My dad called to see how things had gone with the storms. He usually calls to let us know when they’re coming, which he did that too, and I noticed then I had missed it. He’s always been one to keep an eye on the weather, especially this time of year when tornado warnings come around.

It wasn’t too bad here. We had rain, hail, and thunderstorms, but the winds didn’t seem too crazily high. We rode into Sherman where we heard there’d been a possible touchdown. On the way we saw a line of around six snapped power line poles, the top halves nowhere to be seen.

The power went out later this evening and the internet also. It wasn’t too long before it came back on, about an hour. In the meantime Dad and a few of the kids told stories. We were all in the living room with flashlights and candles. When the power came back everyone finished their show.

“From now on, let those who have wives live as though they had none, and those who mourn as though they were not mourning, and those who rejoice as though though they were not rejoicing, and those who buy as though they had no goods, and those who deal with the world as though they had no dealings with it. For the present form of this world is passing away.”
~1 Corinthians 7:29-31~

When my husband’s grandmother passed away a couple of years ago, there was a line in her obituary, written by one of her sons, that stood out to me and made me sad. When describing the many things in her life that she’d done throughout her almost 92 years, included in there was a line about her saying something along the lines of her being “one who regularly gave more love than she received in return.”

As I thought about it more, it seemed very true. At Christmas she used to give each of her grandkids a huge gift bag filled with presents and money. I was always included in this. Sometimes it was a homemade afghan. Sometimes it was a cookie cookbook with a cookie jar. For a while our son was included as well, but as time went on, and we had more kids, and she got older and started slowing down, the gift bags transitioned to an envelope of money.

And so it went, year after year, with Christmas cards and birthdays. Besides my own kids at Christmas, I’m not a great gift-giver. I don’t know what to get people. I don’t think about it soon enough. But as time went on we did try to remember the grandparents at Christmas time at least with a card or family picture or something. One time we got her some nice-smelling lotion because it seemed like something you might get for a grandma. I don’t know if it bothered her, as she slowed down even more, that the gift-giving and card-sending was so often one-sided.

But it bothered me. “What a horrid way to live your life”, I thought, to live that long, to love that much, for those who didn’t even love you the same way back. I’ve had similar thoughts regarding similar situations. I can see the same thing in the life of my grandmother. She’d send out packages for each family, filled with stocking stuffers and presents for the grandkids and great-grandkids. For years she did this and it gave her great joy.

She did this until she could no longer do it. I know the giving thing isn’t just something that happens with grandmas and moms. At some point, what dads receive for Christmas are socks and peanuts, coffee and maybe a special mug. There’s this point in adulthood where gifts are nice, but at the same time, you don’t really need anything that you couldn’t just go out and buy yourself. Holidays are more about the joy of giving, being with loved ones, and being grateful for the time together.

And as life goes on further, that’s what all of life becomes; about the joy of giving, being with loved ones, and being grateful for time together. Or at least that’s what it’s become, or is becoming more for me. I look around at my family and the way they’re expanding, the way they are growing, the way they simply for the past several years have kept going about their daily lives including more and more things outside of our home life, and I find it sometimes to be a little disorienting.

I think there was a part of me that was hoping that all this stuff that happened with my health would be a wake-up call. That’s how these stories are supposed to go. You go through hard times that make you more appreciative of the people around you. You walk away humbled and more aware of life’s brevity. You realize how stupid you’ve been and how you don’t want to live that way anymore.

They say it makes you more compassionate toward the pains and sufferings of others, something I wouldn’t have thought was something I needed or my problem. I remember when Tim Keller was first diagnosed with cancer, he tweeted out something about asking for prayers that God would work to wean him from the joys and pleasures of this life. This is another thing they say God does in our trials, that he uses them to push us further toward the goal of this life, to raise us ever closer to the joys of God in the next one.

During covid I remember that one of the things I was concerned about was having medical supplies on hand. I downloaded a plant identification app for the purpose of learning the local plants and their medicinal properties. Somewhere I still have a tincture I made from purple dead nettle that I would’ve never consumed or let anyone else drink. It was supposed to be something that would counter the effects of a cytokine storm.

