reflections

belief

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I read a book called Lamb over the weekend.  The author, Christopher Moore, put together a hilarious take on Christ’s life as told by Christ’s best friend, Biff.  It was gritty and colorful (both in its telling and in its language – read: lots of swearing and sexual situations).

I loved that the story was gritty because I believe that life is gritty and raw.  I believe that more often than not, life is messy.  Life is change and evolution and growth and development and loss and loosely controlled chaos.

We are all on the verge of being tagged out of this great game of life – and yet we mostly live our lives with a somewhat misguided belief that we are immortal.  That’s why we’re shocked when something bad happens.

Sure, there are some of us who are better at faking the control.  There are some who might say, “aw, Em, cute – but I have this all wrapped up!”

But I believe for the rest of us, despite our best efforts, we often find ourselves putting out more fires during the day than checking things off of our “to do” lists – and that’s ok.  My dad liked to quote a Beetle (or someone) who said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.”

So I loved the grittiness of Lamb.

And I loved that Jesus had a sense of humor in the story.  Yes, the book still portrayed him as innocent, but I loved that his best friend taught him sarcasm (which he used very moderately in the book).  The Bible is great at telling us a lot about Jesus – what he did, his virtues and character – but I kind of wonder about his sense of humor.  Was he playful?  Did he ever play pranks on the disciples?  I wonder if he ever short sheeted Peter’s bedroll or teepeed John’s tent.  Did Jesus spend time on the banks of the Jordan, hanging out with his friends and pondering some of the great mysteries, like: if Elijah and Moses were in a cage match – who would win?

Why does it matter if Jesus had a sense of humor?  I dunno.  I guess I just like the idea of knowing the person of Jesus – I like to imagine what it would be like if Jesus walked in the door and said hello.  Would he have a booming voice or a quiet disposition?  Would he shake my hand or give me a big hug?

I loved that Lamb painted a picture of Jesus that was so much richer than what I am able to glean from the Bible because so much of the Bible gets lost in cultural translation.  Perhaps there ARE elements of Jesus’ sense of humor embedded in the stories about Him – but humor in each culture is so subtle, it’s hard to pick up just by reading without studying the culture further.  And we all know that when you have to explain the joke, it really becomes less funny anway.  I am sure “That’s what she said” would be completely lost on ancient Jews.  And I can only imagine how future generations will interpret our jokes.

But I also felt convicted while reading Lamb.

Not because I was reading a story that was an irreverent and somewhat scandalous telling of Jesus’ life, but because as I read this story,  I was struck by Biff’s unbelief.  I don’t want to ruin the story in the case that you decide to read it, but generally speaking, I was surprised that this character Biff could literally WALK with Jesus for practically of his life and so miss the point on so many occasions.  It reminded me that I often miss the point.  It reminded me that I so frequently forget who Jesus is and get distracted by my own selfish desires.

I don’t know if the author intended for this result – I think the author wrote this book to provide a humorous explanation for what happened to Jesus between the ages of 6 and 32.  And perhaps the author knew enough Christians to know how many of us often spend all of this time learning about Jesus and God and MISSING THE POINT; there are so many of us who KNOW much, but BELIEVE little.

The disciples didn’t always understand what Jesus meant, but they believed in Him.  They were willing to stake it all on Him.  They believed He was who He said He was.

So yeah – I liked Lamb. It’s not for everyone, but it’s great satire.

towns

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When we drive up to Frank’s family’s house near the Wisconsin border, we pass through a lot of small towns.  Lately, because of Frank’s schedules, we have been traveling up north separately, which means that I spend more time watching the road than taking in the surrounding landscape.

Our ride up north is actually pretty scenic.  Many of the towns feel like vacation towns because they are so close to the Chain of Lakes.  Some of the buildings on the road feel very temporary – like the people who built them 30 or 40 years ago just weren’t sure how long they’d be around.  But with continual sprawl of Chicago, the towns stay full almost year-round and the temporary-feeling “strip malls” with bait shops and bakeries serve a mostly permanent population.

I was thinking that as I am someone who perpetually “passes through” these towns on my way to somewhere else, I often miss the charm of these buildings and streets.  I feel almost annoyed at the stop lights and stop signs along the way, forgetting that my highway north is someone else’s main street.

