"Goals are for people who hate themselves."

I love the sparkly newness of January 1st. It's like getting a new journal or a huge swatch of amazing fabric. What will it be made into? I love the newness of the 1st, but I loathe resolutions of the 31st. Every year I watch precious people go nutty over their "New Years Resolution." It's almost always about "losing weight," but it's never about liking who you already are.

My sister Rebekah sums this up by saying, "Goals are for people who hate themselves."  I totally agree.

If being skinny is your goal - Your goal is real stupid.  I mean, jeepers, friends. Thin? Really!? I have been that coveted size 2. I spend most of that time looking in the mirror and finding new ways to hurt myself. Skinny is a great train robbery of your soul, friends. If a number on a scale is your source of contentment - You will never be happy. You can not choose to be skinny and then expect to be happy. You will never be skinny enough. Your goal will never fulfill the fact that you don't like who you are.

Like myself?! Self esteem? Confidence? That's new age and prideful! Oh evangelicals, what a terrible monster you created. Funny thing about pride, friends, it's any form of self absorption. You being crazy about how much you dislike yourself is just as prideful as the dame that believes she is so super hot. Like who you are and carry on.

Or, just make better choices, friends. I dunno. I mean, I love the idea of being healthy, but don't eat an entire bag of Doritos and then whine about your size. Be a grown up here and have some self control. Take some responsibility for your actions and your choices. I mean,"Do or do not. There is no try," friends. If you want to loose some poundage: Calm down. Eat less. Move more. Stop thinking and talking about it and just do it.

 Also, throw your scale away. Because as Sweet Brown would say, "Ain't nobody got time for that."

Friends, I love you, but reading your status updates this past year has made me realize that you, in fact, don't love you. That's a travesty. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are beautiful. You matter. You have some much to give. Now, do it.

So tonight, as the clock turns and the year changes, this lady will not make a resolution, but I will keep my resolve. I will pray. I will make the choice to be joyful. I will choose to turn off the news. I will be kind. I will continue to say no to magazines and fashion input. I will watch more cartoons. I will choose peace, instead of trying to prove a point. I will eat a healthy snack, instead of eating the bag of M&M's. I will clean more. I will enjoy a special treat, like a Dr. Pepper every now and then. I will play with my Furby. I will find ways to be active, especially when I don't want to. I will not stand on a scale. I will be gentle. I will spend time with my friends. I will look for goodness. I will make more time for my family. I will find goodness. I will be less worried about my aging self and more confident in my childlike faith. I will make and wear fashion I will probably regret. I will read more, write more, create more and love more. I will like who I am. I will embrace the fact I am fatally flawed and that I need Jesus. I will seek God. I will know that mistakes will be made and hurts will happen, but when they do I will get back up and I will once again choose to be joyful, and my resolve will start again.

Friends, don't make goals. Just figure out who you are. Find a place to stand before you fall apart. 2013 is new and shiny. Fill it with something beautiful, something important. Stop worrying about crap that doesn't matter and learn to love what you have been given and if you can't figure out how to do that - give me a shout. I would love to tell you what an idiot I've been so you can learn from my mistakes and then we can figure this out together. Let me leave you with a quote from one of my favorite books (I'm Going To Like Me by Jaime Lee Curtis) "I'm going to like me, cause I am loved and I know it. And liking myself is the best way to show it."

Look for the helpers

   My husband has just finished working an 87 hour work week. That means in the past 10 days he has worked 116 hours. Average full tie employees work 35-40 hours a week. Needless to say, my sweetheart is  worn out.
    When his shift ended this morning he drove home, snuggled the kids for a few minutes, sang with Missouri, talked Transformers with Indie and kissed me. He wraps the gift (the present I said I was going to take care of last) and then, home for maybe 10 minutes, he bundled back up, drove forty-five minutes to drop of a gift to the autism house ... Why? Because he said he would.
    When he got home, having been up and worked overnight, he did the Advent calender with the States, then Christmas countdown radio, we had breakfast and he sit with me for a cup of coffee. He talked to Mojo about her Rudolph book that she made at school and then when he practically drags himself to bed, he invites the States to come snuggle and talk with him before he falls asleep. And then, while being what he calls, "P'rrt near dead," he then took some extra time to watch 3 Stooges with Indie. Doug did all of this, because he loves his family. Doug will do whatever he can to provide whatever his family needs.
 
I could write for days and still not run out of times and circumstances here where Doug has flawlessly shown this type selflessness, kindness, joy, thankfulness, goodness, self control and unconditional love. Doug, to put it simply, is just a good guy. And normally, I don't share these precious details about my husband and my life, because: 1. Doug doesn't like the attention. And 2. Doug doesn't need compliments. He does what is right, regardless of gain, simply because he was told to love others. You and I were told to do this too, but Doug actually does it. Consistently. He feels blessed to have this family, so while his family depends on him, he will do whatever it takes to make sure we are not only loved, but so deeply cared for.

 Side note and example: The last time Doug worked this 87 hour in a week he came home and asked if we could order a pizza. He didn't ask it for himself, rather, he asked for me. He knew with him working so much I had felt like a ":single mom" and because his Mom was a single mom he is thoughtful. He said,  "You probably need a night off." He then asked if I wanted to go out with my friends after the kiddos went to bed. "You need to go see your friends. Go. Have fun, Wifey." So thoughtful, and I am pleased to report that I did get to spend time with a great friend that night. Doug and I put on comfy clothes and watched the History Channel. He had a beer. I had a glass of sangria. We laughed and learned and then made fart jokes. It was a great night with a precious friend that I don't get to spend enough time with.

  So who is this amazing Douglas and where can you find one?! Doug is just Doug. He is precious and rare and I cherish him more than my feeble words could express.

Doug didn't come from great means. His family was poor, his father was normally absent and his mother worked like a mule to provided for her three boys. Doug learned early that it doesn't matter what you do as long as your do it well - And if you can't do it well - At least, just do your job. He has held and had a vast array of jobs and titles and he does each with determination and grit. He has given up good jobs for better opportunities and he has looked over pretty stellar stature for what works better for our family. He learns new skills, gives up comforts and does whatever is needed to ensure he has a way to provide. Doug works hard. He gets his work ethic from his Mother, Patty.
   Doug doesn't always feel amazing either. We have been through countless doctors and one nasty back surgery. I have seen him physically shaking from pain. I know he still hurts sometimes. He has plenty of reason to make great excuses, but the point is that he doesn't. He does what he is asked to do, until he is physically hindered from doing it. And then he when he has to stop that - He will find another way. He has dealt with unimaginable mental hang ups and lots of hurts from his past. He handles it all with gumption and grace. He pushes on, even when it doesn't make sense. He's resolve is absolute. I suppose he got that stubbornness from his Father, Howard.
   And you know what, friends? Doug doesn't have to do any of this. He didn't have to work all the overtime, but he knew if he would God would use those overtime dollars for something awesome. That's right. Doug is using his overtime money - giving it away- to help another family member who hurts.Why? Because Doug knows that is what is right and then, AND THEN, he actually does it! He is faithful. He is kind. He doesn't like to boast. He does not like to hurt others and he will not just sit around while others around him hurt. He does not do any of this for himself. He does all of this because he loves. And Doug loves, because God loved him first. He knows he has a shady past. He knows he has hang ups and hurts. He knows he will stumble and crash again, but he also knows, above all, God is a God who restores. He knows God provided a way out, before we ever even got ourselves into a mess. Doug knows this because he reads his Bible every day. He studies and shows himself approved. He knows God because he talks to God all day. He prays without ceasing with all kinds of prayers and with thanksgiving. Doug believes. Even when answers aren't easy or even there - Doug does what is right, because that is what was asked of him.

   I hear, often, that my husband is "just a good guy." He is. He is a great guy. I try not to brag on his kindness and faithfulness, because I know all that fluff and attention annoy him. Doug is what I like to call a delightful introvert. And if I know anything about introverts, it's that you cannot make them extroverts. That kind of attention is like nails on a chalkboard. (Honestly, I kinda envy the ladies who can put sappy status updates about their husbands ... Sure, I know I can do that, but choose not to do that, because I know it makes him uncomfortable.) He doesn't want or need the attention. He does what is right, because he knows it matters. And he also knows that it doesn't matter what others think of him - Not as long as he is doing what God told him to do.
   That is the person I married. And I am sharing this with you, not to make my husband uncomfortable, or to brag, but because you need to hear it. There is a lot of bad news going around. I wanted to share this with you because you need to know that there are still good people out here. People who do what is right. People who help. People that choose to do good things.
  And oh my goodness, yes - YES, we are all terrible humans and we all sin and all make terrible choices. We are all capable of such hurt and such unthinkable horror, but there are people who choose to help. There are people who choose to do what's right, regardless of the reward or the sacrifice. There are people, who regardless of their past or what might happen in the future, they choose to do what is right.