Downstairs I have a Rubbermaid tub of now expired IV fluids, tubing, and start kits. Like if for some reason the hospitals were shut down, or filled to the brim, or there was some kind of natural disaster like the people of Hoyleton being struck by an earthquake caused by the activation of the New Madrid fault and we needed to go back there and help somehow, then we needed to be ready. I haven’t started an IV in over 14 years, and when I retired, I had not reached the point yet of being completely confident with my IV start skills, where you’re a one and done stick with no bruises.

I remember one day when it occurred to me, when I was walking around identifying plants I no longer remember, that in all of these scenarios I am the one who is the helper and not the one in need of help. I am not the one in need of the IV fluids, sutures, or painkillers. I am the strong one helping the hurt or sick one in need. This disturbed me to think about. Counting on me to be the person who is never sick, never injured, never the one in need of care, did not seem to me a reliable system.

Josh took the boys to school today. They left earlier than normal which means they needed to be dropped off at the before school care program. We hadn’t registered them, we hadn’t paid for anything, we hadn’t let anybody know they were coming, he just showed up and dropped them off. All of this happened while I was barely awake, when taking them myself, while potentially doable, would not have been a smart option. The person at the door showed the boys where to go, where they stayed until it was time to go to their classrooms.

When they came home later I needed to go to the bathroom. I’d gone during the morning but this particular time I was having trouble standing up. Josh stood in front of me, walking backwards while I held on to him and he held on to me. “Isn’t this romantic?”, he said, and I said, “Yeah, it kinda reminds me of dancing.” Every time he’s had to do this I think, “No, this is my job.” This is what I am supposed to be doing, helping people go to the bathroom, get up and walk, and get ready for bed.

It’s crazy to me how visceral it all is, how close it still is, how fast it comes back. The memories, the motions, the walkers, the smells. I liked that job and yes indeed, I do miss it. Like, I am done now being the one who is in need and unable. I am done being the one impaired, who can no longer do the things I used to or want to be able to do. And I know this isn’t right, that I might as well be uttering blasphemy, that until the Lord returns, the good work and wait of being human is never done.

I reinjured my back this morning at church. Because I had been moving around better yesterday and because I also was scheduled to teach Sunday School this morning, I went to church. I went to sit in the cry room where I could have more privacy and where I could sit without the going up and down throughout the service. Instead of lifting or moving the chair with my arms, I tried to push the chair closer to the window with my foot. That ended up being a bad idea.

At the current moment I’m finding this frustrating plus I am also in pain. Tonight camp has their annual banquet down at the dining hall. I was very much looking forward to going and hearing the speaker, sharing the meal, and just being down there. I’m back to crawling around on the floor again, alone in my bed. We had an unexpected guest this afternoon, a pastor’s wife whose husband had an unexpected hospital visit. It was frustrating to not be able to visit with her more.

One of the boys just came back to bring up some food for me. I was basically holding it together until I saw him. He put some dressing on my salad and brought me water and ibuprofen. I said to him then, “I need you to sit here for a minute”. I envisioned him sitting up closer to my head where I could wrap my arms around his waist and bury my head in his lap while I sobbed. He said, “Okay” and sat down on the bed. I didn’t ask him to come closer but it ended up being close enough.

Yesterday morning I hurt my back while making breakfast. I’d bent down to get something from the pantry’s bottom shelf and suddenly found myself in pain and unable to move. Long story short I was in bed for most of yesterday icing my lower back and resting it. I needed help going to the bathroom, I could only wash one hand at a time, it was a whole ordeal. It was strangely familiar to be back in that place where I was unable to do much for myself or anyone else.

Today it’s doing better and has gotten more so throughout the day. I’ve stayed in bed still for most of the day and it was thankfully one of those Saturdays where there wasn’t much happening in the way of activities. Yesterday I watched a Zoom meeting from the couple who did our marriage intensive two summers ago. They’re starting a program where you can sign up to train with them on learning how to be a marriage coach. I was very much interested in doing this until I saw the price which was over $2,000.

