The Square Peg

Bridget is hosting today's blog carnival. It's open to everyone; if you want to participate, go to her page and leave a comment with a link to your blog after you've posted your entry.

Love is the most powerful force in the universe. And from where I'm sitting, it seems there are 3 categories of 'love' we experience most often.

Casual - This is the kind of love we hear and see the most yet it has the shallowest meaning. It's never meant  in a deep, committed, or sacrificial kind of way.
"I love those shoes."
"I love your hair."
"I love to play golf."
"I love that song."
Casual love doesn't require us to do anything. We can use the word love to describe our feelings and not suffer any consequences when we change our mind. If you don't love those shoes any more, you just stop wearing them. Nobody cares and you won't be held accountable.  

Convenient - This is pretty straight-forward; as long as it's working, we love it.
I used to say I loved Arby's fast food until I lived in Wichita Falls, Texas. The only store in the city was located at the bottom of an exit off the freeway, didn't have a drive-thru and only took cash; no checks or debit cards. You had to really want Arby's to go there. After a few times of spending 30 minutes of my busy life trying to find a parking spot, walking inside and waiting in line, followed by sitting in traffic to get back on the freeway, I realized I didn't really love Arby's as much as I thought or claimed. The hassle wasn't worth the reward.

Sometimes it's convenient to love someone we think we can get something from...whether it's an inheritance, something he/she can do or provide that propels us forward at work, or gives us leverage, position, status or power.

This type of love has hurt me the most personally. Discovering I was convenient to love (and subsequently stop loving) cuts me deeper than being loved casually or conditionally for some reason and leaves me feeling like I've been sucker punched.

Conditional - This is closely related to convenient love but this is typically based on our performance (or lack thereof).
"You obviously don't have what it takes to be with someone like me"
"You called a few times but did you ever come over or offer to help financially?"
"If you can't try to understand me or what I need, then maybe we don't have anything worth fighting to save."

Since no one is able to perform the right way all the time, this type of love is extremely frustrating and typically unfair. It's pretty easy to spot though, because it doesn't take long to rear its ugly head.

Much of the time people who are love casually, conveniently or conditionally aren't even aware of it.

But there is another kind of love. And it also starts with a C.

It's Christ's love. But His love isn't anything like the ones I listed previously. In fact, His love is the polar opposite because there's nothing casual, convenient, or conditional about His love for humanity. He's committed to us. He's all in. He's true blue.

But I think we sometimes try to put His love in the first three categories because we have a hard time grasping it. If I don't love you unconditionally, it's pretty easy for me to assume that God doesn't love me unconditionally, either. But that's so wrong...

If you have only experienced the first three types of love I listed, please hear me: God has crazy love for us and it's not affected by our performance, lack of faith, mistakes/failures, accolades we've received, our ability to study/teach His text, or make money.
He loves us because we exist.
And anyone who tells you otherwise is lying to you.

This morning in church when Ollie was making the announcements about upcoming events, I realized I only have two Sundays left at Lifepoint. Don't ask me how, but I managed to miss that reality before today and it hit me like a ton of bricks and I started crying. I've said that I'm going to try hard not to compare any and all churches we visit to "the LP" but I know that's going to be really tough. So tough, in fact, I've wondered how long it'll be before I won't be tempted to do that. (My guess is quite a while. :-/)

I'm sure tears will fall frequently (and heavily) in the upcoming weeks but I'll move forward as I wipe my eyes and blow my nose, knowing that even though I'll miss the LP, I'm going to the new place I belong. (what a weird concept)

And I'm taking the LP spirit with me.

Because the planet needs more of it.

Zoe is a silly, snuggly, spotted, spirited bulldog and I love having her around. And while Zoe is fun, she's a whole lotta dog. She's a powerful, rambunctious, puppy who is completely unaware of her capacity to accidentally hurt someone. Playfully biting or rough-housing with someone could easily do some damage if her power and strength were to be misdirected or uncontrolled. It's for this reason that we try not to let her get into an excited state of mind (except when playing with her friends Karma, Darra and Rex--there's no controlling that excitement); we want a behaved dog, the kind of dog that wouldn't annoy our non-dog-loving visitors yet would behave nicely toward the visitors who welcome her affection and attention. She's a work in progress.

We humans aren't very different; we also have power that needs to be managed and directed the right way. Maybe we don't realize it, or sometimes we just forget, but we need to recognize the responsibility of its strengths and weaknesses.

Zoe's not built for running fast; she's more of a working dog. But when she comes loping into the room and plows her body weight into your thighs, you're going to know it...and it won't matter if she was going 5 mph or 55. Mocha, on the other hand (the dog we had to put down earlier this year), wasn't a working dog. Mocha was created to retrieve. It didn't matter if it was a tennis ball, a fake duck, or a golf ball; whatever you threw, she was going to bring it back. Moose used to stand in the back yard and hit golf balls onto the roof of the house and Mocha would stand nearby, listen very carefully and then run to the part of the roof the ball was going to drop from. Then she'd catch it and take it back to Moose and drop it at his feet so they could do it all over again. She lived to retrieve. Mocha's weakness to her power was that she didn't know when to quit. She'd overplay and hurt herself. And sometimes in her zeal, she'd stand too closely to a golf club and get hurt.


When directing our power and energy into something healthy, it can seem like we're unstoppable because we accomplish so much. But when it's not aimed in the right direction, damage is inevitable. Having a lot of power doesn't impress or affect progress if you spend all your time having to undo what you've done wrong and cleaning up the mess you've left behind.

A bull may be exceptionally powerful, but if the Farmer wants the bull to stand patiently while tied to the plow and wait for Him to return from the house, it doesn't matter if the bull can plow 2 acres an hour; what matters is his obedience. And therein lies our weakness; knowing when to use our power and when to harness it.

