Getting It Right

Parenting is hard. Even in the best of circumstances.

Somehow even admitting that is difficult for some of us because we think that if we say it, then somehow we don't love being a parent enough. That we have failed our kids.

But it's okay. Parenting is hard. Kids can be difficult. And, God help us, we are human.

Like...really, really human.

And there are those of us who came from difficult backgrounds. And those of us who parent on our own. And those of us who have little darlings with special needs. And those of us...

Let's just put it out there, "the best of circumstances" is not the norm.

And we wonder all the time...did I do enough? Did I screw it up? Did I get it right? And most days we have to admit our human-ness.

But then...there are days when our kids clear it up for us.

My son (the college student!!!) had to write a paper for his Composition class. He discussed single parenting in America. He told our story. He called me strong, praised my perseverance...described my ferocity in his defense...the way I cared for him when he was hurt...the way I was there for him when my Dad died and how he got to be there for me...he said I was his example...his hero.

His teacher wrote a note on the front page. She called it a beautiful story and told him to make sure I got to read it. He told her he wasn't sure he wanted to do that, because I'd get all mushy and cry.

He was right. But they were happy tears.

Heads up, Moms and Dads...we give it our all and our kids notice.

And for those whose kids don't notice...because they can't or won't. You are a faithful, wonderful parent. Keep persevering. Keep being human.

As Glennon Doyle Melton says "Carry On Warrior!"

In Which I Prove My Love For "If/Then" and What A Terrible Parent I Am...

Okay you guys...so last month the landlord or the postal service lost the freaking money order I sent to N. Carolina to pay the rent. After being unsettled for so long, finding what we considered the perfect house, and then having this happen...it was a tough blow. Since I don't have $1000 just laying around and neither do any of my friends, I started praying.

The money order didn't show up.
I didn't win the lottery (probably because I didn't play).
I didn't win the Publisher's Clearing House (probably because I didn't enter...and I'm not sure it's even a thing any more!)

So I started working really hard. Like harder than usual. And it's cool because little by little I'm getting it. Nothing else is getting paid but we are getting there.

The cable is the first thing to go.

And I tell you this not because I want pity...but because it is an integral part of our story.

Yesterday was a pretty good day. Everyone was in good mood. The landlord came by and picked up the money I had and gave me a few days to get the rest and so we all breathed a sigh of relief and did a "we're not homeless" dance. And...best of all...thanks to a sweet Mama's Day present from some good friends of mine...I knew that once the mail ran, magic would arrive...all wrapped up in an Amazon.com envelope!

The If/Then Original Cast Recording!!!

*Crickets and Silence from most of my audience*
But for those of you who do understand...the anticipation!!! I cursed the fact the mail runs so late at my house. It would be after rehearsal before I'd get to listen to it! I headed home with anticipation. There is a method to unwrapping books, movies and cds at my house and I was going to relish it.

Then, I had a moment of inspiration. I miss my son. Like a lot. Last week I went three days where I didn't get to see him more than ten minutes. I'm completely aware of the fact that in eight months I will give him over to the Marine Corps for four years and I cherish all our time together. So I decided that If/Then would have to wait and I called Trey and as I pulled into the driveway, he hopped in and we "splurged" on Steak & Shake. During the course of the our dinner, Trey told me about his new favorite comedian and about the paper he wrote for class. That he talked about single Moms and how tough they had it...and about how I was his hero. (You guys!!!) It was totally worth putting off listening to my new cd.

Then we got home. He went to bed. I opened the envelope. Instagrammed the cd cover (of course). Perused the insides. Got my CD player and head phones and headed to bed. After getting comfortable, I realized with some annoyance that the batteries in cd player were almost dead...so dead the CD could barely play. And this is where it got ugly. There were no more batteries!!! I tried to be logical you guys...I really did! But when Idina defies gravity on the high notes (see what I did there?) or when Anthony Rapp starts singing "You Don't Have To Love Me" there is a thrill of emotions that can't be described or contained and I NEEDED THOSE DANG BATTERIES!

So I did the only thing I could...I snuck into the living room and stole the batteries out of the remote.

That's right people...on what is probably the last day my children will have cable in some time, I disabled the remote.

And it's totally worth it!

