The Time Has Come

Alas, I am officially bringing closure to this small spot within the world wide web.  Anybody who knows me knows I'm carrying on over here, but I do so love this sweet place that I have written about my thoughts and my life, be it ever so sporadically, for some years now.

Old Friend Blog, you've been good to me.  Good for me.  I'll visit you often.

Forever Yours,
Jessi

In the immortal words of John Mayer

"I am driving up 85. . ."

Here's a picture from the journey. Perhaps the intergalactic transportation belonging to the protagonists of the next Shyamalan story? Nah, but kind of a cool shot anyway.

"Why Georgia Why" plays in my head every time we're on I-85. Tonight these lyrics caught my attention:. . ."still 'Everything happens for a reason' is no reason not to ask myself
If you're living it right
Are you living it right?
Are you living it right?
Why, tell me why
Why, why Georgia why?"

Aside from asking Georgia the questions I'm pretty sure it can't answer, I so get these lyrics on a molecular level.

I trust Jehovah to direct me, to use all of "it" in my life, to give "everything" a reason. But I've still got to ask, "am I living it right?". I should ask this question every day, several times. It would be wise. It could open up the door to deeper accountabilty to my Three-Personed God, and even within the parts of my own integrated self. It could expand the channel of communication between a Father-Son-Holy Spirit and a daughter-sister-bride.

Yeah. It's a good question. And it's a new year.

Am I living it right?

A Revelation - in one act

(J enters stage right; audience applauds)
(J clears throat) Ehem.
(spotlight centerstage)
And now for Today's TMI. . .
(audience applauds, followed by a suspense-building drum roll)
I have shaved my legs twice since Ava was born.
(cymbal crashes)
Really. She's three months old. Seriously.
That's it.
(only the sound of distant crickets and a painful silence from audience can be heard)
Thank you, and good day.
(J exits stage left; audience applauds)

...but I'm Yours

Hi, all. Three months since an update via the blogosphere.

Ava is here, is lovely, is wonderful. Everyone is adjusting well including me, thanks to God and modern medicine, a night and day difference from postpartum life after Jack. Life is good.

Someone I love immensely is having her specific brand of faith challenged in a baiting, indirect-but-totally-loaded way, by someone she loves immensely. In pursuit of wisdom she asked a small number of confidants for their thoughts. For what its worth, my reply is what follows:

[ First, I'm proud of you, _______, for loving these friends…hating the sin, loving the sinner. We, in the name of Christianity, too often sanitize our lives from unbelievers and "sticky situations" because we think it's the way of a good Christian. It is perhaps the way of a good religious person, but it is nothing like Christ. I am the chiefest of culprits in living my life like this a lot of times. But our beliefs are more than a moral code of living, or a banner to take up, or a cause. At least they don't have to be just these things. What we believe in is not impotent, neither the person of Jesus nor the Word of God. There is a verse in Jeremiah 23, verse 29, that says, "Nothing else is like God's Decree (His Word). Isn't My Message like fire? Isn't it like a sledgehammer busting a rock?" We can rely on the Word of God and the three persons of the Trinity.

But these friends of ours, waiting to challenge Christianity at every turn, can't. At least not the way we can. It (the Bible) is living and active and sharper than a two-edged sword in our hands, but only through the Holy Spirit that leads us into all truth. Paul was talking to the Jewish leaders in Rome - smart men, well versed in the law and scriptures. They argued back and forth among themselves and Paul says to them, "The Holy Spirit was right when He said to your ancestors through Isaiah the prophet, 'Go and say this to the people: when you hear what I say, you will not understand. When you see what I do, you will not comprehend. For the hearts of these people are hardened, and their ears cannot hear, and they have closed their eyes – so their eyes cannot see, and their ears cannot hear, and their hearts cannot understand, and they cannot turn to Me and let Me heal them.'" Without the Holy Spirit as the revelator the Bible will be nothing but a great work of mythical and mystical literature or historical writings or antiquated rules. How painful that must be for the Holy Spirit, aching to reveal, but being denied His power.