Still learning to use my powers for good instead of evil,
Eva

22 - The # of years (to the day) ago I went on a blind date (set up by my co-worker) and met Moose.
21 - The # of years ago I married him. I was 21. He was 23.
20 - The # of years the Air Force has been moving us around.
19 - the # of times in the day he tells me he loves me, my butt looks good in my jeans, or that I'm hot. I never get tired of hearing any of those things.
18 - The # of couches I think we've had that have been used and abused by my men wrestling on it.
17 - One of the anniversaries he missed because he was deployed. I was particularly sentimental about this one...17 years on the 17th...and it fell on a Saturday, the day of the week we married.
16 - The age Ryan started driving...and we learned there was a whole new dimension to praying, loving and worrying about your kid.
15 - The # of TDY's Moose has had.
14 - This how old Ryan was when Moose taught him to shave. It was a serious dad moment for Moose; he came out of the bathroom a little teary-eyed. His little buddy was rapidly becoming a man.
13 - The # of vehicles we've had...Chevy Sprint, Toyota Tercel wagon, Plymouth Grand Voyager, Chevy Luv, Ford Ranger, Ford F-150, Honda Accord, Hyundai Elantra, Chevy Suburban, Chevy Trailblazer, Ford Ranger, Hyundai Sonata, and an Acura TSX, whom I affectionately call "Jack".
12 - The # of months we spent in marriage counseling. Cost us $100 a week and thousands of $ in credit card debt. Dr. Scott's rule that our session couldn't be discussed for 24 hours (smart man), left us with no choice other than to go to Sears to anesthetize our pain. LOL Took us 3 years to pay it off. It was worth every, single penny.
11 - The # of houses/apartments/trailers we've lived in.
10 - The # of years we had a teenager under our roof. We survived, but not without accruing our fair share of gray hair.
9 - The # of jobs I've had.
8 - The # of dogs we've had: Beemer, Samantha, Mickey, Misery, Dixie, Willow, Mocha and Zoe
7 - The # of hours it takes to drive to TN to visit our family from Georgia. Closest we've lived since joining the AF.
6 - The # of times we've changed bases. Illinois, Washington, North Carolina, Georgia, Texas, and Georgia. 
5 - The # of wedding bands I've bought Brian. He bent 3 at work (to the point of being unwearable), lost 1, and then I got smart and bought one made out of tungsten. I couldn't get it engraved, but it's pretty much indestructible.
4 - The # of candles on Drew's birthday cake when we gave him a new bike. He broke his arm an hour later.
3 - Ryan's age when Brian adopted him. They celebrate their anniversary every July, sometimes in big ways, other times in small ways.
2 - The # of kids we had on our first wedding anniversary. We lived in Spokane, thousands of miles from home with a 3 year-old, a newborn, and no babysitter. It was a cozy celebration indeed.
1 - The number of months until we move to Germany and start a whole new adventure...just the two of us.

Some despise it.
Some have been hurt by it.
Some haven't 'represented' it very well.

But...
Our knowledge won't increase it...
                                 Our inabilities won't hinder it...
                                                               Our failures won't paralyze it...
                                                                                            Our enemy won't prevail against it...

It really is worth far more than we can begin to comprehend.

Except it's not an it.
We are it.
It is us.
It's a body.
It's a person.
It's the bride.
And the bride is cherished by a deeply, devoted King.


Thanks, Bridget. :D

I'm a little behind in doing this but I've been kinda busy.

Our request to change our leave date (which we asked for in case the orders didn't get here soon) was accepted. We fly out January 24th. And five months after receiving notification of our upcoming change of station, we got our orders. Now the pace picks up for us...scheduling packing shipments, shipping the truck, turning in my car (it's a lease) and deciding what goes in the suitcases and carry on bags will dominate our thoughts and direct our energies over the next 7 weeks. Those things will also be the direct cause of our stress and headaches during that time, as well as some time after.

We went to Louisiana to visit our friends for Thanksgiving. We had a great time and after having so much fun with Cheryl's girls, I am seriously petitioning God for granddaughters (just not right now).   Annaliese and Eleora played hopscotch and colored on the front porch with me and it rained during the night before we left. When Eleora woke up and saw our artwork had vanished, she told her mom our "skips" were gone. Here are a few pictures that are too cute not to share with you.

Yes, Eleora dressed herself. I think I laughed (or at least snickered) every time I looked at her. So precious!

• the EXTREMELY hot fire at the weenie roast. It was so hot Cheryl thought I was going to walk away from the bonfire with a tan.  The roasting sticks weren't long enough and I was afraid my eyebrows were going to be singed off. (When you read that last part, I hope you read 'singed' with the j sound. If you read it with the g sound, you're probably wondering how a fire could sing my eyebrows off.)
  
• the Tea Party...it was the first tea party I've ever attended. I wish I would've had time to go buy a hat and gloves for it.
  
• the four pounds of spinach dip Cheryl and I consumed at Grandmother's house on Thursday. Well, Troy said it was 4 pounds; Cheryl and I swear it couldn't have been more than 3 - 3.5 pounds tops.
  
• Eleora's sign language/hand gestures when asking for pumpkin bread. She looked like she was snapping a pencil in half while asking, "Miss Eva, can I have a piece of pumpkin bread?"
  
• Kael's numerous reminders to Moose that the boys had to play Halo before bed time. Kael's only 7 years old but he had more kills than Moose did.
  
• Watching Home Alone in the dark and hearing the kids laugh and shriek all the way through it. Especially when Joe Pesci's character's head caught on fire.
• Trying to corral the two dogs when they were in the room with the little kids was like trying to nail Jello to a tree. I think Gabriel got knocked down and/or bumped a record number of times. To say he didn't appreciate it would be putting it mildly.
  
• The ridiculously long, wrong, King Kong trip and order at Starbucks on Black Friday night. (OK, so King Kong wasn't involved in any way, but I wanted to include another "ong" word.) I bet Troy never suggests stopping by Starbucks again. The girl at the window actually told him, "it's Black Friday and we had our butts handed to us all day long." Troy's order was the only one that was correct on the first go-round, even though all the drinks had been repeated to us correctly when going back over the order.
• Troy's one good eye - So Troy has something wrong with one of his eyes and it requires drops to be put in it. The drops cause his eye to dilate...yet he still beat Moose at golf. And read street signs from far distances. And spotted details the rest of us missed in the video game we played. All with "my one good eye". LOL

So there, my souvenir from Thanksgiving--bloggy style. It'll have to do. For now, anyway.
Peace out.

