Reverse Blogging - They Call it a Commode

Day two of my reverse blogging project....I need answers to my burning questions. 

Today, I need to know about this bowl and pitcher set. Back in the day it was called a commode set.  Before there were indoor bathrooms, you had a wooden stand in your bedroom with a pitcher of a water and a bowl where you poured water to wash up.  This set has a very high-end, rare maker's mark and is a desirable blue and white transferware pattern. However, it is also damaged. Both the bowl and the pitcher have condition issues.  And the popularity of these sets has really dwindled since frankly, the people that used to collect them were people who remembered what it was like to use them.  We are about a generation and half away from that time period now and the country blue and mauve decorating era is over (as it should be.)  So my question today is...

Should I bust it up for mosaics or put in the flea market and sell it?

Reverse Blogging - Porch Swing

Normally, blogging is about writing the things you know.  I am going to be reverse blogging for a couple of days.  I am going to ask you to do the writing about a couple of things I don't know about and need opinions, facts, or a few silly answers to make me laugh.

So question number one that has me stumped:

How do I hang this porch swing?  The roof of my covered porch area is covered in aluminum siding, so I can't use a stud finder.  I have tried pushing on it to find something firm underneath, but so far I just have two holes in the aluminum and nothing strong enough for my eye-hooks to screw into.  The house is 5 or 6 years old, and the porch is under Vin's room, in front of the laundry room. Are there studs under there?  I know I hit wood once, but my drill went through so easily, it didn't feel strong enough to hold up the swing.  I am baffled.

Just Rambling....

So I've had the fleeting thought that maybe I should just shut down this blog since it's not really headed toward Pioneer Woman status. But then I think, where would I work out all my angsty questions and post pictures of my kids in souvenir t-shirts...facebook? Heaven forbid. So I think I'll just keep coming here to sit down and ponder and reflect. Even if nobody comments, it's darn good therapy.

So summer has been here for 4 days so far, and my kids have already had two sleepovers, one trip to the the library, pizza, and of course, tested the capacity of our pool.

I'm still in bed. Again. Because I don't know what I want/need to do with the day. When you reach that absolutely bizarre stage of life when your youngest can make cereal for herself, you must also reach the bizarre stage of life when you have to determine what may be the weirdest question I've answered since Charleigh's last one (on average, about 8 seconds ago and it began with "Why do you...") My own strange question: "What do you want to do?"

This question scares the crap out of me. I'm completely paralyzed by it in fact. It, and by its monstrously overgrown counterpoint, posed to me by a friend on Monday, "What do you want out of life?"

Dang. Every once in a while, you really do have to answer that question just to make sure your inner compass is on track with the trajectory of your life. Mostly, life is hemmed in by "I ought to's" and certainly it is girded with "I have to's" but every once in a while, there is a dead calm and a glimpse from the top of the mountain, and you are free to ponder "I could...."

Do You Ever...

just feel so sad for a friend's problems that you have a hard time enjoying yourself? I do. I know these friends wouldn't want me too, but I just feel so badly for them. And yeah, you pray for them, but your prayer sounds like this...

"Dear Lord....
ARUUARUAUAUGUGGHGHHH. Ya know what I'm saying Lord?"

And he does know what your saying, but you are still sad... you know?

Freedom

Friday. You blessed day, I thought you'd never come. Tonight, I'll make something fun for supper and Robb and I will watch a movie late into the night and we'll wake up when we want to on Saturday morning and go the Farmer's Market and get some FOOD. How loverly.

I have officially not been out of the house all week. I rather like to stay home, quite honestly. Today, I'll probably tinker some more with my secondary Etsy store The Rick Rack Shack, where I'm listing all the fabric and hundreds of patterns I've acquired in my journeys. And I'd like to mosaic. I have a thought in my head that's been simmering for a while, wanting to be made.

It's a relief to H, I'm sure, to know that I want to mosaic again. Having the gallery turn me down was a serious bummer and really took the wind out of my sails. She asked me yesterday if I couldn't enjoy making things if I knew I couldn't sell them. That was a great question and it got me thinking.

