there are some typos in “control issues” I refuse to correct because it would verify my control issues.  Internal editor will have to live with the chaos and the fact that the typos expose my mental framework.

What I would describe as the shouting into a hurricane philosophy of blogging.  Which I also would like to rename webdairy, weglob or goggling just because a word as silly sounding as blogging should either be humiliated further aggrandized to new hights. Diarylogging, cyberjournaling, ooh–cloudpoetry…which reminds me of one of my favorite stories about the GU Writing Center.

We spent time one afternoon riffing on the self-referential and somewhat random narcissism of organized poetry (disorganized poetry got a pass)and then created a made up poet replete with an book entitled “The Perpetual Rainforest”

One day when I retire from blog therapy I will self-publish that book and it will be even more silly than what I usually write…

M. tells me something she learned from the Simpsons.  (This statement alone would disqualify me as a good parent in some circles:)

Whar word can you make out of the word ‘danger’ without losing or adding any letters?

J. found a number of interest answers but the Simpsons answer was ‘danger.’

‘danger’ out of  ‘garden.’  hmm….

For many people the story of Adam and Eve in the garden is essential mythology.  It is no more or less relevant than Zeus or Dagon; stories of dead gods.

But I consider it to be not only a foundational story about the human condition, but also a story connected to our collective family tree. 

I would like to distill a well worn story into something essential–two people who are given the opportunity to abide in the safety of a perfect world are derailed by the lie that they can possess control.

control/rebellion/authority/pride/power

seem to be thorns on the same pernicious weed

What happens if we say, watch out, there is danger in the garden?

danger in the snake and his pernicious lie

and in our own tenacious desire for control

who wants to be out of control?

I think that we all have to constantly admit that there is danger in the garden.  If we do this we face it head an try to minimize its damaging power.

Instead I see us building gates and fences and eighty foot walls around our gardens in the illusion that the walls make us safe

but in this we are wrong, our own hearts are traitors in the fortress

willing to sell out for control

this is sin, this is the white washed sepulchres that Jesus talked about

and the only antidote  is to always remember that you can spell danger in garden and garden in danger

but the only cure is the Cross.

Luke 9:23-27

kim novak defends her use of the term ‘rape’ in reference to intellectual property cribbing by saying that she was raped as a child so she knows how serious it is.

i think, who cares about music in movies?? the really important story here is the childhood rape.

how is she?  how does she deal with this childhood loss?

what happened?  is she okay?

i mentally add ms. novak to the list

the club i wish we didn’t belong to

full of names of survivors of the ultimate theft

of innocence

if i told you i was a loser, you might look at me differently–you would think i was being self-deprecating or that i was right and a little grubby.  A loser.  powerful label. but of course I do need to lose weight.  is it okay if I am a weight loser?  how about debt?  it is okay to be a debt loser.

Jesus is the one who points me toward what I need to lose and what I need to keep.  If it is houses or fancy cars it is pretty easy for me to listen to Him.  But there are some things I find difficult to next to impossible to let go of–my family, my sanity (J. would say already gone)

Jesus makes it pretty clear–if any one wants to keep his life he better be willing to lose it and the person who hangs on to her life will ultimately let it slip away (my paraphrase) or the even more challenging–

“what does it profit a person if he or she gains the whole world and loses his or her own soul?”

It isn’t being a loser per se that is so radical, dangerous or effacing; it is what we lose that will define us

forever…

is mad at God.  Upset, but also lost.

I puzzle through what to say.  I know what to say, I just don’t know if you want to hear it.

What I would say is the same thing I have said for years, since the point in my life when He proved it to me.  I feel foolish admitting this but for a long time I selfishly guarded my right to autonomy. I thought God would take my security blanket, take my dreams.

Sure, I needed God for love, assurance, and gravity, but I was young and did not want His pesky rules about living to invade my personal space, my plans…

I am grateful He did not shrug his celestial shoulders (metaphorical, of course) and say suit yourself!

Lucky for me He let me muck about in my misery for awhile and then just like the prodigal son I got tired of misery.  I caved and told Him I would do what He wanted, listen, and go where He wanted me to go.  Then I hoped it was just a test.

The thing was; it wasn’t.  I went to China and in China I discovered what He already knew.  He was enough.  Being with Him was enough.  In fact it was life, and that more abundantly.

Jesus says He is the way, the truth and the life and I believe Him.  He makes me brave when I am not, holds my hand when life feels unlovely, and leads me on paths of righteousness for His namesake.

He is real.  Following Him is like giving your security blanket to your mom.  He’s gonna take care of it for you.

Oh, yeah, and if you don’t trust your mom…He’ll be both the security blanket and the Mom.

He is a very, very good Mom.  Always.

Matthew 5:4

I was reading something CS Lewis wrote during WWII and was struck by his prayers for Hitler and Stalin.  I thought about it and of course it made sense–the conversion of either monster into a sentient man would have stunned the world and altered human history.  But that is not the only way Lewis could have prayed, in fact I am certain it wasn’t.

I am pretty sure that while Lewis would have rightly prayed for the Light of God to invade two dark hearts, he also would have prayed that good would thwart evil, that God in His mercy would stop these men in their paths.

Many of us do not know or remember that there was a time, a long time, when neither of these men was looked at as a monster (and that there are still many who would bristle at me calling them that).

I do it deliberately.  They are dead and the trajectory of their lives and deaths is not only complete, but thoroughly unredeemed.  They could have chosen not to be monsters, the power of the Cross applies to either man in the same measure it applies to me; only I have chosen to let it apply to me, they did not.

My point?  I once confronted a “church leader” with a particularly monstrous sin.  He told me I was not Christian to do so, that I was not acting like Jesus.

I told him that if Jesus could raise such a ruckus over a few damaged and overpriced doves in the Temple, how much more would He react in righteous anger to the torture and abuse of innocence?!

Who does he think this Jesus dude is?  A greeting card fiction?

Who did Stalin and Hitler think He was?

And finally, most incisively, who do you think He is?

Revelation 19:11-16

I asked the kids what they would call a church.  This started because I was being snippy about church names, I don’t always set the best example, but it segued into a memorable discussion.  B said “Gathering,”  M. said “synagogue” and S. said “City of God.”

I like all three but I could see S’s City of God glittering in the middle distance.

She is seven.  At first I wondered, had she heard it from a sermon (Matt Chandler..) or was she ballparking?  Nope.  She read about Augustine in her history readings.  City of God…

As much as I am grateful for her beautiful history book, I am far more grateful for her shining faith. When I faced what had been done to her I knew I would have to face the question, where was God?  Why had truth taken so long, where was justice? I knew because these were my questions.

And then, frankly, the City of God’s emissaries can often disappoint.

Augustine writes a masterpiece as Rome crumbles.

Jesus says, the Kingdom of Heaven…and means NOW!

now and forever

amen

I learn a lot from my kids.  Logs for instance.  Never really did understand them until B. started doing them in Life of Fred (I am a big fan of Fred).  The only thing I remember about Algebra II was that my teacher was a colorful character aptly named Mr. Ognibene–ogni pronounced o-nee and bene pronounced ben-a.  His name means everything is good.  I love that.  I hope one day to write about a person named Mr. Ognibene, it is such a good name.  Mr. All is Well.

But in addition to learning about logs, I also learn things from the stories my children tell me.  They told me a story about a time in Roman history when the men were at war and the women showed their penitent devotions to a god by washing the steps of his temple with their hair.

They washed the steps of his temple with their hair…sound familiar?

Suddenly Mary’s gesture is illuminated in the story of other women showing devotion to a god, a forgotten deity, someone who once held sway.

She, however, picked the right Guy, the right Temple.  And at forty two years old I again find myself amazed that God holds my hand, draws me close to a story I love, a God I love, through these dear children, gifts from Him.

Ognibene.  A form of ancient blessing

(I still have a long way to go understanding logs…)

Coping strategies!

I am not the kind of woman who stays svelte when pregnant.  I have lots of home videos to prove this.  This last time around we had extra stuff going on because we were recovering from C. and the loneliness and pain associated with what he did.

I realized that I had several big things bearing down on my emotional equilibrium and I needed to control what I could (constructively, of course).  This involved prayer, a list of to-copes, and a plan.

One thing I needed to deal with was my growing girth.  I decided to look at my expanding rotundity as a necessary part of the process and I dubbed it my ‘bear suit’–a costume of sort, temporary, but a prerequisite for the beautiful little baby I was supporting (inside the bear suit).

It helped.  I would catch my reflection and say, oh, there is my bear suit!

Now I recognize that the bear suit was always there.  It is the symbol of all the messy, embarrassing, fierce things I do to love my children, all mommy school matriculants do to love their children.

Love for dignity, because “the greatest of these is love.”

Sometimes I will do something that surprises and impresses my children, little things like getting a wiggly baby dressed or opening a tight jar.  They will exclaim, “how did you do that?!” I will say, “mommy school.”  My matriculation (ha!ha!) in mommy school will last forever.  I don’t ever want to “graduate” just try to pass the classes.  The wiggly baby/jar “quizzes” are the easy part of mommy school.  The hard parts are really hard–trying to navigate successfully through grief and anger;explaining or at least enduring human failure and injustice.  Growing patience; asking for forgiveness.  Most of all I know that God is the principal, administrator, and ultimate authority for mommy school.  He loves my children more than I do and he clears away the clutter about what matters and what doesn’t.

What matters?  They do

How much? The cost of the Life of God,

Ultimately I pass or fail mommy school based on whether or not I reflect the love of Jesus and the power of His life in mine.

Which brings me back to a long held belief–kids or no kids, married or single, young or old, we should all be students of mommy school.

John 10: 1-21