Today I attended the funeral of a friend's dad. "Grandpa" was retired from the Air Force, worked for the public school system and was a volunteer fireman, among other things. He was a noble kind of man, the kind we don't have enough of in this world.

A person didn't have to spend a lot of time with Grandpa to know how much he loved his family, to know that he was an honest, hard-working man, or that he was a generous person. I don't say that Grandpa was generous because he gave money (although he did); he was generous because he gave himself...to his wife, his children, his co-workers and neighbors. And the impact he had on people's lives was very evident today at his service. His children spoke of him with love, admiration, and deep respect. That's not common enough these days, in my opinion. As I was driving to the burial site, I noticed a flag in the distance being flown at half staff. I knew in my gut it was in honor of Grandpa, but couldn't guess who was flying it. It was the Fire Station. And as I approached, I saw the men on duty had pulled one of the trucks out of the bay and parked it by the side of the road with its lights on. And while the mile-long line of cars drove by, the men on duty stood at attention and saluted the procession. I gasped out loud when I saw them because it was neat to see that kind of  respect displayed. And today was a nasty day to be standing outside. It was incredibly blustery and cold, but those men didn't move until we had all passed by.

I've never been to an interment that was attended by the Honor Guard. That was quite a sight to behold. An American flag had been draped over Grandpa's casket and I was standing very near the team at the cemetery as they removed it so it could be folded and presented to his wife. Until today, I didn't know it was possible to fold a piece of fabric with such a high degree of respect, dignity, and honor. Each fold of the material was followed by a trace of its crease to be sure it was right, and the precision of their movements mirrored the pride with which the Honor Guard pays homage to its service-members. From the opening prayer to the gun salute and playing of 'Taps', Grandpa's life of honor was reflected in today's celebration of his life.

Living an honorable life really does mean something. Showing respect to our flag and the people who serve and have served to defend it really does mean something. Honesty, integrity and ethics really do mean something.

Did you know American Bulldogs were equipped with a built-in thermometer? At least, ours is. When Zoe's cold (or way too hot), her normally pale pink skin brightens up so much it begins to resemble the color of the stuff you drink when you're nauseated. Her display panel is pretty easy to read though: no pink color = no worries. Bright pink color indicates warmth (or cooling) is needed. And apparently, I have the deluxe model American Bulldog because mine also has a state-of-the-art 'tired barometer'. That handy, little gadget measures how tired she is. Its display is easy to read, too. The farther out her bottom lip sticks (compared to the top), the more tired she is. On a typical day, her skin hovers at a shade of very pale pink, and the barometer doesn't engage until around 9-ish each evening. (No, the barometer doesn't really have anything to do with this post; I just included that bit of information so you'd have it. You know, in case you ever need it. 'Cause I'm generous like that.)

I've never been a fan of animals wearing clothes. It creeps me out and makes me question the emotional stability of the person who wants to dress an animal like a human. It's not like they aren't already covered with fur, hair, feathers, scales, or whatever, right? However, Zoe the wonder dog has short, thin fur and she's always cold. It probably doesn't help that we practically keep our house cold enough to hang meat. (What can I say? We're a hot-blooded bunch.) I don't even fold the blankets that we keep in the living room any more because Zoe is usually lying on or burrowed under one of them. But Old Man Winter has finally come to middle Georgia and we've had to bundle up when we head out for our evening walks. (And you know it's cold when I wear a scarf AND gloves. I didn't even wear gloves when we went hiking in Alaska in December a few years ago!). And ever since OMW arrived, Zoe's skin has been bright pink.

So, I caved. I kicked and screamed all the way, but I caved nonetheless. Zoe the wonder dog now has 3, count 'em, 3 coats. The first one is waterproof for evening/wet walks. It's also reversible. You know, because we wouldn't want her to get tired of wearing the same, old thing all the time, right? Yeah, right.

The second is a fleece hoodie (with sleeves for her front legs) in red and black, so she can represent the beautiful Georgia Bulldawg Nation wherever she goes. You know, because she loves football so much. Yeah, right.

The third item is (ironically enough) a pepto-bismol pink sweater embellished with a snowman, snowflakes and bling. Yes, bling. On a dog's sweater. I know, it's totally ridiculous. But the dog needed something to keep her warm when we walk and when she lies around the house all day goes into her undercover stealth mode as she faithfully protects her turf every day, so she might as well look good, right? Yeah, right. Actually, I don't give a rip about the cute factor but I do give a rip about the ugly factor. And they had some *fugly* stuff out there for dogs. Didn't argyle die around the same time as Babe Ruth? Well, it should have. What is WRONG with pet apparel designers, these days?! There were designs and colors in the store that humans shouldn't be wearing, much less putting them on our beloved pets.

Huh.

So I guess if what they say about dogs beginning to resemble their owners after a while is true, then it stands to reason the old man/woman who likes to wear argyle would want to dress little Fido in it, too. And I would, of course, want Zoe to be trendy and fashion forward in her dress.

OK, so maybe I care a little more about the cute factor than I realize or am willing to admit. But I'm drawing the line at jewelry and all that other crap. Because it's ridiculous.

I'd like to go on record: I still think it's creepy. But since all the bald and/or balding men I know wear hats in the winter, there's bound to be some kind of wisdom in covering a non- or thinly-veiled outer surface that makes it copy-cat dog worthy.  (Sorry. I couldn't help myself.)

Being the good bloggy chick that I am, I'm posting a couple of pictures. Go ahead and laugh; I did.
Those little, tiny dots are iridescent sequins. Which is fancy-talk for "bling". Ridiculous.

Here we have Zoe (who is sawing some serious logs) in her fleece hoodie. Her waterproof, reversible jacket is above her.

















Have a ridiculously doggone good day, y'all.

