Featured writing today.

Today I'm writing over at The Mudroom blog. I wrote this post a few months ago when it was hot and I hated everything. I'm better now:

Restlessness is woven into the fiber of my being.

Also, I’m fairly certain restlessness is not a spiritual gift.

I know from the Bible that God gives gifts to all of his children, and that all of his gifts are good. That’s scripture truth. I also know that all of us are also plagued with certain personality quirks and tendencies that are carryovers from genetics, human history, and Eve’s original mistake in the garden.

In my own unique personality, there are too many of these latter ‘gifts’ to count, including an absolute inability to wait (for anything) and searing impatience with heat and traffic. The Atlanta suburbs in July make me a joy to live with.

Restlessness, though, comprises a large part of my psyche. It is the lens through which I view my calling, my husband’s job, my children’s schooling, and even the geography of our surroundings.

This situational agitation comes in spurts: I go through months showing great contentment with our life, loving our community and our church and thanking God with great piety for his gifts.

And then, an explosion of discontent:

Why do we share space with five million other people?

Why do we drive ten miles to get to our church when there are ten churches within two miles from our house?

Why have they torn down another hillside of rolling trees to build another Marshalls?

A Whole Foods at that intersection is going to add ten minutes to my commute.

Why do I commute? Why do you commute?

I wonder: is the stirring in my soul the push from God I’ve been waiting for? The whisper, the urging, that is telling me to pull up stakes and make the bold move towards simplicity? I yearn to swim upstream against the pull of our culture that begs for more: more money, more hours, and more career advancement. I wonder why God is not on board with this plan. My flight from the city is barred with practicalities: our parents’ dependence on us, my teenager’s absolute refusal to move mid-high-school, and my husband’s sensible suggestion to stay put until our kids have gone to college.

They are all good reasons. I ask God, and he tells me to wait, and so I tamp down my restlessness for another six months, hoping the next time it flares up, God will say yes.

Yet through each of these cycles the question nags: is this disquiet in me, almost always simmering beneath the surface to the extent that I would pack away fifteen years of friendships and history for a change in scenery, equal to sin?

As I pray for the surrender while simultaneously hoping God will make a change, I don’t have a good answer to this question. The desire for adventure and revolution is so strong that I have a hard time counting it as a mistake, and yet I’ve walked through this season feeling like a person who has worn the wrong outfit to a party.

My faith tells me that God is not rocked by my periods of moodiness. He made me, he loves me, and he is patient when I am not (which is often). Even more, he can see down the long road and around the blind curves, with unlimited wisdom and sight distance. It only remains for me to find the balance between trusting him with what I have, while always hoping for something a little different.

Am I content with my life? Never. There is always better. I want mountains and space and neighbors and travel. I want my kids to grow up pleasantly different from their peers. I want to live a life that looks different and is different because of the hope I carry each day.

However, I have learned in the great, long waiting game to be content with God. Even when I look around and heave a great sigh and wish a great wish, I can rest in a God who writes a great story, one that is going on all around me. The secret is boiling away the temporary and clinging to the adventure in the eternal: the difficult neighbor on my street, the children in the local school that need feeding, or my own children that are navigating adolescence.

It doesn’t always look like the grand adventure I seek, but most days I can have faith that it is, because it was written by a wildly adventurous Author. 

It's Not Just for Kids

This morning my daughter and I discussed her Instagram habits.

I should say, I discussed them. She listened with the look of someone who would prefer to dive into oncoming traffic. Which was her only option, because we were in the car on the way to school.

Her Instagram isn’t bad. It’s not anything I love, but it’s not bad. It’s mostly selfies, mostly tasteful, captioned with song lyrics that lend towards power and rising above pettiness. She’s in middle school, so I doubt she’s 100% successful at practicing what she preaches. But then again, neither am I.

As we neared the school and I saw my time running out, I managed to encapsulate what I thought was the most relevant truth in a few sentences. “Listen, it’s great that you have empowering pictures and that your friends comment on how good you look, but I want your friends to know you’re more than that.”

Cue eye-roll. “Mom, my friends aren’t going to write, you’re a beautiful child of God with a purpose in an Instagram comment.”