It's true that I'm always thinking about the sale-ability of an item I make or buy. I'm thinking about how to market it, and ultimately how to literally trade what I've got for what I want: kids clothes, good food, occasional eating out, garden supplies, redecorating supplies....

I found myself wondering if that was a good trait or a bad trait. Other people, I know, don't live and think this way. Robb took me for a much needed walk around the block last night and we talked it out. "I guess it depends on what you want the money for?" he asked. And then it dawned on me. Money isn't anything all by itself. Money means all kinds of different things to people. Sometimes it means a feeling of security. I would say, that making that little bit of extra money that I do, while puttering around, means the promise of freedom. And freedom is extraordinarily important to me.

That's probably why I've been so grouchy all week...with the kids sick and the budget tight, and the heat and bugs so oppressive outside, I told Robb I felt like I was living on a square foot of space and couldn't move. Knowing that I have all these limitations makes me focus too much on the limitations and not on what I do have to work with.

When I was a kid, I went to a school with essentially no freedom. They even tried to make having devotions mandatory. The rule book was already thick when each year, they would add new prohibitions to it based on the current worldly issues of the day...thanks to Madonna, we couldn't wear socks and panty hose at the same time. I'm not sure who the guys had to thank for the prohibition on pants with double stitching. It was insane. You also couldn't go to movies or dances, and I'm sure they would have frowned on Rock-n-bowl if they could have figured out a way to work that into the rule book. And don't even get me started on Pizza Hut because they served beer in pitchers!




But I never became a rebellious teenager. And I think one of the reasons for that was that at home, I had all the freedom I wanted. As a younger kid on three acres of field and woods, if I wanted to build something with Dad's tools, make something out of Mom scraps, learn to cook, go fishing, go exploring in the woods, catch crayfish in the creek, ride my bike, hang out in my tree house, dig in the dirt, or just generally lie around with a stack of fifty library books, that was cool. As a high schooler, I had no curfew. The car when I wanted it. Shoot...my senior year, I stayed out all night once because I didn't want to drive home in the snow from my boyfriend's house. It was already late when I made my decision, and I knew my parents would be asleep. So I didn't even call them. In the morning, they called me, where I was fast asleep in said boyfriend's kid-brother's room. All I got out of that was a laughing "Dumb Kid....don't do that again without calling us." Ok. It was as much freedom as I needed.

As an adult, the number one thing that began to scratch our hide at churches we pastored, was when freedom was cut off. When it was obvious any new ideas were going to be killed and the status quo was going to be worshiped, it was time to roll on out.
I've got absolutely zero interest in maintaining a garden of status quo. I thrive on the freedom to do things a little differently. Robb knows this about me, and does a great job of living with me. His one rule is that I let him know when I'm going to paint something, so he knows what to expect. He cherishes freedom too, so he's quick to give me as much as I need.

Money to me, is a means of freedom. The freedom to say yes when friends want to go out to eat. The freedom to do the things you like to do and are good at, instead of being hooked up to a job that you don't care about. The freedom to travel around a bit so you don't ever get too mossy and provincial. The freedom to try something new without it wiping out your bank account.

So how about you? What does money mean to you? How important is freedom to you? Or maybe money and freedom mean nothing to you and you cherish something else? I'm curious. What are you working for?

Tizzy

It's been an interesting couple of days here in Ryerland. (I just made that place up, don't try to google-map it). We looked at house yesterday. A house I LOVED. A house just...JUST outside of the realm of possibility and it has been messing with my head ever since. I slept badly, dreaming about it, scheming about it, and awoke to get ready for church. Discontent.

I stepped on the scale, once again. Stuffed Fresh Eggplant for dinner with a lovely green salad....Good. Oreo Ice Cream and left over cake...BAD. Discontent.