"This Is A Safe Space..."

Saturday I was at Frog and Toad rehearsal and I was directing a scene (Whoa...wait...I was directing a scene..squeal!) and my little "Birds" were speaking their lines and I had to tell one little darling bird "You have a soft voice so I'm going to need you to remember to project. Okay? You'll have a mic but you'll still need to throw your voice out there so people can hear you." And she kind of laughed and said "I have a weird voice."

This seemed like a good moment to stop rehearsal for just a sec...

I told her "You have a sweet, soft voice" and then I explained to all my darlings sitting around the "stage" that this was a safe space. That I knew they heard all sorts of negative things but in this space we were going to affirm and empower ourselves. Realizing that some of the littler darlings were looking at me in quizzical fashion, I took it down a level and explained "Be nice to ourselves and others" I told them that Ms Jasmine and I had picked them for the role they were in because out of everyone that auditioned, for whatever reason, we felt they were the best ones to play the part. That we knew they could do it. That they were going to be awesome. And that they were not going to ruin the experience for themselves by constantly thinking negatively about themselves.

The kids all smiled. The parents clapped, whooped and raised the roof. Two rehearsals later my little bird told one of my bigger birds who was mad at herself for messing up that she needed to remember to be nice to herself.

This, you guys! This! So many things I love all wrapped up into what was, to be honest, three minutes of my life tops. I was ecstatic. I was freaking so happy! And then the voice in my head that never shuts up spoke up...

"Now, if you just practice what you preach."

Aaarrrggghhh!

Do you know where our little lovelies learn to be mean to themselves? And before you say school (which admittedly is a huge factor), think about what your kids hear you say when you look in the mirror, before you go out the door, as you look at the menu. All the Mamas who were clapping and lifting their hands want their kids to feel good about themselves but do they feel good about themselves?

I mean, I get it. I hate my feet (wide, flat and horrible toes), my nose (my Mom once jokingly told me God forgot to give me a nose so He took the gum out of his mouth and stuck it on my face. And I have never forgotten that! Geez!), the fact that I'm overweight...

The list could go on. Shopping for a dress is a nightmare....shopping for jeans...okay, let's be real...shopping for anything but books leaves me so depressed I need a bowl of ice cream and a movie I can cry over to make myself feel better. I haven't shopped for a bathing suit in over five years. If we go swimming, I wear shorts and a tank top.

And then my 19 year old daughter comes downstairs in a bathing suit looking curvaceous and gorgeous and just WAY too dang grown and I am smiling at her and may or may not have a tear in my eye because of the amazing young lady that is before my eyes. And it takes me ten minutes to convince her she looks beautiful and even then she may have agreed with me just to shut me up.

You guys...this amazingly beautiful girl needs my help to go out in public in a bathing suit! What the what?!

One day I was baby sitting a rising second grader...a 2nd grader...and she turned down ice cream because she "needed to be on a diet". (This girl is about as big around as my arm ya'll.) And so we talked...and she'd heard her Mom say that she needed to be on a diet and for some reason decided she must be overweight too. (Mom isn't much bigger than my arm either...just for the record).

Our children hear us. They see us. And if we want them to go out into the world believing in themselves and feeling good about themselves and being confident in themselves...then we have to teach them. And this is no "do as I say not as I do" business. More like monkey see, monkey do (You guys, I am always going to have a little of the Head Start Teacher in me). We have to practice what we preach. To teach our children to believe in themselves, we have to believe in ourselves. 

Throwing Rocks

(Side note before I start...if you don't know who Glennon Doyle Melton is, have never read "Carry On Warrior, and/or you don't "like" the Momastery Facebook page...get busy! In my humble opinion...of course)

The other day, the Momastery Facebook status said:

"Whenever I hear Christian folks discussing how certain they are that God prefers a "traditional" (nuclear, husband and wife) family - I always wonder. If God holds the "traditional" family above all others- why'd God give God's only son to an unmarried, young girl? God only had one shot- and he chose for Jesus a single mama and then a blended family. It seems likely to me that God has wide ideas about what makes a family legit and worthy."

