Reflections on our anniversary and advent

   When my husband and I were dating in college, we would often take long walks during the day. Around lunch time we would inevitably get hungry and have "the talk" about who's house we would eat at.
   In my mind I would go through my cupboards and immediately announce...."Oh for sure not my house, I have nothing to eat." to which he would immediately say, "Well then my house it is. I have tons of food."
   At his house I would sit on the bar stool and watch him stick a potato in the microwave. After six minutes he would take that potato out and cut it in half and then stick peas, cheese, salsa, Yoshida's sweet and sour sauce, and mustard on top and pop the spud back in for a couple more minutes....Voila.... Urinating potatoes.....you know....because of the peas?....
   The first time I stared at this creation I said, "Well, if this is TONS of food...we could've eaten at my house. I have a can of soup for heaven's sake." His potato combination was delicious by the way. Probably my favorite way to eat potatoes.
   My husband always claimed that food was a pedestal for condiments and his food reflected that belief. His specialty was Santa Claus with three cheeses. Mashed potatoes smashed with peas and covered in a red sauce. Then parmesan, cheddar, mozerella on top. He didn't have a lot of money in college to buy cheese. So mostly he made me a Santa Claus. Naming food is very important to him. He is a poet. Poets don't use a recipe. They create food and form a story out of it.
   The day he made me Spaghetti and mustard.....I chose not to eat.
   Eating at my husbands house was common when we were dating. I just really got a kick out of watching him make me food. I did know how to cook. In fact I was already pretty good at it by the time I was in college. My mom taught me how to make soup out of leftovers.I could make a mean soup. In fact. I would save a bunch of money by going to the store and buying cheap produce, canned goods, and rancid meat, and making a soup out of it. People did give me a hard time about it. I guess that's because I specialized in making food that looked like barf........I don't know.
   When we got married, I started doing all the cooking because it's my favorite thing to do. But my most favorite day of the year is our anniversary because my husband makes me dinner. It feels like old times back in college when I was sitting on the bar stool at his house and had no idea what I would eat. Except for the anniversary dinner, I am kicked out of the house and can't come home until 5:30 when it was done.
   The tradition of him making dinner for me got very memorable when the kids got in on the act. The first year the kids were involved, I came home to candles and fancy dishes and many posters taped up around the house that the kids had drawn of two people kissing... The meal was "crepes" with beef and gravy. Except my husband of course didn't use a recipe and what I had on my plate was a huge thick pancake with tough strips of cheap steak and gravy on top....mmmmmmm.... I loved it. And I teased him of, course, about the "crepe". The kids were happy to eat it because they helped make it and were so proud.
   Also that first anniversary the kids were involved, I was surprised that they were so caught up in the love and romance of it all that they started asking us how we met. What we did when we went on dates? They asked us about how daddy asked mommy to marry him. What was our wedding like? Then they wanted to know about the night they were born. And who was there and was Daddy scared?... on and on they asked. It was really quite a sweet little celebration, remembering together the story of the beginning. As we told the stories, it was like they were there when my husband made me the first urinating potatoes.
    This year as we celebrate our 15th anniversary I feel thankful for many chances to retell the story to our children and remember. I am anticipating the night this year and having our anniversary during the advent season my mind has been imagining the Holy family and wondering what an anniversary night would have looked like for Mary and Joseph when Jesus was a little boy. My sweet husband would like me to note here that there isn't anything Biblical about my imagination. (and we respect the men folk around here!!!!)
   I can picture in my head a dirt floor and a simple house. Mary has been sent away to chat with the ladies while Joseph makes Santa Claus with three cheeses but only out of lentils and hummus. I can see Joseph sticking lentils in a pot and boiling them over a fire. And cooking them a little too long until they were mushy and the water turns thick. Then I can picture Joseph giving Jesus a mortar and pestle full of garbonzo beans, garlic, salt, and sesame seeds and letting him pound away until it got pasty. "Go out to the tree and get a lemon, Jesus." I can hear him say.  "We must name this dish, Jesus. How about mud and stucco?" And since the meal doesn't take long the two boys maybe would spend some serious time making a bunch of chairs out of eggplants for a table decoration. I can see Mary walking in and seeing two eggplant chairs strategically placed facing each other to hold a bowl of lentils just for her.
    Maybe little Jesus celebrating the anniversary with his mom and dad would ask questions about how they met. How did they date? What was the night of his birth like? Who was at the wedding?....and maybe they would've told him..... everything. Maybe they even told him about the controversy of Joseph marrying his mother and what great faith it took for him to go through with it....I can picture Joseph saying, "Well son, being married to your mother, has not been boring." Joseph would of no doubt, from his perspective, told Jesus about what it was like to take a trip such a long way when Mary was so close to her time to give birth. I can see him saying, "I was hoping she would wait to give birth because I didn't know how to deliver a baby. And then, son, you were born in a barn."
   I have always wondered at what point Jesus knew who he was and where he came from. As I imagine Mary and Joseph telling Jesus the birth story I can see him smiling at the whole thing. The faith of it all. The simplicity of it all. The adventure. I wonder if he looked up at Mary and Joseph with a proud face. As if to say, "You did it! You went through with the absurd!" I can imagine him saying, "Tell me again." and Mary and Joseph being firm, "No son, we only tell it once on this day. You have to wait again until next year." 
   Then after dinner Joseph and Mary would take hands and dance side by side a Jewish dance step and Jesus would try to squeeze inbetween them. I can even see them putting little Jesus up on a chair and raising him high as they sang loud and off key.
   The days after the anniversary celebration when all the other little four year olds were pretending to tend sheep I can see Jesus wanting to play "ride the donkey into Bethlehem." Instead of using the chairs in the house for playing trains like we do, Jesus maybe used his chairs to make a herd of  donkeys. Then maybe he sat Mary down and stuck a melon under her shirt like she was with child and gave her a rope to hold onto so he could lead her across the desert. He would check her forehead every once in a while and bring her water.  Maybe Mary played along with it and pretended to act faint.
    While all the other children had their dolls neatly tucked in bed, I can picture Jesus having a doll in a bucket filled with twigs and sticks, to pretend that it was him laying in a feeding trough. Then maybe he would pick more lemons from the tree and poke faces into them to make pretend animals all around the bucket.
   Doesn't that feel so homey and sweet?
   I can't get these images out of my head. I know it's a little bit Talladega Nights....but this year as I celebrate 15 years with my family and retell our story, as I think about advent, I am pondering little boy Jesus instead of baby Jesus. As my children play with the nativity scenes around the house, I will be reminded of little boy Jesus playing with his own homemade nativity and remembering who he is and why he came.....I know it's not Biblical, but it's a sweet picture in my mind that helps me connect with a real life personal Jesus....that I'm totally in love with.
Blessings to you this advent season.....
 
