, there's broken hearts, driver's licenses, and graduation. And behind all of it is a dedicated mom who wants nothing more than for her child to succeed. But while moms do it out of love, it can sometimes seem difficult to keep going, knowing there are very few, if any, times the words "thank you" come out of the mouths of those very same children. It can definitely make it difficult to stay motivated.
I had been feeling a little bit down about my job as stay-at-home mom. I had even been considering going back to work, feeling like my kids didn't really need me anymore. I had all but lost my drive to do the difficult job of laundry, shuffling kids to and from practice, grocery shopping, homework help, and dishes. But as the new school year was approaching, and I had no other prospects in line, I prayed that God would show me what He had in store for me.
I haven't felt enthusiastic about these mundane jobs and chores that are required of a stay-at-home mom... until just two short weeks ago, when I heard God's voice speaking to me. And I immediately prayed that God would put it in my heart to do this job to the fullest, as if I were serving Him, and always doing my best. Granted, it's only been two weeks, but I have thoroughly enjoyed my mundane jobs. I feel renewed and re-awakened. I feel like God has given me a second wind.
I had been feeling a little bit down about my job as stay-at-home mom. I had even been considering going back to work, feeling like my kids didn't really need me anymore. I had all but lost my drive to do the difficult job of laundry, shuffling kids to and from practice, grocery shopping, homework help, and dishes. But as the new school year was approaching, and I had no other prospects in line, I prayed that God would show me what He had in store for me.
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart,
as working for the Lord, not
for men
Colossians 3:23
Over and over again, God brought this scripture to my mind. It even came up in a sermon recently at church. Obviously, God has a message for me. And once I stopped running from what I thought I didn't want to hear, I opened my ears and my heart and heard God speaking to me loud and clear: Why are you running from this job, this important job I gave you, when this is what you are supposed to be doing?I haven't felt enthusiastic about these mundane jobs and chores that are required of a stay-at-home mom... until just two short weeks ago, when I heard God's voice speaking to me. And I immediately prayed that God would put it in my heart to do this job to the fullest, as if I were serving Him, and always doing my best. Granted, it's only been two weeks, but I have thoroughly enjoyed my mundane jobs. I feel renewed and re-awakened. I feel like God has given me a second wind.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Gun. Control.
I live in Texas, where gun laws are pretty liberal. Most folks have at least one gun in their home, and likely at least one in their car or on their person. My husband, in fact, is a Concealed Handgun Licensee and we own multiple guns. Someone trying to break in to our home wouldn't stand much chance with the small arsenal we have. I like guns. I like to shoot. I have never shot anything but targets and maybe a beer can, but it feels good to gently squeeze the trigger and cause a chemical reaction to abruptly and rapidly launch a projectile to wherever I choose. It feels good to be in control.
I have been asked how I feel about guns before. There was a time, in my youth, when I was afraid of guns because all I knew of them was their power to destroy. But I got a little older and learned more about them. In the Navy, I learned about the physical and chemical properties of bullets, and the mechanics of the gun, that cause it to be effective (or ineffective, as the case may be). I married a hunter, and he taught me about the types of weapons and ammo needed to bring down everything from a large white tail deer to a tiny squirrel. I began to respect the class of weapons we broadly call "guns". And, honestly, I began to really like them.
I hate that there have been so many instances recently of people abusing their opportunity - and their constitutional right - to bear arms. From school shootings, to church massacres, to movie theater terrors... it's all terribly sad that someone used guns in such a terrible way. And because the instance of such shootings has become too common, people begin to throw around terms like "restriction" and "gun control." At this, I shudder.
Constitutional amendment aside, there are plenty of reasons why the government should not be allowed to take my guns away. Making it impossible, or at least difficult, to own or buy a gun does not keep shootings like these from happening. Only law-abiding citizens abide by laws. So, creating laws to keep people from owning guns doesn't stop the bad guys from buying, trading, or otherwise owning and carrying guns (can you say prohibition?). It just keeps the rest of us from legally being able to enjoy the sport of shooting, or defending ourselves. In essence, we would be punished for following the law. That hardly seems fair.