Doug is one of those guys. My parents are these type of people. My deacon from church is precious like this too. And so is my Twin, Thomas. And my best friends - They are these childlike believers. People who choose to help.

   Fred Rogers said, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'"

If you don't know anyone, personally, who acts like this  - Think of Mr. Rogers. He was just a good guy. Stop watching the news and watch Mr. Rogers.

    It sounds childlike to try and be cheerful and hopeful during such hurts and horror, but I feel we believers were called to be peculiar people of childlike faith. We are to be light in dark places. We are to add flavor to this life that is oh so bland and real scary. That is what we are supposed to do. That is what is right.

Look for helpers and hope. Seek peace. Pursue good things. Love others, and don't wonder off - despite the fact we are all prone to wonder. Surround yourself with helpers and hope and people like Doug - People who do what's right. Learn from your mistakes. Forgive others of theirs. Do this and then while you are still learning to do this: Invite others on the field trip.

   Field trips. Ha. On one home school co-op field trip I got left behind in a creepy taxidermy wing of this very huge museum. True story. I was scared and covered my eyes. And because I couldn't see, I walked slowly, and because I was slow, I got left behind. I was told, originally that, "If you get lost, stay put. Someone will come for you." So upon realizing my group had left, I sat down, defeated and scared ... beside a stuffed boar. The lights were on a timer, but the jungle soundtrack with random animals sounds were not. So I stayed there, alone, in the dark, listening to animal sounds on a loop. The creepy animals, who were sorta dimly lit by the red lights from the EXIT sign, began to look more and more like my worst nightmare. I was frozen in fear, clutching the wee plush bear, Betty, my Mom made out of a sock. Eventually, a staff member found me, in a practical tear puddle, on the floor beside, the boar. She scoped me up and returned me to my group. Later that day, I got a Happy Meal. It had a cheap plastic toy caveman girl with green hair. She became my token of, "You can do this." I considered it a good day.

(But I am still terrified of taxidermy.)

  Friends, sometimes field trips don't go as planned. Things get scary, we make dumb choices, we get scared and sometimes.. Sometimes, people do horrible and mean things. You know this already, so now hear this: Do to what you were told. Do what is right. In field trips and in life, surround yourself with good people. Find a buddy, and stay close to your group, especially when you are scared. Learn about the people in your group. Watch out for them. Get them help if they need it. Let them help you if you need it. And then find others and invite them in. Do what you were told. Be kind. Love each other. Look for the good in people. Believe. Be patient and remember help is on the way.

Friend of sinners

This week I have been confronted by a handful of different, "well-meaning" believers that are all too ready to preach and tirade over my "modern doctrine of inclusiveness."

Whaaaat? I know. Basically, my love of people offends the Pharisees. Yes, the "Set apart" are angered because I am trying to include everyone into faith that welcomes everyone. Whoa. I am such a jerk.

So far, I have been called "evil," a "false prophet," and "worker of iniquity." All because I am loving a group of people the church loves to hate.

Don't get me wrong: I don't take these accusations lightly. As a matter of fact I have been spending the past few nights (not cleaning and sewing like I need to do), but on my face, before a most holy God. No, really. If you could have peeked into my world the past few nights you would have seen what probably looks like crazy. I prayed. I cried. I danced. I sang. I prayed some more. I read the Bible. I prayed. I prayed the scripture, "Search me, O God, test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way of the everlasting." (Psalm 139:23-24.) Then I read some more, prayed some more and finally I just listened.

And you know what I heard from God? I did not hear anything these well meaning believers are shouting. No, I heard God say, "Go to the margins they never had the grace to go."

Wow.

So friends, yes, I will go. I will love. I will try my darnedest to include. Yes, I love me some sinners. Yes, I'll gladly kick it with the people who don't have all the answers. I will cheerfully give my time, my love, my life to show others the love that changed my life...Even to people the church has never accepted before. I believe that is exactly what Christ did. And, darlin', if it was good enough for my Savior - it's good enough for me.

Let's remember here that Jesus did not come to pat pretty people in Polo's on the back. He came here for the sick. And I don't know about you, friends, but I am real sick. Real sick. I am the most depressing person I know. I am the biggest sinner I know. I need Jesus. I need that hope, that mercy, that love that He so graciously gives everyone. And, call me a "false prophet," but I want everyone to experience that freedom, that joy, that peace that can only come from knowing Jesus.

 Everyone.

Even the people who sin differently than me.
Even the people who do stuff that creep me out.
Even the saints that went marching in and all over everyone's freewill and feelings.

Everyone.

And no, I don't go into the community with sandwich board a blazing. The party might end in hell, friend, but this life - it certainly isn't a party. Yes, life is beautiful, but lets not forget that life is also painful and sad. It's not fair and it's not easy. Life only feels like a "party" if you are an agoraphobic introvert, and then the "party" is no longer fun. It's panic filled and worrisome.

Also, the ludicrous idea that life is all sunshine and rainbows because you have Jesus is asinine. Jesus doesn't make life easy, He makes it important. And He gives love and peace freely, and sure that makes things feel a bit easier, but just because you came to Jesus does not exclude you from sin, hurts, falls and fails. You are still a human. We are all sinners. No one is exempt from having issues -even if you are a Christian. We all have our own funk and I don't want to point out what anyone is doing wrong, because I'd smack everyone in the face with the massive plank protruding from my own eye.

Sugar, let's be reminded that we are in the midwest, during an election year. Everyone knows what the Bible says here. The point is: Why would anyone want to change if all we offer is simply an elitist country club with a dress code? "Yes, come to Jesus. Oh, but first you have to change dramatically.  I can't help you there, but when you are done changing, and when you have it all figured it out, you can put on nicely pressed Dockers and this cheery Polo and then, and only then, you can run our gauntlet of judgement and condemnation and we might let you join our country club. Jesus will love you and we might accept you." Gross, but you get out of your comfort zone an ask anyone in the community and that's how we have sounded for years, church. Who would want that kind of faith? I tried that brand of believing. I was raised in a church like. I joined a cult during my college years that was EXACTLY like that and it was totally bogus. I left even more hurt and broken, but my story doesn't end there. God started something new and exciting in me and I will gladly receive flak from my own camp for that honor.

Now, when I look at the field, I know it's not ripe. It's toxic. It has been poisoned by all our years of excluding, humiliating, judging, and hate. The world is ugly and mean, but we never supposed to act like that. We should be a place of kindness and love. We are the salt and the light of the earth. Illuminate and add some frickin' flavor, believers!

 And no, right now, I am not looking to the skies asking for the Lord to return; not when there is so much work to do. I am praying for more time, more love, more grace and more chances to show people those very things. Acting like I can just march in, point out others sins, and lead thousands to Jesus is just silly. I can't do that. I can't save anyone. That type of thinking is madness. It's like asking someone to plant tomatoes in Chernobly. Sure, we could try, but the soil has been poisoned years. What fruit can come from it? We can not reap a harvest from these fields, because the soil has been ruined by our hate.

Believers: We have to clean up the toxic spill, before we can ever really expect to see a harvest. We need people to bring in new soil. We need people to till. We need people to plow. We need people to plant. We need people to eventually reap and most importantly: We need people that will love. We need people who will climb down from their self righteous towers and get honest and get real with others. We need people that will include. We need people more worried about people and less worried about the crap we all carry around.

Go read Romans. Our faith and our love does not exclude. We are all sinners. And Jesus loves us anyway.

Friends, I don't want to be a pretty picture of accomplishments, setting neatly on a mantel. I want to be a 3D person. I want to live. I want to love. And I want to know that even when I make mistakes, I serve a God that forgives, encourages and loves. I am not saying you are broken and sad. What I am saying is that I am. I need Jesus. His grace works for me. And I want, more than anything, to invite, welcome and include anyone who is ready to taste and see that the Lord is good.

August and Everything After

August is usually a time of unrelenting heat and, for me, cascades of heavy memories. I loathe August. Last night, (after a lengthy battle with an intense migraine), I decided to take a very hot, and all to myself, lavender bath. Once the babies were fast asleep I started the bath, adding oils and spices, and then, like a cow to pasture, I sauntered into the kitchen for an all-to-myself grazing treat. I found, to my surprise, leftover frozen custard with raspberries. Delicious. I took my copy of "Captivating" by John and Stasi Elderegde, my frozen custard, my ipod loaded with tunes for the night (Tori Amos, Counting Crows, Keith Green, Mazzy Star, Toad the Wet Sprocket and Over The Rhine) and I slipped into a fragrant hot bath. It was marvelous.

