The Big Secret

Lately, I've been getting variations on this sentiment: "Have you lost weight? You look great!" First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you to every one of you who've taken care first to notice and then narrate on the narrowing figure. But, seriously now, here's the deal...

I'm not actually any thinner or "fitter" than I was before Judsen. I'm the same size, actually. Same clothes (thank you, God, for indoor plumbing and Levi's). Same style (Colorado chic is what I call it. You know, jeans and a tee dressed up a scarf or hat or necklace or shoes. But always comfortable). Same gal, really. Well, with one more kid. And let me tell you: it ain't easy to recover after one child...then two...then three...and however many more y'all may have. But it's even trickier when you have 10 pounders that come via a cut in the belly (the whole process becomes a bit more complicated).

And we all have our pregnancy curses...mine is weight. Average about 65 pounds per kid, I do. Don't especially indulge in eating. Exercise throughout...and at the same pace I keep today without pregnancy, in fact. But, that's my burden to bear.

So it takes a solid year to chisel away at the post-pregnancy bulbous body that is me after baby. Now, I don't particularly look at the numbers after the first, say, 4 months. In fact, I don't weigh myself today. That's one stat that absolutely DOES NOT solely define fitness level, so I don't sweat it (pun intended).

But we all, I'd wager, have our method: mine is clothes. I know I'm not alone in this. I have my teeniest jeans and, when they fit, I've arrived. Shirts vary, of course, because I now have about 4 or 5 inches of excess skin that I can actually stretch away from my body, so clingy shirts are now out. (For those of you who have seen this epidermal massacre, I apologize. I don't know what I was thinking).

So, if I'm more or less the same but you think I look more or less thinner, what's the big secret? Well, here it is: one word. One word only. Pilates. Yes, Pilates is my big secret. It could be yours, too. It's hard. But it's relaxing. And it's hard. But I breathe alot, which seems to improve the overall life expectancy for the day...for both my children and me. And I'm taller. Yes, taller. And I'm more taught. Lithe, I'd even say. And, most importantly, I'm fit.

Because the even bigger secret is this: being fit is a way of life that, with a sardonic chuckle I add, prolongs that very life. Because of fitness, I'll be wearing my Levi's at least a decade longer, I hope, and relishing that the reason I no longer buy clingy tees are the three people I'll get to watch play ball, go to prom, graduate high school, tackle college and, one day, go down aisles to say "hello" to their own reasons to get big, become small again, and -- who knows? -- try some Pilates themselves.

Taking It Personally

We've heard that expression, "Don't take it personal, " right? Well, first of all, I'd be remiss to the English language if I didn't mention that this is poor grammar: Americans turn adverbs into nouns all the time (naughty, naughty), and this is an example. So, you tell me not to take it personallyand, ironically, that's exactly how you often mean it. But I came across this just last night in one of the books I'm reading and found that I truly did take it personally. And that, for once, is a good thing... Consider this:

"In an electronic, need-for-speed, overnight-delivery age, the more personal the invitation the better. A visit is more personal than a call; a call is more personal than a letter; a letter is more personal than e-mail -- a letter with six people's names on it is less personal than one addressed to one person, and an email is about as impersonal as it gets. We are so flooded with e-mails and the medium is so senseless that I have come to believe that in the rank order of inviting, e-mails don't count. But all are better than lying in bed at night waiting for [God] to provide."

(Ok, I added God because the author, Peter Block, wrote "the universe" and, to that, I say "Pishaw.")

But this resonated with me: for instance, I know I don't like it when I get an email that tells me its been sent "to our most valued friends" ... and there's like 200 names on the list. Huh? I also know that I love opening my mail slot and seeing a card with my name on it, written in a dear friend's hand...and it's for me and me alone. Time isn't just money, you know. It's also love. And Evite is fabulous and perfect for some occasions (I've got one coming up, in fact), but a phone call to invite a friend to lunch is more my speed than a "Hey, let's get together sometime" that is never followed by a plan.

God's Word teaches: "A new commandment I give to you that you love one another, even as I have loved you, that you may also love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35). I want to matter. I especially want to matter to the people who love me. And, even more than that, I want to make the people I care about know they matter. All the time. Every day. Even if I can't interact with them daily. They should know it, rarely if ever doubt it. I certainly don't want them to lay in the dark asking God if anyone cares about them at all!

I've learned it's rarely in the big that I'll make my biggest mark; rather, it's in the everyday touches of time over convenience, of hard over easy, of loving over being loved that I've made it truly personal.