“Fair enough, but you should have people in your life that are saying that to you. You shouldn’t go through your teenage years thinking the only thing you have going for you is that you’re good-looking. You should have people telling you exactly that: you are a beautiful child of God with a purpose. And that you’re smart and savage and fun and creative. That’s the truth that lasts longer than you have a fine booty.”

(As an aside, I’m amazed I got this much out. I am terrible at the deep talks with my kids. Days of planning and prayer yielded exactly two sentences of relevant truth. Lord help my kids. By the time it’s over I’ll just be printing brochures and leaving them on their pillows.)

She was quiet for a few minutes, and then opened up and started discussing her classes and her teachers, which I took as a good sign. 

(To teenagers reading this: we crave any information about your lives. We suck it up like internet gossip and queso. The way to our hearts is with data. Just talk to us and we’ll give you anything you want. We are hostages to your innermost thoughts.)

Later, while praying, I asked that God would wiggle that truth into her heart and let it rest there until it was needed. “Because God, she is a special piece of your creation with a specific plan and purpose.” And although I can guarantee that what I actually said to God wasn’t quite so theologically scripted, it's what came to mind afterwards that was really eye-opening.  

Guys, we pipe that truth into our kids like vitamins, hoping they grasp it as they grow older; but as adults, is it hidden in our own hearts? I prayed for God to lock it away in my teenager, but is it locked away in me?

That precious idealism we want our teenagers to live by is often lost as we grow older. It gets buried under necessity and career choice and family duties, all good things. The search for one’s calling is a broad topic, one I have surrounded myself with for months as I’ve faced my own miniature identity crisis. I ponder all of things I wanted to be as a teenager and wonder where that optimism went.

We tell our kids that they are capable of anything.  

We should be as kind to ourselves.

I’m not going to answer the question of what’s my calling today. For today, it’s enough to realize that God sees me and my teen with the same eyes. To him, we are both lovingly made, carefully crafted beings, beloved and empowered to soothe a hurting world. 

I take the truth I spoke over her this morning, my prayers for her to fly free and brave, and I whisper them to myself.

The Pit of Despair

Right now, parenting in our household slightly resembles the pit of despair from "The Princess Bride."

I say slightly because I love my kids. Also, I'm an optimist.

But I'm also telling the truth.

With four kids, all in the double-digits, two in full-blown adolescence, one on the brink, and one that feels left out because she still has two years to go until puberty, our house is not without drama. On any given day, there are always at least two children that can be termed as high-maintenance.

The other night, when the youngest had pitched a particularly impressive fit regarding a pair of wedged-booties that do not belong to her, AeB and I sat in our bedroom, exhausted and (to be honest) a bit shell shocked.

Earlier that day, he had just said that his prayer for the year was to love this year with our kids, and not merely survive it. (Thank you, Jon Foreman, for providing my oft-repeated mantra, I want to thrive, not just survive.) It seemed like the year of thriving was off to a poor start, however, when we had to send the youngest to bed early over what was basically a pair of Target shoes.

In the bleakness of the moment, AeB turned to me and said, "She just sucked one year of our life away."

AeB is not a movie-quoter by nature, but marriage has taught him to occasionally step up to the plate in order to keep pace with me. This particular instance was brilliant and I immediately went into raptures before countering with, "You are in the pit of despair. Don't even think of trying to escape... they're not even in high school yet!"

People, this is where we currently are in parenting. One day, one 80s movie quote at a time. 

Checking on my Chickens

In the summer of 2012 I went to Scotland for 12 days to help my church run a camp for teens. Earlier that year my husband had prayed for a short-term missions opportunity to open up for me, and looking back I know why God made such a big deal out of it. That trip changed my life. I was 11 years in as a stay-at-home mom and had quite literally stayed home from from everything, but that trip opened up life for me again.

Although travel and missions weren't new for me, working with teens, at a camp, was terrifying. I was desperately afraid that I wasn't cool enough, and I was right, but the kids I met there didn't care. And camp? Camp is home.

Scotland is obviously one of the best places in the world anyway, but it's special to  me because it was the first step on a long path towards reminding me that I'm a person apart from my children; that God gave me gifts separate from them, and that I'm not just a mom. As I've said here before, 'just a mom' is a tricky phrase. Being a mom IS a special calling, but I just really think that those of us that are moms are also something else.

Scotland was my first glimpse into the something else, so for me it's the most special place there is.