Like I mentioned, I live in Texas - a state known for it's gun laws. I believe, in all seriousness, that should a federal gun law pass forcing Texans to register their guns, surrender their guns, or give up their right to carry their guns, Texas would once again become a sovereign republic. Mark my words. That mess ain't gonna fly in Texas.
Look, let's be honest. If we applied the logic that these kinds of tragedies should mean loss of privilege, none of us should or would own a car, a cell phone, or a steak knife. Stuff happens. There are always folks who do stupid, irresponsible, reckless, and nasty things. But I'm not one of those folks, and I don't believe I should lose out on the constitutional right to keep and bear arms.
Because we are responsible legal gun owners, my husband and I have both taken safety courses for handling and firing our weapons. We have trigger locks where appropriate. We have our guns out of the hands of our children, who have also been taught proper gun safety. We treat our guns with the respect they deserve - after all, they can be deadly weapons if not handled properly. We do things the right way. And for that, we should be praised, not penalized.
Don't take away my guns.
I believe in gun control: It's called a steady hand and a clear head.
I have been asked how I feel about guns before. There was a time, in my youth, when I was afraid of guns because all I knew of them was their power to destroy. But I got a little older and learned more about them. In the Navy, I learned about the physical and chemical properties of bullets, and the mechanics of the gun, that cause it to be effective (or ineffective, as the case may be). I married a hunter, and he taught me about the types of weapons and ammo needed to bring down everything from a large white tail deer to a tiny squirrel. I began to respect the class of weapons we broadly call "guns". And, honestly, I began to really like them.
I hate that there have been so many instances recently of people abusing their opportunity - and their constitutional right - to bear arms. From school shootings, to church massacres, to movie theater terrors... it's all terribly sad that someone used guns in such a terrible way. And because the instance of such shootings has become too common, people begin to throw around terms like "restriction" and "gun control." At this, I shudder.
Constitutional amendment aside, there are plenty of reasons why the government should not be allowed to take my guns away. Making it impossible, or at least difficult, to own or buy a gun does not keep shootings like these from happening. Only law-abiding citizens abide by laws. So, creating laws to keep people from owning guns doesn't stop the bad guys from buying, trading, or otherwise owning and carrying guns (can you say prohibition?). It just keeps the rest of us from legally being able to enjoy the sport of shooting, or defending ourselves. In essence, we would be punished for following the law. That hardly seems fair.
Like I mentioned, I live in Texas - a state known for it's gun laws. I believe, in all seriousness, that should a federal gun law pass forcing Texans to register their guns, surrender their guns, or give up their right to carry their guns, Texas would once again become a sovereign republic. Mark my words. That mess ain't gonna fly in Texas.
Look, let's be honest. If we applied the logic that these kinds of tragedies should mean loss of privilege, none of us should or would own a car, a cell phone, or a steak knife. Stuff happens. There are always folks who do stupid, irresponsible, reckless, and nasty things. But I'm not one of those folks, and I don't believe I should lose out on the constitutional right to keep and bear arms.
"A well-armed populace is the best defense against tyranny." -Thomas Jefferson
Because we are responsible legal gun owners, my husband and I have both taken safety courses for handling and firing our weapons. We have trigger locks where appropriate. We have our guns out of the hands of our children, who have also been taught proper gun safety. We treat our guns with the respect they deserve - after all, they can be deadly weapons if not handled properly. We do things the right way. And for that, we should be praised, not penalized.
Don't take away my guns.
I believe in gun control: It's called a steady hand and a clear head.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Consumer Alert!
I know I've mentioned it recently, but my husband and I just moved into our new home. We are extremely delighted about the office space, the home theater, and having an extra bedroom. But we quickly discovered that our phone reception was almost nonexistent. If Matt wants to work from home, which I'm assuming he does, given the fact that we now have a home office from which he can work, he needs reliable phone connectivity. So, we had to bite the bullet and go old-school and get a "land line". Fortunately, this is a pretty inexpensive adjustment.
