Visit Me At...

It's finally here. My new blog. Crazy to think of having a long-term blog, but I finally decided to take the plunge.

Seeking to be more intentionally focused on transformational living in God's kingdom on earth, I have titled the blog "The Unshakeable Kingdom." To find out why, read my first post at www.theunshakeablekingdom.wordpress.com.

Be blessed,
Christine

I Am A Queen!

One of our family jokes is that I am the queen. Not in a froo-froo princessy way, but more in a royal-feel-free-to-serve-me way.

Lately, though, I have been thinking they may not realize it's actually a joke. It seems every time I turn around my boys are doing nice and kind things for me. Of course they have always done nice and kind things for me, but I really think it's happening more and more.

For instance, tonight Boy 2 asked me to write down instructions for how to make spaghetti. When I asked him why, he said he wanted to make dinner so I could have the night off.

Both the boys and Mark show their love for me in myriad ways, and I wonder if I do half as good a job showing my love for them. Too often I walk into a room and see a mess instead of a family. I assign a chore and see what wasn't up to par instead of what was.

I fear I am in the same predicament with my love for God, Creator of the Universe. Despite His constant signs of love for me, I am far more apt to see things that aren't just the way I want them.

I'd like to improve my eyesight and begin to see things as they are meant to be seen.

More than Just a Name

My 40th has come and gone, and what a blast it was! I've been asked if I will continue to blog. I might, but if I do, I need a new title for my blog. 

I like to have edgy titles for things I write or teach. Titles can capture the imagination of a potential reader/listener. Good titles hint at something unexpected lying just below the surface of the title. Good titles reflect accurately the content of the piece while making room for a creatively fresh look at the subject matter. 

I don't really blog about a specific topic. Many of my posts are anecdotal tellings of everyday life. One day I might write a humorous blog, another day might find me tackling a serious issue. Often my tellings reveal something about God.

So what do I call this eclectic blog? What title will best reflect its content in an edgy and nuanced way? 

I don't know. 

Woot! Woot!

Well, here it is. My birthday. I'm finally 40. Woot! Woot!

To celebrate I asked my family if we could do a whole lot of nothing today. No studying. No housework. No cooking. No fuss. Just me hanging out with the three most beloved individuals in my life. Lovely.

Of course there were gifts. From Boy 1 a full-on, top-down housecleaning. A very clever card in which in which he gave me a lesson in birthday math (39 + 365 = 40) announced his gift for me. This is a huge gift considering how we all disdain housework. A true labor of love: doing something he abhors for someone he adores.

Boy 2 wrote me a letter and attached a large black bow. The letter informed me that his gift will be all the vegetables he will grow in the raised garden bed he built last weekend. Another labor of love: doing something he loves for someone he loves.

Finally, Mark presented me with a scrapbook of sorts. One which proclaimed that I ought to get out of town. To that end, the pages took me on a tour of an overnight trip for two to Chicago...one which my groom will be whisking me off on in the very near future!

All three gifts were a perfect reflection of what my family knows I love and appreciate. I love gifts that are homemade, given from the heart and hard work of those who love me. I love gifts that include time to spend with those I love. And I LOVE the cities of this world!!

Now that I'm 40 I don't feel any different. No, I feel just as love and blessed beyond measure as I did yesterday and the day before and the day before....

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I Love Ya...

Tomorrow is the big day, the mother of all birthdays, the culmination of this blog:

My 40th Birthday!!

You may recall that I started this blog in an effort not to let my big birthday be stolen from me. Being several years younger than most of the people I spend most of my time with, milestone after milestone comes long after they have come for my "older" friends. Consequently, by the time I get to the milestone, everyone else has so moved on.

In an effort to preserve the sanctity of my 40th birthday, I have celebrated the joys and shared the woes of my 39th year of life through this blog. And I have had a blast doing it!

Of course, I realize that this is just one more birthday. There will be no bells tolling for me tomorrow, I won't suddenly have life figured out and know exactly what God intends for me. In fact, I cannot expect to become anything more than one day older.

But oh the difference a day can make!! I love you, tomorrow!!