Thanks for hosting today's blog carnival, Peter.

When people hear the word grief, thoughts typically gravitate toward the death of a friend or family member. But grief reaches beyond death, and today I'm going to share a couple of the things I'm grieving.

• I'm grieving a relationship that appears to have ended. I knew it was going to change but I expected the change to come after I moved. I knew I'd miss my friend and our time together, but I never dreamed I'd miss her while I was still living here. My heart wasn't prepared for this and I'm struggling to accept the way things are right now.
  

•  I attend a really amazing church and with each week that goes by, I become increasingly aware of how much I'm going to miss it. Podcasts are posted online but it won't be the same as being there. I've never felt like I belonged or fit in any church I've attended as much as Lifepoint.
  

• And five months later, it still feels weird without Mocha being a part of our evening walks.

Because I believe we can't fully appreciate life, joy, fun or happiness without experiencing grief, I won't fixate on what's missing. I'll turn my focus to what I have had: fun memories with my friend; I'll purposefully resist the temptation to compare every church we visit to LP, and I'll remember the nine years we spent laughing at our chocolate lab, throwing her tennis ball so much I thought my arm was going to fall off, and the way she seemed to believe everyone who entered our house was here to play ball or swim with her. And in a weird way, it's comforting to know this season of life will serve to grow and stretch me as much (or more) as any other.

Peace.

I wasn't going to participate in today's blog carnival because the nomadic lifestyle I've lived hasn't allowed me to belong to a community for more than a few years at a time. But I thought about it a lot and after looking up the definition of community, I realized living in so many different places in my 42 years formed opinions about community that I'd actually like to share with you.

Spokane, Washington - my first community as a military wife. I probably grew more in this community than the others I've lived in. This is where I discovered my desire to have a real relationship with God. It was here that I had to learn to put my big girls panties on because my mommy was about 3,000 miles away and couldn't come to my aid every time something went wrong. Drewby was born here. And it was here that I met people who weren't family, yet cared for me as though I was. On the day Moose left for his one year deployment to Korea my friend Carla drove us to the airport to drop Moose off. When we got back to her car she presented me with a gift; a cookie jar with a custom-painted lid that matched my kitchen decor. Gifts are not my primary love language (that might be why I'm not good at giving them) but something about her thoughtfulness that day really ministered to me. I've never forgotten it.

Panama Canal Zone - the first community I'm able to remember. I was 5 when I lived there. Our apartment was on the fifth floor and the Panamanian kids who lived across the street would come running over when I would walk out on the balcony to feed our dog. When the pieces of dog food would inevitably fall over the ledge, the kids would fight over them because they were hungry and their families didn't have enough food to go around. I watched kids...fight to eat my dog's food. And I knew then I wanted to feed hungry people whenever possible. It was in this community that my beliefs about ethnicity began to form and I realized skin color didn't matter because we're all the same on the inside.

Warner Robins, Georgia - If you count both times we've been stationed here, I've been in this community the longest. I love the spirit in this city and it's a great place to raise a family. I've met some pretty neat people and it's going to be hard to say good-bye to them when I leave in a few weeks. I love my neighborhood and will miss it very much. It's quiet, established, and unbelievably beautiful in the spring when the azaleas and dogwoods bloom. I walk Zoe around our block most mornings and every evening and I love the images, smells and neighbors that I pass. I will fondly think of goth girl, who has long, black hair and always dresses in black clothes and shoes and seems barely able to eek out a smile when we greet her as we pass. And beer guy and gal, who go out for their evening stroll, each of them holding their beer can, with the soft-sided cooler holding the extra beer slung over his shoulder. Sometimes their stroll is more of a stumble, but they're always friendly and always smiling. And I'll miss the cloud of lavendar I walk into when we get near John & Kim's house (yes, I actually know someone's real name!). I guess it could be fabric softener that I smell, but I've tried 'em all and none of mine have ever smelled like that. In any case, I like that smell. And I like this community.

And finally, Starbucks. What, you don't think that's a community? Well, I've got news for you, it is. And while the coffee's great, I really love going because of the wonderful mix of the community that I see there. We can go there with our young, vegetarian, non-caffeine drinking, Bible studying, atheist, pagan, gay, ultra conservative, stuffy, free-spirited hippie, old, uber liberal, tattooed, nerdy, civilian, pierced, camouflaged fellow community members and enjoy each other's company while we sip our drinks or share a smackeral of something. Everyone from the freaks to the fanatics are welcome at Starbucks. And community, at its core, is nothing if not inclusive.

Thanks for hosting, Bridget.

Moose and I went to a college football game at the University of Tennessee last weekend. It was a belated birthday gift for him and we had an absolute blast. And this former cheerleader was in her element. I LOVED seeing all the fans dressed up. There's nothing quite like football, bands and fans in the crisp, fall air. Nothing. FYI: old cheerleaders never die, we just let out the waistbands of our skirts. And we always know how to accessorize our outfits to show our S-P-I-R-I-T spirit (clap, clap). My orange eyelashes and T's were rockin! BEHOLD:
I know what you're thinking. But don't hate me because I'm beautiful. *snorts*

My mom was here this past week helping me get some things ready for our move and I was so glad to have her expertise since she's done this overseas thing a couple of times. (I recalled how bossy she was when I was growing up and knew she'd be good at keeping me on task, but I swear I think that little woman carries a whistle and a whip in her purse.) Kidding aside, we actually got several things done this week that previously felt overwhelming to me. Moving overseas is a whole different ball of wax than a stateside move, lemme tell ya. There's still so much more to be done, but I'll get there. Eventually.

The house was in decent shape when Mom got here, but now that the sorting, cleaning, clearing & purging has kicked into high gear, walking into the house reminds me of Waffle House hash browns because everything in here is scattered, smothered, or covered in one way or another.

 Peace in your 'hood, people.

I'm participating in a one word blog carnival and today's topic is "remember". Thanks to Peter Pollock for hosting.

