First World Problems

So, over the Christmas break, I was hanging out with my sister's sixteen-year-old step-daughter-to-be. (Is that a thing? Well, it's the best description I've got. Let's go with it.) And we started laughing about this website called First World Problems.

Some of our favorites:

• They wouldn't serve from the bar menu in the restaurant area, so I had to eat my turkey avocado wrap without appetizers like some sort of bronze age hunter gatherer.
• The seat heaters don't keep the pizza warm enough for the 10 minute ride home.
• I have no idea how to reheat my leftover omelette, so I guess I’ll just have to drive to the restaurant and order another one.
• 'Family Guy’ is on two different channels at the same time and I can’t figure which one has the most potential.
• I wish I hadn’t used all my pain pills for non-pain-related purposes.
• I have caviar stuck in my braces.
• The guy who cleans my yard barely seemed to be listening when I told him about all the stuff I got for Christmas.
• I’ve run out of obscure ethnic cuisines to impress my friends with.
• I have over 20,000 songs in my iTunes library. Why can I never find the one that exactly matches my mood of wistful melancholy?
• I can't wash my dirty hands because the water is freezing.
• My shoelaces are kinda short.

I mean, you can see why we love this site, right? But, now. When I'm bitching about something in my own head (it happens a lot), I've started following it with the words, "First World Problem!" Because, truth be told, it usually is.

And, then. My friend Kelly Rodgers posted some pictures from Nicaragua. Nicaragua, where she lives with her husband and three kids while they are on a two-year mission trip. Now, the Rodgers have done some amazing things with Teeth Savers International. But, these particular pictures were of Kelly and her girls handing out dresses made by Dress A Girl Around the World women. Little girls getting dresses - some of them, the only dress they may ever own.

And, as the mom to one sassy little dress wearer, well... you know.

Then there was this picture:

As I posted on Kelly's FB page, "That is just... a mother's face. We are all the same no matter the country." And, it crushes me to think that, had I merely been born in another place, I might not be able to give my precious girl a dress.

So, now. When I follow the thoughts in my head with "First World Problem," I'm just a little bit ashamed of myself.

No.

I'm a lot ashamed.

Judge Thy Neighbor?

I saw this on Pinterest the other day:

Source: notebooknumberfour.tumblr.com via Ali on Pinterest

The caption read:

A group of Christians showed up at a Chicago [gay] Pride Parade in July. They were holding up signs saying “I’m sorry that Christians judge you," “I’m sorry for how the churches treated you,” and “I used to be a bible-banging homophobe, I’m sorry.” THIS IS LOVE.

This spoke to me like it was using a bullhorn.

I feel like everywhere I look these days someone is judging someone else. Someone is trying to inflict the life God has called them to live on someone else. And, I'll be honest. Sometimes that person is me. I have to constantly remind myself that just because someone else's life is not the life that I am called to live, doesn't make the other person's life wrong.

God never called us to judge anyone. And, we as Christians may call it "holding each other accountable" (just like we don't "gossip" - we have "prayer chains"), but let's call a spade a spade. We're judging each other. And, I personally would love to shake the hand of the person who is able to pick the speck out of their brother's eye because they don't have a plank in their own.

Go ahead. Throw that first stone.

Me? I'm going to try really hard to just love.

Dear Veterans:

Thanks. (Especially you, Dad.)

With overwhelming gratitude on behalf of my family, and our freedom,
Ali

Not in the Mood for "Happy"

I want to tell you about our fun vacation to visit some friends at their lakehouse. I want to tell you about my new car (that I can start from my phone - it's like magic, I tell you)!

But, instead I have horse-playing, summer-crazed kids; my patience is thread-bare; and Shawn is out of town.

Worse. I have friends who are hurting.

There was a courageous mother in Lubbock, Christie Devitt, who battled breast cancer when she was pregnant with her second child, three years ago. She inspired countless lives with her strength and faith. But, her cancer came back this June. And this time, she lost the battle.

And, much closer to home, my good friend (and my smart-ass blogging buddy), Danny, just found out his dad has acute myelogenous leukemia.

So, really. I'm not much in the mood to tell you how awesome my Buick is. Or how I can't say "Buick" without pretending that I'm barfing (Buuuuu-ick).

All I really want to ask you is: please pray.

Please pray for Christie's family; for her 3-year-old and 5-year-old who have to live without their mama now. Pray for all the people who found strength and faith through her journey - the very people that she was so worried would waver because of her defeat. Help them to know that just because we can't understand the plan, it's not any less beautiful.

