Like the rest of the world, the horror of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan has stayed with me since I first heard news of it early Friday morning. As of Monday morning, responders were only beginning to count the dead, but some estimated casualties of at least 10,000. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around such a number in the context of death. We know, of course, that every one of us will die one day. One day. Not today, we figure. Someday when we're in our 90s, after months of slow decline. In our sleep, we hope. Certainly not all of a sudden while we're walking our kid home from school, mowing the grass or arguing with our boss. I mean, 10,000 people gone in a matter of minutes. These aren't just numbers; they're moms and dads who kiss their babies night night. They're grandparents who you'd get agitated with because they fed your kid nothing but candy. The good friend you laughed so hard with the day before your stomach muscles ached. They're people with heartbeats and souls. And I'm sorry, but if knowing that their lives are suddenly over doesn't make your heart hurt, I'm not sure you have one. What makes it hurt worse for me is wondering about the condition of their souls.
Let me be clear, I don't know why God allowed this to happen to Japan or to any one of those people who lost their lives. Only He knows. This much I know: Believers in Christ are called to respond to this sort of thing with compassion, not only with material supplies and monetary aid, but with truth spoken in love. In the days to come, we will give our money and do what we can from the other side of the world to help. But for now I'm going to do the only thing I can contribute from a distance: share the Gospel.
Chances are that if you are reading this, we know one another. Have I told you I love you? I do. Have I told you how much God loves you? I know you may not feel it, but He does. He made you and wants the very best for you. The very best thing for you is to know Him because that will mean that when you die you won't have to bear the consequences of your sin. Romans 6:23 says the consequence of sin is death, an eternal separation from God.
I know sin and death probably aren't concepts you want to dwell on, but you will in fact die and, yes, you do sin. I know you're a fabulous person who does many good things, but you sin. You may have never killed anyone, but you've sinned against them.
God is holy and cannot be in the presence of sin. For generations, men offered unblemished animals as blood sacrifices so they could be reconciled to God. Over and over, they would sacrifice these innocent creatures because they couldn't stop sinning. So about 2,000 years ago God provided the only sacrifice that would cover our sin permanently: His only son, Jesus. Jesus was fully God and fully human, tempted as we are tempted but did not sin. Jesus was crucified, died and was entombed for three days before resurrecting. More than 500 people saw Christ after His resurrection; some touched Him, others ate with Him. He ascended to Heaven, where He is now seated at the right hand of God the Father. He will return to the earth to gather believers and will judge both the living and dead.
The world will tell you there are many paths to God, but that isn't biblical. The Bible teaches that Jesus is the only way to salvation. Jesus says in John 14:6, "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
"If you declare with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved (Romans 10:9)."
You cannot earn your way into Heaven by your good works. "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God - not by works, so that no one can boast" (Esphesians 2:8-9). Isaiah 64:6 says "all our righteous acts are like filthy rags." The Pharisees, who were the religious teachers of Jesus' day, thought that by keeping the law they would be considered righteous, but Jesus called them hypocrites because their hearts weren't devoted to God. "You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness" (Matthew 23:27-28).
You will not go to Heaven simply because you believe God exists. James 2:19 says that even demons believe in God - and shudder. There's a difference between believing in God and believing God.
It all boils down to Jesus and your relationship to Him. That wasn't a popular statement 2,000 years ago - He was crucified for claiming to be the son of God - and it's not popular now. But that doesn't make it any less true. Either Jesus was a liar, a madman or he was the son of God. You have to decide who you believe He is, and after being reminded last week of the brevity of life, I suggest you do it as soon as possible.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Aging gray-fully
"Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marchin' across your face."It's a brilliant line for Dolly Parton's character in the alpha chick flick Steel Magnolias. And within the last year I've noticed the troops on the move, with some blitzkrieg activity going on in my under-eye region.
I always said I wanted to grow old gracefully, swearing I'd never color over my gray hair, fuss over a wrinkle or have a little work done by my friendly neighborhood plastic surgeon. But I've come to realize that's a pretty easy thing to say when one is 25 and hasn't yet experienced what multiple pregnancies will do to her mid section.