Today I imagined what it must be like to wake up in a quiet little town along some of the busiest lakes in the area.  I wondered what it is like to go to school in one of these towns, imagining that some of the students were itching to leave while others envisioned a future where they raised children that would one day attend the same schools and churches.  And I thought that perhaps some of the kids riding their bikes up to the local convenience store/gas station probably looked at our cars weaving through their familiar streets and thought to themselves, “I wonder where they are going in such a hurry?”

In some ways, we are all like our own towns.  Some of us are very metropolitan, with lots of people coming and going, fluid and dynamic.  Some of us are suburban with more family-oriented interests.  And some of us are like these sweet sleepy towns, enjoying where we are and our tight circle of close friends and family. And I don’t think there is a right kind of town to be – sometimes in my life I’ve been more urban and other times I’ve been more small town.  Today’s reflection reminded me to take time and enjoy where I am, even if I’m just passing through.

discipline

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I’m not a very disciplined person in a lot of respects.  I try very hard, but because it is not ingrained in my character, I often FORGET to be disciplined.

And last week was a week of discipline.

Something I’ve had drilled into me in my professional life is to nip things in the bud.  The minute something goes down a wrong path, and before it becomes a habit, you have to nip it in the bud.  Because I don’t like conflict, this was a hard one for me to learn both as a manager and as coworker.  But I have found that people respect you more for speaking up early rather than letting something carry on.  Not saying anything is often viewed as permission-granting.

I’m not perfect at this skill, but I work on it.  And because it runs counter to how I would prefer to live, it takes a certain amount of emotional energy.

The other thing I’ve had to get better at is disciplining my thoughts.  This has been on-going since I was little.  When I first started working on this, I was struggling with anxiety in school.  I would get the syllabus on the first day of school, and see that on the last day of the class there would be a… gasp… FINAL EXAM and I would start wondering how I was going to pass that test.  Seriously?  I hadn’t even been through the course yet.

As I’ve gotten older, and hormones have gotten crazier, I’ve had to work on disciplining where I let my thoughts go.  For example, my dear husband has a horrid schedule for the next 3 weeks.  I’m not going to get into the details for safety issues, but it is TERRIBLE.  Plus, he is supposed to get awarded a base closer to home, but the guy who posts the final awards WENT HOME EARLY on Friday, even though the company stated that it would post the results on Friday at 4 p.m. CST.

My natural bent is to go down the, “We will never have another holiday together.  We will never have another lazy Saturday together.  We will never …” And I definitely start down that road, but then I make myself remember that in a few years I will have mostly forgotten this time that we are going through and that it WILL get better.  Sometimes it takes a huge amount of emotional effort to turn this attitude around.

But it is always worth the effort.

time with my brother

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So, my brother Andy and I often explore some of the finer points of life when we spend time together.

Tonight, we discussed the virtues of colon cleanses.  And we wondered if that would give us the appropriate “reset” on our digestive lives.

We also discussed the disaster that is Jamba Juice.  Seriously?  Is there a Jamba Juice that is efficiently run?  I can be the only person there and I could still be in line behind 3 people.  How can that be?

I wonder if Jamba Juice has ever thought about doing a colon cleanse boost in their drinks.

Just a thought.

weather

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It’s raining and overcast and cool here in Chicagoland today.  It’s about 50 degrees, which is below average for this time of year, although, that is to be expected since we hit 80 last week, well above the average.

Isn’t that what an average is?  Some days are higher, some days are lower… but it all averages out.

Brilliant.

So what does the Chicagoland weather have to do with anything?

“The Weather as a Terrorist”

If you listen to any meteorologist or Chicago native discuss the weather, you’d think that the weather was a terrorist organization.  In the winter we have vicious cold snaps and brutal winter storms.  Truth be told, the winter of 2010 was pretty mild, but you wouldn’t know that listening to the news promos and conversation around the water cooler.  I’ve totally fallen prey to the “Weather as a Terrorist” mentality, often heaving reluctant sighs as I bundled up to go out into the cold.  And in the summer, we have blistering heat and suffocating humidity.  In the spring and fall, we have floods of epic proportions and hail the size of off-road dump trucks.  But an even worse offense than “violent” weather patterns is when the weather is just about 5-10 degrees too cool or too warm.  Oh, the hand wringing and sobbing that happens on the radio and in offices around the city – how could the weather be so cruel as to be BELOW average!

