How An Artificial Tree Saved Christmas

Confession: I hate chopping down my own Christmas tree.

Finding and cutting down the perfect Christmas tree is the cornerstone of many a family's Christmas, including my own. My parents liked to get the tallest tree they could find for the 20 foot ceilings in our house. Nineteen-foot trees and the work that goes with them, were fraught with National Lampoon-like antics, which are never as funny in real life. Even in retrospect, I consider the year that the tree fell over an hour after we had painstakingly got it up and decorated, a holiday low point.

Nevertheless, the first several years of our marriage I insisted that we go with my family or friends to cut down our Christmas tree. Aaron, being the good husband he is, complied even though he was pretty ambivalent about the whole process, and actually would do his best to talk me out of it.

A tree would be dragged home and the holiday "fun" would begin. We argued about whether or not we should hose it off before bringing it in (he always wanted to, I never did), we would argue about when we would decorate it, right that second or another day when we weren't tired and cranky.

Some years we would leave it outside and I would be hacked off that I didn't get to decorate the tree that night, thus leaving my holiday expectations unfulfilled until he was ready to help me set the tree up, sometimes days (!) later, leaving me grumpier (and less fun to live with) with each passing day.

Some years, I would be a big enough pain-in-the-you-know-what, that he'd drag the tree inside, un-hosed down, help me get it into the stand and then sit on the couch to watch tv, while I fumed because he wouldn't help me decorate the tree he didn't want to bring into the house in the first place. He would fume under the knowledge that we could have put up the old artificial tree in the attic and saved us $60 and a stupid fight.

Fa la la la la la la la la. 

We had an artificial Christmas tree, which I begrudgingly used every other year. It wasn't until the last year that we got a real tree and had our biggest fight about hosing/not hosing off the tree, (which I lost so the tree sat in a bucket in the yard for a week) that I realized that the years I put the fake tree up also happened to be the years that we didn't have a really stupid tree-related fight.We were also much happier and had more fun getting ready for Christmas.

Huh. Weird.

But it was tradition to get a real tree! It isn't Christmas if the house doesn’t smell like pine! Christmas just isn't the same without a real tree! I want my kids to have the joy of cutting down their own tree! 

My parents always fought during the whole Christmas tree acquisition process. My husband and I were always fighting over the same thing. No one ever had fun. Sure, the trees were always pretty and (sometimes) smelled good, but they had become a symbol of unnecessary martial strife. First for my parents and now for us.

This is the "joy" I wanted to pass down to my kids? Um, no, it wasn't. 

So, I embraced the artificial tree. It works perfectly for my spontaneous personality. When I feel like decorating for the holidays, I grab the tree from the garage, set it up, and decorate it, all without an argument. Christmas is still special regardless of the tree's origins. We still celebrate the birth of Christ, we still remember the joy of family and giving and being together. Where our Christmas tree came from doesn’t make or break our holiday.

It was liberating, I tell you!

Giving myself (and my poor husband) the freedom to give up something "we always did" that didn't give us joy, or quite frankly, lead us to honor God with our actions, has only enriched our ability to enjoy the holiday season. Someday, when our kids ask us if we can get a "real" tree, I hope that we can do it for the right reason - as a family activity that gives us an opportunity to be together and have fun.

Are there any traditions, holiday or otherwise, that have realized you hate and can do without?

Forgive, forgive, and then forgive some more.

"I know it's hard, honey, but you have to forgive them and move on."

I have uttered these words half a dozen times to my son in the last few weeks, every time he comes home with a new tale of playground antics. He has been so frustrated with this process. Pain, forgive, move on, new pain occurs, forgive, move on, new pain, forgive...

It is frustrating for me see because I can't tell him that the forgiving becomes easier with time or that the pain lessens or that the people who hurt us learn from their mistakes and stop hurting us. They don't, and behind every hurt, real or perceived, new hurts, real and perceived, lie in wait, ready to knock us down all over again.

As I'm watching my son learn his first lessons in heartbreak and forgiveness via the playground I'm having examine my own issues with forgiveness. I say "issues" because, frankly, forgiveness and me, we aren't always buds, man. Sometimes I want to hold on to my hurt so hard it...um, hurts. Physically, mentally, and most especially, spiritually.