We cannot be angry with "lost" people for doing what lost people do. But it's an intimidating thing to hear smart, highbrow, well-spoken arguments being made against what we believe, or at least are thought to believe being lumped together with all of Christendom around the globe, and feel like we come up short in the debate. But I don't think all of us are supposed to be engaged in every debate we are being invited into. As I sit here thinking and grappling and trying to hear what God is saying, all I discern is once again the need for Christians, for Christ-followers. . .for me. . .to preach only Christ and Him crucified.

Churches suck. They're always full of religious, fragile, fallible, arrogant, useless people. Through all of the centuries, in all kinds of ways, churches have gotten so many things so irrevocably wrong. There is not a single doubt about that fact. We have killed and pillaged and berated and boycotted in the name of Jesus, over issues that are in the hearts of man, but never in the heart of the Father. We have. Period. There is no mistaking that. We have seen in our own personal lives the way person turns against person in the name of faith. We have seen these things up close and in technicolor, leaving a wake of pain and anger and depression and posttraumatic stress to rival events seen only in wartime combat. Oh, how it hurts to think about these things even now, knowing what damage has been done in the hearts and psyches of people I love, we love.

But the church, the Church, is people. It will go on making epic mistakes and failures. However, it is Christ's bride, not Christ Himself. He never did any of the killing or pillaging or berating or boycotting. He loved. He gave compassion when all He felt was exhaustion. He told stories to strike at the heart of every kind of man so they could see the Kingdom of God. He stood in truth even as people of power would try to supplant Him. He was not an avoider of the derelicts of society or the ones who would not comply with church doctrine, heretics. He was the Friend of sinners. He valued relationship and community and leadership and "followership" so much so that He kept at least twelve people with Him always. . .except when He slipped away to be alone with His Father. He understood the heart of the Father, the God of the universe, trusted His heart. He only did what the Father would have Him do. He was a reconciler, not a rebel. He was a revolutionary, but came to fulfill law and not to do away with it. He lived a celibate life, but longs for a spotless bride. These lyrics keep repeating in my head:
Let he without sin cast the first stone, if you will,
to say that My bride isn't worth half the blood that I've spilled.
Point your finger and laugh if you choose,
to say My beloved is borrowed and used.
She is strong enough to stand in My love.
I can hear her say,
"I am weak, and I'm poor.
I am broken, Lord, but I'm Yours.
Hold me now."

Some things can't be argued with. We are weak. We are poor. We are broken. But we're His. We.Are.His. Our friends are right about a lot of things, indictments about the Church: her lazy attitude about suffering around the world; her vigilante stance on certain issues and complete blind eye to others; her racism and sexism all in the name of God. But God. . .Abba, Son, and Holy Spirit. . .They saw it all. And it, us, we, me, you, them, was still worth the risk. The risk was not the chance at Jesus being put to death. He knew that was why He came wrapped in skin. That was His "given". The risk was knowing we could and would each say, "Screw Him!", or "To hell with the church and religion!", or worse. But He still did it. He knew He would have to take a whore and make her blameless again.

Our friends are right in so many ways. But they are so, so wrong.

Christ. Him crucified. Revelation through the Holy Spirit.

God, help them see. Hear. Understand. Have their hearts healed. ]

I love you all,
Jessi

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

A Priceless Gift

Its always fun to get a package in the mail. Today I watched the mailman drive into the driveway, get out, and give Anthony a big box. It was from my grandmother Jolene. Before I even opened I knew instantly that this box's contents would be priceless.

Inside this box was the motherload of handmade treasures from Grandma Jo (as I so affectionately call her). There was a beautiful plush pink hooded towel with a duck embroidered on it. There were precious embroidered onesies, one with "Ava" and one with "Costa" on it. Ava also now has three personalized cloth diapers which we'll use as burp cloths. There was a beautiful hand-stitched baby blanket with the alphabet and a bear. All of it is precious...and priceless.