I actually had a conversation with an older woman that helped put me in a more accurate perspective.  I was lamenting about how rainy it has been and she said, “Well, we need it!” And then I remembered that the weather was not just about me and my immediate comfort, but about a whole world that needs seasons, rain, snow storms, and heat.  There are sweet little daisies that are ecstatic to get watered and happy little ducks paddling in the full ponds.

I look at God like the weather sometimes.  In the winter, I forget about the lovely warm sunny summer days and I wonder, angrily gripping my steering wheel, if it will EVER get warm again.  I think that’s how I sometimes go through the trials of this life: wondering if things will EVER get better.

And I can’t help but wonder at myself. Life is full of seasons and cycles and weather.  Sometimes I get into a particularly bad pattern of weather (like now), but unless I lived in Antarctica (and I clearly do not), it’s bound to hit 70 again in the next 365 days.  It is this attitude that I have (and many others have) that explains why God gave us the desire to write down stories.  And not just Pollyanna/sunshine stories, but the stories about times where life SUCKED.  Nearly every single life situation, featuring both suffering and joy, is documented in the Bible.  And guess what?  Sometimes the forecast calls for more “suckage” before it gets better.

The Small Rudder on the Big Ship

So even if you probably wouldn’t have thought much about the weather (unless it was particularly good or particularly bad), we TALK about the weather so much, it’s unavoidable.  “Crappy day outside, hey?” “Yah, bummer, hey?” “Yah.” (I miss Wisconsin!)

What I say about the weather impacts how I feel about the weather, in the same way that what I say about my situation often impacts how I feel about it.  I know, for those of you who THINK before you SPEAK, this probably doesn’t apply to you.  Since I often think out loud, this is totally appropriate.   Just a simple change of my attitude, changes my perspective.

the one where i use an aviation metaphor

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Physically, mentally and emotionally, it’s been rough.  It hasn’t been a crisis of faith, per se, but rather a crisis of HOW to have faith.

I believe in God, check.

I believe that His son Jesus is my Savior, check.

I have found, though, that I sometimes have a hard time figuring out how to look at our recent heartbreak and ongoing struggles to become parents and understand how to deal with it as a Christian.

When I am worked up about everything, I find myself tossed about by these storms and unable to find my bearings.

Which brings me to my aviation metaphor.  Ahem.

As a pilot, Frank has trained extensively.  When he first trained, he learned how to fly visually.  Flying visually is exactly what it sounds like – he would fly only in conditions (clear days, generally) that allowed him to identify landmarks and (most importantly) airports by sight. Flying on clear days is lovely, especially in small planes.

But as a committed pilot with aspirations to fly for airlines, Frank had to take his aviation training to the next level.  He had to learn to fly using only the instruments on the dashboard of the plane.  As part of his training, he actually wore a hood that didn’t allow him to see anything except the instruments in front of him.  He had to do this for two reasons: 1) because sometimes what you think you are seeing is not the whole picture and 2) because sometimes he has to fly in conditions where he won’t be able to visually see landmarks.

One night Frank took me flying.  It was a gorgeous night with a layer of low white clouds under a dome of shimmering stars.  Since there are controls on both sides of the plane, Frank let me take the “wheel” and instructed me to orient the plane so that it would be level with the horizon.  After a few minutes, Frank pointed at one of the instruments that showed how level the plane was relative to the earth.  Even though I thought I had the plane level with the horizon, I was very wrong.  The horizon I thought I was following was really a cloud, not the actual curve of the earth.

It is not enough, sometimes, to fly on sight alone.

Frank’s aviation training is a great metaphor for the grossly uncomfortable position that I am in right now.

Most of the time I can walk in my faith by “sight” alone; I either hear from God or I see landmarks from Him that point the way.  The answers are, for the most part, obvious.

Right now, though, we are stuck in the midst of storms and can’t see the ground or familiar landmarks.  Flying visually is not an option.  We have to rely on faith and the tools that God has given us.

I guess it’s a good idea to keep my seatbelt securely fastened, eh?

mother's day

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Mother’s Day is coming up around the corner.  This is the second year that I alternately dread the day and love it.

I dread it because it so freshly reminds me of where we are at with our fertility situation.  It reminds me that for so many people, getting pregnant and having the baby is the easy part. It reminds me that our guest room is still just a guest room, not a home to a permanent resident.