God is Green has been kicking my bum. It's this whole other realm of my spiritual existence that my mind grasps much quicker than my habits can seem to catch up to. There is a considerable noise in my head about all I could- should?- change as a result of very spiritual reasons. It's like trying to swallow an elephant and I am not now, nor have I ever been, good at a long-term project. It's like when you are on a road trip, and you suddenly get a glimpse of the long, long road ahead of you. Robb and I, on long, long car trips, used to facetiously attempt to wiggle our noses, click our heels together, and somehow be past it all and to our destination. It never worked. It probably won't work now, will it? Discontent.

Hey Vintage regulars....where were you all today???? We had 10 visitors. 5 new couples! Some had kids. I showed them to our nursery, and tried not to die of embarrassment as my kids had been playing busily and messily while I did other things. Our building is wretched, but we do the best we can. I find myself trying to find the poised "it's just a building, Vintage Fellowship is more than this place" stance over the panicking "Please don't hate us because our kid's rooms are only this much....we're doing the best we can." The whole service, I felt like I was taking emotional temperatures, looking at the back of people's heads, unusually sensitive to how it was going for them. One ear was tuned to Robb's beautifully woven tapestry of ideas, and one ear was tuned to the level of the children's voices. I am not alone in my discontent over this building.

In all of it though, I kept hearing this verse in my head:

You want something but don't get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.


There is such a thing as holy discontent. But all of my discontent is tainted with wrong motives, scheming, bad theology, selfishness, laziness, rudely expecting God to only give me easy, comfortable environs. My lust for more and better is nothing short of shocking, trumped only by my desires to be admired and doted on. Being sick of myself might be the most holy part of my discontent.

God help me. Give me the grace to be something else. I ache to be different.

Rising Storm

 

This was the sight from my back window last night as thunderstorms rolled it. It seems like everyone I had contact with in the last few days is in the middle of a storm. The wind is battering them, and sheets of difficulty are falling. I can hear in their voices how they just wish the sun would come out again. I wish I could make it better for you, my friends. I hope you see in my picture some hope for a let-up.

Lost in Narration

This little, very unsophisticated blog began a long time ago as my own personal therapy to deal with a cross country move to a new life. It has some real highs and real lows. Lately, it's just been a quick post of pictures of fun things we've been doing or something I made. My soul has not been much engaged in thought. I didn't need to post deep and morose confessions because I didn't have any...I've been flying high over a new found creative outlet, the general ease of my children being old enough to survive if I am not on pointe, and our church reaching a kind of good-natured toddler stage instead of the scrawny infant it first was. Frankly, I've been pretty happy.

Wrecking your second car in a month has a somewhat jolting effect, not only on your musculature system, but also in your soul. I think I would be remiss if I didn't take the time to think this over.

I have not been much inclined to play the "what if" game. I don't normally drive that road. I don't normally have C on that side of the car. I don't always take the time to make sure her seatbelt is on correctly. I seldom drive when Robb is in the car. I've never been in a serious wreck before. I've never rolled a car, set off the airbag or attracted the attention of an ambulance. But for all that, I have the weird sense that it was all pre-ordained. Destined. That I merely played out what was supposed to happen. I cannot explain why I feel that way, but I feel it deeply. And it is strangely comforting.

I recently told H that I have not been myself. For a while now, I have merely existed in the confines of my life, with a lack of awareness for what is happening. I have just been phoning it in as a wife and mother...getting by with the least amount of effort. Lost in play, distraction, and synthetic experiences. But I think I am waking up.

The first thing I see is how bad I really am. The stark truth that I am selfish to the core. And I am needy. Our little stockpiled savings account that had me feeling so smug will be gutted soon. I am vulnerable. My life is a mere blip on the screen and the time I am given each day is the great equalizer of us all. I feel no confidence that I can change any of this. I lack the emotional energy to do anything differently. But I feel hopeful. That somehow, like my mosaic china, broken is better. Imperfect and chipped is easier to use than impervious and perfect.