A few months ago I spotted my first gray hair emerging from where else but front and center, hovering above my forehead. Here I have to make an exception because I actually got a little excited about it. I am kind of eager to see what I look like when the gray hair gets some friends. My dad has a thick head of silvery-white hair, and I figure that if my gray hair looks like his I may just want to keep it. But I think I'll keep my Clairol coupons handy in case I'm disappointed.
What I don't appreciate is the revelation that the makeup I've been using since college no longer looks so smooth over skin that's beginning to lose its elasticity. I guess I'll soon be upgrading to the "age defying" formula, and that hurts.
That's not to say that I'm terribly discouraged by getting older. I take solace in these words recorded by King Solomon recorded in Proverbs 16:31: "Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness."
Still, our society caters to the youthful, wrinkle-free population and we respond by pretending we're among them. Ask Abercrombie & Fitch - it uses practically naked teenagers to sell about $3 billion worth of clothing annually. I still haven't figured that one out. Seriously, do you think your abs are going to look like that if you buy a pair of their jeans? My husband recently observed that a new Cadillac commercial that juxtaposes a mid-life couple sipping tea across the dinner table, a voice-over of the words "cold" and "boring" in the background, with vivacious 20-somethings driving Cadillacs with a sporty new design. Cadillac knows it has to appeal to younger drivers to survive, so they throw the rest of us under the bus.
Years ago Annie Lennox released a song called Keep Young and Beautiful, satirically stating what we seem to believe - "It's your duty to be beautiful."
Take care of all those charms
And you'll always be in someone's arms
Keep young and beautiful
If you want to be lovedThe lyrics smack us right in the face, don't they? Truly the sentiment is beyond offensive, yet it's what society is selling. And we buy it.
Granted, I'm 33 and only beginning to see my metamorphosis, but in my own defense I've been over 30 at heart since puberty. Tonight I'll likely spend a good 15 or 20 minutes before bed, exfoliating my face with pink goop containing microbeads and slathering on what seems like pounds of moisturizer. I don't expect it to turn back the clock by tomorrow morning, and that's OK. There's little I can do about that. What I can do is work on the positive side of aging.
Solomon wasn't making a statement about the color of a person's hair, rather he was commenting on the wisdom we hope to acquire along life's journey. And since I believe Proverbs 9:10 - "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding." - I seek to grow in my relationship with Him. And while the world will see each of us age and take pity, God will see His people growing closer to Him. He thinks it looks good on us.
At the end of Proverbs, Solomon agreed, and that's a lot coming from a man who had 1,000 wives and concubines (The wisest man in the Bible also was extremely flawed, but that's another story.) He said, "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." I have to say I'd rather have that etched on my tombstone than "She had the skin of a newborn."
At the end of Proverbs, Solomon agreed, and that's a lot coming from a man who had 1,000 wives and concubines (The wisest man in the Bible also was extremely flawed, but that's another story.) He said, "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." I have to say I'd rather have that etched on my tombstone than "She had the skin of a newborn."
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I have followers?
I had a spare 45 minutes or so until my kids get up from their naps so I thought I'd write a little, and I was surprised when I logged on to find that my blog has two followers now. When did that happen? When I shut up, apparently. I guess this means I should be a little more intentional about updating it. So here goes.
Writing "a little" would be an improvement over absolutely nothing, which is what I've been writing for the last few months. I've missed it, and while I would often recall how good it feels to sit down with a hot cup of coffee and bang out something on the keyboard I just didn't have the energy to come up with a worthy topic. I could say that the holiday season wiped me out and that would be true, but it was more than that. Life has been a bit overwhelming, at least in my head.
We've attempted and, so far, failed to potty train our 3-year-old, which only feels like a big deal because we can't enroll her in preschool this fall unless she's completely diaper-free. Any bets on whether that will transpire? We've bribed her with all manner of candy, stickers and toys while practically having a parade through the living room when she has a success. But frankly, this girl really isn't motivated to keep it up. My latest move of desperation is in reading Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day - Proven Secrets of the Potty Pro. It seems a stretch to me, but what do I know compared to a pro?