I went for 3 camps total, and even now I have memories so fond they are almost visceral. The youth camp is still going on there, and after two years of being away, I'm going to Scotland in ten days to visit my people. I had been praying for a chance to go and visit, and when my husband encouraged me to go, I decided not to be a contentious wife, but to submit as a wife should. And God, who is always on our side no matter whether or not we think so, provided a stupid cheap fare, so I thank him for that.

Not that I'm comparing myself to the great Apostle Paul, but I do feel a bit like I'm going to check on all of my chickens. The problem with having my heart in two places is that their lives go on as mine does, with an ocean in between. I really do have to entrust them to God-just as Paul tells Timothy, "I know whom I have believed; and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted Him until that day."

When I tried to explain to my husband how special it was, he simply said, "it smells like home." And that about covers it. And I am doubly thankful that out of all the places that God could write on my heart, he chose a place as beautiful and wild as that one.

Known by Our Deeds

It's fairly safe to say that most people, regardless of their religious identity, agree that helping people in need is a good thing. That's a broad statement, I know, but as it gets narrower we lose people.

Having compassion on the kid from Ecuador that you sponsor for $36/month is natural, even expected. Who wouldn't? God loves the poor, and we should as well.

Having compassion for your annoying, lonely neighbor or that awful internet troll is a different story.

Jesus, of course, said it the most succinctly when he said, "You have heard it said, 'love your neighbor and hate your enemy,' but I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

This is where we lose people. So we zoom out to the world and its many problems.

We are all fortunate-in a manner of speaking-to live in a time when a person can take up any cause that suits their passion: education. homelessness. slavery. racism. pornography. the environment. sex trafficking. poverty. Now more than in the last 30 years people want to talk about issues and justice, and many of them want to take action.

At church we speak often on getting involved in our community. I believe that anyone doing good for another person is worthwhile; even more, the effort towards sharing hope with the hurting can cause ripples of positivity that can change a community.

What stops us? Two roadblocks come to mind.

We are overwhelmed with the sheer need. Sending a box of clothes to an orphanage in Central America seems a drop in the bucket. You clothed 15. What about the other 300,000?

The other thing is cynicism, which stems from the realistic opinion that we can only do so much.

Over the summer I saw an Instagram post that featured a brilliant quote from a speaker at a conference about the refugee crisis. Under the caption the first commenter said:

I'm sure everyone applauds then goes on with their lives after this conference is over.

Listen. This guy isn't wrong. We do go to camp or a conference and hear a great speaker; we immediately commit to read the Bible in a year or feed the homeless, and often those moments fall away.

Does that make those moments worthless?

Is the 3 months you read the Bible every day until you got bogged down in Song of Solomon wasted?
Is the way God touched 1,000 people at a conference for naught? And if only 100 of them manage to do something for the world, does that truth somehow reduce or devalue the cause?

May it never be.

If anything, it's a reminder that humans suck without God's help. But be cheered: God is fully available to empower us to get involved in our neighborhood, our schools, our community, our country, and our world. He is able to help us not suck, and what's better, he is able to empower us to do amazing things to help the least of these.

One of my favorite organizations is the Preemptive Love Coalition. Read all about their mission here. Over the summer they used social media to ask for $35 donations to get much needed food and water to people trapped behind Isis lines in the city of Fallulah, Iraq.

People could have exercised their healthy cynicism like the fellow on Instagram. They could have said things like:

"there are so many other people to help."

Or, "why can't we help people in our own country?"

Or, "We still can't stop Isis this way."


And these thoughts, they may hold some truth. But luckily, thousands people did say:

"my $35 can do something for someone."

And, "the cause is just no matter how hard the climb."

And, "I will do my part to strike a blow against evil."

So what happened was this: hundreds of people with no hope received food, water, and the knowledge that they matter to folks in the United States; people that refused to be lazy or let glossy cynicism stand in the way of action.

We are in living in an age of action. Words and knowledge, so important in the forming of modern Christianity, matter less now in the face of a hurting world. Now more than ever, God's people need to be known by their deeds. All of us can carve out extra time or money to share, and even if it's a drop in a bucket, the person in the bucket is thankful.

A Blessing for My Teenage Daughters

Note: I wrote this to my teenage daughters (aged 13 and 15) on the eve of the first day of school (grades 8 and 10) because the speaker at our youth camp had basically told me to share with them everything I've been praying for them. This hot mess of a letter is the result.

