Family life, Paleo-ish eating and Coping with Chronic Illness

Archive for May, 2015

Priceless Moments and the Unevolved Dog

It’s early Saturday morning.  Everyone is sleeping. Except me. These moments are my favorite.  Everyone safe and sound, within arm’s reach.  Everyone has their sweet yaps closed, and their precious feet still, and unable to undo anything I just did.  I love them all so.

I told you yesterday that I have been too busy to blog. So, this is what you get for that.  It’s raining blogs now.

My brain is an interesting thing.  When I cannot find time to write, it does not mean that all those random thoughts disappeared.  It means those thoughts are dammed up.  Caught in a tangled pile that is mounting higher and higher somewhere in the space behind my eyeballs and the back of my skull.  I have to do something to relieve the pressure.  Some of those thoughts have to get out.

I thought you should know why I’m rapid fire blogging yesterday, and today.  Especially if you’re nice enough to be reading here.  I owe both of you a thanks for that.


Is your Facebook feed filled with graduation?  Eddie technically should be graduating this year.  So our friends’ children are at that age.  These graduate parents are so brave.  I don’t know how they’re managing.  These pictures of these kids with caps and gowns, pretending to be moving towards adulthood, when I know for sure they were JUST in kindergarten, are killin’ me.  It’s so, so bittersweet.  I haven’t seen any pictures  of  a moms with red, puffy eyes and tears streaming down her face.  See?  Brave.

How many times were we told as young parents how fast things go?  I thought I heard these prophesies.  I heard. I just didn’t understand.

We can’t control time.  I really hate that.

In our storage cleaning we found some pictures I had forgotten about.  I immediately went out and bought frames for these pictures; I didn’t want to lose the pictures again, or spill Gatorade on them, or sit on them, or accidentally rip them in half. These are  things that happen a lot in my life.

These pictures are priceless.  I’m not using the world  loosely either.  I promise.  I mean priceless, like there is not a price you could even think of to pry these pictures from my possession.  Not that you’d want them, but you get the point.

The pictures are of the last summer before my nephew, Ryan, died.  We went go-karting with him.  There’s even more to the pictures than that though.  I would guess whoever in my family was with us remembers this scene.

Eddie was always undersized for his age.  Mostly, it didn’t bother him, but sometimes it did.  Especially, when he was supposed to be a certain height to ride a scary roller coaster, or a go kart.  Eddie had more than enough courage to take on the scary rides when he was aged two. It just took Eddie’s body a bit longer than normal to catch up to his heart.

This go karting thing came along about the time Eddie’s health was creating an even  rougher patch for him than usual.  Back when we were trying to figure out how to get Eddie excited about living a life we knew was so much different than the one he wanted.

Eddie was feeling pretty healthy on this go karting night; he couldn’t wait to race his cousins.  When we got to the track, we learned Eddie wasn’t tall enough to ride on his own.  Definitely old enough.  Just not tall enough.

Eddie was SO sad.  I mean, like REALLY sad, and it showed.  He cried.  None of us were used to seeing Eddie cry.  I couldn’t remember the last time it happened.  Eddie thought he was just crying about the go karts.  I knew it was more.  Aw, Eddie.  If I could make life fair for you, I totally would.

I remember my family all just feeling so, so badly for Eddie.  And, that’s how family helps when you’re sad.  We were all wishing we’d never thought of the stupid go karting idea.  I wanted to take Eddie’s sadness away.  I kept saying things that I hoped would help.  Sometimes there is not one thing a mom can say to make it all better.

Ryan found Eddie.  He told Eddie that riding together in the go karts was twice as much fun as going on your own. Especially when the two of them together would smoke their aunts and uncles.  I don’t know exactly what else Ryan said.  I only know that Eddie started smiling again.  Eddie and Ryan rode together, and the picture  tells the rest of the story.  We really, really loved Ryan.  We still love Ryan.

ed and ryan

ryan and zeke

Zeke was also thrilled to ride with Ryan.

I hope all my friends with graduates take a crap ton of pictures.  We have to try to record these priceless moments.  I can’t believe how quickly they go.

That’s all the sentiment I have in me today.  The other thing I  need to hash over with you is Scott and Reggie.  I’ve been a little worried about them.  Reggie hasn’t worked his way into Scott’s heart like he has the rest of the family.  I don’t know if it’s because Reggie thinks he’s my boyfriend (stalker), or because of Reggie’s relentless barking and shedding, but Scott just does not look at Reggie with the soft eyes the rest of us do.

