Here I Go! Diving into the Fishbowl

Surrender in the Fishbowl

2011-08-26T04:31:00.000-07:00

During times in life when things are tough, when we are being sifted and being tested, if we take steps away from worthwhile challenges simply to make things easier for ourselves or more bearable we have to consider whether or not we've really surrendered our lives for His. In fact, if giving things up that we are doing, doesn't cause us conflict in our hearts, then we should wonder if God called us to it at all.

The things we do should cause us to grow more dependent on Him. We will be sifted. We will be tested. But will we walk away to where things might be easier? Will we hide in fear? Or will we dig in and withstand the tests of our resolve? Will we give our lives to Him every single day, knowing that it might not be easy? Knowing that to lay down our lives for Him it might really cost us everything that we hold dear? Knowing that that idea is not literary rhetoric, but biblical truth?

We can't lean on our own grit and stubborness and expect to make it. We need more power than that; we need more heart than that. So we lean instead on Faith, Truth, and *real* surrender to the infinite God, of infinite power, and infinite heart. The wonderful thing is that on the other side of that surrender is unspeakable joy. On the other side of it, there is sweet LIFE.

Meltdowns in the Fishbowl

2011-05-07T06:21:00.000-07:00

Many mistakenly believe that pastor's wives are so grounded in their faith that we have grown physical roots that stretch supernaturally to heaven. But psssssst.... I'm going to tell you a super secret: Pastor's wives have melt downs too. Now, I can't speak for other pastor's wives, but I can tell you what mine look like. They're colorful to say the least.

They involve projectile tears and often bawling to my sister on my cell phone while driving at erratic speeds on the highway. You see, in case you haven't noticed, life is stressful. I'm stressed about my kids, about my work, about my colleagues, about my ministries, about my writing, about my parents, about the laundry, about my cats.

I'm stressed about the fact that I'm supposed to be praying my way through this stuff and not feeling like I'm coming apart at the seams. I think I'm pretty much stressed about all the stuff that women struggle with everyday, everywhere. Well, maybe the cats aren't common to all. To be honest, while the people I love and care about might care about and love me back, they really aren't concerned about all these things that are piling up to make me more than a little crazy.

If we aren't careful we fall back to sleep and we forget the true reality. We accept the illusory reality that stress is really all there is to this life, until we get old and trade stress for boredom. You know, I'm so lucky to have a God who reaches right over to me and makes me turn the radio on right when He has something to say to snap me back to reality. He tenderly reminds me, in the middle of my melt downs, "Hey, I'm bigger than all those things. I've got this."

How blessed am I? That the God of the Universe--the One who put all the pieces together--cares enough about me and my tiny little self-involved world to tell me how big He is? That the mountains bow down and seas will roar at the sound of His name. Mountains bow down? Really? That's exactly what I need. I need my God. When I feel like I might slip under because the current feels like it might be too much, I remember that He is not just throwing me a life ring from shore and hoping I've got enough left in me to catch it. He is the one in charge of the river.

Thoughts Too Big for a Fishbowl

2010-07-08T17:46:00.000-07:00

Every few years or so my family gets together in one place. This year it was a cabin in the mountains. We are too large and too loud for anyone's sanity to fit inside with all of us, so everyone leaves their's at the door.

We get together and eat Portuguese fried dough and fresh baked cookies. We embrace. We might play some games. We smile. We laugh. We marvel at how nephews have facial hair and how they've grown heads taller than the aunts. We are astounded by how the neices are suddenly too big to climb up into the laps of their mommies.We tell the same stories we've all heard over and over again. We laugh harder at them as we get older.

Somehow in the midst of all the chaos, we are able to peel away the months of time and change from one another and find the precious souls of the ones we love beneath those layers of time apart.

And then there is the leaving...

Leaving my family makes me think thoughts that are too big for my brain, and makes me feel things that are too big for my heart. The big question I always land on when we part? "God, why did you let me splinter my family like this?" It's a question that plagues me every single time I leave.