The Inside-Out Boy

A little more than 10 years ago Boy 2 entered this world with a gusto that flows far more than it ebbs. At the age of 3, when asked who he was, he stood upon the chair he was in, raised his hands to the sky and proclaimed, "I am KING of the universe!!" Of course, his dad and I have helped him better understand his place in the universe, but his great passion for living has not diminished.

More than just wearing his heart on his sleeve, Boy 2 shows all his emotion everywhere on the outside of himself. Indeed, I have taken to calling him the Inside-Out Boy. I never have to guess what Boy 2 is thinking or feeling, When he is sad, you see it on his face and in the downward droop of his entire body. When his is excited, step back and get out of the way!

Not only are Boy 2's reactions to the world obvious, they are always full of dramatic expression. He is never bored, he is at great loss for any iota of entertainment! Sleepy? No, "utterly exhausted." Happy is not a big enough word for Boy 2; he requires something more along the lines of "excruciatingly joyful." And if you ever have the blessing of watching that child eat ribs you will be treated to a full-on experience of palette pleasure.

Of course, this trait comes with its challenges. When Boy 2's feelings are hurt, his outward mourning is apparent to all and becomes for some invitation to hurt more. He's had to learn a time or two what kids will do if you let them know how successfully they got to you.

But far more than challenges, Boy 2's enthusiasm and gusto bring great joy. Simply watching and listening to him experience life is enough to give hint to the joy of the Father when His children enter full-on into living life.

So to say that I am thankful for Boy 2 would be to insult his Inside-Outness. Instead, I must insist that on this, the 8th day before the grand occasion of my 40th birthday, I am filled with such a rush of momentously loving emotion that I can hardly keep my feet on the ground!

The Chin-Strummer

For 14 of my nearly 40 years I have been blessed by my firstborn, Boy 1. From the very beginning Boy 1 has made his unique personality known: in utero snapshots often showed him strumming his chin as if deep in thought. A teacher once likened him to still waters that run deep and time outs never worked for he would simply sit in a corner and ponder.

A tender and compassionate heart pairs itself in Boy 1 with a strong desire to benefit the Kingdom of God on earth. A few years ago Boy 1 bought a bunch of stickers and began giving them out to younger kids he came across in the hallways of our church building. Another time he gave his entire savings (about $50 at the time) to buy school textbooks for some children who could not buy their own. Many small and hidden acts of loving service have always been a part of Boy 1's quiet stroll through this world.

In the midst of Boy 1's serious outlook on life runs a marvelous sense of humor and a love for the silly and absurd. And the love he holds for his brother, though appropriately well-masked by sarcasm and acts of aggravation, shows the depth of his heart.

Boy 1 grows evermore fascinating with each passing day. I am blessed beyond measure to be mom to this chin-strumming, seriously sarcastic and silly, loving deep thinker. 

He Has a Great Vocabulary!

Anytime I think about what I am grateful for, my first thoughts fly to my boys. One of those boys is my husband of 18.5 years.

I first met Mark 20 years ago this December. I was in my junior year in college, and he was a high school teacher. A mutual friend, David, convinced me to attend the book review Mark was giving at my college's library. I did not expect much from this book review, but I went to satisfy my friends.

I arrived a few minutes late and the review was already under way. Glad I would be able to slip in and out unnoticed, I found a spot with some friends. What happened over the next 30 minutes or so surprised no one more than me.

I noticed how cute Mark was right off, but as I listened I began to see a number of admirable qualities in this man I would have completely blown off if my friends had let me. Rather than slipping out unnoticed I became  determined to meet him.

When I got home later that night, my roommates asked me what I thought of this Mark Parker guy. "He's cute, has a great vocabulary, and is quite witty," I told them.

Twenty years later Mark ranks at the top of my list of blessings.

My Birthday Gift to Me

I've said for many years that I love having my birthday fall on Thanksgiving Day. Knowing the whole nation is giving thanks on my birthday makes the day even sweeter. I know that 99.9% of the people celebrating Thanksgiving are not giving thanks for me specifically, but it's still nice. So having my birthday of all birthdays fall on Thanksgiving seems appropriate.