But then it hits me. The fear, the hurt, the anger. Maybe it was this time of year. Maybe it's all this "illegitimate rape" talk on the media.  Maybe it was the bite of tangy berries in frozen custard, the 90's music, the scented, hot bath - whatever it was it hit me like a coffee pot backhanded into the face. Memories pour out and invade my personal time. You want a real time warp, friends? Listen to music that breaks your heart from a time when a boy broke your face. Jeepers creepers.

There are some things I just don't talk about - and Sugar, in case you haven't met in me in person, I talk a whole lot, but the August before my 8th grade year is one topic that still makes me uneasy and unbearably sad. But I have been quite for almost 18 years. It's time to tell this story.

To fully understand the significance of the August of 1995, you have to know what the 90's felt like in a midwest, overly churched community. Everything was evil. I was a home schooled, middle child of a family of seven. I had little social interactions that weren't with pretentious church folk and, sadly, the church we attended was a slight upgrade to an absolute hell. Churches of 90's in and now were brimming with continuous controversies, malicious arguments, prolonged outrage, bigotry bandwagons and unending witch hunts.

My awkward nature and love of flannel had me "lesbian," and although at fourth grade I didn't know what that was, I knew I was damned. To the wealthy zealots of a false religion, my family was a boil on their behind. To them we were poor, uneducated and unfortunate and I would have given anything to be treated like something other than a dirty, disgusting, poor and stupid "little queer." And according to the "etiquette class" I was required to take at church, I should be seen, only if pretty, and never, ever heard. My lot in life, to this church, was to be pretty for Jesus and pray that a man may someday want me. So I tried not to ruffle feathers and I tried to blend in and began to toy with anorexia, because,"I was blessed to be so thin," and I didn't want to "ruin it."

By my 7th grade year I was full of self loathing, rooted in depression and had already dabbling with suicidal thoughts. I have a chemical imbalance, but the church said I just needed to love the Lord more. That spring I met a boy. He was older, different, angry and called "a bad egg." His bitter disposition sorta made sense to me and I thought he was simply revolutionary. He had shaggy hair, wore old superhero shirts, read gory comics and to my swoony delight, he actually noticed me.

 We quickly became friends and he invited me and my brothers and I went over to his house. Then I started going over there by myself. He taught me to skate and we watched classic horror flicks my parents wouldn't allow. We talked about the wrongs of the modern church, dressed in thrift store scores, and listened to music that was going to "rot our souls." Oh Nirvana.

We made fancy dinners, using homegrown ingredients and infused favorites with healthier choices. We studied herbs and their healing properties - trying to find a way to cure my migraines without huge pharmaceuticals.We drank coffee with hip adults that he knew from poetry slams and we day dreamed about having a witchy cottage with a wicked garden near the coast someday. And we planned for a future. We wanted to own and run a very quirky coffee shop and herbal apothecary. We would sneak out, windows and climb onto rooftops, smoking pot, singing along to the Beach Boys, "Wouldn't It Be Nice," while sipping home brewed sarsaparilla. That entire summer was packed with wonder, magic and rebellion that felt like truth. As my friendship grew with him I became "weirder" to everyone else.

When school started back that second week of August, I had dyed my hair with Manic Panic's Vampire Red, painted my short nails black, smoked regularly, got accused of witchcraft, and had been beat up by various school yard bullies three times. I did make friends, but 15 minutes into the first outing with them, I was hit in the face with a pillowcase containing a roller blade. Yes, barely two weeks into a new year at a new school and my new "friends" left me bruised, beaten and broken. I felt like I was a the lowest of the low, but with him, I felt like less of a freak. And despite my swollen and stitched up face, he told me that I was beautiful. That was intoxicating.

It was the last Friday in August. We were going to make broccoli cheddar soup in homemade bread bowls and had plans to watch Twin Peaks, Fire Walks With Me, again. I wore an old floral print dress from my sister's closet and with my bruises fading, I felt pretty good. His mother was working on her Masters, and had run to the library for a few minutes, because I'm older and we didn't have Wikapedia.

It was in this sort of scandalous feeling that I realized, we were all alone. It made me feel grown up, and in control. There was a twinge of  worry though, because friend or not, I knew my parents would not be cool with me being alone with an older, teenage boy. Regardless of the hesitation I trekked on listened to The Cranberries, laughed, made, ate and cleaned up dinner. Still his mother was absent. Against better judgement we went back to his room, the only room with a tv, settled down into a ratty futon and began to watch the strange David Lynch film.

 As the film twisted on, the daylight faded, and our seclusion in his room began to make me feel uneasy. His usual sarcastic banter, became darker and less friendly. The past month or two his school yard bullies turned this once jokester into a mean hot head. He asked if my nose would ever be the same,  and if I would still get a nose ring at 18, even thought my face was now "jacked." He also said that he was "jealous" that he wasn't the one to "have the honor" to mark me for life. I asked when his mother would be returning, because I needed to go home. He moved closer, his hands became touchy, and although we had kissed before, this started to be more than just a case of hormonal boy's wandering hands. It was starting to scare me. I tried to push him off. I tried to hit him. It made him more frenzied. It was then when I first tried to scream. His hand hit my mouth. I gave up. I laid there, terrified. While he hovered over and hurt me - I cried. I tried to think of something pleasant. All I could think of were lyrics to a Beatles song and I sang them, again and again in my head until I saw lights in the drive way. I felt saved. He jumped off of me. Adjusted himself, fixed his hair. He looked at me and with a light laugh he said, "I am sorry that was so rushed."  He told me that my dress was "easy access." He laughed again, and with a shrug of his shoulders he told me that "all girls" says it hurts at first. "It will get better, babe," he assured. He buttoned his pants, told me to be "good girl," and go clean myself up. As the the garage door opened, he smiled and he told me that I have fulfilled the purpose God had for my life.

"Be a good girl. Clean yourself up," he repeated as he walked out the door to go greet his mother.

 My lip was bleeding. My insides burned. My face was hot. And my sisters's beautiful dress was ripped up the side. He went out to greet his mother as I tried to pull myself together. I drug myself into the bathroom. I looked at the reflection in the mirror and spit some blood into the sink. I developed a coping mechanism. I acted like this was a character I had to play. I made jokes. I look in the reflection again wiped my face dry.

When I came out to the living room, his mother was startled by my appearance. He told his mother I fell skating and then she asked about the kids at my school and if they were going to do anything about the kid who broke my nose. I stammered. He answered. She shrugged it all off, talked about her term paper and  said that before she took me home she felt like we all deserved ice cream.

She drove, he rode passenger. I poured myself into the back seat. The entire ride home he starred me down through the rearview mirror. I was embarrassed, ashamed, afraid and aching everywhere. I feared if I said anything I would lose the only friend who every liked me. We ate Andy's Frozen Concrete. She ordered mine with raspberries. She said it would make it all better.

I never thought I would feel "better" again.

When I got home, I made up an elaborate story about skateboarding gone array and told my parents I was super tired and needed to sew my sister's dress before she came home from work. I climbed the stairs, started a lavender bath and cried. After the bath I mended the dress and I feel asleep, crying and listening to Tori Amos sing, "Silent All These Years."

The next few weeks I found reasons to successfully avoid him. I was crippled with fear that I was going to be pregnant and forever be linked to a monster. When my period came stayed, I cried and have never been more thankful for "the curse."

A few months later the silence was eating a hole in my life. I told a youth worker at a True Love Waits rally about the August attack and the she dismissed it as a "misunderstandings."  She prayed God would grant me a "Spiritual purity", even though my physical body had been "tarnished." She said Jesus could wash my sins away, but I should be honest about the "accident," so other potential suitors would know they were "getting damaged goods." She then made a joke about how no one really wants to own a used car.

Two weeks before our schools let out for spring break, my family was informed that our house was sold and would be leveled to make more parking for the Assemblies of God Headquarters. They gave us a month to find a new place. The move was hurried, but I knew it was my time to break away. I never told him about the move, so on the last trip to the old house, I rode along with my dad. As my dad vacuumed, I walked down to the pay phone on the corner and I called that jerk one last time. When his tirade ended, I paused and breathed in the crisp air. And then, like a tragic scene in a movie, it began to lightly rain. Of course it did.  I said calmly into the receiver,  "I am leaving. We have already moved. I am going to a new school and I changed our number. I told my parents everything. You make one move towards me and my brothers will sting you up by your scrotum."

There was blubbering on his end and then, as usual, more threats, more screaming. I took another deep breathe and I hung up.

I walked away.

I climbed into my dad's VW bus, thanked God and rode back to our new home.

My crying outburst, depression and self loathing was easy to excuse, because I was just another erratic teen girl. Went to a new church and went through a slew of youth pastors that tried to "fix me." I acted out. I lied often and I rebelled as much as possible. I even tried to walk away from God, but at the end of my rope, I still had faith. I still wanted hope. I still needed peace.