  

When I crack myself up.........

   Our family just got back from a trip to Orlando, and we drove. There were plenty of moments when we were sitting for hours in the car. I don't have to tell you that these long drives make one a little crazy. While driving back through Georgia our three children played their, "you never buy us any treats at gas stations anymore," card. And so daddy gave in and said yes to anything they wanted.
   They were so excited and they RAN ahead of me into the little convenience store. As I was walking into the sleezy gas station behind them I opened the door and in a split second saw this southern woman standing in line who looked like June Cleaver from "Leave it to Beaver." Without thinking and with great feeling, seriousness and loudness I said, "Children.....when you pick out your cigarettes....make sure they are low tar......." and I paused to see what June Cleaver would do.
   Oh man....her inner purity was SUFFERING. She had this look on her face as though she smelled something awful but was trying to hide that she could smell it. I stared her down and finally, she looked at me.
   "I am completely joking ma'am." I said, and she breathed in and almost started crying with relief.
   "Oh thank GOD. You looked like such a nice family. Clean cut, and your children were so well behaved....I was so......disappointed!!!!" She sort of rubbed her hands on her face as though to wipe off sweat.
   I couldn't help it. I started laughing.....pretty hard....."You should've seen your FACE though. That was so worth it!!" Which probably wasn't the most polite thing I've ever said. But it was true. In fact. The kids and I were in the candy section and I just had this deep gut laugh that wouldn't stop.
   I looked up at one point and June Cleaver was staring me down. "Are you going to visit family for thanksgiving?" she said.
   "Oh no. We are playing hooky from thanksgiving. We decided to take a road trip instead...." I waited for her to be really excited for us. Instead she gave me a look of complete horror.....which I wasn't understanding so much. We just had a great bonding time as a family.
   Then with great hesitation and awkwardness she asked, "You ARE traveling with your man folk right?"....and then I realized her confusion. In her mind I had taken my children on the morning of thanksgiving and left my poor "man folk" at home to fend for himself all alone on thanksgiving, while I went to sleezy gas stations and joked about my children picking out low tar cigarettes!!!  I was becoming more and more horrible in her mind......The disappointment was becoming too overwhelming for her I'm sure.
   "Oh, my husband is traveling with us....he is filling up the tank." I said.
   Again, her sigh of relief was not subtle.....poor lady. 
   I spent the next four hours of the car ride randomly gut laughing as I remembered her face.
   At one point I was laughing so hard my eyes wanted to shut and I had to pull down my cheeks so I could see to drive......(yes mom, I should've pulled over....shhhhhhhh it's all okay)
   So here I sit remembering and blogging about the southern June Cleaver. I'm sure out there in Cyberspace, she is blogging about me. That terrible terrible mother..............

  
  
  

Getting caught........