July 31, 2016

I am writing this to you because I am not great at talking about the Important Stuff. I get sidetracked, your eyes glaze over, I start waving my hands around, and before I know it 30 minutes have gone by and I’m not sure I even communicated what I needed to.

What I’m writing today is Important. It’s Important because on July 6, God decided to show my name to our speaker at camp because He—God—had something to say to me. I cannot stress enough that THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN EVERY DAY.                

WHAT God wanted to say to me—and to you and your sister—was so important that he interrupted the speaker, and Camp, to tell us all about it.

I’ll recap what he said here:

What I have fought for, I need to pass on to you guys.

What I have prayed for you and your sister, I need to tell you so that God can make it happen.

What I have achieved with Him, you guys will have the power and grace to do better.

I’ve spent a few weeks asking God exactly what I’m supposed to bestow upon you girls, because if I’m honest, I pray for you all the time. The teenage phase has pushed me to my limits (so far) of prayer and trust that you, although you’re my daughters, are also GOD’S, and he is raising you.

I pray a lot for the stuff you’d expect me to: that you don’t hurt your body with drugs or alcohol or an unwanted pregnancy; that you don’t get your heart broken by a boy when you’re too young to recover; that you have a healthy body image and know that it’s who you are not how you look that counts.

AND THAT STUFF IS SUPER IMPORTANT…

But you could reach the age of 30 having achieved all of the above and still miss what I really want for you: that you live a life of power.

Believe me, staying away from drugs and saving yourself for marriage and being kind is a mother’s dream for her kids, but God’s dream is more and bigger: that you live a life dependent on his Holy Spirit, which will give you power to be radically kind, adventurous, encouraging, daring, loving, outlandish, patient, creative, and literally brilliant with who HE has made you to be.

It means actually loving your enemies. It means not giving a crap about what that mean girl thinks of you; and even better, hoping and praying for HER best, because she is a child of God, too. It means passing over what is safe and “just okay” for what is amazing and makes you passionate. It means saying “I don’t care if it’s normal or safe or popular or makes money, it’s hard and it’s beautiful and it’s true so I’m doing it.”

The fact that God spoke through the camp speaker wasn’t just for me, it was for you as well. Because our world needs people who love God in a new way. A way that powerfully teaches young people—YOUR PEOPLE—who He is without condemning them. A way that shows kindness over popularity and compassion over “we’re going to Heaven and you’re not.” Being that person takes work, and it takes God’s spirit, which is endlessly gracious, merciful, and loves every darn person that breathes on this planet.

Be brave. Do important things. Don’t settle for a life that is boring and empty, even as a teen, even in school. The reason camp and mission trips are so meaningful is that we get closer to the place where God’s kingdom and the world rub together (borrowing some words from our youth pastor here); in those situations we are doing God’s work with His spirit, and they feel real, like an adventure.

But life can be that way. School can be that way. Look for the thing that gives you the same heartfelt passion and exhilaration and say yes to it. It’s more of what our world needs, and can help people learn how loved and welcome they really are.

You have the power to do that in your place, with your people, if you live a life of power. 

In(Courage) post is happening today!

Here is the quickest of quicky quick links. Read and enjoy!

 http://www.incourage.me/?p=179476  

Neat Stuff Will Happen

Tomorrow: I shall be featured on (in)courage, a faith-based web community for women. I sat down one day and wrote about something that was bothering my heart and WHAMMO, they liked it. If you are a woman who is even mildly interested in daily encouragement in your faith from other women, you should check it out:

Sign up here to receive free daily encouragement from the writers of (in)courage, sent right to your inbox!  

And here's the shortlink to my post (EEK!):

  http://www.incourage.me/?p=179476  

I pray people both think it's neat and see a glimpse of their awesome Father when they read the words of so many wise women. Amen. 

Why 'Mom-And'?

It is, I know, a strange name for a blog. But I need something so catchy, and when I survey blogs all over the internet, I notice that everybody has a blog name that really speaks to who they are.

So yeah. I'm a mom. I have 4 kids, and I've stayed home with them 90% of the time, for a total of 15 years now. The years have been good and challenging and God has graciously allowed me to grow and change in the process. However, as I've approached middle age I have struggled with the same question most people ask at some point in their lives:

What am I actually doing here? 