One thing Scott seems offended by is Reggie’s intelligence.  The other day, Reggie was barking at a moving leaf outside of our front window.  We told Reggie to stop.  Reggie kept barking.  Scott looked at me with frustration.  He said, “There’s no reasoning with Reggie.”

I said, “That’s completely true.  Reggie is a dog.”

Scott would like to say to Reggie, “Hey bud, that’s just a leaf you’re barking at there.  A leaf won’t do our family any harm.  No need to set off the alarm bells. Why don’t you save all the excitement for intruders.  What do ya think?”

Scott wants Reggie to respond with, “You’re right, man.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  Sometimes I just get a little out of my head, and over protective of you guys.  It’s only because I love you.  You know that, right?”

Then, they hug it out.

Reggie isn’t like that though.

Credit to Scott.  Scott actually IS smart.  Scott has recently made it his mission to make Reggie behave better.  We all think it might even be working.  Last night, Reggie was doing something he shouldn’t, and Scott told him, “No!”.  Reggie listened. Then, Scott rewarded Reggie with a carrot.

I complimented Scott on his efforts. I told him we all think it’s paying off.  Scott explained that he just had to learn what motivates Reggie.  Food. That’s it.  That’s all Reggie wants.

Scott told me that he really wished Reggie wanted to be good for the sake of being good, but he just didn’t get the feeling that was who Reggie is.  I told Scott I just hoped he could forgive Reggie for his selfishness; despite Reggie’s underdeveloped conscience,  I had high hopes he could still go on in life to do good things.  I don’t know if Scott believes me.

reggie unevolved


Speed Blogging

I have to make this short.  We had thing on top of thing this week. So, I haven’t had time to arrange all my thoughts into a pretty little blog.  That’s sad, because I usually blog at least once a week.  I have no one asking for this from me. So, it’s just a lot of pressure.  I can’t expect you to understand.

In the absence of time, I’m going to just catch you up on nonsense that I’m pretty sure you’d rather not do without.

One thing we had happening this week was fall sports sign up.  Eddie wrestles in the fall.  He wrestles in the winter, spring and summer too. He wasn’t at the sign up event to actually sign up for anything official. The Athletic Director asked some athletes, including Eddie,  to come to the sign up and give the Freshmen a pep talk about being good, and following the athletic code:  No drinking, no smoking, no taking drugs.  No crude social media remarks, and NO taking pictures of yourself naked and posting them on the interwebs.  Sounds to me like a lot of micromanaging from the adults.  Can’t kids just have fun any more? Heliparents.  That’s what that is.

When we got home from sign up, Eddie told me he thought he might want to go out for Soccer in the fall.  That’s lucky for the school’s soccer team.  Eddie wasn’t too shabby at soccer the last time he played.  In Kindergarten.

I asked Eddie what in the world would make him want to play soccer.  He said, “Didn’t you see the soccer coach?”  I did, actually.  I sort of remembered the coach had longish hair, a big smile and wore baggy, I’m-definitely-not-trying-too-hard-to-impress-you clothes.   Being nice, and dressing off point, is all you need to do to win Eddie’s heart.

This conversation made me understand that somehow we have raised a son who will not give his trust over easily to a guy with gel in his hair, wearing a  polo shirt, or a fancy business suit.  Just show up to do business with Eddie in a pony tail and a flannel.  That’s how he’ll know you’re worth his time.

We learned something interesting during sports sign up night. The Athletic Director told us that the Olympic Training Center put out information on substance abuse and training. Did you know that one night of partying wipes out 14 days of training? I didn’t know that.  But, it explains a lot.   Let’s just say that one time I drank in college might have been the only thing stopping me from Olympic Gold.  At least now I know why.

Drunkenness.  I don’t get it.

I wish teenagers read my blog.  I’d like to tell all of them that the reason adults don’t let them drink alcohol is because teenagers don’t understand moderation (for the sake of the argument, let’s pretend adults do). Don’t get drunk, silly.  Drunk people make drunk decisions that seem like super good ideas, that turn out to be super bad ideas when they wake up the next day.

One and done.  Or, none and done works too, actually. Try it.  When you’re an adult.

When I’m giving my drunkenness speech to teenagers, I’ll bring evidence.

Exhibit A:

This guy got drunk and told himself he for SURE would get the job, if only he could wear a vest made of beard.  Here’s his mug shot.  He must have run into some trouble on the way to the interview.


Eddie would hire this guy to handle his stock portfolio.

