Oh no - part II

I just want to clarify something I wrote earlier regarding my reaction to someone having the "nerve" to question Brian McLaren, who just happens to be our pastor. Please believe me when I say that I am not going to blindly cheer Brian on based on the facts that he is a "great guy" and because I have certain biases against certain churches due to my experience growing up. No. What I am defending is the right to think beyond the church rules I was taught (that does not mean to ignore them!). It's the same feeling I had back during the elections. I hated the feeling that if I was really a Christian, I would be voting for Bush. Well, sometimes I feel like if I were really a Christian, I would dress a certain way for church, or worship a certain way, or pray a certain way... the list goes on. If my relationship with Christ is truly personal, as I was always taught, then it really should be personal. No one knows me like my own creator.

I "Googled" Brian's name and the term "Emergent" hoping to get a better understanding of the whole conflict over all. And, to be honest, to also double check my opinions on the book against scripture. I don't want to stray from Christ, regardless of who may be doing the talking. Yes, I like Brian, but I like Christ more. And in all honesty, I still stand by my opinion that Brian isn't trying to lead Christians into a murky land where there is "no right and no wrong". But then, I'm capable of reading his books and making my own decisions and forming my own opinions. Maybe that's the key? I don't know.

I'm sure that for every Christian book out there, there is someone who will read it and take it the wrong way, or use it as an excuse to act out their personal agendas or as evidence that their way of thinking is the right way. It's the price we pay as humans trying to come to understand the Divine. Will I blindly read and believe everything I read that comes from Brian McLaren? No. But I will read it. We don't attend Cedar Ridge because Brian's the pastor. We attend Cedar Ridge and Brian happens to be our pastor.

I don't want to be a part of some new movement, a cool new group, whatever. I want to serve Christ by serving others. I want to show someone the love of God instead of just telling them about it. I want to show others how much they are loved by doing something they think no one would bother to care about. I don't want "Christian" to be a dirty word. Will someone help me out here, please?

Missing my church - Part II

So I miss my Vineyard. Or as my grandma calls it, "The Winery". She can never remember the name. And she is hard-core Catholic so she thinks we are a bunch of loons.

I know where this feeling of homesickness for my church started, and when. Last summer. That's when I met Cruz Estaban.

Because of the hurricane that hit here in the DC area the year before last, BGE had tree trimming crews out all over the area trimming back from the power lines. We had tree guys in our neighborhood for a few weeks. One day, I came home to find 11 or so Latino guys sitting in our front yard - under one squatty little tree - eating their lunch. It was 90+ degrees and I noticed that none of them had anything to drink. We had a bunch of pop (no "soda" for me, thanks) left over from a picnic the week before so Liam and I gathered it up and took it outside. Ha! You couldn't get much more "Vineyard" than giving away free pop (unless you clean toilets. But that wasn't an option.) Anyway, I'm not sure if the guys were more shocked by the free drinks or the fact that we were talking to them. We got a round of "Gracias" and then the crew leader came up. He asked, with a heavy accent, if I spoke Spanish. **Insert laughter here**

**Not only do I not speak Spanish, I dropped it three times at the University of Maryland. I considered it a gift from God when the university gave me a diploma without me having completed my language requirements. Now, being the honest person that I am, I took the diploma into the school office, told them they'd made a mistake and showed them my most recent transcripts. They thanked me for my honesty. Then proceeded to send me another diploma two weeks later. My knowledge of Spanish is limited to anything I've ever heard on Sesame Street or Dora. And "The Song of the Cucumber" by Veggie Tales. I can say "like butter on a bald monkey" with the most authentic accent imaginable.** Back to the post.

Anyway, the crew leader asked if I spoke Spanish and I had to reply that no, I didn't, silently cursing my collegiate self. He pointed to the American flag tangled up on itself outside the house -- tangled in just the right way so that it looked like the Puerto Rican flag. He had thought we shared a common language. Regardless of the language barrier, he introduced himself -- his name was Cruz. He gave me a business card for his landscaping service. He asked how old the boys were and said Liam was a very good boy. Then he thanked us again and he and the crew climbed back up into the trees.

The next day was just as hot as the day before, so late morning I took out some bottles of water in the cooler and a big pitcher of lemonade. I told Cruz that his guys could sit at the patio table under the umbrella in the shade of the house to eat if they wanted and ten minutes later the lemonade was gone. When I went out to get the pitcher to refill it, I was greeted with a few "Hola" and "Gracias" from the tree tops and some head nods or waves as well. We kept the water and lemonade flowing for the next few days as the crew worked up and down the street.

One morning I caught Cruz as they passed through the backyard from the school where they were parking the truck. I let him know that I was going to church to do some painting and that the guys could feel free to use the backyard for lunch. I had set out the cooler again and when it was empty, they could refill their water from the hose if they wanted. The word "church" seemed to strike a chord with him, and I ended up learning that he went to a Spanish speaking church in Annapolis, where he lived with his family which included boys Liam and Sean's age. The heavy accent and lack of language on both sides made the conversation hard, but he was very interested in where we went to church, what kind of church it was, what they taught. That's when it hit me.

I started to say, "My church has all kinds of things they do, and they do it in Spanish..." when I realized my church didn't have all of that. I realized that I had been taking in all of what the Vineyard had to teach about service and showing God's love in a practical way... and now felt like I was left alone with no way to further that small relationship that had started. I wanted to ask if Cruz's family needed anything. If they had good friends to help them in their walk with Christ. If they had a walk with Christ. If they missed their home. If they had a place here where they felt at home. But I was afraid of the answer. What if they did need a church home? Or resources for language classes? I had nothing. I didn't know where to point him, so I didn't ask.

I'm not faulting our current church here in Maryland for not being "The Vineyard". But I want to know what I'm supposed to do with these convictions that I carry. Like I admitted above, I have never been good with foreign languages. Never really had an interest in the Latin American culture. But lately, I feel like there is an invisible sub-culture that is largely ignored by many of us. The people who clean the floors where we shop, bus the tables where we dine, and trim the trees where we live... many of them have left their homes, their families, everything that is familiar to them. And have come here and live in many of the places that we don't think are good enough for us to raise our families.

For now, I smile and wave to Cruz and his tree guys when we see them in the neighborhood. I try to buy flowers from the guys at the intersection near our house when it's raining or snowing. They don't speak any English except "Five dollars" but I hope looking them in the eye while I say "Thank you" makes some little impact (and if it snows, I'm taking hot chocolate down there tomorrow!). My heart hurts that I feel so inadequate when there is so much need. And for more than stupid things like a "Thank you" or a wave or hot chocolate. But I don't know what else to do with it. So I'm still praying.

Oh no.

"...in a narrow place between two rocks there came to meet me a great Lion. The speed of him was like the ostrich, and his size was an elephant's; his hair was like pure gold and the brightness of his eyes, like gold that is liquid in the furnace. He was more terrible than the Flaming Mountain of Lagour, and in beauty he surpassed all that is in the world, even as the rose in bloom surpasses the dust of the desert. Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him. Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou are welcome. But I said, Alas, Lord, I am no son of Thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me. Then by reason of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, Lord, is it then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one? The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him, for I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost though understand, Child? I said, Lord, thou knowest how much I understand. But I said also (for the truth constrained me), Yes, I have been seeking Tash all my days. Beloved, said the Glorious One, unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek." - The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis

Today, I had my first experience with someone accusing our pastor of being a nutjob. They based their opinion on Brian's book. A book they haven't read (there seems to be a lot of that going around -- this particular book being reviewed without having been read). This person's opinion, and the people backing that opinion, focused solely on who was right and who was wrong rather than what was right and what was wrong.

When I was seven or eight, I received The Chronicles of Narnia for my birthday. Even at that age, I had the slightest notion that some of the things in the books would have been slightly controversial if the wrong people chose to pick up on them. Being in a Christian school, where kids asked questions such as "what about the natives in the deepest jungle, who have never even heard of Jesus... will they go to heaven?" made this particular passage extremely important to me. For some reason, I seem to have made a connection between the ideology put forth in this passage and Brian's book. I'm just not eloquent enough to put the link down in writing.

I'm sorry if that makes little sense. The boys are having a "Mighty Beanz" race in the other room.

Church (again)

Please let me tell you about my church. Not the church we attend now, here in Maryland. I really like our church here, honestly. But when I think of "my church", I will probably always think of the church where I became a believer. The Springdale Vineyard, in Cincinnati. NOTE: this is often called the "Cincinnati Vineyard" because it's the largest one in the city. But there is a Cincinnati Vineyard. Not the same church, though part of the same group.