Indeed, the what is God's will for my life? that I asked dozens of times at age twenty has morphed into a more cosmopolitan version, although its meat is the same:

What has God gifted me for?

You'll allow the preposition to hover illegally at the end of my question in order to ponder it for your own life. And if you are also a Mom, people get to provide an easy answer on your behalf.

Oh, well. You're a Mom. That's your calling.

I've been told that more times than I can count, by well-meaning and thoughtful folks. All the same, in the midst of a time of searching and discouragement, that particular answer doesn't really cut it.

Obviously I'm a Mom. The four people living with me and constantly talking to me bear witness to that. But to say that it's the only thing God has fit me for, that it is my purpose and calling, isn't going to fill the cup of a woman looking for the deeper answer to the question.

I submit that I am a Mom-And. Yes, I'm a Mom, and I'm lucky and privileged to be one. (Thank you, God.) It's a hard job and he teaches me daily how to do it well. But that's not all he has put in me.

Or you. Or anyone.

You can be a Mom-And a warrior. A Mom-And a teacher. A Mom-And a leader. A Mom-And a dreamer. A trailblazer. An adventurer. A paradigm-breaker. You can do all of this and more along with raising your offspring in the way that God leads.

This sentiment is for the Moms among us that are happy being Moms, but aren't afraid to ask for more. And I feel like, when we are asking for stuff that makes his kingdom come, he doesn't mind doling it out in big huge piles.

Mom-And. That's why.

After a Long Hiatus

Well, obviously, this little blog has been woefully unattended for a SIX YEARS. In my defense, I have been raising children and writing other stuff under an assumed name (I don't like to brag, but my fantasy series about a wizard and a dog has done really well in the Netherlands).

To be honest, I wasn't sure all of these musings of my mid-30s would still be around, so let that be a lesson to the internet at large: IT STAYS AROUND.

It's almost nice to come back to a blog after a six-year break and look back to see how things have improved. My Kindergartner is about to be a middle-schooler. I've finished all of the books on my 2010-era TBR list. We have taken 3 excellent road trips with our kids.

Some of the sins I struggled with have minimized as I've grown older; some of them have been replaced by others.

This truth is a reminder that if I step away from a problem for a while (or, you know, five years) and give it room to breathe, it will often minimize in reality if not only in my perspective. And while God hasn't promised me an easy path, he has at least promised to help me continually along the bumps and bends in the road.

There have been many such bumps and bends.

God stuck around.

I will not miss you, Summer.

No, not my friend Summer. And I do have a friend named Summer.

I'm referring to this useless season we are currently enduring. It has little going for it other than school being out, and that reason in itself is debatable.

Things I don't like about summer:

1- The bracing, hot, sticky, annoying heat.

2- By proxy, the A/C bill. For no other reason would I spend $200 a month on air.

3- It's the last stretch of months one must endure before football season begins.

4- TV shows are on a break. For those of you that have 1,000 things backed up on your DVR, or watch one of those freak-of-nature, doesn't-follow-the-rules, "summer" TV shows like "The Closer", or "Burn Notice", it's a long, parched, desert for the rest of us. Three months it too terribly long to go without watching "Bones."

5- Some of us don't enjoy wearing bathing suits or sundresses. Honestly.

6- The upside to being a SAHM is being able to go places during the week without a million kids being around. Not so in the summer. Everywhere I go is crawling with children, and really, I have enough of my own.

7- If I want to exercise outside, it must be accomplished before 8am to avoid heatstroke.

8- We are relegated to constantly eating grilled food or yogurt for dinner, so we can avoid turning on the oven or stove and adding even MORE heat to the house.

9- Did I mention the heat?

Now, let me counteract those of you who wish to argue:

1- I don't like the beach.

2- Cold weather suits me just fine.

3- I can have ice cream, hot dogs, and coleslaw anytime of year. That goes for watermelon and lemonade, too.

4- One word: Christmas.

If I ever move to the Southern Hemisphere, I might have a problem.

The Best

I have a nasty confession to make. I will be the bold one and make it here, but I'm guessing that some of you are guilty of this, too.

I want to be the best.

I am interested in many things, and I am good, even great, at a few things. But I am not satisfied merely with interest and accomplishment. I want to be THE best. Sometimes I get pretty persnickety when I hear of or experience somebody that outpaces me in my choice accomplishments.