Good Jokes and the Truth about Perverts

I have noticed that some of the best advice I have received in my life, has come from people who are the slowest to offer it.

Is that a saying?   There has to be people who have said this before me. This thought just recently occurred to me though.  It feels original.

Not to say that chronic advice givers don’t nail it some times.  They do.  Statistically speaking, they are bound to get some stuff right.  Still, it’s those folks sitting quietly, going unnoticed, who know things. Why do you think they’re being so quiet? They’re thinking, silly.  They’re gathering facts and weighing options. Those are the folks you want to ask about which stocks to buy.  Not the folks writing blogs.

And that is just some free advice I’m giving to you about who to ask for advice.  I hope you were listening.

Something is changing at our house.  At first, I thought it was an anomaly; a unique occurrence, not connected to a pattern. I was wrong.  Scott and I are finding ourselves alone more often.

The kids are all teenagers.  Thankfully, these three humans we created, lean towards homebodyishness, like their parents. They could be gone a lot more than they are.  That is true. But, they do have things happening in their lives right now that don’t involve us.  And, that seams kinda mean.

In the last few months, Scott and I have had a couple of days or evenings where no one needs anything from us.  Everyone is gone.  At first, this time felt a little awkward.  We’re getting the hang of it now.

Scott is funny.  He always has been; I feel pretty sure that our common desire for a good laugh was what we liked best about each other back in the very beginning.  It still is.  So, we have that.  Now that we are getting to hang out, and give each other our full attention, we see the silliness never went away.  The silliness just got dusty, and some times forgotten, beneath the weight of parental responsibility.

This past weekend, Scott and I were having a good afternoon. Olivia came home in the evening from her youth group event. She had been gone all day and the night before.  She was overtired.  Olivia is a teenage girl. She’s my bff.  When Olivia is overtired and almost 14, she can get a little cranky.  It’s best to give her space.  I know that.  That’s what I do. Scott really doesn’t care about giving overtired teenagers space.

Olivia came through the door; she wasn’t smiling.   Scott and I were on the couch together. We wanted to know how Olivia’s day had gone.  She wasn’t in the mood to share.  She tried pulling away from our questioning as fast as possible, to the safe retreat of her quiet bedroom.  I was happy to let her go.

Olivia got down the hallway, almost to her bedroom, when Scott made her stop.  He yelled,  “Olivia, I just have one more question”

“What now?!” Olivia responded impatiently.

“Did you get all the SNEW out of your hair before you came home?”

Right there. That’s when Scott and I remembered we are really just two juveniles, masquerading as adults.   I covered my mouth with my hand so Olivia couldn’t hear me laugh.  Scott was doing the “snew” joke on her.  Did you hear me? The “snew” joke is classic.  The snew joke KILLS!!!

“You know,” Scott tried again, “The SNEW!!!  I sure hope you at LEAST got all that SNEW out of your hair before you left.”

Olivia was quiet.  I was giggling.  It felt like I was the middle schooler I once was.  Finding so much humor in something a stern teacher didn’t find funny at all.  Except, this time, Olivia is the stern teacher. Scott and I are the middle schoolers.

“Dad!!!!  I don’t even know what you’re talking about!!!! ”

She heard me laughing, “You guys are so ridiculous!”

The bedroom door slammed.


Well.  Usually the snew joke kills.  It’s supposed to go like this:

Me: Hey, make sure you get the SNEW out of your hair.

You: What’s snew?

Me: I don’t know. What’s new with you?

Then you laugh really hard, because I just got you good.

See? That joke is awesome.  Especially when it’s used to pester overtired teenagers.

Even though Olivia didn’t cooperate,  Scott and I still shared a laugh at his cleverness.   Olivia took a little rest, and she figured out the punch line later.

She still wasn’t impressed.

Here’s a picture of Scott and me taking a selfie outside of a gas station this weekend. We were on our way to a wedding.  That’s kind of juvenile too, right?  We’re really getting good at this stuff:

scott miki selfie

I kept my sunglasses on to hide my juvenile wrinkles.

You know what I don’t find funny?  Humiliation.

I’m going to tell you a story; it is at the expense of my dignity.  I’ve thought this over, and have decided I’m okay with that.  Entertainment is generally my overarching goal.  With that goal in mind,  I believe this story delivers.  The other reason I’m telling you this story is because there’s a moral to learn.  This story offers you a win-win situation.

I lose.