You see, when I was 18 years old, my parents let me come to Florida on a trip with a friend of mine. Young, dumb, and partying in a new city, were were too young to rent a car, so we decided to try to hitch a ride. My crazy heart fell for a guy here equally young and equally invincible--the kind, gentle-spirited biological father of my daughters--who pulled over to give us young ladies a ride. It was that relationship that made me move to Florida, convincing a sister of mine to move with me. My parents followed soon after--snowbirds at first, but then moving here full time after. I had no idea at that time that I was changing the dynamic of my earthly family forever. But I feel now, the grief that my older and wiser siblings surely felt when I packed up that u-haul, wide-eyed and excited for a life anywhere but there. They knew things would never be the same.

And so each time we part--the tears fall. The good bye hugs always last longer than the hello ones, and my feet always find themselves running across the stones to try to sneak in a last one before we go. Inevitably that question surfaces again, as it does each time. Usually there is no answer, and only in recent years have I been able to draw comfort in the fact that this life is just a blink and that the time we don't have together here will be redeemed in Heaven.

But this time, when I got back home and laid down in my bed, my heart cried out and asked the Lord for an answer, much to my surprise, he gave me one.

"You would never have been mine if I left you there, and I've got work for you to do for Me here."

Every time He speaks to me, the things He says are often so crystal clear but somehow I can't see them. As soon as I processed the words, I realized that they were the obvious truth.

My family is interesting--amazing, supportive, loving. I know if I ever needed a place to go, I could knock on any siblings door and they would welcome me inside. In fact, most of the time we don't even bother to knock. My family woos me into a state of worldly present-ness. I am a different person in their midst--I turn far too much away from the face of God so that I can soak in every moment of what is happening around me. I don't think I have ever really been able to pray or focus on God and eternal things in their presence. They become my security net--in place of the only security that is real for anyone.

But forced out of my comfort zone, Jesus is able to get my attention. I thinks that true for all of us. He is able to speak to us in new ways. He woos us to be His own and to call us to His higher purposes that we might otherwise ignore. People are always asking why God allows for sorrow and for suffering, and sometimes I think it's because when our hearts are really hurting, that's when we are finally paying attention. Anyone who has experienced deep sadness or grief knows that it feels like a physical breaking of the heart. But be encouraged. It's through those very cracks that God's love is able to flow freely in.

Epiphanies in the Fishbowl

2009-11-02T07:41:00.000-08:00

God hit me with two salvation messages yesterday... AND then with the same scripture again this morning in devotional time. Sometimes He does that to us... comes at us with a holistic approach--we hear the same message from all different directions. Here is a tip: If this happens to you--PAY ATTENTION. There is no 'coincidence' involved. God's trying to get a message into your heart NOT only into your head.

I wondered at first--why am I hearing this? I'm saved by grace--through faith. I know nothing I can do will add to the work Jesus did on my behalf. So why God, are you giving me this message again? And again? And again? Hold that thought...

I probably don't seem like the angry type, and I am really not. I really don't get angry very often--and I don't get angry about insignificant things. It takes a LOT for me to feel wounded enough to be really mad at someone. But I'll let you in on a little secret--there is a very dark side to We-of-Little-Anger... we know how to hold a grudge like a baby monkey knows how to hold onto it's momma's back. It's an area of weakness that I struggle with; in the past, if I were wounded enough I would simply amputate relationships. It didn't matter if I were the one swinging the axe to cause the wounds. (**insert Pride sidebar here at a later date**)

Something happened to me yesterday--a revelation of sorts. I walked into worship last night so mad that if lasers were coming out my eyeballs I would have anhilated hundreds of people and burnt a church to the ground. And then... the sweet sound of music... worship begins... the lyric? "I hear the savior say, thy strength indeed is small. Child of weakness, watch and pray, Find in me thine all." My first thought? 'That is so true! My strength is so small! But that's why I am here--because I've got nothing left. I'm so mad right now that... just... grah! And I can't do this without you, Lord! If I try to, it won't be pretty.' And that is a fact. Without Jesus--I AM A MESS. I'm a selfish, promiscuous, self-destructive addict. Period.

So grab that holding thought about the salvation messages back into your mind, because the hammer fell on the next lyric, "Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe. Sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow." Indeed. He did. And Ohh!