The times when I cannot forgive my bible feels like it's a million pounds. It's too heavy to open, it's too heavy to turn the pages, it's too heavy to even hold. I won't allow myself to find comfort in the only place that can give me comfort because being the victim is way too comfortable. I would hear people say "God forgave us our sins and he forgave those who sin against us, so surely we can forgive as well?" or "There is so much freedom in forgiveness!"

When I am hurting, when I am sad, when I am  feeling alone, all I can think of is, "Great. God can do all the forgiving for both of us, because I'm certainly not going to." Lucky for me he does. He did. He forgave, he forgives, he moves on. Sometimes knowing that angers me. I always think to myself, "Woohoo, bully for you, God that you forgive when I am the one wronged here. Easy for you to be all forgiving and stuff. Freedom in forgiveness? Ha. Cliche much?"

Then I remember what it's like as a parent to watch my hurting child try to forgive. It isn't easy on anyone. Not my son, not me, not God. My perspective begins to shift and I realize what the heart of the matter is.

The root of most my problems with forgiveness is pride. I forget that anyone else has ever been hurt besides me. I forget that I hurt people, too. I forget that there is freedom in forgiving and life and community and love beyond the hurt feelings, sometimes even with those who hurt me. All I see, all I can focus on is my pain, my feelings, my suffering, me, me, ME.

I have noticed that when I harbor bitterness, pain, and disappointment it feels like everyone around me flees. It is hard to be in fellowship when I'm holding onto stuff. I begin to withdraw from people and they withdraw from me. It's a vicious cycle which can only be broken by forgiveness. I have been stuck in this cycle for years before. Years, people. It isn't pretty.

I have had to forgive daily, hourly, every ten minutes, but I have to do it, and keep doing it until the grace brought by true forgiveness takes root and stays there. When it finally does the freedom I get really is as amazing as everyone had told me all along.

Kids. They sure do have a way of showing me my baggage.

Expectations and the Endeavor

Aaron had a furlough-mandated day off on Friday, which in my mind, could just as easily be known as furlough-mandated date day. When he told me about his day off I immediately started making a mental list of all the things I wanted us to do. Breakfast out, perusing a bookstore all afternoon, alone time while the kids were at school, early dinner out... On Thursday night we found out that the shuttle would be doing its flyover Friday morning. We knew we wanted to see it, but didn't really discuss how we would make that happen.

Friday didn't start off with flying colors. We rushed in the morning to get the kids off to school. After drop off we rushed downtown to see if we could find a place to watch the Endeavor do it's Sacramento flyover. I imagined we would watch the historic moment as we sat down at some cafe and enjoyed our breakfast and talked about all the other awesome things we would do all day. It would be a backdrop to our day. A historical sidenote.

Except we couldn't find said cafe. There was no way to know where, or even exactly when, the shuttle would flyover, so choosing an appropriate location was a challenge. Add into this scenario that it was going on 9:30am and we had been up for two hours already without the aid of coffee or food. We had planned to get breakfast after we ditched the kids. I was clinging to my dream of a cafe and a full breakfast and designer coffee; Aaron was clinging to the idea of bagels and cheap joe. We realized we had to make a choice, forgo the Historic Moment in favor of food and sanity, or trudge on and just find a place to watch the shuttle. 

We choose the latter. 

We finally located a parking garage with a reasonable view. We noted that a hundred other like minded folk had chosen the same spot as we elbowed our way to the edge of the roof to wait. I guess the beauty of being the last one to the party is that we didn't have to wait very long for the guest of honor. 

A few minutes after we had arrived, we began to hear and see crowds on other rooftops shout and point towards the Capitol. Seconds after that the shuttle came into sight and I gasped. People cheered and clapped and pointed and laughed. A dad told his kids, "Guys, that shuttle has been in space," and the kids nodded, not fully capable of grasping how awesome it was.

I wish I could say that my crankiness melted away in those few minutes of awe, but truth be told, as soon as we were back in the car, inching out of the parking garage, my bad mood rushed back. Delayed morning caffeine can do that to a girl.

Over breakfast Aaron began to outline chores he wanted to do when he got home. In an effort to salvage the day I had planned in my mind, I suggested a movie instead. We went to the movies, chose badly and sat through a movie that we witnessed no less than six people (who were clearly smarter than us) leave the theater and not return.

It was a day of unmet expectations from the moment it started. As I was editing my pictures of the shuttle I remembered the feeling of awe I had when I saw it. What work and commitment it must have taken to make that happen! It wasn't something that was done alone, but as a team.