And, please pray for the Holwerda family. Give them the strength and peace for their new battle.

Because, really.  CANCER SUCKS.

Lost Generation

by Jonathan Reed

I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life.
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.

And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it.

There is hope.

It is foolish to presume that

My generation is apathetic and lethargic

It will be evident that

My peers and I care about this earth

No longer can it be said that

Environmental destruction will be the norm

In the future

I will live in a country of my own making

I do not concede that

30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce

Experts tell me

This is a quick fix society

but this will not be true in my era

Families stayed together

Once upon a time

I tell you this

family

is more important than

work

I have my priorities straight because

My employer will know that

they are not the most important thing in my life

So in 30 years I will tell my children

“Money will make me happy.”

is a lie, and

“Happiness comes from within.”

I realize this may be a shock but

I can change the world

and I refuse to believe that

I am part of a lost generation

Lost Generation

by Jonathan Reed

This poem was presented as a video that won 2nd place in a 2007 video contest sponsored by AARP called U@50. According to Wikipedia, “contestants between the ages of 18 and 30 were challenged to create a two minute video depicting what they feel their life will be like at age 50.”

I think this poem is brilliant. I gotta go find out what the FIRST place chick wrote!

"Mom? Can we get him some food?"

"Mom? Can we get him some food?"

I have to be honest. My first thought was "Oh yeah. Spence can read now." That meant he had seen the guy sitting by the mall entrance with the handwritten sheet of paper that said, "Hungry. Please help."

I, too, had seen the sign. But, the guy looked well fed. And, I had a thousand errands to do - with two kids who were slowly losing patience.

But, I answered, "Of course we can."

I pulled into the Fazoli's drive-thru. I ordered a sandwich and a Coke. I was still having every cynical thought possible:

"That guy doesn't want food. It's just a scam to get people to give him money."

"I've heard of people who just throw away the food people bring them because they just want cash."

"He probably won't even be there when we get back."

But, I kept my mouth shut. I don't want to ruin Spencer's innocent view of the world. I don't want him to learn, just yet, that sometimes people don't tell the truth. And, anyway, Spence was concerned with how slow the drive-thru was being. And, he kept asking me where the guy was. And, where was the mall entrance because he couldn't see it.

We got the food. We headed back toward the mall. As we turned toward the entrance, I saw the guy get up from his spot and cross into the Dairy Queen parking lot. I pulled up to him with my car, rolled down the window, held out the food, smiled and said, "We got you this."

It's then, when he began to speak, that I realized he was mentally challenged. He said, "Oh, wow. Thanks." He held out a wad of what looked like one dollar bills to me and said cheerfully, "A guy just gave me this. Do you want it?"

I told him to keep it for later. I told him to have a great day.

We pulled away and I could only say, "Spencer. I am so proud of you," before I choked up. Later, I told him, "That's exactly the way God wants us to treat each other. You made God so happy today."

"Let the little children come to me," indeed.

There is more Christ-like love in one little child's heart than all of we world-weary adults combined.

Because of the Way He Makes Me Feel

It’s been said that we love a person because of the way they make us feel about ourselves. If that is true, here’s why I love Shawn: 

I feel smart… because of the way he talks to me, understands me and communicates with me. 

I feel pretty… because of the way he looks at me and rarely lets me pass without touching me. 

I feel funny… because we make each other laugh. 

I feel capable… because he forces me to recognize my own strengths and stand on my own two feet. 

I feel confident… because he’s my even-keel. He always reigns me back in if I start to whirl off into the stratosphere, get inappropriate, over-zealous or over-emotional. I know if Shawn says it’s okay, I’m okay. 

I feel needed… because of the way he asks my opinions, seeks out my advice, and appreciates the way I care for and love our family. 

I feel protected… because… well, just try to say something inappropriate to me, or hurt my feelings. You’ll see why. 

I feel spoiled… because he works so hard to provide a beautiful life for his family. And, he still takes me out on date-nights to “buy [me] a new dress.” 

I feel blessed… because this man I love more than life itself has been recreated in two other perfect (to us!) little creatures. I watch him work at being the best, hands-on dad he can be. I watch him put the kids’ wishes above his own. I watch him schedule parent/teacher conferences instead of business meetings. I watch him drag himself around when he is at the edge of exhaustion; I watch him hurry home from work and business trips because the kids have one more activity, one more assignment, one more bedtime. But, he does it. Because he knows that being a good dad is not a passive activity. 