Here was my second thought: 'It's not about me again is it Lord? The same blood that set me free and makes me 'right' with God so I can come to you for renewal when I am struggling like I am right now, is the same blood that forgave such-and-such for what-and-what.' Hmmm.

So I am saved by Him and the act on the cross which makes me able to come to Him for repreive when I am so angry because I've been hurt. The irony?
The thing that person did to me that hurt my feelings so desperately? Jesus died for that too--and He has already forgiven them. We are white as snow and so are our offenders and persecutors should they choose to accept His sacrifice on their behalf.

The MOST beautiful part? Not only are we saved, each as indivduals, but when we view our counterparts in relationships as being 'white as snow' in the eyes of God, our relationships also experience salvation.*insert flashing light bulb here* The need to cut off relationships becomes a deeper need for God and a deeper dependence on Jesus for how he reconciled us to himself.

I guess I write about this for a few reasons. One--I realize more and more every day how EVERY aspect of my life that is highlighted by struggle is just another area of my life where God is creating discomfort as a catalyst for deeper dependence on Him. Two--I am still a work in progress. My dependence on Him deepens daily. Three--I am begining to wonder if forgiveness is something we can even give to anyone. The idea that we forgive someone implies that we are in a position to judge someone as one way or another--which none of us is. We need only to realize that God, who IS able to forgive, has already done it for us. There is a freedom in that that transcends words. What is impossible--becomes effortless.

And with that--my brain is now empty. Have a great day... :)

Eleven ?? from Eve

2009-10-30T04:27:00.000-07:00

So I have this idea for a book... In a series of letters from 'the' Eve to all those out there preparing for marriage, she strives to help them wade through all of the issues that women deal with as they prepare for marriage in this complex world of values and expectations. She writes about things like headship, sex, family, friends, and 7 other things I have scribbled down somehwere. What do you think?

I haven't started working on it because I STILL have not finished editing the first draft of my current project which is in draft format--Fighting Nature. I missed my goal for sending queries out on it this fall. *sigh* One day though!

Here is my thought for the day (and you can only fairly expect one out of me on any given day):

If we do what God designed us to love to do, we live lives often feeling fulfilled and deeply satisfied.

If we do what God designed us to love to do AND do it according to His purposes and plans (rather than our own), not only do we feel fulfilled and satisfied very often, but we also feel a deep sense of peace, purpose, humility, and value.

HAVE AN AWESOME DAY!

Good Video....

2009-10-24T14:54:00.001-07:00

This video just about tells my life story...

I'm so greatful for Jesus....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyheJ480LYA

Alleluia!!

Grace

2009-10-20T03:42:00.000-07:00

Grace. For many, IT is the final fronteir.

There is no goodness really, in any of us. Sure we have good moments. There are glimpses in our lives, of us being the people we wish we were. Usually we are able to 'do good' when our lives are good--but the true test of mirth, is a little harder to pass. Can we 'be good' when our lives are falling apart? Have you been able to experience transcendent peace in the face of chaos? Have you been able to extend undeserved compassion and mercy to someone who has wounded you deeply? It is easy to be loving and kind when you are living life from a bed of roses, but it's a whole lot harder from a bed of broken glass.

For most of us, when we are able to do the above, it's because God has stepped in and enabled us to do so. That glimpse of being 'good' comes from elsewhere. It comes through us into the lives of others. By God's standards, we are all liars, theives, adulterers and so on... but He loves us anyhow. He enables us to feel peace in times of deep pain. He gives us compassion and mercy and love... but Grace is what enables us to get at ALL of those other things.

God will not coexist with evil and sin in the same space. The simplest analogy? Oil and water. Need another one? If you turn a light on in a room, the darkness is chased away and hides behind the objects in the shadows. Where the light is, the dark cannot be. Without Grace we would never be able to get close enough to God for any of His any other emanating goodness to reach us and to warm our hearts. We stand in the shadow of Jesus, and we are able to feel all the wonderful warmth that flows from Him. Because of Grace we can get close enough to feel compassion, mercy, love... and all of that other amazing stuff!

Grace is the facet of God's character that positively affirms all others. He would not be the loving God, without Grace. He would not be the fully good God, without Grace. He would not be the compassionate God, without Grace. And we could never be His people...
without Grace.