I love Mother’s Day because I have a wonderful mom.  My mom is vivacious and bright and beautiful.  She is a fantastic cook, an enthusiastic story-teller and a one-woman party.  If you wonder where I get my “talk to anyone” attitude, it’s from my mom.  I remember being in Washington, DC, waiting to cross a street and Mom struck up a conversation with a complete stranger. Turns out Mom knew a guy who knew someone that this stranger knew.

No one is a stranger to my mom.

She is inclusive and fiercely loyal.  My friends love hanging out with my mom.  She remembers them, she remembers their stories and she always asks them questions about what is going on in their lives.

My husband loves my mom.  I suspect it is largely due to the fact that whenever Mom sees him, she is constantly trying to feed him (this is not something that happens for him in our house… woops!).  I think it’s good that he loves my mom because, as Mom would say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!”

Speaking of that – my mom LOVES sayings.  She says things like:

“That’s why tigers eat their young!” (Do they?  Do they really?  I don’t think they do, but my mom has said that for SO long, I have started to question tigers…)  “There’s a lid for every pot” (not in our house – but I think she was referencing finding a mate, not actual cookware)  “No good deed goes unpunished” (Hm, sadly, I have found that to be true more often than I would like…) “Better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission” (Hmmmm…)

My mom, often in desperation, would tell us things that were not true that still mess with me to this day.  Like, for example, you HAVE to curl your hair to go to the city.  Or that the waiter was going to lock my brother up in the back room if he misbehaved (which explains why Andy would cry whenever he saw a waiter until he was about 18).  Babies crying in church were baby Jesus being born (this really messed me up because we had a giant crucifix at the front of our church + my dad read me time travel stories = I thought Jesus was a time traveling baby and I always wanted to tell warn him about the crucifixion “Don’t do it Jesus! They are going to crucify you!”).

Everything was fun and new and fresh with my mom.  Every day was a new adventure growing up.  My mom let us try a lot of things – this is how I knew I’d never be a horse jockey, a concert cellist, or a professional softball player.  It’s also how I knew what college I wanted to go to, what I wanted to major in and gave me a foundation of skills and knowledge to do all of those things.

When I was little, I loved driving places with my mom.  I remember listening to Elton John and Billy Joel on the radio, bopping along with her as we went to the grocery store or to visit Nani.

On one sunny afternoon, I remember my mom let me get Bubble Tape (6 feet of gum!), even though she hates gum (and bananas and raisins – also called the unholy trinity).  I remember holding the package in my hand, so happy to have this treat.  I looked at the packaging and I looked up at Mom and said, “Hey Mom, you know who makes this gum?” She replied, “No, who?” And I said, very seriously and proudly (I had just learned how to read) said, “Pat Pending!”

My mom laughed so hard that big tears were rolling down her cheeks.  She tried to explain to me what a patent was and what pending meant, but she could hardly get it out.

My mom loves to laugh.  She loves to delight in everyday kinds of things.

I love you Mom!  Happy Mother’s Day!

a tale of two brownies

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Two fudgey, chocolaty, delicious looking brownies are sitting all sultry-like in my refrigerator.  Untouched, unsniffed and uneaten.

Saddest thing you’ve ever seen. Truly.

But, this has been an exercise in resolve.  Determination. Perseverence. Discipline.

“Emmmmmily… oh, Emmmmmmmiiiiiilllyyyyy!”

Can you hear them too?  It’s the brownies! They are calling for me.

I. Must. Stay. Strong.

Ok, all kidding aside.  It has been rough giving up my refined sugar habit.  And I say habit because that is exactly what it became over the years.  If I couldn’t think of something, I’d just go get a “hit” of sugar.  If I finished lunch, but wanted to make the lunch hour more satisfying – Sugar!

Without it, I realize that I am somehow LESS anxious.  Less concerned about what I’m going to eat.  I know that if I eat a satisfying meal, I don’t have to stress because of all of the extra dessert calories.  I know that sounds strange, but I think that I would go into a nice meal that included dessert knowing that I was going to feel bad afterwards – knowing that I would regret it.  But now, I feel like I can eat a meal and be satisfied and not upset – does that make sense?

I wish I could tell you that I’ve lost a lot of weight doing this.  I’m down a total of 4 lbs.  It’s not great.  It’s the same 4 lbs that I feel like I am constantly losing and gaining and losing.  But at least I’m down and not up, right?