Therefore, I dedicate the rest of my 40minus365 blog to the convergence of these two magnificent days by giving thanks for things that bless me tremendously.

Today, I would like to take a moment to give thanks for naps. I love naps. I adore them! If I were not already married, I would marry a nap.

Naps are so great I even dressed up as one for Halloween.

Naps are also quite useful. Think of all the times we hear the phrase, "Boy could I use a nap right now."

Naps are a luxury most of the world does not enjoy on a regular basis. I, however, have an opportunity to nap at least twice most days. I can generally get a nap in during at least one of Wee 1's naps and during the 4 o'clock hour when carpool is done and everyone is home.

That's not to say that I take naps twice a day...that would be gratuitous. I really don't even take one every day. But just knowing I could take a nap if I needed to makes me very happy.

For my birthday this year I am going to give myself a nap.

A Good Tired

I spent the weekend at the World Mission Workshop with 100+ mission-minded college students and the missionaries who were there to teach and mold the young students. There are few things more exhausting than college students interested in missions. One group that is more exhausting, though, are adults who are, were, or were raised as missionaries.

Mark and I spent a total of 5 years in Croatia in the early 1990s. Our oldest son, Boy 1, was born in the capital, Zagreb. We continue to cherish the connections we made with people and places in the country in which our marriage came of age.

14 years after returning to the States we are fully engaged in life here and find ourselves able to return to Croatia less and less often. Yet when we come across others who have experienced overseas missions, regardless of in which quadrant of the globe, we enjoy a unique connection like no other. It's not necessarily a better connection that the ones we share with our friends and family here; yet it is unique.

There are unspoken understandings among missionaries: understandings of how big and small the world is, of the brilliance of little children in other countries who so fluently speak their own foreign language, of the colorfulness of currency. With missionaries, common boundaries fade away. Differences in age, stage in life, and socio-economic status pale as we share a common bond of wanderlust and marvel at the inclusive nature of the Kingdom.

The energy that is generated by missionaries, passionate for the peoples they have come to love, as well as  for whatever ministry God has called them to in the present, is truly exhilarating. The only thing that brings that energy to an even greater pitch is the opportunity to light another heart on fire for God's mission in the world.

So after a weekend in the midst of all of that energy I am tired...but in a very good way.

Hooray!

Nearly a year ago, I began this blog as a light-hearted look at the year between my 39th and 40th birthdays. The year has taken some highly unexpected twists and turns, not all of which have been lighthearted; yet I remain committed to loving the experience of turning 40. 

To that end I have searched high and lo for a button announcing my new decade. I envisioned a black button with white lettering announcing that I'm as old as dirt. Once found, I would take that button an bedazzle it in a way that would make clear my boisterous celebration of finally reaching this long-coveted birthday.

On Wednesday of last week my search ended in a most unexpected and beyond imagination way! Lisa Jo, an amazingly gifted and crafty-in-oh-so-many-ways friend brought me a pendant which boldly proclaims: "Hooray! I'm finally 40!"

Thank you, LJ, for such a generous and perfect-in-every-way gift!

40 Minus 50

I will be 40 years old next month. Only 50 days away, the anniversary of my birth approaches steadily, and I still have not found my button proclaiming "Finally I'm 40!"

As I prepare myself to ring in a new decade, I realize this year's birthday is special for another reason: it is the same day as Thanksgiving! I love it when those two days overlap; it brings joy to know that the entire nation is giving thanks on my birthday.

I know, I know...they are not ALL giving thanks for me, but it does add a bit more joy to my much anticipated day!

The Drama of Parenthood

I watched an episode of the new drama Parenthood last night. I thought it would be an enjoyable, if vicarious, commiseration over the profound and absurd of parenting.

Parenthood portrays the family lives of the various siblings of the Bravermans. As I watched, I laughed with the mom whose teen daughter communicates primarily through superbly refined eye-rolling, I empathized with the father who wants to be noticed by his young autistic son, and I got irritated with the grandparents playing Wii with the grandkids when there is still homework to be done.