What a Difference a Year Makes!

As I was digging through our pc's folders for a particular file, I came across a video made in late Spring, 2008. I usually make one each Spring, and have yet to do that this year. So, obviously, finding this was a bittersweet event; yes, I got to watch it again but, yes, I have now added yet another item to my to-do list. Grrr...
But I digress...Watching the video again left me marveling at the difference a year makes. These frames reminded me that we had recently delivered Judsen. Grace looked much more little girl than big girl, and Elijah still had a ton of curls. Sigh...where did they all go? And the last frame brought tears to my eyes: we were in Alaska when that shot was taken. We had suffered a miscarriage just three weeks prior. We were celebrating a beloved friend's marriage. We felt both great pain and great elation. But seeing that picture felt most like a blow to the heart because it reminded me of the turmoil we bore as we grappled with the questions, "What are You doing, God? Are You even who we thought You were?"
Of course, we didn't know then that Judsen was already growing within me, and the fruit of His plan was just a bud of life, existing totally unaware to us. I wonder what God saw when we took that picture: I'm certain He knew our grief. I'm positive He knew of the life to come. I'm confident He was willing us to just keep going, despite our weakness, and most definitely in spite of our pain. He sent a miracle to set us free of our loss.

Indeed...what a difference that year made.

Honey, this is a lot of work!

We have some really fabulous couples at Vanguard. No, I mean really fabulous. Craig and I love to hear their stories of loss and gain; of failure and triumph; of agreement and disagreement; of faith, of hope, and of love. They're all valuable, all worthwhile. And the more of them we are privileged to meet, the more we are encouraged about marriage.
Marriage is a lot of work. This is a truth akin to the sky is blue, grass is green, what goes up must come down...But this is also a reminder that we sometimes see the forest and not the tree. Is that enough euphemisms for you?
Well, let me put it another way: in our Married Life gathering at Vanguard (about 30 of us - or 15 couples - are meeting weekly to talk, share, and pray about the topics of marriage that are prevalent in relationship today), last week's theme was, "Honey, this is a lot of work!" And, of course, the conversation was great as we remembered the early days of marriage and compared them to what we know now about the effort this pivotal relationship requires. But, as I've been pondering that topic over the last few days, I've come to a realization: maybe it's not a lot of work, so much as it's a lot of awareness.
Over nearly 13 years of my marriage, I've grown aware that the work is what's happening while you're living in relationship together: it's not the focus you're centering on throughout the day-to-day of life. When I'm coordinating childcare for the umpteenth time and wondering if we should just skip the date altogether, I'm not thinking about the work of marriage, per Se. Rather, I'm thinking about the childcare, the date, the time it takes to coordinate both. But when we're on the date, I'm blissfully aware of my extraordinary husband, not to mention how incredibly fortunate I am to have this marriage, this life. Quite frankly, the same is true of other aspects of marriage, too; namely friendships, parenting, sex, money, time, and on and on.
John Lennon wrote the line, "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." Well, maybe the work of marriage is what happens while you're busy living life...the married life. And maybe accepting that perspective allows us to shift our mindsets from, "Honey, this is a lot of work!" to "Honey, this sure is a good life."

I wonder what our marriages would be like then?

So I have this one friend...

Ha! Fooled you, didn't I? I realize that a sentence birthed with these 6 fearsome words can go many directions...and ain't none of 'em good, you know what I mean? Case in three points:
1. "So I have this friend and she told me recently she has inappropriate attractions." (Bad)
2. "So I have this friend and she told me recently she was attracted to my husband." (Worse)
3. "So I have this friend and she told me recently she was attracted to me." (Um....what?!)
But this time this introductory phrase bears no such lamentation; rather, it references a friend who, upon reading this very post, is already laughing out loud...probably in some totally inappropriate timing or space, if history proves correct.
My friend is loud. She is not for the faint of heart. She is loud and not for the faint of heart because she's bursting with a passion for life and the love of Jesus Christ.
My friend is audacious. She is not for the timid and secretive. She is audacious and not for the timid and secretive because she believes in being true to whom God's made you to be, without reservation or shame or fear.
My friend is brilliant. She is not for the dim-witted who would rather hide from risk than go beyond themselves to embrace the world. She is not for the dim-witted who are unwilling to risk because, despite disadvantages and obstacles, she has risen above to become a compassionate, loyal servant to her beloveds.
My friend belongs to Jesus. She belongs to her husband. She belongs to her daughter and also to her son. And she belongs to me. And, if you're blessed to meet her, she could belong to you, too.
My friend is an example to me. My friend is my favorite bee.
I thank God for her.