We've now added food battles to our daily entertainment, as both kids have decided to eat virtually nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. Here, I've enlisted the help of Jessica Seinfeld, Jerry's wife and author of Deceptively Delicious, a book about hiding pureed vegetables in just about everything, including brownies. We're giving it a whirl, although I had a misstep the other night when I set out to make a veggie-laden meatloaf. Our small group was coming over in two hours and I still hadn't pureed my veggies yet. So I started steaming the cauliflower and carrots at 4 p.m., but by the time I finished with the purees it was nearly 5 p.m., leaving no time to cook the meal. So here I was with a house that wreaked of cauliflower and only leftovers to feed my children, who of course didn't eat them.
This blog has been empty since last fall, except for the New Year's Eve message. And that, of course, was a must because it's the closest I may ever come to sending out Christmas cards like the ones we receive from friends and family - the quarter-folded pieces with professional photos of their families and stuffed with full-page update letters. I can't tell you how I love and appreciate those cards, by the way. Those take considerable funds and effort to send out, and please know that I keep them. I'm just not that together yet. Sigh.
Life just weighs us down sometimes. The economy stinks. People close to us get sick; some of them don't make it. Marriages struggle; some of them don't make it. People are killing one another worldwide, and practically in our back yards. With all due respect to Louis Armstrong, I find the world to be less than wonderful.
For my part, for the last few months I've been spending time both on top of mountains and deep in valleys, spiritually. I've felt wrung out, which is not necessarily a bad thing. That's the place where one finally gives up trying to control life and hands it over to the Lord. It's also the place where I find myself nuzzling into Him for comfort and to just feel safe. The really cool thing is that He responds in the most incredible way - by showing me His heart. What an awesome God, who takes what is ugly and makes it beautiful in His time!
Having said all that, my two followers, I just may emerge from my funk to write more often. Sorry about the delay :)
Writing "a little" would be an improvement over absolutely nothing, which is what I've been writing for the last few months. I've missed it, and while I would often recall how good it feels to sit down with a hot cup of coffee and bang out something on the keyboard I just didn't have the energy to come up with a worthy topic. I could say that the holiday season wiped me out and that would be true, but it was more than that. Life has been a bit overwhelming, at least in my head.
We've attempted and, so far, failed to potty train our 3-year-old, which only feels like a big deal because we can't enroll her in preschool this fall unless she's completely diaper-free. Any bets on whether that will transpire? We've bribed her with all manner of candy, stickers and toys while practically having a parade through the living room when she has a success. But frankly, this girl really isn't motivated to keep it up. My latest move of desperation is in reading Potty Train Your Child in Just One Day - Proven Secrets of the Potty Pro. It seems a stretch to me, but what do I know compared to a pro?
We've now added food battles to our daily entertainment, as both kids have decided to eat virtually nothing but peanut butter sandwiches. Here, I've enlisted the help of Jessica Seinfeld, Jerry's wife and author of Deceptively Delicious, a book about hiding pureed vegetables in just about everything, including brownies. We're giving it a whirl, although I had a misstep the other night when I set out to make a veggie-laden meatloaf. Our small group was coming over in two hours and I still hadn't pureed my veggies yet. So I started steaming the cauliflower and carrots at 4 p.m., but by the time I finished with the purees it was nearly 5 p.m., leaving no time to cook the meal. So here I was with a house that wreaked of cauliflower and only leftovers to feed my children, who of course didn't eat them.
This blog has been empty since last fall, except for the New Year's Eve message. And that, of course, was a must because it's the closest I may ever come to sending out Christmas cards like the ones we receive from friends and family - the quarter-folded pieces with professional photos of their families and stuffed with full-page update letters. I can't tell you how I love and appreciate those cards, by the way. Those take considerable funds and effort to send out, and please know that I keep them. I'm just not that together yet. Sigh.
Life just weighs us down sometimes. The economy stinks. People close to us get sick; some of them don't make it. Marriages struggle; some of them don't make it. People are killing one another worldwide, and practically in our back yards. With all due respect to Louis Armstrong, I find the world to be less than wonderful.
For my part, for the last few months I've been spending time both on top of mountains and deep in valleys, spiritually. I've felt wrung out, which is not necessarily a bad thing. That's the place where one finally gives up trying to control life and hands it over to the Lord. It's also the place where I find myself nuzzling into Him for comfort and to just feel safe. The really cool thing is that He responds in the most incredible way - by showing me His heart. What an awesome God, who takes what is ugly and makes it beautiful in His time!