One of the things I have been most surprised with over the years is how quickly we can go from "Oh yeah, you get me, like, really, really get me!" to "Do you even know me anymore?" It is frighteningly easy to forget that we are supposed to be a team. There's no "I" in....yeah it's a cliche, but fitting nonetheless.

I have to pay attention, work at it, communicate and commit to the team every single day of my life. Some days I have to remind myself, "I totally want to be in this thing and now I have to act like it." Sometimes I have to remind myself that every few minutes. Sometimes Aaron has to remind himself those very same words.

The other night someone asked our pastor how long he and his wife had been married and he said, "30 years, they have been 28 of the best years of my life!" We all laughed and his wife turned to me and said, "No, really! Some times have been hard!" I smiled at the truth of her words.

Some times are really hard. It should be obvious, but some days a reminder is good.

Overflow

  Image from © Lime Lane Photography

I feel like I need a flow chart to decipher our schedule these days and we haven't even started the kids' sports yet. As I was driving my daughter to preschool this morning I was running my day through my head...9:00 drop off Charlotte...9:30 walk with my friend...11:30 pick up Charlotte...12:00 lunch, park, playtime...2:00 pick up carpool...3:00 get home and start snacks/homework/dinner...8:00 first writing group meeting...11:00 bed...wake up and do some version of this all over again everyday this week. I fill my days with bible studies, errands, coffees, meetings, babysitting, playdates, volunteering, scouts, fellowship, a not-often-enough date night. In a few weeks we will be adding ballet, gymnastics and soccer to the mix.

Life is full to the brim, threatening to overflow.

The thing is, all of our activities are good. It is good for our kids to be involved with scouts and church and sports. It is good to schedule playdates and coffees and volunteer. It is very good to make time for bible studies and writing groups and moms groups. I know I am supposed to be doing all those things and we even have a few other things lined up for the near future. Each fall it feels especially taxing as we ease into the new school/scout/sport schedules with the grace of an elephant.

It's nice to dream of having loads of free time, time that is uncommitted and unscheduled. I would have freedom to do what I want when I want, and no one would need or want anything from me. Really what that would means is that we have no friends to meet, no one to take to practices or games, no one to teach or learn from or live with.

Our busy schedule shows that my kids are curious about the world, learning and trying new things. It shows that my husband is respected and needed by our church, community, friends and co-workers. It shows that I have dear friendships to maintain and new ones to grow. It shows that we are needed to serve and love others with our talents and our time. It shows that we have people to love and teach and live life with.

Best of all it shows that God is blessing us with family, friends, talents. We are being obedient to our call to love and live and serve, even when it's hard (and some days it is very hard).We may not always do it gracefully or well., but we are called to this busy season.

We may be tired today and tomorrow and for the foreseeable future, but there will be a time when our kids are grown and gone.Our professional lives will slow down  and we will be surrounded by a stillness that will be peaceful, calm quiet. It will be beautiful and sweet. Some days I will cherish the silence and some days I will want to sit down and write about how I miss those chaotic days where life was full to the brim, threatening to overflow.

Faith Like a Child (and how sometimes it's a bummer)

It's been a rough week for Tyler. He came home from school last week sharing some of the playground antics he and the other boys have been participating in. Last year recess was all about spy club, ninja warrior club, and Lego Nijago club. Yes, lots of clubs. This year they "just hang out and mess around." Nice and vague.
There appears to be a kid  who used to be a friend (not last year's frenemy), but now declares to everyone within hearing distance that Tyler is weird. I've been reminding him that, like it or not, we are all a little weird. When I asked him what he thought normal was, he admitted that he couldn't tell me because, "What is normal to us, might not be to other people." Ok, somehow that lesson sunk in.

One afternoon last year I asked Tyler if he was making sure that anyone who wants to join their club could. "You aren't excluding anyone, right?" He assured me that no one was being excluded; that once the club members prayed to "have Jesus live in their hearts" they were free to join any and all clubs.

Imagine my wide-eyed surprise, mouth gaping open. While it is sweet that he was such an evangelist (questionable theology, aside), my mind immediately went to what are those kids' parents going to think? Then, just as quickly, do I need to be worrying about this? Then, I don't want him to ever be ashamed of his faith, how do I encourage healthy (not to mention Biblically accurate) sharing? Followed by "!!!!!!!!!!" I won't lie, part of me wonders if this new label stems from his beliefs. We have discussed a few things about this recently.