My beef in this post is not with AT&T, although it puzzles me that I am receiving a "no service" message on my phone in an area so heavily populated. No, my beef isn't even with Comcast, who is now providing the home phone bundled with my internet, though I have plenty of other reason to fuss about Comcast. No, this is a warning to potential customers of ADT Security.
So, back to the home phone. See, we had to get a home phone, which means we had to get a new phone number. For FOUR DOLLARS A MONTH Comcast would ensure our number would remain unlisted. Yes, they actually want to charge a fee for that. Matt & I decided it wasn't worth the cost - after all, who uses a phone book anymore?? But it became evident that we were wrong not to pay the fee.
Enter ADT Security. Two days after our home phone was installed, we got a solicitation call from an ADT Security salesperson. My husband politely said we weren't interested and hung up. Within an hour, call #2 from ADT. Again, we aren't interested. This is day 5 with the new phone number. All but 18 of the calls listed on the phone's received call list are from ADT Security call centers across the country wanting for us to buy a security system. SEVENTEEN sales calls in 5 days. This doesn't include the half-dozen or so calls I haven't answered.
I tried to be polite at first. I even requested that my number be removed from their call list. But the calls keep coming. I just took one about 30 minutes ago. Their speech is always the same, and I always interrupt to tell them about this crazy saga - boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl buy house, boy and girl are harassed by relentless ADT sales people. And finally a sales person informed me of the problem. She said, "ADT call centers are not linked, so we have no way of knowing which call center has your number on the Do Not Call List."
So let me see if I understand this. You are one of the largest security companies in the country, and yet you can't tell if a customer in the Houston market has already said no seventeen times? And you're not concerned that your sales methods border on harassment? But I should trust you to monitor my home for theft, fire, carbon monoxide, etc? How can this possibly be a good idea?
The plot thickens. I signed up for the National Do Not Call Registry at www.donotcall.gov, but this process can take weeks to take effect! Is there no help for consumers - or I guess, in my case, a non-consumer - who do not want to be the target of dozens of cold calls that only result in unkind words and harsh tones followed by the deafening slam of the phone??
I told the most recent caller that not only did I not now want ADT, I didn't want it 17 calls ago, and I won't want it in the future. In fact, I told her, I would recommend that my friends not seek ADT as their security provider. I would not in any way support a company that felt it was okay to pester people in their own homes, or that was so disorganized that they were unaware as to who had been called and declined! Worse yet, what if I had told that first caller that I would love for them to come out and set me up with a security system and then I got 16 more calls wanting to know if I would be interested in their "secure monitoring"?!? Can you say awkward?
I don't do this very often, but I will do it now. I highly encourage anyone who might be considering a security system to consider this: how secure can you really feel when the company that supposedly has your back doesn't even know if they have it or not?
PS - we have gone another route for our security needs and I'm happy to say that our new system works great, without the harassment. :)
My beef in this post is not with AT&T, although it puzzles me that I am receiving a "no service" message on my phone in an area so heavily populated. No, my beef isn't even with Comcast, who is now providing the home phone bundled with my internet, though I have plenty of other reason to fuss about Comcast. No, this is a warning to potential customers of ADT Security.
So, back to the home phone. See, we had to get a home phone, which means we had to get a new phone number. For FOUR DOLLARS A MONTH Comcast would ensure our number would remain unlisted. Yes, they actually want to charge a fee for that. Matt & I decided it wasn't worth the cost - after all, who uses a phone book anymore?? But it became evident that we were wrong not to pay the fee.
Enter ADT Security. Two days after our home phone was installed, we got a solicitation call from an ADT Security salesperson. My husband politely said we weren't interested and hung up. Within an hour, call #2 from ADT. Again, we aren't interested. This is day 5 with the new phone number. All but 18 of the calls listed on the phone's received call list are from ADT Security call centers across the country wanting for us to buy a security system. SEVENTEEN sales calls in 5 days. This doesn't include the half-dozen or so calls I haven't answered.