At the age of 21, after 12 years of Christian schooling, I decided that there might actually be people who didn't care that I was a mess, they just cared. Sitting next to my oldest friend (Hi, Jenny Hoop!) on a Big Wednesday night at the Vineyard, I sat and cried to myself as I realized that all of those altar calls in chapel had meant nothing to me. I quietly realized that Christ loved me. But even more important? I realized he liked me too. And thought I was someone worth spending time on. I was hooked. Every Sunday I went and listened to Steve Sjogren talk about his struggles as another regular person who just happened to be a pastor. He sounded remarkabley real to me. Dave Workman was the music leader at the time and made you forget you were in church. His hair was a running joke. People at church didn't make jokes as far as I'd ever known (or at least, didn't make jokes I actually thought were funny).

Obviously, I have an emotional attachment to the church where I came to know Christ. I made a lot of decisions -- hard decisions for a 21 -year-old -- based on convictions that developed over my time at the Vineyard. When it was announced that we would be building a new building, I got a little nervous. I had been in churches in the past where money took over when new buildings were in the works. Sermons about love and compassion were replaced with talks on tithing, giving more, stretching yourself so that God could bless you because you gave more, and how you were a terrible person if you didn't give more, dammit. I hated new buildings. That changed quickly. Someone at the Vineyard must have realized that the money had a way of taking over. So they gave the money away. Gave the building fund to another church so that church could buy their own church building outright. Invited the pastor to one of the services and handed him a big ol' Price Is Right sized check (you know, the big cardboard ones -- Vineyard loves the cheese). I was floored. And the new building still got built. How? I don't know, exactly. I'm thinking that if God needs a new house, he can build himself one. So He did.

Fast forward five years. The Springdale Vineyard has been in their new home for over four or five years now. It is immense. "Why do churches need to be so big?" My answer to that initially is "why do you care?". There is usually a disdainful attitude attached to the "Big church" question and I feel defensive when I hear it. I say, shut your mouth and go watch and learn. Then get back to me (NOTE: I don't think churches have to be big. But I also don't think it's a sin if it's over a certain size).

Carved on the side of the immense Springdale Vineyard is this sentence -- "Small things done with great love will change the world". That simple prhase is the backbone of the Vineyard. They walk the talk. Why do they need a big building? Because they do small things. A lot of small things.

"Servant Evangelism" is what it's called there. "Showing God's love in a practical way". Showing up at Target with a bunch of people and umbrellas to walk shoppers to their cars in the rain. Going to stores and restaurants offering to clean toilets so the employees don't have to, and to give them a break so they can get home a little quicker (NOTE: cleaning toilets makes people FREAK. Why would you do that? I don't get it. Yes... I have to clean the bathroom before I can clock out. Why do you want to do it for me? I don't get it. Seriously. Sure God loves me, but you're telling me He cares if I have to clean the bathroom every night? Nuh uh.) One Sunday, there was a video of Steve (the pastor) and Dave Workman (music leader at the time) on a moped in Downtown Cincinnati racing around putting quarters into expired parking meters. The background music was Mission Impossible. That was one of the more sane videos (Click here for another one - it's a take off on the identity theft commercials on tv. It's funny. And that guy is Robbie Reider, the worship leader).

Anyway, the Vineyard is fun and funny. But also very important to the local community in which it exists. MercyWorks offers services from oil changes for single mothers to medical care to English classes for Spanish speaking immigrants who would otherwise be without. Run, for the most part, by volunteers. One service is translated in sign language (there is nothing quite like seeing the large hearing-impaired community at the Vineyard collectively signing the worship songs during a service). Another service is translated into Spanish and one section of the church has the translation piped into headphones (the kind you often see offered for the hearing impaired). Vineyard gives away at least 80% of the money it takes in. And the investment is obvious in the lives of those who are touched.

This post is in danger of becoming too long. There are reasons why I've been homesick for my church lately. I'm hoping to post more on it. Mostly so I can figure out what I want to do about it. I feel a need but not sure how to fulfill it. I'll keep praying, and probably typing, and I'd love to get your feedback (if there actually are any of you out there reading this). I've added links to the things that had links. Please feel free to check them out and hopefully you'll see what it is that I think is so important.

My Life - The Past Month.

Holy poop. It's been a long year so far and it's only February! What the crap?!

So far, for our little family, our last month has included the following:

- Pink eye (Liam)
- Virus (Rusty, two work days missed)
- Strep throat (Sean)
- Ear infections in both ears (Sean, accompanying the strep. Because, hey. Strep itself just isn't bad enough to deal with when you're three.)
- Sinus infection (Me. Twice. Within four weeks. Or possibly the 1st infection just never went away.)
- Bronchitis (Also me. Also twice. Or same, again. Along with the sinus infection. Good times.)

Yeah. All of that has been within the last two-three weeks. I'm spent. Oh, I almost forgot. And along with the sickness? A hole. A gigantic hole. In one wall. Well, that's not accurate. "Hole" implies that the wall is still present. This wall is halfway gone. It's a good thing. A very good thing, actually. But taking down half of a wall - a LOAD BEARING wall - well, that takes time. And two huge steel beams to distribute the weight. Let me show you...




The drywall is down. This is the frame of the wall that existed between our dining room and kitchen. Notice the massive MESS. The kitchen is getting totally redone next, and we still have packed boxes from our move out of the storage unit in Ohio over Thanksgiving.





The braces have been put in both sides, so the framing can come down to counter top level. Still a massive mess. Also? Notice the ugly chandelier up on the right sticking in the photo. It had hanging crystals (plastic crystals) and lots of bright brassy gold. It made my head hurt therefore I removed them.





Countertop is starting to take shape overall. Lots of drywall work to be done.





Looks a bit better, and you can see the steel beam on the left side inside the wood frame-up. Also, new chandelier. It's brushed silver/pewter and has the glass with "bubbles" it in, like old fashioned imperfect glass. It also has a glass detail in the center of the bottom, but you can't see it from here. And? That white paneled wall used to be brown. Two coats of primer and five coats of paint cleaned it up.






Ahhhhh. The lovely wallpaper in the kitchen. Can you believe we want to get rid of that?

So the work is almost done. We've hung two pendant lights over the countertop, the drywall is almost finished and we can start priming and painting the dining room side soon. Next up? Cabinets have to come out and wood laminate flooring in kitchen has to go down so we can get the appliances and new cabinets in. I'm really really thankful we're able to do this. don't let my frustration and impatience fool you. It's making the house our own. And we're doing most of it ourselves (A contractor did the load bearing wall framing and drywall up to now. We've done/are doing all the rest on our own.) It's just a long road a head as far as getting things finished and being able to really clean up the house and have a place for everything. And be rid of the drywall dust. And this is aside from the family room where we removed paneling, re-insulated and drywalled and now have to prime and paint as well. Yee HAW! It's a good thing I like doing this stuff more than I mind the mess! Pray for us.

World On Fire

If you haven't yet seen Sarah McLachlan's "World on Fire" video, please click on the link and watch the whole thing. It's astounding.

Sarah McLachlan - "World on Fire" Video

*Sidenote: the first time I saw this, it followed Britney Spears' "My Perogative" in which a luxery sports car is sunk in a swimming pool in the first few minutes... (it's not hard to make Britney look bad at the best of times, but as a lead in to "World on Fire" it's just another sign that our culture is rapidly swirling down the toilet).

Liam's not a baby anymore

Well, it had to be done. Rusty and I were able to keep the most gruesome photos/video from Liam and Sean all week. But realistically, with Liam now in kindergarten, we realized we were going to have to tell him something about the Tsunami or he was likely to hear it all at school. Most likely not from a teacher or adult, but from another child. Which brought back memories of our six weeks of terror while the cicadas invaded this summer. Six weeks of terror because Liam had been told Cicadas 1.) flew into your mouth and choked you to death. 2.) Bit you. Sometimes to death. And my favorite - partially because the kid that told him this is one of the sweetest kids and I think he honestly believed it was true because the bigger kid across the street from him told him so... 3.) Cicadas spit acid into your eyes. With a possibility of death because after all, they're five years old. And they're boys.