First, I am trying to make sure Tyler understands that you cannot compel someone to believe in Jesus, especially to gain entrance into a club. That would be a cult. (Oh, great my kid was running a playground cult!) We have been trying to make sure that Tyler knows the difference between sharing his faith and ramming it down people's throats. He is struggling with the concept, only because right now in his little boy mind, Christianity makes more sense than it doesn't. He genuinely does not understand why someone wouldn't just jump at the chance to follow Jesus. As he gets older, and doubt creeps in, he will have more understanding of the unique gift belief is. But for now he has the faith of a child. Beautiful stuff.

Second, it is really important to Aaron and I that our kids understand biblical tolerance; the idea that we must tolerate, respect and love people with different views, even while we may not agree with or respect the view itself, and certainly even if they may not tolerate or respect ours. This is a hard one, because people have already been telling him what he believes is wrong. That is ok with us, becuase we get to talk about what we believe, why we believe it, and then our kids get to decide for themselves, each step of the way, if they will continue this walk. It isn't easy, but oh so necessary.

Third, I have been talking about what it meas to be "unequally yoked" (2 Cor 6:14).

¹⁴ Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?

This verse is traditionally applied to speak to marriages where one partner is a believer while the other is not. Really the passage could be about any close relationship. "Partnership" and "fellowship" implies intimacy, not necessarily just in marriage. I have been telling Tyler that he needs to be mindful of who he trusts, who he considers his best friend and who he chooses to seek advice from. Non-believers can certainly be trustworthy, best-friend material and wise, but I want him to consider why he might place his trust in someone who does not hold the Jesus he loves in as high a place in their heart as he does. I think no matter what you believe, we can agree it is harder to maintain a close, intimate, deep relationship with someone who does not believe that what you hold most dear (whatever it may be) to be truth.

He's coming home less and less bothered by the playground antics and hopefully more and more sure of the treasure we think he is and we know God thinks he is.

Keeping Me Honest

I feel like I need to do some checking in. A little accountability, if you will. I have made some lofty promises to myself and shared them with you all, so I feel like I owe you an update. I don't want anyone to think I throw these things out there and then never think about them again. Usually if I blog about something, it has probably kept me up at night.

Lofty Promise Number One
In Fearfully and Wonderfully Made, I waxed poetic about relying on the knowledge that God created us (me included) in His image.

If we are created in His image, then what I look like isn't on accident. It isn't an accident that I have hair that can't decide if it's curly or straight. My height and weight, eye color and skin color aren't an accident. My proclivity towards acne well into my 30s? Not. An. Accident. I was created in Gods image, fearfully and wonderfully as a temple for the Holy Spirit.

I was comforted by 1 Samuel 16:7, 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, Psalm 139:13-16 and Genesis 1:27. At the time (the end of May) I was exercising regularly, eating well and pretty fit. School let out in mid June and the fun chaos of summer began, and the healthy habits abandoned. 

My walking buddy and I used to walk while the kids were in school. Oddly enough, our children were not excited about daily six-milers. Weird. 

Sadly, I have gained, um, a few pounds since school let out. With each pound gained, my grasp on God's promises have slipped further and further to the back of my mind. Today I sit here very much needing the reminders I talked about three months ago. 

Sigh. How quickly we forget. 
Double sigh. How quickly s'mores re-attach to ones hips. 

Lofty Promise Number Two
I set out to create the habit of daily Bible reading, through She reads Truth , and had a great go at it! For twenty days. I'm not sure what happened there. We were smooth sailing and then one day we weren't. The study on Proverbs ended over the weekend and a new study has begun. The new study is Galatians, which I find just as exciting as Proverbs, so I'm going to dust of my skirt and jump back in the game. Rome was not built in a day, I will not make these habits quickly. Trust me, to my scatterbrained self, that is a worthy comparison.

Lofty Promise Number Three
It has only been a few weeks since I set out to be an encouragement to those around me in An Attitude of Encouragement, but I can see that it is going to be both easier and more difficult than I thought. Easier, because I have been asked to be a leader in our mom's group and this years theme is Encouragement (thanks, for the softball, God, we moms are frequently starved in the encouragement area). Harder because I need to not offer what I think others need and just tune into what they really need.

AKA It's not about me. Damn.

So there it is. I don't think you are going around ever wondering about this stuff, but I know that sometimes, when reading blogs regularly, I will think to myself, "Is this person for real? Do they just put this stuff out there for the heck of it?" I don't, really. Feel free to call me out on anything if you read one thing and see me acting another way. I have a bad habit of doing that sometimes. 