I tried to be polite at first. I even requested that my number be removed from their call list. But the calls keep coming. I just took one about 30 minutes ago. Their speech is always the same, and I always interrupt to tell them about this crazy saga - boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl buy house, boy and girl are harassed by relentless ADT sales people. And finally a sales person informed me of the problem. She said, "ADT call centers are not linked, so we have no way of knowing which call center has your number on the Do Not Call List."
So let me see if I understand this. You are one of the largest security companies in the country, and yet you can't tell if a customer in the Houston market has already said no seventeen times? And you're not concerned that your sales methods border on harassment? But I should trust you to monitor my home for theft, fire, carbon monoxide, etc? How can this possibly be a good idea?
The plot thickens. I signed up for the National Do Not Call Registry at www.donotcall.gov, but this process can take weeks to take effect! Is there no help for consumers - or I guess, in my case, a non-consumer - who do not want to be the target of dozens of cold calls that only result in unkind words and harsh tones followed by the deafening slam of the phone??
I told the most recent caller that not only did I not now want ADT, I didn't want it 17 calls ago, and I won't want it in the future. In fact, I told her, I would recommend that my friends not seek ADT as their security provider. I would not in any way support a company that felt it was okay to pester people in their own homes, or that was so disorganized that they were unaware as to who had been called and declined! Worse yet, what if I had told that first caller that I would love for them to come out and set me up with a security system and then I got 16 more calls wanting to know if I would be interested in their "secure monitoring"?!? Can you say awkward?
I don't do this very often, but I will do it now. I highly encourage anyone who might be considering a security system to consider this: how secure can you really feel when the company that supposedly has your back doesn't even know if they have it or not?
PS - we have gone another route for our security needs and I'm happy to say that our new system works great, without the harassment. :)
A different side of a familiar lady
As I was unpacking boxes from the recent move, I came across a package of old pictures and slides. I enjoy a good trip down Memory Lane, so I opened the envelope and began thumbing through goofy pictures of my brothers and sisters and I in our youth. The 70s were not kind to any of us. But after a few moments, and a lot of giggles, I came across a picture I was sure I had never seen before. While the rest of the photographs had yellowed and faded, this particular picture was immaculate and crisp, like the day it had first been processed (yes, this is before we had the blessing of digital photography, kids).
I must've stared at it for at least a minute before I realized what I was staring at. It was a picture of my mother, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her. At first I didn't recognize her. In nearly all the pictures from my youth she has short hair, glasses, and no makeup. But in this picture, she looked incredible. She was thin, but not sickly, and wearing very tight jeans (again, the 70s). She had on high-heeled sandals and a low-cut pink blouse. Her face was freshly made, with matching pink lipstick. Her hair was shoulder-length, layered, and glossy. If I didn't recognize her eyes, I might have thought it was a model. She was absolutely gorgeous, leading me to believe this picture must've been taken before my brothers and sisters and I were around - we had a tendency to leave her looking tired and disheveled.
Of all the things that looked incredible in her picture - her makeup, her clothes, her figure, her hair - there was one thing that was completely unmistakably "Vicki". She barely cracked a smile - something common to all of her pictures, even dating back to her childhood photos. And then there were her eyes. Even if she had grinned from ear to ear, her eyes would never reveal what she was really thinking, and I guarantee that she was thinking about something. Her mind never stopped. And her eyes, never sad, but always deep in thought in some other time or dimension, wouldn't ever really let you see inside to what was going on behind her beautiful exterior.
I always thought my mom was pretty. Especially in the pictures my grandma showed me of her sweet baby girl all the way through high school. She was long and lean, with gorgeous hair and skin, and elegant and graceful. She always looked confident, without looking egotistical. But as pretty as I thought she was, she seemed to want to be photographed. She enjoyed being on the other side of the camera, with the ability to do what cameras couldn't ever seem to do for her - see past the beautiful shell to the inner workings of one of the most intelligent, determined women I had ever had the pleasure to know. In every picture, her eyes seemed to put up a barrier that wouldn't allow for emotion to show through.
