"I'll just turn in early," I told myself, 2 and a half hours before I turned in. The lure of the "second day" is just too much, with its relatively uninterrupted reading and eating food in its entirety, instead of breaking it into 5 pieces and handing it around to people who smell funny and talk really, really loud. So last night was no exception, with the ceremonial slooooow eating of chocolate and reading of substandard fiction.

This morning, they woke, as they always do, exactly 2 hours before I want to be alive. Today Tristan appeared in my room in the buff, au naturel, in his birthday suit, if you catch my drift. "Well," I thought. "He probably won't pee." and then I pulled him up to sleep between us. Moments later Toby came in gagging and falling over because Tristan had left a poopy diaper in his room. So. Time to wake up, I thought.

How I feel.

So I started the VBS prep process, which includes finding so many clothes for so many people. "You should do it the night before!" says you, Susy Helpful, "and also, you should eat wheatgrass!" I won't give you any suggestions in reply, Susy Helpful, because I am walking out my salvation in fear and trembling. Matching clothes, I think. Or at least complementary. Clean. Clean clothes, that mostly fit and don't have any noticeable stains. Man, I think. They're gonna give my kids vouchers for the food pantry or something. "Eat your cereal," I say 1000 times, but no one does because it has almonds and there's mutiny afoot. "Put on your shoes," I say 15,000 times, as Tristan, wearing only a diaper, runs frantic tracks around the house pushing a baby stroller. "Put on your shoes," I say, 12,000 more times, when suddenly I am accosted by a Very Terrible Smell.

An investigation is launched, in which I try to track down the inevitable feces while everyone else screams and gags and does not put on their shoes. Because I clearly have lived a wicked life, I found the offending substance, with my bare foot. And then I learned the Very Terrible Truth. Somehow, and it can only be by demons and devils, fecal matter had left a diaper and landed on the floor. And then, a small pink stroller had driven through it. Over and over and over. In a circle, through the entire downstairs. Over and over again.

"Well," maybe you're saying, "What would Jesus do?" and I'm warning you, Susy. You are on thin ice. Whatever it is Jesus would have done, I did not do that. There was some praying, but it was mostly focused on pleasegoddon'tletmepukepleasegod. The man of God, given the screeching options of wash-the-house or take-kids-to-church, made a quick exit with 2 of my children, who I really hope are wearing pants.

 I'll tell you one thing. That stroller is gone. I washed the humans. I mopped the floor 4 times. I scrubbed and vacuumed the rug. I threw away washcloths and diapers and the mop head and then I put the trash bag out of the house. Bottle of Febreze: empty. Hands, scrubbed raw. But I am not washing that stroller. It is dead to me. 

If anyone is looking for me today, I will be in my big chair in the corner, rocking and humming.

Sometimes I let myself think about a world where we don't have any screens in our house. No movies, no Wii, no Facebook. It's usually when I get to the no Facebook part that I break out in hives. The fact is, I created this monster. I introduced them to technology to give myself some space, and now it runs all of us. If we're indoors, then we're looking at screens. All of us. And we are usually indoors. "Well," I rationalize, "this is the way we communicate with the outside world. Just like the housewives of the 40's, hanging out on party lines, right?" "And besides," I tell myself, "my kids are learning how to be Steve Jobs, so..." The fact is, even if both of those things are potentially true, we are consuming for the vast majority of our screen time, and producing very little. 

I miss the pre-social-network days a little bit. I was more lonely, I'm sure, because I don't talk on the phone and few people in my season of life get to do a lot of hanging out with pals, but I know I was more connected to my kids. 

I read these articles, these people who unplugged for a year or months, and I am straight up jealous. I try to imagine what it would be like to do an outing with my kids or a group of friends and not Instagram it, to see a movie and not tell anyone what I thought about it. I wonder what it would be like to not feel the not unpleasant, but nagging obligation, to update my status and let my friends know where I am and what I'm doing. I try to think about how I'd pass my time, and if I'd feel isolated and go nuts. What if I just lived my life by myself, by myself with the people that are with me, I think. It sounds horrifying, lonely and so tempting. It also seems impossible. I live hundreds or thousands of miles away from my family and my lifelong friends, wouldn't I miss knowing the minute details of their lives? Right now I still feel connected to lots of people, because I know those details. What would it be like to lose that connection? "Well," you say, "you could always call them." That's a nice idea, but I've lived with myself my whole life and I know, I'm not going to call them. We'll just slip away from each other. I can't lie to myself about that, it would make a difference.