Waking Up in the Fish Bowl

2009-10-13T06:56:00.000-07:00

I've begged God for a life of peace... but I have been denied. Believe me, I've asked "Why me? Lord?" Many days. Many times. At times, many times in one day.

You see, He has chosen me to be:

a Princess--Crowned such not by a wordly king but by The Universal One
a Warrior--knighted into THE epic battle of eternal consequence where hearts, lives, and souls are at stake

How did this happen you ask? Jesus picked me to tell other people about Him... through the story of redemption He has told the world through the undoing and reparation of my frayed and worn tapestry of life. He picked me as His own. On top of that, He picked me to be the wife of church planter.

And, I am feeling passionate today. We are planting a church in Lake Mary. A city that many have called 'unplantable'. A community of wealth and prosperity where the anesthesia of choice is stuff and success and a maxed out schedule to go with a maxed out mastercard. A community so rich and 'needless' that the enemy has convinced it that they do not need God or to make time for Him.

But I have got news for the Kingdom of Darkness... You are not welcome here.
The Church is on the war path. We have invaded 'your' territory and we lay claim to this ground with the only Blood that ever needed to be shed in this war--the blood of Christ. Do you see it, evil? Do you see your defeat? I do and I have a few words for you.

We deny you the families in this City.
We will not surrender them to you.
We deny you the hearts of the people here.
We will fight for every last one of them.
We will not surrender our marriages to the worldly distractions that you present here.
We refuse to surrender our children to this world and it's standards of success and happiness.
We refuse to allow you to exploit the many blessed and gifted people of this place.
We refuse to be enticed by your mirage in the desert, because we know you will leave us thirsty and dead.
We trade in our mastercard for the Master.

We hereby break the cloak of deception that you have cast upon this place.
We do so permanently and completely--not by might, nor by power, but BY HIS SPIRIT!

We will love one another.
We will honor God and his standards in our families and in our relationships.
We will teach our children that they are the beloved of God.
We will bring them up in a way so that they know the only way to quench their thirst is through the LIVING WATER.
We will convert the means of this community, that you have exploited over and over again as a stronghold, into a vehicle for bringing THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD into this world.
We will fight and battle and wage the war against the evil in this world--weilding the sword of the spirit and really just let Jesus do His thing which is to straight up kick your you know what.

Your stronghold in this city ends here.
Right here. Right now.
Not because of our greatness or our willingness to war with you, but because of the greatness of the One we follow and serve, and His complete and triumphant victory over you.

Once again, as though this city has forgotten and been woken up from a long and dreamless sleep...

It.
Is.
Finished.

Poetic Kicks in the Fishbowl

2009-07-10T06:21:00.000-07:00

Making Peace on the Patio

watching now the lapping ride
of slowly going evening tide
crystal sparkle, steamed inhale
to dusky moon her dusty veil
riverside where lanterns dance
with swaying palms and hibiscus plants
I've rested here, so long unseen
somehow lost in the space between

find me now, your sweet dream's daughter
naked, bathed in moonshine water
come float inside my ribbon arms
enchanted by my sparkling charms
words that wait so long unseen
spill as we close the space between

Being the Wife of the Big Fish

2009-04-07T08:24:00.000-07:00

Lenny and I have been married for a little over two years. We are a blended family--when I say that I mean, he had kids, I had kids, now we have five altogether. I was single for about 7 years before we married, and it was hard. I was so happy when God finally gave me a husband. I shoud say, I was so happy when I finally realized exactly who it was that God had put in my path several years before when I met Lenny.

People have said to me (of becoming a pastor's wife)--"I'm worried about you. People are always watching what you are doing. Looking for failures." If you watch long enough, you'll see one, that's for sure. If you look to me to find the ideal woman, you won't. If you look here for the gentle, calm, industrious, strategic, smart, and perfect woman to which you will compare yourself (or to which husbands would compare their wives)--STOP NOW, because you won't find her here. Though on my good days I am some of those things, I am never all of them.

I guess my point is--expect me--like every other human being on the planet to not be perfect. I am not Jesus. Also, this may come as a shock to you, but I did not marry Jesus either. I guess like everyone else out there, I sort of expected Lenny to be, well, perfect.

