Three Things I Wish Everyone Knew About Christians

(This has inspired yet another barrage of evolution vs. creationism editorials. No matter which perspective is being defended, I end up feeling attacked.)

1. We are not all Republicans.

The Pharisees asked Jesus once whether Jews ought to pay taxes to Rome. Jesus pointed to a Roman coin, engraved with Caesar’s image, and said, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” Politics were never Jesus’ thing, and as His followers, I think Christians need to be wary of making it ours.

I DO think Christians should vote and speak up, stage a protest, or run for office. I DON’T think a person of faith needs to segregate her internal church and state; a person’s faith informs her political opinions, and that’s a good thing. Claiming that God is on the side of one political party, however, is dangerous and wrong. God’s plans are, I hope and pray, ever so much bigger than that.

2. We don’t all think everyone else is going to hell.

When I was a teenager, a young man interned at our church as part of his work toward a degree in Youth Ministry. He told me once during a Bible study that he was certain his grandfather was in hell. The reason? His grandfather was Jewish.

My Problem Number One with this theory: I cannot believe that God condemns the truly faithful, no matter what faith they profess. I believe that God reveals Himself to anyone who seeks Him; the honest search itself is the important thing, not the form it takes. (If you have never read the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis, please consider reading at least the last book. Lewis portrays this much more beautifully than I ever could.)

My Problem Number Two: We do not know the mind of God. In a college religion class, I read a treatise suggesting that maybe there is no one in hell at all. Maybe God has redeemed even the worst sinners and unbelievers in deathbed conversions that we cannot know anything about (Matthew 20: 1-16). I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe it is, and maybe a more traditional picture is more accurate. I just don’t know, and I wish more Christians were OK with saying that.

Incidentally, the evolution debate (and the abortion debate, and so many others) falls into this category as well. There seems to be this line in the sand: if you acknowledge any of the scientific evidence of evolution, you must therefore deny the truth of the Genesis account. Some will call me wishy-washy, I suppose, but I prefer to straddle the line: I believe that God created the universe, and that HE’S STILL CREATING IT. I don’t understand how 6 days of creation translates to the billions of years evidence suggests, but I am trying to make peace with the idea that God knows more than I, and that He is under no obligation to reveal His plans to me.

3. We are sinners.

Christians are people. Humans. Mistake-makers. Gossipers, adulterers, key-forgetters, argument-starters, income-tax-fudgers, temper-losers. All of us.

Please don’t dismiss our faith because of it, though. We don’t claim to be perfect — our only claim is that God is saving us. He’s not done with us yet, and He may not be done with you either.

A Question

Stay-home moms (for lack of a better term), what do you do all day?*

I don’t mean, “Oh, I’m so BORED. I have nothing to do, what with the two infants and the preschooler and the laundry and all. I mean, after I watch my stories and eat all the bon-bons, there are still 3 hours to kill!”

I mean, how do you decide what to do first? How do you get done what needs to be done (dishes, cooking, laundry, gardening, whatever) while still getting your kids fed and dressed and loved and played with?

*Moms who work for an actual paycheck in an actual office, if you want to talk about your experiences, I’d love to hear your story too. It’s just that I know from experience that your priorities will, of necessity, be different than those of a mom who doesn’t work outside the home.

Power Struggle

During my shower today, Raisin emptied every drawer in her dresser onto the floor.  I tried not to overreact, because she said she was doing “a job like you, Mommy.”  A few weeks ago, I did go through all her stuff to pull out the things she’s outgrown.  I’m sure to her it looked like I just dumped everything on the floor, too.

Still, I’m trying to convince her that she who makes the mess must participate in the clean up.  So I gave her two drawers to pick up, while I did the rest.  She did the socks because I was standing right there, but her hair bows and barrettes are still scattered all over.  I told her she could come out of her room when she was finished.  I said that THREE HOURS AGO.  (I let her out for lunch.)

She’s not mad, and neither am I, so I guess we’ll just keep waiting each other out.   But I’ll be damned if she goes to bed tonight without that floor looking spotless.

Things I Don’t Get, Again

When Dora’s Backpack so clearly has a functioning mouth (with which to sing that catchy “backpack, backpack” song), why does she say, “Yum, yum, yum, delicioso!” as all the stuff goes back in through the top of her head?

Why is that the thing that bothers me about a talking backpack who regurgitates umbrellas, crayons, and sticky tape?

Apple and Orange are 8 1/2 months old.  How is it possible that we are still straightening out insurance claims from their birth (and some from prenatal ultrasounds!)?  In one case, the insurace company denied a claim for Apple’s part of an ultrasound because it was a “duplicate” — apparently the other 90 kajillion twin claims somehow escaped that representative’s attention.  In another case, the hospital billed us repeatedly for a service provided to Orange, while Apple’s account had an identical credit.  This is to be expected to some extent, I suppose.  Twins aren’t all that common.  Still, 8 1/2 months?  Really?