And the practical things, like mapping restaurants and running businesses and answering emails, how would that fit into an unplugged life? What if my kids are budding app developers and computer gurus of the future, won't they need computers for that? If you came here for answers, I apologize. I've only got questions, and your answers won't work for us. It's a case-by-case thing. 

So I try to make compromises, schedules, just less media, instead of none. Still, the reality that we could almost walk away from it all is there, in the back of my mind. I'm trying to think of a way to dial it way, way back, to turn our attention to art and music and books, and to only use technology for producing, for loving Jesus and people, for using our gifts and talents. I don't know yet how that's going to work, I'm just saying it's in the ol' mind percolator. Stay tuned. 

Somewhere in my early high school years, I took one of those personality tests... or maybe like a battery of them, it seems like there were a lot. My mama was doing career counseling and rescue work in the inner city and I read every book anybody ever left lying around, which is one reason I know some very disturbing urban legends that I have spent the last 20 years trying to forget. The thing is, I did all this personality testing and figuring out what color was my parachute and whatnot and determined that I was what was known as a "Sanguine-sanguine", otherwise known as "obnoxious". I was the ultimate extrovert, never met a stranger, etc.

Then I had children.

I think I'm still good in a crowd. I like almost everyone I meet and feel equally comfortable talking to groups and individuals. I can find a laugh in any situation and if I've got an audience, I will keep going waaaay past a reasonable cutoff time and wake up with a hyper hangover. The majority of my time, however, is spent with miniature humans who are relentless conversationalists that see me as a constant source of entertainment as well as a referee and human trampoline. Before my eyes are open, they are talking, asking, whining, and breaking me down. I have never been more fulfilled and exhausted. I get it, this is a blip in time, my time with them and I'm thankful for it. I love them deliberately. But sometimes I really, really want to be somewhere else for a little while.

The poor MOG got kinda tricked, because when we were dating and newlyweds, we were inseparable. We did our grocery shopping together, stood in line at the bank, got jobs at the same companies. And then, somewhere along 3 kids, I started needing a little recharge time, where no one was talking to me or touching me or, you know, in my sight. It perplexes him, because he spends his days with people who consider eye contact non-essential for meaningful relationship and then comes home ready for Extreme Togetherness Time (conversational, get your minds... sheesh) and I am ready for a Motherhood Dash where I take the minivan off a bridge. So I consider it a sign of his true love and attempt at understanding that my big present every year recently has been a 24-hour vacation, all by myself. Last year I never got to use it because of R2's illness, so we scheduled it for this summer.

Thanks to a couple of generous friends, my hotel room and some meals were paid for, which was amazing and left me with some cash for snacks and thrift shops. After eating some substandard Indian food, which was still interesting, I stopped at Target and bought strange mommy-only snacks, like a little shrimp tray and a chocolate bar with beef jerky in it. I moseyed around the library like a senior citizen and then took my books back to the hotel where I laid very, very still in the silence and read. I would never call myself an introvert, but it felt like a human battery-charge, just being so very alone. After a few hours, I struck out in search of some thrifting and tried to walk slowly and remember I had lots of time. Once it got dark I got some Greek food to go and ate it in my room while I watched a funny movie and did my own pedicure to save some cash, which ended up being a Bad Idea. I'll be wearing close-toed shoes for a week or two, I'm just saying. Then I read some more, until midnight when I took Zzzquil and forced myself to sleep in till 9, even though my brain was rioting at 7:30. I did some more reading, watched a sad movie, checked out of the hotel and had guacamole for lunch, because I could. I spent the rest of my time at thrift stores and Half-Price Books and then came home to a happy reunion and a house that was much cleaner than my usual work.

Somebody give the Lord praise, and also my husband.

Boys are very different from girls. I'm gonna go ahead and get all gender stereotypical up in here and y'all can just roll with it. I'm just saying with my sons, there are tears, there are moments of anger and hurt, but they are so brief and, at least so far, pretty easy to resolve. Girls are different. I only have one, so it's not scientific. But I'm right.

It was a rough morning, that day. There was a lot of emotions. In fact, there are always a lot of emotions. There are cities of emotions, with bridges and skyscrapers and pastures with animals and little Emotion Bureaucrats walking around with hard hats and briefcases, pointing wildly from one side to the other, as mountains of emotion shake and avalanche into the oceans of emotion. The bright side is that life is so exciting for her, and there is no one in the world that receives a gift better. The dark side is so, so dramatic and passionate, where angels fear to tread. I feel confident, that pointed in the right direction, this passion is going to make her an amazing artist, in whatever art form she chooses.

