My friend Jenny turned me on to a few photo apps that I’m having way too much fun with.
This one is called Percolator.
It makes me look like I’m made out of bubbles, and now I want to see them bouncing around inside the picture frame.
Don’t be surprised if my next animated video is all about the bubbles.
Meal planning has been a bit exhausting for me lately. I’m not feeling the love like I used to, and the details are getting lost in my brain.
I end up making several extra trips to the store each week because I forget one thing I need to make dinner complete. And of course you never buy just that one thing you run in to grab, so my budget is a little crazy as well.
Friday night I geeked out a little on my calendar and set up a two week rotating weekday menu.
At first I was a little depressed about this solution, thinking it was incredibly boring and predictable. But then I realized even more benefits that I hadn’t even anticipated. For instance…
But the biggest benefit I’m looking for is: DON’T MAKE ME THINK.
May you enjoy the bounty of mimosas, hand crafted cards of love, and a day filled with no whining.
HAHAHAHAHAHA!
*wipes tear*
Just kidding about that last part. Can you IMAGINE?
But seriously. Sometimes I feel like Nancy Botwin, shrouded in a haze of smoke in the corner of a motel room, shouting at the musically enhanced sit-n-spin: “SOMEBODY TURN THAT THING OFF – IT MAKES MY ASS TWITCH.”
By contrast, a sweet young thing I know birthed a brand new sweeter thing and posted this to her Facebook page:
I think unconditional love is being HAPPY when your baby wakes you up in the middle of the night over, and over again until the sun comes up. With all my heart I say I love it and its the most joyous time… Thank you god for blessing me with my baby
By God’s grace I did not laugh or roll my eyes or otherwise poop on a new mother’s joy when I read it. (Normally I would, because obviously she’s so sleep deprived she has no idea what she’s in for) but instead I melted into a goo of love for both the new mama and my own children.
She reminds me that even if my children are trying to kill me with one drippy whine after another, they are lovely and perfect and mine – and a gift from Jesus, not a burden.
So maybe I haven’t gone all Nancy Botwin after all. Maybe I’m not shrouded in smoke with a twitchy ass, but do have smooth(ish) skin and (kinda) look a little bit cool, and smile every now and then…
Well that’s probably a bad example…
A Portrait of Christ from Jeremy Cowart on Vimeo.
This video is around 6 minutes long, but watching it is well worth the time if you have even a jigger of appreciation for art.
It’s pretty crazy how I stumbled into writing and producing animated web videos, because while I’m a great writer*, I don’t know a lot about how the animations are actually, well, animated. I should say, I know generally how they’re made, but I don’t know the specific strokes and clicks.
So even though the medium is different from what I create, it was jaw-dropping to see it all come together.
p.s. I found the video via Don Miller’s blog.
*Don’t you love how I stuck that in there so nonchalantly?
Yesterday our church held Easter service at Qwest Field – all campuses together in one place, plus many visitors. Over 17,000 people was the last count I heard.
At the end of the service Ruthie asked to get baptized, and contrary to what I was probably supposed to feel, I panicked.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Let’s talk about it with daddy later,” I said. “Maybe we can do it another day.”
“Noooo!” she cried.
I texted Bryan, who was in a different part of the stadium. “Ruthie says she wants to get baptized.”
Ironically, he was volunteering on the after service prayer team.
“Ok,” he texted back, and waived us down.
This didn’t come out of the blue. At the ZugHaus we talk a lot about Jesus, repentance, and all the symbolism surrounding our faith, such as communion and baptism. We tend to not make an event about these conversations, but weave the gospel into our everyday life.
My fear surrounding her request is completely irrational and wholly unbiblical, because my first reaction was a resounding, “SHE’S NOT READY!” She doesn’t have it all figured out yet! She’s still so angry! And screams a lot! And throws a fit when she doesn’t get her way! And is really moody toward other people! And….!
Wait a second…
Didn’t I just describe myself?