Examples:
I am pretty funny. But I know at least three people that are way funnier than me, and I curse those upstarts for their witty vocabulary and quick comedic timing.

I make wicked good cookies. One of the guys at my husband's poker games makes cookies that put mine to shame.(yep, that's right. A guy.) Folks are always begging him to make his blasted cookies, while mine are pitifully passed over.

I am a pretty good teacher, and am very enthusiastic about my subject. (sometimes too enthusiastic...) Most of my students like me just fine. But I have at least two co-workers that are the All-Stars of my school, whom the students adore and think are the coolest ever. I will never be as revered as those teachers.

I read lots of books, most of them "good" books, and very little junk (especially if you overlook my "Twilight" phase). I went to a friend's house last week and her "bathroom book" was A Movable Feast. Hemingway! In the bathroom! How can I compete with that?

You can see where all of this is going.

For one thing, we are not meant to be the best. According to The Best, Jesus, we are to be the worst:

Matthew 20:16- "And the last will be first, and the first will be last."

Which means something along the lines of, "if I spend my life trying to be the best baker/teacher/comedian without actually trying to bless people, I will find myself without much of a home in heaven."

That's pretty clear, and I can take that Holy-Spirit-Sucker-Punch-of-Humility, because Jesus says so.

However, Jesus makes this even more bearable by telling us how special we are. For the biggest Godly-Confidence-Boost of all time, check out Psalm 139:

"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake,
I am still with you."

To recap: He knew me before I was made. He created me for His special purpose (that's Ephesians 2:10), he thinks about me so much it's beyond comprehension, my whole life has been perfectly ordained by Him.

So there's comforting knowledge in this: He HAS created me to be the best at His own purpose for me, whatever that may be. I just hope it's the cookies.

Too much of a good thing.

Yesterday we spent the day in Hershey, PA.
Sounds fun, right?
Not so much.
I am still recovering from Chocolate Shock.

10am: Arrive in Chocolate World.
10:15: Purchase tickets for 3-D movie and Tasting Adventure
10:30: Coffee and muffin in food court
11:00: Eat first fun-size Hershey bar given free upon exiting the movie
11:15: Take free "tour"
11:25: Eat York Peppermint Patty given free upon exiting the tour
11:35: Take free "tour" again
11:45: Politely refuse 2nd fun-size Hershey bar given free upon exiting the tour
12:00: Tasting Adventure- 1 chocolate drink with cinnamon and coffee, 1 fun-size Hershey bar, 1 Extra Dark Hershey square, 1 Dark Bliss square, 1 specialty milk square, 1 Caramel Hershey kiss
12:45: Salad, sandwiches, water in the food court
1:00: Shopping in retail centers
1:15: Eat Reese's Dark Cups because they advertise "You Could Win $20,000" on the package

2:30: Arrive at The Hershey Story Museum
2:45: Enter The Chocolate Lab class
2:50: Make our own chocolate bar. Some licking of the spoon may have occurred.
3:30: Leave The Chocolate Lab
3:45: Enter Cafe Zooka at The Hershey Story Museum
4:00: Share a "Chocolates of the World" 6-cup tasting spread of drinkable chocolate
4:30-6:00: Enter Chocolate Coma while children swim in hot hotel pool

24 Hours Later: Experience Stomach Discomfort

My thoughts on Road Tripping

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to offend any North-dwellers. Remember, it's from a Southerner's point of view.

Driving through the Northeast: a sortable list.

In the course of our 21-day road trip, we had the privilege of driving through Georgia, Tennessee, Virginia, Washington, DC, Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts.

Here are some issues we noted during this sojourn.

Signage: We in the South are so proud of our chain restaurants that we display a blue sign at each exit, telling you what foods are available there- you know, Hardees, Chick-Fil-A, or McDonald’s. Occasionally a Wendy’s, or in upscale areas, a Chili’s or Applebees. However, in the North we found an appalling lack of signage, which limited our coffee stops significantly. (because you can’t exit I-83 on a blind search for a Starbucks. You might never find one.)
However, in the North they kind of make up for it by conveniently placing a Dunkin Donuts at ½ mile intervals.