Having said all that, my two followers, I just may emerge from my funk to write more often. Sorry about the delay :)
Friday, December 31, 2010
A Johnson 2010 Review
As in years past, a huge piece of our lives involve ministry and our church, Southeast Christian. Aaron and I love our Sunday school class, Crossroads, and are enjoying the friendships we're cultivating there. Aaron taught a Christian worldview and apologetics program to high school and college students last winter and spring; he plans to teach it to our couples group this spring. We have lead a Bible study for married couples in our home each Sunday night, although our group has been on a break for a couple of months. Aaron and I each are enrolled in the Discipleship Curriculum, a Bible study that over a nearly 2-year period challenges small groups to read the entire Bible, as well as other Christian books, and commit about 70 Scriptures to memory. Together, our respective groups are learning the history of the church and important points of doctrine, as we learn to teach and disciple others. Aaron will finish up the program this spring, and since I only enrolled this fall I will have another year to go. We continue to serve in many other areas at church. It is a blessing to give as God has given to us.
This past spring, Aaron and I took Adam on our biannual trip to Hawaii, leaving Katie at home with Grandma J. Hey, it was fair to take only Adam - Katie had her solo trip to Hawaii before he was even a glimmer in our eyes. Since 2010 also marked the end to one of our favorite television shows, please indulge me while I reminisce using lots of references herein: We visited the LOST island (Oahu), where our airplane came to rest (Softly). We braved the elements (Light drizzle during a horseback ride on the North Shore which, of course, subsided to reveal perfect 80-degree sunshine). We communicated with the natives (ordered breakfast at Zippy's) and tasted exotic foods enjoyed only in their culture (Spam). Thankfully, we never were confronted with a smoke monster or polar bears, but when was the last time you saw a penguin in the tropics? (They were waddling around for display at the Hilton Hawaiian Village on Waikiki, presumably borrowed from the zoo.)
The only other out-of-state trips we made as a family this year were to upstate New York for our annual week at Camp of the Woods to visit with Grandma J and the Wellman family at their lakehouse and the aforementioned Christmas celebration in New Jersey, where they live most of the year. We love spending time in such a beautiful place with our loving extended family! And for the first time, Katie and Adam were old enough to enjoy playing with their cousins.
We've done a lot as a family, but each of us has had an eventful year. Here's a glance:
Katie: Our firstborn just turned 3 and is growing into the prettiest little girl, if we do say so ourselves. Precocious and strong-willed, Katie keeps us on our toes - a tiny force to be reckoned with, to be sure. A doll, nonetheless. We're still trying to potty train and are told that one day she'll just do it; we live for such a day and hope that it comes before college. Katie loves to sing and twirl, play with her dollhouse and watch Pixar movies (her latest obsession: Toy Story).
Adam: I'm convinced that Adam is the sweetest little boy in the whole world, as at 16 months old he still loves to snuggle with his mommy. Of course, he calls me "Daddy," but such indiscretion is easily overlooked when perpetrated by one so incredibly cute. Adam loves to explore the world, now that he's mobile, and he particularly enjoys turning off the television while his sister is watching the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Much like his daddy, Adam would much rather spend his time reading books than watching tv. His vocabulary is small but Adam enjoys a good chat, so long as it regards food. Considering his mommy's preoccupation with that topic, I suppose that apple didn't fall far from the tree, now did it?We're thankful to God for the abundant life He's given us, for bringing us together as a family and for putting each of you into our lives as well. We wish you all God's best in 2011!
The Johnsons
Aaron, Tonia, Katie and Adam
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Bob has a buddy
Five years ago, after months of investigating the source of severe fatigue and weight loss, my doctor discovered it all came down to a tiny growth on my pituitary gland - call it a microadenoma, if you want to impress your friends. Of course, all I heard was "brain tumor" when I was diagnosed. But the truth is, it's just a benign nubbin. A little extra tissue. Nothing to fear. So figuring that since I would probably live out the rest of my days with the doodad living in my noggin, I might as well name it. Something benign... like Bob.
