running running running

I captioned the above picture, "Me Time".

By the time I had adjusted my book and my favorite candy just so, taken a picture, readjusted the book, taken a few more pictures, uploaded to Instagram, played with a filter, posted to Instagram and Facebook... both children were begging for attention.  Nap time - "Me Time" - was over.  Already.  Before I had a chance to indulge in some sugar and fiction.  I felt that irony then, and find it more amusing now.  It's not even a great picture.

That was nearly two months ago.

Now, with a two month old and an almost two year old, I feel like I'm constantly CONSTANTLY constantly running.  Running behind Daphne trying to grab the remote from her before she screws up all our settings (which has happened twice, and takes almost an hour to reconfigure).  Running over to Charles in his bouncy seat, who has had an enormous diaper blow out that has - impressively - gotten into his hair (that happened this morning, no lie).  Running to take a sock from Bilbo before he bolts under the bed to rip it to shreds (happens all the time, and frankly I've quite given up on chasing him on this one).

I truly think this season of my life is a perpetual enactment of the chicken-fox-grain puzzle.  You know the one.  I think we learned it in 7th grade math class.  You have to get all three items across the river in one small boat without the chicken being eaten by the fox, or the grain being eaten by the chicken.  Naturally, you can't take them all over at once, so you've gotta make a few well-planned trips.  That's my life.  Keeping Daph away from the baby.  Keeping Bilbo from growling at Daphne near his food.  Keeping everyone occupied and relatively content while I manage to get just one thing done off my list for the day.  It's a puzzle.  It's like a really complex and exhausting riddle.  That lasts all day, and never ever ends.

So, when I finally get a chance to sit down and have a moment (just a moment!) to myself when both of the children are napping, and Bilbo is quietly laying at my feet... why on earth would I waste those minutes taking a picture of what I'd like to be enjoying?

darling charles ender

We welcomed Charles Ender Trivits into our world just two weeks ago, but it's difficult to imagine life again without him.  He is as consistently calm and charming as Daphne was at this age.  This bodes well.  I don't want to jinx myself, but it's seeming as if we have twice struck gold.  We feel so very blessed.

His birth, as you may or may not have heard, was not without incident.  I labored for 24 hours (when Daphne's was, from start to finish, just SIX hours).  He was nine pounds (when my doctor told me he'd be about the size of Daph at birth, who was almost three pounds lighter).  All that is excusable, though.  The part that gets me about his birth was that a few things went wrong right at the end.  He was coming out at the wrong angle.  The cord was wrapped around his neck and arm.  The doctor's expression changed from excitement to concern, and she reached in and yanked him out by the shoulder.  He laid there for a moment or two without moving or breathing.  

These moments, though probably only a matter of seconds, must have felt like an eternity to Kevin (who was watching and experiencing this trauma in a way that I, strangely, was spared).  After Charles finally began to cry, the nurses quickly cut his cord and whisked him to his little warming station.  I knew something was wrong at that point, because Kevin had been asked if he'd like to cut the cord.  At that point, the doctor and nurses were calm and tending to me, so it seemed to me all was fine.  Kevin, though, had seen something that left him in shock, filled with horror.  It took a while for him to realize that our child was alive and well, and not dead, as he must have looked when the doctor laid him down after pulling his arm (and eventually, his body) free.  

Later that night, as I sat holding Charles and listening to Kevin process what he had experienced, I remembered Charles' passage of scripture.  

Side note: When Daphne was born, we did the same thing -- prayerfully consider a passage of the Bible that we believe applies to the life she would lead.  Hers is Isaiah 55, which says, briefly, "You shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."  We believe she is a ray of joy, beaming into the world, for the purpose of spreading the love and peace of God wherever she goes.  

The scripture we had chosen for Charles is also from the prophet Isaiah, based on the meaning of his name.  Charles means "freed man", and Ender (or Andrew) means "strong man".  His passage says, in Isaiah 45:

Thus says the Lord to his anointed,

whose right hand I have grasped;

to subdue nations before him,

and to loose the belt of kings,

to open doors before him

that gates may not be closed.

I have stirred him up in righteousness,

and I will make all his ways level;

he shall build my city

and set my exiles free.