I "liked" it...like immediately. It should come as no surprise that I'm all about celebrating diverse families. I'm a single Mom. I was raised in turns by my Mom and her husband, my Grandma, my Aunt and Uncle, my Dad and his wife, his wife, and then my Mom again. I have friends raising kids in blended family, friends raising their grandchildren. I have friends who foster, friends who adopt...and yes, I have a friends in same sex relationships raising children or trying to. I'm into diverse. I'm okay with it. I celebrate it.

Anyone want to take a guess how quickly the comment section became a quagmire of contention as everyone immediately started arguing for and against same sex marriage? There was no celebration of Jesus and his mother, no celebration of single parents persevering.

There was a lot of rock throwing though. Because there is nothing new under the sun and we are as ready to throw rocks as the Pharisees. Only we don't stop to think about our sin or whether we are without it. We don't stop to think of the pain we'll cause. The irreparable damage that is being done. We call ourselves "defending the gospel" and we let those stones fly.

I'm reading Sarah Bessey's book "Jesus Feminist" and it absolutely wrecking my world. It literally took me a week just to digest the introduction (Yes, I said digest...it was less like reading and more like a process). She is hoping for a day where we can come together as Christians in peace and relate together. She says

"We'll stand before the piles of stones that used to be weapons and we'll build an altar. God met us here"

At the time, reading that, I was still camped out in John 8 with the adulterous woman and the stone carrying crowd because there is just so freaking much you can glean from it!

But, reading Sarah Bessey's description, I suddenly had a mental image of all the stones that were dropped as the crowd realized that none of them were without sin. One minute they are ready to throw rocks...and the next they are building an altar. Perhaps not intentionally but that is what that pile of rocks represents. An altar. An altar of grace. And God met them there.

Guys...I'm not sure who we like throwing rocks at better...the LGBT community, the politicians (the ones on the "wrong side" Also known as, not your side) or each other. In the meantime, we aren't building altars. And we aren't righting the wrongs of this world. Children are hungry, women are hurting and men are trying to find their way. And we can't stop throwing rocks long enough to help them. To show them the way to the altar of grace.

Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone. The rest of us should get busy reconciling ourselves and a lost and broken world to the only one who had the right to cast the stone...and didn't.

Erosion

Here is the truth...I understood there was a Creator before I understood there was a God. I understood Creator the first time I saw a picture of the Grand Canyon and my teacher explained that a river had created that through a process called "erosion"

These days I know more about God the Creator...And the process of erosion. How something small but constant can wear away, create caverns, change the landscape. A constant trickling of bills and sick Moms...money orders lost and trying to come up with $1100 for the rent AGAIN...daughter's who need computers for schools and sons getting ready to join the military..the car tearing up...your job driving you crazy...

And that's all in one week.

I don't know how or when or even if it will let up or get better soon (or for that matter, this side of heaven) . But here is what I do know, God uses erosion to create beautiful things.


 2 Corinthians 4:8-9
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 

A Demand For Justice

Trigger Warning!!!

It's estimated that every two minutes, a rape occurs in the United States.
Take a deep breath...count to 120. 
1 Mississippi
2 Mississippi
3 Mississippi
...
When you get to 120, that is two minutes.

Every two minutes.

Each year there are approximately 237.868 rapes.
That's the population of Bellevue, Washington...a midsize city just outside of Seattle.

Only 40% of rapes that occur in the United States are reported to the police.
97% of rapists will never spend a day in jail.

Her story:
"I had been staying with friends. It was their son who found me. He'd come to pick me up from work. He later told me he almost ran over me. Apparently when he picked me up, I punched him. He had a black eye the next time I saw him. I still feel bad about that.

He took me home. This was before everyone had cell phones so he had to leave me there to go find his parents. He took a moment to gather up the knives in the house. Maybe I'd said something...

I don't know how long I lay on the couch...I stumbled to the kitchen. Realized there were no knives. I took a glass from the cabinet and busted it in the sink. I was thinking clearly enough not to want to leave a mess. I got into the shower, turned the water on...nothing but hot...and got in...