   One day my friend came up to me and told me that my child had done something that I thought was truly horrible. It made angry....AND it made me laugh.
   That afternoon I decided to tell my son that he owed me an apology for something he did at church, but I wasn't going to tell him what it was. I wanted him to say it out loud.
   "What mom?.....what did I do?"
   "You will tell me when you are ready. It's clear to me that you know what you did."
   "Mom...YOU tell me first!!!!"
   "No....I will wait."
   And I did. The next day he said, "Mom, I just want to know what you know. You tell me and I'll apologize."
   "I want you to say it. If you say it....you receive full mercy for your action. You are caught."
   "The next day I could tell he wasn't having a good day. He was really irritable and anxious. Finally I cornered him to put him out of his misery and said, "You should just tell me, son. I already know. This is when Jesus died for you. Right now. Not when you are playing nicely with your sister. Not when you get an A in school. Not when you clean your room without me asking. He died for you in this moment."
   And he told me.
   Turns out he was asking people for quarters at church for the offering....and spending his pity money on coke....shrewd. I told him that he was very clever....and never do it again.
   Today a friend of mine gave me a big fluffy loaf of bread that she made. It's perfect.
   So perfect.
   On the way home I was thinking of this perfect loaf of bread and that it just may be hard to cut into it....and it hit me.
   This perfect loaf became the very body of Christ for me, and I imagined cutting it with a sharp knife. As I think about that, it's hard not to reflect on the very mercy of how Christ died for me in my darkest moments. To think about slicing that bread, I become the people that killed Jesus on that day and then imagine Him looking me in the eye after He rose.....because it turns out you can't kill God.....oops.
   What about you?
   Is there anything right now that God knows already and He is waiting for you to say it outloud?
   Go ahead and slice that bread.....and then look Him in the eye and see how He responds.
   Oh how He loves you......Oh how He loves you and me!
 

Doing the hard thing....

   Yesterday I came home from picking my son up from preschool and I ducked down hard at my door. There was a serious commotion above my head.
   I looked up to see a bird hanging by a thread from my porch light. When I looked closer, it wasn't a thread at all. The bird had been making a home in the light, and when it went to fly out, its toe got caught where the metal doesn't come together all the way. I could see the remnants of the toe at the base. And this thread it was hanging from, had to be a nerve because I could barely see it.
   I panicked and rushed my five year old into the house.
   We paced around the living room. I didn't want to go out there. I was thinking that I would just ignore it and it would go away. I would let it hang until it died. Then I would take care of it when I didn't have to look into its eyes and see the story of it all.
   It didn't take long to figure out that I couldn't let that poor thing suffer like that. But I knew the only way I could get it down was to cut it by the nerve and I surely didn't want to do that either!!!
   I paced and paced for about five minutes and then said, "I GOTTA DO IT...... DANG IT!!!! GET ME THE SCISSORS BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!!!" And I pushed a chair under the light and took a notebook to hold underneath it so it could rest. My five year old was slow in getting the scissors, so there I stood. Arms aching because I'm not all that awesome and in shape. Sweating from being scared. I grabbed the scissors and reached my hand up toward this suffering creature and just didn't think about it and cut......and it flew away like nothing had happened.
   I shook for about five minutes after that.....Happy that the bird was flying around free....
   Today I can't stop thinking about that bird. What a simple thing to cut it off, but I was going to let it suffer for a long long time and even let it die because I couldn't do the split second thing that would help it go free.
   .........interesting isn't it?
   I think life is like that when we hold in unconfessed sin and secret shame. Holding things in our heart that make us heavy or guilty. Maybe even shameful or hard hearted. We are so much more willing to inwardly suffer and hang there and eventually die, when all it would take is looking someone in the eye to say, "I did this," or "this happened to me," or "you hurt me" and then we would fly. We would be free.
   Back when I was in college I was smitten with a boy. He was so nice and treated me well. There wasn't a mean bone in his body. He was careful with his words and thoughtful. And teaseworthy. VERY teaseworthy.
   One day we were walking through the forrest, after we had class together, on our campus and he said, "Can I tell you something?" and my heart started pounding because it wasn't a "can I profess my love to you for the first time" can I tell you something. It was an "I don't want to be your friend anymore" can I tell you something. There is a difference.
   We were walking so we didn't have to look at each other, thank GOD!!! And he simply said, "You teased me in front of a lot of people just now. I didn't like it. I usually don't mind if people tease me but you tapped into something deep."
   And I was SILENT......
   You have to understand. Even though I was just friends with this boy...I LOVED him...I had loved him for two years and in my head we had already gotten married and had several babies.
   So I did the very polite thing and cried silently, heart pounding. Know one had EVER said this sort of thing to me before. What does one do now?
   He was nice and kept talking. "It's not a big deal, I just have been convicted through scripture that I want to be real. So I'm trying it. I am daring to believe that we can have a friendship where we talk about these things."
   All I heard was "friendship."
   I looked at him, "Oh my gosh you STILL want to be friends with me?"
   And he said, "I would like you to say you're sorry first. That's usually how reconciliation happens."
   "I AM sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Thank you for telling me! I can't believe you still want to be my friend."
   Then he said something that sealed my love for him forever. "It's like that with Jesus isn't it? He knows all of us, our good and our bad, and He still wants to be with us?"
   That day, we really became friends. He cut the nerve. We were free. And we still are.
   What about you? Do you feel like you are holding something in that is slowing killing you? Who do you need to talk to, confess to, share with?
   I tell you what......that bird is happy.