As I recalled those verses, I was struck by the phrase, "Whose right hand I have grasped."  The doctor had pulled him, yanked him free, by his right hand.  I don't mean to get all mushy and sentimental here, but I am truly convinced that God led us to this passage for a reason, and I have full confidence that God has a life of freedom and redemption in store for Charles Ender, little though he may be.  It begins now.  God's purpose and his plan are already established.  And I find incredible comfort in that.

to love at all

I think about this quote a lot.  I've actually written about it before.  My friend Jack says, "There is no safe investment.  To love at all is to be vulnerable."  Think about that for a second.  A few years back, I wrote about this quote in the context of marriage and the relationship between two broken people who have bound themselves to one another, and what a scary thought that is.  I called it marriage is risky. 

This past week, it has struck me in a new way.  CS Lewis's sayings tend to do that to me, I think.  Not only because he was a genius, but because he was gifted with the ability to take the wisdom found in scripture and rework, repackage it in a strikingly poignant way.  And, like the wisdom found in scripture, his speculations find application in so many stages of life and circumstances. 

So, as I found his To Love Is to Be Vulnerable teaching to be relevant in reflecting on marriage, I now find it to have much to say about parenthood.  It may have even much more to say about parenthood.

Here's a bit more of the quote, so we're all on the same page:

There is no safe investment.

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, 

you must give your heart to no one,

not even to an animal.

Okay.  So.  Surely you can see where my thoughts went with marriage.  Romantic relationships are hard enough when people are in the dating stage... Can you see how the fear could escalate when you've pledged your whole self to another person for the rest of your life?  To be loved is to be known, I conclude in my earlier post.  What a risky thing to fully put yourself out there, with all your quirks, secrets, imperfections, insecurities... and say, "Please know and accept and love me - all of me."

Imagine, then, how this could affect parenthood, the other most important relationship a person can have with another in this life.  While I personally fear less of my daughter 'accepting' me and loving me despite my faults (though I am fully aware of future fears with this, when she's more 18 than 18 months old), the riskiness of love only increases when a child comes into the picture.  

I love Daphne with all of my being.  It's actually useless for me to compare the way I love Daphne to the way I love Kevin, because it's apples and oranges.  Kevin and I have chosen each other.  Daphne has been given to us, and she is us.  The fruit, the blessing of our togetherness.  So, I love her with the love only a mother can have.  It is fierce.  It is fiery.  I will love and I will protect my baby girl, because she is equal parts me, and equal parts Kevin, and yet completely her own unique and dynamic little person.  

And even this is not a "safe investment", though all the forces of nature and God himself conspired to place her in our lives.  She is no less risky to love than a significant other.  Perhaps, she is more so.  A child, though a gift from God, demands your heart and your protection and so much responsibility.  Yet, a child's life cannot be controlled, from her circumstance to her very will.  

This terrifies me more than anything, when I wake up nights with this new baby squirming and kicking inside me.  Right now, my body is all the protection little Charles Ender needs.  I can fully control his environment, because it's me.  I know where he is, what he's doing, and can protect him in a way that I no longer can with Daphne.  Daphne is out in the world.  I cannot protect her from every bump and bruise she will inevitably receive from experiencing that world.  

I fear I am not strong enough to give her back to God, to surrender control of her life to him, to see her as first a child of God and second a child of mine.  I feel conspicuously vulnerable as a mother.  I am utterly invested in this little life.  My whole heart is on the line here.  I fear I cannot protect my heart in regards to her no more than I can protect her against the world.  Anything, it seems, could happen.  This is not a safe place to be, parenthood.  It is profoundly risky.  It is risky to consider God as capable and trustworthy and faithful, not for my own life or relationship with Kevin, I'm finding... but for my children.  Do I trust him with these little lives?  

Making myself vulnerable before him, completely offering up my all in surrender, with the knowledge that that must include my babies, is his hardest lesson yet.  

this is home.

This is something I swore would never happen.  Literally.  I told Kevin I'd never never everrrrr live in Delaware.

And yet, here we are.

How... did this happen?

Oh dear, God knew better.

The first of May marks the fourth month that we've resided in Delaware, the "Small Wonder".  (That, I think, is a better nickname than "First State".  Better as in more amusing.)  And since day one, we have felt nothing but love and welcome and joy and warmth and support at our being here.  

Naturally, being near Kevin's family has been an enormous blessing.  Thank God for free childcare whenever we want or need.  Just three days ago, Christine took Daphne for the afternoon simply so I could nap.  What a blessed relief!

More surprising than the benefits of living near family, though, has been the gift of our church.  Already.  Four months in Delaware, but really only three months at Calvary, and I almost cannot believe the way we were welcomed.  It's like, "Oh!  This is how a church welcomes, invites, encourages, incorporates, functions...."  