Action and a Call For Help

Well, we have come up with a plan, of sorts, in response to last week's tension. We still aren't 100% sure what we would like to do on Christmas Day, but Aaron and I agreed that we needn't wait until then to act. We have decided to make bags to keep in the car and hand out when we see someone in need. I did not come up with this idea on my own, no we have Pinterest to thank. Of course.

Charlotte and I went to the store and got various toiletries and some granola bars to put into the bags. When the bigger kids got home we sat down and made 5 bags with the items we had. Soap, razor, washcloth, deoderant, Gold Bond powder, granola bar, toothbush/paste. It all went into the bags. The kids were rather put out that we couldn't make more bags and Tyler kept saying over and over "These bags need more food, Mom! This isn't enough food! We need to go to the store for food!"

We scoured the pantry for something to add in and found some hot chocolate packets. After I put the packets into the bags, Tyler followed me around the house saying we should take them out unless we planned on including cups and water bottles, too. "How else would they drink it, Mom?"

Lily was bothered by the absence of something healthy, so she grabbed apples from the fruit bowl as we were on our way out Saturday. She had a bundle in her arms so high I could only see her nose peeking over the pile. I could hear her grin as she chirped, "Put 'em in the bag, Momma!"

In two days we gave out all five bags. Every time she saw someone, Charlotte would get excited and bounce in her seat shouting, "MomMomMom! There's a guy, there's a guy!" Then she would try to unbuckle herself so that she could be the one to lean out the window and hand the person their bag.

The recipient was usually flabbergasted, sometimes confused and one guy laughed out loud as he looked through the items. Since we gave them at stoplights we usually zipped off as soon as the bag was placed into it's owners hands, so I can't really tell if the bags are truly helpful. I hope they are.

Now, I would like to ask my local friends and readers for help. I don't expect that you are going to feel like joining us on Christmas Day with whatever activity we choose to do, and that is ok.

I want to ask if you would pledge to give out a number of bags of food and toiletries between now and Christmas.

My hope is that we could give out 2,300 bags throughout Sacramento County (and anywhere else people choose) in the months leading up to Christmas.

That number is significant; it is the number of "chronically homeless" individuals there are estimated to be in Sacramento County. I have no idea how accurate that estimation is, but it is what I have to go on. It is something to work towards. 

As a family, we decided to try to give out 100 bags. They won't all necessarily look like the bags we gave out last time, becuase toiletries are quite expensive. We will likely try to give bags with a smaller mix of food and toiletries. The point isn't how big or small the bags is, but that we are doing something tangible and real that will hopefully bless people who feel unloved and ignored.

Will you join us? Will you keep bags in your car or in your backpack/briefcase/purse to hand out as you are going abut your day?

The sky is the limit of what you could do and who you could motivate to join you...it can be a family project or done with scout troops, school classes, church groups, book clubs, office mates, carpool buddies, the poker guys, soccer team, bible studies, playgroups, library friends, PTA....I could go on and on.

If you do decide to join me in this can you do one little favor? Can you comment below, via twitter or on facebook and let me know how many bags you want to give out and where you are from? One bag, 10 bags, 100 bags, it does not matter how many you would like to do, but it would be awesome if you did it.

Thanks, everyone!

Tension

I stared down at my three dollar brownie, four dollar mocha and my husband's two dollar fair trade, organic, locally roasted, freshly brewed coffee and the tension between what I believe and what I do snapped into a million pieces. I looked at him and heaved the heavy sigh that he has come to know as the sign to buckle up, I am going to say/suggest/do something crazy.

"So.....last year when we decided to take the kids on a trip for Christmas instead of buying them presents, I started looking around to see if there were any places to serve on Christmas day." Aaron looked up from his book and waited for me to continue. "I couldn't find anything at any of the usual places. I guess Christmas Day isn't as popular a day to serve the homeless as, say, Thanksgiving is."

He is still looking at me, though I know he is catching onto my drift. "So I am wondering if it would be totally crazy to take a few hours on Christmas Day and head down to Cesar Chavez Park (where a portion of our city's homeless population gathers) or something and hand out food and blankets or whatever. We could see if people wanted to come and help us." and within minutes we talked about what we could do, how we could help and how to make this one act part of a way of life for us and our kids, how we realize that while we don't have much, we have SO MUCH. 