I feel loved… because he’s sensitive to how I feel. He listens to me. He talks to me. He communicates with me. He cares about the things that upset me and the things that bring me joy. He has chosen to. love. me. 

I feel amazed… that one man can be so honest, hard-working, honorable, God-fearing, faithful, kind, generous, sensitive and loving. 

I feel happy… because I’m married to him. 

I feel undeserving… of the lifetime ahead of us that we have to live. But, I feel grateful. Oh, so grateful.

You could call me codependent. You could say my happiness is too contingent upon Shawn. You would be right. The life we have experienced together over these past 17 years, the ups and the downs, the blessings and the tragedies, have made him an intertwined piece of my soul. I don’t know where I begin and he ends. And I pray I never have to find out. 

Happy Birthday, Shawn. I love you.

I Don't Want Anyone to Die Because of Me

20/20 scared the bejeezus out of me with their episode on Distracted Driving (it's toward the end of the episode). I've been feeling a little cocky about all of this Distracted Driving business because I don't text and drive (most of the time). But, it turns out, there's not a darn thing to hang your hat on about that. The simple fact of having a telephone conversation while driving - hands-free or not - is diverting the brain power you need to pay attention. And, then there's the eating... the makeup application... the radio adjustments... the car's navigation controls... the childcare...

5,500 people were killed in 2009 because of distracted drivers. 448,000 were injured.

Y'all? That's a lot. Yeah, yeah. Statistically speaking, it's probably not a very impressive number. But, if you think that each one of them didn't. have. to. happen, it's a little more shocking.

Like the Drunk Driving campaigns of the 80s and 90s, it going to have to be peer pressure that gets us to change our behaviors. That's why the organization FocusDriven has been founded. Go ahead. Poke around their website. Let your heart break over the biographies of their Board of Directors. Let your heart sink over the "Ripple Effect" map that shows victims from each state. And let your stomach knot as you realize just how distracted all those phone conversations have made you over the years.

source

But, just in case "safe driving" wasn't enough to convince me, I considered who my most common passengers are. I owe it to my kids to focus. They are far more important to me than that next telephone conversation. For that matter, your kids, in the car next to me, are more important than that call. Your mother is more important... Your husband... Your best friend... And, until lately, I've been hurtling 2 tons of machine down the road at them with half of my brain power.

Will you join me? Put your phone out of reach the moment you get in the car. Believe me, it is a hard habit to break. But, if we don't start, who will?

Before I was a Mom

Before I was a Mom;
I made and ate hot meals,
I had unstained clothing,
I brushed my hair every day,
I had quiet conversations on the phone,
I slept as late as I wanted and I slept all night long.

Before I was a Mom;
I cleaned my house each day,
I never tripped over toys or forgot lullabies,
I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous,
I had never been puked on,

pooped on,

spit on,

chewed on,

peed on,

or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom;
I never thought about immunizations,
I never held a screaming child so the doctors could give shots,
I never looked into teary eyes and cried,
I never felt my heart break into pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt,
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.

Before I was a Mom;
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put it down,
I never sat up late hours of the night watching a baby sleep,
I never got up in the middle of the night to make sure everything was okay,
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.

Before I was a Mom;
I had complete control of my mind,

my thoughts

and my body,
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside of my body,
I didn't know that having something so small

could make me feel so important,
I had never known the warmth,

the joy,

the love,

the heartache,
the wonderment,

or the satisfaction

of being a mom.

Before I was a Mom;
I never knew that something so small could effect my life so much,
I never knew that I could love someone so much,
I never knew I would love being a Mom,
I didn't know the bond between a Mother and her child,
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much
Before I was a Mom.

-Anonymous

Happy Mother's Day.

These Women Are CRAZY

Not really. But, some of them read this blog and I thought I would freak 'em out for a second. Don't worry, girls, I rarely tell everything I know. You can pay me later...

So, I'm back from hanging out with Shawn's mom and aunts, and one cousin. Y'all, I'm hard pressed to come up with any reason to let twelve human beings come out of your body. But, when I see these eight sisters in one place; and how much they love each other; and how much they laugh... well, then? Then, I can understand. The love is multiplied exponentially. And the laughter? Let's just say I really wish I could bank some of that laughter.