What a beautiful thing to see God's people love one another!  And what a breath of fresh air to be so taken care of by a body of believers.  This has been such a time of healing for Kevin and me, to see that community is not lacking here!  I can truly buy into this!  I've already met people that I would consider 'good friends'.  And that's a big deal.

We have the privilege of living in a house provided for us by the church, and it's no exaggeration to say that it's the perfect situation for us.  Kev and I have been able to have people over meals, students over for movies, and friends over for coffee in a way we weren't (or our space wasn't) always capable of in the past.  I have had so much fun dreaming and decorating and hosting and chasing Daphne around the rooms!  Sometimes Kevin and I are just sitting at our dinner table and we look at each other and say, "I cannot believe we live here." 

I think that, even though our situation in Colorado was full of good memories and good people who truly loved us, we have had a lot to heal from, especially in our view of church.  I cannot imagine a better place for Kevin and I to reconnect and grow and heal, and for our children to be raised up and be taken care of than here at Calvary Wesleyan.  Certainly, this place is made up of as many fallen people as any other place we've been, but we believe in the vision and the leadership and the community and the God who has brought us here.  Brought us home.

so, we wait

"Think about the things you can do - how flexible your life is right now! 

Do you really think you're financially stable?
You've only been married two years!

"This is how I imagine people will respond to me saying that my heart breaks when each month rolls around, and I am still not a mother. When I see pictures of new moms and their babies, expectant ones with their enormous tummies, I despair. I know I'm not alone in this feeling of sorrow, but good discussion is not really happening, either. But it's starting. Think of this as a companion piece to this one, written by my best friend and true confidant through times like this. I'm following her lead.

"On this topic, I don't speak up; I'm not brave. It's as if I'm ashamed of this "inability". There shouldn't be shame: it's a godly sorrow. I'm like Hannah in 1 Samuel. She went to the temple "deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly." Month after month, I feel as though I am literally pouring out my soul to God, with the assurance of faith that He will answer. Months come and go, yet I have no reply except to wait. So, we wait."

I wrote that last year... the day before we found out we were pregnant with Daphne.  And now, as I read it, aching and weepy due to the memory - and the fact that I'm eleven weeks pregnant with Baby Triv #2 - I'm overwhelmed with the fact that life is full of mystery and anticipation.

What an appropriate theme for this season.  Anticipation and Advent go hand-in-hand.  The mystery of the coming of God as a tiny infant human; the anticipation of the universe as all is to be set right. As this is the first time I've lived the Christmas season expecting a child, the beauty is remarkably real to me.

2014 has not been an easy year for us.  There have been extreme highs (primarily because Daphne radiates joy) but also significant lows and disappointments.  Events have made us despair of our desire to live in an often cold and distant state (emotionally and geographically, haha), caused us to doubt God's purpose and calling, and feel like failures in ministry and relationships.  When our things were stolen (though some were eventually returned) we lost hope in the justice system and felt the despair of not having our cause heard and upheld.  I hope I'm not overdramatizing the year we've experienced - I realize we are better off than others - it's just that the hardships we've been through are nothing like I imagined life to be.  God answered our heartbroken prayers for a child, and now we anticipate His healing of this past year.  He will continue, mysteriously, to works things out for our good and His glory.

So, we wait.

We wait for this chapter to end.

We wait for the day when we will be taken care of as a family, protected by a community if not by the law enforcement, acknowledged for our obedience to a call to ministry.  This may not be what God has in mind for us, even in this lifetime, but still we wait.  We anticipate the day that all is to be set right.   Come, Lord Jesus!

Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, 

we do not lose heart.

...

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; 

perplexed, but not in despair; 

persecuted, but not abandoned; 

struck down, but not destroyed.

...

Therefore we do not lose heart.

Though outwardly we are wasting away, 

yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us 

an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, 

since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:1, 8-9, 16-18 NIV

everything has changed: or, i have plenty to be thankful for

Happy Thanksgiving from the Trivits family!

I know it's typically at the end of the year that we reflect and "see how far we've come" and all that, but it seems all too appropriate to express thanks on the day that's set aside specially for giving thanks.  We have been so very blessed this year - in some crazy and unexpected ways.

It has been monnnnnths since I've posted, and that's because I was in the midst of transitions.  A lot of 'em.  And I've been processing through them.  Mostly to myself.  Or, mostly to Kevin.

Some of these transitions you probably know about.  Like being me being pregnant.  It was a textbook pregnancy (barring that hiccup of PUPPs at the end that seemed to signal my imminent labor).  But in the span of those nine months, Kevin and I have moved twice; had a total of three roommates, a slew of visitors; had issues with finances tax-related, tire-related, rent-related; had changes in our work situations, good and bad; had highs and extreme lows in ministry; and have strained to keep our marriage a priority throughout it all.  Bear in mind, all this with my overload of hormones and a natural bent toward deep introversion.  