Anyway--your Pastor and his wife, are human! We have problems and issues too. And also, just like you, we have the infinite power of God at our disposal to tackle them and wrestle them into submission.

Turkey Pot Pie--Fish Bowl Style

2008-11-12T05:58:00.000-08:00

On a lighter note, I've been messing around with my crock pot figuring out recipes that are easy and scrummdiddlyyum. I figured out a way to make a pot pie out of the crock pot. It is SOOOO GOOOD!

Turkey-in-the-crock Pot Pie

Ingredients:
About 1.5 pounds of Cubed Turkey or Chicken
1 cup Flour
Salt, Pepper, rosemary, thyme, sage and 1 bay leaf
Olive Oil
Chopped veggies: I use an onion, 2 celery stalks, about 5 small yukon gold potatoes, about 12 baby carrots (you can throw in a can of corn and or peas at the end if you want, but do it after the gravy)
1 large can of chicken Stock or broth
2-3 Packets of Chicken Gravy
1 pack of frozen fillo dough or puff pastry shells.

1. In a large ziploc throw in the flour some salt, pepper, (I use Nature's Seasons which is a seasoning blend.)
2. Shake up the cubed chicken in the flour to coat it well, then brown it in about 2 table spoons of olive oil in a skillet.
3. In the crock pot, throw in the chicken stock, add a pinch each of sage, rosemary, thyme, and 1 bay leaf (really only use a pinch each or the herbs get out of control.) Stir to mix in seasonings. Then add the chopped veggies, put the browned meat on top, 4. Cook for 4 hours on high or 6-8 on low. Cook until potatoes are soft. Stir rarely!
5. Preheat your oven to get it ready for the dough, then mix 2-3 gravy packets in 1 cup of water--the ratio is off on purpose. In a sauce pan, thicken the gravy.
6. Stir gravy into into the crock pot mixture. Turn crock on high heat to mix the stock with the gravy. You can add your corn and peas at this time if you want to.
7. While it is on high, take your thawed fillo dough and cut into 9 squares or your pastry shells. Bake in oven as directed.

To serve, in a bowl put a square of fillo pastry and cover with a ladel full of the "pot pie" mixture from the crock. Sprinkle parsley on top for added flair.... and
OH
MY
YUMMINESS!

Choosing Life for the Baby Fish

2008-11-07T05:28:00.000-08:00

If you do not know me, I am the birth mother of three children. I love them all uniquely, but very deeply--it's hard to qualify in words. Words just seem lame and inadequate descriptors of the deep and spiritual level of love we each experience in our relationships with our children.

My oldest daughter I conceived at the age of 19. I was in college, working, and partying. Having a baby wasn't in my plans at that time at all. Pregnancy was not easy for me. I was sicker than you can imagine. I lost 15 pounds in the first two trimesters. But never once did I ever consider aborting the pregnancy and ending my daughter's life while in utero. Don't get me wrong--the pregnancy was really hard, school was harder, life was harder, because I was a mom so young and with so much I wanted to do. But I chose life for her. But I'm so glad I did because now I have a smart, beautiful, kind, compassionate, generous, and amazing thirteen year old who I know is going to go out into the world and make a positive impact on the lives of others.

My youngest birth daughters are a pair of twins. My first pregnancy was a piece of cake in comparrison. I was grizzly ill for the twins. I received intensive medical treatment as they attempted to stabilize my system in the first two tri-mesters. I lost count after 211 different injections and IVs to administer medications. My arms were bruised and wounded. I lost 23 pounds, turned grey and became deeply depressed as I spent day after day after day in bed. Unable to walk to the bathroom unassisted. Unable to bathe unassisted. I wanted to die and considered ending it. But Ivy would come home from preschool and bop into the room to sit with me or visit for a few minutes. My mother took care of me for months.

At one point the doctor was not sure that I was going to survive the pregnancy and he mentioned reducing the pregnancy. Which is a "nice" way of saying, aborting the smaller fetus. Her name is Sydney, by the way. If we chose reduction, my health would greatly improve, though there was risk to the larger fetus. I was horrified and at that point decided if I died, we would all die together. God wasn't in the equation for me at that point as I was very much agnostic and had no real idea what death meant.