Anyway, we decided to tell Liam the facts about the Tsunami so that if he did hear anything at school, he wouldn't totally be freaked out. He's in an ESOL school with children from a variety of countries/backgrounds. We weren't sure who may have been affected and/or how. I was really nervous about it because of that fine line between impressing the reality of the situation versus terrifying a five-year-old kid. But Liam sat as we talked and looked very serious and asked if he could see the pictures on the news. I had just turned on NBC and they were doing a relatively tame montage of photos/video that I had paused when Liam came in the room. I rewound and we watched the shots of the wave crashing over the hotel wall into the pool (no people in that shot, but you could hear screaming), a boat being tossed around and then tipped over, people standing in front of their wrecked homes, and others waiting in line for food. I explained the basics of what had happened, why they had to now wait in line for food and water, what we were doing about it as a country and as a family, and why it couldn't happen to our house (because we're a few hours inland) without having him decide he never wants to go to the beach again. I also told him that man people had died, including many children. Liam was reverently enthralled. And visibly sobered by the images. But not scared. He was actually very concerned for the people involved, and interested in the mechanics of a wave big enough to do so much damage. And he mentioned that he could hear the people screaming in one of the videos.

So here's where I realized I wasn't dealing with a baby anymore, but a real kid at this point. Liam kept asking if he could watch more of the news. I couldn't tell if he was thought the wave smashing into the pool was "cool" or just wanted to stay up, or what. We had, after all, seen the very tamest of images compared to what's been broadcast all week. So I said "Liam, what happened is very sad and the news was hard even for me to watch. It's not pretend or funny, it's real and it really happened to people." Liam looked seriously offended and said "I didn't think it was funny or pretend. But I want to see what happened!" If it hadn't been the night before school started again, I believe I would have let him stay up and watch some more.

I'm still glad we kept the majority of images and newscasts from Liam throughout the week. I got the impression even last night that the people screaming and crying in the background was the hardest thing for him. He hates to see people sad or crying (which is why the child wouldn't watch all of "Monsters, Inc." until this past summer. He disliked that the monsters were making the kids scream in terror). I'm glad that we were able to tell him the facts about the Tsunami and the aftermath and then let him see the images with some understanding of why the people were so upset. There is still a lot of talk about the decomposing of bodies, etc. as well as photos of people being buried so even keeping some of the more graphic newscasts from him is the plan for the moment (no CNN for him at this point). But I'm thrilled that he was able to hear about something and think about it instead of just worrying for himself (which would have been understandable for a kid, I know). But man... this was a hard week in regard to trying to balance what's best.

Tsunami Post

I deleted the last post. It just seemed so small next to the numbers that just won't stop climbing higher. Everything you could possibly say seems so small.

I haven't watched a lot of TV coverage. We have a a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old so we try to keep our news coverage to either CNN.com or TV news after they're asleep. **NOTE: some of you may disagree with "sheltering" them from "reality". Liam was 2 1/2 on September 11, 1999. Of course, I had the TV on non-stop. But Liam noticed, and worried. Even at 2 1/2. He wanted to know why that airplane kept crashing into the building and was it broken and would they be able to fix it and were the people ok and why are you crying, Mom? I was due to have Sean two days later, I had a hormone rush going that made Niagra Falls look like a trickle and had been having contractions off and on for days. But that look of innocent concern on Liam's face will be etched into my brain forever. That's when I decided that he didn't need to see things like that until he was able to really think about the answers I was going to have to give him. I'm not sure, even at 5 years of age now, if I can give him good answers for this. I don't feel like I have anything to give him, good or bad.

Anyway, I haven't watched CNN on TV because of the kids. But last night, after they were in bed I turned it on. About halfway into a photo montage, I was crying. Rusty turned from the computer obviously worried about me, and hadn't seen the images that started it (the bodies of dead children, alone, waiting for someone to come claim them). I wanted to tell Rusty I was ok. But I wasn't. And I think he may have been wondering if he should turn the TV off and make me go to bed. But to his credit, he didn't. He let me be an adult and make my own decision. So I kept watching. I forced myself to watch image after image. I said this after the Belsan school tragedy, and it's still how I feel -- I feel that I owe it to someone, somewhere, to acknowledge that that child, that mother, that husband... those people were loved. They were something to someone. They are a loss to their families, their friends, their countries and the world. To look at those images is to acknowledge that something precious passed from this world. In all honesty, we know that many of those bodies are not going to be claimed. Whether it's because of the need to bury them quickly or because the rest of their families are gone as well. Some of those people will never be mourned individually. I guess it's the only way I feel like I can pay tribute to them, to the sorrow someone somewhere is feeling, as I sit here comfortably in my home with my two children sleeping peacefully and my husband sitting nearby.

Some people have complained to CNN that their photos are too graphic and stories are too sad. I say that life is too graphic and too sad sometimes. But that's what makes it life. Ignoring it isn't really living. Taking it in... feeling the anguish... and continuing on. That's life, isn't it?

I do want to post the links to the Red Cross site, if only because that's where we were able to donate. I also want to encourage you to check and see if your employer does charitable gift matching. Rusty's former employer would match charitable giving up to $500 per year.

Red Cross online donation form **Please designate the money to go to the International Response Fund: https://www.redcross.org/donate/donation-form.asp

Off White

Do you have any idea how oppressive off-white can be? I know what you're thinking... "but off-white is so neutral... so basic...". No. Off-white sucks. Or more specifically, the off-white in this house sucks. It's more of a "non-white". It's not ambitious enough to be a true white. And it has too little character to be an interesting off-white like a nice "Antique" or even "Ecru". And just to make things feel that much more suffocating, this semi-gloss, non-white paint is on every wall, ceiling and piece of trim in this house. That is... it was. Until this past Tuesday. That's when the living room got shocked into the present day with a lovely organic shade of olive green on the walls (Olympic Brand "Willow Tree"). It's wonderful and actually quite dark and contrasts beautifully with our stark, crisp, clean real white fireplace and windows/window trim. And white sheer curtains that will soon with snazzed up with some kind of contrasting bands of color across the tops and bottoms.

I cannot believe how happy these last two days of painting has made me. When I sat back and looked at my couch with the olive paint behind it... I started to cry. I know, what a geek. But I did. It was the first time in a year and so many months that things started to feel like "ours" again. My mother-in-law may have a coronary, but it's going to be a far cry from the house she moved out of in September. Thank God.

Makeover TV

So do any of you watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition? If not, you should. We're not reality TV watchers but this isn't really "reality TV" in the Survivor or The Apprentice sense. Seriously, you must see this show. It will make you cry like an idiot and you won't be embarrassed by your tears. I'm totally not kidding. You will bawl. Like a baby.

Anyway, the reason I bring this show up is because it is not a "Christian" show, but the it's just about the best example of the real love of Christ that I've ever seen. Showing God's love in a practical way, in other words (Go, Vineyard!). On each episode, the designers roll into town at the request of a family in need -- for example, Patricia Broadbent, who raised her own family then as a social worker and single mother adopted three young girls with HIV. Then she was diagnosed with cancer this past year. Or Stefan Varden, the teenager who wrote about his deaf parents raising him and his younger brother who is autistic and blind. His parents can't speak to his brother and his brother can't see his parents' sign language and this 14 year old boy takes care of them all and embraces his role as care giver... these are the things that make you cry initially. The stories that are brought to light. The looks on the faces of the families when they realize that someone is going to help them.

I don't care if the designers are "saved", or gay, whatever. They are part of something that is so uplifting in it's selflessness in regard to caring about people in need, and giving the very best and not just making something passable or livable (there is no budget on this show and it's amazing what these designers do for these families). What ends up making me get all teary even more than the tragic stories is watching the designers go all out designing a special bedroom for one of the children just because they know that kid will go crazy for it. Or building the special art room, or work out room just for the sake of making the family happy. It's not necessary stuff. It's wonderful, fun, impractical, spiritually and emotionally and mentally important stuff.

I also appreciate the fact that every time I watch this show it puts my every day stresses into perspective when compared to people living with much much greater problems. What a fabulous thing. A television program that doesn't leave me annoyed, wishing I had a nicer car, more money, or less body weight. These people, whether they know it or not, are doing God's work. I really hope this show hangs around for a while. It's on Sunday nights on ABC at 8:00. It's worth taking the time to sit and watch and get inspired.

**NOTE -- Now don't get me wrong. I'm not a moron, I know that all the companies involved are getting advertising, etc. But please. The premise of this show, overall, is so much better than a lot of what's out there.

In other news

That freak of a squirrel came back. Twice. It climbed to the top of the window ledge and tried to get in again. Maybe a dearly departed friend has been reincarnated. I have my suspicions.

Back from holiday

So it's been a long week. We left the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, drove to Cincinnati and stayed until Sunday. It was a pretty good trip but I hate it because it feels like it takes a week or so to recouperate afterwards. There was just no "down time". Our trip consisted of the following:

Leave Bowie around 3:00 p.m. after Rusty gets home from work. Coast along until we hit some rush hour traffic near Frederick. Stop for dinner at Breezewood - the neon jungle of the PA turnpike. Just barely order before bus-full of high school kids arrives. Ever seen the Spongebob where the five buses full of anchovies show up at the Krusty Krab and get all rowdy and such yelling "eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat... EAT!!!"? That was pretty much the scene.