In a similar scenario, my doctor has been investigating another mystery illness of mine for the last month - persistent nausea and unintentional weight loss - and incidentally came across another microadenoma on one of my adrenal glands. Neither my doctor nor I think this one is anything to fear either, but just to be sure I'm going to have another MRI performed in the coming days.
It's true what my dear, sweet grandfather used to say - If you go to a doctor, he's just going to find something wrong with you. In my case, I usually find out that I'm growing extra parts. My doctor says I'm just bumpy, but I feel more like one of those lab rats that researchers use to grow ears and such.
I haven't come up with a name for this little nodule; I think I'll wait until the MRI - sort of like waiting to name your baby until you've at least seen his or her little face on a sonogram. I'll take suggestions.
All levity aside, after multiple pregnancy tests, blood work, an MRI of my brain and a CT scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis, all we've come up with is a UTI, a tiny kidney stone and this microadenoma, none of which explain my symptoms. I'm convinced the nausea and weight loss (which seems to have leveled off) are related to stress, as my husband and I are having a particularly tough time dealing with our toddler - let's just say the "terrible twos" are aptly named. I see a gastroenterologist Sept. 23. My primary doctor says he'll probably want to run a scope down my throat to take a look around, and I'm not too excited about those prospects. Could you pray that God would make it plain to my doctors what is going on in my body so that they can treat it properly? Thanks in advance!
In a similar scenario, my doctor has been investigating another mystery illness of mine for the last month - persistent nausea and unintentional weight loss - and incidentally came across another microadenoma on one of my adrenal glands. Neither my doctor nor I think this one is anything to fear either, but just to be sure I'm going to have another MRI performed in the coming days.
It's true what my dear, sweet grandfather used to say - If you go to a doctor, he's just going to find something wrong with you. In my case, I usually find out that I'm growing extra parts. My doctor says I'm just bumpy, but I feel more like one of those lab rats that researchers use to grow ears and such.
I haven't come up with a name for this little nodule; I think I'll wait until the MRI - sort of like waiting to name your baby until you've at least seen his or her little face on a sonogram. I'll take suggestions.
All levity aside, after multiple pregnancy tests, blood work, an MRI of my brain and a CT scan of my chest, abdomen and pelvis, all we've come up with is a UTI, a tiny kidney stone and this microadenoma, none of which explain my symptoms. I'm convinced the nausea and weight loss (which seems to have leveled off) are related to stress, as my husband and I are having a particularly tough time dealing with our toddler - let's just say the "terrible twos" are aptly named. I see a gastroenterologist Sept. 23. My primary doctor says he'll probably want to run a scope down my throat to take a look around, and I'm not too excited about those prospects. Could you pray that God would make it plain to my doctors what is going on in my body so that they can treat it properly? Thanks in advance!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Remembrances of 9/11
Nine years ago on Sept. 11 I was running a tad late for work. I can't remember why, but I can remember what it looked like when I walked into the newsroom at The C-J like it was yesterday. Every reporter, editor and copy editor were crowded around the three televisions mounted from the ceiling in the center of the room, jaws gaping, eyes wincing as they watched black smoke pour out of the side of one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City.
"A plane just flew into the World Trade Center," a coworker said in an update as I squeezed into the mix of newspeople strangely ignoring the stories they had been working on at their desks.
I saw the second plane careen into the other tower in disbelief. It wasn't an accident.
The phones weren't ringing off the hook as usual, or at least only the clerks were hearing them. The rest of us weren't about to take our eyes off the screens. It seems like we stood there for hours, but I know that can't be true because we had a paper to put out, and now we had a special edition to crank out on top of that. But I remember shouting back to editors as updates shot across the bottom of the screen about a third plane crashing into the Pentagon and yet another into a field in Pennsylvania. Our country was under attack, and while I wondered where the terrorists would strike next I was never so glad to live in Kentucky, an unlikely target. But I knew I'd never be the same, never feel as safe.
As I monitored network news stations all day it seems like I watched those planes smash into the twin towers a hundred times, and by evening the stations had voice mail recordings from husbands and wives, sons and daughters saying their last goodbyes as they waited for the inevitable inside the burning buildings. I wondered about all of those families holding out to hear from loved ones unaccounted for; the policemen, firemen and average Joes who went to their deaths trying to save people who were trapped; all those daycare children who never had a chance to grow up. In the harsh flicker of my television, I sat there alone on my couch until 2 a.m., still too scared to go to sleep but I just couldn't cry anymore.