I stopped singing.  I stopped reading.  I stopped journaling. I stopped trying.  I watched Friends for hours upon hours.  I cleaned like I was certifiable.  I sulked and whimpered and lamented the state of things.  I tried to buck up.  I tried to power through.  I tried to submit to God's will, which clearly all of these transitions were.  I tried to be transparent with Kevin and my close friends.  I tried to be an understanding, gracious, loving person.  But I just wasn't… feeling it.  During this time of huge transition, in this regard, nothing changed.  I had a bad attitude, secretly or not-so-secretly, for nine months.  

Then, a week before our precious miracle, Daphne Rose, was born, I realized that none of this was me.  None of this was mine.  Not my house(s), not my time, not my money, not my job, not my ministry, not my friendships, not my space, and not my will.  These are things that are given to me; I'm a sort of steward not owner of these gifts, responsible for using them for others not selfishly hoarding them till I see fit.  Nothing is mine.  

And for this, I am grateful.  It takes all the pressure off, doesn't it?  When I don't have to question how I "use my resources"?  It's answered for me.  Use them for others.  God gives me permission to bend over backward for people: it's not just something I'm allowed to do when I'm on the clock at Starbucks, where customer service is actually everything.  I'm allowed to serve others without reservation, without expectation of return, and without thought for my personal convenience, or even happiness.  

This newfound understanding was the pièce de résistance to my nesting.  This home is prepared, as much as it can be, for the arrival of our daughter.  And by home, I - of course - mean myself.  If I'm not willing to sacrifice all for this child, what am I doing with this life?  Who am I?

So, I am overwhelmingly grateful.

I'm grateful for the transitions.

I'm grateful for the hardships.

I'm grateful for a husband who stands up to me, prods me, but doesn't take my feelings for granted.

I'm grateful for a healthy, beautiful, precious baby girl (I can't get enough of her! Thanks for letting me plaster your newsfeeds with so many pictures)!

I'm grateful for learning experiences: roommates, financial decisions, and communication with friends.

I'm grateful for supportive family members and friends who in turn encourage and admonish me.

I'm grateful for times to reflect, evaluate, redirect, and move forward.

Now, as I look toward the end of the year, Kevin and I are settling down in our home sans roommate, avec baby.  After nine months of transition, we are landing somewhere.  Settling down.  And we are receiving blessing upon blessing with the understanding that it's all for the purpose of giving it away.

 And now, another picture of my adorable little pink princess.  Just for fun.  :)

baby triv

Baby Trivits!

Due Nov 18!

(Lord willing!)

As you may or may not have seen or heard, Kevin and I are expecting!  We are incredibly excited and are absolutely overjoyed/overwhelmed that God would bless and trust us with this enormous responsibility.  

I realize a blog post is neither necessary nor consequential to many/most/all of you... but I wanted to give a heads up as to what you can expect from me, an expectant mother (oh, wow).  Or maybe, rather, what you can not expect.

Please do not expect me to post:

Tummy pictures... (monthly, or ever - yuck! I'm doing you a favor.)

Ultrasound pictures... (although I know my mom already posted one... I'll let that one slide... haha)

Any gratuitous statuses about cravings, morning sickness, and babies babies babies... (one of my goals for this year was to cut down on "public" complaining/whining, and I know no one cares that all I really want to eat is apple sauce and oatmeal.)

Don't get me wrong, I realize that it is good and healthy and appropriate and exciting to gush your newfound joy over being pregnant and the thought of having a child in the near future.  But seeing friend after pregnant friend plastering their news (and, may I say, rather personal and private business) all over facebook while until very recently, Kevin and I had struggled with the fact that we - seemingly - were not able to have a baby... it's actually rather hurtful.  I know I still have plenty of friends in that stage (waiting to conceive), and those who are struggling through/with infertility.  I want to be so very, very sensitive to that.  

It's ironic that two weeks ago, I was in the process of writing a blog about our inability to conceive, addressing those of you who rather indiscreetly and carelessly (however unintentionally) "gloat" over your blessed news... and the day after, I discovered I was pregnant.  So, while that blog will not be posted, I hope that the spirit of it is clearly established.

Basically, I don't want to be an annoying pregnant girl who rubs it in the faces of all I'm friends with.  I don't want to clog up a newsfeed.  I don't want to cause anyone to despair because I'm in a different situation than they are. 