When Sydney was born at 33 weeks she weighed 3.6 ounces. If you have ever been in a neonatal intensive care unit, that's a horse in comparrison to some of the under 2 pounders they have in there. She could breathe on her own, but spent 3 weeks in the special care nursery. She would snuggle up on my chest in a tiny little ball.

That is her in the pic. Now, she is a fireball of passion packed into a petite little body. She loves deeply and loyally with a keenly sensitive little heart. She loves to play soccer and is a powerhouse on the field. She wants to play for the Florida Gators some day. She is one of the fastest runners on the field and loves to score goals. She loves to snuggle up next to me and love on me when she is sleepy. We love eachother in a deep and protective way. Our bond is special--perhaps because at some deeper level, we knew our survival was at one time, fully dependent on each's commitment to the other.

I urge anyone out there who is pregnant and scared. Who is considering abortion as a solution... do not gloss over the fact that what you carry in you is not just a fetus, but a baby with a future and the potential for greatness. Clinicians will intellectualize what you face. Do not believe that this is a matter of your head--it is your heart that is at stake. What grows within you is a child who will share with you a special bond of love. If you feel you cannot love the child, for whatever reason--then I do encourage you to exercise your right to choose adoption for your baby--because while you may not be ready for that close relationship with your child, there is a family out there desperate to love him or her. Choosing adoption is what will be the best for you in the long run; and for your baby.

For women out there who have made the choice to have an abortion, there is no condemnation for you. There is grace for that choice. Consult a Christian counselor and they can help you find the freedom that surpasses all the choices we make. Lastly, I would encourage you, to not hide in heartbreak, or guilt, or shame. If you once made the intellectual decision, only to find that it broke your heart you can help other women by sharing your experience. They are walking across the mine field, and you can show them where the mines are.

Heavy Stuff in the Fish Bowl

2008-10-03T06:49:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a great nation. A people who had wonderful ideals of human rights and democracy. But there was a deep dark secret in the nation, where a segment of people were not extended basic human rights. It took years of effort, but the people finally joined forces and rose up against this travesty and abolished slavery. It was a proud time. But it took years of hard work to ensure that civil rights were extended equally to this part of the population. But after generations and generations, we overcame it and came to a place of social acceptance, opportunity, and prosperity for people of all kinds.

Years later, the great, great, great, great, great, grand children of those slaves and those champions who fought to abolish slavery and to ensure enforcement of civil rights had forgotten about protecting the rights of those who could not protect themselves. And they elected a leader who seemed to be like them, but who supported conditional extension of basic human rights. Under his government, you are only entitled to basic human rights if you are born under certain circumstances.

Let me be more specific, the leader held the opinion that tiny babies who were born alive--in spite of attempts to abort them late in the pregnancy--should not be extended the same basic human rights as other human beings. (This is not a matter of opinion--it is a matter of public record. Google Illinois Born Alive Infants Act.) How do people even justify the abandonment of infants born alive in any context? If I were a woman carrying an unwanted pregnancy, and I gave birth in a bathroom at a bus station to a baby prematurely and left it in a trash can or in the bathroom in my home let it die in my bathtub, I would be tried as a criminal. But if this is done in a clinic or hospital, it's not a crime. What the hell?

Once upon a time there was a great nation that welcomed the tired, the weak, the poor, and the storm-tossed. Now we are a nation who welcomes the tired, the weak, ONLY if they are born wanted. The irony of this is on so many levels. How do Obama supporters gloss over this fact?

How do people not see the danger of disavowing any segment of the population because of any given condition of their birth? How is that fact converted into hope? Or freedom? I'm simply dumbfounded.