One other remembrance from that day nine years ago: on my way home from work that night I came to a red light at the corner of Dutchmann's Lane and Breckinridge - always a busy intersection notorious for traffic congestion and fender benders - and saw something I'd never seen before that provided probably the only happy tears I produced that day. A middle-aged man stood in the median waving a huge American flag as cars whizzed by, many of them honking in support and a flood of patriotism. God bless that man because I desperately needed a lift in that moment. We all did.
In the months that followed I saw similar displays of patriotism - flags posted outside many doorsteps in any given neighborhood and a general sense of pride in what this country is about.
Today I don't see so many flags and I hear more negative sentiments about our country than positive. We're divided more than ever. Collectively, we don't look to God to restore us. And this just makes my heart sink.
"A plane just flew into the World Trade Center," a coworker said in an update as I squeezed into the mix of newspeople strangely ignoring the stories they had been working on at their desks.
I saw the second plane careen into the other tower in disbelief. It wasn't an accident.
The phones weren't ringing off the hook as usual, or at least only the clerks were hearing them. The rest of us weren't about to take our eyes off the screens. It seems like we stood there for hours, but I know that can't be true because we had a paper to put out, and now we had a special edition to crank out on top of that. But I remember shouting back to editors as updates shot across the bottom of the screen about a third plane crashing into the Pentagon and yet another into a field in Pennsylvania. Our country was under attack, and while I wondered where the terrorists would strike next I was never so glad to live in Kentucky, an unlikely target. But I knew I'd never be the same, never feel as safe.
As I monitored network news stations all day it seems like I watched those planes smash into the twin towers a hundred times, and by evening the stations had voice mail recordings from husbands and wives, sons and daughters saying their last goodbyes as they waited for the inevitable inside the burning buildings. I wondered about all of those families holding out to hear from loved ones unaccounted for; the policemen, firemen and average Joes who went to their deaths trying to save people who were trapped; all those daycare children who never had a chance to grow up. In the harsh flicker of my television, I sat there alone on my couch until 2 a.m., still too scared to go to sleep but I just couldn't cry anymore.
One other remembrance from that day nine years ago: on my way home from work that night I came to a red light at the corner of Dutchmann's Lane and Breckinridge - always a busy intersection notorious for traffic congestion and fender benders - and saw something I'd never seen before that provided probably the only happy tears I produced that day. A middle-aged man stood in the median waving a huge American flag as cars whizzed by, many of them honking in support and a flood of patriotism. God bless that man because I desperately needed a lift in that moment. We all did.
In the months that followed I saw similar displays of patriotism - flags posted outside many doorsteps in any given neighborhood and a general sense of pride in what this country is about.
Today I don't see so many flags and I hear more negative sentiments about our country than positive. We're divided more than ever. Collectively, we don't look to God to restore us. And this just makes my heart sink.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Two types of people
First of all, does it say much about the course of my life that I haven't posted anything since April? It's been a tough summer, with a toddler and baby to chase around the house and my mom's illness, but finally, the house is quiet and enough thoughts are rattling around in my brain to write something :) So here it is...
There are two types of people in the world based, of course, on many varied categories. For example, there are those who love toasted coconut and those who think it tastes like pencil shavings. There are the left-handed, the right-handed. Tow-may-tow, tow-mah-tow. Some think rapper Eminem is a genius while others say he's a no-class punk who has managed to impress the masses with his fifth-grade rhyming skills - enough to distract listeners from his hateful rants against women. Any guesses on where I fall?
Today I reflect on those who give joy and those who steal it.