But, all that being said, PLEASE:  Congratulate us!  Pray for us!  Rejoice with us!  But... do it in person.  Or send me a text or email or handwritten card!  Let's be more personal with all this personal stuff.  

Soli Deo Gloria!

2013 Goals and Resolutions

Oh Calvin.  You get me.

But seriously, I have such a hard time with goals.  Meeting goals, that is.  Making them is fairly easy.  I get distracted.  I unprioritize and reprioritize.  I get lazy.  I don't wanna read x amount of books, or write x amount of sonnets.  Let's see how this year goes, then, when I make goals that are less easily measured.

1. Talk on the phone more, and in doing so, defeat my fear of the thing.
2. Stop saying the word "annoying", and in doing so, be less easily annoyed.  (It's good in theory.)
3. Do not complain, whine, or gossip.  Ever.  (Except maybe to Kevin.  That's basically like talking to myself.)
4. Finish all the books I left half-done in 2012.  There are quite a few of 'em.
5. Read more fiction.
6. Read more classics.
7. Play and teach piano.  (Seriously.  This one is happening, and I'm a bit nervous about it!)
8. Take voice lessons again.  (Yikes!  If I can find the time for it, I wanna make this one happen!)
9. Move into a house!
10. Be a better wife and friend.
11. Support and encourage Kevin.  (Sometimes I forget he has to verbally process and dream.)
12. Write more letters.
13. Spend more structured time praying and in the Scriptures.
14. Be more assertive.
15. Stand up straighter.
16. Be more active.
17. Cook more, and learn to bake.
18. Be spontaneous.
19. Watch less TV.
20. Don't take short-cuts out of laziness.

marriage is risky

There is no safe investment.

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.

So says Jack, my friend and pedagogue, in his The Four Loves.  And I find this to be true.  You may have read one of my previous posts sharing part of my story about finding God and what it means to let Him love me.  It is one thing to be vulnerable before the Almighty God, who will never leave or forsake, but another thing altogether to be vulnerable before another fallible, faulty, and self-serving human being. 

Marriage is risky.

I am a messy person.  Not externally - like in our home, leaving clothes everywhere, dishes undone, the bathroom mirror ajar - that's his specialty.  Inwardly, privately, though, I am a mess.  There are unresolved issues that I like to keep to myself.  Marriage doesn't really allow that.  Not really.  All I am is his - including my mess.  And vice versa.  

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Vulnerable can mean "to be open to attack."  Completely exposed.  Messes bared.  Wholly at the mercy of someone else.  What a risk.

What a risk to place yourself in dependence of another, to willingly subject yourself to someone who is not you.  Who does not think as you do.  Who has not experienced what you have, and may not understand that.  

What a risk to invest your energy, will and emotion, and your very life to a person who will break your heart without trying or thinking.  

What a risk to know that you are in that same position to him, in a position to so easily break his heart, though he may not ponder the situation as analytically as you do.  

Let me finish the paragraph I started at the top:

There is no safe investment.

To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, 

you must give your heart to no one,

not even to an animal.

Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries;

avoid all entanglements;

lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.

But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change.

it will not be broken; 

it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.

The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation.

The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe 

from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

You see?  The opposite of vulnerability is impenetrability.  Refusing to be vulnerable is refusing to be understood. You are completely inaccessible.  The fear of being vulnerable is similar to the fear of being unloved, but at the expense of being known.  If you are unknown by the one that you love (or fear to love), there is no hope for love in the relationship at all.  And this shortcoming is magnified in marriage.

Marriage is a religion.  It is a devotion founded on faith and trust and love, but based upon the love of Christ for each individual rather than the individual's ability to love on his or her own.  Perhaps, then, it is a parable for religion.  It is not safe; it is profoundly risky.  And that's love.  That's life.

why my husband is the sweetest man alive

So, last night, I'm working the closing shift at Starbucks.  It's snowing.

We had just locked the store so we could finish cleaning, counting drawers, etc... and we see two sets of headlights shining through the windows.  We rolled our eyes because it's obnoxious when people try to get in when we're already closed.  The cars sit there a while.

I take a closer look: it's my husband (in gym shorts) heating up my car and scraping the windshield for me.  My coworker (a guy) turns to me and says, "Well, that is literally the sweetest thing I've ever seen.  What a great guy, geez."

Adorable, right?  Just wait - it gets better.