In that moment I sensed God changing my heart. I realized I was waiting for Ruthie to stop sinning first, and that I have a lot of fear about her not “doing it right” if she were to identify herself as a Christian. It’s old baggage from my days of believing in labels and one-shot Sinner’s Prayer “conversions.”
The truth is, she will never stop sinning. I know this because at 39 years old I still scream a lot and throw a fit when I don’t get my way, and I’m really moody toward other people. I’m a horrible example of Not Sinning, but I have repentance down pretty good, and Ruthie connects with that.
Baptism is an outward declaration of what has already happened in the heart, AND it’s the catalyst for a new life to come. I’m very excited that Christ is calling my big girl to himself, and very honored that he’s entrusted a very imperfect mother to shepherd her along the way.
I’m feeling morose today. Death tends to draw that out, and later I will be attending a funeral.
I wish I could say I was attending the funeral of someone who would miraculously return from the dead three days later, but I’m not. I will be attending the funeral of someone who will most certainly be remaining dead, and there’s just something fucked up about that.
“Because in the middle of critical national debates, in the middle of our busy lives, we must always make sure that we are keeping things in perspective.” – President Obama
I’m a very task-oriented person, even if I’m not that organized about it. Disciplining myself to slow down and reflect on anything is always a challenge, because most of the time it’s much easier to just keep moving.
The clearest picture I have of this is when my day approaches the dinner hour. If I’m organized, the crockpot will be doing its thing, the kids will be (quietly!) getting an hour of screen time, and I’ll sit in my comfy chair for the first time in 12 hours, waiting for Bryan to get home.
As soon as I do this, I feel every cell in my body breathe a sigh of relief, and suddenly I’m limp like a wet towel on the bathroom floor. I push myself so hard during the day that even when I do stop to rest and reflect, I’m too exhausted.
Every year on the day after Easter, I promise myself that I’ll be more organized during Holy Week, more reflective, more of whatever box I feel I should check. And yet, every year around Thursday I’m still like OH MAH GAH TOMORROW IS GOOD FRIDAY QUICK EVERYONE LETS TALK ABOUT THE DEATH OF OUR LORD!
I’m over feeling guilty about it (did you hear? My 40’s is the guilt-free decade!), and have completely embraced that Christ continues to sanctify my tendency to Doing rather than Being.
He continues to love me and pursue me and tell me to STFU and listen for once (my paraphrase), and I accept his grace with the dignity of a short, squishy, frazzled, middle-aged child of the 80’s by repenting through prayer, really loud music, and dancing – sans the Legend of Billie Jean / Love Is A Battlefield drama.
And no, it’s not lost on me that it takes a poke from the leader of the free world to remind me that “we all live in the hustle and bustle of our work. And everybody in this room has weighty responsibilities….”
So yes, Mr. President, my trip to the DMV can be bumped to next week. Thanks for reminding me to stop and reflect on the humility of Christ as we approach Easter weekend.
via Remarks by the President at Easter Prayer Breakfast | The White House.
You’re welcome.
Yes, I realize it’s not Friday, but I was sick, and I still haz links to share.
10 Lessons from Angry Birds that can make you a better CIO
I love Angry Birds & thought this was a very insightful article on leadership. Point #3 resonated with me personally, in terms of my temper. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hit the reset button before my first bird even hit the target – I just KNEW it was a bad launch! Likewise, I feel like I’m finally in a place where I can abort my temper before it really even hits its intended target. Not all the time, but enough to make me think I really do trust this Jesus guy after all.
The article came to me by way of Geek Wire.
Ben Kingsley, on portraying Holocaust history (NPR)
“I think it’s just very important to embrace tragedy as a real part of our lives….Western civilization is a civilization determined to outlaw tragedy. If removed, the interpretation of tragedy, and the presentation of tragedy, promise shaman, who’s sitting by the bonfire – you’re telling the tribe nothing of real life. And it doesn’t prepare us as adults. It’s infantilizes us, and it dodges an enormous responsibility.”