Last night my family and I rolled in from a trip to upstate New York to visit my in-laws and extended family at their lake house on beautiful Lake Pleasant. More on the trip later, but suffice it to say the plane rides to and from with two kids under age 3 weren't, well, pleasant. In fact, it was exhausting. It turns out that my sweet 2-year-old, Katie, doesn't travel too well, and in our layover in Cleveland, her displeasure with riding in car seats, airplanes and strollers had reached its saturation point. A tantrum ensued, and a very public one at that. Aaron and I were eager to get dinner for all of us before catching our home-bound flight, but Katie was too far gone to follow any more orders and decided to flail and scream. Blood red and barking "I want to get down," Katie attracted a sizable audience as Aaron and I tried to calm her. But without a time-out spot to put her in or the guts to spank her and risk someone freaking out and calling child protective services, we told her we weren't going to eat until she finished her fit. Obviously, this one was going to take a while to run its course, so there we stood, waiting.
Before you think I'm going to say that my child is a joy-stealer, think again. Because here he comes. Enter angry middle-aged man from stage right. He stomps up to my husband, waving his arms and telling him he should just pick her up and hold her. We were being cruel, he said. Aaron just shrugged his shoulders and smiled at the guy, who apparently thinks a good cuddle will solve this whole kicking and screaming business. In retrospect, we should have offered him a chance to prove his armchair parenting. He walked away, cursing as he passed me.
Shortly thereafter, Hurricane Katie was downgraded to a mere squall and she ended up happily sharing my dinner and running around the terminal before we boarded our flight. I, on the other hand, spent the rest of the evening fuming internally over the nerve that man had to scold us. Aaron and I wondered whether he'd ever had a child before. How did his cuddle method work for that kid? How did his kid turn out in a world in which it's a little unusual, say, for a police officer to offer you a squeeze when he's clocked you doing 70 in a 45 mph zone or your boss to give you a bear hug when you're underperforming.
But, as is typical for the Lord to do, He put a joy-giver in front of me this morning to remind me that not all strangers are strange. The kids accompanied me on a grocery trip to Kroger on a steamy Louisville morning with temperatures already in the 90s. We walked through the sliding front doors, Katie at my left side and Adam hanging in his car seat from my right elbow. I scanned the fleet of carts for the kind with the kiddy car in front for Katie but couldn't locate one. Man, I didn't want to go back out in that heat with two kids - one of them very heavy, I might add - to find one. But Glenna noticed.
Glenna is a dear, sweet lady whose job it is to greet Kroger customers and collect stray shopping carts, although she typically goes above and beyond where we're concerned. I have to preface this with the fact that Glenna has to be well into her 70s, and I truly hate the fact that she has to work at all. Of course, for all I know she may do it because she loves it. She certainly acts that way.
Anyway, Glenna noticed my dilemma and offered to fetch the cart for us.
"What color would you like?" she asked Katie.
"Pink," Katie answered, her usual response to any question of color preference. Of course, that wasn't an option. Glenna took Katie's hand and led her out to pick one while Adam and I waited inside the air-conditioned entryway.
They returned with Katie behind the plastic wheel of a green car, and with a thanks and a wave to Glenna we were off to shop.
As I was checking out, Katie had decided she'd had enough of riding and declared she was walking to the car with me - a perilous excursion in my experience, although Katie typically sticks close by and holds my hand as we walk through parking lots. But noticing my mini-me had ditched her side car, Glenna offered to walk us out, holding Katie's hand for me. On the way out, Glenna told me a little about her family - that she was sending her granddaughter to Disney World as a gift because the girl had lost her mother, never known her father and recently lost her grandfather unexpectedly. Her grandfather, of course, was Glenna's husband, but she told it from her granddaughter's perspective, as is common for those who are focused on others.
As I strapped the kids into their car seats, Glenna loaded my groceries into the trunk and wished us a good day.
"Thank you so much for all your help," I told Glenna, patting her shoulder. "You know, you really didn't have to do any of that."
"That's OK," she answered. "I just love spending time with young families."
Well, all I've got to say is I'm thankful for people who love on young families and don't look at them like they're a burden. God bless you, Glenna, and all of those like you.
There are two types of people in the world based, of course, on many varied categories. For example, there are those who love toasted coconut and those who think it tastes like pencil shavings. There are the left-handed, the right-handed. Tow-may-tow, tow-mah-tow. Some think rapper Eminem is a genius while others say he's a no-class punk who has managed to impress the masses with his fifth-grade rhyming skills - enough to distract listeners from his hateful rants against women. Any guesses on where I fall?
Today I reflect on those who give joy and those who steal it.