I arrive back at our flat, where Kevin has prepared me dinner.  He ushers me to the couch, where he has my favorite book sitting next to a bottle of my favorite pinot grigio.  A playlist of Michael Buble, John Mayer, and Air Supply was on softly.

So very, very sweet.

Then, he prepared a foot bath.  My feet soaked while I read my favorite book, sipped wine, and ate popcorn (because he knows and loves me that much), and while he kept the pup occupied in the other room, I got my relaxation on.

But, guess what, there's even more.

He gave me a pedicure.  He literally scrubbed my feet.

He didn't even know what a pedicure was, apparently, and had to be told by the ladies at Bath and Body Works (where he bought all the lavender- and vanilla-scented goodness).  He did this for me.  Out of the blue.  For absolutely no reason whatsoever.  It was a Thursday night, for goodness' sake!

And THIS is why my husband is the sweetest man alive.

our precious bilbo

Our precious: Bilbo 

So, Kevin and I have been wanting a puppy for a rather long time.  

It's sort of impossible to live in Colorado and not own or want to own a dog; it's even more impossible to work at the Idaho Springs Starbucks, surrounded by only the most avid of dog-lovers.  

Dogs are expensive.  Especially, we've found, corgis.  Especially corgis that aren't mixed with something else, particularly chihuahua.  We wanted a corgi.  It's become a practice of mine, when I've absolutely exhausted my typical online demands (a la Facebook, Failblog, news sites, etc), I'll look up corgis up for sale or adoption in the Denver area.  Friday, I found an interesting ad.  There was a litter of Pembroke Welsh Corgis (aka the type the Queen prefers) almost three hours away from us, but the price was right.  Kev gave the lady a call, who said she had only one male left.  We braved Friday evening traffic, stopped to get Chick-fil-A, and made it to the place just after the sun had set.  Needless to say, although the breeder didn't have papers for him (because when she bought the father, that breeder didn't get through the necessary paperwork, or something), we fell in love with this little guy and brought him home.  Well, first, we went to the hospital, because our best friends were having their baby.  Funny timing, we know.

Anyway.  We love him.  Bilbo has one of the best personalities I've seen in a dog: he's playful, but quiet.  He rarely whines, and I've heard him bark (almost whispered, like he's not sure he wants to commit to it) maybe twice?  He knows to use the bathroom outside (except when he was so excited yesterday at church - sorry about that, again, guys).  He is perfectly content rolling around on the floor by himself, chasing his tail or the rope toy we bought him.  He jumps on me when I sing (delightedly, we think), and he wrestles with Kevin like a champ. 

He's just the best.  

redefining tolerance

It is time for those engaged in contentious debate to put the pitchforks down, pick up some coffee cups and have some messy conversations. Messy conversations lead to healthy conversations. Healthy conversations lead to understanding. Understanding those whom we disagree with leads to pure tolerance.

 So writes Ken Coleman in his Huffpost article, Redefining Tolerance: The Case of Chick-fil-A.  I tend to agree.

"Gay is the new black" v. Chick-fil-a

I read two articles today.
They happened to be on a topic I am wrestling through as I hope to find the appropriate, loving, Christian response.
Read them.  Think through these things with me.  Pray about it.  I'm going to, too.

One: Gay Is Not the New Black
Two: Moreno lays an egg opposing Chick-fil-A
(For whatever reason, the Chicago Tribune site isn't letting me link it properly... so you might have to google "Chick fil A" and it's currently the top news story. Sigh.)

Friendship in Photographs

So... most of you know that my little brother is one of my best friends in the entire world.  

This is an essay he wrote his freshman year of college about our friendship.  

Now that he's graduating, it just seemed appropriate.  

I LOVE YOU, AUDIE!

           The human mind is not photographic, which is why the idea of photography is appealing.  It allows a person to capture a moment in a picture so they can always remember that event.  But the photographs don’t just show the event; if you look closely you can see the relationship between the characters.  Then by looking at later pictures you can begin to observe a change or development in that relationship.  Such is the case with my sister, Anna, and I.

            We are sitting in the back seat of a mini van as we drive down the highway.  Both furious with the other, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and bodies positioned in opposite directions as if we don’t want to be any where close to the other.  Unfortunately, we are buckled in right next to each other.  Anna stares huffily out the window of the car, and I glare at the ground.  It is as we don’t exist to each other, and in our eyes you see the angry determination never to acknowledge the other’s presence ever again.  The enmity between us couldn’t be clearer.  The caption to the picture ironically says, “Can’t you tell we’re best friends?” 