Speed Limit: In Georgia we are able to drive up to 70 mph on Interstates (and really, that possibly means 79 if luck is on your side). However, we found that the North holds strictly to 65, and even (gasp!) 55 in some areas. Furthermore, in the grand state of Connecticut, the residents don’t even deign to speed. They hold at a firm 65 mph the whole way through their tiny state. And while I’m on the subject of Connecticut, for such a tiny state, there are many, many of you plodding along on I-95 (at the aforementioned 65 mph MAX) that it took me almost two hours to travel your measly 93 miles. Where are you all going? And if it’s so important, why won’t you drive faster?

Signage, Pt 2: Really, the Northeast needs to get on board with the whole “mile markers match the exit signs” thing. It can really throw one for a loop in a place like Rhode Island. It’s only about 20 miles across to begin with, is it so tough to match the exits? There are only about 10 exits to change – shouldn’t be too hard, really.
We would like to give PA a holla for adapting, though.

Pros:
Connecticut: Steamed Cheeseburgers at Ted’s in Meriden. Totally worth the slow driving to get there. Also, all along the (slow) I-95 corridor, there are pull-off stops that resemble a “Rest Area” in the South, but they have a gas station and a McDonald’s each. Those are completely fabulous.

New York: We saw not one police officer on either of our trips through the Empire State. Thanks, guys. Would also like to add that the Hudson River Valley is beautiful.

Pennsylvania: Aside from the aforementioned ‘mile markers matching exit signs’, PA is beautiful from every vantage point that I laid eyes on. No wonder the Quakers snatched that place up.

All across the North: Friendly’s- an excellent way to blow 800 calories on a dessert.

Grown-Up Cheater Pants

To the man in the white polo shirt on the Flying Horses Carousel:

Please understand that the carousel is a ride for children, and that grabbing the brass ring is no longer a challenge when you are 2 feet taller than all of your competitors. Please also realize that you embarrassed yourself greatly today when the ten-years-your-junior Manager had to call you out on the microphone- TWICE- and then climb onto the still-moving carousel to bless you out for reaching across to grab rings that were not allotted for your side of the ride.

Dude. It's a $2 ride, and you looked like a fool.

When you try to steal joy from deserving children, there will always be a passel of moms ready to take your cheating hiney down. We will be watching for you next time.

The Most Faithful Man in the New Testament

The Gospel of Matthew, chapter 8:

The faith of the centurion has always puzzled me. Was his faith so great because he knew Jesus could heal his servant from afar, recognizing Jesus's authority to make that happen? Or was it because he was so humble he proclaimed he didn't deserve to have Jesus come to his home?

As I write this (and these things can always change), I believe it was the first. All of us, when faced with Jesus, will recognize our depravity and unworthiness. However, when the centurion made the comparison about authority he says, "I tell soldiers to 'do this' and they obey" (paraphrasing. can't you tell?)- he was assuming that Jesus could make similar proclamations- to say "heal" from afar, and his commands are obeyed.

Even more so I think most of us know that God indeed has that authority, but when it comes to Him using that authority on our behalf, we waver in our certainty. That is where the humility and unworthiness bleeds over into the faith, where it doesn't belong: faith isn't based on who WE are, but on who HE is. Therefore our faith shouldn't be tied to our unworthiness, but only to a recognition of His greatness.

Worry and Stress

According to Francis Chan:

"Worry: implies that we don't quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what's happening in our lives.

Stress: says that the things we're involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace towards others, and our tight grip of control.

Basically, these two behaviors communicate that it's okay to sin and not trust God because the stuff in my life is somehow exceptional.

Both worry and stress reek of arrogance."

I really can't follow that up with anything. Enjoy your thinking.

In Defense of Earl

No, I'm not serious all the time. Not by half. If I began my new blog with a serious and convicting post you'd probably never return. I will ease into the serious stuff by penning a heated defense of one of my most recent favorite tv shows: "My Name is Earl".

I know what you're thinking already:

"RED-neck!"

"That show is foul!"

"Everybody on that show is dirty and disgusting!"

"The humor on that show is poor!"

And on all of those counts, you would be correct. Even my husband and I find ourselves saying, "why can't Randy shave?" or "can't Earl spare $10 for a haircut?" or, my biggest issue, "why doesn't Catalina get fired?"

So it's not a perfect show. I get that. Maybe you're more accustomed to shows about educated people, like lawyers and doctors; people that shower, like models and housewives (but really, after 6 years of "Lost" we should be used to pit stains); or people that don't talk coarsely and hang out in a bar (although most tv shows film a fair amount of scenes in a local hangout of some sort).