The cost of the marriage intensive when we did it was $3,500. The price has now been raised to nearly $5,000. To me that just seems way too expensive. I’m not going to judge why people do things or in this case choose to make their living. They’ve very good at what they do and I owe so much of where I’m at to what I learned from them. Their marriage intensive was a gift to us, fully paid for. In many ways I feel an obligation to pay it forward, not in a legalistic sense, but in a “I want to share what I was given” sense.

One of the questions that came up during the video was someone wondering the difference between their specific marriage coaching program versus going to counseling. One of the positives of coaching was that, if you choose to, you can continue contact with the couple in real time. This was one of the benefits they offered with the intensive, that is, two months of after-care where they are available via text for you to reach out to them for help if you needed coaching or help in a particularly challenging situation.

The rationale for this was that it takes time and practice to learn new patterns so they are there if needed as you begin to implement what you’ve learned. They said they’ve never had anyone abuse this privilege. I did find this interesting because having boundaries with clients is one of the biggest things they stress in school. You would never give out your personal phone number for clients to text you. You don’t have contact with clients in between sessions (not as rule, it’s just how it works out in practice). When sessions “terminate”, then you’re done.

The other difference they mentioned is the fact that in marriage coaching, if you choose, you can bring your story into it. Not that it becomes all about you and your story, but you can use your story and the things you’ve gone through in your own life and marriage to offer solidarity and to illustrate points. Counselors, on the other hand, leave their stories out. Self-disclosure isn’t something to be banned or completely avoided, but something you do with discretion, and only if you perceive it helpful for the person.

All that to say, I can see the advantages of both. It is important for us to keep in mind that just because we’ve gone through something doesn’t make us qualified to deal with every problem a couple might show up with. This was acknowledged in the video and something they also teach in school. There’s awareness needed to know when something is out of your league and needs referring. What I find superior in the marriage intensive format is that it significantly speeds up the counseling process of (hopefully) putting the couple on a healing track.

Today was one of those more unusual mom days. Earlier in the week I got a text from an in-town mom asking if I’d be able to fill in for her Thursday serving lunch at the high school. After asking for more details, I learned that for the past several months, some of the upperclassman moms have been doing a Thursday lunch fundraiser to raise money for prom. The recruiting and organizing has been done on Facebook, which would explain why I had no idea anyone was even doing this.

I said I would do it, and it was actually really fun. Every Thursday three moms serve a meal that is homemade one week, and picked up from a restaurant another week. The high school has a kitchen, but not a regular lunch program. For between $5-8 depending on the meal, students and teachers can sign up for lunch. Today they had potato soup, toppings, and rolls. As much as I have mentioned over the years how cooking isn’t exactly my passion, I actually feel quite at home in more commercial and industrialized kitchens.

Within minutes of the third mom entering the kitchen the three of us standing there were all close to tears. One was talking about the bittersweet realities that come along with senior year. Another mentioned her late husband and teared up, as he has only been gone a little over a year. The other had been a single mom for most of her child’s life, and she spoke of the various jobs she has had to try and keep a flexible schedule in order to be with her son as much as possible.

It really just made think about how different people’s lives are. Josh came into the kitchen on his way out from teaching. Both moms mentioned to me how handsome my husband is, and my son with his chiseled features. Of course I know this and I agreed with them. There is a type of compliment, a form of truth-telling, that isn’t offensive. During first lunch I went and said hi to my daughter and her friends. I know their names, but would not have been able to match them all with a face. Today I learned and won’t forget.

I said hi to my son and his table too. Later when I’d gotten home I was sitting next an open window when I noticed it was chilly. I emailed him to see if he was good on having enough clothes. There was a baseball game later this afternoon. They played in the cold, sporadic light drizzle. We brought a long-sleeve shirt along for him to wear underneath his uniform. Dad had put on plenty of layers and the boys and I brought extra blankets. It was a fuller day including more activities with others.