So why then did my mother choose this moment to remember with a picture? She took the picture because it captured our childhood relationship. Anna is two years older than me, so as an older sister she had to demonstrate that she knew more than I did, and had authority over me.  I was a strong willed younger brother, who had to defy her “authority”.  I would often tease her because she is a girl, and that is what you do to girls.

 I am not sure why we are so upset in this picture: perhaps we had argued, called each other names, or had gotten each other in trouble.  It shows our pettiness, and our immaturity, and like many other siblings at this stage of life, we loved each other, but we didn’t like each other. Our relationship up through middle school was bumpy to say the least; we would constantly bicker and squabble over every little thing.

            Then I entered high school, and Anna began to drive me to school, and it was just the two of us in the car for half an hour every day.  It was then when our relationship began to develop. Our attitudes had changed 180 degrees.  No longer were we ignoring each other’s existence; we were as close as we could be, both relationally and literally. 

Our faces fill the frame and are pressed together, with eyes level and cheeks touching. Anna smiles widely at the camera, and I smile a little shyly, though both of our eyes alight with happiness. It is a far cry from the previous picture where our whole bodies were turned and we where scowling in opposite directions.  Now both our faces and our bodies are facing in towards each other. She goes up on her tip toes so that her face can be level with mine, as I am now several inches taller than she is, and she has her arm around my back pulling me in closer for the picture.  She is going out of her way to show for the picture how close we are, to show in a picture what our friendship is really like.  There is no one else in the picture, and no way for them to get between us. We both wear the staff shirt, because we have decided to work together at a camp.

 She is taking this picture because she is going away to college in the fall, and she wants to have a good picture of us together so she can remember our friendship and the summer we had.  It is a picture of us at our best and closest moment, so that when she feels lonely, a thousand miles away at college she can look at it and be comforted by our friendship.

            Not long after the dynamic of our friendship changed again as a factor is added.  Anna met Kevin. They met at her school, and they later got engaged.  I was thrilled for Anna and Kevin, because I knew that they really loved each other, but I was a little concerned when things began to get serious between them, because I didn’t know how it would affect my relationship with my sister.

 Things did change, and it is evident in the third and final picture.  There are two guys in this picture, Kevin and I, and we are both dressed in blue.  Kevin is bearded and I am clean-shaven. It is a hot day, which is apparent because my usually straight hair is curly from the humidity.  We are sitting at a counter top at a burger joint in the Chicago.  A burger is in my hands as I have just taken a bite, and have begun to chew it.  I am looking sideways at the camera, but I can’t smile because of the food in my mouth.  Still there is a smile playing around my lips.  Kevin’s burger has a bite in it, but sits in the basket as if forgotten as he looks almost skeptically at Anna who is sitting next to him, and is taking the picture, as if to say, “ You are taking this picture now, really?”

 No longer am I the closest to my sister; another has moved into that position, but I am okay with it.  Our relationship has matured to where I know that Kevin is more important to her, but I know that I am still her brother and one of her best friends.  In the picture Kevin is closer, but I am there too.  Our friendship is still important enough that she brings me with her and Kevin on a trip into the city.

These photographs show the development of my relationship with my sister, whether it was intended or not.  Which is why photography is so important, because you may not remember how you once felt about a person until you see a picture of you two together, like in my first picture.  Through photography you can see a change of feelings and a development of friendship over time, like in my case.

Twelve

HAPPY DECEMBER 12!

I'm thankful for my little brother, Austin.  

He's my best friend.

He's one of the smartest persons I know.

He can remember lines to just about any movie we've ever seen.

He does accents.  Brilliantly.  (Esp. New Zealand, Scotland, England)

He's funny.

He reads like it's his job.  Even more so than I.

He's passionate.

He's loyal.

He's a snappy dresser.  Gotta love the cardies.

He "gets" me, and I "get" him.

I call him Audie.

I love how close we are.

There are too many (TOO many) inside jokes between us.

He's graduating this May from Wheaton College, with a degree in History and a minor in Poli Sci.

I get to proofread his papers (they're so good!)

Even if he once described Paradise Lost as "some poem about the Garden of Eden", I know he knows what's up.

I love and miss him so very very much.

Ten

HAPPY DECEMBER TEN!

Sorry the above picture is sort of creepy, I just thought it interesting enough to use!

Today, I'm thankful for marriage.  Kev and I just got home from the beautiful and touching wedding of two of our newest dear friends.  We had the honor of being usher and guestbook attendant (guess which did which!) and observing the beginning of a fun, adventurous, arduous, thrilling journey.  Although it's still nineteen days till our one year anniversary, Kevin and I couldn't wait to watch the video of our wedding.  What an exciting and perfect day that was. 