My mom didn't dress up much when I was a kid. She said pantyhose were uncomfortable, and high heels made her feet hurt. She said she was glad when my dad's business took off and she was able to stay home with us kids. Ironically, she once told me, her feet hurt from that job worse than an entire day in heels. But the job of stay-at-home-Mom didn't allow for glamour. She stayed busy running after us, shuttling us to and from school and practice, cleaning, running errands, and keeping a tight ship. Now that I am home with my kids, I definitely understand - and appreciate - why she didn't have time or energy for dresses and makeup. There were very few occasions for wearing something other than blue jeans and tennis shoes. But in this picture, with her hair done, her makeup looking incredible, and figure-flattering clothes, my mom looked like a completely different woman. I could see why my dad was so attracted to her.
My mom was an amazing lady. I treasure the memories I keep of her - even the sloppy, disheveled, messy ones. But this was a side of her I rarely saw. And I am so thankful that it was captured on film.
I must've stared at it for at least a minute before I realized what I was staring at. It was a picture of my mother, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her. At first I didn't recognize her. In nearly all the pictures from my youth she has short hair, glasses, and no makeup. But in this picture, she looked incredible. She was thin, but not sickly, and wearing very tight jeans (again, the 70s). She had on high-heeled sandals and a low-cut pink blouse. Her face was freshly made, with matching pink lipstick. Her hair was shoulder-length, layered, and glossy. If I didn't recognize her eyes, I might have thought it was a model. She was absolutely gorgeous, leading me to believe this picture must've been taken before my brothers and sisters and I were around - we had a tendency to leave her looking tired and disheveled.
Of all the things that looked incredible in her picture - her makeup, her clothes, her figure, her hair - there was one thing that was completely unmistakably "Vicki". She barely cracked a smile - something common to all of her pictures, even dating back to her childhood photos. And then there were her eyes. Even if she had grinned from ear to ear, her eyes would never reveal what she was really thinking, and I guarantee that she was thinking about something. Her mind never stopped. And her eyes, never sad, but always deep in thought in some other time or dimension, wouldn't ever really let you see inside to what was going on behind her beautiful exterior.
I always thought my mom was pretty. Especially in the pictures my grandma showed me of her sweet baby girl all the way through high school. She was long and lean, with gorgeous hair and skin, and elegant and graceful. She always looked confident, without looking egotistical. But as pretty as I thought she was, she seemed to want to be photographed. She enjoyed being on the other side of the camera, with the ability to do what cameras couldn't ever seem to do for her - see past the beautiful shell to the inner workings of one of the most intelligent, determined women I had ever had the pleasure to know. In every picture, her eyes seemed to put up a barrier that wouldn't allow for emotion to show through.
My mom didn't dress up much when I was a kid. She said pantyhose were uncomfortable, and high heels made her feet hurt. She said she was glad when my dad's business took off and she was able to stay home with us kids. Ironically, she once told me, her feet hurt from that job worse than an entire day in heels. But the job of stay-at-home-Mom didn't allow for glamour. She stayed busy running after us, shuttling us to and from school and practice, cleaning, running errands, and keeping a tight ship. Now that I am home with my kids, I definitely understand - and appreciate - why she didn't have time or energy for dresses and makeup. There were very few occasions for wearing something other than blue jeans and tennis shoes. But in this picture, with her hair done, her makeup looking incredible, and figure-flattering clothes, my mom looked like a completely different woman. I could see why my dad was so attracted to her.
My mom was an amazing lady. I treasure the memories I keep of her - even the sloppy, disheveled, messy ones. But this was a side of her I rarely saw. And I am so thankful that it was captured on film.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Oh, The Places I'll Go
A month ago, some amazing friends and my husband went with me to Guatemala to drill a clean water well with Living Water International. I know y'all have heard me talk about this organization, and how passionate I am - my whole family, actually - about the amazing things they are doing through the generosity of people like you and I and by following the guidance of our loving Heavenly Father. I can't say enough good things about the life change I constantly witness thanks to this organization! And I knew I wasn't alone in my thinking - plenty of people have had wonderful things to say about LWI. However, I didn't exactly expect for my 8-year-old son, Wes, to be so vocal.