Let’s begin. I had to take our broken computer back to Best Buy.  We really like Best Buy. They’ve been good to us.  When you are waiting to talk with someone on the Geek Squad at Best Buy, they have chairs lined up in a row, so you can sit while you wait. That’s nice. Sometimes the lines are long.

I sat down in a chair, and began waiting patiently for my turn.  While I was sitting, an older man came in the store, and walked over to the repair department. This man had long, gray hair.  I didn’t look at him for long, but when I did look, I could see that his hair was greasy and messy.  I’m pretty sure he had a shirt that was unbuttoned a bit further than necessary, and he was wearing a gold chain.  Oh, and I also could smell him.  It wasn’t a good kind of smell.

I judged him pretty hard.  In some vague/subconscious part of my brain, I had determined he was more than likely a pervert.  Really, do we need more evidence?

I told you.  I lose in this story.

Normally, when I’m in close proximity with strangers,  I give them a smile, and often attempt friendly conversation.  I didn’t do any of that with this guy when he sat down next to me.  Safety first.

My number was finally called by the repair department.  I went and talked to the technician at the counter with my back to the waiting line.  I talked to the technician for quite a while. That’s a key part of this story.  You’ll see why.

Eventually, the technician walked away from the counter to check on something. That is when I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was the man with the greasy hair.  He wasn’t giving me eye contact.  He leaned his head in toward mine, and quietly whispered, “Ma’am,  your skirt is tucked up into your, you know…”


The long haired man scurried away,  so as not to cause me further embarrassment.  You get it? The man I though was a pervert, now thinks I am a pervert.

I quickly adjusted my skirt.

How could I not know that was happening?  The skirt was way up there folks. Not just a corner of the skirt. The. Whole.Freaking.Back of my skirt.  The WHOLE thing.  It was all tucked into my waistband.

How does this even happen?  I didn’t know that could happen.  I should sue Best Buy. Their chairs are defective.

After the long hair man walked away, I could feel heat radiating off of my red face. When the technician returned to the counter, I started babbling.  I was disoriented.  I couldn’t make sense of our conversation; I was distracted by the urge to die.

I thought the technician would never stop yammering on about the stupid computer.  Which, at that point, I gladly would have traded for an escape hatch.  After nine million hours, the technician finally quit talking, and handed me a receipt.  Our business was done.

The long haired man offered me one more act of kindness when he mercifully avoided looking my way, as I walked by him towards the door. It occurred to me that a mature person would thank this man for the brave thing he did.  Shame kept me silent.

Long haired man probably assumed I was on my way to find my next victims.  He thought I was on my way to “Staples”, next door, where I would streak through the school supplies aisle, scaring all the children.

Pure. Shame.

Do you understand the moral of the story?  It is not obscure,  and it isn’t just about wearing nice, clean underwear, because, you know, you never know.

The moral of this story is that  I judged that long haired guy hard. I was so wrong.

Another way this story delivers is it proves that your day could always be worse. The next time something goes wrong for you, just say, “At least I’m not standing in line at Best Buy in my underwear.”

Right?  That’s worth at least the time it took you to read this.

Bad Moms, Bad Kids and Caleb

Mother’s Day weekend. That’s a good time.  I played the Mother’s Day card pretty hard this weekend.  I’m just sorry it’s over.  I like the attention.  I do.  I like the cards and the candy and the extra attentive family members.  I’m not uncomfortable with with the spotlight.

When I get older, I might be one of those mothers who turns family events into an opportunity to have “heart problems”.   Just about the time I feel like the youngins are not paying attention to me, I’ll start to feel light headed and clutch my heart.  The kids will yell, “Grandma’s sick.  Everyone, come help!”

Then, I’ll make a show of deflecting their concern.  “No kids,  I’m fine.  You keep having your fun (ignoring me). Don’t worry about this old lady.” Then, I’ll grab my heart again and head for the floor.

That’s how you handle that.  Ungrateful whippersnappers, forgetting Grandma likes the spotlight.

I received some delightful homemade cards for Mother’s Day; that’s what my family knows I like.  I love a few sincere and authentic  comments from my family, summarizing the role I’m playing in their lives.  You know, like a report card.  Except, I’d better be on the honor roll, or you can keep that report card to yourself.

I had a friend who posted something pretty funny on Facebook on Mother’s Day.  He said something like, “To all the good Moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day.  The rest of you can suck it.  That is all.”

Was that really bad?  It made me laugh.