The day in question, all of the passion was pointed in the wrong direction, and there was a lot of screaming and wild matted hair and writhing on the floor and making dramatic threats, and also Brynn was screaming a little. I kid. It was all her, doing her imitation of a movie exorcism over some minor infraction and consequence, and me, sitting on the couch trying to be louder than her with my psychologist voice, and failing. Somewhere in between wishing I had a tazer and thinking about just moving her into her bedroom for a week, my brain heard my mouth saying, "Stop this. Get up, you're going to the store with me." Then my brain was like "Whaaaa?" because the last thing I wanted was to take a currently tantrumming child out of my home to audition me for Walmart's Worst Parent competition. Somehow, despite my internal struggle, she ended up cheerfully holding my hand and walking to the car moments later. I tell you what. This one is not going in the parenting book I'm going to write once my kids are old enough that I forget what little kids are like.

Our first stop was to get her a haircut, on the MOG's request. I had been fighting this, because I love the idea of long hair on little girls. The reality of long hair on little girls is less glamour and more conditioner and lollipops stuck in tangles and a lot of "owwwww-ing". She chatted cheerily throughout her whole haircut and I could tell she felt a hundred times better, and I'm enough of a female stereotype that that makes perfect sense to me. As we walked out, I noticed a nail salon and decided to get her a manicure as well. There's no reason... she spent the morning throwing fits and we're on a tight budget. I knew I should do it anyway. She got shy with the nail tech but on the way out she was singing on the sidewalk, "I got a haaaaaaaircut and beautiful naaaaails and I look like a woooooman," and I felt the pleasure of God right there, God enjoying me enjoying my daughter enjoying herself.

I don't know what I'm doing. Parenting is so much guesswork and instinct. I think a key is responding to invitations when they pop up- a moment to connect with my child's heart, even when that would not be my first or even second response.

She sang her way through Walmart and my heart grew three sizes for her, realizing my baby is a little woman and there are places in her heart and mind that only I really understand. This, the pampering side, feels like one tiny facet of the child I'm still, and will always be, learning. Time is rocketing past and I have these days, moments really, to know her heart and hear her. What a gift.

Our exploits into the Best Summer Ever continue. Today, we went bowling. Now, you might think to yourself, "Right, bowling. Luckily bowling alleys are meticulously clean, well-lit and child friendly!" If you think that, then you have a) never been to a bowling alley or b) repressed many painful memories or c) lost memories from some sort of secondhand smoke inhalation brain injury, maybe in a bowling alley or d) I could keep going forever. I mean it. I could make up about 5000 reasons why you don't know that bowling alleys are horrifying petri dishes with 40 watt light bulbs and old men with very long hair. I could do that. But I won't, because it seems like maybe I was planning to talk about something else before this digression. Ah yes. Bowling with my children.

We signed up for a program called Kids Bowl Free, and immediately got the coupons for 2 free games a week, or maybe even a DAY... it's a lot of coupons. We also got hit up a couple of times to pay a smallish fee to join the parents up too, but the husb is off being a suit for the teen camp and I don't bowl so much, because I am truly, amazingly bad at it and also bowling balls are horrifying and the only thing worse than thrift-store-hands is bowling-ball-hands. Just talking about it makes me need some hyssop or something. And I'm not any kind of germaphobe. Germaphobes would be sent to hang out with me for shock therapy. Still. Bowling balls.


The shoe rental was somewhere around $3 each, in case you actually believed this was free bowling. Still. Free-ish. They started strong, with bumpers and even a dragon shaped ramp to direct the ball, but you can only take turns rolling a ball so many times before you need to make a mad dash around the building, disturbing the 11 am bar crowd and getting a side eye from Roz. Roz is not her name, but it shall ever be her name.

I kept Tristan on the leash the whole time and still lost him on multiple occasions, and would find him bowling somewhere else. He's a maverick, I guess. When Toby was that age, he was horrified by warning signs with graphics like chopped fingers or broken bodies by diving boards. "I will never put my fingers in there," he'd say, and then he never would.  Not so much Tristan. I think he considers Caution signs as some kind of dare. You never get used to the panicked dive to stop a kid from mutilation, even if you spend all day protecting said kid from mutilation. Oh, and he licked the chairs. Because OF COURSE HE DID. My friend Mari came along with her  kids, and I don't think her 2 year old got in the ball return or threw the ball backwards even once. In fact, I think there was considerably less serious-mom-voicing going on over there at all, just, you know, bowling.