While we were gone on our mission, Wes's class wrote essays about their goals as they proceed on through school. Their teachers all sent these essays home during that last week of school, and this is what he wrote (I took the liberty of correcting his spelling):
Admittedly, this brought tears to my eyes pretty quickly. What parent wouldn't want to hear their kids say something like "I want to be like my parents"? The trouble is, I believe, that his heart is so much cleaner, purer, and more set on Jesus than mine is. So, in all honesty, I pray that he isn't a thing like me. But I pray that he carries a passion in his heart to serve people - the people of Guatemala and the world - in a way that brings joy to his heart and the heart of God.
I know each of my children is a special blessing, and each is born to be a blessing in their own way. But Wes is a little different from Abby and Marshall. He genuinely, deeply cares for people. He loves people in a way that I could only hope to. He loves people regardless of their circumstances, and that's something I admire about him. I pray that in 5 or 6 more years, when he's ready to drill and "get clean water for who doesn't have any" that the world will embrace his willing spirit and receive the gift that I know he's eager to give.
It's times like these that I know for certain that these children aren't really mine... only borrowed from the One who created them.
While we were gone on our mission, Wes's class wrote essays about their goals as they proceed on through school. Their teachers all sent these essays home during that last week of school, and this is what he wrote (I took the liberty of correcting his spelling):
"Oh the Places I'll Go"
My goal is to go to a country called Guatemala to drill wells for water that is clean. I want to be like my parents. I have to be 14 to drill. So I will give them clean water. My parents are there now! Guatemala is very poor and very hot. The people are adults are only as tall as me! They call what we call football soccer. The water there is very dirty with bugs and dirt. So that is my goal in life to get clean water for who doesn't have any.
Admittedly, this brought tears to my eyes pretty quickly. What parent wouldn't want to hear their kids say something like "I want to be like my parents"? The trouble is, I believe, that his heart is so much cleaner, purer, and more set on Jesus than mine is. So, in all honesty, I pray that he isn't a thing like me. But I pray that he carries a passion in his heart to serve people - the people of Guatemala and the world - in a way that brings joy to his heart and the heart of God.
I know each of my children is a special blessing, and each is born to be a blessing in their own way. But Wes is a little different from Abby and Marshall. He genuinely, deeply cares for people. He loves people in a way that I could only hope to. He loves people regardless of their circumstances, and that's something I admire about him. I pray that in 5 or 6 more years, when he's ready to drill and "get clean water for who doesn't have any" that the world will embrace his willing spirit and receive the gift that I know he's eager to give.
It's times like these that I know for certain that these children aren't really mine... only borrowed from the One who created them.
The girl with the heart tattoo
I was approached today in the Walmart parking lot as I headed out to my car. A woman, about my age, with smeared eye makeup, a heart tattoo on her left forearm, and a stained t-shirt asked me if I could let her have a few bucks to get her through until she was able to get some more money. I didn't ask her much, but let her talk a moment. My eyes immediately scanned her face, her hands, and returned to her eyes. I'm sure she felt my stare, and likely received it as judgment on my part.
"Are you from here?" I asked, avoiding her initial question.
"Actually, I'm from California. Just here visiting." She answered, seeming a little bit annoyed with me.
"Me, too! Where from?"
"Well, I grew up in Riverside. That's in Southern California."
"Me too!" I smiled back at her, feeling somewhat connected to the stranger.
"Actually," she said, "I grew up in Corona but I live in San Bernadino now."
I felt like, at this point, and in retrospect, this might have been a clue for me to cut and run. After all, a disheveled woman from the Meth capital of the world is asking for money. I felt a little bit uneasy, but a calmness seemed to linger in the air between us.
A few Christmases ago, I prayed that God would let me see people the way He sees them - without their faults and failures, beyond their smeared makeup and dirty clothes, and past their history. And suddenly I saw this girl the way, I imagine, God might: immature, needy, and hurting.
I didn't ask her back story. I didn't bother to question why she would be so far from "home". I didn't even ask what she needed the money for, though I suspected that my reasoning was somewhat selfish and that I didn't really want to know. But I did something unusual.