So broken toe, four prescriptions between Robb and I, scraped neck, bruised and sore, 2nd wrecked car in a month, savings sucked dry... I'm listening God. Can you do something with me?

Mornin'

Yesterday we awoke to 3 inches of snow. This morning, it promises to be a balmy 51 degrees and the snow is all but gone. I found no time with hubby working from home and three kids under foot to blog about it yesterday.

But today, things are feeling a little more normal and nothing is going up in flames if I don't attend to it. The calm started to settle in last night around 9 o'clock, and I started thinking...

Thinking for the first time in many, many days. It seems like I have just been doing and reacting, but not really taking in anything around me lately. Last night, I sort of woke up and became conscious to the fact that I have been holding God at arm's length...trying desperately to avoid him. In fact, I think I was feeling a strong urge to avoid everyone....to just find some black hole and pull it in over myself. Do you know that feeling? I know you do.

I think it's because I've heard so many sad stories lately. So much bad news. I feel real fear for those I love. I feel real sadness for people I don't even know. It feels like heartache is everywhere. I guess it's my reading the Psalms, but I found myself asking, "Just what kind of God are you anyway?" I've wrestled with the problem of pain theologically before and I know my way through that labyrinth. But maybe my real question, the real cry in my heart is "Couldn't you please do something this time?" Fix this marriage. Save this cancer patient. Deliver this family from financial ruin. Protect the children. Ease the pain of the elderly. It's too much.

God says no and wait a lot.

I guess that makes me feel a little better about how often I say that to my own children. Sometimes, knowing how uncomfortable and painful the world is for so many, I get offended by my own kids' yammering for more toys, more sweets, more fun. Literally, offended. And then I feel all superior and wise and knowing because I know more than my children. And pride creeps in under the fear I already feel. And what a horrid combination that makes...a prideful, fearful person.

Yes, I am waking up to the fact that my soul is in worse shape than my bathroom floor.

ugh.

Still Thinking

I am still mulling over the thoughts that emerged from the Bible reading discussion. One theory that I am entertaining is the intersection between community and Bible reading that has been absent since the Bible became available and affordable for individuals, which is a fairly recent event. Consider how before that time families may have owned one Bible that they read together. Or a community only heard the Bible from church. It seems to me that the balance was tilted too far in the direction of the individual, the student poring over the textbook rather than the community experience of hearing, reading, and learning the Bible together. I wonder if Bible reading might have more meaning to us all if it was read like a book for a Oprah's bookclub...a shared experience where your involvement in the reading is a contribution to a whole.

And on a side note, Mattie has been reading the Bible voraciously recently. She is so excited about what she is reading and has been peppering Robb and I with questions. She plowed through the book of Ruth and then jumped into the Gospels and Acts. She has a keen mind and asks good questions. I think she is impressed that Robb and I have answers to her questions and we love how fresh it is for her.

Lastly, I mentioned that I have been reading in the Psalms. I am using the Bible-zine Robb got for me a couple of years ago, Becoming. The format works well for me and helps me overcome some of my mental reservations.

I missed my reading yesterday. The day just got away from me.

Confession Time: Bible Reading

Okay, confession time.

I didn't even know it was Ash Wednesday and that Lent was upon us until last night. I started giving things up for Lent a few years ago as a matter of trying to put myself into situations where I would have to see God to move forward. I gave up ebay for Lent a couple of years ago...one of the best experiences I can recall and very hard for me. And last year, I gave up beer, which was not such a big thing. I had mentally prepared to give up drinking all-together...a very trite choice, really, which was based more on the desire to be able to say to other people, like Spurgeon did about his cigars, that I had no problem giving it up.

However, when Hubby came home last night and informed me that Super Tuesday was also Fat Tuesday, I got thinking about something the Holy Spirit has been prompting me about recently.

I guess I decided more to take something up for Lent than give something up...

I'm going to try to read the Bible.