But in the end I also found myself dismayed. Throughout the episode the mom of the teen daughter struggled to be "cool" in her daughter's eyes. Of course, the daughter wants nothing to do with her own mom and spends most of her time at her BFF's house. On a rare occasion of finding her daughter and the BFF at her house, our Parenthood mom convinces her daughter to let her take the two girls to a concert. On the eve of the concert, our desperate-to-be-cool mom assures the mom of her daughter's BFF that she will be with the girls during the entire concert and make sure they are safe and responsible.

In response, the other mom waves her hand as if to blow off any concern and says something like, "Oh sure, whatever."

Suddenly it becomes clear to the discerning viewer why the teen daughter prefers the BFF's house to her own: lack of supervision. And the befuddled look on our mom's face indicates she now gets it too. And the mom is faced with deciding whether being "cool" is worth the sacrifice of properly supervising her daughter.

We all want to be the cool parents and to have the cool home where the kids congregate. But does this desire to be cool really require giving up supervisory rights? I would suggest (as would tons of good research and the experience of countless parents who have gone before us) that the opposite is true: Truly "cool" parents have fun with their kids and retain their parental authority.

But creating a place where teens can congregate and have fun while being properly supervised is a LOT of work. So, Mark and I have spent years getting to know the boys' friends and their parents and have, as a result, a network of "cool" homes where we know the kids are getting all the right supervision while still having fun.

Being one of the cool families requires sacrifice. It costs time, effort, space, and food...lots of food. It means we cannot go out when the boys are at our house with friends; it means we have to carve money out of  our food budget for feeding teens; it means going to pick up other kids and bringing them back to our house.

But there is one sacrifice no one in our network makes. None of us have traded being responsible parents for being "cool" parents. Indeed, we have all found ways to weave responsible supervision into our "cool" parenting.

And believe it or not, the kids do not shun any of us. Of course they roll their eyes at us, but they are also happy to hang out in our homes eating our junk food. And they talk with us and laugh with (read: at) us.

And none of the parents have to deal with the conundrum our Parenthood mom had to deal with, because the kids know they are going to get the same supervision no matter where they go.

"Are You Sober?"

The scene: 

Boy 1, age 14, sits at the desk working studiously on his Latin II assignment. Father sits on a nearby  couch reading. Boy 2, age 10, enters the room from kitchen and approaches Boy 1.

Boy 2: (with completely deadpan demeanor) Are you sober?

Father: Why would you ask him that? Of course he is sober!

Boy 2: Seems appropriate for me to know if my teenage brother is sober. 

Father: Well that was completely random.

Boy 2: Yep. (exits room)

Boy 1 silently returns to his Latin textbook. 

Life with teenagers amuses me.

The Coach Who Yelled at My Baby

Boy 2's soccer season started this week with practice and the first game. The volunteer coach clearly has his work cut out for him. With his recreational team of 9-13 year olds, Coach B is tasked with challenging the older, experienced players while teaching the younger ones in a way that integrates the fledglings into a cohesive team.

Growing up I did not play sports.  My 2nd grade foray into track and cross-country ended with the coach suggesting to my parents that perhaps I was rather small for running fast. I have since learned that some of the fastest people are some of the smallest, but that is another blog post. 

So when I first watched Coach B holler at my baby, my mother bird feathers were rather ruffled. I wanted to chirp loudly: This is a recreational team, Coach! The kids are here to have fun, not get yelled at!

But as I watched and listened, I saw what Coach B was really doing. He was not yelling at the kids, he was yelling to them. He was not disheartening them, he was setting a high standard and expecting them to reach it. Refusing to allow the older kids to slack off in the presence of the younger, he came alongside the younger children with teaching and encouragement. 

You can guess the result: a very diverse group of kids became a soccer team. With grins on their faces as they closed out the practice with a sprinting race against Coach B (who happens to stand over 6 feet tall with the long litheness of a runner), they finished strong and happy. 

Of course, looking back this all makes complete sense. Children and adults alike rise to high and attainable standards. Expectations coupled with discipline and teaching bring the best out of us.