Um, did I say that already?

It's occured to me that I repeat myself daily. "What's that?" you say, "You're just now realizing you repeat yourself, repeat yourself?" I snicker and guffaw: Yes! I'm only now realizing there are directions, instructions, euphemisms, and (sad to say) even a few rants that I should just post throughout the house so I may quickly point rather than quip. Here's just a few of the assortment:

What do you want for breakfast?

Mullins, (the dog) get out from under my feet!

Get your thumb out of your mouth.

Where's the baby?

Yes, you may.

No, you may not.

What do you want for lunch?

Covak's? (answering the phone)

Please don't waller me.

Mullins, get out from under my feet!

Huh?

Yes, you may.

Covak's?

Get your thumb out of your mouth.

Where's your brother?

Put that down.

Pick that up.

Love you!

Covak's?

Huh?

Thank you!

I don't know.

Mullins, get out from under my feet!

No, you may not.

What do you want for snack?

Please don't waller me.

Covak's?

Huh?

I don't know.

Mullins, get out from under my feet!

Put that down.

Pick that up.

love you!

Covak's?

Huh?

What do you want for dinner?

Put that down.

Covak's?

Covak's?

Covak's? (notice the phone is busiest as I'm making dinner).

Get your thumb out of your mouth.

thank you!

It is what it is.

I love my life!

"What are we having for dinner tonight?"

Elijah asks me this question every day. Every day! It makes me cringe, it does. It turns a smile upside down. It's the reason my forehead has a crease between my eyebrows. And it has the SAME answer EVERY night..."I don't know." Even if I DO know, I say I DON'T know...simply because I've neither the time nor the energy to answer it.

The time between 3:30 and 5 is painful at my house. Everyone in it needs something of me, from me. The whole world phones me. The clouds open up and pour rain upon me. It's when the dog yarfs on the tile, a solicitor knocks on the door, and the baby throws his snack on the floor. I could cry. I often do whine. And when it's all said and done, dinner's on the table, and the next question inevitably arises: "Mommy, why do you make this? I don't like it!"

Hm-mm. That's a question for a different day.

Who's the Boss?

Kelly's message today at church was about bosses; namely, he queried, "How do you behave respectfully to your boss?" These types of Sundays have a strange vibe to me: our worship pastor is away on tour (yeah, on tour...how wild is that?), so we have a fill-in who's fabulous in his own right, don't get me wrong. But he's not Fike, and Fike is the regular. I mean, have we met? I'm the epitome of anal-retentive and, when you take my regular regimen away, you've left me naked and bald. Don't worry, I cope on the inside so I appear sunny on the outside.

Anyway, I'm in this strange vibe already and here comes this message. Now I don't have a boss. No, that's not entirely true. I do have a boss. But in the world of freelance writing and editing and teaching as part of the Adjunct Faculty, my bosses are not folks I see each day as I sip Starbucks in a meeting or talk "Lost" at the water cooler. I like it that way, quite frankly, since I'm already at full capacity (and, some days, then some) with my plate of relationships.
So I'm listening to Kelly and thinking the typical meanderings: "Hmmm....I'll have to think about that." "Funny guy." "Um, that's not a word." "Um, that's not even English..." Well, you get the drift. And then it hits me: I DO have a boss. I DO, I DO, I DO! Now, this choice of words is ironic because they're the reason I have a boss....you see, Craig is my boss.

Now, listen ladies, don't get your hackles up just yet! Though I could argue Scripture with ya and even debate the emotional and spiritual "economics" of this position, let me just say: You don't have to agree, believe, or certainly prescribe to my way of thinking. But it works for me.
Each day I have a mission to live out, tasks to achieve, atmospheres to create. To whom am I accountable? It would be most spiritual for me to say God, that's true. And I do believe that, live for that, and otherwise strive for that. Yet, on a flesh level, the truth is I'm responsible to Craig. Just as I expect him to provide, to cover, to protect us, he expects I will nurture, construct, navigate, and love us as Christ loves His church.

I'm not afraid to have this boss: his love is the greatest salary out there; his provision offers the best health care and benefits package; my life with him is my guaranteed retirement; and, through our children, he's given the best support team and little flock of ducklings I could imagine. I do respect my boss: he's earned it, for sure. And I genuinely like my boss: I guess all that helps me realize I love my job, too.