My favorite item was a sweet pink bear, Ava's first stuffed animal, that Grandma Jo made. Around our house this bear is lovingly named "Grandma Jo Bear". Bella received a turquoise one as a wee thing and still sleeps with it EVERY NIGHT! Now Ava will have her very own for years and years to come.

Besides supplying me with years of handmade unique gifts, and giving me first a love of reading (which I know we share) through books she gave me that I still own simply inscribed "Grandmother Jolene", she has also led a life firmly secured to a Rock that holds. She is the picture of grace and dignity in the face of hardships not many lives have had to know. As I learn more about her, I love her more. She gave me my mom; nurtured her faith, helped to set her moral compass, and grandmothered all of us with love as her daughter now grandmothers her own daughters' babies.

Yep. Priceless gift. I couldn't ask for more.

Thank you for it all, Grandma Jo. The gifts smelled like you when they got here. I can't wait for you two to meet. Kiss Granddaddy for me.

A Useful Foolish Thing

So, I have this thing, this Thing about myself. Its a Thing I hate, and I mean indignantly loathe. Its such a major Thing in my life that it gets to have it's very own capital T, making it a proper noun even though it is the pinnacle definition of an impropriety.

The Thing is, the Thing is, I have facial hair. Now, okay. I know. Everyone has hair on their face; cute little peach fuzzy hairs that aren't any big deal. Yeah, I know about this, and I got those. But this ain't what my Thing is. I have whiskers I tell you. Uncute, unfuzzy, stubbly, darkish hairs that loiter en mass on my face in a few places and give me such grief. We're talking pluckable, shavable, sand-blastable hairs. (I have to move on already from these kinds of gritty details because if I stop to reread this paragraph I will erase it and never tell this story and the Thing will have taken over again.)

I know why I've got the Thing. Well, I mean I can't explain it on a molecular level, but I know the medical reason for it: Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Its a long name to say that my ovaries don't do what "normal" ovaries do, nor do my hormones which leads to a potential litany of symptoms and side effects. I lucked out and got the Thing, facial hair.

Did I say already how much I hate this? Besides the thousand other things a woman thinks about when she looks in the mirror and so desires to be at very least presentable to other human beings, I have days, plenty of them, where I have to take into consideration and fit into my schedule time for checking the prone areas for excess hair. If its there, its got to come off. Maybe the Thing can hang out on some people's faces, but I can't be that person. I've seen that kind of woman at the Piggly Wiggly Express in illustrious Statham, the woman who long ago quit attempting to "fight the fur" and now looks like some sort of derelict. Hey, I've no stones to throw at the woman, but I would like to hand her a pair of tweezers and a mirror. I digress...

I could tell you a million stories of the millions of ways this Thing has invaded my life. Whether it be in my thought life, my self-esteem, my level of comfort even letting Anthony hold my face in his hands or look at me for too long (really, people...what is better than having the man you love hold your face in his hands?), standing too close to a person in conversation, wondering if I can wear my hair up on a particular day without it being glaringly obvious; the Thing is never far. I hate it. It makes me mad, or sad, or embarrassed, or irritated. Sometimes I even feel ashamed. I am a flipping woman, doggone it! Enough with rivaling my 17-year-old nephew for the most facial hair! Again, moving on...

I was driving down the road this week, kids settled in the backseat, radio playing (actually probably a CD because, let's face it, the radio sucks), and not really thinking about anything, or any Thing. I glanced up into the mirror on my car visor and noticed some of the Thing that I must have missed in that day's removal process. I growled to myself. It was the end of the day, the ONLY day I work outside of the home. My mind is recalling the interactions with people I had had during the day and trying to remember if a safe distance had been maintained to avert their seeing the Thing on my face. I growled again. This Thing. This foolish Thing. This Thing that completely confounds me. This Thing that in all my knowledge, wisdom, and efforts I can't nip in the bud once and for all.