Now, I'm getting the family ready to go to Corpus on Friday. I've begun moving on auto-pilot. I get up in the morning and get the kids to school because there is just no other option. I buy the things we need to pack for the trip because it needs to be done.

And, I'm so tired. I'm physically tired, but I'm also more tired of family drama than I could ever begin to put into words. My ex-brother-in-law will be at my brother's wedding of about 30 guests. And, to say that situation continues to be filled with drama would be the understatement of the year.

So, Shawn and I keep putting one foot in front of the other. We smile and laugh (instead of cry). We pray (instead of worrying how it will all play out). The Johnsons will do our damnedest to do what God would have us do in every situation. We'll look at our nieces' and our kids' faces if we start to lose our focus.

And, we pray. We pray. We pray.

She's Just a Small Town Girl, Living in a Lonely World

{I don't know if I'll even post this, or if I'm just doing some therapeutic writing.}

I noticed last night that I only posted nine times in the entire month of January. NINE. That's terrible. I think my creative juices are blocked because of what I'm trying not to say.

I hate to get too "heavy" on this here little, ol' blog. Life is "heavy" enough without dwelling on it. I prefer to find the things to laugh about. I survive finding the things to laugh about.

But, we're officially moved in. Life is in a routine. I clean. I run errands. I cook dinner. Shawn goes to work. The kids go to school. The four of us have never gotten along so well together or had so much fun with each other.

And, I'm lonely.

Now, here's the primary reason I will hesitate to publish this post: I don't want all of my friends from the old hometown calling everyone they know up here, putting out a APB on the lonely girl. I don't want to be set up on a million blind dates.

I also don't want to be pitied. I will be fine. I will make friends. I'm not at all worried about that. I just want all of that to have happened yesterday. We've discussed my complete lack of patience before, haven't we?

I just want time to move faster. I want to go to those events; help out at that school function; go to dinner with Shawn's associates; and, get to know people. And, I want it to happen now. I want to have my place in this space.

That all takes time.

{I just re-read this. "I want. I want. I want." I can almost hear God saying, "Yeah, Al. But, that's not what you need. I got this. Relax." (But, I don't literally hear Him. I promise. I don't hear voices. Yet.) Have you ever heard that saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." I like that. I am that.}

Ok. I just needed to say it type it out loud. I feel better. The first one of you to pity me or call "because you're worried about me," is going to get kicked in the crotch.

Let the sarcasm resume.

{What do you know? I decided to post it...}

Barf or Small World?

Which to tell you? Which to tell you?

Both.

Barf:

I signed up for E-mealz. (Public Service Announcement: You should, too. $15 for 3 months. It gives you weekly meal plans/recipes - it has a ton of different options - and a grocery list. And, it tries to economize, so I spend much less on groceries than I ever have before.)

Last night called for cheese grits as a side. I'm always a fan of making my kids try new things. "Just one bite. Taster's Club (as many bites as your age), if you want dessert." No fuss, no muss, no drama. Do or don't. Their choice. But, they've discovered quite a few things that they actually like in their quest to attain dessert each night (and by "dessert" I mean a piece of candy out of the Candy Basket).

Anyway, back to cheese grits. Personally, not a fan. Elizabeth scarfed them down like they're about to stop making grits forever. Spencer... really wanted dessert. He took a bite and gagged. A bonafide, legitimate gag. I looked away to try to let him suffer without an audience. He started chewing. And chewing. (A sign that you really don't want to eat something: When you're chewing the unchewable. How exactly does one chew grits?) I started talking to Elizabeth and... splash! He barfed out the grits he had tried to swallow.

Alright, son. Point taken. You really do not like grits. Go get dessert.

Small World:

Shawn and I had a beloved professor in college. Actually, he was advisor to both of us. He rocked. He was an hysterical smart-ass. He was hard. Studying for Surviving his class is when Shawn and I got to know each other so well. He's also probably the only reason I have a degree in accounting. I loved him (and I hate accounting). We still send him Christmas cards. He always wrote back. Last year he didn't write back.

Today, I dropped Elizabeth off at school. Her teacher said, "You live on the same street as one of our other families."

"Really?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, the mom said you sent her parents a Christmas card." (So, we sent a Christmas card to the grandparents of some of the kids at our school. hmmm...)

"Really?! I wonder who her parents are?" (Especially, since there are precious few people up here that we even know to send Christmas cards to. I was thinking more along the lines of one of Shawn's business associates.)

"I don't know. But, I think her dad was a teacher."