 Despite what happens I believe in the one, true living God that can take was was evil and make it good. I believe in a God that can redeem these hurts into healing and make my story glorify His name.

Last night, after my bath, after the memories, I put on my hideous and most comfortable footie pj's, checked on my beautiful, sleeping babies, talked to my hard working and forever faithful husband, and then I laid down. In the stillness I feel the presence of a faithful God. I know He is with me, just as He was there that night - and every night since. I laid there, tears rolling down my cheeks, and sang the lyrics that I came to mind that one, horrible August night:

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
 They slither wildly as the slip away across the Universe
 Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
possessing and caressing me
Jai Guru Deva Om -
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world.
Nothing's gonna change my world."

This morning I woke up. 18 years after that August. I don't feel dwarfed, derailed or like I'm some damaged goods. For the first time I am thankful. These hurts are well with my soul, because my faith is in a Heavenly Father that always heals. That hurt did not consume me. I've learned to love. I've learned to forgive and although I don't feel like I've fully arrived, I know with God I am more that a conqueror. I am ready for God to use this story to help others heal. Believers, if God is for us, who can be against us? Tell your hurts, share your stories and together let's glorify God's name. With God, we can conquer August and everything after.

A cornfield in Illinois

    By my 7th grade year I had already had my fill of the wrongs of the church. I had been witness to two horrible church break ups, resulting in tears, rage and unbelievable hurts. I had watched my parents dragged in and out of relenting and needless church politics by selfish and hateful leaders. I stood by, helplessly, as my parents were kicked out of a church for allowing my brother to burn incense. I listened to "preachers" tell large, mindless groups that you couldn't love Jesus and recycle (seriously, it was considered "worshiping the earth" and not the Lord). And I heard a special guest speaker once, during an election year, preach that there would be "no bleeding heart liberals in heaven." (This sucks, because I have always agreed with what the lefties have had to say. I mean it's politics, so it all gross, but I will always prefer a group that wants to help others over the group that wants to protect their 90% with guns. And I will not argue this with you. You have another opinion - Delightful. Go write you own blog.) Anyway, the worst thing that I had to be apart of in church was the Sunday School class all girls were required to take before they could continue onto youth group. It was a "primping and etiquette" class, taught by a former beauty queen and her nutty mother. That year (4th grade) I learned a few memory versus about being a righteous woman, but mostly I learned how to file my nails, shop flattering fashions, wear makeup, diet and most importantly how attract and pray for a Godly husband. (I wish I was kidding, but that was what happened.) It was a 12 month course on how to be pretty for Jesus. Yeah, boys got Bible memorization classes and something like boy scouts and we got makeovers. And I get that the Bible doesn't say a lot directly to women, but we are more that fashionable accessories on the arm of a Godly man, ladies. Ugh ... Anyway, to make my faithful and feminist skin crawl more over was the end of year course "celebration" that was a trip to the mall for shopping (if you had money you were able to shop for a stellar new wardrobe. If  not, you were like me, labeled "poor" and ushered to the food court to wait for the others). And then, obviously, they vaguely tied God into this shame and we were asked to hand out of whishy washy pamphlets called tracks to all the ugly sinners. The whole thing still makes me want to vomit rage and bitterness upon whoever thought that was a good idea.

    So after this and, oh man, so much more, I had decided that when I turned 18, I would write Ichabod (meaning: the glory has departed) on the wall of the fellowship hall, turn my back, hands in the air, middle fingers blazing and walk out the door, never step foot into organized religion ever again. I decided to wait until I was 18, because I loved my parents, and I didn't think they could handle being totally ostracized for having a daughter that actually thought for herself. So I waited and day dreamed about my eventual grand exit from a religion that so carelessly broke my heart.

   Heh. It's funny, but just the time when I had given up on Christianity as a whole - God shows up to remind me why He still loves His people - despite the circus we've created in His name. (Talk about the Lord's name in vain. Jeepers.) 

    Anyway, the summer of my 7th grade year God made it real clear he had much bigger plans for me than my Ichabod exit. You see, I was also planning all sorts of trouble to cause with my hoodrat friends when my older sister, a VW bus driving hippie, decided to follow a small band up to Illinois for a huge Christian music festival. My older sister, Lyza, was the golden child  and could do no wrong. So she pretty much just told (not asked) my parents she was taking me. And they, knowing something was wrong with me, thought it was a brilliant escape. Why yes, it's a wonderful idea to take the awkward, sad middle child (freak) to a cornfield with lots of Jesus people. Go! Post haste! So she bought our tickets, packed up the bus, reassured my parents of our safety and took off, with me in the passenger seat, to Cornerstone Music Festival. 

      I had been told it was like "Woodstack for Jesus," so I was super cynical at first. But considering my other option that week was church camp, with that beauty pageant dame as counselor, I was happy to leave. 

     I have always loved road trips. To me, there are few things more delightful than summer vacation, the open road and a VW bus. My sister had decided she needed to help me. She used that whole time to pour into my life something that wasn't junk gospel. Lyza, knowing my battles with self esteem and yes, anorexia in SEVENTH GRADE (Thanks Pretty for Jesus Sunday School!) made sure I was nourished with  mounds of food, sunshine and tasty tunes. My sister was a really a role model to me. She was bold, bizarre, and oozing with confidence. She didn't care about material things. She didn't worry about trends or makeup, and she didn't get weird or judgmental when I freaked out about stupid crap. (You know, the panic attacks I had about being pretty, skinny and all the things the church literally told me were important.) Lyza was full of understanding and awesome. She had an irreverent sense of humor, but a strict reverence for God. She reminded me often how God doesn't care if I have a french tip manicure ... and neither did anyone else. She read her Bible daily, poured into me scripture that changed my sad, heavy heart. She did not worry about religious naysayers, and she had a backbone that my parents admired and didn't questioned. She wasn't a rebel, she was just a good kid who already knew exactly what she wanted from this crazy life. And she didn't take that damn pretty for Jesus class. She wasn't all sad about not being a Christian Barbie. She did not worry about "catching a man." She knew she was fearfully and wonderfully made, and she knew mistake, failures and bad things happen. That doesn't mean you are out of the will of God, or you didn't love Jesus enough. That's just life being life. She was, to my delight, generally annoyed with the church too. It was so refreshing to have someone to bond with about the silliness of evangelicals and the sadness we both felt that our Savior had to be affiliated with such jerks.  

   By the time we reached Bushnell, Ill, I had already felt better about life. I was eating regularly, not "dieting" and wasn't so worried about what the ladies at church would say about my my frazzled, road weary appearance. I remember I was sporting a Batman shirt, some old flowy skirt and combat boots. I wasn't fashionable, but I liked how I looked. (I still like that look.) I felt like I was able to dress how I wanted and that didn't make me love God any less. It actually, made me feel like God loved me. Just as I am. For years I felt bad about who I was and the church made me feel worse, so this feeling of being okay was a welcomed relief. 

    When I climbed out of the bus and took a look around - I was in awe of the massive cornfield turned campground and concert arena. Hundreds of tents, vendors and stages scattered throughout thousands of people. People that looked nothing like the yawn worthy followers that filled my home church. No one was "Dressed to the nines."  These kids had shirts that read "Body Piercing Saved My Life," with bloody, nail present hands of Jesus on the back. They had neon green mohawks, and tattoos everywhere. And that was just the beginning. There were goths, hippies, skaters, pretty people, medal heads, old people, cowboys, parents, gangsters, activists, kids, Sunday School teachers, business types and basic freaks - all there to take advantage of Bible seminars, camping, art classes, bounce houses, carnival food, theater banter, prayer groups, jam sessions and endless bands preforming everywhere all day. At that point in my life, it was the closest thing I had ever been apart of that involved God and that actually felt right. 

      Everywhere you walked you saw people sharing, giving, caring, and living Jesus. The goth tent, called the Asylum, had women in black corsets and black velvet skirts, holding delicate lace umbrellas, handing out bottle water to the weird raver kids that were leaving the dj/rap tent. Some elderly Sunday School teachers were handing out cups of roman noodles from their RV's to grubby skater boys that were hungry and sweaty from playing the skate ramp. There were sporty girls that looked like they just left a volleyball game, headed to the ska tent, or art seminar. Their were hippies playing bagpipes near the pond and some techno band doing a rendition of an AC/DC song on mainstage. It was a sensory overload and I was speechless with happy. I felt that for the first time in my entire life I could be a Christian and yet remain being me. Things I had to hide before or things that I was made to feel guilty about - I could do!!! And they were okay!!! I could dye my hair, make my clothes, pierce my face, be liberal, recycle, have opinions, watch horror movies, get tattoos, befriend people who didn't love God, listen to The Beatles, paint my nails black and still be a believer of Jesus Christ! This was a revelation. A wake up siren, sent to tell me that I was enough just as I am. I had never been told that before. If I didn't blend in with the church youth group back home - If I didn't dress like the pretty church girls, I was told that I was "seeking attention" and "full of pride." If I listened to the Golden Oldies station, I was told I didn't glorify the Lord. If I enjoyed spooky things, horror movies, Halloween, or black nail polish - I was told I had a dark, evil spirit and I that I must, obviously, love Satan. If I questioned, said or did anything that contradicted the wealthy hateful snobs that were the churches monarchs - I was a disobedient and a "false prophet." I knew what the Bible said, but going against what the church said (despite the fact they were totally making crap up) was an unforgivable sin. My faith for years was a joyless burden meant to keep the selfish, close minded big wigs comfortable. Regardless of what Jesus said if you weren't wealthy, educated, Republican, white, boring and real "normal" - God did not want or need you. Cornerstone Festival was the spark that ignited a fire that burnt away the crap I lived with for years and left me with Jesus, just Jesus. Not all the piety, pity, guilt or hurt. I believed, for the first time that The Gospel was good news, not well, um, Fox News. 