As we planned I could feel tightness in my throat building up and I croaked out, "But it will be on Christmas! What if no one wants to help us on Christmas Day? People are busy! WE are busy!"

These are the moments where I wonder how the heck I got so lucky, because my husband smiled and said, "Well, then we will load up the van and the kids and do it by ourselves. That's ok." and as soon as he said it I began to blubber and cry in the middle of Old Soul Coffee Co, like the fool that I am.

We are feelers in this family. We have big feelings. Lots of feelings. We talk about our feelings. It's exhausting, but good. As I am trying to discreetly, or at least prettily cry in public, my husband looks at me and asks me, "Are you feeling guilty?" I look at him. "Do you feel guilty for what we have or for not doing this sooner? I'm not saying it's a good or bad thing, I am just asking."

Yes. Yes, I do feel guilty sometimes. We have a comfortable home and food and give away or throw away more than we ever consume. So, yes. There is some guilt. But the real guilt, the real issue for us, is that we have not done more to help. We haven't made helping the needy and homeless an natural output of our lives and that makes me sad, and now all of Old Soul Coffee Co. knows it, too.

During his sermon Sunday our pastor was talking about obedience, and how when we obey God we are

like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither. In all he does, he prospers. Psalm 1:3

When we obey God we can't help but prosper in the fruits of the spirit - love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,  gentleness and self-control (Gal 5:22-23) and sometimes when we are also rewarded with financial prosperity. 

 The thing that struck me was "yields". A fruit tree yields its fruit. 

As in give up, relinquish, hand over, give away. As in doesn't keep. This can easily apply to the love, joy, peace, and kindness that obedience to God give us. It very easily applies to our money, time, and possessions as well. It is natural for us to look at whatever wealth God gives us and say, "Sweet, God! Thanks!" and use it mostly to our own benefit.

Whatever guilt I have comes from the fact that my daily life does not reflect God's call to believers to serve the poor and downtrodden. If I profess to be a believer, then I am called to help the needy. The question isn't Am I called to minister to the poor? it is How am I called to minister to the poor? 

In the most technical sense we do give to the poor. We donate to shelters, we give to missionaries who work with the homeless and downtrodden, we give to the man on the center divide when we have change. Check, check, check. But helping the poor, homeless, downtrodden, abused, helpless people of our community isn't second nature. And it should be. 

Though Aaron and I started the conversation in the context of what we would do for the homeless community of Sacramento at Christmas, we both voiced a desire to make helping the homeless and marginalized of our city second nature for ourselves and our family. Now we are left with taking the next step; acting on what we believe.

The Day the (secular) Music Died

"Mom, what's "let's go all the way" mean?"

Nothing can jolt a mom out of a traffic induced haze quite like her six year old asking that question. I glanced in my rearview mirror at my daughter and saw her casually looking out the window. As I focused my attention back on reality I noticed Katy Perry's Teenage Dream playing on the radio. I quickly switched the station and began to wrack my brain for an age appropriate answer. Luckily, the new song playing was catchy, ok for little ears and a decent diversion. At least for five minutes we had relative peace until the next song came on that needed to be switched and it took me three stations to finally find a something my kids could listen to without me having to change the station or launch into a discussion about how inappropriate some word choices might be.

It became a full time job to be aware of what was playing on the radio at all times, offer wise counsel when I thought I needed to about lyrics, change the station when necessary, to explain certain artists were generally off limits and why. The day that I couldn't find a suitable station for more than one song at a time was the day I finally gave in and tuned into the local Christian radio station.

I never wanted to be the mom who policed what her kids listened to.We have always felt that rather than cut out certain types of music, movies, books, we would listen/watch/read and discuss, rather than ban. Aaron and I feel (hope) that our kids will be better equipped to face the world if they know what the world is taking in. I always cringe whenever I hear someone refer to the local radio station as "secular" or when radio stations (secular or otherwise) call their playlists "safe for the whole family!" It brings to mind a conversation I had years ago with someone who believed "secular" music is damaging to worship and to our hearts and minds. The sweeping generalization didn't sit well with me, as most don't (even as I use them regularly).

We recently spent 3 hours watching a two hour superhero movie because we stopped the movie so often to talk about what was happening onscreen. It's a rough way to watch a movie, I'll admit, and out eight year old started to get a little exasperated with us, until a scene that even he felt was inappropriate came on and when we stopped it he told us why it was inappropriate. I tried that approach with music on the radio, but found it utterly exhausting. It became necessary to my sanity to make the switch away from "secular" music for the foreseeable future, just so we could have a peaceful car ride.