Now for the good stuff:

Every episode of "Earl" has a moral.

The bad guy always loses.

Treating people kindly and placing others above yourself always wins.

And really, who can argue with that?

So even if you have to endure with incredulity the fact that Earl slept with Giovanni Ribisi's mother, and must marry her so that Giovanni won't kill him. Or you have to listen to Joy's incessant bossing of her husband Darnell and her terrible treatment of minorities and selfish ignorance of people in need. At the end of the day, goodness prevails, and we get the warm fuzzies. It's a win for us.

My Makeover

My husband is the blogger in the family. He's quite good at it, too. Just look at our family blogs for evidence of this. However, I've recently decided that I could possibly use a blog to communicate Truth (with a capital 'T', no less), and encourage people, and do it in a way that will (hopefully) make you laugh, smile, chuckle, chortle, grin, smirk, or snicker.

If I have achieved any of these aims, and have made you think outside the box, than I have succeeded and I am thankful.

And anyway, I have a place to write, air grievances, tell stories, and and discuss whatever I wish; and if you're here, you'll have to read it.

Think of it as one continual Facebook status update.

See you soon.

Family Year in Review

January: Alan played the role of the selfless friend in dashing over the Pacific in the Delta cattle-car to join his friends on a resort island off the coast of Thailand for Garrett Jones' wedding. He also played the role of selfish husband in leaving his wife at home with her THREE daughters. Do anything for a friend:)

February: Maggie and Alan left the world of fried chicken and stores filled with items Made in China for the land of, well, fried chicken and factories filled with items Made in China. Hong Kong, Nanjing and Guangzhou, 14 days of paperwork and day trips and a bundle of 2-year-old quiet in our presence. Hao Ge, soon to be named Garrett, misrepresented himself while in his motherland. We survived the culture shock and exhaustion as God intended, with mild and whispered sarcasm.

March: Adrenaline brought us home to the First Day of the Rest of Your Life. "Garrett, this is your new sister... this is your new sister... this is your new sister... this is your new Mama, this is your new Papa, this is your new Aunt, this is your new Gramma-Gramma, this is your new Papa Boo, this is your new Grandpa... (you get the picture)." Garrett slept a lot, we didn't know what we got ourselves into, and the month ebbed away without much thought. None of the horror stories moms dream up and gossip in the chat rooms occurred, much to God's praise. Emily quietly turned 7 with a quiet lunch with Alexa-bexa, the next-generation Cosgrove.

April: Did I mention adrenaline? Well, it petered out. It's been nice and all having Garrett visit, but when exactly is this kid going home? This begins the hardest 3-4 months in our marriage, our parenthood, and probably our adult lives. The only positive part is that we write this from this end of the chronology.

May: "Garrett, this is your Gramma Belle, and Uncle Jacob and Uncle Michael." And welcome to the beach, where you can play for days and, wait, get a 'tan' (really, it is more of a bronze). Hats off to the extended family in all directions for being incredibly loving and accepting and friendly to Garrett. Exceeded expectations. Louise, Summer & Autumn get their own table at Applebees.

June: Night Terrors, setting hour, day, week and month records being broken for quantity of times being sent to room and amount of time standing 'on the wall'. Alan recuses himself from discipline, asking Maggie to step in and take this role. He recognizes that Garrett sees him (the first male figure in his short life) as a Policeman, and not a Father. Garrett's first American birthday celebrated with extended-Bowling family.

July: the oh-so memorable "I don't feel like going to bed" standoff that ended with Garrett asleep on the wood foyer floor without pillow or blanket. WE ARE MARSHALL. Louise starts to learn to read.

August - September: Garrett' s tendency to obedience makes potty-training pretty easy. Mom and Dad start looking for reasons to be proud of Garrett and who he is rather than frustrated at who he isn't (yet). Life smooths over noticeably. Fourth Annual Trip to Ridgecrest Conference Center, thanks to our brother Rocko. Emily and Louise dig the cafeteria. Garrett hits on a cute seasonal worker while the parents are out for dinner one night. Made his daddy proud. Bored while sitting in Daddy's lap during a reptile show, Eliza hawks one in daddy's hands. Never a dull moment.