Things I Don’t Get

How can Raisin ask me the same question (“Where IS Applebee’s?”  “Are we going home now?”  “Is Apple sleeping?”  “Mom, are you OK?”) 300 times in 15 minutes, and still be surprised at the answer?

How can I worry all day about not being able to remember the word “nettle,” when I obviously have better things I could be doing with my brain?  (I finally came up with it while I was pulling a huge patch of the stupid things out of my garden.  Ouch.)

How does George Bush not see that he maybe doesn’t have the best judgment in friends/appointees?  You’re doing a heckuva job, Mr. President.

There were more, but now I can’t remember any of them.  Sigh.

Mother’s Day, Part 3 of 3

Dear Raisin, Apple, and Orange,

Meg Ryan’s character in You’ve Got Mail (a movie that you undoubtedly will think is archaic by the time you’re old enough to read this letter) says that she leads a life that is “valuable but small.”  I think about that line a lot since I’ve been your mommy.  In a sense, my life has gotten “smaller” — I have given up opportunities to do what I want when I want so that I can take care of you.

Don’t think for a second, though, that I would trade a minute of motherhood for the things I could be doing instead.  Even when I am frustrated and tired, I know in my heart how blessed I really am.  I know that all too soon, you won’t need me the way you do now.  I know that when that happens, I will look back nostalgically at these years when your favorite place is in my arms.

Besides, my life is infinitely more “valuable” now than it was three years ago.  I feel like Madeline L’Engel’s farandolae (her books are timeless classics — you might get away with not watching my 90s movies, but you WILL read A Wrinkle in Time and its sequels — be prepared).  They think they are free when they are young and able to roam, but their life doesn’t really begin until they have Deepened.

You are helping me to Deepen.  Life as a wife and mother is richer and more complete than it was when I was single.  I am more patient, more joyful, and (most importantly) more humble.  You are teaching me wisdom; before, I had only knowledge.

You are each beautiful in mind, body, and spirit.  I want you to know that I absolutely rejoice that I could have any small part in making you the amazing people you are.  It stuns me to think how much MORE amazing you will be by the time you’re all grown up.

Raisin, I love your enthusiasm.  You can get just as excited about a visit to the dentist as you are about your own birthday party.  You make every day a holiday, and I get so much energy from that.  You are curious and eager to learn, almost always ready to try something new.  I admire your courage, and I get endless entertainment from your imagination.  It’s also helpful that you remember EVERYTHING, because I get awfully distracted some days.  I am starting to rely on you quite a bit!

Orange, you study everything.   You have observed so much in 8 months that I think you will have a lot to say once you figure out how to say it.  You are trying really hard to make big people sounds, so I know you’re trying to tell me something.  I love your slow, shy smile.  The saying about still waters running deep could’ve been written for you, I think.

Apple, you are everybody’s friend.  Your entire face lights up when you see something you like.  If it’s something really good, your legs and arms get into the smile, too.  It’s infectious.  I love to watch you work hard at a new skill, because you stick with it until you figure it out.  Once you get it, you are so proud.  Your determination is going to get you places!

Oh, there is so much more to all three of you than I could possibly fit into a letter like this!  Even as I write it, you are growing and changing and learning new things, making my observations outdated.  It happens so fast that some days I hardly recognize you.

So, if by the time you see this post, none of it applies anymore, you have my permission to read only the ending:

I love each of you more than I have ever loved anything in my life (well, besides Daddy).

Love, Mommy

Mother’s Day, Part 2 of 3

Dear Mom,

The Reader’s Digest version of this letter is this: I want to be the kind of mother that you were and are.

If I had written the original draft of the long version instead of typing it, you would see line after crossed-out line.  It has proven difficult to write.  I can’t find the words that would really express all the ways that you have influenced my life for good.

I guess it’s hard to pin down those influences; you have never been into Parenting Philosophies.  I can’t sum up your mothering style by matching you up to Spock or Sears.

You insisted that I sit on your lap every day before school long after I thought I was too big to do so.  You worried about every cough and about every bike ride that took me out of your sight.  You weren’t afraid to lay down the law when I sassed or disobeyed you.  You celebrated every good grade and clapped enthusiastically at every performance.

You cooked thousands of suppers.  You threw birthday parties and planned family vacations.  You corrected my grammar and insisted that I finish my homework before I watched Melrose Place (and you hinted, ever so subtly, that perhaps Melrose Place was not the high-quality program I thought it was.  You were so right.  Gilmore Girls is way better.).