Last night my family and I rolled in from a trip to upstate New York to visit my in-laws and extended family at their lake house on beautiful Lake Pleasant. More on the trip later, but suffice it to say the plane rides to and from with two kids under age 3 weren't, well, pleasant. In fact, it was exhausting. It turns out that my sweet 2-year-old, Katie, doesn't travel too well, and in our layover in Cleveland, her displeasure with riding in car seats, airplanes and strollers had reached its saturation point. A tantrum ensued, and a very public one at that. Aaron and I were eager to get dinner for all of us before catching our home-bound flight, but Katie was too far gone to follow any more orders and decided to flail and scream. Blood red and barking "I want to get down," Katie attracted a sizable audience as Aaron and I tried to calm her. But without a time-out spot to put her in or the guts to spank her and risk someone freaking out and calling child protective services, we told her we weren't going to eat until she finished her fit. Obviously, this one was going to take a while to run its course, so there we stood, waiting.
Before you think I'm going to say that my child is a joy-stealer, think again. Because here he comes. Enter angry middle-aged man from stage right. He stomps up to my husband, waving his arms and telling him he should just pick her up and hold her. We were being cruel, he said. Aaron just shrugged his shoulders and smiled at the guy, who apparently thinks a good cuddle will solve this whole kicking and screaming business. In retrospect, we should have offered him a chance to prove his armchair parenting. He walked away, cursing as he passed me.
Shortly thereafter, Hurricane Katie was downgraded to a mere squall and she ended up happily sharing my dinner and running around the terminal before we boarded our flight. I, on the other hand, spent the rest of the evening fuming internally over the nerve that man had to scold us. Aaron and I wondered whether he'd ever had a child before. How did his cuddle method work for that kid? How did his kid turn out in a world in which it's a little unusual, say, for a police officer to offer you a squeeze when he's clocked you doing 70 in a 45 mph zone or your boss to give you a bear hug when you're underperforming.
But, as is typical for the Lord to do, He put a joy-giver in front of me this morning to remind me that not all strangers are strange. The kids accompanied me on a grocery trip to Kroger on a steamy Louisville morning with temperatures already in the 90s. We walked through the sliding front doors, Katie at my left side and Adam hanging in his car seat from my right elbow. I scanned the fleet of carts for the kind with the kiddy car in front for Katie but couldn't locate one. Man, I didn't want to go back out in that heat with two kids - one of them very heavy, I might add - to find one. But Glenna noticed.
Glenna is a dear, sweet lady whose job it is to greet Kroger customers and collect stray shopping carts, although she typically goes above and beyond where we're concerned. I have to preface this with the fact that Glenna has to be well into her 70s, and I truly hate the fact that she has to work at all. Of course, for all I know she may do it because she loves it. She certainly acts that way.
Anyway, Glenna noticed my dilemma and offered to fetch the cart for us.
"What color would you like?" she asked Katie.
"Pink," Katie answered, her usual response to any question of color preference. Of course, that wasn't an option. Glenna took Katie's hand and led her out to pick one while Adam and I waited inside the air-conditioned entryway.
They returned with Katie behind the plastic wheel of a green car, and with a thanks and a wave to Glenna we were off to shop.
As I was checking out, Katie had decided she'd had enough of riding and declared she was walking to the car with me - a perilous excursion in my experience, although Katie typically sticks close by and holds my hand as we walk through parking lots. But noticing my mini-me had ditched her side car, Glenna offered to walk us out, holding Katie's hand for me. On the way out, Glenna told me a little about her family - that she was sending her granddaughter to Disney World as a gift because the girl had lost her mother, never known her father and recently lost her grandfather unexpectedly. Her grandfather, of course, was Glenna's husband, but she told it from her granddaughter's perspective, as is common for those who are focused on others.
As I strapped the kids into their car seats, Glenna loaded my groceries into the trunk and wished us a good day.
"Thank you so much for all your help," I told Glenna, patting her shoulder. "You know, you really didn't have to do any of that."
"That's OK," she answered. "I just love spending time with young families."
Well, all I've got to say is I'm thankful for people who love on young families and don't look at them like they're a burden. God bless you, Glenna, and all of those like you.
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