Seems like he could have given credit to bad kids too.  There are plenty of those running around making our lives miserable.  Some of those kinds of kids don’t even have a bad mamma to blame for all their badness either. Those bad kids found badness all on their own.  I guess they can suck it too.

I don’t know where I am right now, or how to get out of here.

Let’s talk about goodness now.  Let’s talk about my friend, Lisa. If I could have three wishes, at least one of them would be for everyone in this world to have a friend like Lisa.  She’s so cool.

It’s a little weird that Lisa and I are such good friends. We’re different.  As you know, there’s just nothing secret about me.  What do you need to know? I’m happy to share.  My friend Lisa is reserved. Dignified.  In fact, that’s all I”m going to say about her, because I feel like she actually won’t even love that I’m talking about her right now.  Even if what I’m talking about is good.

But, guess what?  Lisa and I are such good friends, that I can say I don’t care if she doesn’t like this shout out. She’s getting it anyway, and I’m super confident our friendship will survive it.

The story is this. One day I asked Lisa what she thought I should do with the landscaping in my front yard.  Lisa’s landscaping is beautiful around her home.  She has a knack for it; landscaping is one of her favorite pastimes.  The thing with Lisa is, if she knows you have a need, she’s not very good at ignoring it.  And to be very, very gut-busting honest, I’ll tell you that I kind of knew that before I had this little landscaping conversation with Lisa.  I’m not that good of a person, really.  But, my mamma was.

Lisa is a lot like my mother-in-law.  You can NOT, NOT, NOT tell these two women that you adore black cherry ice cream, and then expect them NOT to buy you a gallon of black cherry ice cream.  That is how women like this roll. They aim to deliver.

I’ve learned this over the years, and I usually am more polite about NOT expressing my wishes.  I don’t want these ladies to feel obligated.  But I DID throw this landscaping dilemma out to Lisa. I knew better.  Knowing better didn’t stop me.

While I was at work one day, Lisa came over and previewed the pathetic landscaping already in place.  She jotted notes, and made some measurements.  I didn’t even know she did that.

Then, she called me and asked me if I had some time over the weekend.  Yes, indeed, I did.  We spent an afternoon planting what I can only assume will be an outstanding display around our house.  Lisa brought her own tools, plants from her house and she even brought her own water bottle.  She didn’t want to be a bother.

Everyone should have a friend like Lisa.  Have I mentioned that?  I love her.

The other piece of goodness I want to share with you is my nephew, Caleb.  Caleb is my sister, Heidi’s only son.  He is like a brother to Eddie and Zeke. These guys love each other to pieces, and have participated in all sorts of crazy together.  Caleb has spent a lot of time at our house, and he’s another person we’re all crazy about.

Caleb and Zeke are 15-years-old right now.  I’ve never been a 15-year-old boy, but I’ve been doing a little detective work; from the evidence I’ve seen, being a 15-year-old boy is quite pleasant.  And, by pleasant, I mean pleasant in  the way having your teeth drilled withOUT Novocaine might be pleasant.  Or, in the way taking a stroll through 4 feet of snow, in 20 below zero temperatures, barefoot might be pleasant.  You know?  THAT kind of pleasant.

Oh, poor, poor 15-year-old boys.  They’re so sweet in their “Am I a boy, or a man?” phase of life. A mom is ill equipped to answer these questions. That doesn’t help.  Moms just keep praying and praying and loving and loving and buying food and more food.  That’s all we can do, right?

Caleb has this habit of humming and singing.  He does this ALL the time.  Caleb isn’t even aware that he’s humming most of the time.  Heidi was wondering if she should tell Caleb to stop. What if people make fun of him? Something in Heidi told her telling Caleb to stop humming would be a bad idea.  I think it was something in her called good mothering instincts.

Caleb LITERALLY has a song in his heart…like, all the time. Caleb is a great athlete, and, then, he’s also a musician.

I feel like music is to Caleb what wrestling is to Eddie.  More than a hobby or an interest.  I know.  You’re thinking, here she goes with all the dramatics, again.  For real. I’m just telling you what I see.

Sometimes people are born loving things.  These things are etched into the souls of these kind of people, giving them a never ending craving for more of what they love.  I happen to think that this is one of those inexplicable God things. These interests are gifts that could only come from Him.  I feel pretty solid on that, but I know we all got are own ideas.

Thanks, God!

I’m saying all that, because I wanted to share about a minute and half of preciousness with you.  Caleb made his Mom a sweet Mother’s Day gift.  He sang a song for her.  This is Caleb singing melody, harmony, and, oh, that’s him on the guitar too.  Do you have about 100 seconds to hear it?   Aw, you’re such a softy. Thanks for being my friend.