Now I am left wondering what to do next. My kids are 8, 6 and 4, so I have some time before those teenage years where music/media becomes an important part of a kids self expression and learning experience. We can live in a smaller world of music for now, but as my kids get older and their friends start touting the latest and greatest, I want them to be ready for it. I want them to be able to listen to the radio with discernment. I want them to be able to think for themselves about whether or not what they are listening to is honoring to God or other people and then, when I don't agree with their choices, give them the grace to figure out why. Besides, blanket bans aren't always fair. The same girl who wrote Teenage Dream also wrote this.

For now, we will listen to the limited playlists on Christian radio while I recoup my nerves before we ease back into the mainstream radio. Aside from the backseat bickering, car rides are surprisingly stress-free.

An Attitude of Encouragement

Encouragement is an art. One that some people would say I am really good at and others would probably find utterly laughable that I would categorize myself as an encouraging person. For every person that I encourage, there are probably several that I overlook. It is very easy for me to encourage the ones I love or people I admire, but for the people I may not know as well, or, to be honest, people I don't like very much, encouragement is far from my mind.

Recently I read a blog post by a woman who said she missed handwritten mail. She posted to her twitter page asking people who wanted handwritten cards to send her their address and she would write them a card or two to brighten up their mailboxes. She was surprised to find that her inbox was loaded with emails from people who wanted "fun mail". She wrote dozens of notes to strangers, and days later began receiving thankful replies from the recipients.

It wasn't the handiness of the gesture or the novelty of receiving mail that isn't a bill that warmed people's hearts, it was the encouragement this simple effort offered. Many, if not most, of those people probably sent off their addresses thinking this woman is never going to respond so when she did the blessing was all the sweeter.

I look across my life and I can think of those people I don't know very well, or those I don't care for and am wondering what might happen if I wrote them a little note? One of my very best friends joked to me a few years back, commenting how much she didn't like me when we first met. I irritated her and completely rubbed her the wrong way. Everything I said and did was annoying and immature in her eyes. I had always suspected this and we chuckled when she finally admitted it.

What changed is that she began to encourage me as a woman, a believer, a wife, and later, a mother. By encouraging me, her heart softened towards me. Encouragement has a funny way of doing that. We can't stay angry or aloof with those God calls us to encourage. We may begin encouraging in hopes of changing the other person, but it's usually us who is going to be changed.

Tomorrow I start work in the moms ministry at church, the perfect field for encouragement, becuase we all know us moms need a ton of encouragement. (That is not sarcasm, that is truth)

On that note, if you are in the Sacramento area and would like to join us, please do so every other Wednesday 9:30-11 at the Arcade Church Fellowship Hall, 3927 Marconi Ave, starting September 5th.. I'll be there, with an encouraging word!

Comparison is the Death of Contentment

Why is it so hard to be content? It's a simple concept, really. Be happy with what you have. Yet I frequently find myself playing a game of comparison where the only loser is me and everyone else has seemingly won. With all the talk of the "1%" it's hard not to dwell on what we don't have and feel justified in it. The line between "needs" and "wants" has been painfully blurred. Turn on the news and you will see a host of people telling us how angry we should be about what we don't have.

I have fallen for it lock, stock and barrel.

There is really no way for me to write about contentment without sounding like an envious, thankless fool, which frankly, at times I am. I have a nice house, a car that runs, a great husband and kids, plenty of food and water, plenty of stuff. I know plenty of people who face real challenges with more faith and thankfulness than I do on a daily basis.

My priorities have needed some realigning. I've known it for awhile and have been trying to adjust my heart, but this week the lesson finally seemed to resonate. I hope it sticks this time (but please don't judge me too harshly if it doesn’t).

The big take away from church for me Sunday wasn't the sermon (sorry, Jasen. It was awesome though!!) but the memory verse in primary church.

...for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. Phil 4:11b

In fact all of Philippians 4 is a beautiful reminder of God's provision and encouragement to be content in all situations. I realize the absurdity of any discontent I may feel, trust me. I'd venture to guess that I am not alone, though. Contentment can be elusive, even when we have much to be content about. Sometimes especially when we have much to be content about.

God is good. He provides in abundance. We can be content in all circumstances, even when the world tells us we shouldn't be.