Sean waved at every girl he saw. And what's up with 15-year-olds having tattoos spanning the entire width of their back just above the undie line? Arrive in Cincinnati sometime around 1:30 a.m. Boys decide to party it up with Grandma until around 3 am. Good times.

Wednesday: cousin's wife calls at ungodly hour and we're all awake again by 8 am. Rusty leaves for lunch with a friend from work. I help my mom rearrange three of the tables set up for the 31 Thanksgiving dinner guests. Mom worries that Caitlin will beat her about the head and ears with the previously completed and now totally useless seating chart. I assure Mom that Caitlin only beats people for good reason. We do get a break and Mom and I eat lunch together at BW3 (must speak to someone about Mom's possible addiction to boneless wings). We then stop at mall on way to Lianne's house. Ahhhh. Lianne's house. The only relaxing hour of that day. So nice. We leave, and I lose track of time at this point. Oh yeah, Mom goes home and puts turkey number two out of three into the oven. We do more pre-Thanksgiving stuff and head out to Chipotle for dinner. Pick up Caitlin along the way (Yay, Cait!). So after all that, Cait, my mom and I head to Jungle Jim's because, really, where else do you want to go when you're exhausted and feel like passing out? Of course - the world's largest goofy grocery store. Seriously, I love the Jungle. But even more seriously, I love that they put in a Starbucks. I barely remember the rest of the night but I'm pretty sure I took off my boots in the parking lot.

Thursday. Just a blur of turkey (so yummy), family, loudness, more family, noodles and croutons and even more family. Good god, where DO these people keep coming from? My grandma, my parents and brother and two sisters with their families, one of my mom's sisters and her husband and nine of my twelve cousins (just on my mom's side, remember) plus my cousins' spouses, kids, etc. Good food, but man... very tired at this point. Rusty goes to play poker with my cousins and various other people, I get the boys to bed and pass out.

Friday... what the crap did we do Friday? Holy cow. Oh yeah, how could I forget? Mom took us to see the Spongebob movie. Rusty, Liam, Sean, my mom and I. It was Sean's first movie in a theater (he's a serious Spongebob fan) and the Springdale theaters are seriously very very nice. Huge screen. Good times again. Lunch then Rusty took the boys home while Mom and I and my cousin, Aimee, hit Archivers - a giganto and quite nice scrapbook store in Mason. Which is next door to a Borders. Which serves coffee. Bought Brian McLaren's new book since it was right next door at Borders and all. And they have coffee.

At this point, I'm pretty sure you're sick of reading this (and damned tired too, it's a lot to take in). But suck it up, you asked so this was my weekend.

Ummm... oh yeah, Saturday. Rusty and I get up and drag our tired butts to the storage unit that I have grown to hate. At our house right now, there are three states of being. Things are either in boxes somewhere in the house, in boxes somewhere in the attic or in boxes in the storage unit in Cincinnati. It's the not knowing which state something is in... that's the excitement that keeps me going. Anyway, we go through the rest of the stuff in storage in record time and get home. Mom takes us to the mall to get a new red fleece for Liam (seperate entry sometime later when my fingers are no longer numb from all the typing). No red fleece and it's raining making it a pain in the arse to try to pack the van at the storage place. We decide to stay until Sunday morning. Sunday morning at the storage unit, we pack the van (no, seriously... we pack that thing. The boys can barely move in the their seats) and head out. Have to stop in Mason because we left the diaper bag at Aunt Lynn and Uncle Carmine's house. Crap... when did we leave that? What day did we stop by there originally? I was there and I'm still confused. We did visit Aunt Lynn. Uncle Carmine made me drink Reisling. I think it's the first time I've had an alcoholic bev in front of my mom. I didn't really care and I'm not really a big wine drinker. Regardless, we left the bag and had to pick it up on our way out of town. Rolled into Bowie around midnight Sunday night.

SOOOOOOO. Aren't you glad you asked? Oh, yeah. Yesterday Sean was very sick - really high fever, throwing up, etc. No rest and he was up last night. So even though we're home from our Thanksgiving trip the magic of the holidays just keeps on giving [me a kick in the ass]. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Freaky squirrel

So this is a random post but there is a squirrel seriously determined to come in the back sliding glass door. I'm sitting in plain view, literally 6 feet away and this thing is looking right at me as it bangs its little squirrely fists against the door. It is freaking out in a very human way. It even looked like it was feeling along the edge of the door as if it could get a paw in and slide the door the rest of the way open. Remember that scene in Ghostbusters where Rick Moranis is running away from that devil dog thing and he's banging on the window of the restaurant but no one see anything but him? That's this squirrel. There is nothing else out there, I just checked. And the squirrel wasn't afraid of me, it just kept freaking and trying to get through the sliding door. Which is glass. And is closed. Funniest thing about this? When it first started, it almost sounded like knocking, to the point where I looked over expecting to see the guy who had been working on the gutters for us. But instead, I look over and it's a squirrel.

Facing question #2

Onward with those hard questions I asked a while back. I mentioned that the second thing I had been thinking on and dealing with was hard to talk about right now. It is. I feel terribly guilty about something, or more specifically, someone I feel I let down. I've been trying to push it back and not worry about it, but it won't go quietly. I just spent an hour writing about it and I'm about to start crying and it still doesn't make any sense. So I guess I need to get my act together and try this again some other time.

Let's change the subject. My church is super cool. Sherri is one of the very most incredible people ever (is "very most incredible" even a legitimate phrase?). I played a real bongo drum today. A big ass one. Huge. And I sounded pretty good. And Betsy sat next to me and she sounded even better. Betsy is cool too. And I got to paint. And got called an "artist" which still thrills me and throws me at the same time because I wrestle with the feeling that someone will pop in and say "She's not a real artist because no one has ever heard of her and she doesn't make money making art" and I'll have to slink back to the corner in embarrassment. It's a thing with me. I'm dealing. Anyway, I was "the artist" for Sherri today and it was so incredible to be allowed to take part in the seminar as well.

Betsy and Sherri (and Ashley, and Deedie, and Beth, and...) are the people that quietly call to me to come to Cedar Ridge. They don't say anything vocally. But they are so unique in themselves and their friendships with me -- some more personal, some still growing. I am drawn to them and the place where they gather to worship in the hopes that I can become more comfortable in a church setting because each of them are there doing their own thing and allowing me to take part in some way. I don't know if that makes any sense? It's the only way I can think to put it. There are women (and men too) that I look up to for various reasons and they have accepted me as a fellow pilgrim, fellow believer-in-training. It frees me to stop worrying about the people and thinking more about the worship. I don't worry that Sherri and Ashley will stop one day and say to each other "That Stacie girl is really weird." (though they may have already said that since they've both seen me break down and cry over Britney Spears. It was a spiritual thing, don't ask. Really. Don't.) Or that Betsy will look at me and think "what a moron" (though maybe I should worry if she ever sees my lack 'o mad knitting skills). But by now I've decided I'm keeping them, and Cedar Ridge, and it won't matter anyway. And that's not supposed to sound stalker-ish. I have little kids. I have no time to stalk. Not that I'd want to stalk. I don't. Really. But you know what I mean.

And no, I don't like Kerry either.

**NOTE: for those of you who know me, I hope you remember that I'm not a raving lunatic. I'm not a liberal weiner or a right-wing nutjob. I'm a 32 year old mother trying to work through her faith and find the true ground of being as Christ-like as possible and leaving the rest of the "Christianity" and "Church" baggage behind to those who want to argue about the tiny little itty bitty rules.

Ok, so why do I dislike, or even fear, church? Let me explain what I mean by "church" first and go from there. I love the Cedar Ridge Community Church here in Maryland. Its a great group of really good honest imperfect people. What I fear is church as an institution. I hate that Christians in American seem to be symbolized by George W. and Jerry Falwell. I really don't think it's fair that my faith in God comes into question because I don't back George Bush 100% no questions asked. I hate the blanket label of "Christian" right now because it only seems to apply to one side or the other in this election and there's no room for questioning. I guess this election has made me feel like I had to choose sides and I don't feel like I fit in anywhere. I would be really honored to meet someone, become friends, honestly help them through a hard time and have them say "Oh. I didn't know you were a Christian" because they didn't feel any judgement or disapproval from me. That would be so much greater than to have someone avoid me at all costs because they heard I was a Christian and didn't want to deal with my presumed judgement upon them.