On the way home from practice Boy 2 could not stop talking about Coach B. Thrilled with the challenge he was facing on the field, he explained that when Coach B wins the sprint, Coach will add 30 seconds to the next week's sprint. Boy 2, his 4'4" frame holding the heart of a giant, proclaimed, "I will beat Coach B before the end of the season."

Today I bought myself a Tall Pumpkin Spice Latte

Today I spent 15 minutes looking for the keys I needed to drive Boy 2 to school. Keys I always put in the same place, because I know I won't remember where I put them if I don't.

Today I went to work, to physical therapy, then back to work.

Today I generated paychecks for employees and set them on my desk to hand to my receptionist. They were still on my desk when she left at noon.

Today I went to a doctor's appointment to get a prescription filled which I did not need because said doctor had already written the prescription at my last appointment. My pharmacy has it on file and is filling it now.

Today I left my doctor's office three times: Once to make sure I had locked my car. Once when my appointment was over. And once after going back to my exam room to get my purse.

Today is only half over.

So today I bought myself a Tall Pumpkin Spice Latte.

Matilda

Alas! Has it been a month since my last writing? Why yes, yes it has. Just one more thing to blame Matilda for.

Who, you ask, is Matilda? Is she a house guest, who despite the fact that both fish and guests smell bad after three days, stayed a whole month? Is she a new addition to your brood of Boy 1, Boy 2, and Wee 1? Is she an imaginary friend?

Well, no, she is none of those (though there are times when I must re-convince myself that she is indeed NOT imaginary).Matilda is the name our family has given to whatever this/these illness/illnesses is/are that plague me.

I decided to name the havoc being wreaked in my body until such time as a doctor can give it a proper name. To say, "I'm sure having a Matilda day today!" is much easier than, "Whatever this is I've got...or had...or might have...or, oh you know what I mean...is really bothering me today."

And on days when my brain battles fiercely to get my mouth to say the words it has found and to find the words it's lost, proclaiming, "Stupid Matilda!" is not only easier but also somewhat gratifying.

For Her Eyes Only

For years I have held out hope for the early menopause my mother and grandmother both enjoyed...42 and 38 respectively. Being right in between those ages, I hope to average out the age at which our family's women go through "The Change." Consequently, about 3 years ago I stopped buying the Costco box that would last a whole year. I didn't want to get stuck with a bunch of pads when my time finally came.

As I near 40, I have more and more reason (read: unrealistic hope) to buy month to month. Consequently, I have been privy to the changes in the feminine hygiene industry and have learned much from my frequent perusals of Target's "Feminine Needs" aisle.

For instance, there must be at least 100 permutations of wings. They can be long or short. The peel off part can be one piece or two, or even part of the stuff that peels off the back (I'm not sure how they accomplish that one). Wings come alone or with "Cottony Soft Side Barriers" for full length side protection.

I've also learned good absorption depends upon myriad factors: Whether one has heavy or light flow and is wearing the product at night or in the daytime. The type of quilting, a variety of oval shapes, and the nature and number of the micro-thin layers of padding.

Fortunately for all of us, the complexity of the absorption problem has been solved by at least one feminine protection manufacturer in the form of a sort of all-purpose box containing pads of every length and level of absorption, making it possible for us to go from heavy to light days with just one box!

Finally, there is the bit of fabric that keeps a woman feeling fresh and clean all day long.

During a recent sprint into Target (after discovering that I had not yet been blessed as my ancestors had), I found something completely new to me:

Fashion Feminine Hygiene

I have never had qualms carrying a box of pads for my monthly through the store and then out of the store without a bag. In fact, I would be one of those women in commercials who plop down a box of kotex and look the male cashier in the eye while paying, if only those commercials existed.

But last night when I found the Fashion Feminine Hygiene, I walked taller and prouder than ever before!

Sleek with its black matte coloring and hip color accents, the box was decades away from Kotex blue and Playtex pink. But the real joy came when I got home and opened the box...every pad was wrapped in a different hip color that did not carry the shame of the peach, yellow and light green I'd become accustomed to carrying in my purse.