When Ruthie was three, her grandpa died. A few years ago our beloved dog died in our living room as the kids snuggled around her. Elderly women stand outside a nearby abortion clinic with signs, and my son asks why that baby in the picture is turned inside out. They now have friends whose parents are divorcing, and they ask why so-and-so’s mom and dad don’t live together anymore. Earthquakes and tsunamis are wiping out thousands of lives.
My kids observe tragedy all the time. I can’t hide it or protect them from it – or maybe I can, but choose not to. I think it’s possible for my kids to keep their innocence without becoming ignorant. I don’t go looking for scary stories to tell them, but when they see the scary stories being written all around them, they need a language to interpret them through. Jesus gives us that language in the Bible, which is full of death & betrayal & murder & tragedy. But he also gives us a language of hope & life & grace. They can’t truly appreciate the Easter moments of life without somehow experiencing or understanding the tragedy of Good Friday.
Changing Education Paradigms
I’ve watched this video several times since it was posted. I feel like I need to keep reminding myself how important it is to be involved in my kids’ learning, even if we’re not called to home school. It also made me realize that Thomas is an innovator, and at barely six years old he blows me away with his curiosity, creative problem solving, and ability to MacGuyver his way through a challange.
Every year I get cocky that we make it through the Winter without getting sick. And every Spring I end up losing a month of my life as the funk circles its way around the ZugHaus 2 or 3 times.
In 2008 I had Influenza with a side of pneumonia, and every year since then I’ve been sick in the Spring.
This year is no exception, and I blame it on Thomas. He was the first to get sick, and missed his own birthday party because of an ear infection. Then I was down for the count last week, and Bryan over the weekend. Then I was better for a week until it all circled back around to me again, and I spent most of yesterday in bed with influenza. Again.
But the bright spot in all this (because there has to be one, right?) is that Bryan figured out how to play Scrabble using the iPad as the game board and our iPhones as the tile holders. So I got to spend all evening in bed AND beat Mr. Smartypants at a word game.
WIN!
On Saturday I took a car full of Ruthie’s friends into the city for a special girly day, and we were rocking out to some Mumford and Sons while en route. Just as we were jamming to Little Lion Man, I suddenly realized what lay ahead in the chorus.
We don’t censor this song at the ZugHaus – we believe if you fuck something up it’s good to own it, confess it, and repent – but since I had other kids in the car I wanted to be sensitive.
Ruthie: “Hey why did you skip that song?”
Me: “It had a word in it that parents may not like their kids to hear.”
Ruthie (to all her friends): “Oh yeah, it has the word fuck in it.”
My apologies to all the moms. I tried. I really did.
Last October we spent three weeks visiting family in southern California and stayed with Bryan’s brother for part of the time. My sister-in-law keeps a very clean house, and I kept grilling her about her routine as if documenting an anthropological study.
“So, you sweep the floor EVERY NIGHT then?”
(Thoughtful head nod.)
“Oh, so you clean up the kitchen RIGHT AFTER dinner.”
(Rubs chin, then writes in tiny notebook.)
When I returned home from that trip I was inspired. We walked in the door around 3 in the afternoon, and by 3:30 I was scrubbing every inch of my kitchen counter tops, cabinets, and wooden floors. I dusted the entire house from ceiling to baseboards, and captured every dust bunny.
By 7:30 I was exhausted, and collapsed into bed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone dust a bathroom before,” said Bryan.
For the next couple weeks I faithfully maintained my clean house, picking up clutter and cleaning the kitchen every night after dinner. But after awhile I tired of spending 3 hours a night in the kitchen – cooking, serving dinner, then cleaning up.
I was beginning to understand why my sister-in-law didn’t cook a lot of elaborate meals – it was too messy to clean up afterward!
It wasn’t long before my house went back to it’s normal dust bunny, finger smudgy, dish piled self. The daily maintenance was just too much. I’m more comfortable in a weekly sweep and vacuum routine, a monthly dusting routine, and a can’t find a mug so I’ll clean the kitchen routine.