When I hear the word 'remember', I don't think about lists to prevent me from forgetting items at the commissary (that's military-speak for 'grocery store'), where I left my keys, or that the dog needs a walk later. For some reason, when I hear the word 'remember' I think about where we came from, our backgrounds, and the feelings, relationships and circumstances that shape us and make us into who we are.

my grandfather and the #1 piece of marital advice he gave me over and over in his thick, rich, deep, Hungarian accent when he was alive. "Love each other, Evi, and don't fight." I remember the way he used to look at me. Not just glance at what I was wearing, or at my lips as I spoke so he could understand what American word I was saying, but the way he looked at me and how I could physically see his love for me on his face. He was taken as a political prisoner of war when the Russians invaded Hungary. He eventually escaped by cutting a fence with a pair of pliers only to find that while he was in prison his wife divorced him, took their daughter Eva, and left the country. It was because of his suggestion that I got my name. Mom wanted to name me something common like Stephanie or Nicole (no offense to readers whose name are Stephanie or Nicole) but he asked Mom if I could be called Eva. I'm glad she agreed because I love my name and its meaning suits me perfectly. It means 'life'.

the prisoners of war. If we can't find them and bring them home, the least we can do is remember them. All gave some, some gave all.

people need to be told they're loved and appreciated. We're all afraid of being forgotten, whether we'll admit it or not. Saying good-bye to friends goes with the territory of being a military wife, but I've become adept at showing people how I feel about them while I'm enjoying their friendship, not just when it's time to move to another base and the fun has to come to an end.

the people/things who affected change in my life.
**Like Lisa Riddle, who let me ask any and every question about homeschooling I could come up with when I started entertaining the idea of schooling Ryan at home. I probably drove her crazy, but she was a trooper. I educated our boys at home for their entire high school career and it was partly because she let me ask questions and ponder my beliefs about parenting, education, and responsibility.
**Like Mrs. Pruett, whose constant reminder throughout my senior year of high school of 'it's easier to keep up than to catch up" deeply influenced my schedule of housework, tasks in the workplace (back when I had a job that actually paid me for my organizational and management skills), and still helps me when organizing big projects and determining the importance of various tasks.
**Like my husband who is never, ever ungracious to people, even when they deserve it. He always takes the high road and never stoops to someone else's level. I love that.
**Like Rick Godwin whose book Training for Reigning helped me realize that little areas of faithfulness are big indicators of trust, responsibility, and character qualities as well as capacities. If you can't handle picking up trash in the church parking lot without getting an attitude, you'll never be able to lead that flock as their pastor. I'm just sayin'.
**Like Fred Rogers, whose children's TV show convinced me that I (as well as all others) really did have value. Laugh if you want, but I never hear the word 'neighbor' without thinking of Mr. Rogers, his sweater, and the shoes he changed into each day. In fact, the six-year-old next-door calls me "neighbor" because she can't remember my name. And every time she does, I smile - and remember Mr. Rogers.

The list maker in me is rising up big time lately. I've been making mental lists, real lists, wish lists, and crossing things off of lists; most of which has been move related. Then I ran across a blog post wherein the author made a list of things he can't support and I decided to join him in the fun. Here goes:

1) Farmtown, Farmville, Yoville, and Mafia Wars. I don't give a hoot about real farms, I sure as heck don't want to virtually milk a cow, weed a garden, or harvest anything. Ew.

2) Infomercials. Drew forced me to stand in his room long enough recently to watch the SlapChop guy. I admit to laughing my butt off when the dude said "you're gonna love my nuts". I might even have peed myself a little.

3) Skinny jeans. I will say it again: NOBODY looks good in those. Not the fat chicks, not the skinny girls, and not the emo boys. NO. BODY. I maintain my position that they should be expunged from the fashion world.

4) Any candy that's green or yellow in color or flavor type. IE: green apple, lime, and lemon. They never taste good. If it's not red or pink, I'll pass.

5) Adults who are too lazy to learn fifth grade grammar and spelling. Especially when they want to be taken seriously for their knowledge and wisdom.

6) Texting while driving.

7) Cliques. Especially within a church.

8) Crocs shoes.

9) Mantyhose.

10) Animals dressed as humans.

11) Snakes. It's unnatural for them to be able to swim, climb trees, and move fast. People who don't have arms and legs can't do any of those things, therefore snakes should have to ride around in wheelchairs.

12) Blog templates/layouts that make the post really narrow and leaves a lot of blank space on each side. This is especially annoying when the author is long winded. I start feeling like I've fallen into a bottomless blog pit. Part of the reason I have this layout is because it was the widest one I could find. Also, I like that the red couch has a therapeutic feel to it, and I love the girl's socks.

13) Scary movies.

14) Men who won't work.

15) Women who demand to be treated like queens yet behave like spoiled children.

16) Miscarriages of justice.

17) Drivers who park in the handicapped spot when they're not transporting the handicapped person for whom the sticker is issued. The driver needs the exercise and a handicapped person could use the space.

18) Any clothing with patches on the elbows.

19) Country decor, country clothing (think: quilted vests), and most country music

20) Parents who threaten their children with things they'll never deliver. ("If you don't come with me right now, I'm going to leave you here in Wal-Mart".) Those parents need to be spanked.

There's a story in the Bible about two harlots who went to King Solomon to settle a dispute they were having. Both women had recently given birth to boys. The first woman said the second woman had rolled over onto her own baby during the night and killed him, and then sneaked into her room to swap the babies and kept the living infant as her own. The second woman said the story was the other way around and that her baby was fine; it was the first woman's baby who had died.

Solomon ordered a sword be brought to him so the living baby could be cut in half and each woman could have a piece of him. One of the women spoke up and told the king not to cut the baby but rather to let the other woman have the child whole so he could live. The other woman was actually OK with the child being cut in two. Solomon ordered that the baby be given to the woman who was willing to give him up because he knew she was the mother of the living child. You can find the story here, starting with verse 16.