I screamed his name. Elizabeth's teacher agreed that that was right. And, I realized that the mom's name the teacher was telling me was the name of The Daughter that he would go on and on about, he adored her so. And, then the teacher said...

"He's passed away. She said she didn't think you knew."

I almost cried in the hallway.

I can't wait to meet The Beloved Daughter. But, first, I came home and wrote her a note that I'm going to drop in one of her kids' bags. I don't think I can tell her what her dad meant to Shawn and me without blubbering like a loon - and what a first impression that would be.

Moving Update: Peaceful

So. I must be coming across as such a basket case that people have begun praying for me. (Which is good. Because I am a basket case and I do need you to pray for me.)

But, people, I have felt the prayers. I awoke this morning, so overcome with sadness. Today would be filled with so many "lasts." And, Shawn didn't make that last flight home (although, the mediation was successful - can I have an "HALLELUJAH!"?), so he would miss the kids' last day at school. I was so overwhelmed that it felt like my arms were floating. That's about the time the first person told me they were praying for me.

The kids and I got in the car to drive to school. (Here's the part where I would like to be able to tell you that I lovingly herded them through our morning routine without shouting and snapping their heads off, but that would be a lie. I was stressed out, we were running late and I took it out on the innocents in my path. Parenting Fail. *clink clink - coins in the therapy fund.* I did apologize to them. *taking some coins out for a Starbucks*)

In the car, Elizabeth was holding her stuffed poodle and Spencer was holding his nutcracker. This is the conversation I overheard:

"Nutcracker, do you want to go on a date night?"

"No."

"Ok. Do you want to have a sleepover?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Come on. Let's go to my room."

Ok. That's just funny. I don't care who you are. That poodle is a Good Time Girl!

I smiled.

I got to school and there was a letter labeled "Ali Johnson" in Elizabeth's cubby. It was quite a few pages. I opened it and read:

"Oh! The Places You'll Go!

by the incomparable Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You're off to Great Places!

You're off and away!..."

It was the poem Oh! The Places You'll Go! with a note written at the end. I gulped and crammed it back into the envelope from which it had come. I gulped. I gulped. I blinked. I smiled and blurted out a goodbye to Elizabeth. I walked out and thought, "Who DID that?!" I went to the last page and saw the signature. I sought out my friend, Elizabeth's teacher from last year, Lindl and yelled at her for trying to make me cry on the last day of school.

We both laughed.

It was only moments ago that I finally felt like I would be able to read the note she added at the end of the poem without crying. It was so undeservedly kind. And, she asked me at the end if I needed to go potty (a reference to the little Ali that was in Elizabeth's pre-3 class last year. Every time Lindl asked, "Ali, do you need to go potty?" I thought, "Did she really just ask me that?" It took a good two weeks before I stopped being confused every single morning at drop-off).

I laughed.

The 1st graders had a Going-Away Party for Spence. They each told him something they liked about him or a memory they had of him. One little girl said she liked Spencer "because sometimes he really looked cute."

I smiled.

Then this happened on Twitter:

I laughed.

Our darling, sweet chaplain said a prayer specifically for our family during the Lessons and Carols service. It brought me peace.

Priscilla sat with me at Lessons and Carols. She reminded me that I accidentally groped her the other night and my finger got hung in her bra.

I laughed. hard.

It's so easy to be tough when the kids are around. If they saw me sad about this move, they would think, "Wait. What? You're taking us to a SAD place?!" So, I put on a smile. I say we're off on our new adventure. I tell them to tell the people who love us that we'll be back to visit! And, I ignore the ache in my chest.

But, now I'm sitting here alone. The kids are off playing with friends down the street. Movers are packing all around me. And, you. You are praying for my family and me.

There's still the ache in my chest. But, things keep making me smile and laugh.

I am at peace.

Shawn was robbed and assaulted

In case I just gave you a similar heart attack to the one I suffered when I heard those words, I will begin by stating emphatically: HE IS FINE.

He pulled up to the valet parking in San Antonio last night about 10:15. He was last in the line of cars. He saw two men (one in his 20s, one in his 30s) walk out of the bar next door. He set his briefcase on the ground and reached in to the backseat to get his suit jacket. One of the guys grabbed his briefcase not two feet away from Shawn, and Shawn grabbed him by the arm. They struggled with each other and the second guy ran up behind Shawn and pushed him to the ground. (At this point, you may want to take a gander over at that family picture in the sidebar. Shawn is not a small person. Shawn is a giant. I'm not sure it is even in my capabilities to push him down. So, we're not talking about a love-tap here.)