I'm looking at this summer, and it's just so real to me that I have a handful of summers at my disposal, and then they'll be doing something somewhere else, without me, and I'll be stalking them on the internet and using my serious mom voice on text messages. This is a year to make memories. All these experiences cost a little more than I expect, and they make me sweat, and they're tiring and complicated. Honestly, though, seeing them celebrate knocking down 3 whole pins and then talking about "next time" all the way home... I think I'm on the right track. Onward, summer days.

Most nights I hit 7:30 like a chunky kid cannonballing into a pool. I lay down with my laptop and take turns eating things and yelling random vague threats about what happens to people who don't sleep. Sometimes I refold the laundry baskets instead of putting them away and watch all the movies I wasn't allowed to watch back in 6th grade before I got married. 

It is in those moments, as I lay in a sweaty haze, overwhelmed at the thought of being responsible for 4 souls and increasingly aware of my crushing inadequacy and diminishing physical and mental strength, that I ask myself, “Hey, why not get a cat?” This is the part in the movie where you realize that Mama don’t just have a bad cough and start worrying about what kinda stepmama Daddy might foist on the brood.

These kids here have been clamoring for a pet ever since I accidentally poached their Betta. (who knew water temp was so important?) The thing is, the MOG and I are not really animal people. In fact, we’re almost anti-animal. Our primary objections have to do with the upkeep and, very specifically, their defecation. We already have humans defecating at random and horrible intervals and locations around here and the thought of bringing another species into the fun is not, well, fun. Also the Man of God was responsible for the burial (not the demise) of a number of animals during his childhood and as such, has hardened his heart to animalkind.

Somehow, the deterioration of my brain that began with the birth of my first child and continues to this day has led us to this point, when we decided, despite all the odds, to get a cat. In my defense, I’ve been thinking about it for a while and we’ve even done some informal polling around the house about cats vs. dogs. In the end, an animal that requires fairly little interaction and no outdoor trips was the animal for us. “Why not get a hamster?” you ask, and to me that sounds exactly like, “Why not get Ebola?”

So we got a tiny little kitten for free from the internet (thanks, internet!) and she pooped around the house for a few days and refused to eat the cheap food but has settled into her rightful place as Feline Ruler of the Home now, with her bejeweled collar and Fancy Feast. She has been the center of attention and the cause of countless fights, but in the evening she chooses to go and curl up with her tormentors and sleep, so I think it’s a bit of a mutual admiration society. As for me and the MOG, I wanted a lazy cat to come hang out with me while I read, and she nails that role. The MOG keeps telling me he has no affection for her, but this is what is commonly known as a “lie”. 

Animal lovers who might not perceive my affection through my snark: we all really like this cat and she has had excellent care. Fear not. 

This might sound like the beginning of a horrific tale of why you should never give animals away on the internet, but I don’t know. I almost think that we will grow old with this kitty, that she’ll be a fixture through years of family photos and maybe die when the kids are grown. Or maybe it will be some short-lived semi-terrible story. Time will tell, but so far, so good. 

I took my kids to the movies yesterday. Next time maybe I’ll just take them along for some kind of invasive elective surgery. Maybe I’ll get a bad sunburn first. That would be more fun. 

We went a few weeks ago, I thought, and except for that pooping-pants-episode (BY A KID) and the subsequent bathroom garbage can wailing funeral for the undies involved, and the arriving 20 minutes into the movie, it was relatively painless. I did not bank on going to a movie that other people wanted to attend. We got there early and it was already full, filled with slightly hostile Overland Park mommies who had their precious Madelyns and Emmets holding entire rows hostage while they picked up pretzel and hummus cups and organic apple juices. Brynn and Toby hauled the increasingly enormous popcorn and Coke while I dragged a sulking Tristan on his leash and tried to keep R2 from faceplanting in the dark. Around and around we went, like a sick merry-go-round of rejection and frustration. Desperate, I moved everyone back to the foyer and let them eat popcorn while I tried to convince a 25 year old high school student with a badge to find us seats, since we paid dollars to sit in chairs. He suggested we split up, and I almost told him that was a great plan since clearly my 7 year old is ready to live on his own now, but instead I squeezed all 5 of us into 2 chairs and tried not to be a human grenade. Eventually he found one seat in front of us and I sent the independent ones up there, which meant they immediately turned to hang over the seat and request popcorn and candy and I realized I was being sifted.