Dad had to preach tonight for church. The boys and I rode along and we arrived around 6 for the Lenten meal. They served shepherd’s pie, green beans, garlic bread, and dessert. I have this weird thing with Lenten meals where I always walk away from the line feeling like my entrée serving size was too small. I saved the shepherd’s pie for last and it slowly. The younger boys it seems are eating more and more these days and I wonder sometimes if they’re just trying to keep up with their brother or if they’re genuinely hungry.

The big kids had track practice then stayed in town to go to another church’s youth group. Between practice and church they stopped at a boy friend’s house for grilled cheese and soup. One time last year they came home after practice and we immediately left for the Lenten meal. The elders were in charge and had signed up to make breakfast food. When we got there they had already run so low on food that everybody got a 2x2in piece of egg casserole. I was definitely disappointed but I also thought it was funny.

It is the only time I can remember that I have ever used the parenting line, “Now kids we really need to be grateful and remember there are starving kids in Africa.” Dad left to go get ready for church while the boys and I finished up. I wanted to walk and get in some steps before church. I told the boys they could play but that they could not run inside. They decided to come with me and went outside so they could run. The weather was warmer this evening so we didn’t need coats. Soon we settled in, quieting down for evening prayer.

“Addiction may oppress our desire, erode our wills, confound our motivations, and contaminate our judgement, but its bondage is never absolute.”
~Gerald May, Addiction and Grace~

You know what’s something that really bothered me about spring break? It’s that I had spent so much time of mine the week before engrossed with an article I read on the internet. This is my topic, the one that sucks me in and that I give myself over too. After the firestorm, after the TCG article debates and Twitter threads that probably burned holes in my prefrontal cortex from reading on my phone so much, I asked myself “WTH?”

For me it is several topics tied up into one. The topics of purity culture/biblical manhood and womanhood/various popular Christian teaching on marriage are all things I became involved with during times when I was seeking guidance. This guidance primarily came through books acquired from the local and now out of business Berean Bookstore. Purity culture was during my teens when I was looking for answers to the question of “how far is too far?” The marriage books were in preparation for and throughout our years of marriage in an attempt to understand more about relationships and the way men think. What makes a good wife? How do you have a godly marriage?

The biblical manhood and womanhood stuff is less clear to me. I still remember the day when I brought the book home from my husband’s office, which I reached for the blue cover standing out from the middle shelves. Often while out for a walk I’d take the kids by to visit him. I went through a phase where I liked to wear sundresses, where I ate oatmeal as an aphrodisiac hoping to bring my body back into balance. Debi Pearl’s Created to Be His Helpmeet was one my sister immediately rejected, but I felt challenged by it. Her words were sometimes harsh and came off at times sounding terribly prideful and self-righteous, but she had a beautiful, feminine, picture on the cover and I wanted to be seen as a wife like that.

He liked when I read that book and wore dresses. When I’d have his lunch ready for him when he’d come home, doing what I could to treat my man like the king of his castle. None of this was stuff he asked for me to do. We would fight sometimes about things, often when I would criticize the culture and women of our church. Why was I the only one who seemed to care about motherhood and womanhood in a biblical way? Why wasn’t there anyone here to teach me how to do this? He always said I could be too extreme with things. The biblical manhood and womanhood book was something he’d picked up in a seminary book giveaway pile. It was not an ideology that he had first ascribed to and then imposed upon me.

At one point I had a resurgent interest in marriage and housewifery which one again led me to reading more books, something to stimulate my mind in the midst of the everyday. This was all done for fun, and not because, that I can remember, we were experiencing any kind of pressing or particular marriage problems. It was true what they said about being a housewife. There was so much time to cultivate a life of domestic arts. You could express yourself in the decorations of your home, love your children and husband by having warm meals for them, experiment with baking, gardening, and cloth diapering for the sheer pleasure of serving loved ones alongside learning something new.

It’s weird. The more false beliefs are extracted from my mind, the more the experiences that were attached to those beliefs are also changed. So many of my experiences, attitudes, and pains were tied up in my marriage beliefs and desires. It annoyed me that I had wasted so much time on this article and the subsequent discussions and articles that followed. Instead of cleaning and straightening my room like I had planned, I ordered more Amazon books for “research”, that I do not even have time or energy to read right now, for my stash for when I write my own book someday.