I've always been fascinated by that story. Fascinated that a woman would rather steal another woman's child than accept a terrible tragedy had taken place (talk about misery loving company!). Fascinated that the mother of the living child would let her child go to someone else rather than see him dead (I would've fought to keep my child from going to the unbalanced, emotional woman). But especially fascinated with Solomon's wise action and insight. It shouldn't come as a surprise that when God told Solomon He'd give him anything he wanted on earth, Solomon chose wisdom. He could've asked for money, position, or any of the other earthly things someone would typically ask for, but he didn't. But Solomon's wisdom did end up bringing him many of the things you'd expect someone to want, such as wealth, power, status, and the like.

I think I've probably longed and asked God for wisdom more than almost anything else in my adult life. And I think God wants to give me wisdom even more than I want to have it because I don't think God wants a weekend warrior; I think He's looking for someone to stay the course, trust His character, and who's willing to be an instrument for His kingdom, whatever that looks like. Wisdom plays a part in that because sometimes it's hard to swallow what some people dish out, and wisdom operating with faith will often get you through some pretty rocky places.

Wisdom can be a catapult as well as an anchor. A catapult because it can launch you into areas you wouldn't have been able to enter into without it, and an anchor because it can keep you from being swayed when standing firm is necessary.

Obtain wisdom at all costs.
Peace.

I've worked off and on since I was 15 or 16. The jobs I held while the boys were being educated at home were part-time jobs. I didn't work full-time until a few years ago, when Ryan had graduated and Drew was close to being done with high school. I've always loved the relationships I made at work, and I was definitely stretched and challenged (especially by one particular person I worked with).

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of my quitting work outside the home. It wasn't an easy decision but it was definitely the right one. The original plan was to find another job to replace the one I gave up. You may be wondering why I gave up a job before finding another, especially in this economy, but there were extenuating circumstances that dictated I get out of that place ASAP. I looked for another job for a couple of months and went on a few interviews, but nothing earth shattering or wonderful banged on my door.

One day Moose asked me how I was enjoying being home. I told him I was really enjoying taking care of things at my leisure but I also missed making money. He knows how much satisfaction I get from looking at a paycheck and knowing I earned every, single dollar. When I asked him how he was enjoying my being home, he quickly and without hesitation told me he loved it. He said the house was more calm, peaceful, less chaotic, cleaner, more organized and that life basically just ran smoother all the way around when I was at home managing things. (Wow, who knew I did all that?! Go, me!) The decision to stop looking for a job was pretty easy. Living without my paycheck took some getting used to, though. When I noticed the date on the calendar yesterday, this 'anniversary' popped into my head and I realized that even though I've always loved working, I really enjoy being at home. It's been a peaceful year, and I was able to join Moose on some business trips that I would've missed if I'd been working.

And speaking of Moose...

Today a lady spoke for a few minutes at church and when she began to descend the platform, Moose immediately got up to assist her. She's healthy and mobile and all, but the stairs coming off the platform are pretty short and they're painted black (making them harder to see), and I could tell she appreciated the help. (What? You mean I'm not the only one who's afraid of falling down the stairs in front of everybody?) Anyway, before he even got up, I knew he was going to offer to help her. Why? Because he's a gentleman. There are men who are nice, courteous, polite or whatever, and then there are gentlemen. Do you know what I mean? The dictionary's definition of a gentleman is "a civilized, educated, sensitive, or well-mannered man." and Moose definitely fits that description. In fact, one of the qualities I love most about him is the way he protects others and anticipates how he can help or assist them. And when he got up to help, my heart just swelled with love, admiration and respect for him.

Often underestimated because of his quiet nature, but never, ever outclassed, Moose is truly

I was talking to a friend recently and we got on the subject that all moms gravitate toward when they're talking to other moms. No, not birthing babies. The other subject we always gravitate toward: kids and housework. Before we hung up, she suggested I share some of the things we did when our kids were little with my blog readers. I picked 4 to share with you.

Knowing people are more likely to put things away if it's easy, we kept our boys' shoes in buckets near the front door. They never seemed to mind digging through the bucket when they were looking for the shoes they wanted, but they seldom took the time to put them away if it was inconvenient. These buckets ensured we weren't late for appointments or church because we knew the shoes hadn't been dropped in the hallway, or pushed under the couch or bed.

We taught the boys to do their own laundry when they were about 10. Two laundry baskets were placed side-by-side on the floor of their closets. They put white items in one, and items that weren't white in the other (I admit I'm a laundry racist). When a basket was full, it was time to do a load of laundry. They helped with laundry before this, of course (moving from washer to dryer, putting them away, etc), but this is when they had to take full ownership of all their laundry. BTW, all clothes except socks, underwear, and shorts were put on hangers in the closet. Small children can hang their clothes up and it cuts down on dresser drawers having clothes thrown into them and coming out looking like they were slept in.

We assigned the boys odd and even days to load the dishwasher. This eliminated the arguments of who loaded last and whose day it was to unload (nobody liked to load because the loader also hand-washed the pots & pans that weren't recommended for dishwashers). If they ever had a need to switch days because of a social activity or whatever, it had to be completed the next day. No putting it off to be forgotten or argued about 3 days later. When Drew was too young to be responsible for loading and hand-washing, I alternated days with Ryan but Drew unloaded and dried the hand-washables (if necessary).

The boys started sweeping/vacuuming their bedrooms when they were about 7. Yes, it looked like a 7 year-old did it and I spent a lot of time making them pull the broom back out and re-sweep the corners (& under the bed), but they got better with time. It was worth the patience on my part. They don't always keep things clean now that they're grown (Drew's always been a messie) but they know how to clean, which was my goal. It goes along with that whole "you-can-lead-a-horse-to-water" saying...

Do you have any kids 'n' chores tips you'd like to share?

Comparing yourself to others is a dangerous thing to do. No matter how smart, creative, talented, funny, or fit you are, there will always be someone who is smarter, funnier, skinnier, more creative, and more talented than you. If you're trying to be as good as he/she is, there are two reasons why you'll likely be disappointed. For starters, that other person is not the standard-bearer. And for seconds, you're not in competition with anyone. You're an original; don't live your life as a carbon copy. If you've sung your best note, studied faithfully, given your all, and maxed out your abilities, then that's all you can do and you need to be at peace with it.

