Archive for March, 2011

“If you have really handed yourself over to Him it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you.”
—C.S. Lewis, *
Christian Behavior* (Macmillan, 1943), p.66

HELP WANTED

I need …

You to wash away my sins…

You to make me clean again…

You here next to me…

You to wash away my pain…

You to make me whole again…

You to leave my past behind…

You to make my life brand new…

You to heal my broken heart…

You to encourage me each day…

You to love me where I am…

You to show me that I can…

You to set me free…

You to bring me peace…

Yesterday.
Today.
Tomorrow.

Day by day by day
by day by day by day
by day by day by day
by day…

You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Baby Girl came home from Kindergarten so excited yesterday.

She was able to bring home her Me on the Map book she’s been working on for weeks.

Baby Girl combines many talents in her bag of tricks and creativity is one of them.

Baby Girl gushed to report that she drew herself, “Walking on top of the earth like an astronaut!  See?  See!”

See?

See!

Along with original text and illustrations, Baby Girl came home with hand motions to teach the concepts of the book to the family.

(Arms stretched wide open) This is my world!  I live on the earth!

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This is my country! I live in the United States of America.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This is my state! I live State Name.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This is my city! I live in City Name.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and close space the space between them in a loud clap) This is my street! I live on Street Name.

Little did Baby Girl realize she had written my story too.

(Arms stretched wide open) This is my world! I live in Familyville.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This is The Boy!  He is our lighthouse.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This is The Oldest Girl! She is our heart.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and pull arms more closely together) This The Middle Girl! She is our music.

(Hands cup like parenthesies and close space the space between them in a loud clap) This is Baby Girl! She is our art.

They are my world! I live inside love.

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

The confessional nature of blogs and memoirs lend themselves to stark admissions.

At brokenhallelujah.org,  I resolve to balance my angst with Praise.

Perfectly timed, my devotion this morning from Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling, called out to me personally with the sentence, “Refuse to WORRY! … The best defense is continual communication with Me, richly seasoned with thanksgiving.”

I was a ready audience for her brilliant reflection of His living word this morning as I had worked myself into an absolute lather. I breakfasted with the beast worry, and was nigh unto gnawing on the drumstick of my own parental esteem when one of my Sisters patiently pointed me back to Praise.

The issue of my discontent is the pressure on my children to perform and the pressure I feel as a parent to train and support them to preform on ever increasing measures and misson-creeping venues. Long story short, my son will be in 8th grade next year, and it is time for us to look ahead in regard to his course work and extra curricular activities so that he enjoys a smooth transition into high school.

That sounds really calm and rational, right?

Well lucky for you that you missed the very snoggy and irrationally moist in-between when I deduced that I had not only ruined his entire education, but subjected him to a life of mediocrity, and also simultaneously derailed our daughters futures too because at the tender ages of 12, 10, 9 and 5 they remain generalists without a domain they dominate. And I mean like S&M dominate, tie other children-up as hostages and ignore their safe words kind of dominate we now apparently value as a society.

The teams they play on when they are 8-12 determine if they have any chance of being high school players. It simply baffles me how difficult it is for athletes to get a spot on a JV high school team. Now, there’s a glaring collegiate dynamic in operation in high school athletics, bands and orchestras. Without years of practice and specially developed skills, kids with the simple desire to learn, do not make the cut. Gone is the time you could figure out what you are good at in high school.

The courses 7th and 8th graders take determine their high school track. Furthermore, these courses open and close future college doors.

7th and 8th graders are 12 and 13 years-old, immature, impulsive, and in most cases, simply not ready for that kind of pressure.

I also find that the only thing that parents find more taboo to talk about besides sex, drugs and suicide is the pressure parents feel to witness the hypercompetition their children face constantly as they vie for space and primacy. It’s a wonder more parents don’t lose their libido, take antidepressants, quit their lives or run away from home.