At Cornerstone my faith - my life - began a renovation and I thank God for that dusty cornfield where I finally got to encounter Jesus Christ. 

Over 15 years after my first Cstone festival (and the handful I was lucky enough to attend with my friends and family since) - I am married to a Godly man, funny- he met me when I bald and crazy - and he liked me anyway! We have two amazing kids, two weirdo cats, A God who provides, a joy in salvation, peace in our Savior, hope for our future and we found a church that, to me, is like a wee Cornerstone. We are all very different people who believe Jesus is enough. We are people who make mistakes, have issues, live life and a follow Jesus through a world that often just doesn't make sense. Our building isn't fancy. We don't have a dress code. We don't have a mulitmedia spectacle for ever holiday. And we try to we keep the lie of the "American Dream" far, far away from our faith. No one has it all figured out, so no one is pretending that success or wealth is proof they love Jesus more than anyone else. Our church doesn't want to be pretty people with comfortable problems looking for new church trend to make us look put together. We are broken people with real problems seeking the Savior to heal us, help us, and make us like Him.

 I am not saying I have arrived, but I am saying I am so thankful to find a church that has people, real, honest people who love Jesus and actually treat others like they do. 

I don't care what you wear, who you vote for, what education you have, or if you have a savings account. And I want you to know - God doesn't either. I want you to read about Jesus. Read what He did, what He said and how He treated people. He is not this hateful religion America is panhandling. He is not a political party. He wants you to speak kindness, walk peace, breathe compassion, radiate joy and live love. If you aren't doing those check the things you preach. Don't put my perfect Savior's name on your hot mess of ideas. If you want to be a jerk, go ahead, be a jerk. Just don't be a jerk for Jesus. Doing something awful and then saying you did it because God told ... Whoa. That's doesn't give you justification - it just gives our faith a bad reputation. America - we have made our faith worthless. No one wants what you are selling, because you look, act, and talk like you are miserable anyway. Sure, we have big church buildings, but we are plumb empty on compassion, hope and kindness, friends. You don't need all this stuff that makes up religion. You need Jesus. Jesus is enough. 

You know how I know? Even with all the mega churches I attended growing up, and all the programs it had to offer - I finally felt and fell in love with Jesus (and his people) in a big, old cornfield in Illinois. 

Jesus was, and still is, all I need. The rest doesn't matter. Jesus is enough.

Now, go have a real encounter with Jesus and let's make our faith mean something again. 


More on Cornerstone, what it was, and why it is ending. http://cornerstonefestival.com/

What has Cornerstone meant to you?

What is going on with Hannah?

I do not ever claim to have things figured out ... honestly, I feel I have been pretty open about my general lack of knowledge in some areas and a total disregard, disdain or general disinterest in others, but I do not feel I am not necessarily "stupid." Yes, sure I've willing and cheerfully worn a Kewpie doll on my head as an accessory, and you all just sit back and let that happen - Because, well, "That's just Hannah."

But ... Sometimes I don't want to be known for just the weird clothes that I wear. Sometimes I think that's all people know me for. Seriously, I wore yoga pants once to drop Missouri off at school and a 12 people (TWELVE PEOPLE IN THE SPAN OF FIVE MINUTES) asked if I was "Okay." I appreciate the concern, but any other mom can live in yoga pants and nobody says a peep to them. I take a day off from bows and I am bombarded by the disappointment of bystanders.

Wha wha wha.

I suppose sometimes I feel like the Queen Amidala of everything. Oh Star Wars references. What does that mean, you ask? Aside from how she looked/dressed and who she was married to and mother of - Describe Queen Amidala. You can't because after you take physical oddities and attire out of the picture, and you take her relationships to important people out of the mix - you have a fairly vapid and lifeless character. Burn. Take that Episode I, II, and III. Oh and myself, I guess. Dangit.

Anyway, what I am saying is that it has become painfully clear I spend way too much time on stupid stuff that doesn't mean anything. Example: I spent three hours sewing a Pound Puppies dress that I never really liked and only wore once. Why? I don't really know, but that's silly. Or, oh this - this kicked my but and hurt my feelings - I spent almost 6 hours dying my hair purple - which was adorable, but I was confronted with the thought of this: When was the last time I spent a solid six hours reading the Bible, praying or working on my compassion, kindness and you know on stuff that matters? That's right. I don't. Ouch.

So what's going on with Hannah? I am working on my character rather than my appearance. This does not mean I will not wear bows or vintage bed sheets sew into dresses anymore. That's still my style, but it is not who I am. I am fun and sassy, sure, but I want to be known for love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness and self control. I am going to do that by spending less time on themes for outfits and spending more time on doing, giving, loving and learning. See? Easy peasy.

Where is this coming from? A few weeks ago Missouri and I were reading this book called "Outrageous Woman of The Civil War." We had just read a chapter about Clara Barton and Missouri says, "I like how this book doesn't talk about how pretty Clara was, because Mom, I have read the Bible and 'pretty' and 'skinny' are not Fruits of The Spirit. How you look totally doesn't matter." Holy crap, my six year old just schooled me.

How we look doesn't matter. Not at all. Sure, don't be gross, but don't be so obsessed with the physical. That's what matters to the world, and as I believer I am suppose to live that although I am living in the world I am NOT supposed to conform and be all about the world. My Savior doesn't care what my "style" is. He does not need my clothes to define me, but He does want me to exhibit the Fruits of the Spirit. (Galatians 5:22-23.) And how can I exhibit those characteristics if I spend all my time working on my hair. And like I said, I will still have my style, but my goal is not to LOOK fabulous. My goal is to BE fabulous. I don't want to spent hours on an outfit if I am not willing to spend hours on my insides.

Now this mind renovation of sorts is on the heels of another new discovery: I have been real unhappy for a while. Like a funk (not the fun George Clinton kind either), but like a legit sadness and panic attacks about nothing. And I've been crazy before - Actually, I was Mayor of Crazy Town for a few years. (Doug met me just after I had resigned as said Mayor ... and he liked me anyway. Win.) Anyway, the way I've felt for the past year is nothing like how I felt then. I don't want to hurt myself - I still like me. I've just been sad. Yes. Now here is the fun news: I went to the doctor and found out that I have a vitamin D deficiency. What?!!! Pale little old me just needs sunlight?!?! Brilliant! So I was prescribed sunlight and some vitamins. My headaches are betterish (I still have to avoid triggers, but on the daily the head is much better) and I haven't passed out. My blood pressure isn't scary low anymore and I feel so much better. AND for the first time in my life I am getting a tan. It's gross and wonderful all at the same time.

Basically my life, as all life should be, is changing. I am moving, growing, current and no longer stagnant nor sad. I apparently just needed sunshine and nourishment. And I am super happy about the changes. I might not have a new theme or a fancy bow on my head, but I might have a tan and some fancy hope in my head - which is beyond lovely.

Yes, sir, this Jones is a-changin'. Mmmhm.

Oh and we got cats!!! Two adorably sweet black kittens. They can't replace our basset hound Delia, but they are a delightful addition to our home. Indie named the boy kitten, who is spry, sly, and all black, Ninja Cat Darth Vader. And Missouri named the girl cat, who is sweet and is mostly all black, but has white mittens and necklace, Princess Rosetta. They are adorable! Pictures a plenty coming soon.

And now this: People, you don't need a partner that will tell you that they heard a love song and thought of you. No. You need a partner that heard a love song and thought of how God thinks of you. If you are a believer that is married, there is nothing better than spouse that continues to spur, encourage and nourish your soul. This is why you are dating, you don't pick the person who just gives you butterflies - You pick the person that also points out how creative our God is to make butterflies. I hope you have a person like that in your life. I do and I cherish me some Doug Jones.