And then, you let go.  This, I know now, is probably the hardest thing you’ve had to do as a mother.  To watch as I gradually took steps farther and farther from you, to sit back and wait for me to ASK you for advice before you gave it — that must have gone against the grain.  I can get myself all misty-eyed when Raisin gets her own fork from the drawer (“she doesn’t need me anymore!”), so I can’t imagine what I’ll do when she learns to drive or goes to college.

Well, actually, I do know what I’ll do.  I’ll call you and ask for your advice.  Just like I do almost every day, and I hope that you see those phone calls for what they really are: the highest form of praise for a job well done.

I love you, Mom.  Happy Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day, Part 1 of 3

To my Mother-in-law,

I have a lot of reasons to love you: you raised the Jellyman to be a fantastic husband and father, you accepted and befriended me from the beginning, you have placed a priority on keeping our family close-knit despite the geographical distance between us, and you like musicals.

But I have learned that the quickest way to any mother’s heart is through her children, and you love your grandchildren with an energy and a passion that would have won me over even if I didn’t already love you.  Watching you with them gives me a chance to see them with new eyes, to watch pieces of their personality and history – things that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for you – take root and develop .

The Jellyman and I, I hope, will never stop being grateful that you are willing to fly across the country to roll around on the floor and read silly stories and have tea parties.  I promise you I will do everything I can to make sure our kids always appreciate it, too.

Happy Mother’s Day.

[Expletive Deleted]

I am not accomplished enough with profanity for a day like today.  Or maybe there’s just not enough profanity in the world.

It all comes of thinking that I was going to have a good day.  That was my fatal error, I think: the flaw that set my own personal Greek tragedy into motion.  You see, Apple and Orange slept (almost) through the night last night, for really the first time ever.  They didn’t get up until 4:30 this morning, so I got to sleep almost six hours in a row.  Woo!  Hallelujah!

And… that was the end of the sleeping.

Ah, well, I thought.  I’ll drink some coffee, read the paper, get an early start to the day.  It could be worse.  (Yes, Julie, yes it could…)

Raisin got up at about 6:30, we did breakfast, the babies took a ridiculously early nap.  So far, other than the cold that we’ve all been fighting, things weren’t so bad.

Then I tried to tighten a loose light bulb in a ceiling fixture, and the bulb part came off in my hand, leaving the screw part in the light.  [insert mild profanity here]

We shook it off and headed for a nearby mall so that Raisin could play on the indoor playground.  I was actually pretty proud of this idea — it solved the need to get out of the house despite a rainy day, it was free, and it kept Raisin entertained sans TV, which is hard when she’s sick and the babies are nursing all the time.

Then we came home to find the Jellyman sound asleep — too sick to finish the work day, or to attend his night class tonight.  [insert slightly less mild profanity here]  Which, of course, reminded me that I hadn’t planned anything for supper.  [profanity]

We could still be OK, I told myself.  I just have to quick clean up the kitchen and throw dinner in the Crockpot while the babies are napping.  Except the babies woke up before I could finish supper.  [profanity]  And they were in a really bad mood and screamed while I left them in their play seats so I could get the chicken started.  [profanity profanity profanity]

And then, friends, then is when my day became bad.  Orange seemed the most inconsolable, so I plucked her out of her seat first, thinking I could nurse the twins and salvage the afternoon.  On my way to the bedroom with Orange, I noticed that the toilet was running.  It’s been doing that lately, and all that’s required is a quick flip of the chain so that the flap will seal properly.  Something I should’ve been able to do with one hand while I held the baby with the other.  Except I lost my grip on the tank cover, dropped it into the tank, and actually shattered the porcelain of the tank.  [profanity] (I know, I wouldn’t have thought it possible either.  I am extremely talented in these matters.)

For those of you playing along at home, large jagged hole in toilet tank = bathroom floor covered in water and shards of broken porcelain.  [profanity] And I had to find a safe place to set Orange before I could turn off the water, so I’m guessing there were a couple of gallons out before I made it back. [profanity x one billion]

Also, Orange and Apple still wanted to be fed, and Raisin was mad because I wouldn’t let her come into the bathroom to see what was going on.  Oh yeah, and the Jellyman had left for a dentist appointment.  I cleaned up the worst of it, fed the babies, and left the kids upstairs while I took a load of sodden towels to the basement.

I used the opportunity of being out of earshot to say every bad word I know.

Further Proof that I am HOTT

Today when the piano tuner showed up 1/2 hour early (please don’t do this to a stay-home, nursing mother), I had to remove a warm poultice from my bra (another plugged duct, damn it) before answering the door.  I did not have time to check my shirt for milk leaks and/or spit-up.  He’ll just have to deal with it.