Maternity clothing may have joined the ranks of the hip and cool after my time, but I am glad to have had a chance to participate in the coming of age of feminine hygiene.

That said, bring on the change!!

My Thumb...It Burns Me, Or, Why I Like My New Yoga Class

Several weeks ago I found a yoga class that suits me perfectly. A good mix of the lithe and lumbering, I fit somewhere in the middle of the participants. The instructor is a perky, young, aspiring physical therapist who kindly teaches us how to make slight adjustments to our poses which facilitate a deeper stretch or make the pose significantly easier to hold.

The class meets at midday on Saturdays; not too early, not too late. The facility has a whirlpool I can sit in before class. Most days I finish feeling incredibly loose, relaxed, and generally wishing I could stay on my yoga mat and sleep for a few hours.

I have done yoga in fits and starts in the past, but it never resulted in a strenuous workout that did not require that I push myself harder than my body is ready to go. This class, however, is different. My own PT insists that I do nothing that pushes my body beyond a comfortable workout. Slowly Dr. Jim has taught me if I let my body go where it is ready to go in yoga, it will naturally get there faster than if I try to push it. My perky young yoga instructor agrees and often suggests one of her students pull back a bit and let the body find its pose.

So as I balance on various parts of my body upon which I would previously have sworn it was impossible to balance, the sweat running in large drops down (or up, as the case may be) my face attests to the strenuousness of the workout.

Not only have I begun regaining the strength I lost during the 6+ months of sitting on the bench while my body decided it was time for everything to hurt all at once, I have also come to love yoga...most of the time.

There will always be times when I stick out like a sore thumb because FMS pain forces me to modify and/or not do certain poses, even ones I perfected the previous week. But frankly I do not care because sometimes my own thumb felt like it is on fire (nerve pain can make you feel some funky things).

So I think I will stick with this yoga class, its perky instructor, and whirlpool prelude. And when my thumb burns me or various other funky feelings come upon me, I will simply modify as necessary and choose not to care.

Nunnymolers in the New Kitchen

For the better part of three weeks our entire family worked hard and lived in a bit of chaos as our kitchen was renovated. Since then we have been pondering what would serve as an appropriate celebratory meal in our new kitchen. Tonight Boy 2 got tired of pondering and did something about it: he planned, purchased, and prepared a three-course gourmet meal from the land of Redwall.

Redwall exists only in the minds of author Brian Jacques and his innumerable readers. In this land the mice and other small animals of field and forest often sup at a banquet table laden with delectables such as the Nunnymolers we feasted upon tonight, along with Shrimp and Hotroot Soup, Golden Hill Pears, and October (Ginger) Ale.

Boy 2 read most of the books written by Mr. Jacques (I think he has counted 32) over the past year. Every time he entered his school's library, the librarian chatted with him over the new volumes she had recently added to their collection in anticipation of his readiness for the next one.

As he read, I had the pleasure of hearing his laughter, exclamations, and empathy for the land of Redwall and its residents. More than a few times I heard Boy 2 exclaim, "Oh, that sounds so GOOOOOD!" as he read of their many feasts.

Perusing Mr. Jacques's website one day months ago, we discovered he had written a cookbook with many of the scrumptious recipes his Redwall folk enjoyed. Thankful for his hard work for our new kitchen and knowing his love for cooking, I presented him with his very own copy of The Redwall Cookbook.

Immediately, Boy 2 read the cookbook straight through and planned his first meal; the meal we all enjoyed tonight.

Although he insisted upon cooking the feast with only the help of his sous chef (Boy 1), Boy 2 did allow me to transport him to the grocery store for his purchases and sought my advice at certain points in the preparation.

Boy 2's efforts resulted not only in an unmatched culinary experience and grand celebration of our new kitchen, but a warmth of spirit as we all anticipated and enjoyed his meal. The satisfaction his father and I witnessed on Boy 2's face as we enjoyed his creations was priceless.

But the moment that topped it all for me was the moment Boy 2 looked at me and exclaimed, "I am so tired and my feet hurt! I cannot believe you do this every night!"