Here is the song with the lyrics all typed out and ready to go. Now your mission, should you choose to accept it: Listen to this song and think of the words as something God is saying to you. We are all sinners. We all make huge mistakes. We all wonder away. We have all probably felt like you can't see God through all of your mess, but I assure you - God doesn't just give up on you all willy nilly. I pray you know that relationship, if you don't I would love to talk to you more, or give you a hug. You know - whatever you need. Go. Listen. Renew. Love. Hugs, friends. You are beautiful.

I am a Christian - as long as you aren't liberal, gay or weird.

A few days ago, I read a blog called, "I am a Christian - Unless you're gay."  http://www.danoah.com/2011/11/im-christian-unless-youre-gay.html The title alone made me cringe in  truth. The article is a great read and it really got me to thinking.

The past few years I have been surrounded by Christians who are Christians until you do or say something that opposes their tender sensibilities. I've watched mild mannered, usually delightful humans turn into rage filled, self righteous Hulk like monsters over the topic of  whatever ruffles their feathers. Currently, the hot button is gay marriage.

Homosexuality is the one sin Christians feel it is still okay to behave like enormous bigotry filled bullies about. Christians don't picket fast food joints over the issue of gluttony. (Phil. 3:19) Christians don't walk into bars and yell at drunkards about going to hell. Christians don't hold up signs of malice at tattoo shops because people are getting some memorial ink done. (Lev. 19:28) Christians don't take a stand against greedy liars (1. Cor 6:10) ... Actually Christians are backing lots of them this upcoming election.

So why is homosexuality the only Biblical sin that Christians get all riled up over? 

Because being gay makes sad people uncomfortable.

I am 30. I have lived to see a time when I remember hearing my grandma make racist slurs when talking about the weather to a time when a black man became President. I am old enough to remember a world without internet and I've lived to see a time when most people carry a web device in their pocket.  I remember when it was acceptable to have homosexual hate slurs in everyday conversations. And I've sat back, with a broken heart, and read about hundreds of young people committing suicide as an answer to blatant bullying. I've watched the media use the gay community as joke fodder to finally beginning to showcase real, strong role models that bring awareness to this injustice. I've also seen the church practically endorsed bigotry and hate crimes, and I stood by, helplessly, as our government created anti gay laws and upheld clear discrimination. We are living during such a bizarre and often confusing time.

 Yet, people having the freedom to live, love and serve as gay Americans is still fairly new to our nation. It's all still so new to us who grew up in uglier times. Bullying is still present, laws are still in place and the church is still allowing hate to happen. This simply should not be. Christians are totally willing to play the "What Would Jesus Do?" card, as long as they aren't called to reach out of their comfortable heterosexual bubbles and be Christlike to people they don't understand. That comfort zone is what they call faith. They are taking a stand for righteousness as the set on their couch and watch TBN. They are called to a life of holiness and love, as long as it doesn't require effort, real grace, compassion or kindness. 

Christians get hopped up on Rush Limbugh and when confronted with a situation to show love and tolerance to others, Christians say something hateful and ignorant AND then claim they are being persecuted over their faith. No, sugar. You aren't be being persecuted because you are Christian. You being treated like the jerk you so often choose to act like. Oh, someone said "Happy Holidays" to you instead of "Merry Christmas?" Yes, by all means - Your faith is now under attack. You should totally snap at the clerk that so rudely assumed you might be of a different faith that than the 2.1 billion believers that are alive today. 

Christians claim Christ as long as the service is short, the chairs or comfy, the music is to their liking, the wait isn't too long, the road isn't too rough, the food is free, the entertainment comes in abundance and the pats on the back are around every corner.

That's modern Christianity, folks. And I couldn't be more embarrassed.

I am a Christian. I read my Bible. I even teach Sunday school at my church. But I am totally ashamed by these hateful, prideful, angry and belittling people dragging my Savior into their intolerance. 

The Christ I know and follow doesn't hold up signs, picket or yell. He doesn't get offended when someone thinks, talks, votes or lives differently than He did. He doesn't belittle, bully or bulldoze on oppressing opinions. He doesn't preach love and speak hate. He freely offers love, direction, peace and strength. He accepts always, even when we wonder away and make huge, stupid mistakes. He is always waiting, always loving, always interceding for our behalf. (Romans 8:34) This is the Christ I know. This is what my faith is based upon. I feel anything I do or say means nothing if I do not do it in love. (1 Cor 13.) This is the good news that I want to bring. That is the Gospel I know. ALL have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. (Romans 3:23-24) That message of grace and hope means nothing if I am acting like a prideful, arrogant, religious, self righteous, hateful bully. 

My daughter once told me that when someone hurts her feeling or does something she knows is absolutely wrong, she pretends to put on rainbow sparkle glasses and she looks at that person the way that God sees them. She said every time she does this she doesn't see a bad person anymore - she she's a person who needs the love of Jesus. My daughter is 6. If my six year old can get over herself and make an effort to see everyone as God sees them - then, my goodness - so can you. Put on rainbow sparkle glasses - look at the person the way God sees them. Learn to love through your tender sensibilities. Love radically. Love the unlovable. Love the undesirable. Love the brokenhearted, the tax collectors, the convicts, the criminals, the prostitutes, the people who vote differently than you, the people who don't belief in your God, the people who don't believe in any God .... The list goes on. Just love. 

Jesus did everything in love. If it was good enough for my Savior - It's good enough for me.

And don't tell me you are spreading the Gospel by accusing others of sin. Does anyone in America right now not know what the Bible says about homosexuality?! It's everywhere. But is anyone free of sin? Any sin? Is anyone blameless? No. So, telling someone they are sinning is not helping. We are actually told REPEATEDLY in the Bible not to point the finger at who is sinning. Sure, you don't need to encourage or condone others poor choices, but their sin is between them and God. It doesn't involve you. Actually, your "stand against" fill in the blank sin it's turning people away in droves. If it wasn't for my solid faith in Jesus Christ alone, I would have walked away from the church years ago, when my youth "pastor" told me I couldn't be apart of the group, and God could not use me, because I had a facial piercing. Sigh. But I know Jesus. He doesn't love with limitations. He gives me hope. He shows me love. He is my peace. Directs my path. He is my strength. And although His people so often break my heart, I still love them. I accept them and I pray daily God will break their cold, prideful hearts and turn them into the believers Christ called us to be. 

Until that change happens I am going to do what I believe. I am going to love, I am going to support and I am going to pray for the things I can't understand, I don't like, and that plain old make me angry. (Which I will just hide/delete/remove any and all comments and messages that offend. I don't have to be a jerk - I can keep the peace and not be involved in the drama. This is what I believe. If you disagree go write your own blog. Don't argue with me here. Nothing will be changed by you being a tyrant.)

Basically: I know what works for me. I know what's right for me. Those are my convictions. I don't expect them to be yours. If there is something I don't like, or goes against what I believe - I DON'T DO IT. Simple. 

Christians - if gay marriage offends you, I propose this easy, peaceful solution to the debate: Don't marry a gay person. Easy peasy.

Oppressing freedoms because some choices don't go with yours will not solidify your faith. It just makes you look like a clown. And, honey, no one is laughing. You look like the saddest most miserable clown ever. 

Oh and don't try the "sanctity of marriage" b.s. with me. The divorce rate is the same between believers and non believers. Your three marriages prove you clearly don't care about the sanctity of anything besides your own comfort level.

Do you get how ridiculous the church is making itself look?

We, as Christians, we're called to be in the World, but not of it. Right? So if it offends you - don't take part in it. That doesn't mean you need to be a clanging cymbal of your loud mouth beliefs. Just don't do it. Pray, show love, and remain the things Christ asked us to be. (Peaceful, patient, kind.) 

I love Jesus. I will go down shouting my love for my Savior if needs be, but I will not be apart of this "Body of Christ" that looks more like a monster bully than a bride to the Savior. Because like my boy Captain America, I don't like bullies.

Let's show Christ. Let's be transparent. Let's be okay that we are and never will be perfect. We are humans. We make mistakes. We love. We accept. We move on. I want my faith to be real. I don't want religion. Religion kills, corrupts, and combines the worst of humanity. I don't need your opinions on what makes you comfortable. I need love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. And please, if you don't show/live/give these - Don't drag my Jesus into your crazy.

Honey, if your countenance is as comfy as sandpaper - why would anyone want to hear your good news?

Christians, I believe we are better than how we are acting. We need to like courageous soldiers fighting for what's right instead of complaining civilians, bickering about topics that make us uncomfortable. You want to fight against a real problem? Try taking care of your community. Feed the homeless, help the children, befriend the friendless. Stop raging over something that does not effect you in the slightest. 