The thugs took off toward the Riverwalk with four valets, the hotel security guard (who is just about finished with his training to join the San Antonio police force) and Shawn (!) on their tails. One valet and the security guard went around and cut them off as they tried to come up out of the Riverwalk. And, by "cut off", I mean the security guard "form tackled" one of them, according to Shawn. He told Shawn that it wasn't too hard to know who he was looking for since they were two scummy-looking rats running down the street carrying a thirty-pound briefcase.

Shawn said bicycle policemen arrived from everywhere, at least fifteen of them (note to self: never make fun of bicycle policemen again).

Shawn and the valet who witness the entire thing got to go down to the police station and give statements until 1:15 in the morning.

But, here's the kicker: since they didn't just take his briefcase, but also pushed him to the ground, the charges went from misdemeanor "theft" to felony "assault." Good. This is my husband you messed with you no-good vermin.

The story that came out in the end was that they came out of the bar and "were looking for some excitement." Well, did you find it, you pieces of crap? I hear jail's pretty exciting.

I told Shawn in no uncertain terms (read that as using words my dad doesn't like me to use...) that his &%$*#@% briefcase wasn't worth his life - the "pusher" could have just as easily had a weapon. He told me he knew and he didn't care about his briefcase or his laptop - but he really needed the paperwork for his meetings today. :-/

P.S. Don't everyone call him at once to tell him he's an idiot and you love him - he really does have a lot of client meetings today. Just send up a quick thanks to the Lord for giving him such an amazing guardian angel and for answering our nightly prayers when he travels to "bring our Daddy back safely and quickly to us."

Faith is Belief in Things Not Seen

Ever since I was a girl, I've thought of sunbeams as a visible sign of God. Like He's reaching down from Heaven to touch the face of His creation.

But, I only ever see sunbeams shining down through cloud, or trees.

I sat in my car yesterday on a perfectly ordinary day, at a perfectly ordinary stop light. Everything I saw with my eyes was perfectly ordinary.

I turned on my phone. It was still on the camera function. This is what I saw.

I lowered the phone. I looked around. Nothing. I raised the phone. Sunbeams. I lowered it. Nothing. I raised it. Sunbeams.

"Whaddup, God? Message received. Thanks."

May God grant you always...

a sunbeam to warm you,

a moonbeam to charm you,

a sheltering Angel

so nothing can harm you.

Laughter to cheer you.

Faithful friends near you.

And whenever you pray,

Heaven to hear you.

                       -Irish Blessing

Just as there comes a warm sunbeam into every cottage window, so comes a love - born of God’s care for every need.

                       -Nathaniel Hawthorne

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy

Seven years ago today I found myself. I found myself under a pile of the former person I had been. I found myself beneath the horror of the words, "An Apgar of 2," and the gut-wrenching pain of watching my newborn baby being whisked away from me. I found myself through every. single. breath I took during the seven hours I waited for him to be returned to me. I found myself in the Mother Bear that believed I could will him to hold on to the tentative grasp he had on the world when he first entered it. I know I love him from the very core of my soul because that's the part of me that I thought would break without him. It's the part of me that is completed by him and it's the part of me that still hurts when he hurts.

I was absolutely unprepared to be a mother. More so because I thought I was so very prepared. I had read every book! But, those books didn't explain what it was like to have your heart outside your body; to feel absolutely helpless.Those books didn't prepare me for the complete destruction of my very self-centered life. Now it was all about him. The fact that I loved him so fiercely made that a bearable idea - but, just barely.

It took eight weeks to understand the new "me". I almost drowned in my own tears during that time. Finally, I felt the old "me" break and completely crumble away under the newfound realization that it would never be all about me again. I could no longer be a selfish little girl. I was his mother. And, I either needed to accept that and be the best mother that I possibly could be or...

Blessedly, I could accept that. There never was an "or". He is my world. He gave me my purpose.

Seven years ago today I became a Mother.

                                                                                   

Happy Birthday, Spence.

By all accounts you were a very healthy preemie. But, you did just cautiously dip your toe into this life when you first joined us - not even prepared to take your first breath without some coaxing. That is your cautious nature to this day. But, after those first few moments, you grabbed ahold of this life and showed us the steel of which you are made. There are times I see a depth in your soul. I believe you found wisdom beyond your years in those first few hesitant hours you spent with us.