Killing Flies in the Fishbowl

2008-08-13T05:43:00.000-07:00

We have a fly infestation. Trash-can swarming, in-the-house-sneaking, fat, buzzing, disgusting, stinking fly infestation. There are hundreds outside of our house right now and they keep sneaking in. Somehow, someway, inevitably, when I am in my kitchen cooking or setting dinner on the table, a little bugger is buzzing around trying to take a sneak landing on the fruit salad or the taco bar. So, I've been frantically swatting them out of the air. I've actually snatched two of them that had gotten fairly fat and fly-slow, directly out of the air with my bare hands. My eyes wide, short of breath from darting all around chasing him, my hair flying in all directions, in complete, gritted-teeth exhaustion I snatched out in desparation. To my complete suprise and absolute disgust, I crunched him in my palm. Just as quickly I opened my hand in disdain, squealing in revulsion.

I should have made my husband chase down that fly. Then, I could have avoided the grotesque experience of having fly guts directly on my skin (gag!). But I admit it. I am guilty as charged. I try to do everything on my own and really almost never let anyone help me. Especially my husband. There was a time when I wouldn't even let him get me a fly swatter--nevermind actually pursue and kill the fly. The do-it-all syndrome extends into all areas of my life. Need groceries? I got it. Need dinner? I'll cook it. Need the lawn mowed? An electrical outlet changed? A bill paid? I've got gas in the mower, a volt meter in my back pocket, and plenty of cash in my stash. All the while getting more and more annoyed and wondering "why doesn't anyone around here do anything to help me?"

My self-sufficiency is praised among many until they try to help me with something. I have been so consumed with being independent, that once at dinner, while frantically trying to feed my twins who were chowing down the fish nuggets faster than I could split them it two, I attacked my sister for attempting to put a straw into one of the lidded styrofoam cups they had. No joke. Independent to the extreme. The truth is, when my babies were really, really young, 18 months in fact, their dad and I separated and I started raising them on my own. I had to do everything myself. Not solely because I was now a single mom, but because I had to know I could handle it. If I couldn't make it through three rounds of chicken nuggets, fries and soft drinks, how in the hell was I ever going to be able to handle 3 teenage daughters with their soft hearts and my fried nerves?

That all changed for me, or, err, ummm, started to change for me on 3-3-2007 when I got remarried. I married a man. Contrary to popular belief among many women and some men, a man is not couch ornamentation comprable to a large fluggy throw pillow. Their purpose is not to complete the montage of items required for a Norman Rockwell, Leave-It-to-Beaver throw back vision of the perfect life. I married a real man. This is not the kind of man that sits on the couch and does nothing while I manage a grease fire in the kitchen and supress hell-fire from spewing forth from my mouth and onto the children who are yanking at my ankles while I snuff out the flames on the stove. I married the kind of man that hears the kids harrassing me and walks into the kitchen to explain to them how they need to leave me alone and go play or says "here let me cook this and you can go take care of them." I married the kind of man that steps in to teach the kids how to be respectful and obedient and helps me to be the best mother I can be. That's the kind of man I married, and holy mackerel, it has taken some getting used to.

To go from being in complete control of every detail of my existence and solely responsible for my family, to actually realizing that it's not my job all by myself anymore has been tough. It has been hard to not look at him through the cracked and pitted mess that my rose-colored specs have become, but to take them off and see him for who he is. It has been hard to trust him and to release ultimate resposibility. It has been hard to trust his judgement. But what a wonderful thing it is in those moments when I am able to do so! When I am able to sit back and trust him to help, to take responsibility for teaching the kids with me. Everyone wins. He feels like he is a significant part of the family and like he has impact on the lives of the kids. The kids feel like they have a step-father that actually cares about who they become. And I am not all frazzled and freaked out by trying to do-it-all by myself.

The most recent fly killing consisted of my husband darting around our tiny kitchen, and me standing behind him in the doorway waving my hands in the open spaces if they fly tried to escape. He swatted and lunged, grunting in all directions. At times, he even growled. All the while I stood behind him, alert and aware of what was happening. I was helping out by standing in the background. It was a whole lot easier, and much, much less revolting to stand by. Supporting his fly killing mission--I was his wing man. The fly didn't stand a chance. My husband, the brave knight, chasing after a miniaturized, flying dragon weilding the golden swatter. It was all very Camelot.