I want to love and be loved. I want to inspire and not seek to offend. I want to fight the good fight and  I want God to be known through actions of compassion, not words of condemnation. I want, so desperately, to see other believers to stand up, and say enough. The world needs to see God's love alive in how we act and how we treat others. That love is so real, so powerful, that you can love through the awkward, through the hurt, through the sin and to the core. It does not have conditions, deal breakers, limits, lies, or expectations. It's love. Real love and it demands a sacrifice of self to be delivered flawlessly. That means your comfort bubble needs some busting. If you claim to live for Jesus Christ - you better start loving like it.

It's my bag, baby.

As a wee Duff I was always intrigued by my mother's purse. I was certain her hand bag held treasures untold, like mountains of Smartees and craft supplies aplenty. You know, all the things she would need when one, if not all, of the seven kids couldn't stop wiggling during church. My poor, sweet, precious mother. What a trooper.

   Now that I am a grown woman, and a mom, I realize that the things we carry in our purse can say a lot about how we function. And since I'm a hot mess, my purse ... well, whoa man - It can get scary. Really, really scary. 

Now, I love purses, but not the purses/bags that Coach would sell. Those are boring and as I have said a THOUSAND times: my perception of pretty is not "normal." (I find most "season must haves" or big trends totally yawn worthy. Give me something cuter, with googly eyes and mayhaps a theme and I'll be happy as a lark.) Anyway, I like purses. I have a few bags/purses that I have made and few thrifted finds that are staples in the fun fashion of Hannah. I switch back in forth every month or so to ensure that I will, at least, clean out the beast every now and then. But in general my purse is frightening. We call my bag, whatever one I am using, the Sarlacc monster. I assume you know what that is, but in case you are pondering what is a Sarclacc - here ya go: 

This. This is a Sarlacc. It's like a meat-eating, plant like monster found a few planets in the galaxy of Star Wars. A Sarlacc slowly digest you after you have fallen into it. (It ate Boba Fett, but worry not the beloved bounty hunter escaped.) Anyway, this is the image, Doug thinks about when he is asked to get something out of my purse. There are few scarier things to my husband than a group of cackling ladies and my current purse of choice.

Anyway, the adorable Rita over at http://suburbsmama.blogspot.com/ posted a picture of the contents of her purse and then posed the question of what is in yours?

I have decided to answer this with my own picture and a brief explanation. Not that it will help to understand what's going on there, but whatever.

Now, what the what? Right? Okay, so my purse choice is a zipper/pocket friendly denim find that I scored for a dollar at the DAV. Win. I have added tacky buttons and a wee Captain America figure to the dangley chain - because I am awesome. Now here is the list of innards of my Sarlacc:

*A lace collar. Cause you never know when you might want to spruce up that Elvira tee. (I dunno.)

*Light saber/New Kids On The Block key chain. Whatever. Haters gonna hate.

*Tickets from the train ride we took in Branson.

*My wallet. Full of everything except money. And I always carry band-aids in my wallet. Always.

*Nail clippers. I hate hang nails and I like to keep my nails teeny. I suppose that's why I have it in there?

*Stick on tattoos.

*Small candies

*A teensy rubber ball. Why not?

*A clippy barrette.

*A lone battery. What the hell?

*Coin purse

*My business card holder with business cards ready to go. (These are delightful for when I am not willing to sell the bows of my head - I hand out cards.)

*An ink pen.

*Birth control. Yeah, buddy, I always have it with me, because I always leave the house before I remember to take it.

* Ibuprofen bottle with Ibuprofen and Allegra in it. Because I am old and one sneezy SOB this time of year.

*Silly Putty. Now hear me out here: Silly Putty has been a staple in my purse/bag/lunchbox since I was not old enough to curse. I love Silly Putty. It makes even the waiting the doctors office good times.

* Lip Smackers Dr. Pepper lip gloss. My favorite lip gloss hands down. Keep your snootie department store lip plumbing blah, blah, blah brands. I'll take my Wallgreens 1.50 special, thank you very much.

*A lighter. I burn incense a lot. Because I loved the 90's. And since my husband a lighter thieving smoker - I never have a lighter. Now I do, because, like I said, he fears my purse.

*An '84 Sweet Secrets Baby Doll locket. I don't know. Why not?

*Tic Tacs

*Trash (receipts, gum wrappers, half of a plastic Easter egg.)

And not photographed: My phone - I took the picture with it. Obviously. 

Okay - so what's in your purse, really, ladies? I wants to know. Post a pic, send me a description or write your own blog. And have fun with the contents of your bag. You carry that weight - it might as well be fun.

 

 

The sad offended owl. Or how most Christians troll and tirade over opposing opinions.

When surfing the internet I often find people bickering back and forth about Lord knows what. It's usually over something vaguely religious and possibly political, and more times than not, it's not important. It's an opinion. That's all. I often like to scroll down and read comments by these huffy forums goers announcing how offended they were by so and so's post, picture, phrase or choice. I find that stuff hilarious. To me, when someone announces that they are offended it is as if they are stating, "I can't control my emotions, so please watch yourself for my sake."

I find this especially funny when all the hubbub is on something like facebook or pinterest. I mean, seriously, if you are that offended by post on pinterest - unfollow that board. If someones political tangents make you angry and seem to to make every facebook status - hide them. It's pretty simple. You don't have to fight and pick apart everything to prove you believe something different. It's like telling people they can't drink coffee, because caffeine makes you cranky.

And Christians: we were called to be peacemakers, not self righteous jerk wads. If you're offended, back away and avoid the drama. Don't dive in, head first, spouting facts you got from Fox News. I get you believe whatever it is you believe, but some people don't and you can't change them - especially by hateful bickering. I find it literally heart breaking that 90% of these overly tender and down right rude people are often "Christians." Trust me, I've tiptoed around Christians my whole life. And I am a Christian. I don't like to offend so I try to watch what I say and do around people I know will be offended ... those people are usually Christians. There is something to be said about the simple fact that I can be transparent to all of my friends and family - unless they are Christians. It seems as if American Christians have made an art over being always offended and continuously looking for the big, bad wolf in all things. (Read Proverbs 11:27 and think about the next time you what to point out all the things wrong, evil, and anything you decided you don't like.)

Also, get over yourself. Your religion doesn't impress anyone. No one has ever been saved, changed or helped by the ignorance or arrogance of a bully. Yes, bully. When you push your beliefs, morals and politics unto people and then get offended when they don't follow your lead - YOU ARE A BULLY.

I love people, but I can't stand bullies.

Now, if you want me to listen and take heed to what you're cookin' try this: Show me some love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self control. Show me that your faith isn't a religion. Show me that you really know the things you say you believe. You do that and I'll show you a person with an opinion I'll actually listen to. But, if all you have is bickering, hatefulness, bitterness and contempt - I don't want to buy what you are selling. And neither does anyone else.

I'll cheerfully quote John Lennon any day, so here is a thought from some Lennon lyrics that I feel fits famously: "I'm sick and tired of hearing things from uptight, short sided, narrow minded hypocrites. All I want is the truth. Just give me some truth. I've had enough of reading things from a neurotic, psychotic, pig headed politicians. Just give me some truth. All I want is the truth."

If you know the Way, The Truth and the Light - um, act like it. Act like His grace and compassion mean something to you. Show me you can distribute that to others, regardless of what they believe.

And you know - You can tell people what you believe. You can. It's great. Just don't expect anyone to want to be like you, if you are a harsh, hateful, fear mongering bully. And if you want people to love the Savior that you claim changed your life - be a decent human. Display Fruits of the Spirit (Galations 5:22-23) and avoid the fights, the bickering and the drama. Show love in your actions, joy in your life and kindness in your words. That is truth. Give me that truth.

So facebook trolls and posters on pinterest: If you are offended, don't expect others to cater to your beliefs, feelings and fears. Be a bigger, better person and walk away if someone steps on your toes.(Remember that whole turn the other cheek thing ... Yeah do that.) Use the self control you have to say, "Okay, I don't agree with that - and I am sorry you do - but I am not going to be mean about it." Do this by hiding post or people, if you must. Or, do as my daughter would say, "Put on your sparkly rainbow glasses and look at people the way Jesus sees them."

I have literally watched my daughter pretend to put on glasses and look at people differently when she was hurt or offended by them ... She didn't tirade over how wrong they were - and she's five, folks. Five. You can do this.

In my opinion: People need hope. And I get hope from Jesus, so yes, I feel like everyone needs Jesus, but they don't need my hateful attitude. So I challenge you to put on those sparkly rainbow glasses and look at people the way Jesus looks at people: with love, understanding and compassion.

And quit being so dang mean.

If you are always offended - hide it, unfollow it, and walk away. There is no reason to get angry and announce how tender you are about every little thing. Especially over the internet. We are all people. We will all have bad days, and say ugly things, but if you are proclaiming that you have it all figured out - can you please stop looking like this guy?

