Proof of Life

As a recovering PIG (Princess In Garbage), I have often tried to rationalize the messiness of my surroundings. My excuses have ranged from a lack of technical knowledge, "I don't know how to run that contraption!" , to the psychological defense, "My Mommy never taught me HOW to clean." to sheer laziness, "I don't feel like it." to business "I'm working 90 hours a week and don't have time!" to finger pointing, "The house would be clean if it weren't for those darn kids!". No matter what the reason, the result was the same.

I don't have dust bunnies. I have dust camels. They lumber menacingly across the floor, gallumping with their huge, growing masses on their backs. Dust snakes leap from the ceiling fan blades when it is turned on after being stationary for a while. My laundry has actually sprouted legs and tried to climb into the washing machine, begging someone to pull the knob and start the water. Dishes have grown their own life forms and have needed to be disposed of. I'm not bragging- although the accomplishment of such filth takes time and lack of effort- I'm just stating some sad facts.

Like I said- I am recovering. There are a few misguided individuals who have actually complimented me on the cleanliness of my home now. I'm doing much better, but it's kind of like the former fat girl that still has that extra 10 lbs around her middle, even though she used to tip the scales. I'm not ever quite sure if I believe them when they say it, and I always wonder how bad it actually WAS.

As a human, we can rationalize anything and my rationalization for the filth is this...at least you know there was a life lived in my house. My mess is proof of life. As I trip over Rescue Heroes and curse the Legos, I know there was a 6 year old, dear to my heart, who occupied that floor. When I see the pile of bills on my desk, I know that I have had the finances to pay those bills and the blessing to live in a land of abundance. The dust on my shelves means I was too busy running my 11 year old to all of her activities and providing her with a wealth of experiences to take with her in life. The mountain of laundry is proof that I've been clothed. The dishes mean I've been fed.

I know I owe this all to God. I know I can look upon my mess and count my blessings. I know that 'All I have needed, His hand hath provided.' OUCH...did we really NEED that Matchbox car???

Poopy Pants

If you are a parent, you have had the joy (or sorrow) of living through potty training. As a daycare provider, I have endured this ritual not only with my own children, but with countless others as well. My son, who is now six, took longer than his sister to accomplish the task of bladder and bowel control, but did do it within the prescribed amount of time so it wasn't necessary to seek professional help. He was very proud of himself once he was a 'big boy'.

Imagine my .... shock ... one day when I was outside doing yard work, when I heard his voice coming from the front stoop. I turned to find my 3 year old in full splendor. There he stood, pants around his ankles, mess down his legs and a huge wad of poopy toilet paper clutched in his hand. His face told me that he was not pleased about his current condition either. He loudly declared (for all the neighborhood to hear), "Mom, I know I'm a big boy and I don't poop in my pants anymore, but I just did!"

His heart was broken. I knew he must have had one of those fast moving attacks that caught him and his new skill of control off guard, but in his eyes, he had failed. He had let me down. He had let himself down. Of course, being 3, he was unaware that the public declaration and display should have heightened his shame.

As I went to rescue him from his prison of poop, I was puzzled as to how he made it past his father, who was sitting right on the couch and must have witnessed his pants- shackled ankles and smelly journey to the front door. I coaxed him back inside, and said to John, "Um- your son is having....issues." This has become our unofficial family term for diarrhea....ISSUES. We no longer have fast-running poop (as earlier declared by a daycare client), but we have ISSUES. Sawyer, in all of his wide eyed innocence looked skyward at his father and said, "Daddy, I'm having issues."

How often have I felt like this with God? Even though I know about sin and how to avoid it, there are still days when I'm blindsided by temptation and I fall. I fail. I disappoint God. I disappoint myself. I make a mess of things and cry out to God to help me clean it up. I stand at His feet, look toward heaven and say, "Daddy, I'm having issues." He does the same thing for me that John did for Sawyer. He delicately picks me up. He carries me to the bathroom and washes all my issues down the drain....never to be heard from again! Then He wraps me in a big, cozy towel, holds me tight and loves me just the same.

The Joy of Reading

I have recently rediscovered the joy of reading. As a child, I read voraciously. I devoured books a dozen at a time and was always the winner in my class for the number of pages, or number of books read for the year. And it was always a landslide. My favorite books were long and detailed and gave accurate mental images of the landscape and characters. I was not deterred by the fact there were no pictures, and the more words, the better. I could conjur up images and create alternate realities by entering the worlds my books provided for me.

And then I grew up and reality struck...When my college days dawned, I had textbooks to read. After college, there was work. Darn the dollar and the need for it to survive. Once motherhood hit, I didn't read anything more descriptive that the back of a cereal box or the instructions for some noisy toy that needed parts and batteries. As the years progressed, I did graduate to some 'Sam I Am' and 'Dick and Jane', but that's about as far as I got.

So for the past 11 years, it has been my unwritten goal to get 1...yes 1...entire book read every year. I usually accomplish this task on vacation. I pick one book that might interest me, and I cling to it during my 'down time' and try to soak in as much knowledge as I can. I don't read for pleasure any more. I read with aggression. I want to better myself- so one year I read a self help book. I want to be smarter, so one year the book had to do with mental challenges. No longer do I allow myself the luxury of escaping into literature. Now I use it as a tool, but I don't like the hard edges!

No longer is reading an experience of cuddling up on the couch with a cozy blanket. It is a goal. Something to be overcome. It's a mark on a chart of progress. There are no soft edges to it. It is a duty...an obligation. I didn't like my new attitude about reading. Life sucked the fun out of it (isn't life like that with a LOT of things?)

When I felt God calling me to write, I sought the wise counsel of other writers. One suggested I read Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. It is sort of an instruction manual for writers. The odd thing is, this man hardly knew me, but felt I would appreciate her. Less than a week later, another man who hardly knew me suggested the very same book and had a copy to loan me.

Now if you go ahead and pick up an Anne Lamott book, and know me even the foggiest bit, you will know why I love her writing so much. I still haven't figured out why the men who suggested her like her. They are both men of the cloth, and she can be a bit....gritty. She is real. She is honest. She tells it like it is and doesn't pull any punches....and she has a very weird sense of humor! She also uses a tad bit of foul language (but I have not conquered that demon within myself quite yet- so I guess I am a bit forgiving with that aspect of her writing.)

Not only have I read one book- but I've actually finished two, and in less time than a calendar year! And I did it in a comfy blanket , cat at my feet, warm lighting, in the corner of my couch, after the kids had gone to bed and I enjoyed myself!!! I was inspired to rush to my computer and Google her and then explore e-bay in an attempt to OWN her. I want to make notes in the margins and absorb every word at my leisure.

So often in my faith journey, I find it difficult to sit and quiet myself enough to read the REALLY Good Book. I know it is full of drama and suspense and romance and mystery, but I often put other things first. I struggle with my inability to read words that I know will encourage and uplift me. Those words will challenge me to be a better person and instruct me in the ways I should go, but I can rely on them for hope, entertainment and most of all...enjoyment. I think we just need to train ourselves to enjoy reading again. God has some really good material!