"Promise me that you are going to use this money wisely." I said. Before the words finished falling from my lips, I felt a wave of regret. Who am I to question her need? And, in all honesty, does it matter what she's going to do with the money once I give it? Once it leaves my hands, I no longer reserve the right to criticize it's final destination and/or purpose. And why would I assume, based on 2 minutes of conversation and a surface glance, that she would be anything less than honest with the money? Feeling guilty and ashamed, I looked into her eyes, then to the ground, hoping she would see my apology in my eyes.
"It's for my kids." She said.
I know, full well, and with good experience, that addicts lie through their teeth, straight faced, and very convincingly if need be. They will tell you anything to get what they want. They even lie to themselves, if that's what it takes. This is not my first experience with addicts, I assure you, and I felt a little sheepish for even having asked this woman such a foolish thing. First of all, if she was an honest woman, how belittling it must feel for me to piously ask her such a thing! And second of all, if she was an addict, what reason would I have to believe her in the first place? I felt ridiculous and small.
Her reasons for asking seemed small in the shadow of the cross. If she was abusing my generosity, it wasn't for me to decide. But if I said no, knowing that I had a few dollars to give, and she was unable to provide for her children that day, I'm not sure that I would be able to sleep at night. In that brief moment, while her pale face stared at mine, I decided that it was worth the risk. The few dollars I could give her may never hurt me, but it might be all the difference to her. And beyond that, I couldn't know for certain what might become. I reached into my wallet and saw two crisp five-dollar bills, and a wrinkled single. I handed them to her with a smile.
"Good luck, and God bless," I told her.
She ran off quickly and I began to load my groceries into the truck. I cranked the engine and saw, before backing, the woman in my rear view mirror talking with two other women a few rows over. I put my truck back in park and watched in the mirror as they spoke. The woman handed another woman four bills - my three and another - and received something small in return to the palm of her hand. Though I can't be 100% certain, I feel fairly confident that I had just witnessed a drug deal. Immediately, my heart sank like a stone. Through tears, I looked in the rear view to see the woman get into an old Buick with another man, no children, and drive quickly away.
I felt so cheated, and so angry. Part of me wanted to go rattle the "dealer" senseless and maybe slash her tires. Part of me wanted to punch that man driving in the face. And part of me wanted to punch that "needy" woman in the stomach - so that she might feel the weight in the pit of her gut the way I did. How could I have been so foolish?
I shut my eyes and prayed. "God, I thought I was doing what You wanted me to! I was giving freely to someone You placed in my path! God, how could You let me be cheated like that? And, God, how could You let me see that? I was trying to help, but God, I think I failed..."
I will never know what happened to that girl from California. I will never know what she bought, or how much money she earned pan-handling from gullible strangers like me. But I know that she paid a high price. She was willing to lie, cheat, or steal to get whatever it is that she bought, and she put herself at risk. Her body will suffer, her mind will suffer, her soul is suffering - whether that is something she chooses to admit, or not. But for me, my heart aches for her. My heart aches for me.
I feel certain that my money is not the issue here - the issue is that God presented someone to me, who was in need, and I took the easy way out. What she really needed was not my money, but maybe my friendship, my love, or more likely, my God - He has a way of bringing what is dead back to life.
Friends, I ask that you pray for this woman, though I do not know her name. She's on my mind, and I pray for her safety and her eventual return to a loving Heavenly Father, who can provide so much more for her than what my $11 temporarily gave her.
"Are you from here?" I asked, avoiding her initial question.
"Actually, I'm from California. Just here visiting." She answered, seeming a little bit annoyed with me.
"Me, too! Where from?"
"Well, I grew up in Riverside. That's in Southern California."
"Me too!" I smiled back at her, feeling somewhat connected to the stranger.
"Actually," she said, "I grew up in Corona but I live in San Bernadino now."
I felt like, at this point, and in retrospect, this might have been a clue for me to cut and run. After all, a disheveled woman from the Meth capital of the world is asking for money. I felt a little bit uneasy, but a calmness seemed to linger in the air between us.
