Quick Showers

I profess to be a busy person. At one point in my life, I was working two full time jobs. My day job was at the daycare center that my Mom and I owned. I arrived at 6:30 am and worked until 5:30 pm. At that time, about 3 days a week, I would leave and go do home demonstrations for a direct sales company that sold home decor and accessories. After a full day of having little people secrete bodily fluid all over me, I usually needed a shower (USUALLY....like it was an option if I didn’t want to be the ‘stinky kid’!)

So when the 5:30 whistle would blow, I’d dash out the door, rush to my house 4 blocks away and prepare for a full evening of entertaining adults, where I was virtually assured that no one would wipe anything on me, and that I could actually speak in complete sentences and use words that contained more than 3 letters. I also got to don attire that did not have elastic and a drawstring waistl In preparation for this, I would jump in the shower and get myself ready in record time.

I learned to shower, shampoo, shave, dry, blow dry and apply make up in less than 10 minutes. I may have had better times depending on my hairstyle and how far I had to drive for the evening’s show. Many times, my mother would be amazed at how quickly she saw my vehicle exit town after my departure from work.

This fancy footwork prepared me for motherhood. When you are a single mom, and your baby is screaming in her infant seat in the middle of the floor while you are getting ready for an event, you’d better be quick on your feet and fast in the shower! No time for lazily enjoying the warm massageof the showerhead. No time to make sure all the little rows of hair have disappeared from your legs. Be glad if you get 85% of them and don't have blood streaming down your leg from all of the nicks and cuts. No time to make sure that the blush is all blended into your cheekbones in Mary Kay fashion- just be glad you have color on them!

Does God call us to rush about like this? Does it glorify Him to enter the public eye with a semi-wet head and eyeliner askew? I don’t think so. I did for a long time. I rationalized my business by saying I was working hard and providing for my family. I felt compelled to push the envelope....to fill my time.

In doing so, I left no time for a relationship with Him. When can you concentrate on talking and listening to His will for your life when you haven’t even dedicated enough time in your schedule to go to the bathroom? How can we expect to fulfill God’s promise when we don’t know what it is? In order to KNOW, we need to go SLOW. Repeat after me....In order to KNOW, we need to go SLOW. Say it five times slowly, put down the soap, close your eyes and enjoy your long, hot shower. As long as your eyes are closed, you may as well say a prayer. Now you’re headed in the right direction!

Wanderings

I was looking through a catalog the other day and came across a T-shirt with a picture of hiking boots, declaring, "Not all who wander are lost." That statement struck me as very profound. Now I am not blessed/cursed to have entered the teenage years with my children yet, but I see so many kids of that age who are trying to find their way in life. I hear so many parents waling, "I've lost them." "They are lost." In light of this statement, I don't necessarily feel that to be so.

It made me think of the quote that everyone knows, "Life is a journey, not a destination." I remember going mushroom hunting in the 100 plus acres of woods that surrounded our house when I was a kid. (They are pretty easy prey. They don't run fast!) I usually headed for the creek. There were many well worn paths made by the deer and animals in the area. They all knew the shortest, easiest, most direct route to the water. The animals knew how to get there and avoid all of the places predators could hide. Because they used it often, it was clear of debris and you wouldn't very likely get a spiderweb stuck to your head as you walked. Because it was well traveled, the path was usually firm and you wouldn't be in danger of losing a shoe in the sticky mud. I didn't always choose to travel those paths.

In my wanderings, I often saw animals who didn't realize I was there. I remember walking up on deer and marveling at how close I had gotten. I was blessed to find flowers that may have not been by the original paths I chose. Bugs, although they creeped me out, were interesting to me, and I saw a myriad of them in places that were far from the hard packed dirt of the deer trail. I also found that the going was rougher if I didn't stay where I should. I often encountered steep hills, or mud bogs. More than once I tumbled down a hill or tripped over a log. Sometimes I got hurt and would return to the path for awhile, knowing it was the smarter choice. It wouldn't be long before something would catch my attention, and again there would be leaves under my feet and sticker bushes in my hair.

The thing is, before I left for those forrays into the woods, my mom always gave me advice about how far to go, what time to be back and I carried knowledge of how to remember my surroundings so I could return. It was the information I got BEFORE I left that always helped me reach my destination and return safely. Sometimes as my mom was telling me, I'd pretend I didn't hear, or scoff at her advice, but it was there, swimming around in my pointed little head, just waiting to be called upon.