At the very same time I'm making this observation Ava, my baby-in-utero, does one of her very impressive rolls in my tummy which are now so impressive that they can't be mistaken or ignored. It stopped me in my tracks. Now, she is a constant mover and shaker so this wasn't something new. It wasn't painful. It wasn't a blissful Mommy/Baby bonding moment. I'll tell you what it was; profound. Most amazingly profound. I am feeling the movement of the life that God so omnisciently placed in my womb, and staring at the face of a woman with PCOS. I got it. Right then, I got it. Another technicolor, long-time-coming, never would've put that together myself kind of lesson.

You see silly ole hair isn't the biggest worry of PCOS. Its the infertility. Its the noticing your body is doing some things it shouldn't and not doing some things it most definitely should. Its the pursuit of figuring out what the heck is wrong with you that would cause these symptoms in this combination. Its the appointment where a doctor gives it a name, but not a lot of hope. Its the appointments where he tells you he can't know why you have it, or what the root of it is, or if you can do anything to change it's course. The appointments where he tells you you could try fertility drugs. The appointments where he tells you without MAJOR intervention you likely will not have children because of the severity of the syndrome.

I got this diagnosis. I had these appointments. I wore a repulsive label of "infertile" for a long time, having it reapplied time again even when I would try to take it off. And driving in my car this week, while staring at a residual symptom of PCOS, a stupid Thing, I feel Ava boldly making her presence known. I glance in the mirror again, this time to see Isabella and Jack, as real as real can be, sitting in the backseat without a care in their world. My kids. Mine. People that I carried in my broken down body, sustained for nine months, and raised to where they are now. My firstborn, my first boy, and my baby on the way.

That glance in the mirror, that roll of the baby, that view of my kids, changed something huge. The Thing is a Thing, but its just a thing. It is a foolish thing. And it does confound me. But it is more confounding to know that in the midst of the very real evidence that my body has misalignments so great that I "can not have children" and might've run the risk of being billed as the bearded lady in a circus sideshow during the 1920s, I feel my third child move in my womb, and see my first and second children sitting right behind me. We never needed a drug or a fertility treatment. These kids were just placed in my body.

So now there is the epiphany of the coexistence of this Thing I desperately hate and wish I could eradicate, and these beautiful, irreplaceable, wished-for children. The Thing I should have because it is to be expected in the world of PCOS, and the Three I shouldn't have because the PCOS won't allow it.

The Thing, or the thing (it's now been downgraded), looks different to me now. I mean, its still unsightly and unpleasant and blah, blah, blah. But it is also the parodoxical reminder that there are Ways higher than my ways. That foolish things are used all the time to confound the wise.

I will pluck. I will tweeze. I may even growl to myself about it. But I will see it differently, with a new dimension to it. I'll let it remind me of it's ironic presence on my face. I'll remember what could've been, and what could've not been.

Its just a thing.

P.S. Ava - from the Hebrew "Chava"; meaning "life".

Don't drop your teeth, but . . .

a blog post is acomin' today!

I've said it before...

....but it bears repeating: I love this man. This man who always ends up on this random collection of reflections known as "the blog", making ridiculous faces in pictures that we have to take of ourselves because we're just that vain (but ironically self-deprecating enough to smear food on our teeth before the shutter opens). This man who wrestles my kids to the ground, reads them book after book, shares an endless supply of original songs and stories fine-tuned to make them giggle, tucks them in with a kiss, and hates when they hurt. This man who cooks breakfast, COOKS breakfast, every morning, EVERY morning, for his family. This man who says the craziest things, as well as some of the most profound, on a daily basis. This man who goes to work every morning, calls during the chaos of his schedule, and happily returns home at the close of the day.
I love this man. This man is to me and for me and with me so much more than I was ever smart enough to think of or ask for. This man is my best friend. This man is my lover. This man is "Daddy" to our babies. This man does not have an equal.
He left in the wee hours today for a week-long trip overseas. We ate sushi and piddled around, wrangled Jack, played a game of Life with Bella, and held each other tight as we faded to sleep before his hour to depart chimed from the alarm. I love him. To say that I will miss him seems almost pathetically ridiculous. But I will. We will. Till this man is home with us once more.