A few Christmases ago, I prayed that God would let me see people the way He sees them - without their faults and failures, beyond their smeared makeup and dirty clothes, and past their history. And suddenly I saw this girl the way, I imagine, God might: immature, needy, and hurting.
I didn't ask her back story. I didn't bother to question why she would be so far from "home". I didn't even ask what she needed the money for, though I suspected that my reasoning was somewhat selfish and that I didn't really want to know. But I did something unusual.
"Promise me that you are going to use this money wisely." I said. Before the words finished falling from my lips, I felt a wave of regret. Who am I to question her need? And, in all honesty, does it matter what she's going to do with the money once I give it? Once it leaves my hands, I no longer reserve the right to criticize it's final destination and/or purpose. And why would I assume, based on 2 minutes of conversation and a surface glance, that she would be anything less than honest with the money? Feeling guilty and ashamed, I looked into her eyes, then to the ground, hoping she would see my apology in my eyes.
"It's for my kids." She said.
I know, full well, and with good experience, that addicts lie through their teeth, straight faced, and very convincingly if need be. They will tell you anything to get what they want. They even lie to themselves, if that's what it takes. This is not my first experience with addicts, I assure you, and I felt a little sheepish for even having asked this woman such a foolish thing. First of all, if she was an honest woman, how belittling it must feel for me to piously ask her such a thing! And second of all, if she was an addict, what reason would I have to believe her in the first place? I felt ridiculous and small.
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,I needed clothes and you clothed me,I was sick and you looked after me,I was in prison and you came to visit me. Matthew 25:35-36
Her reasons for asking seemed small in the shadow of the cross. If she was abusing my generosity, it wasn't for me to decide. But if I said no, knowing that I had a few dollars to give, and she was unable to provide for her children that day, I'm not sure that I would be able to sleep at night. In that brief moment, while her pale face stared at mine, I decided that it was worth the risk. The few dollars I could give her may never hurt me, but it might be all the difference to her. And beyond that, I couldn't know for certain what might become. I reached into my wallet and saw two crisp five-dollar bills, and a wrinkled single. I handed them to her with a smile.
"Good luck, and God bless," I told her.
She ran off quickly and I began to load my groceries into the truck. I cranked the engine and saw, before backing, the woman in my rear view mirror talking with two other women a few rows over. I put my truck back in park and watched in the mirror as they spoke. The woman handed another woman four bills - my three and another - and received something small in return to the palm of her hand. Though I can't be 100% certain, I feel fairly confident that I had just witnessed a drug deal. Immediately, my heart sank like a stone. Through tears, I looked in the rear view to see the woman get into an old Buick with another man, no children, and drive quickly away.
I felt so cheated, and so angry. Part of me wanted to go rattle the "dealer" senseless and maybe slash her tires. Part of me wanted to punch that man driving in the face. And part of me wanted to punch that "needy" woman in the stomach - so that she might feel the weight in the pit of her gut the way I did. How could I have been so foolish?
I shut my eyes and prayed. "God, I thought I was doing what You wanted me to! I was giving freely to someone You placed in my path! God, how could You let me be cheated like that? And, God, how could You let me see that? I was trying to help, but God, I think I failed..."
I will never know what happened to that girl from California. I will never know what she bought, or how much money she earned pan-handling from gullible strangers like me. But I know that she paid a high price. She was willing to lie, cheat, or steal to get whatever it is that she bought, and she put herself at risk. Her body will suffer, her mind will suffer, her soul is suffering - whether that is something she chooses to admit, or not. But for me, my heart aches for her. My heart aches for me.
I feel certain that my money is not the issue here - the issue is that God presented someone to me, who was in need, and I took the easy way out. What she really needed was not my money, but maybe my friendship, my love, or more likely, my God - He has a way of bringing what is dead back to life.
Friends, I ask that you pray for this woman, though I do not know her name. She's on my mind, and I pray for her safety and her eventual return to a loving Heavenly Father, who can provide so much more for her than what my $11 temporarily gave her.
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