As a "Christian", "Believer", whatever you want to call me... I have been taught that being homosexual is wrong according to the bible. Ok. That's enough for me. BUT -- and you'd better stop reading now if you have no room in your minds for working through this with me -- BUT I don't think that my convictions regarding homosexuality give me the right to hate homosexuals. Ok, I can hear it now, "I don't hate homosexuals. I just think it's wrong and don't want them to be able to be able to get married." Again, I believe in the sanctity of marriage between men and women. BUT -- again... get ready to either try to work through this or get out now -- BUT SO WHAT?! So what if I believe that? I really believe that I am called to be accountable in my life and be as Christ-like as I can. Isn't there a song or saying or something that says "You may be the only Christ some people will ever see"? Well... from all accounts of Christ, I don't remember ever reading about him being involved in politics even when the politics of the day had the Romans ruling the Jews with an iron fist, killing innocents, etc. Yes, the Romans were pretty bad. But Christ worked at a much lower level on the radar than that. He loved each person he came into contact with. Each really gross sinful person. And He was Lord of all, perfect and holy!

So I'm left with a dilema. Isn't it my job, as a Christian, to ignore the "Big Issues" and make day-to-day contact with the people around me? Do I really believe that picketing at an abortion clinic is going to do anything more than make that one desperate "sinner" (a.k.a. woman getting an abortion) is my picketing and guilt-tripping going to bring her closer to Christ? Is my rejection of gay people going to bring them -- as people, as individuals -- is it going to bring a gay person closer to Christ?

And here's where it gets hard for some people to open up and be honest about. Bush and the war. I know of at least two of you who have said you don't agree with the war but you're anti-abortion and Bush is anti-abortion. So I'm brought to a question I read a few weeks back -- "Is abortion the only pro-life issue that Christians are called to act upon?". I can't believe that it is. I hate abortion. I think it's a hideous thing. I think it's a sad thing for the women involved. I don't think it's an easy out. I think it's a hard thing for most people. Maybe not all, but most. BUT -- and here we go again with the "buts" -- BUT are unborn babies more precious to God than people who happen to not be American and/or living in America? Are Muslims not as loved as I am because I am a Christian American? Are Iraqi's lives automatically forfeit because they are Iraqi and not American?

I didn't really think much about it until our pastor told a story about an American he knew visiting Bagdad earlier on in the war. A bomb landed right next to his hotel and the hotel guests streamed out to see the crater that was left. Being the only American there, he noticed an Iraqi whom he knew to speak English standing nearby. He asked the man what he thought about the American actions, etc. The Iraqi man said that if the Americans had to come in and bomb the country to remove their president from office then it was understandable. But he then asked what the Americans would think if Iraqis decided to do the same thing. There are a lot of variables to that -- Bush vs. Hussein and the differences, etc. I'm not saying Bush is evil. I'm just saying... it's something to think about. **NOTE: don't send me email saying I'm anti-American, anti-troops, anti-whatever. I'm not. So don't. I'm just a person trying to make sense of stuff. No one asked you to read this and if you don't like it, please move along.

I guess the idea of this post is that I'm tired of having big Christian issues to "stand for" -- being against gay marriage, anti-abortion, pro-war in Iraq/Pro-George Bush, whatever. I'm tired of the big "Christian" issues driving a wedge in between us as followers of Christ and them as people needing love and support regardless of their sexual identity, whether they've aborted, practice Islam, etc. If Christ did in fact die for all people, where do I get off judging whether someone is ok?

I don't want it to sound like I'm condoning doing whatever the crap you want. I just want to make sure that my beliefs don't get in the way of someone else coming to know Christ. Because knowing Christ is the very basic bottom line of this. Being saved from our state of sinfulness and being free to live our lives in Him. I remember being taught that a sin is a sin is a sin. Abortion, drug addiction, being a big jerk to people - it's all sin. I certainly don't want someone picketing me, throwing bricks through my window, etc. because I lie, or am sometimes very rude to my husband and I don't have good money managing skills. Sin. Me = sinnner. Just like everyone else on earth. If Christ is is witholding judgement until we die, why can't we?

Sunday

Rusty and I haven't been to church in two months. No. We're not heathens. We are parents. And we are still moving and unpacking. And we're human. But I will be honest. Rusty is a lot more willing to try to get to church than I am lately.

This morning, when we woke up, Rusty said "Let's try to get to church" and I felt this knot in my stomach. I don't want to go. And I've been trying to figure out why. This is what I'll be working out in my head and on here, so bear with me.

Good god. I just wrote eight very long paragraphs. Too much for me to read, let alone someone else. Summary? Born Catholic, divorced parents, mom remarried and we became Baptist. Baptists messed up a few years later, family migrated to Assembly of God church (next door to my Christian school) by default. Sent to Christian school for entire life except bizarre break from reality when attended Catholic school for first semester of second grade to appease my grandma. Tossed out of Catholic school when they found out we weren't, in fact, Catholic and would not be allowed to make first communion with rest of class. Yay, fun. Saw a lot of pretend Christians at school on weekdays and church on Sundays. I was a pretend Christian myself. "Became a Christian" at age 21 and have been evolving and learning what that means to my life ever since.

There are a few specific things I need to work out:

1. Why do I dislike church? I love our church here in Maryland (Go Cedar Ridge!). And I loved Vineyard in Cincinnati. But for some reason, I forget that in between Sundays and when I hear the word "church" I seize up.

2. I feel like I let someone down in a very serious way. Such a serious way that I'm not sure I can talk about it right now. We'll work on that and get back to you.

3. I have had thoughts about my faith and beliefs lately that seem like revelations but at the same time scare me because some of them don't seem particularly "Christian".

OK. So. That's about it for me.

Why I don't have dogs

A friend of mine asked me if we had a dog. It started me thinking about why we don't. I mean, I love dogs. Rusty loves dogs. What's up? Then I remembered why I don't have dogs. It's the same reason I don't have clean laundry, a full night's sleep or "nice things" (as in "this is why I can't have nice things around the house..."). It's because I have these instead.



Sure, they look cute enough (I was going to write "innocent enough" but that's hardly believable, even to the untrained eye). But these two... these two adorable little bundles of spaz... please watch, below, the gradual decline of "innocent enough" to "total goofiness".






Stage 1: Liam has a bright idea. You can almost hear him wondering whether I will notice if he starts something.







Stage 2: The unassuming "Whoops. I fell over" position. Could have been an accident. Doubt it.







Stage 3: I'm cute. You're going down (notice the innocent "I do so love my brother" look Liam is sporting in this one).







Stage 4

Sean: Ah ha ha ha ha...

Liam: I am just so cute. Make sure you get this on camera.








Stage 5: Sean lets Liam think he's won.








Stage 5: Liam does, indeed, believe he's won.








Stage 6: Sean strikes back. Otherwise known as "Don't try to take your brother down if he's heavier than you unless you want payback".







Stage 6b: Sean demostrates the proper technique for "Don't try to take your brother down if he's heavier than you unless you want payback". Notice the form. Also notice Liam's lack of a head or face.

Conclusion? You think I was lucky to catch all of this on camera? Ha. Think again. I have photos of the boys doing this in their jammies. Photos of them doing it outside. I have photos of them doing in their Easter clothes. Why would we need dogs when we have this? Pretty much any time you put them together -- in just about any environment -- you'll be treated to a great little show.

Random Advice

Tip 'O the Day:

Never wear your WEBN "Run Like Hell" 5K commemorative t-shirt into the Christian bookstore at the mall. You will get hideous, hideous stares and people will actually move away from you for fear of being charred by the fire that will surely rain down from heaven to punish you for your insolence.

Jon Stewart Love

I just wanted to state, for the record, that I really like Jon Stewart. I don't necessarily love his entire political agenda, but I like him. My affection for him has increased after his appearance on Crossfire recently. I saw it and am still all kinds of confused. If I understood the guy in the bowtie (Tucker I-can-never-remember-his-name), Jon Stewart is to be held to the same standards while hosting Comedy Central's "The Daily Show" as the journalists of CNN. This is just a mini-rant related to something I read on another site. Here's the link and you can watch the clip as well: One Good Thing. And thanks to Betsy to leaking the news about One Good Thing -- it's very good reading.

Be warned, I was unprepared for the discomfort I felt while watching it. I know Jon Stewart hates George Bush. I was prepared for that to come up (which it didn't, actually). But hearing Stewart give some great arguements for why the media has failed the American public and his blantant plea for them to stop... all to be totally ignored by Tucker whats-his-face as he spat out totally ridiculous come-backs that mostly started with "Oh, yeah?! Well you blah blah blah..." while missing the point... that was unsettling. Appalling. How can CNN not fire him? Or at least put him in time out until he understands that he just told a comedian that he, as a journalist for CNN, has no more responsibilty to the American public than Comedy Central? What?! Have you seen the commercials for Reno 911?