And then it’s like, I think to myself, “Oh my gosh. This is crazy people behavior. Like, this really is crazy and this is what people do who don’t actually do anything.” And every time I fall into this there comes the airplane with the banner flying overhead with its bright bold letters: She Does Not Eat the Bread of Idleness. It’s the only bread I eat most days, except if I eat bagels when I give in and don’t care. There’s another one somewhere about women who go from house to house, speaking about things that they ought not to say.

I think this is the biggest addiction I have, the addiction of not giving a crap about myself, when I get too discouraged, give up, and quit caring about my life. There is a healthy and non-narcissistic form of self love, as foreign and cringy as it might sound to say it. That is a love we can all learn to walk in. I was actually really sad about the whole not writing books thing, like facing the fact that this just isn’t real, this is not my life. I have an essay to write that is due tomorrow, a book report that is also due Friday. I need to move on now.

The kids are back to school this week. Last week remains to me much of a blur as I could tell you what everyone else what doing but not so much of whatever it is I was doing. Dad and Ethan took a trip down to Florida. The left early on Wednesday and returned late on Friday. They drove all that way to watch a three hour baseball game, eat supper afterwards, and then drive back home. The Cardinals were playing for their spring training.

It was fun for me to watch their travel progress on my phone. I would kind of get emotional whenever I would see their little dot moving so determined down the road. For a time in there the boys and I just did our own thing. They made a sleeping area in the living room one night and watched videos of a some guy trying to beat a Minecraft world record. I made taco soup one night for us to eat. We made it to church on Wednesday evening.

I struggle to order and maintain basic life habits as it is but it’s amazing to me how it all falls apart when Dad’s gone. Within days the pile of books and clothes has re-exploded in our room. The boys grazed for lunch and eventually I eat something. I started a book on addictions. I wrote an entire post summarizing the first chapter of the book then deleted it because I was afraid of saying something wrong or not understanding right.

Thursday evening we had a board of directors meeting at church. After the meetings the pastor has been taking us through this evangelism series called Every One His Witness. I have often heard things about the apostle Paul regarding how well he was educated. He was trained in rhetoric and a student of the law, even a Pharisee of Pharisees as he calls himself. I was encouraged then to be reminded that what he had was something else.

Paul was filled with the Holy Spirit, which is something we all have as believers in Christ. It was the Spirit’s power by which he wrote all his letters, gave Acts 17 speeches, and bore witness to Christ. This morning it was chilly again when we stepped outside for the ride to school. I played a few songs from Kids Sing Praise 5: Psalty’s Camping Adventure. The big kids used to watch it some but the boys would’ve been too small to remember.

It snowed a little today. This morning I opened the window and it was bitter cold, the kind where you don’t go outside. I drove up I-55, then I-39 to meet my sister halfway. She’d taken Elianna to spend a few days of spring break with her cousins. The nieces and aunts ate lunch at a Subway. After that we had to get gas, something I don’t like to do when it’s windy and cold. I had to lean against the car door so I could even get out and when I stepped outside my sandal blew off to the other side of the van. I’d bought my boots along too.

After that I came home and went straight to bed. I rested for about an hour before heading over to the CGC where I was needing to make supper for the group here this weekend. I mostly never have to cook for camp anymore, but earlier in the week my husband asked if I’d do it. Even last year I found the kitchen work too much to do for too long. I would need to sit down and catch my breath. Tonight though wasn’t bad and I didn’t need to sit down. After several years of being here you get to know the repeat groups. This group is particular about their meals, but still nice.

I went to bed again soon after coming home from there. I still have the shaking that happens after doing more “stressful” things. I can control it and mostly stop it if I want to, but if I do that I will also get these almost body shocks that want to jump start the shaking again. So I let it go. It’s like this simultaneous form of decompression with a subconscious way of saying to myself, “It’s ok. You’re alright.” I have a video from 2021 I’d sent to my sisters of this same thing happening after folding a load of laundry. It’s doing a lot better.