There were also tools I could carry with me to make my journey easier. A compass would have helped guide my way (if I had been smart enough to carry one). If we had had a map of our land, that would have facilitated an easier time. I admit, there were times that I thought I was lost. There were times of panic when I didn't recognize my surroundings, and I was sure something was going to eat me, but I'd just think back to my mother's words (which I pretended not to hear!), get my bearings, continue walking and eventually find my way again.

I enjoyed my walks in the woods. I miss that time of exploration. As an adult, my infrequent trips into the wilderness now consist more of staying where I should and following the 'right' path. I find comfort in that, but its not as fun. Of course, I'm older now and can't afford to roll down a muddy embankment. I might snap something!

Sometimes, in my wanderings, I would still end up at the creek, but further from my original destination than I had intended. The creek still refreshed me when I got there. I could still swim and drink and play there, but it wasn't where I originally wanted to be. I found that I could either stay where I had ended up, or follow the creek back to where I wanted to be in the first place. I forged new paths. They may not have been as easy, but they were rewarding in a different way. The lessons I learned, and the fun I had helped me lead others to the creek at different times, in different ways. Because of my mother's instruction, and God's guiding hand, I often wandered, but I was never truly lost.

Simple Faith

In an open discussion with some missionaries the other day, one of them was marveling at the simple faith that was displayed by the natives to the area they are blessed to witness to. The wife went on and on about how it was so refreshing to see people who believed in God only because He was God, not because they had scientific evidence to support or refute the things of the Bible.

During my college studies, I took a religion class (because it was required!) and learned a lot about the culture of the times, the history of the era and all of the ins and outs of what surrounded the Biblical time frame. I was made aware of how different translations may make some passages seem askew to what the actual essence of the text was meant to be. It gave me a good base of KNOWLEDGE, but didn’t strengthen my faith.

The simple faith the missionary spoke of is the one I seek now. It is the goal I hope to achieve with my love of Christ. I want to love Him because of the fact that He is my Lord and Savior, not because some Biblical scholars have ‘proven’ that they have found the exact location where he was born, or there is some sort of physical evidence that makes His existence real.

My 13 year old nephew Jerimy is blessed with Down’s Syndrome. Jerimy attends church with us from time to time and loves what he finds there. Jerimy will never know the scientific reasons why he should like to go to church. He will never completely comprehend all the deeper truths that are found in the Bible. He may never even be able to conquer READING the bible (it has been a difficult accomplishment for me!). Jerimy won’t even seek to understand all the inner trappings of religion and theology. Jerimy’s faith isn’t deliberate, it just IS.

Jerimy loves his church, his home, his Grammy and his spiderman action figure all the same. He loves them all fully, without hesitation or reservation. He has simple faith. He loves, because it is his nature to love. It is right to love. The simpleness of his genetic design allows him to have a connection to God and life that escapes the ‘thinkers’.

Our society wants an explanation and proof for everything. In trying to do so, we engage is controversy and debate- which is contrary to the teachings of Christ, not linear to His desire for our lives. I believe that Jesus wants us to approach him in faith and love as an emotional, soulful act, not a mental one. He desires our presence cloaked in simple faith. I aspire to achieve that, because I want to enter the gates of Heaven and stand beside Jerimy in eternity because I know he will be there based on his simple faith. Our brains will not get us there, our hearts will.

Tattooing

I just read through the Christian Research Journal’s latest edition .I was drawn to it because of the theological paper that was written about tattooing that was featured on the cover. My fellow Fat Old Moms and I continue to try to justify our tattoos (or our desire for them) and was hoping I might get the validation we needed from the article since it was based in scripture and Bible teachings. The author presented all of the pros and cons and footnoted the paper with not only scripture, but historical and cultural context. She did a wonderful job of presenting all sides. The conclusion I came to is this...we are right.

If you’re not a ‘tattoo’ kind of person, don’t hate me. I like my tattoos and the message they convey and the message they help me to convey when I am asked about them. I respect everyone’s right to be or not to be tattooed. For the record, I have two. One is on my ankle in the form of an ankle bracelet, and the other is on my shoulder. The one on my ankle signifies my dedication to my children and faith (part of it is calla lillies in honor of my daughter Lily, another part is in honor of my son Sawyer, who we call Soybean, and then there is a dove which represents the peaceful nature of my faith and church.)