The oddest part? As bowtie-guy is telling Jon Stewart that he's a partisan hack as well, he's also telling him he's "not funny". He asks Stewart if he's like this with dinner guests, what a drag he is, etc. So. Let me get this straight. Stewart is supposed to ask "real" news questions and is held to the same level of civil responsibility in "reporting the news" as Crossfire is. But he's also supposed to be funny? What the crap? I'm confused in the worst way. From the back and forth applause from the audience, they were confused as well. But they apparently thought Stewart was funny. Lots of laughing, which I guess is a good sign. If the media is too ridiculous to be honest, at least the audience knows when they're being played. The Crossfire boys were being laughed at, not with. And Stewart started out calmly. Maybe not "nice" by some people's standards, but calm. I know, I saw it. I guess the summary is that I felt like Jon Stewart was being honest. And I liked that.

p.s. For anyone that wants to get all moral about it.. Yes. Stewart did call Bowtie Boy a "dick". But only after BB called Stewart Kerry's "Butt boy" (twice, in fact). Fair reponse if you ask me.

CNN Crossfire Transcript with Jon Stewart - October 15, 2004

Working out salvation

"Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed--not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence--continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling..."

I stumbled onto this verse during small group last week. We were talking about Hebrews and this was a secondary "just to prove the point" kind of verse that was thrown in. That last line about "working out your salvation" slapped me in the face. "Working out"? Why, that leads one to believe that it can be entirely possible to be a believer but not know exactly what you're supposed to believe, or why, or what it means. Holy crap! The bible actually allows for loons like myself? How exciting!

I read a blog called "Ordinary Community" by Chris Marshall -- someone I've never met but he works at the same high school in Cincinnati as my sister and her husband and he also knows the pastor of our church here in Maryland. He asks some questions in his post from October 13. The ones that made me cringe were numbers 7-10, which are as follows:

7) Am I more American than I am Christian?
8) Is abortion the only pro-life issue Christ followers should care about?
9) Will I ever improve on the things that I am not good at?
10) Why does my heart feel sad?

These are things I discuss with my good friend Ashley while our boys play in her basement (or while they wrestle in a play area at Ikea). I try to discuss them with Rusty but truth be told, between work, coaching and trying to have family life he's often times not quite as philesophical. Plus, Rusty has this amazing faith -- God says it, he believes it and doesn't ever once look back.

I really want to think about and pray about these questions in my prayer times over the next few days and weeks. I'm hoping that if anyone actually reads this, that you'll bear with me and even add your comments to help me work through this. I feel like there is this big wall in front of me and if I just understand it's structure, I'll be able to move beyond it -- whether it be by knocking that wall down, going around it or finding a door and going through it.

Thanks for allowing the ramble-age, although, this is my blog so I can ramble at will, correct?

Good Day

Ok, people, simmer down. You're all getting unruly with your multiple emails and such. I do appreciate your concern, thank you. So it is with much fanfare and great relief that I am able to announce that our beloved furniture is finally here. It's in pretty good shape aside from a patch of mold on the recliner (yes, seriously) and a hole in the top of the antique wardrobe (something heavy must have been put on top of it and went through). The chair has been treated and is awaiting steam cleaning. The wardrobe will need major surgery. But I live for that kind of thing. It means more power tool action. Side note: I'm a sucker for the tools. If I had the luck to meet Ty Pennington, I'd be all about him and his tool-er-ific skills, who cares if he's cute (and slightly crazed at times).

So, please let me entertain you with a description of the house right now. The current population of the living room is as follows: two couches, one loveseat, one large armchair, video/DVD storage cabinet, Rusty's mom's hugeass entertainment center thing that is leaving as soon as we can tear it apart (Seriously. It's immense.) See, we're having carpet installed this week or next in the living room, family room and back bedroom. So all the furniture is crowded into one room so it is easier to move when the time comes. For the time being, you can nap on one couch, roll over, and find yourself on another couch. It's quite convenient, really. If we worked it right, you could probably get from the living room to the kitchen without once setting foot on the floor. I have a photo I took last night. I'll try to post it when I can so everyone can feel better about their own respective houses.

Our furniture called

We got a call from our furniture, cleverly disguised as someone named "Domingo". Supposedly coming home tomorrow, they'll call when they're an hour out. I don't mean to sound pessimistic (who, me?) but I'll believe it when I see it. These are, after all, the same movers who were 6.5 hours late for pick-up. I'm not counting the whole God/Wynetta thing out yet, though. So updates as they happen...

In the meantime, here's a little photo to get us all through until we are once again reunited with the most "lovely-to-sit-upon-and-fall-asleep" furniture ever. Don't believe me, check out what's hiding going on under the pillow in the chair. I'm also extrememly fond of my vintage red cabinet to the right. I adopted it from a large Salvation Army warehouse for the low, low price of only $15. Love it.

A break from the stupidity

Someone sent this to me today and I have to say, it made me smile. I don't know if it's all the colors or the reflection of the faces of the children but it's a great visual all the way around.

Wynetta Rocks

It's ok, everyone. I've recovered from my astonishment at hearing such vulgar language from "Moving Man A". Technically, it's no worse that what I hear on Dead Like Me but that seems so removed when it's on TV. It's a totally different experience to have someone hollering in your ear.

Alright, so you're probably wondering who is Wynetta and does she rock? Wynetta is the USAA representative I spoke with this morning. And she does indeed rock big time. USAA is our insurance agency. They're mainly government and military so they're not as well known by name though they're a very large company. We have had such a great experience with them ever since setting up our first policies back when we got married (Rusty has been a USAA member since birth because of his mom and dad working at NASA and being eligible for coverage).

Anyway, before the move I called USAA to check and see if the renter's policy on the storage unit covered the move itself, or if we could set something up, or if we had to buy the mover's insurance (I was picturing the pressure you get when you rent a car). USAA said that the rental policy covered the move until all the items reached our doorstep. Yay for USAA! So out of desperation, I called back this morning. I asked to speak to someone in claims and after essentially telling the rep that we didn't know if we needed to file a claim as property "missing" and if we did need to, how long we should wait until we do it. She took the info and gave it to a supervisor. Enter Wynetta.

Wynetta got on the line and asked for the details. When I told her exactly what you read below, she said, "He did not say that!" in a "I-am-seriously-going-
to-have-fun-with-this-guy" kind of way. She got the info and asked me to hold. She was calling North Star and would be recording the whole conversation on tape. She came back and said he wasn't in the office and would call back. In the meantime, I told her to be ready because the guy was very offensive. She said he could be offensive all he wants, she works for me. I was so relieved I almost started to cry (Note to self: ask doctor about hormone levels. Too much crying.) She told me that she was taking the info but wouldn't file an actual claim yet as if it didn't end up going that far she didn't want us to get a rate hike for filing. Again... Wynetta rocks. Then the jerk from North Star called her back. I go on hold again while she talks to him.

When Wynetta came back to the line, she relayed the following:

- Guy claimed that I called and just started randomly yelling and cussing at him (?!??)
- Even after being advised that he was being taped, he got rude with her (I'm shocked)
- He refused to tell her where the stuff was.
- She told him that we weren't demanding access to the warehouse but demanding disclosure on where our items were.
- He finally told her that the items are in a warehouse in Illinois. Yes, that does say "Illinois" . For those of you following along at home, you'll remember that this was supposed to be a non-stop move from Ohio to Maryland. Illinois is two states in the wrong direction.
- He said - on tape - that we will not be charged for above mentioned storage.
- She then informed him that if the items were not delivered within the two to ten business day window (ending this Friday) that we would file a claim. That claim would be with USAA. It would involve us filing a federal claim with law enforcement because the items were considered stolen, and taken across state lines. Anything over $300 is also considered a bigger deal (I can't remember the exact words - a felony maybe?).
- She told Mr. Dispatcher from North Star that if we filed a claim, USAA would compensate us for our loss. If USAA compensated for our loss, they would then own the property being held hostage. She said she told him that if USAA then owned the property that he'd better believe that they will do everthing in their power to either retrieve that property or file charges.
- Mr. Mean Dispatcher Guy (a.k.a. Mover Man A from previous post) told her, "Don't threaten me!" plus threw in some spicy sentence enhancers.
- Wynetta ended by saying she would threaten him if it was warranted and it seemed that it was.