5 Things I'd Change in My Fishbowl

2008-07-12T05:38:00.000-07:00

I've been challenged, to examine my life as if I had only 30 days left to live. What would I change? Tricky question because I consider this as a person in full health who is looking at this rhetorically. It might be a whole different story if I were to consider it while holding, in my hand, a crinkly piece of pink paper with carbon imprints holding the words 30 days to live on it. Nonetheless, when I consider the idea of what would I do if I was given that diagnosis, I inevitably have to consider how would I change the way I would live my last days. These are the 5 things I would change with brutal honesty and cutting self-reflection.

I'd be kinder to the people who are closest to me. Sometimes I feel sorry for the people who I love the most. I'm not explosively angry--at least not often, but I can respond with a too harsh and sarcastic tone. Living with me can be like walking on a fluffy shag carpet that has shards of broken glass buried beneath the cushy top. I can be sharp and too harsh with the ones I love. I also have a tendancy to close myself up like a Morning Glory in the afternoon sun. I can smile and seem open and friendly when I first meet people. But beyond that I can be difficult to know. Old wounds are so easily activated--the slightest prod and my heart can quickly be shut down. I'm a professional at this. When something my husband does wounds me, and it could be the slightest thing, I deliberately withdraw myself. I hold in my smiles and my touch. I withhold any praise and see everything he does as evidence for a case I am at trial with in my mind. Before the jury reconvenes, the gavel has resounded on the hollow mahogany--he's already been tried and convicted in my mind. I hold grudges over silly and foolish things--sometimes going days holding in my heart.

I would focus on squeezing every drop of joy out of each present moment. Since I gave up doing drugs and relationships as modes of self-medication, planning is the sweet anesthetic of choice in my life. If there are no minutes in my life to spare, I can't waste time wallowing in regret. I spend hours of every day booking my time full to the max and dreaming about where we will go and what we will do etc etc. So much so in fact, that the dull ache in my heart for missed and lost friendships and loves is dwindled down to nothing.

I'd write. Born a writer I believe. Gifted with the ability to look at the simplest thing, like a hazard sign on the side of a guardrail and suddenly a person is born in my mind. Trouble with me, I lack the self-discipline and conviction to use my craft. My dad was a writer at heart, though a fisherman by trade. One of my daughters is also blessed with the gift. Or cursed with it depending on your perspective. I have several journals with tattered, yellowing pages. They hold hundreds of manuscripts--poetry, short stories, children's books, starts of fictional novels. There is a writer buried deep inside of this skin--unfortunately fear keeps me from shedding my exoskeleton and letting her emerge.

I'd quit being afraid about what people might think of me if they knew my past. This goes hand and hand with the above. In order to write authentically, one must be willing to share the dark spaces in their mind. And to some degree, must be willing to allow others to peek into their souls. That's the wonderful comfort of fiction--anything you write can be cast off as unreal--but the writer still bears their inmost thoughts, what their minds are capable of thinking of, when they write of even the most horrifying things. I would stop regretting the money I wasted on pot and pills. I would forget about the wild partying with far too many shots of tequila or too many men in one weekend. Shards of memories of sleeping with men while nearly overdosing on drugs or alcohol would finally lose there hold and slip all the way down into the deep abyss of oblivion. Better yet, or even worse, I'd completely forget the equally terrible choices that I made while completely sober. I would just use those events and times as evidence of Jesus' remarkable work and transformation in my life and I would quit being ashamed of them.

Last but not least, I'd use the time I had more wisely. Death charges the simplest moments with remarkable clarity. A friend of mine died while we were in high school. I still see him vividly walking away from me under the flourescent lights and the subtle green glow of our high school hallway. Amid the buzz of passing time at the very end of the school day, it was the last time I saw him alive. Whirling away with his arms outstretched--quickly lost in the crowd. That moment is crisp in my mind. Fueled by the frantic and intense grief of the days that followed his death. I'd make as many memories as possible like that. I'd spend aboslutely only 8 hours of my life working and would only do it on work days. I'd spend more time with Jesus and I'd spend more time with my family. I'd absorb every moment of intimacy with them. Every smile, every hug, every meal shared, every hug, every kiss, every phone call would carry the buzzing elecrtical charge of mortality in it. I'd even let people take pictures of me.

So that's pretty much it... the five things I would change in my fishbowl if I knew I was going home in 30 days.