I offered vague threats and left everybody but Tristan in there and found a manager, and then another manager and got seats at a later showing, and even upgraded to the 3D, which was great except a) I had to remove everyone from our ideal situation and b) we had to kill an hour, which is easier said than done when you have a special needs kid who has been ready to see this movie since the sun broke over the horizon. Yesterday. We walked around Target so I could practice saying no a lot of times and then it was time to go back, but our snacks (being held for us at the counter) had been thrown away.

It wasn’t so much that I wanted to cry. I was too tired to cry, and besides, I had used all my liquid with the nervous sweating. We were given free snacks, which weren’t free since I paid for the first ones and then we went to the screen but they were cleaning it, and cleaning it and cleaning it, so we had to stand outside for another 15 minutes. Some kids would get bored but mine improvised and alternated punching each other and crashing into the elderly. Tristan just sat on the floor and drank Coke, which is something I don’t let kids have, but my parenting day was over.

Finally, finally we made it in and found seats. Everybody sat down and I was almost going to breathe when Brynn tried to swipe some Coke and dropped it in a sticky fountain of horror everywhere. Sit down, maybe you’re saying. For Pete’s sake, woman, let it go. Let me explain. In the 2 and a half hours we had spent roaming like the devil, I had not had a single kernel of popcorn nor sip of God’s nectar, and I needed it. I needed it. I left them all there, except Tristan, and got a refill, prepared to fight to the death should I be questioned. Upon returning to our seats, where all of the children were intact, I realized Tristan had lost a shoe, but I didn’t care anymore. By that point Tristan could have been naked and I would have just handed him the M&Ms and averted my eyes.

I think the movie was good. Mostly I just liked the part where I sat in the darkness for a while. In the last 30 minutes Tristan told me, “I go home,” and spent the remainder of time trying to escape the theater, except for that part where he laid down on top of the spilled Coke and played with the ice and I acted like I didn’t see.

On the way home, everyone but me talked about how it was the best day ever, so I think I pulled it off. I might never be the same, but nobody knows but me, and you people, unless the screaming and rocking tips them off. Fingers crossed! 

this post originally ran in August 2012. Click the link to read the whole post. 

... 

Now, having been justified by not punching anyone during dinner and acting like civilized human beings for at least 3 hours, you have been given this gift, to sleep in the fort behind the couch. And this gift was not of you, lest you should boast, but of the kindness of your mother, who hopes you will sleep past 7 am.

And your mother demonstrates this great love for you, in that she brings all the pillows downstairs and piles them up and threatens you in a very kind voice not to wake up your siblings who were not so justified.

... click here to read the rest!

You might be wondering about my fitness journey. I'm wondering about it myself. Ultimately, I think it comes down to my only being able to be good at one thing at a time. The last 2 weeks I have been the Best Mom Ever, which goes hand in hand with the Slightly Chunky Mom. I am going to attempt to coordinate the world of Fun with the world of Fitness so I can be that Hot Mom at the spray park, but so far, no go. I'm still working out and videoing, just not as thoroughly or frequently. The vlogs will return, soon. 

I made a kinda-goal this summer, to find one inexpensive and fun thing to do every week. I have ulterior motives, in that I feel a lot less like punching a kid when we're out doing something fun. (Disclaimer: I have never punched a kid.) Last week I overdid the fun a little, maybe, with a movie date, a zoo debacle, fishing at a friend's house, and other things that I can't remember because it was so hot and loud for days and days. Most of these events are solo parented, as the MOG has entered the black hole of Teen Camp and will not be spotted again until August.

Today we went to the Curious George Exhibit at the Crown Center, and I'm gonna give you a straight-up review. (Disclaimer 2: I am not sponsored or paid by Crown Center. I'm also not above it. Crown Center, shoot me a text.)

The thing I was most concerned about was the parking and walking part, but the parking garage was easy to find and navigate, although I parked on a floor with stairs and had to fold up the stroller and hike a flight while keeping Tristan in bounds with the sound of my Stern Voice. My posse ranges from age 14 with a developmental age of 2, to 7, 6, and 2.5.  We strolled Crown Center for a while, taking pictures and window shopping. It's pretty wide open and easy to track a kid, even when they are running way ahead of the 2-lines-in-front-of-me boundary. We stopped in the Crayola Store and they drew for a while before we browsed the rest of the store. I was trying to do a really low-budget trip, so we didn't buy anything but there was a lot to look at and interesting displays.