The one on my shoulder has a longer story. My husband’s family has a self designed crest which represents their family and faith. The content of it is a Celtic cross (to honor his Scottish heritage), a thistle (the Scottish flower), a dove (to represent the Mennonite church), a heart (to signify love) and an anchor (for hope). His father (a Mennonite pastor) and mother both have this tattoo. John also got the tattoo many years ago with a family unity symbol in place of the anchor to make it specific to OUR family . We used this symbol during our marriage ceremony to represent the blending of our families, as well as our lives, since John and I both had daughters from previous relationships. He has urged me to follow along and get this tattoo also. I am not blind to the permanence of inked body art, so I resisted because of the lack of faith I had in the actual permanence of our relationship.

Last year, during the most troubled time of our marriage, when I didn’t have much hope of it lasting, I took the leap of faith. Me, with Fat Old Mom’s in tow, surrounded by prayer, entered a tattoo parlor and I had the family crest forever emblazoned on my shoulder. This is where John had wanted me to have it placed, but I had stood firm in my belief that I wanted it somewhere where I could see it. I gave in. I wanted John to know that I finally believed that we could make it. I wanted him to know that the covenant that I made was permanent. I wanted him to have an outward symbol that I was in it for the long haul. I wanted him to realize that I was ready to surrender to his will as the leader of our household.

I believe that the act of surrendering to the will of my husband’s desires was a powerful gesture that was not lost on him. It was within days that he moved back into our home and made the decision to mend our marriage. Giving in was difficult for me to do (it’s SO against my nature!!), but I felt God leading me to show John in this way that my actions matched my words.

Do I believe that God will condemn me for what I have done to this temple he has given me? NO. I believe He knows my heart was in the right place when I marked my body, and that when I am asked or when I volunteer the information about my tattoos, it is to glorify Him and to open the door to give testimony to the power and blessings He has brought to my life.

I'M FAT!!!

I'm fat. I've been thin (ner) in my life, but now I'm fat. I'm not being unkind to myself. Just stating facts. If your frame is surrounded by over 100 lbs of cellulite and fat cells...YOU ARE FAT! I saw that fat person in the mirror the other day. I also saw that fat person looking back at me from a recent photograph. (And the photo was taken by someone who actually knew what they were doing!)

When did this happen? I know it wasn't overnight. Just last summer I was thin (ner). I know my fat cells didn't just hold a meeting one day and say, "Hey- how can we make her self esteem take a real nose dive tomorrow? Okay- everyone...INFLATE!!!" It was a gradual process, just like all of the other times I've been fat. It's the same gradual process that has made me thin (ner) in my lifetime. I always thought it was odd how the slimming process is so much slower than the fattening process, even though they are directly proportional on the scale of physics.

When I am fat (like now!), I often lament the fact in public. My declaration of obesity in church elicited this response from one of our youngsters. "You're not fat Lori." The child does not wear glasses and I'm not aware of any visual impairment that he might have, so I smiled sweetly and hugged him and said, "Why thank you Simon, but I AM. How nice of you not to notice."

It was then that I realized, SIMON DOESN'T NOTICE. You see, Simon is blessed with William's Syndrome. I say blessed, because he is free from the shackles that tie the rest of us to a strict social standard. I don't even begin to think I know anything about his 'disability' as some might call it, but I know Simon loves me with all of his heart. Simon loves everyone with all of his heart. Simon will ask you what is on his mind, and he doesn't care if you think it may not be appropriate or if might offend your need for privacy.

Because of this, I know that if Simon thought I was fat, he would TELL me I was fat. Simon speaks the truth. It was then that I realized that to him I am not fat or thin or short or tall. I am Lori. I am the one who will hug him every time I see him. I am the one who is challenged by him as I deliver the Children's Message during church services. I am the one he knows he can count on for a kiss, and to listen . To him, I am simply Lori. He does not measure my worth by my appearance...he measures it by who I am to him.

Isn't that the way it is with Jesus? He doesn't see us as we see ourselves in the mirror or an unflattering picture- even from the most skilled of photographers! He sees us as Simon sees us. He sees our heart. He sees our actions. He sees who we are inside, and THAT is why He loves us. I envy Simon and his inability to see the physical, and his incredible capability to see people's hearts. I want to be like Simon.