Then you were mine to hold. And, I will never let you go.

You are so smart, and kind, and sensitive, and funny - and a complete rascal. I love what a thinker you are. I love that you do. not. want to be the center of attention - but you own it; you stand up for yourself; you stand out as far as your comfort will let you. I love the big brother that you are. I love the friend that you are. I love the person that you are. You are perfectly you.

Happy birthday my darling, darling, darling boy.

This Divorce is not my story to tell, but I DO have a story: Part II

[Ok. So, I got a little bit of a scolding constructive criticism from my dad. Eeek. He caught me cussing! Quick, can I spend the night at your house?!

No, seriously, he said that I "make a good argument, but completely diminish it by being crude." So, for that, I apologize. Please read in between my very angry, hurt and defensive lines yesterday. Take my off-colored language as code for "You wanna go?! We'll go." Know that I just wasn't smart enough yesterday to express my overwhelming emotions without it. Not a good excuse, I know. But, it's all I got.

Summary: I support my sister. Please be kind to her.]

And now, for Part II (which my dad probably recognized was coming from the "Part I" of yesterday's title and was trying to preemptively stop any more f-bombs...)

Someone else's divorce is not my story to tell.

• My story is: I get a phone call from Brandy while I'm at Boy Scout sign-up night. She's sobbing so hard I can't understand her and I get so mad at what I'm told that I want to punch a wall. (in case you're wondering... not a wall-puncher.)
• My story is: I get stopped in the middle of running errands by a phone call and end up in a parking lot on the "wrong side of town" yelling and debating into the phone for an hour. (in case you're wondering... not a yeller or debater.)
• My story is: I get stopped in my tracks when I let my mind wander too far during exercise and start to cry. I start a conversation with Shawn and start to cry. I cry a lot. And I don't let myself cry a whole lot more than that.
• My story is: There is probably a memo being circulated among my friends warning them not to ask me, "How's life?"
• My story is: Four people I love are hurting and it leaves a hole in my chest.
• My story is: I am so tired from the overwhelming emotion of it all that that's why I can't focus; that's why I can't remember; that's why I drop even the most basic of "balls".
• My story is: This situation makes me realize, in my lifetime, I've been the judgmental *&%$ (insert cuss word I'm not using today). I’m sorry for all the times you, my friends and family, have made a decision that wouldn’t have fit into my life, into my situation, and I judged you. I love you. I pray for your peace. I pray for your happiness. I am disgusted with the cocky child I've been in the past. And, I humbly apologize to you.
• My story is: I am devastated by the warning flares she sent up for years that, in hindsight, I now see. I, her best friend, the person who knows her better than anyone in this world, missed them. I never noticed them until those flares had become a wildfire.
• My story is: I'm so filled up with a story that isn't mine to tell that I can't think of a single other thing to blog about. (Noticed a lot of pictures and recipes lately? And one thrilling post that was a list of my daily activities! Thank goodness my children are still hysterical; and Shawn still makes me laugh.)
• My story is: I'm so blissfully happy with my own family and the joy we experience together on a daily basis that the boomerang effect of emotions leaves me exhausted.

That's my story.

This Divorce is not my story to tell, but I DO have a story: Part I

[Warning: Anyone who chooses to believe I am sweet and innocent should NOT read the following post. Dearest In-laws, don't say I didn't warn you. And please don't scold me for my language at the next family holiday...]

I'm back from visiting my sister and nieces. She's getting divorced. That's not my story to tell.

What is my story is how appallingly people can behave in this traumatic situation. People who profess to be friends, people who profess to "love" us turn into the most judgmental assholes. They listen to one side of a story (without even requesting the other side); they pretend to even be able to know what went on behind closed doors; they believe themselves to be some kind of psychic who can know without question what someone feels/has felt in their heart; they give unsolicited advice; and they judge. Oh, how they judge.

Raise your hand if you have walked a mile in my sister's shoes. Oh? What? None of you?! Well, you're so busy judging her and telling her that she must not be in her right mind; that she must be "happy" and refuse to see it; that she just needs to choose to be happy because all that really matters is that her situation looks so perfect; that she is not doing what God wants her to do (by the way, this "holier than thou" attitude is my personal favorite) that I would have thought one of you knew every. single. detail of her situation - not just what you've been told of her situation; not just the "picture perfect" family that you saw spit-shined and smiling out in public. Hmmm. Weird. You would think to have come this far in life, you would have figured out that there are two sides to every story. But, no. You're probably right. Keep preachin' it, you judgmental pricks.

