rule.

The kids are in the shower playing with shaving cream and a foot scrubber since the Man officially put the k’bosh on tubs until April 22. Seriously. April 22. They’ve destroyed our bathroom for years each time they take a tub in there. We find water dripping off the walls, covering the floor, popping the tiles off the surround. We scream, threaten, rant and rage and it’s always the same messy story. So last night he posted a sign and made it official. Leaving me with wreckage today as I started enforcing it. Anyway, they are there and I’m here at the computer trying to ignore the email I’ve just received that says “Now is the Perfect Time to Visit Britain”. As if there were an imperfect time to visit Britain (more on my love of all things British later). And I’m thinking about my dad. Who wrote a book. Last week. For my whole life he’s not writing a book and suddenly, last week, blam-he’s written a book. And it’s about the 10 second rule which basically says that you should do the next thing you’re reasonably certain Jesus wants you to do and you should do it now. My dad has a system for everything, even obedience and perhaps someday you’ll be able to pick it up at Schuler’s and read about it. Anyway, it’s a good system and I’ve been trying to use it lately. Been trying to be more spiritually impulsive, because when I pause and think I lose the guts to do the next right thing and then the moment is over and I’ve missed out. And so has God.
So yesterday in the doctors office (more about this later) I sat across the waiting room from a young woman who looked sad. So sad. I can’t describe it, but I know I’ve looked like that before. Where every part of your body seems to say, “I give up. I got nothing left.” I hurt for her. And God was nudging me to tell her it’s going to be ok, but I didn’t know her and this doctors office is a Psychiatrist’s office and probably filled with all kinds of loony people like myself, so what in the world would keep her from thinking I’m completely off my rocker? So I didn’t say anything and my hands started to shake and I felt an anxiety attack coming on and before I knew it she was walking out the door.
I caught her in the hall and told her I didn’t know if she knows Jesus, but I had a strong impression that He wanted me to tell her that it was going to be ok. That she’d be ok.  It was ok. And she thanked me hesitatingly and got into the elevator, putting an end to my daydream of her breaking down and talking to me and me having all the right answers and her leaving with Jesus. But the result part isn’t my deal. It’s Gods. The obedience part is my deal. So, I’m praying for her and leaving the results up to God and asking that He give me the courage to act more quickly next time because I’m pretty sure this was more like 7 minutes than 10 seconds.  And I hate it when I have to ask my kids to do something a million times before they do it and I’m sorry I do that to God all the time.  All the time.
And now since Lucy is squawking and we’re very likely out of hot water, I can spend the afternoon reminding myself that there are no perfectly obedient people, only a really forgiving God who is willing to teach me this lesson a million times before it sinks in.

beginning.

I’d been toying with the idea of writing a book since long before my laptop crashed and erased everything I’d ever written, including the intro for said book. Friends and family have been encouraging me to write for as long as I can remember, possibly to get me to shut up, but more probably because they seem to like the Christmas letter I send each December and the lengthy emails I put out asking for prayer or a recipe or some other simple request it takes 1000 words to make. I’ve always modestly demurred when asked to publish a blog, believing that no one could possibly be interested in what I have to say and feeling that blogs are sooo self-centered. But since I was considering writing a book about myself, a magnum opus of arrogance, I thought I’d give it a try. So here it is. I’ll write in it as often as the spirit moves me and my four children, one husband and three and a half rotten fish swimming in their own poo allows me.
This title comes from an email I sent to some friends a while back asking for prayers for a rough patch I was going through. One of my friends (you know who you are) fell in love with it. So this is my ode to her. The deal is Jesus, working his grace in my life and me being such a completely imperfect vessel to contain it. So imperfect. I’m tired of being surrounded by hurting people who slap a smile on and sit in the pick up line at school looking for all the world as if the biggest hurdle they are facing is deciding wether to renew their Allure magazine (more on this) subscription or what insanely expensive herb to give their kid for his cough. I’m tired of being one of them. So, this is me. Being real.