I actually googled, "I don't read my Bible" and found nothing except, "I should read my Bible" or "You should read your Bible." I'm guessing I am in good company. And so even though some of you are judging me big time right now, most of you, I'm guessing, are in exactly the same place as I am.


For those of you who don't know, my earliest memory was in church. I have earned my Meritorious Award from AWANA Clubs International, which means I have memorized over 600 verses...which I can still recall a lot of. I attended Christian school from Kindergarten through 12th grade and I have a Bachelor of Science in Bible from an accredited Bible college. I have attended Bible studies, led Bible studies and started Bible studies.

But currently, and for the last couple of years, I don't read my Bible. I feel a little ashamed to say that, mostly because of what other Christians think of me.

I imagine some of you are compiling a list of all the verses that say we should read the Bible every day. Ok. Maybe that's a good start for me.
But what about all the good and faithful Christians over the centuries who didn't have a Bible? Were they sinning? Or are you saying that because I do have a Bible (or six), I'm sinning if I don't read it every day? I know all the cliches....if I really loved God, I would make time for him. If it was important to me, I would do it instead of eating or watching tv. I am impervious to this rhetoric. Don't make me say why...I just am.

I flat out don't know what I think about it. I flat out don't know why reading your Bible everyday is such an obsession with so many Christians. I guess familiarity with the Bible has bred contempt...not so much for God's word, but for what people say I should do with God's word. In the last few years, I guess, I just have felt like my life was so totally out of balance between what I knew from the Bible and what I actually lived out. Between what I took in and what I did with it. Between my "getting something from God" and my actually listening to Him. Between checking off my "to do" list and having a personal relationship with God.

I know about the stories of people who desperately need and want the Bible. And I love those stories. I love the missionaries who translate and do that hard ministry. They are doing a great thing. People really do need the Bible. I believe that whole-heartedly.

I just...when I open the Bible, I hear so many voices...not God's voice, but other people's. They are so self-righteous and ugly voices that I avoid opening the Bible so that I don't have to hear them. Many of the voices are wearing ugly suits and ties and hurting people terribly. And the voices conflict...each one saying what they believe and how it must be true and everyone else is wrong...Which means my only choice is to delve into an academic, methodical study, which overwhelms me. I really believe that a lot of Christians have made the Bible their God.

I'm not bored by the Bible. I love the Old Testament. I'd love to hear a series through Leviticus. I love the insights that Robb and A bring to sermons and how they apply it in ways I never thought of before. I know there is much that I have not learned yet. But I feel saturated with the Bible. Top-heavy. Bloated.

So for the last couple of years, I have stepped back from information gathering about this God of mine, and tried to just really feel the discomfort of being human without trying to slap some scriptural band-aid on every wound. I have no hunger whatsoever to learn anything more about the Bible unless my learning it has direct benefit on the lives of people around me.

I know that I am not alone. If reading the Bible everyday is something God wants me to do, I want to do it. More than anything I want to love reading the Bible like other Christians have said they do. I am on an honest search for answers to this perplexing question for me.

Maybe it is simply a matter of the pendulum swinging too far in one direction or another. Maybe it's time for balance in my life. I hope so. I'm excited to see what the next 40 days hold for me and my journey. I hope that it is helpful to you too.

The Christian Cuss

Little did Thomas Crapper know what he was doing when he made his invention: not only did he come up with the first flushing toilet, he also gave his name to the most popular Christian cuss word right now. I guess we can use it because it can't really be traced back to anything having to do with Satan (Although a good friend of our always said that he was giving birth to a demon when he used the bathroom)....It's in Don Miller's books, and all over the blogs, and even on my sweet little daughters' lips, as in "Mom, did you get the good turkey or the "crab" turkey for Thanksgiving?" (She over heard me telling hubby about my internal debate over the Jenny-O (crap) turkey for 68 cents a pound or the Butterball (I guess good) for 98 cents a pound). I guess until the kids are a little older, we'll have to switch over to the more Biblical greek....scubalon.

excuse me, i have to change a scubalony diaper.