You know what, people. Fuck you. If you aren't here to be helpful, supportive, or, in the very least, loving, then leave. We do not want your opinion. We do not need your criticisms. The only person we will allow to judge our hearts is Almighty God Himself.

And, here's what I believe in my deepest heart: Would you ever, ever, ever, ever want your child to live in unhappiness? Don't we all want our children to live the lives of joy that we envisioned for them? Wouldn't we all be more angry with our children if they were too embarrassed to admit they made a mistake; too proud to break a promise than to live a life one iota less joyful than we have dreamed for them? Can you not imagine how much greater God's love is for us than our human love is for our own children?!

Nobody knows how to slog through this hell perfectly. Pretty much, everyone's just trying to survive.

So, get off your freakin' high horses, people. Know that there are two sides to every story, there is very private and personal pain for everyone involved. And, be loving even if you can't be supportive.

And, to those of you who have been loving - whether by a word, a hug, an email or even just smiling and keeping your mouth shut - please know that, for what it's worth, you have this sister's undying gratitude.

I Wish I Could Laugh

I want more than anything to write a silly post today. Something to make you smile. Something to make me smile. But, the reality upon which I stand is shaking. Marriages crumble, children get lost*, people let you down. I feel like I'm standing with my feet spread and hands out, waiting to catch myself, waiting for the roaring in my ears to calm and the motion in my stomach to stop.

Instead of counting my blessings (my many, many, many blessings) and smiling about my charmed life, I have a serious case of survivor's guilt. I'm no different. I'm no better. Why am I so happy?

Sorry to be so vague - I mean none of us read blogs to not get all the juicy details, right? I'm sure I will be giving you details in the future. Just hold on. Until then, know that The Johnsons are fine. Those we love desperately could use your prayers, though.

*Our university had their first game of the season this weekend. One of our friends' seven-year-olds got separated from her family and was lost for about twenty minutes. She made her way all the way out of the stadium before a woman saw her, asked her if she was lost, and brought her to a policeman.

It was one of the worst twenty minutes of my life - and I'm not her mother. It was such a wake-up call that this is a big, big world and our babies are very little, little people. None of us who were involved in the search (and by the end there were probably twelve people and the police force involved) could look at each other today or talk about it without getting worked up and/or crying. A wake-up call indeed.

Thank you, Lord, for the angels that watch over our children. And, our "Village" that loves them almost as much as we do.

Love Thy Neighbor and all that stuff

[this soapbox is motivated by a friend's spirited Facebook thread yesterday...]

I'm fighting mad. I have NO tolerance for ignorance or hate. That's just about it. Those are my hot-buttons. I am as passive and non-confrontational as they come. But, you wanna "go"?  Just be an ignorant hate-monger. Then, you will see every ounce of shaky-teary-trembly-voiced-angry that is in me.

Well, I'm riled up. About the "Ground Zero Mosque".

First of all, way to go main-stream media for whipping the country into a frothy lather over this one with the title alone. It's a Muslim community center that includes a mosque. And, it is two blocks from Ground Zero (which is a hundred establishments and a world apart in lower Manhattan).

But, let's put it in perspective. Can you imagine if some fringe-whack-jobs did something deplorable in the name of Christianity? (Not hard to do: think Nazis, think Waco, think Jim Jones, think Warren Jeffs. Oh geez. That list was too easy to make...) How would we "normal", respectful Christians feel later if we weren't allowed to build a church because of it?

Mosques are not evil, people. They are places of worship. What those whack-jobs did on 9/11 was evil. It's apples and oranges.

If you're interested in people's "rights", here were some great comments from yesterday:

Mike: "Like the Alamo, Normandy, Auschwitz, Abu Ghraib, and countless other places, the World Trade site is sacred ground because it's a reminder of the best and worst in humans. Religious freedom is no less sacred. In a free nation, a mosque, cathedral, church or synagogue doesn't disrespect sacred ground - it confirms it."

Rob: "This is a private landowner deciding what to do with his own land. There's nothing illegal about opening up a mosque, so there's nothing we can do about it. Don't like it? Make the guy an offer and buy the land from him. "

And, before any of you make my blood boil by saying anything about the evil that is the Muslim faith, please read the book The Faith Club and then get back with me.

Soapbox, out.