The problem was, they had those thick glasses. I managed to scratch my arms up really well but not enough to bleed to death. So I took the pieces and swallowed those I could manage. I think I thought it would cut up my insides and I would bleed to death internally. It didn't seem to be working fast enough and I knew that I wanted to be "gone" before they got back. So I opened the medicine cabinet and began taking pills. I was being treated for depression and anxiety at the time so I had several prescriptions. My friend had some. Her husband had some for his health problems. I don't know how many I took. What I thought would be enough I guess. I put my night gown on and went to bed.

I don't remember the ride to the hospital at all. They tell me I tried to jump out of the car and the son had to slap me to calm me down. Guess that makes me feel a little better about the black eye. I came to in the hospital. They'd pumped my stomach. Apparently the glass was too thick too do much damage going down. When they pumped my stomach, they got most of that too. Or I threw it up. Whatever. It was a lot of trouble for nothing. I can't be sure but I think they laughed at me when I told them what the glass was going to do to me.

I was still in the ER when I came to enough to talk to the investigators. My hands had been strapped because I had apparently kept trying to pull out my IV. There was a man and a female. They were trying to ask me questions. They explained they needed to examine me. Gather evidence. I didn't want to be touched. Ever. I guess I'd voiced that because the male investigator got irritated with me. The female investigator talked to me about getting the guys back who had done that to me. Justice. The male investigator told me they already had an idea who'd done this to me. That there had been others. That the last girl had lain in a ditch for three days before anyone found her. She'd made it, but barely. He told me it was my duty to make sure these guys never got the chance to hurt another girl. That got me. So I let them.

I find it ironic it's called a "rape kit"...that sounds more like a tool box for a rapist than one to catch him. They clean under your nails. They take semen samples. It doesn't hurt. It's just...intrusive. Maybe it's because you've already been violated. Because control has already been taken from you. And the people who are helping you are violating you and it's for a good cause...but it's violation all the same. It didn't help that the investigator felt the need to tell me that by taking a shower I'd probably destroyed evidence.

I spent three days in ICU, a couple more days in a regular hospital room. I think that had more to do with the staff being afraid I was going to hurt myself than anything. I spoke to the investigators several more times. Answered questions about what I was wearing, why I was where I was...told the same story over and over...in case I missed details or changed my story I guess.

Two weeks after I was out of the hospital, the investigators told me the suspects had taken off...supposedly for Texas. I was told they wouldn't pursue them but would wait until they were picked up for something else...they were bound to get caught for anything from speeding, stealing, assault. Getting picked up for another rape wasn't mentioned. I guess they didn't because I never heard anything else.

...The rape kit? I don't know...never thought about it."

There are over 400,000 unprocessed rape kits sitting on shelves across the United States. Some of them have been there so long the statute of limitations has run out. Reasons such as lack of resources, staff, etc are blamed. Recently in Tennessee, a bill was introduced suggesting the state spend $2 Million of the $40 Million the General Assembly has in reserve to process the 12, 000 rape kits sitting untested in Tennessee. The bill was voted down 22-8 with two Republicans joining the six minority Democrats voting for the funding.

400,000 women were promised justice...or they were at least told it would be attempted. They endured rape kits after already being violated and that evidence sits on the shelf. 

Where are our priorities? Where is justice for these women? How can we encourage the 60% of sexual assault victims who will never come forward to do so if the cold hard truth is that coming forward will do them no good???

It is time for us to stand with these women and demand justice. 

Check out RAINN's Action Center for more information.

*Our story is true. And the teller will remain anonymous at her request.
* Statistics provided by RAINN
* Malignant comments will be deleted. Keep it positive people.

The other day my foster daughter sent me a text.

"I cleaned the floors."

I was super pleased because in the new house, that is quite a feat!

When I got home that evening, I was a little confused. The floors looked terrible. And they were greasy. I asked Grace, "What did you use to clean the floors?" She said she used the Murphy's Oil Wood Soap. Embree quietly said "She didn't read the instructions and used way too much." That explained it...you need a cap full. She used half the bottle. I mean, the normal rule (in our house anyway) is the more cleaning product, the better!

I went to grab the mop so I could remove some of the cleaner but the mop was completely dry. I called upstairs, "Grace...what did you use to mop the floor? The mop is dry."

Grace called down "I used the mop with the orange cover."

So I taught my sweet girl what a dust broom is...

It brought to mind this little gem from Pam Parish:

Why Did My Towels Turn Pink?