Five Minute Friday with GypsyMama today, on the word that eludes me today...

Connected...

We tried to use words to connect with someone today, but sometimes words aren't heard. Apparently there are times only screams or groans or cries are heard. But we didn't do that. We used words. And they went unheard. I'm screaming for someone to fight for us, to advocate for us, to help us find our way in a maze of flaming hoops, hoops we've already fearfully jumped through only to find another one waiting. And when the miracle happens, and someone does advocate, does go out on a line, does use words and actions to invest in us and fight for us, that too goes unheard.

So, here we are, waiting and wishing we'd used different words to communicate our need, our calling, our heart-wrenching burden that hovers over everything. But the fear remains that we won't connect, we won't be heard, our words will drown in the ears of others, and we will lose the mission, miss the boat, and tread water in the sea that carries us back to chasing the American dream.

My beef with Stuff Christians Like

I've got a wee beef with this recent post from Stuff Christians Like, entitled rather troubling, "Girls that have a past" and then subsequently subtitled as, "The unofficial identifying girls in church who have a past scorecard".

My beef isn't because:

a) I'm a girl with a past (though I kinda am, but not much of one and presumably didn't score very high on aforementioned scorecard because of my fear of white shorts);

b) I dislike SCL or its writer in residence, Jon Acuff (SCL is something I usually really like, so much so that I read portions of it outloud at dinner parties and sleepovers); or

c) Because I'm a feminist (though, again, I kinda am, but more in the way of Leslie Knope as opposed to Nancy Pelosi).

Instead, my beef is due in large part to:

a) The post saying it's meant to "call out" guys who think this way and keep such scores, but instead invites "girls" to tally up their own scores to see how they measure up;

b) Limiting the categorization of girls with a past to such profound outward signs of promiscuity as hoop earrings, a desire to drink, and tardiness;

c) Stereotyping the good girls as legalistic, un-marry-able prudes (who, in fairness, love a good orphan);

d) The host of this party, Jon, having to consistently defend, clarify, and define the post as "satire" and yet still claim it as "truth," not that he would know anything about that, as he married a good girl; and

e) The uninspired writing of a piece of satire without a clear beginning, middle or end, with no justifiable or redeeming conclusion that pierces the soul with wit, poignancy AND laughter (as all good satire must), and still also manages to reference Kim Kardashian.

I love SCL, and up till now, highly respected and learned a great deal from Acuff. But this post uses a common misconception as an excuse to judge - and laugh at - all women based on their looks, their facebook profiles, and their favourite verses (to name just a lousy few).

No wonder so many people have such a hard time going to church; we're not even safe among God's people.

31 days of LIVING in transition :: the days {day 6}

On the days you want to scream
On the days you know it's not fair
On the days you tell God your kids deserve a backyard
On the days no one hears you
On the days with more questions than answers
On the days when it's all about you
(and by you, I mean me)

Think of the missing baby.
Think of the woman (no longer) in prison for a crime she didn't commit.
Think of the motherless children.
Think of the enslaved in your own backyard.
Think of the war.

God's heart will not forget them. And He's taking care of me more than I know.

A frustrating time

I'm ready to go home now. Five months back and I'm ready to go home. Now.

The husband is in Wisconsin for what I'm terribly afraid will be a fruitless missions conference. It's hard to convince the mega church that people in modern western Europe are in as dire need for a Saviour as the rest of the world is. Especially when the "rest of the world" is within a 5 mile radius of the church and is also in dire need of a state-of-the-art work out facility and wedding chapel and climbing wall... I could go on and on. Nevertheless, I hold out a wee bit of hope, because I want to go home.

I'm with the children in Missouri, cut off from communication with husband because of very rather dodgy internet reception (and a jacked-up phone). The internet has been this way for months now, and makes working and communicating with coworkers and friends a world away quite impossible. But every day, we try to again, because we want to go home.