And really, it’s not the brownies that concern me right now anyway.  It’s the compromising situation that I found Ed in when I got home tonight.  It’s everything you’d expect to find on Entertainment Tonight: Scandalous. Scintillating. Skanky.

… more on that after the commercial break!

group work

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In college, as a marketing major, I was exposed to endless amounts of group work.  Nearly every class syllabus had some sort of monster “group” project included in it.

And here is the thing that I’ve learned about “group” work: it’s never really an effort of the whole, it is an effort of the determined.

The best group work assignment I ever had gave everyone in the group a $100 in fake money at the end to distribute as a bonus to their fellow group members.  Students were urged to distribute the money based on how much each person contributed to the group.  I remember feeling a great sense of satisfaction when I could reward my fellow teammates who pulled their weight, while acknowledging that we had some dead weight in the effort.  Yes, the group may have earned an”A” for the project, but truthfully, it was because of the work of a determined few.

And what I’ve found in life, at various jobs I’ve had, is that group work in college was probably the single best preparation for life that I had in college.  Yeah, the statistics and algebra helped.  Yes, it is helpful that I can create a flow chart and write a presentation.  All good skills.  But survival of the fittest is really based on how well you manage in group work.

There are still people at every job who have figured out ways to  contribute with the least amount of effort without getting fired.  Some of these people are so expert at it, they even manage to get raises and promotions out of it. These are the group coasters.  They just cruise along, disengaged and generally uninterested. And unfortunately, in every job, there are always the negative nellies.  These individuals want to direct the group without any responsibility of being a leader.  These are the folks at church or in circles of friends that are constantly giving feedback (generally negative) and never offering a solution (or at least a solution that includes something that they would do).

But the people I’ve grown to admire are of two groups: skilled followers and skilled leaders.

Skilled followers are abundantly more important than leaders.  Who cares where we’re being led if the group is comprised of negative nellies and group coasters?  It’s like getting in a car that is pointed in a direction, with zero fuel in the tank.  Frank and I have had to learn to be better followers in different volunteer situations.  I’m not even saying that we’re good at it yet, but it’s a skill we work on and we’ve made progress with.  We’ve learned that good followers bring problems and solutions.  They look at their leader and figure out when they need encouragement, when they need help organizing/distributing work and suggest helpful solutions.

Skilled leaders are important, too.  They cast a vision, they encourage the followers, they set goals and move towards them.  The put a lot on the line – time, effort and pride.

But what I’ve noticed for both skilled followers and skilled leaders is that the outcome is more important to both of those groups than their pride.  True group work is humbling for everyone because leaders often have to get into the trenches and followers often have to pick their battles.

Followers have to be able to determine what is a “strategic” difference versus a simple “style” difference – and if it is worth bringing up.

The best examples of strategic vs. style differences are often found in churches.  There are a lot of people who attend churches that love the mission, vision and direction of the church.  They love the teaching or the programs or the worship or the children’s ministry, but often they do not love ALL of the programs.  Or perhaps they don’t love the style of how something is done – perhaps they would prefer that more percussion would be used during worship or that the children’s ministry had more outdoor activities.  But at the end of the day, the church as a whole matches most of their important criteria.  They go to church, often staying silent on their style preferences because they want to build up the church, not tear it down.

Life is essentially all about group work.  Even if you think you’ve escaped group work, you probably haven’t if you are in any sort of long-term relationship or part of a family.  The question essentially boils down to what kind of group member do I want to be?

meet ed

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Ed is our stuffed dog that has sat on our bed every day since our first married Valentine’s day in February 2004.  Ed has traveled from Naperville to Milwaukee to Oak Creek to storage (woops, sorry Ed) to the suburbs of Chicago.

Ed enjoys his time on the bed, I think.  I mean, he’s never complained.

And he’s really the perfect dog.  He doesn’t bark, he doesn’t shed, he doesn’t pee on our carpet, chew our furniture, or pass gas .

He’s a simple dog, really.

Hi, I’m Ed. How YOU doin’?

I’d lick you if I had a tongue!


Ahhh!!  Bright lights!  It’s the paparazzi!

I didn’t ASK to be famous.  I mean, it just sort of happened.  I’m a good looking dog, what can I say – oh, hold on, it’s my agent… Yo, dollface, how YOU doin’?

Ah that Ed, he’s such a card.