One more reason Wynetta rocks is because she told me that I didn't have to talk to that thug anymore. If he calls, tell him (or anyone else from that company) that I've been advised to tell them to talk to USAA from here on out. She also suggested that we could have a police officer at our house when the things are delivered (see link regarding same company verbally abusing customers: http://www.movingscam.com//forum/viewtopic.php?t=322&view=previous - found only after we realized who we were dealing with).

So. As of right now, we'll have our things by next Friday, or a verbal agreement by next Friday that everything will be delivered by the following Wednesday (not sure what that was about, but it's still a date to work with). If not, we'll have someone else to do the yelling for us because Wynetta ROCKS!

Oh, yeah... the main reason Wynetta rocks? I didn't say anything to her about my beliefs, etc. I just relayed the facts. But last night I was unable to sleep, totally at a loss and just praying about what to pray for in this situation, I was that confused over it all. Anyway, Wynetta knew none of this. But as she's telling me that she doesn't care if this guy gets abusive with her she says, "I've got the LORD behind me! None of that 'turn-the-other-cheek' stuff when people are breaking the law." I'm not usually one for "Go-get'um-gospel" but this woman was so nice to me, and frankly took over the whole burden of dealing with these people so I wouldn't have to. And her answer to my "thank you" was that it was her job and she was happy to do it. That is exactly what I was praying for last night, I just didn't know it at the time.

In conclusion, Wynetta rocks. And God's not so bad himself.

p.s. Still not feeling so great, thank you for asking (you know who you are). Follow-up appointment on Monday.

Opening in their customer service department

Oh, wait. That's right. They don't have customer service.

We haven't heard from our furniture lately. It was picked up in Ohio, wrapped with 24 rolls of packing tape, then moved somewhere. I would tell you where, but I'm at a loss. We were told it would delivered in "2 - 10 days". Now, being Day 8 and not having heard anything from our furniture, I decided to call the movers to see if they could give me a clue. This is a literal retelling of my epic phone call:

Mover Man A: Hello, ********* Vanlines, who do you need to talk to? (man with heavy accent, which I usually actually quite enjoy)

Me: May I speak to **** ******, please? (listen to me... all nice. Little did I know the stupidity that was about to ensue).

Mover Man A: Who is this? Ok, let me see if **** is here.

Mover Girl B (yes... I realize she's a girl and therefore should be an "A" but I didn't want to confuse with the letters and she was pretty jerky so she's getting a "B". Deal with it.) : Hello, this is ****.

Me: Hi, yeah, this is Stacie ******. You called on Sunday (Note:she called on SUNDAY) and left a message on my cell phone? Blah blah blah... by the way, we are trying to find out when we'll be able to expect our things to be delivered?

**NOTICE** No freaking out about things not being here yet, just wondering if someone would tell us when it'll be here ** Back to the program...

Mover Girl B: Blah blah blah... I can't help you, you'll have to speak to the dispatcher.

Mover Man A(who is apparently also said "Dispatcher"): Hello? What is wrong? What do you need?! (Already, a hint of the customer service that's about to blindside me).

Me: Hi, yeah, we're trying to find out where our stuff is currently? We were told it was in storage??

Mover Man A: You're stuff? I don't have to tell you where it is. It's in storage. It's fine.

**Ok. Let's pause once again and let that last comment sink in a bit. Lovely. Let's go on. **

Me: Huh?!

Mover Man A: I don't have to tell you where my warehouse is. No one has to tell you that. Your stuff is in storage.

Me: HUH??!

Mover Man A: You'll get your stuff when we call for delivery.

Me: What the...?! What?!! Where are our things??! Yes, you do have to tell us where our things are! They're... they're... OURS!

Mover Man A: No, I don't! (hatefully)

Me: Yes! Yes, you DO! (very pissed-off-edly)

Mover Man A: Why do I have to tell you? I don't have to tell you. You act like we came and stole it. Why does it matter?

**Let us pause yet again... Yes. He really said that. **

Me: Um... ooooooook. How about because it's insured and our insurance agency would like to know where it is (where did that come from? I don't know, but the whole conversation was crazy from the minute he spoke, so I went with it. And our things are insured.)

Mover Man A: (and this is where it gets really good - the customer service training really pays off for him): YOU CALL HERE TREAT ME LIKE AN ASSHOLE? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? I DON'T HAVE TO TELL YOU ANYTHING.

Me: What? (a bit bewildered by the strange turn of events and potty mouth)

Mover Man A: [repeat tyrade above]

Me: Look, it's our furniture. We tried calling all last week for information and now we're just really irritated. Where is it?

Mover Man A: You called last week? We were closed for Jewish holiday. We're a Jewish company.

Me: [squeak... not sure what to make of that because the only two guys we delt with in person were very Latino and spoke with heavy Hispanic accents. I'll be honest, though, and admit I've never met the guy on the phone so I don't know if it's true or an excuse. Even if he was out for holiday observance, he's still a big fat jerk.]

Mover Man A: We'll call you in 14 business days. We're a normal business, we go by business days.

Me: Um, you picked up on a Sunday. That's not a "business day", Dude. And the paperwork said 2-10 days. (yes, I called him "Dude". No, I don't know why.)

Mover Man A: We only deliver on business days. We'll call in fourteen business days. Blah blah blah... asshole again... blah blah. (He said "asshole" at least four times. I wish I was kidding.)

Me: [click]

What have we learned here today? Number one, when I'm angry, the F-word springs to mind a little more quickly than I'd care to admit though happily, I didn't use it. Number two, Don't move because there are bad people out there who will take your stuff and hide it from you then not feel at all badly when you start to cry and demand to know where is your beloved big squishy plaid chair that you shopped and shopped for weeks to finally find. These people truly bite.

Updates to follow, including any ransom notes we may possibly receive from our beloved furniture.

BAD Day

So, did I disappear off the earth for a while? Why no, thank you for asking. But it would seem that way when you spend a day in the ER. Good times.

It started the night before last, Tuesday, after we got home from our nine-hour drive back from Cincinnati. I'll spare you the gory details but aside from other things I was having cramps and a backache from hell. If I wasn't using birth control, I'd have said I was pregnant and having a miscarriage. Yesterday, it wasn't better. Actually, it was worse. After a lovely conversation with my lovely friend Ashley (conversation having absolutely nothing to do with what's going on with me physically) I break down crying cause I feel like dookie and she says that "Yes" I should call the doctor.

I hate calling the doctor. I'm afraid they'll tell me I'm a whiner. Which is probably why I tend to get really sick then they tell me how stupid I was for waiting so long to call the doctor. But I digress... I called the doctor. Or I tried anyway. Apparently, in the metro DC area there are quite a few women needing to visit the GYN because my new doctor was booked solid until December. They gave me the number for "Ask a Nurse". The nurse was so nice, she made me cry. She essentially said go to the doctor or go to the ER. Well, my doctor's office couldn't help out on that one (Come on! They have five offices for pete sake... they couldn't give anyone the boot for a semi-emergency?) Anyway, Rusty came home from work, Ashley watched Sean and we headed off to the ER.

Funny thing, if you're under the age of 40 and having the symptoms I was having, even with birth control they assume you're pregnant. I didn't want to hear that. But not for the reasons you might think. Yes, it's true that Rusty and I have decided that we're good to go with two kids. We don't feel the need to "try for a girl". We're happy. Being pregnant would be a surprise, even a shock. But not "bad". No, I didn't want to hear that I was pregnant because the symptoms I was having indicated a miscarriage, not a healthy pregnancy. And if it were a miscarriage, it wasn't random. It would be caused by the fact that my birth control of choice is a hormonal IUD. In theory, you can't get pregnant. But if you do, the IUD prevents the pregnancy from progressing past a certain point. My GYN stressed that it never gets to that point, etc. when I had it put in but you know... if they tell you, then someone has gotten that far with it, right?

Anyway, I didn't want to hear that I was pregnant because I didn't want to hear that I was miscarrying because of the birth control method I had chosen. I felt selfish and evil. I don't necessarily feel like every woman who has an abortion is selfish and evil... but I felt selfish and evil. Right up until the time that my blood test came back and said big ol' "No" on the pregnancy. Then I just felt annoyed to have sit in the ER for so long feeling like crap.

The rest of the story ends with me still feeling like dookie but coming home with a prescription for the biggest pills I've ever seen for some unknown infection (they'll call me in 3 days when the test results are finished to make sure one of my kidneys isn't sleeping on the job). I have the most heinous backache ever. But I'm just sick and not a horribly, selfish person like I thought. But I'm rethinking my decisions. I don't want to go through this again.