Here’s Caleb:

Shady Ducks and Courage

Most of the stuff I talk about is G-rated, right?  I don’t like x-rated stuff.  I really don’t.  I’m not just saying that to distract you from my secret life either.  I just think perversion is a bit of a bore.  When I’m listening to funny comedians, and they start telling x-rated jokes, I’m out.  Sure, on some level their jokes are offensive, but mostly I just find perverted jokes unfunny.  I’m not passing judgement here, my friend.  I’m just telling you who I am.  I’m not everyone’s cup o’ tea.

I had to tell you all that before I tell you this next thing.  I don’t want you to think I’m perverted.

Reggie and I witnessed another private moment in nature.  I told you a crazy squirrel story one time.  Today’s story is about ducks.

This morning I was walking Reggie near the middle school in our town, and I saw what looked like a pile of ducks in the distance. Only it wasn’t a pile.  It was three ducks.  One female and two male ducks.  As we got closer, I could see that the male ducks were in relentless pursuit of the female duck.  These guys would catch up to the female, and then they would both try to…you know…with her. At the same time.

The female duck kept quacking really, really loudly.  Then, it looked like she’d try to get away from her male companions.  Those male ducks were pretty persistent though.  And, that’s why I wanted to share this story.  I feel like I witnessed a crime.

I don’t speak duck, but I surely wish I did.  I stood there looking at this female duck, wondering if she was asking me for help.  Do you think she was?  It sorta sounded like, “Quack, QUAAAAAK!!!!  Quack, Quack!”  Does that mean, “Help me, I’m being violated!” in duck language?

It’s been bothering me all day.  I didn’t help her.

Usually, Reggie, is pretty high strung and easily provoked into a frenzy on our walks.  If he sees a nice old lady on a bike, he’ll start barking loudly and pulling on the leash.  When he saw this thing, he was dumbfounded. He just stared.

My imagination started firing up, and I thought maybe the female duck looked a little fat.  Was she pregnant?  What kind of sickos were these guys?

Right when I was considering my options, and picturing myself karate chopping these male ducks, I looked up and saw the school janitor.  He was laughing at me.  I decided to keep walking.

The whole thing was uncomfortable.  And, now I can add worrying about female ducks to my list of things to worry about.

I did look back and I saw female duck fly across the road.  Of course, those idiots followed her.  But, remembering that ducks fly, did reassure me a little.  I hope she flew away.  That seems like a better solution than the karate chop thing.

If you ever think that my blog serves no purpose, just remember that duck story; it’s evidence that I’ve got important things to say.  Things that are worth your time.

Here’s something that IS worth your time.  I’m feeling spiritually energized lately.

Do you want to know something? I think that the little baby I had growing in me for the first part of the year was touched by God.  Our baby was touched by God, and God used our baby to touch me.

I can’t explain this well, and that’s why I haven’t tried before now.   When I had a miscarriage, I was so sad, but I was also awakened.  It’s kind of an exciting, thrilling and joyful position I find myself in now; that is something that fills me with gratitude.

I’m still not going to put a whole bunch of words to this thing, because I don’t think it’s time yet.  But, I will say specifically, one thing I am learning is that sometimes you can have a little too much common sense.  Sometimes common sense looks like unbelief, and unbelief looks like apathy, and apathy looks like a nice Christian girl who has all the answers, but lacks passion and conviction.  A girl who thinks the best you can get out of life is making peace with life going wrong.  A girl who believes faith doesn’t actually yield God’s power to answer prayers affirmatively.

I’ve been misled.  My common sense has betrayed me in my life. I’ve missed out on some joy.

I couldn’t be happier about this revelation.  I’m looking forward to believing more courageously right now.  I’m not speaking metaphorically, when I tell you that thinking and talking and thinking about this renewal in my faith makes my heart beat faster, and engages my mind fully.

I’ve got a little group of women together who are ready to explore this thing with me, and I feel God in that too.  I’ll be sure to update you on the good things God will be doing through these women.

God uses my life to teach me.  It’s thrilling. I plan to search for lessons until the very end.

God uses people to teach me too.  I wish I could make sure all those people know how thankful I am for them.  If you’re in my life, consider yourself thanked.  And, may God pour a giant blob of blessings all the heck over you and the people you love for your kindness.  Wow…someone needs to turn that into a song.


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