The Curious George exhibit was on the 1st floor, in the back corner of the building, which is nice, because even a dedicated runner would have to evade a parent for several minutes to get near an exit door. The exhibit is in a relatively small space but it's packed with interesting stuff. All of my kids were captivated for the 1+hours we stayed. Tristan was most interested in the old telephone. He was using it as a command station and all the other kids at the exhibit would make way for him. I lost track of him multiple times but was able to spot him every time before I even got to the stomach dropping portion of finding a 2 year old in a public place.

There were several stations that played with light and shadows, projecting patterns on the wall, altering shadows and doing shadow puppets. There were also 2 stations where you could use wind to move things. The station where you could spin pinwheels using high-powered fans was R2's favorite. He was so excited to see the cause and effect. Toby spent a long time trying to build a windmill out of Tinkertoys but eventually gave up and found a station where you turned a dial to move giant blocks along a conveyor system. All 4 of my kids loved that one, and took turns without being prompted, just because there were several things you could do there. They also had benches with books, a grocery store with a cashier station, and countless little areas to explore. I think I could take them back and they would have just as much fun.

Once they were done, we found a happy spot by the windows to eat our lunch. Crown Center has tons of restaurants (and they smelled awesome) but the seating is set up for people to be able to eat pretty much anywhere, regardless of whether your food came from home or a restaurant. We ate our sandwiches and the candy we bought at the Candy Store (about $9 a pound, each of my kids chose a handful of candy and we got out for about $5). I had hoped to go to Fritz's for dessert, but it was getting too close to naptime and Tristan was starting his let's-get-mom-arrested act, so we strolled across the street to the Sno Cone stand instead and (I know it's so much sugar, that's why it's the best.summer.ever.) they got to pour in their own syrup, which was the apocalypse.



Curious George exhibit: Free
Parking: 3 hours free w/ validation
Candy Shop: $5ish
Sno Cones: $6 (we split 2)
Total cost: less than $15. Win. 

Next week: "Free" bowling! Stay tuned.

I spent my first 20 years bouncing from Charismatic church to Christian school, to a Christian home, to a revival youth ministry to a revival road ministry. Somewhere along the way I got tired of hype. Don't misunderstand me, it's not all hype. But there was hype in me, some kind of tendency to pray louder and make more rules to try to gain God's favor, or more honestly, to get God to obey me. And this wild, beautiful BIG God is not very obedient. He is good, He is love, but He doesn't take orders.

So when my world collapsed and I was left fatherless, with a severely disabled child and 2 other children that I watched suffer and die, all the rules and my holy heritage held little comfort. I found myself clinging to the life raft that was the love of God, with all the other tenets of my faith floating by me like debris. Many of those "sure things" sank in that storm, and the ones that stayed afloat are all tethered to His great, great love.

Some of it was right to shed. I don't make a lot of judgment calls these days, I am more likely to give someone the benefit of the doubt. I am more compassionate and more relaxed. I have gray areas, some that are compromise and some that are healthy questions. I am more aware of suffering, more aware of the damage an ignorant "faith" can cause to the injured. I am less sure of what God will do, and more sure of who He is.

"Do you trust Him?" people will ask me, usually people who are adrift in those same seas of pain. I tell them I do, I trust Him to be good, in the deepest way that anyone could ever be good. I trust Him to be present. I trust Him to be enough to get through the grief. I do not trust Him to do what I expect Him to do, or to give me the outcome I really want. Maybe He will, I say. That's why I ask Him. But if He doesn't, then I know He knows how sad and angry that makes me, how I wish I could hit Him and scream at Him, take out my rage and my helplessness on Him. I also know He is not afraid of my anger or my pain, He is not angry because I am broken and afraid. He is the ultimate Father, absorbing my blows and my questions and standing solid and secure. When the storm is over and I am spent, He is the same, solid and secure, my safest place.

I've been resting for a long time, healing. I'm realizing now that the time is coming, or is here, or has been here for a long time, time for me to let my brokenness become more of a backdrop and less of a shell that protects me. I'm a cynic. I'm a cynic that laughs at things I truly believe in, like that God still speaks, that He still heals, that the Gospel matters. Somewhere I stopped laughing at "human videos" and started being embarrassed of Jesus. I don't know how, yet, to embrace an authentic and loving Christianity, free from hype, while still being vulnerable to the truths that are essential. 

I don't know, I don't know how. I'm just taking a step to say I don't want to be jaded anymore. I don't want to be critical of the "church". I don't want to be afraid of commitment. I don't want to actively resist being a leader because of my mistakes and my wounds. Somehow, I want to use all of it and come out being solid and secure and safe. I guess I'll start by talking to Somebody who knows.