Who am I?

I've been trading email with my friend Jodi, a fabulous person from Cincinnati and a fellow Vineyardian. She's had an emotional weekend. Not one of those obviously hard emotional periods -- she didn't lose a loved one, or a pet or a job, etc. It's one of those stealth emotional things, one that makes you feel silly for being upset and yet you're fighting with everything you have to keep your composure. I hate those.

Jodi has an interesting question posted over on her blogsite - Jodi's blog. "Am I who I want to be?". I started to post a reply to her question. But my three sentences turned into three paragraphs and I didn't want to hijack her space so I brought it over here instead.

So... AM I who I want to be? Hardly. And I don't mean I'm not the athletic, stylish, famous or rich person I wish I was. I mean that emotionally, spiritually I am not who I want to be. My inner life doesn't spill over into my daily life in a good way. Up until this past weekend, I would find myself too ashamed to pray as I look back and see that my selfishness, greed and unhappiness have caused me to miss so many opportunities to respond to the world around me rather than obsessing at the world within me. Then I got an email from Jodi about her stress and what was causing it. I shot off an email that sounded so unlike me lately -- it was actually selfless in that I didn't care that she may not like some of what I thought because I really felt like it was something I was being led to say. I didn't stop to think that she may hate me afterward or put the whole response off because my life was total chaos at that moment (it wasn't really chaos, but to my small selfish mind it was). This was the "me" that I wasn't sure existed much anymore.

Since we moved, I've had a hard time finding my identity again. For most of the last time I lived in Maryland I was an art student getting to exercise my creativity everyday, a volunteer YoungLife leader spending time with kids and focusing on them and their lives, and discovering who I was apart from family and friends back in Cincinnati I'd known literally almost all of my life. It was liberating. Even when Rusty and I first got married, we had a great time learning how to be married and being friends with each other and with other couples in the same places in their lives and their faith.

When I became pregnant, the hunt was on for a job and living space in Cincinnati so that I could be close to my family. After Liam was born, I didn't lose the weight I had gained and was very self conscious. Also, looking back, I think I was dealing with post-partum depression though I didn't recognize it at the time (I've had two friends here mention that they noticed it when we visited). My self image plunged to the very lowest it's ever been. What was worse than feeling fat and ugly? Knowing that even if I was fat and ugly, that wasn't what truly mattered. I had prided myself on not caring about that stuff then all of a sudden I couldn't shake it.

When Rusty was offered the job back here, we prayed about it and it was a hard decision to leave my family and our friends but we did it because we believed it was the right thing to do. I still believe that though I did doubt it for a few months last winter and spring. Things just weren't what I thought they'd be. I'd left with just myself, my husband and my expectations for my new life as a mother. I was returning with two children, an older and much wiser relationship with Rusty and a still damaged self image.

Rusty is now back at NASA, coaching a soccer team and spending time with Erik and Alwood and just being glad we're back. We're in a small group with the Hansen's, the Stuarts, Pete and Karen McLaren and Sherry and Bruce (oh crap, I can't remember their last name... actually, I remember it but can't beging to spell it). But personally, in the "just me" department, I'm not doing so great. Right now, I essentially stay home and take care of the boys. Things are looking up a bit because I get to ransack and totally redo another crapped out house. You know I live for tearing stuff up and redoing it. But there is this part of me saying "Isn't there more to me?". I totally believe that raising my kids to be good people is a big job. I'm the one doing it, I know how much energy it takes. But I'm talking about beyond that. Is there seriously not enough room for my kids and some sort of meaningful self expression for me, specifically some sort of expression that would bring in some cold hard cash in the process? (just teasing... sort of). We don't "need" the money as we're surviving without a second income right now. But I'd love to spend time away and feel like my family is benefiting from that time spent away as well.

I have no clue what I'm babbling about. See, Jodi. This is what happens when you make me think. GAH!!!!!

Snarkywood

Have you ever been up late while others are trying to sleep and either read or watched something so funny that you found yourself doing that silent, shaking kind of laugh? You're like kind of spitting and making a sputtering noise, and the more you watch/read, the more you laugh? Then you maybe hold your nose in a vain attempt to quiet yourself? And it never works? That's me.

I found this site called Snarkywood. It's one of the funniest things I've ever read. I'll tell you now, it's downright mean at times. But funny. My favorite post = We love Whitney Houston. Had me laughing so hard I had to give up the attempt at silence and I sounded like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins ("I Love to Laugh" song). So why is it that I, who wouldn't consider making fun of someone, can get so much hysterical pleasure from reading other people doing it? Do I justify it because the targets are famous and overexposed and therefore somehow deserve it? Does their insane income/lifestyle cover below-the-belt hits? I don't know. I really wish I could justify myself here and come up with some great hypothesis for how I can live with myself for laughing at Snarkywood. But I got nothin. It's just so stinkin funny. And that probably makes me a big jerk. At least I'm an amused jerk.


*Be warned, Snarkywood uses profanity (though it's just that much funnier... I really am going to hell)

2:26 A.M.

It is 2:26...no... wait...2:27 a.m. What am I doing awake? Well, a couple of things. On the surface, I'm sitting at the computer playing with every CD I can find and uploading them to itunes. In reality, I'm trying to tell myself that the news on the school attack in Russia isn't bothering me as much as it really is. My rational, American self is saying that it's half a world away and it could never happen here. But my emotional, spiritual side is saying screw that, who cares where it occurred and even if it never happens here, it still happened. I'm not one for seeing news stories and getting personally invested. Maybe this is bothering me more because Liam started kindergarten two weeks ago and we spent a morning in the cafeteria with all the other families taking part in the same beginning-of-school ritual. I'm finding myself more shaken by this story than I really care to admit.

Every time I see the photos or hear or read a news account, it's impossible to stop thinking that those women feel the same way about their children as I do about mine. That the crying woman waiting to see if her child is among the dead could easily be me, or Amy, or Ashley or Ailsa. We could be looking for our children, our sisters and brothers-in-law. I can't help but think that even those who did survive are not among the lucky. I can't imagine what that kind of violence does to a child. How they can possible see what they've seen and not lost their little minds altogether. My brain just can't get rid of the details - the woman who was released and brought her baby out then went back in to stay with her other three children who were not allowed to leave. And my brain knows how kids' minds work and I can't stop thinking "What if it had been Liam in there? If I hadn't been with him? Who would have comforted him and held him?". I'm not trying to be miserable over this. Somehow my "Mommy brain" just can't let go of it.

I just read a quote online regarding the new John Adams commission for the September 11th tribute. By all accounts it's almost paralyzing in it's power. Regarding the September 11th piece, someone wrote: "I guess for me, safe on the ground, I need to get as close to that kind of fear and suffering as I can, like I owe it to those people. Does that make sense?". I guess my anger tonight is my brains's way of paying my condolences to those involved in Russia. I want to be able to turn away from it, but that seems like it would diminish it in some way. I'm remembering back when Rusty and I saw "The Passion of the Christ" and thinking "maybe I don't want to see this". But seeing it seems to make more an impression to me than anything, my mind seems to take in and work on visuals more than any other medium. And I felt the same way about the movie. It was so uncomfortable to watch. But I felt I had to. If Christ went through it, I could at least make myself see what it may have really been like (as opposed to the totally clean, blond Christ-on-the-cross paintings I remember from the church nursery when I was little).

So here I am, uploading music and come across "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. How I wonder how totally wrong can that song be? I'm angry. Not just because of the children and adults that died over the last two days. I'm angry about the whole mess.

I'm the first to admit that some of this anger would probably dissapate if I stopped listening to Alanis Morissette as I write this ("Jagged Little Pill" is a wonderful screaming album. Love it. If that makes me a heathen, so be it.). I tried switching to my "God music" play list but couldn't get into it. I told myself I didn't have to "feel" it, but still. I wanted to scream and seeing as how it's the middle of the night, I just switched back to Alanis and let her do it for me. Yay, Alanis. I mean, really, what does Alanis have to scream about? Her boyfriend jilting her or possibly her lack of understanding the meaning of the word "ironic"? Maybe she's just now realizing she dated Dave Coulier? I dunno. I'm all for yelling like a maniac when you're hurting inside, and I'm sure it's done her a world of good to get it out (and make some money for it). But it's been almost fun to sit and listen to her yell and pretend I'm mad about something as normal and sane as a break-up.

I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow. But that bothers me. I don't want to get to a place where I'm able to distance myself from the pain that others feel. In this situation, empathy has been a motivator for me to pray - both the ones who've been lost and those they left behind.

We'll see if I still need Alanis in the morning.