But if you're not being the best you you can be, direct your energy into that. There's always room to improve in the areas of mercy, judgment, patience, forgiveness, love, kindness, tenderness, and self-control. But there is a limit on your talent and genius meters. So if you're feeling less than because of a peer who is better, seek a paradigm shift.

This is it...the place where it's revealed whether your love is unconditional or convenient, whether you're in it for the long haul or just while it's the flavor-of-the-month. This is the place that separates men from boys, women from girls; where the rubber meets the road.

Pick your path, growth is certain.
Truth stands forever.
And wisdom is supreme.

The time is now. The choice is yours.

"When you have momentum, you look better than you are.
When you don’t have momentum you are better than you look."

Dave Ramsey

If you're one of those people who doesn't like talking (or reading) about *ahem* 'body parts', it's probably a good idea for you to skip this post and stop by some other day.

You may have heard about the NFL players who have been wearing pink shoes and gloves during the games in support of October being breast cancer awareness month. Well, I couldn't help but wonder why there isn't a 'check-your-nuts' awareness month. I did some research and it turns out there is. Sort of.

The Get A Grip! campaign is one week long in April. I'm not sure what's up with testicles getting a week of awareness while breasts get a whole month (unless it has to do with their general size differences), but I digress. Did you know that testicular cancer is the most common cancer among men ages 12-50 and it out paces breast cancer deaths by women in the same 13-34 age group? Neither did I. This is important information that needs to be passed on!

Since a time of awareness has been instituted though, why don't women wear some type of blue item(s) to show our support? Cuz, you know, tit for tat and all that. Oh! That wasn't intentional but since I stumbled upon it, it's staying in this post! *This is part of the 'twisted sense of humor' I've told you I have.

Now, back to wearing blue for that week...there should be a blue dye exclusively created for the items. And I've narrowed my ideas down to three items that are key to a woman's life. In no particular order:

1. a single strand of pearls--earrings coming soon (because you know how we love jewelry and accessorizing)
   
2. temporary spray to paint a streak in our hair (this would, of course, provide excellent coverage for color-resistant gray--cuz I need that) and finally,
3. a purse (supportive and practical since some women carry their husband's...never mind).

The Get A Grip! marketing department totally needs to hire me as a consultant, don't you think?

Peace out, people. And whether you're a guy or gal, don't forget to check your stuff. Your life could depend on it.

Moose recently pointed out something about me I was unaware of:  I have special food requirements for specific activities. I'm not talking about having turkey at Thanksgiving or ham at Christmas; honestly, I could take either one at either holiday or during the year. I have no preference whatsoever. But a road trip just isn't right without Cheetos Puffs to go with my Diet Coke. I rarely buy Cheetos Puffs for the house, but I never go on a road trip without stopping at a gas station to buy a 99 cent bag of those crunchy, air-filled treats that leave my fingers covered in orange residue.

And last night I discovered I have a special food for Skype: popcorn.

There's no point to this post other than to share that weird tidbit with you. You may now resume your regularly scheduled life, already in progress.
Peace.

I wondered how a man could effectively write about what "the happiest and most successful women do differently", but a few pages into this book it was clear Buckingham knew what he was talking about, and I was going to reap the benefit of his knowledge.

I used to feel guilty when I couldn't effectively balance the areas of work and home life and believed my problem could be corrected with more discipline and better time management. Now I realize I was pursuing something I was never going to achieve, much less maintain. Buckingham reveals what a strong, happy woman's life actually looks like, what a weakness really is, and how intentionally creating perfect imbalance can bring peace and clarity to a stressful and chaotic life.

Taking the Strong Life Test revealed the lead role I was born to play is that of Creator and my supporting role is Advisor. After reading the descriptions of both I thought "holy cow, you mean all the idiosyncrasies I thought were personality flaws really mean something? And they're useful?!" Marcus Buckingham had just set me free somehow. This wasn't the only "aha!" moment I had when reading this book; there were several.

I plan to go back to school after we get settled in Germany next year and I've been struggling to narrow down the field of study I think I'd most enjoy. Armed with the information I gained from this book, I am confident I will make the right choice.

Who can benefit from reading this book? Stay-at-home moms/wives, homeschooling moms, women working outside the home, and the men who love them. While the book is aimed at women, almost all of what Buckingham writes is applicable to men as well. I highly recommend it.

You can order your copy here.

I was listening to Carrie Underwood's cover of Home, Sweet Home today and thinking that her voice is so pure and clear. I know studios typically 'tweak' voices when recordings are edited and all that, but she sounds pretty much the same as she did when she was on American Idol.

And then I thought about a few of the times I've heard God's voice and how clear and unmistakable it was:

• Like the time I was thanking Him for letting me survive my first marriage (it was violent), showing Ryan and me such amazing grace, bringing Moose into our lives, and for giving us an incredible testimony about His work and He interrupted me and said "that's my story for you, Eva; I have a whole different story for Ryan to tell about Me". 

• And the time I left my wedding ring in the ladies bathroom at the base hospital and spent a week calling every clinic in the place asking if it was turned in only to be told it wasn't. Four months later I was leaving the hospital after another appointment and heard "go into the eye clinic across from the ladies bathroom and ask the girl at the desk about your ring." I wrestled with a million thoughts as I walked down that hallway toward the eye clinic. Turned out that gal had my ring all four months. She was getting off work a few minutes later and I followed her to her dorm to get it.
  

•  Then there was the time I'd bought a gift for Ryan that was to be given at a Christmas party. I had asked him to do something for me that was completely unrelated, but he didn't really want to do it. He asked if he'd still get the gift if he didn't do as I requested. I responded, "Ryan, you're going to love what I got you and I'm giving it to you regardless of your behavior; my gifts don't hinge on your actions." Ryan said "OK" and walked back to his room. And I distinctly heard God say, "And that's how it is with my love, Eva. It never hinges on behavior."