Despite my lack of domestic skills, Bryan and I practice the Art of Hospitality on a regular basis. Weekly, for sure. Sometimes even more. This means I invite people into my home despite the dust bunnies under the table and the stack of books on the piano.
Every Thursday we host a small group from our church community. We share a meal and talk about what it means to love Jesus while living among, as Conan calls us, people of the earth. Before everyone shows up I perform some sort of cleaning task. Sometimes I am successful, other times I dim the lights to hide the dirt.
If I didn’t host this group on a regular basis, I’m scared to think what it would look like around here. In fact, the other day Thomas observed my sweeping and said to me, “Do we have community group tonight?”
“No. It’s only Tuesday.”
“Then why are you sweeping?”
In fact, even the dog knows cleaning is the trigger for company arriving, and slinks away at the sight of my hustle and bustle, knowing her time in the kennel is nigh.
—
Recently someone new attended our weekly group – a couple with a toddler. They came once, and we never saw them again. Later I received third-hand feedback that they thought my house wasn’t clean or safe for children.
Upon hearing this, my attitude swayed between stabby and superior. One minute I wanted to give them a piece of my mind, the next I felt so much more evolved than they were. One minute their opinion defined my reality, the next I felt there was nothing to gain from it.
Anger, pride, anger, pride… the revolving door of my heart.
The Flylady feeds this idea that no one can see my imperfection, that my incomplete self is not good enough. She calls it C.H.A.O.S – Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome. Obviously I’m not saying it’s bad to clean or get organized, but if we wait for perfection we’ll never do anything.
But I love the idea that Jesus calls me to hospitality despite my lackadaisical personality. I try to remember this when I filter that family’s feedback through my anger, pride, anger pride. Jesus calls me to a life of worship, not perfection. I don’t have to keep my house like a state certified day care, but sometimes worship means I mop the floor once in awhile.
It is absolutely true that I should probably work harder at cleaning my house. But I also have to triage my chaos. Sometimes when approaching a deadline, a Project Manager has to ask, What’s the least amount of shit that can be working before I ship something?
So I ask myself every Thursday afternoon, Do I vacuum the playroom or sweep the dining room? Do I clean the bathroom or the kitchen? Do I fold and put away the laundry or pile it in on the dryer? If I delayed hospitality until my house was clean from top to bottom, it would never happen.
Sometimes I need reminding that my motivation doesn’t come from another mom, or the Flylady, or even my own self-justification. It comes from Jesus. Sometimes he tells me to get my lazy ass out of the chair and clean, and sometimes he tells me to let it go and take a nap.
—
The epilogue to all this proves God has a sense of humor.
Last Thursday as we all sat around our living room – 10 adults and maybe 8 or 12 kids running around – Ruthie hands Bryan a flier she brought home from school, and he read it out loud:
This notice is to inform you that cases of head lice have been found at school. We are asking your assistance in order that it may be controlled and quickly eliminated.
I laughed out loud. It really doesn’t get any more imperfect than head lice.
My Life Changing Diapers
This post really struck a nerve with me. In fact, I’ll probably end up writing an entire blog post in reflection. I’m not sure how a selfish person like me was allowed to parent children, but I feel like 99% of my anger issues come from the frustration of not being able to do whatever the hell I want because of these meddling kids.
I absolutely do not feel called to have more children while Jesus works this out in me, but I definitely understand that my heart seeks to please itself at the cost of serving others. I think I’ve finally hit the bottom of myself and find this reality so gross that I’m this close to praying something drastic like, “Lord, please give me a heart that’s willing to serve others.”
All the churchy people in the room just gasped because they know I’ll soon be drinking service from the fire hose.
Coffee Drinks Illustrated
My personal favorite, other than a basic cup of black coffee, is the Espresso Macchiato. This is how a real Macchiato is made, and I hate it when a clueless barista makes me a giant cup of milk sweetened with caramel. Blech.
Percolator Flickr Group
I mentioned a couple weeks ago that I downloaded a new photo app called Percolator. This week I discovered a Percolator photo group on Flickr. Browsing here makes my brain happy when it can’t write technical scripts any more.