If you have it all together, you wouldn't be so sad, mean, and rude. It's just something to think about before you get all huffy, puffy, feathers ruffled and all offended.

What are your thoughts? Are you offended? What do you do when you are offended? Share your stories and let me know.

Hugs!

Food court 90's glamour.

So I am limiting my time to on the internet. It has come to this. I mean, really, I love me some internet and I could literally spend hours looking at weird shit. Loves it.

Anyway, I am limiting my time because I am wasting a lot of it. Sooooo...when I do allow myself web time, after I finish grown up things like dishes and what have you, I look up important things. Like Glamour Shots from the 90's.

There is something so nostalgic about those soft focused dames, posing awkwardly, with loud make-up and big hair. I mean, I was never a fan of it - but it was like a train wreck you could not look away from. And almost everyone I knew back then had a Glamour Shot photo session done. It was like pat on the back for those with crippling self esteem. Oh you are feeling tragic about life - let's take you to the mall, make you up like a hooker, put a rose in your moth, pose you in a leather jacket and take blurry photos of your identity crisis.

As a kid, I wanted to have my photo taken all fancy like, but we were family of meager means, and food court glamour was not in the budget. As a wee, awkward homeschooler, I wanted to feel pretty, and my opinion of what was pretty was not Glamour Shots... but I wanted to be fussed about and told I was "fierce." But I just wanted the clothes to be cuter ... or at least include more floral baby doll dresses and Doc Martens. To me, that still is the prettiest look. And I will go down in fashion fails for this, but whatever. I like me.

So, lets take a trip back to a time where blurry photos, feather boas and big hair were the quintessential signs of you needed and got an ego boost at the local shopping center.

That's right mall rat, grab an Orange Julius from the food court, turn up that Kenny G, and lets enter that lovely place called 1990's Glamour Shots.

This lady's applied to the Dee Snider School of Hair Design. She was head of her class 

I don't think this is an actual Glamour Shot, but it's  a soft focus David Bowie  holding a cat. You needed it in your life. You're welcome.

Remember when people thought bikers were super  glamorous? Me either.

Lock up your husbands ladies, this lady has her glamour shot set for rape.

This one blows. Literally.

I got my nails did. And then found a sessy lump in my neck. Here take a photo, quick!

This dame has Michelle Bachmann eyes. That's not a compliment.

Special thanks to google search, Ellen's Oh Glam, Girl and the FUCKYEAH GLAMOUR SHOTS TUMBLR. You inspired me to spend my interweb time looking at photos and laughing like a loon.

OOOH I have an Olsen Mills photo somewhere that my friend's dad - who was a photographer, took as a kid. I have a floral vest and they gave me huge clip on pearl earrings to wear. I hated that picture as a kid. I must find it.

Do you have a tacky Glamour Shot or makeover story you want to share?  Send them this way! Until then-  Hugs!

Dinosaurs are the new feminist.

On my eleventh birthday my Dad took me to go see Jurassic Park in the local theater. The teeny Town and Country theater was pretty janky - but I loved the fact I was going to a theater with my Daddy.

 In the 90's movies ran for months before going to discount theaters or eventually making it to VHS, but at that point I still had yet to see what I knew was going to be a glorious movie. (Being an eleven year old my funds were limited and ways to get here to there were, well, my parents.) SO I waited. And waited. And I waited ever so anxiously for my birthday, because my parents couldn't say NO on my day. Dinosaurs were going to happen. I could feel it in my bones. 

That morning I waited patiently as our showtime neared. I don't think I moved from the kitchen table by the backdoor that entire day. I knew that when it was time to go, my Mom would signal my Dad, meaning the littler siblings were distracted and we could sneak out for enjoyable movie going freedom. One on one time with my Dad was rare. He worked beyond full time to provided for our huge family of 9. Yes 9. I am the middle of seven kids. (It all makes sense now, doesn't it?) Anyway, when you work to provide for your seven kinds - you work a lot - I could not wait to see dinosaurs eat people with my Dad by my side.


When we got to the theater it was dark. I remember feeling like a grown up - You know, being outside in the dark and going to watch a movie. It felt scandalous. It was awesome. I still remember the burgundy swirly pattern to the carpet and the glossy movie posters filling the walls of that tiny theater.


My Dad asked what I wanted from the concession stand. I was delighted! I was never allowed to get snacks at the concession stand! That was unheard of in my childhood. I mean, 7 kids, with concession stand prices. Sheesh. I can't even imagine. We usually snuck food into the theater like poor people who make good choices, but not on my birthday. Oh no, on my birthday, I feasted on buttery popcorn, Dr. Pepper and dinosaur egg gummi candies made for the Spielberg assured classic. It was what 11 year old freedom tasted like. It was delicious moment of perfect childhood.


We took our seats with arms full of overpriced goodies and ate ourselves into poor health. As light dimmed I remember looking at my Dad and smiling the biggest cheeseball grin, teeth speckled with corn kernels and gummi pieces. He smiled back with squinty eye joy, knowing, I am sure, at how blissfully happy I was at that moment. My birthday, my Daddy, snacks and dinosaurs.


The movie begins with Robert Muldoon (played by Bob Peck) holding huge gun, clad in khaki glory, awaiting a large raptor in a box. Obviously, this is where raptor eats a worker at the loading dock - and leaves Muldoon yelling "Shoooooot her!" Epic first scene.


The movie plays out introducing characters unforgettable and brilliant. Doctors Alan Grant and Ellie Sattler. The Newman of all Newmans, Dennis Nedry. Obsessive visionary John Hammond and his grandkids Lex and Tim. My personal favorite, Dr. Ian Malcolm, played to perfection by Jeff Goldblum. And who can forget Ray Arnold? The sassy, chain smoking techie - played by Samuel L. Jackson, who I am sure was tired of all the mother effin' dinos on this mother effin' island.


As a kid I was mesmerized by the effects and sounds of the dinosaurs. To this day, I stand by the statement that Jurassic Park change my movie expectations. Honestly, JP changed a lot for me. I no longer wanted to be a singer when I grew up. (I had this idea that I would be like Jem when I grew up. I would be truly, truly, truly outrageous. I knew it.) But that was not my concern anymore. No sir, I wanted to play in the dirt, get filthy and find dino bones. Bring on the paleontology!


It wasn't until I was older that I would realize that the T-Rex in JP was the first and, well, really only female character I ever really felt like I could identify with. Seriously. That T-Rex just wants to eat, breed on her own terms, frighten gawkers and have everyone else get the fuck out of the way. That's how I want to live life. Like a big, misunderstood T-Rex. Roar.


As a female I am downright pissed at females portrayed in media. Romantic comedies make me want to vomit in your unnecessary heels, ladies. And there are few things more infuriating that the photoshoped dolls draped in expensive and hideous fashion, altered and posed sexy to sell. And even when a character is written or platformed as a "strong" female - she is portrayed as just plain bitchy - because you can't have a vagina a do anything professional. I mean, you obviously can't be a strong, independent woman without being a total hag. (And if you add glasses to the mix you can only be two things: A nerd in need of a makeover, or a sexy librarian.) Them's the options, ladies. We are nothing more.


Or at least that is what I feel is being set out for us by current ads, film and fiction. We are a bitchy objects meant to sell things and compare others.


Society, media and anyone who really believes this codswallop: Here is my cyber middle finger.


You can't tell me when, where and how to procreate, Rick Santorum. You can't call me a slut for taking birth control, Rush. You can't sell me your overpriced trinkets by telling me it's a "season must have," Good Morning America. Cosmo, Vouge and every other magazine: I am not ugly because some dame, photo altered, is pretty. I am not fat, because models are size 2. And I am not gonna calm down cause you are flashing bright lights in my face, Dr. Alan Grant. I am an effin' dinosaur. My type was long ago extinct, but I am making a comeback and if you get in my way, I will eat your face.

So what you should have learned here is that a wee 11 year old left that theater with high hopes for a great future. I knew, even then, I am not going to be normal. I tried and dabbled in the world of normal girl and ended up heartbroken and miserable. Since then, I threw away magazines, turned my heels in for combat boots, started making my own clothes and stopped taking applications for drama. The position of crazy has been filled in my life. I don't need people telling me how to think, feel, eat, and live. I am a dinosaur, sugar. "Life finds a way," as Malcolm would say. I am going to live this example of dinosaur joy and fearless freedom to be me.


 I want my daughter and all girls, really, to have an example that is real. Not a photoshop version of a female. Not a stereotype character. I want a better example, because my only example of female in media that didn't blow was a dinosaur.... A computer generated and puppet controlled T-Rex. Granted that totally owns, but I am weird. I want normal girls to have something real. Something tangible. Our girls deserve more than what society is offering. We all deserve a better.


 So friends, join with me, watch in fear or get the eff out of my way.