After going over those instances in my mind and recalling the time I've spent worrying about how God was going to answer questions and work stuff out in my life, it's pretty clear it was all for nothing. After all, He did say I'd know His voice (see John 10). He didn't lie.

Peace.

In other news, not to sound like a weatherperson or anything, but, man, I am loving this fall weather we're finally getting! We've had the a/c off for 2 days now. Yay for lower electric bills!

Later. :D

The only reason we have a kitchen is because it came with the house. :) I don't like to cook and I despise baking (except brownies). I do, however, like to eat.  Anybody want to volunteer to buy this cake mold and make something yummy for me? Pretty please? I'll say nice things about you in my blog if you do. :)

You can view this (and other cool stuff) at www.perpetualkid.com. Drew wants a box of the bacon bandages.

So I was cutting up an avocado for my sandwich a while ago and noticed the sticker on it read "green acorn". After briefly wondering why an A.C.O.R.N. sticker was on my avocado, I realized what it was really from: the green acorn squash I bought at the store yesterday. Upon closer examination, I discovered the following:

My spaghetti squash had an avocado sticker on it
my green acorn had a "lite slimcado" sticker on it
my butternut squash had a spaghetti squash sticker on it
and my 'lite' avocado had a butternut squash sticker on it.

Based on my past experience with things like Aqua Reefer, Epileptic Testicles and Wordless Wednesday, I suspect this is the work of the inked and mischievous Drewby. If you see him, beware. He'll mess with your food & food lists. Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh, for those who don't know, here's what he looks like.

This is kind of a piggyback to the character vs talent post.

I've been thinking about celebrities and the expectations we have of them and wonder if it's possible we might be a little off base. Take Michael Phelps, for instance.

A while back I heard a lot of people talking about how disappointed they were to find out he had used drugs. I'm not condoning his drug use; like so many others, I assumed he followed the rules set forth by the Olympic Committee and was drug-free. And I feel badly for the kid; he made a dumb choice, the public found out about it, and he'll probably suffer consequences for his choice for a long time. BUT...

I never heard Michael say he was anything other than a competitive swimmer.

So, now I'm wondering why do we often assign certain morals to a person who has a particular kind of gift or talent? Isn't that presumptuous? I'm not talking about drugs because in the case of sports, it's pretty clear why the standards are set the way they are. I'm talking about other moral issues. Is it fair to expect someone who is clean-cut, a certain age, highly disciplined, or interviews well on TV to have a particular moral code of conduct? I know we hope people have certain standards because many times we long for a hero, and are inspired by people who raise (or set) the bar. But isn't it true that we sometimes put things on people unfairly by expecting them to be at a place they're not?

What if instead of having great expectations of people, we put grace expectations on people. What do you think?

Actually, it's August 24th's big thing, but I wanted to put it up anyway. Enjoy...

Several years ago when I worked day shift and Brian worked nights, we started going on a date every Saturday morning. Back then we'd drive to Starbucks in Macon (at 30 minutes away, it was the closest one) to enjoy some coffee and conversation before going to lunch. Since we were little more than passing ships during the week, this was a great chance for us to reconnect, refocus and re-energize our relationship. We'd tell each other the details of the week that got pushed by the wayside and talk about the things coming up on the horizon of life. Our boys were old enough that they didn't call us on the cell phone every 20 minutes (probably because they didn't care where we were or what we were doing) and the uninterrupted time together was heavenly.

Brian was eventually moved back to day shift but our Saturday dates had proven to be too valuable to give up. A couple years ago, my happy place opened a store in Warner Robins (I'm pretty sure my purchases pay Starbucks' electric bill.) and we changed our game plan a little: we started going to Hardees for breakfast and then to Starbucks.

We've invited Ryan and his girlfriend Sam to join us a few times and now it has turned into a regular thing. And Drew's scheduled has changed, so he's been hooking up with us too. And even though our Saturday date is bigger, louder, and more lively than when it began five years ago, it definitely still qualifies as heavenly.

 I swiped this off my friend Lori's blog...you can find her blog here. Yes, we use the same template. Great minds, you know. LOL

T-Mobile Mom to Mom Quiz: "


A couple of the questions were difficult to answer because I would've done two of the choices but could only mark one of them. It was also hard since I didn't send my kids to school and never dealt with a few of the hypothetical situations. Fun nonetheless.

It's interesting how people attempt to mask their pain. Many display their hurt in the form of loud, bitter, or harsh anger. But sometimes hurt manifests itself in a different way.

When my feelings get hurt it's almost always because I feel personally rejected in some way. And apathy is the mask I'm tempted to wear to cover those hurt feelings because it seems easier to try not to care than to confront and work through them. Whereas anger is often passionate, apathy is passive. I'm not a passive person by any stretch, and "passionate" is the word consistently used to describe me by people who know me really well. Therefore it's interesting to me that when I'm hurt, I have a tendency to lean toward passivity and basically 'go gray'. 

The area where I'm most likely to feel rejected in life is with regard to my relationships. This is probably because I've always had a keen appreciation for friendships and have never taken a person's presence in my life for granted. Due to my being a military brat who married an Air Force guy, my whole life has consisted of moving to a new place, meeting new people, forming friendships and moving away. So when I feel that someone doesn't place the same value on our friendship that I do, I feel rejected. And it is here that I find myself depressed and tempted to become apathetic toward people in order to avoid those same feelings in the future.

But passion can only lie dormant for so long. That's what makes it a passion. It's also what makes me...well, me. I can't not care about people for very long. I tried. I discovered I was more miserable expending the energy it took to remain apathetic than to work through hurt feelings. Being passionate is just easier, despite the fact that it makes me feel more vulnerable. So I'll find a way to embrace the vulnerability in order to preserve my passionate nature. And I'll reject apathy. I'll resist the temptation to wander through the gray into the darkness. I'll forge through the lighter shades of gray until I reach the light.

So basically I'm saying I'm passionate about not being apathetic. LOL Yet another facet of the square peg's mojo I'm learning to embrace.

Long live the Altoid! =)