A horrendous social SNAFU, a communal knot that rivals a mental disorder; it has been christened, PPP, Pressured Parents Phenomenon, as if the DSM-5 didn’t already have the psychiatric community in a big enough uproar. We’ve got language for it now. These cultural trends tide with enough prevalence that we needed to name it. In the course of one academic year, the terms PPP, Tiger Mom and Race to No Where have become part of our parental vernacular to describe the stressed out condition of our precious families.

The Catch 22s created are inevitable:

No, I don’t want to be a Tiger Mom, but neither do I want your Tiger Mom children to kick my childrens’ asses.

Yes, I am often unsure where the race ends, but if I pull my children out, your kid will run divots into my kid’s forehead with his cleats.

No, I don’t want to put pressure on my children, but if I don’t, how can they keep up with yours, especially when you just enrolled them in continuous, summer sessions of ________fill in the blank_______.

Yes, I am aware that pushing my child to excel keeps his drive as an external force when he should be passionate about what he pursues, but we’ve invested money we don’t really have in this so he can compete, and we can’t afford to start all over with something else now.

All the chase escalates my fear that our children will not become happy, successful adults.

The fear pollinates the worry.

And the Voice of Voices, the keeper of all Shepards, His quiet still Peace drowns in the background noise of my inward process.

I cannot hear Him when I am on the throne or place my children on the throne.

I cannot finish the race set before me without His Love and Word.

Left to my own devices, I am a Tiger Mamma with PPP.

Only when I Partner with the Perfect Parent, may I receive and extend Grace.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Well baby I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew ya
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah








@BloggyMoms tweeted a quip about getting bloggy bottom last week:

BloggyMoms
think I’m getting bloggy bottom
2/26/11 4:49 PM

I tweeted her back that I thought there was a post in that idea:

jaelBH
@BloggyMoms Ha! Great post idea… The BloggyMommy body from nose to toes, saggy, breast feeding middle parts included… (or not)
2/26/11 5:38 PM

What follows is the fruit from a @BloggyMoms tweet, even though it’s obvious from her gorgeous picture that bloggy bottom is not a problem of hers.

Bloggy Mommy Body

Like most serious athletes, the Bloggy Mommy has a distinct body type specifically conditioned for the necessary behaviors and reflexes of a syndicated blogger.

The Toes:

Often sporting a french-tip manicure, or hidden in slippers, they are tucked under a desk or lap-top  much of the time.

The Feet:

Well muscled and ready to spring, they leap into action to serve family, friends and community.

The Calves:

Well defined, they have run mile after mile as well as paced worried floors.

The Knees:

Kneel to pray.

The Thighs:

Lap of comfort wide enough for babies.

The Hips:

Having crowned heads and been portals to lives, their spread is noble feminity.

The Bottom:

We sit upon our look upon and find there more to see.

The Girly Parts:

Kegel. Kegel. Kegel.

The Waist:

Muffin-topped.

The Breasts:

Have fed a baby or two, or three, or four, or more, and, as such, now may droop in salute.

The Shoulders:

Broad and strong, they carry the burden of a job description that constantly creeps and changes along with endless chores.

The Clavicle:

“Mommy, Mommy, what a big clavicle you have!”

“All the better to accent my pearls with, my dear.”

The Heart:

Trusts Love to Win and God to be God.

A prominent clavicle, like pearls, go with everything.

The Neck:

Tight and corded, it clenches to swallow pride and rise up to protect the esteem of children.

The Jaw:

Chiseled and confident, it dwells in possibilities.

The Mouth:

Open and smiling, it sings, “I’ll Love you Forever.”

The Nose:

Sniffs out the truth like a reporter on a deadline.

The Eyes:

Etched with smiles and the patina of tears, they seek and celebrate.

The Hair:

Rarely matches the color of the high school graduation picture.

The Mind:

Sings Hallelujah and records the reason why.

Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
she tied you to her kitchen chair
And she broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah