Everyone is talking about CBD oil right now and how its so good for “this” and curing “that” and how theirs is the best. Honestly, natural remedies and wellness management approaches are truly rocking right now for a reason- they can be highly effective for so many needs, but they are not all created equally. If you’re going to go the natural route (and really, you should!), then you – you– must educate yourself. Read, learn, ask. Then, begin.
Did you know that CBD oil willshow up on a drug test? Did you also know that CBD oil only indirectly affects the body’s systems that need help? There is a better way, and one that will provide significantly more effects and results than anything you’ll find on the mass market bandwagon.
Last night we had our ESL Christmas party and in my class, Level 4, I decided we would discuss Christmas. Everyone rolled their eyes and said they’d done that too many times. But I told them that as a professional journalist, I was going to interview them and they were going to share with us their favorite Christmas memories. That had NOT been done in the class before! Want to know why I did that? Because *everyone* has a Christmas memory- even if you don’t celebrate it. As the students began to share, we were all very moved and some even became emotional because those memories are powerful and poignant and stand out for the best reason: LOVE. Christmas is about LOVE- the LOVE of God to send His Son, Jesus, “God with Us” and all around the world what everyone remembers about their own experiences is LOVE. I was so beautifully touched that I wanted to share with you a few bits of their stories:
1) Romania: I grew up in a communist country with very little freedom or ability to celebrate Christmas, but even so- the greatest memories are of standing in the food lines for many hours waiting for an orange and a banana. Thousands of people waited for their orange and banana for hours in the cold, but it was such a precious treat! And because I was good at karate and was a big guy, some people would even share their orange or banana with me…. We would traditionally eat fish at Christmas, but it was very hard to come by so one year, when I was 14, I went fishing in the lake. I cut through the ice and fished for hours until I caught 60 pounds of fish! Even though I was very cold and my clothes were frozen, and the fish was very heavy, I was so happy to walk the 8 miles back to my home and give it to my family!
2) Poland: We did not get many gifts for Christmas because we grew up also communist. However, one year my parents spent a great deal of money to buy me a pair of skis. They were the best gift I’d ever received. They were wooden skis and I took them out and skied all over the place! I still have those skis to this day and keep them in my home.
3) Pakistan: Our family couldn’t celebrate Christmas very much because we were often tormented by the country’s dominate religion. Even at the malls we would be mocked and spat on and called terrible names. Many Christians lived near each other for protection. One year, when I was 10 years old, my father had saved up his money and bought me a bike. I was the only kid in the whole area who had one and it was like I had gotten a new car! All the children took turns pushing me and running alongside me and watching me ride and cheering. It was one of the greatest days of my life.
4) Hungary: Our family didn’t decorate for Christmas or do anything very big, but one year my father surprised me by bringing home a huge tree. He had decorated it with real candles and I remember watching in awe as it glowed and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
5) Serbia: We grew up as atheist and did not celebrate Christmas. However, in our small down, the woman who delivered our milk was a Christian. She would roast a pig and invite our family over and she would scatter hay all around her kitchen floor and in it she would hide walnuts and oranges and pieces of candy and we children would pretend to be chickens and we would run all around hunting for the treasures. Then, the woman would sit us down and tell us the story of Jesus and of His birth and His family and why God sent Him to earth. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized those stories were true and that the kind milk woman had planted the seeds of faith in my heart when I was a young child.
6) USA: When I was very little, my mother had just remarried and we were celebrating our first Christmas as a new family. My wish was to have some doll furniture for my little tattered doll that I loved very much. On Christmas day, the gifts that I opened were brand new doll furniture- a dresser with a little mirror, a cradle and a little desk- all handmade by my stepdad. He had worked for so long to craft them for me, his new girl. I am an old woman now and I still have those things to this day.
7) Japan: When I was young, my greatest wish was for a dog because I was an only child and often lonely, but my parents would not allow me to have one. When I was 10, on Christmas day, we traveled to the home of a friend and she brought me into a room filled with puppies and told me I could take one home as my gift. I looked at me parents and they agreed! I named my puppy Jian and he was my friend and companion for 16 years.
8) Alicia: When I was 14, my grandpa, who died earlier this year, wanted to purchase me a special ring for Christmas. I went and picked on out with my mom and waited excitedly for Christmas. On Christmas day, I opened all my gifts and finally they brought out a large box. Inside was a beautiful, emerald green, very long dress coat from London Fog. I knew it was very expensive, and I tried very hard to smile and be thankful, but my heart was broken because I had been looking forward to my new ring from my grandpa. It wasn’t until later when the gifts were done that my grandfather pulled me aside and put his arm around me and asked if I liked my new coat. I said I did- and then he asked: Did you look in the pockets? I ran to my new coat and there in the pocket was a small ring box with the beautiful ring, that I still have to this day
It’s true. I’m searching for a soulmate. I’m trolling Facebook, asking friends if they know of anyone, judging books by their covers and writing people off because I don’t like the “Movies I Like” section on their profile. My husband has his ear to the ground as well. We’ve been searching for some time, actually. It’s not that we’re not fulfilled in our marriage- quite the opposite actually. It’s because I’m so happy in my marriage that I’ve decided to search for a soulmate.…because it’s not for me.
I’m here to help! Hi! Oh, and in case you’re wondering- those selfies below are from the time I went- by myself- to a bridal shop and tried on wedding dresses. No, I was not engaged at the time. Sigh.
Selfie in a wedding dress, 3 months into dating Homer
Me, at a bridal store, alone. BEFORE I was even engaged.
I have a theory- let’s see if you agree with it: The best people to help find a viable candidate with whom you could have a lasting relationship are those who are happily married.
I’ll say that oppositely as well: The worst people to ask for help (or advice) from, no dangerous, in fact, are unhappily married people, or those who can’t successfully hang onto a relationship. (Not to be confused with other singles who are also waiting, or who are single by choice. You know what I mean.)
What’s a single girl to do?
So, I’m searching for a soulmate. Here are some deets for you: I have a female friend who is tall, intelligent and beautiful, godly (non-denom/Charasmatic), well-traveled, bilingual (Spanish), between 36 and 42 years old, never married and lovely in every way- and lonely. Desperately, painfully lonely, actually. I feel her pain, literally, even now.
Ten years ago, I was her. Crying myself to sleep, literally, and physically aching from feeling so alone. I don’t even care how un-modern and anti-feminist and pitiful it sounds to say that. It’s the truth. So, I offered to help her. (Don’t try and guess who she is. I won’t tell you.)
It’s almost pathetic, in this day and age to long to be married, isn’t it? Especially among Christians. If “God” doesn’t “find” you the right person, women are supposed to just “wait on God”… learn how to knit, ignore their biological clock, get a cat and volunteer for things because they have all kinds of free time while they’re not taking care of really important stuff, like a family and a husband.
Ask, Seek Find- Hey, It’s Biblical!
Yeah, but it really is shameful to ask for help- at least in my observation and experience. Humiliating, actually, to break down and ask a friend to help you find someone. Heck, anyone. WHY?
Honestly, most singles in churches aren’t pairing up. Or people in the church assume you want to be paired up with the only other single person within 10 years of your age. It’s like… you know them too well and, gross. But having a “singles group” between churches sounds about as fun as showing up to a Star Trek convention dressed as Season 1 Lieutenant Troi. #freshmeat
What’s a single person to do? Ask us for help! It’s okay. We happily married people would love to see you happily married to, if that’s your desire. We’re the best ones to ask, actually, because we know what makes a marriage work well, and we’ll walk with you as it all plays out, because someone did the same for us.
Homer and I met online, so no judgement here, and it was totally a God appointment, so I don’t have any assumptions of what will and won’t work. I know that “he” is out here, waiting to meet her, praying and probably struggling with loneliness too.
DO THIS: I’m asking you to SHARE THIS POST *RIGHT NOW* with someone who might know someone, who might know a really extraordinary someone who might fit the bill (see above criteria, and yes, I have her permission!). Make it go viral. I’m SURE one of us knows a wonderful, godly man who is praying for a woman just like her… Oh, and no, I am not kidding. 🙂
I’m wearing a hand-me-down right now as I’m writing this post. I’m wearing a mustard yellow, knit duster sweater by a friend who said it was “too big for her”. While I wasn’t thrilled with the knowledge that she wanted to upcycle her fat clothes to me, at the same time… it was a super cute, comfortable sweater so whatever. I took it gladly and wear it happily, even though I think it makes me look like a tube of polenta.
If you look closely in the picture at the top of this post, notice the jeans. My friend’s jeans are rolled up and nicely pegged, per the style, while mine are… blousy and pleated looking. Yes, those were hand-me-downs I tried to morph into style. Such is the life of a kid who wears hand-me-downs. Eternally creative.
I’m not complaining. I’ll take hand-me-downs gladly any time. As a pastor’s kid, we got hand-me-downs by the station wagon-load when I was growing up. It was like Christmas in July to get garbage bags filled with clothing to rummage through. While most of it was grossly outdated and, well, gross, I could sew and adjust, nip and tuck things here and there to at least stay a few years behind the fads, as opposed to whole decades behind- ala those pegged pants.
See this picture of the ginger kid? It’s me at Easter. I was about 13 years old, wearing a pale pink dress. I’ve always avoided pale pink with the knowledge that pale pink blends almost perfectly with my skin tone and makes me look like a dead body, but alas, it was a hand-me-down and I wanted to wear a new dress. It was all I had.
To this day we get hand-me-downs. In fact, we just got a bag of clothes from a friend for Emmeline and it felt just the same for her- like Christmas. She excitedly tore through the bag and held everything up, exclaiming how cute it was, and trying it on. Even Adelaide slipped on a bathing suit over her clothes and wore it proudly around the house for most of the day. It was joyous. See them? Aww. Happy Hand-Me-Down Day!
And yet, no one will ever know that joy from me. I don’t do hand-me-downs.
It has been my secret shame. I am the perpetual receiver, but it’s the one area in life I refuse to pay it forward. Want to know why?
Because my kids wear their clothing. I mean it- they wear them while living life to the fullest and their clothes, once they outgrow them, reflect a life well lived. How parents preserve their kids’ clothing in a condition good enough to give to another person without shame, I will never know.
Actually, every time I open a bag of fabulous, generous clothing from someone, I marvel at how clean they are. I marvel like you’d marvel at a beautiful piece of artwork, or a feat of engineering. How do they do that?!
Of course, I have managed to salvage a few fancy coats and charming, monogrammed onesies here and there for posterity’s sake, but overall… nope. We Purdys live in our clothes.
See these costumes? Hand-me-downs- we just got them a few days ago from a mother whose kids probably sat in them and… I don’t know, had a tea party? Perfect, like-new condition. And oh boy, are they going to be loved to the death at my house. They will used for fighting epic battles, worn while eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Popsicles and slept in (let’s just be honest), if history is any indicator.
While I’m not too proud to receive hand-me-downs (I love it, in fact, because it feeds into my love of all things second-hand- recycled, reused and repurposed), I am way too proud to give hand-me-downs to you. You don’t deserve the headache of sorting through them only to find orange stains on the collars or marker colors on the bottoms of the pants– and they are there.
I care about my reputation way too much to let you see that I cannot keep my kids’ clothing in giveaway condition. But- we all have our cross to bear. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart for your generous, thoughtful hand-me-downs. We love them, and love you even more; aaaaand after we’ve had them for a while, we’ll give them a proper burial…
Talk about perspective…! Our new home, a classic American Foursquare, built in 1927 is one of my greatest blessings- aaaaand projects. It has the most beautiful wood work and old charm, high ceilings and a really classic feel that is homey and yet stylish. But.
I can already tell it’s going to be a long journey to the end, when we’re finally satisfied with the way it looks and feels, but that’s okay. It’s more than okay, actually. I want it. I wanted a “handyman’s special” so I could make this house mine.
So, when we moved in and two months later the bathroom sink started backing up with black water, I had a pretty cheerful outlook, sort of enjoying the idea that we were official home owners, doing home owner-y things. Broken pipe? No problem-o. My husband is a handy man, indeed!
Here’s my favorite (and most daunting part) – the woodwork. 😀
Buuuuut, then it became this awful “if you give a mouse a cookie” scenario that escalated very quickly, and it turned out we had to tear the entire bathroom out to get to that pipe. In the meantime, we bonded as we brushed our teeth over the bathtub and peed into a commode for a bit. The commode was actually a step up because for three days we were sprinting next door to do “the necessary”. I’ll admit that my cheerful outlook turned into a fake, plastic smile of sheer willpower to get through this as quickly as possible.
Here’s the bathroom before- somewhat outdated with the heavy, dark marble floor, a 3-cabinet vanity with outdated tulip light fixtures and it was actually decrepit. Rotted wood under the sink, broken drawers, painted-over rusty bits, cracked trim and the like. Not pretty, but good enough, and, well, free.
But we’re blessed. It took about 7 weeks, mostly because we work jobs and have a life and two little kids in the house and could only do so much at a time. We stepped over screws, boards with nails, avoided the sink in the hallway at night, and piles of tile and joint compound And, while I am perfectly capable of attacking anything with a drill, hammer or paint brush, there were things I simply couldn’t do. So, we called in some friends to help with the demo and fixing that old, crusty (literally) pipe and started to rise up from the ashes.
The sliver lining was, of course, a new bathroom! I was really excited to put it all together because we want to honor the 1927 look and feel of the house, so I kept that in mind as I chose all the new elements. The walls are a somewhat greyish-pinkish, which perfectly fits with the space. Muted, yet pretty. Lowe’s had the most beautiful tile and it was such a great price!! $1.50 per tile. That’s *nothing*. And I learned a new skill- how to tile, mortar and grout a floor!
Honestly, I could sit and watch paint dry and have fun with my husband. (Actually, we did sit for a bit and watch the paint dry…) So, we stayed up many nights until the wee hours of the morning to get this all done as quickly as we were able, but that was okay with me. Doing demo projects with my best friend is one of my love languages….
Oh, wait, pause. Did I mention we had to tear into the ceiling in our dining room to address a leak? Good times….when you can look up through the ceiling and hear someone doing their business on the toilet.
I wanted an inset bathroom cabinet, but it didn’t work with the space, so instead, we opted for an antique gilded gold mirror and purchased an old-fashioned looking bathroom cabinet from Houzz.com that fit with the style.
It’s a really small bathroom so I wanted to give it a better sense of openness and stuck with smaller, individual pieces, rather than the heavy, overbearing giant sink and cabinet that was there originally. The original sink was over 4 feet long and was so deep that you could hit your teeth on it when sitting down to use the toilet. I opted for a dresser style from Home Depot that was much thinner and shorter for the space.
Shower curtain is from Pier 1 and it is fabulous all the way.
Now that it’s all done, I am completely happy with the whole thing. The process was a little touch-and-go, but it had to be done. And I’m happy to have been able to do this with my best friend. I realize not everyone has the luxury of a guy who can tackle things like this- so I consider myself extra blessed. It really is fun, when all is said and done. And you learn a lot about your relationship, too!
One of the things I love about our house is actually how much work it needs. We bought it for a song, and now we get to work together to develop, nurture and shape it- powered by our own two hands, our aching backs, our blisters, our laughter, our intense personalities and strong opinions and all the blood, sweat and tears a home really deserves. 🙂
Look, the bottom line is, we ALL have seasons where everything is falling apart, literally- but there is joy to be found as you put it all back together. 🙂
My grandfather died a month ago. He was a good man and his death broke my heart. I am the oldest grandchild on my mom’s side of the family so I had the most time with him, and the benefit of his younger years so we were companions, he and I.
Me, circa 1980
In Florida, 2014
Senior Banquet, 1995
I think about him a lot. He lived quite a remarkable life and would often tell me what happy memories he had when he looked back. I’m glad for that. I’m glad because it wasn’t actually particularly joyful, in fact, painful- very much so, for him- and yet he remembered the happiness.
I had the very great honor of writing his obituary (which you can read at the bottom of this post) and of speaking at his wake, but I had the even greater honor of being his “Alicia Darling” and his “#1 girl”.
At his wake/funeral, the entire family came together, differences aside to hug, and talk, and hang out. It’s funny how, when you’re apart from cousins for so long, separated by age, and distance, you come together and it feels like family. Oh, and we have differences. Check out the picture below of the Nolan grandchildren. Can you tell who is a model? Who is a Christian? Who is a Navy SEAL? Who is transgender? Who owns a successful business? Who has autism? Who is a cowboy? Who is a singer? Who just graduated college? Who just got out of jail? Who cares?! My grandpa didn’t. He loved us all equally and gave his time, his money, his help to any one of us who needed it. I was filled with joy to see such a wonderful legacy of one of the most significant and influential men of my life.
My grandpa is the reason I became a journalist. There’s a whole story behind that! He took me to Disney when I was 12 and his wallet fell out on Space Mountain. He took me to Cooperstown because he wanted me to love baseball as much as he did (alas, no). He came to all my school concerts. He paid for my braces. He brought me dolls in their international costumes from every country he ever visited. My grandpa frequently sent me clippings from the newspaper in the mail with articles he thought I’d enjoy. My grandpa taught me to love and understand classical music. He heavily shaped who I am, and when he died, who he was in life became that much more pronounced in me. I’m proud of that.
And as does happen when a good man dies, the people he left behind are grieving and finding a way to move ahead with his absence, knowing that we’ll see him again on the other side, when our own times come. Praise God.“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope.” 1 Thessalonians 4:13
All that being said- watching your family members grieve is a really difficult, stressful, bonding process. It’s one thing to work through your own sadness, but to see pain in the eyes of your parents, and your siblings, to watch them burst into tears randomly as the thought of grandpa flickers across their minds – it’s brutal all around.
Homer was a huge support. I mean- over.the.top. He shone like the glittering, radiating rockstar he is. My Grammy wanted to commemorate the entire event and Homer dutifully took pictures, stepping in front of grieving relatives, with tears streaming down his own face, capturing the most painful and poignant moments a family can share. He held me as I wept on my bed the day my grandpa died. He listened to my stories. He snapped the picture below so I could have a “4 generations” picture with my Grammy even though we’d all been crying 2 minutes beforehand.
Homer made a very difficult experience bearable- but not just for me, for my whole family. Many of them had never met him because we’ve been living in Utah for so long. He came in an won hearts left and right with his tact, grace, strength, humor, kindness, friendship and the natural way he puts people at ease with his outgoing charm. I needed him, and I didn’t have to say that even one time. He knew, and he was there.
In the end, my grandfather died as he’d wished- at a ripe, old age, at the end of a life filled with rich experiences, surrounded by his wife and children who were holding him, singing, praying and loving on him.
Death comes to us all, but not all of us truly live. ~Me
His was a life well lived, and it was a good death.
There’s a story behind the picture in this post. This old man, praying over his bread. It’s actually part in a series because there is an old woman as well, in a separate picture. In my family, this picture is a big deal. All of my aunts, uncles and cousins have this same picture hanging in our homes. It’s iconic for us and we all have different memories of times we we’d spent at my grandparents’ house, doing various things while that picture watched over us. I used to ask myself- what is he praying about? Just his food? Maybe the weight of the world is on his shoulders and, at the end of a long, difficult day, sitting down to his meal, he is praying for grace to face another one. Who knows. But everyone in my family has a different theory.
I’m not one to pretend I know much of any one, particular thing, but after walking in relationship with the Lord all of my life, I do know this: Prayer changes things. Prayer doesn’t change God, no. He never changes. But prayer changes hearts, minds, attitudes, entrapments, strongholds, situations and everything else because prayer engages God’s power and releases it into our lives: On earth as it is in heaven.
We become the agreement on earth, for things to align in God’s will, as they already exist in heaven. That’s an Amen!
On my mind today: Deuteronomy 5:31, “…but as for you, stand here by Me, so that I may speak to you…”
As I’ve been working my way through the book of Deuteronomy, I’ve been reading it with fresh, new eyes. I remember trying to read it so many times in the past and just about falling asleep, partially because I thought it was boring and partially because I’ve read it so many times, since it’s one of those first few books you encounter each time you try to read the Bible through in a year…
Our proximity to God is a crucial part of our ability to hear from Him. James 4:8 tells us to ‘Draw near to God…” – it is our responsibility to place ourselves closer to God and we do that through building a relationship with Him, getting to know Him through His Word and through time spend seeking Him in prayer and even just being quiet in His presence.
There is a geography in the Kingdom (Read the post, “The Geography of Sin” for more) – you are either close to or far from God- and those are your choices to make.
In Deuteronomy 5, Moses had just finished giving the Hebrews the Ten Commandments that the Lord spoke to him “on the mountain, out from the midst of fire, the cloud and the think darkness with a great voice” (don’t you wish it could just be that easy to hear from God…?!) and the Word says that even though the people heard the voice of God up on that mountain as the Lord spoke to Moses, they had no sense of honor or awe. They wanted to get as far away from it as they could.
In fact, they said to Moses, “Now, therefore, why should we die? For this great fire will consume us. If we hear the voice of the Lord our God any more, then we will die. For who is there of all flesh who has heard the voice of the living God speaking out of the midst of the fire, as we have, and lived? Go near and hear all that the Lord our God will say. Then speak to us all that the Lord our God will speak to you, and we will hear and do it.”
One of the biggest mistakes the Hebrews made (over and over and over) is that they consistently ping-pong’d back and forth in their geography to God. If God did nice things, they got closer. If God didn’t do what they wanted, or not fast enough, they made golden calves and distanced themselves from Him.
One thing we know about God from His Word is that not only can God be found, but also- He wants to be found, but it is our job to seek.
In Deuteronomy 5:30-31, after the Hebrews got weird about being too close to hear God’s voice, the Lord says to Moses, “Go say to them ‘return to your tents’, but as for you, stand here by Me, so that I may speak to you…” As for YOU. As for me. “Stand here by Me.” Could there be any more inviting, amazing statement God could make? He wants to be near me?
The Lord wants to be close to us, so that He can speak. Need a word from God about your situation? Read the Word. Pray. He can be found, but you must seek Him, His face. You must place yourself close to God so that He can speak and so that you can hear. How can we expect to hear and know the voice of God if we aren’t standing close enough to Him to listen?
The picture on the left was taken on Feb. 13, 2008 – the day Homer and I met.
After meeting online (ChristianMingle.com, for those who want to know…), and chatting on the phone/IM for a few weeks, we decided to meet up in person to make sure our profile pictures were accurate. haha 🙂
Well, they so were. Homer was every bit as gorgeous as I’d hoped- tall, confident, handsome, and really fun. So, we snapped a picture at the place where we met up- the EcoTarium in Worcester, Mass., in front of their giant grizzly bear.
Well, on Feb. 17, 2018, we took the kids ice skating and snapped another photo, at almost 10 years to the day of that fateful trip to meet each other to see what if…
Wow. We have been through a lot, the wringer, actually- but together, always together. There were times when I wanted to leave, and times when he wanted to. But we didn’t. We toughed it out. We cried, screamed, prayed, threw things, despaired, triumphed, grew, changed, forgave, comforted and refused to sleep in different beds, even on our darkest and most painful nights.
What a difference 10 years ago makes! The people on the left thought they were two, strong people. The two people on the right have learned they are stronger together. Every day together is a gift. Treasure it.
My husband is a rockstar! This week he goes into work late and gets home late, so while I get up early and make his breakfast and get his lunch packed and then start working at my job, he feeds the girls, homeschools Sunny and keeps Birdie busy. This enables me to finish working, so when he leaves I can be Mom for the rest of the day.
This is real, everyday love, not a lame Valentine’s Day extra push, or some grand gesture to over-compensate for a marriage filled with daily disappointments. My husband is the *real deal*.
And you know what? I have it so good. H. and I often ask ourselves if other people are are happy as we are behind closed doors. I just wonder, especially when I see other people just slogging through it all. I do not slog. I was made for so much more than that- I work for so much more than that with H. It’s worth every effort.
and romance? Oh yes. Take a look…
We dance together in a kitchen, not a ballroom. We don’t buy chocolates; we bake chocolate chip cookies together for the kids. We don’t buy flowers; we rake leaves and plant a garden together. We don’t buy teddy bears or lingerie; we hug each other and fold laundry on our bed. We don’t spend money on fancy jewelry; we pay the bills for the beautiful home we live and love in. We don’t rent dirty movies, read salacious BDSM novels or get into costumes to spice things up; we giggle at our grays, wrinkles and stretch marks, rejoicing at the pleasure of growing old together.
If your house is anything like ours, school mornings are somewhat chaotic. This morning’s weeping and gnashing of teeth was over school lunches. We can’t afford to buy school lunch right now, so we pack lunches (remember the good old days when people preferred homemade things??), which is much less exciting, apparently.
As EDJ stomped around in anger because “we never have any good food” my husband suggested scraping three dollars out of our spare change jar to let him buy lunch, but it turned out that we didn’t have enough, so I got up to find him something to eat for lunch (yes, he’s a teenager and could, presumably make his own lunch, but it wasn’t in the cards today- I could already tell). You know how those days go.
As I scrambled around to scrape together something for lunch that wouldn’t end up being thrown away, EDJ threw some shade at me about how he hates peanut butter and jelly (which is all I could manage, as we need to shop, but haven’t gotten paid yet- aaaand you know how that goes), and that he fully intended to throw it away at school.
We went back and forth about the value of food and its cost, priorities and perspective, an appreciation for what we have even when it’s as humble as a PB&J and how not everyone can pay for school lunches and how that is OKAY. Of course, when I say “back and forth”, it was mostly me doing the talking as EDJ remained (mostly) silent and staring in a way that reminded me of the way people’s eyes would glaze over when looking at those magic pictures from the 1990’s that made images appear and float in front of your eyes.
After he left for school, I sat down to do my devotions and was reading in John 6, about the little boy with the five loaves and two fish. You know the story- Jesus had been teaching and everyone had come from far and wide, and apparently no one had thought to bring any food into the desert.
When Jesus suggested buying them food, Philip points out that they don’t have enough money to buy food for everyone (we didn’t even have $3, so I felt his pain), but they did have “five loaves of barely and two fish”, offered by a boy in the crowd.
Suddenly it struck me — someone had made that lunch for him, most likely the boy’s mother. My mind wandered as I thought about what that mother may have gone thought that morning as the boy headed out to see Jesus. Did he argue with her about how he hates fish? About how he’s sick of eating barley bread all the time? I wondered if he had complained that her fish always tasted funny and how all his friends were stopping at flafel the vendors to pick up something better. I wondered if he told her he’d throw it away once he was away from her.
I thought- maybe after he’d left, holding his five loaves and two fish away from his body as though it were covered in spiders, if she’d sat down like I had and beat herself up for not being a better mother and for forgetting to pick up his favorite lunch foods. Maybe she’d sent him out of the house with resignation, imagining how he’d toss the food that the rest of the family would gladly have eaten without complaint and what a waste it would be. Maybe she’d just been glad he was gone for a few hours. (You know how that goes).
Then, I remembered Jesus. He’d taken those five loaves and two fish and had performed one of His greatest miracles ever recorded – feeding well over 5,000 people (the Bible only counts the men) with that humble, packed lunch that some mother, somewhere in time, had made that morning. Who knows what she went through, but if she were anything like me, she may have had a morning that made her think: Why do I bother to do this at all? Will it ever get any easier?
And yet, because of the faithfulness and, yes, even the “routine” of one mother, who had made a thousand thankless lunches before that and a thousand thankless lunches after that day and may have had a thousand other arguments with her son about how it’s never good enough- she got up and did it anyway. Why?
Did she know Jesus would perform one of His greatest miracles with her humble, packed lunch? No. In fact, it’s highly probably she never had any clue what the Lord had done with her thankless lunch, made on a morning when she felt especially frustrated with it all. She did it because that’s what loving mothers do – they keep moving ahead because they love, because they see things their kids do not, because they’re willing to invest in their children, even when it’s not gratefully accepted at the moment.
However that investment pays off someday isn’t the concern right now. We do what we know to be the right thing, our very best, in spite of the struggle, the monotony of the routine, in spite of how others around us accept the best we have to offer- we’ve given it to God, and who knows- maybe that one, frustrating morning where we did the same thing we do every day will become one of the greatest events ever recorded in history- because we got up and faced another day thinking all we were going to do was pack our kids a lunch.
Essentials to a life well lived: Faith + Family + Friendship empowered by Worship + Wellness + the Word