The thing I'm thankful for, though, is that marriage is not a one-day event.  It's a lifetime.  It's a journey, a process.  Kevin and I get to walk side-by-side through life, experiencing and working through everything together.  We complete - perfect - one another in that process.  And what a beautiful picture of our relationship to Christ:

Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.

For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church, His body, and is Himself its Savior.  Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit in everything to their husbands.  Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that He might present the church to Himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.

Ephesians 5:22-27

Eight

HAPPY DECEMBER 8!

I'm thankful for my mother.  While Mimsy and I do not always see eye-to-eye, through our differences (and surprising similarities), I think we've learned a lot from one another.  Here are a few reasons I thank God for my mom.  

Mom inspired and encouraged my love of good literature.  

(Remind me to tell you the story of "Wait till Helen Comes" someday.)

Mom instigated my love of all things Jewish.

Mom is the smartest woman I've ever met -- I use her as a resource as often as possible.

Mom loves Scripture (and studies) more than anyone else, I'm convinced.  Inspiring.

Mom strives to live a life pleasing to the Lord, and learns more about grace everyday.

Mom pushes me to do my best - in everything.  She volunteered me to sing at church, made me stick with piano during the tougher years, and gave me journals to keep me writing.

Mom learns things, and shares them.  She can't keep it to herself.  What a wonderful and in-depth teacher.

Mom is unintentionally funny.  Sometimes, she gets mad at us for making her little phrases inside jokes, but I hope she knows we do it because we love her.

(Hey mom, can you jag me the remote?)

When mom thinks/believes/knows something, she is convinced of it.

Mom loves my daddy and us, and is such an example for me.

My son, observe the commandment of your father and do not forsake the teaching of your mother; bind them continually on your heart; tie them around your neck.  When you walk about, they will guide you; when you sleep, they will watch over you; And when you awake, they will talk to you.

Proverbs 6:20-22.

<3 

--For my companion-post on why I am thankful for daddy, click here!--

things daddy taught me

In his sermon Saturday night, Pastor Drew mentioned that our (good) relationships here on earth are designed to teach us more about our relationships with God.  Particularly, our relationships with our fathers.

I'm convinced my father is one of the smartest, wisest, most godly persons on the planet.  He would never say so himself, but he is.  (There's a correlation there.)

Here are some of the things I've learned about life, love and God from watching and listening to him.

My dad is smart.  He taught me:
Before you ask a question, think it through, look up information for yourself, and form your own idea or conclusion.  Then ask and discuss.  This will not only aid in your learning, it will promote balanced and in-depth conversations.  We've been given the capacity to learn for ourselves, and oftentimes lazily asking a question you haven't thought through is not conducive to really learning.
I learned to love my dictionary, my calculator, my Bible and my encyclopedia.

My dad is wise.  He taught me:
Be the bigger man, so to speak.  If you're not getting along with someone (they hurt you, you hurt them, there's some misunderstanding), forgive them and be the first to go to them to ask for forgiveness.  Make the first moves toward reconciliation.

Love them whether they deserve it or not.

My dad is soft-spoken.  He taught me:
Listening is the best way to encourage relationships.  Be approachable.  And care.

Think before you speak; be certain of your words.  Say precisely what you mean, and avoid unnecessary or careless statements.  This, too, is wisdom.

My dad is godly.  He taught me:
The importance of spending daily time with the Lord cannot be overemphasized.

Always have your Bible with you... even if the best way to carry it is tucked into your belt as you walk around camp.

Think of theology in terms of its practical application.  Lofty arguments and debates that have little or no consequence in relation to "real life" have their place, but have little fruit.  How does it apply to serving God and His people?

My dad is humble.  He taught me:
Lead by example.
Volunteer to do the harder, dirtier, less glamorous tasks.
Do not complain or show disgust.  
If you can demonstrate something through your actions, it's better than if you use words.
My dad is the best at this.

My dad is funny.  He taught me:
It's okay to laugh at yourself.
I think my dad laughs the loudest at his own jokes.
And I think that's cool.
Don't take yourself too seriously.

My dad always points me to Christ.  He has shown me what it means to love a spouse, to love his kids, to love the Lord and how to follow Jesus in a very real and practical sense.  He has shown me how I can relate to God the Father as a father.  I respect him, I love him, I wish to obey, honor, and emulate him.

In the same way, let your light shine before others,

so that they may see your good works and give glory to 

your Father who is in heaven.

Mt. 5:16 (ESV)