The children are rebelling against me. They know the disciplinarian (and also the fun one) has gone missing, so that leaves me - the weak one with the short fuse - attempting to hold things together. The girl screams at me from time to time, the boy looks at me so disappointingly when I've let him down (most recently because of a forgotten darth vader mask and light saber on halloween), and the baby follows me from room to room crying and hanging onto my leg because I'm all he's got left. Add to this no-sleeping and a bit of bed-wetting, and we're all suffering the ill effects of a change in routine. They feel encumbered by our current living and working and schooling situation, because they too want to go home.

A distant family member continues to try and sabotage our work by communicating with our organization - this time with the president of the organization - over an issue she has which is actually quite important: a tattoo. She makes phone calls, writes letters, and makes terribly loathing insinuations about us and our calling - and even our ethics - to anyone who will hear her. Happily, I think people are done hearing her, realizing that she's fighting for the losing side in a battle of spiritual nature. But still, the pettiness and sadness and humiliation over the whole things makes me want to run away, straight back home.

And finally, this teeny tiny computer I'm typing this on. Not my computer, but the man's (who has mine to wow the important people with in WI). It's small and slow and every once in awhile a new window pops up or a search engine - I'm fairly sure I didn't do that. Or it goes to sleep, or beeps at me. The text on the window randomly gets bigger, or smaller, or disappears altogether. It's driving me crazy! Unfortunately, it's an inanimate object so can't long for home, but it does allow me to blame one more thing on being here.

In spite of all this, I'm glad to have my family. Loving a new church. Glad to have fall colours in a familiar place. Happy to shop and eat wherever I so choose. Blessed by things all over the place. But there's an Irish weight hanging over me. It follows me wherever I go, hovers around whoever I'm talking to. It sleeps in the bed between me and the man and whichever little person is there for the night. It sits in my Bible when I open it, echoing every word.

It says, "You are not home."

*rereading this I feel like I complain too much and praise too little. I hate this about my writing, feel like it's a recurring theme. These, however, are my feelings, true and raw, today. Tomorrow, hopefully, prayerfully, I will write of the praiseworthy things I often forget to mention. Thank you God for letting us complain to you, and forgiving us of our selfishness. Teach me how to praise.

What I really want to put as my Facebook status, but could never...

Karen...

...is really sad.

...is misunderstood and misheard.

...doesn't like it when people raise their voices at her.

...doesn't like it when people put words in her mouth and interrupt her before she gets a chance to finish her thoughts outloud.

...wants to apologize, but isn't really sure what she should apologize for.

...wishes she could clearly communicate what she wants to say.

...doesn't want to be a martyr (figuratively, speaking).

...wants to feel adequately represented without feeling inadequate.

...comes away from meetings feeling like a child.

...thinks it's time to let go of that sad little girl on the inside.

...wants to not care about what people think of her.

...thinks some (not all) American conservatives are losing their minds.

...doesn't want to feel ashamed of supporting healthcare for all people.

...is a political independent, maybe even slightly left of centre, and it doesn't make her evil or less of a Christ follower. It may even mean she's attempting to follow Him more closely. 

...is afraid that no matter where she lives or how old or mature she gets, she might always be a misfit.

...thinks it's really, really, really hard to be a mom of three in another culture, and she wishes that feeling that way didn't imply she was weak.

...will someday be so spiritual that all that other crap will be meaningless.

Anyone else want to share their secret, shameful Facebook status?

Vent

No creative writing for me today. I'm just gonna vent.

We are now in day 8 of a never-ending snow storm. And by snow, I mean about a 1/2 inch of freshly packed ice. And by storm, I mean that the sun never rises high enough to melt anything. And by never-ending, I mean that in a country that rarely sees temperature below freezing or frozen precipitation (see my shambled attempt at ironic poetry below), there are no snow plows or shovels or salt trucks to do anything about it. We're just all stuck here, waiting for the big thaw... a thaw that is supposedly still 10 days away. Maybe. The housing estate we live in is now doubling as an ice skating rink and we are trapped indoors. Cabin fever has officially set in. I suppose we should do something productive with all this time we have on our hands, like cleaning or something. But I just don't feel like it. I wanna get out! Without it taking me over an hour to get anywhere. And we're out of milk. Ahhhhhhh!

So what's the weather like where you are? Are you in on this indefinite international snow day, too?