The Crunchy Creationist

I might as well come out and admit it to myself...I've gone crunchy. “Crunchy,” for those of you who don't know, is the official term for “granola-eaters.” Oh. What's that? I'm defining unknown terms by using unknown terms? I'll do better: “crunchy” is the term used to describe those of us who want organic food, grass-fed beef, free-range chicken eggs, homemade soaps, homemade cleaners, no plastic, no processed foods, and so on and so forth with a wide range of opinions that – to the uninitiated eye – must at best seem like paranoia resulting in an infinitely more difficult lifestyle.

It is difficult. I'll grant you that. That's exactly why I haven't gone 100% crunchy. Not many people in this country have, because to go 100% crunchy would require moving into the Amazon and making your own clothes out of banana leaves and eating wild-caught fowl not damaged by the presence of lead or poisoned blowdarts (i.e. you used a bow and non-lead-containing arrow), oh, and you would probably cook the wild-caught boar over an open flame fueled by natural, hand-hewn logs.

Maybe I exaggerate, but I'm just saying. Despite my own determination not to do so, I am going crunchy. I was determined not to for two reasons: 1. I had met too many crunchy people who seemed like egotistic, condemning know-it-alls who judged me harshly if they saw me eating my Chick-fil-A salad with a plastic fork and buying (GASP) pasteurized milk from the grocery store – and 2. the mere prospect of trying to go natural in this imitation-infested environment we live in seemed nothing short of enormously overwhelming.

I was wrong about the 1^st point. Whether or not some members of the crunchy movement are obnoxious, it doesn't mean that they all are and it doesn't mean that they are wrong. Obnoxious people have a way of making people Desperately Want them to be wrong even though they may in fact be right. Nobody wants to give an obnoxious person the satisfaction of being right, but in this case I have to admit – even the obnoxious crunchies of the world are onto something. As to my 2^nd point...well...I may not have been wrong about that one.

But as I have read and heard more and more about “crunchiness” I have found myself more and more compelled by the single idea that drives my own journey to crunchiness: namely, that God created the world to be very good, and we are fools to think we can do better than He can. Supposing that you were to design an elaborate wooden train track for your child, complete with turntables and tunnels and intricate ins-and-outs...and then you turn your appreciative offspring loose upon it and he (as human nature dictates) takes it upon himself to improve it by rearranging the pieces. Of course, he completely destroys the layout and ends up crying in a heap because Thomas keeps having head-on collisions with Percy in the tunnel and Toby keeps ending up in the quarry. I have to think that this is, on some level, the way that we appear to God as He watches us tamper with our intricately designed immune systems by bombarding them with vaccines, and we try to improve our bodies by loading them up with chemicals of our own concoction. We try to improve cow's milk by pasteurizing it and try to make our herbivorous livestock grow bigger and stronger by feeding them grain and/or dead animals of their own kind – oh, and since many of these dead animals of their own kind died from illnesses resulting from squalid living conditions, all of the animals end up sick, whereupon we pump them full of antibiotics to ward off the illnesses. So we end up consuming antibiotics as a result, and we are also quick to adminster antibiotics to ourselves for any and all ailments. And now, in the height of arrogance, we have taken it upon ourselves to “improve” the genes of plants designed by the Master Designer Himself. Voila: Frankenfood is in our midst.

But it is no real wonder that people have done these things. From an evolutionary standpoint (which is where most of them are coming from) it makes perfect sense. Things are evolving to get better and better, and man has emerged as a sort of demi-god after his long struggle up from the slime. Now that he has pulled himself up by the bootstraps, it's time to help everything else out that's still lingering behind in the stone age. Take corn genes, for instance. If we can put men on the moon, surely we can improve corn to make it better than what it has previously been able to evolve to. We can cure the world of illness – foodborne or airborne – by inventing medicines and processes to make the world a safer place. Evolution must go on, and we are the ones to help it.

Because, to an evolutionist, there is no god, and the closest thing there is to a god is this crowning feat of evolution: man.

Clearly this does not fit with a Christian worldview. Hence it makes perfect sense for us to try to get back to nature – to get back to things the way God made them. In so doing, we are not alone, however – there are many who are crunchy for entirely different reasons having nothing to do with being a Christian. As a result, I have come across a number of articles and widely-circulated opinions that at first seemed compelling, but the more I thought about them I realized that they were troubling. I've struggled to realize why, but it has slowly been dawning on me.

The crunchy movement is not a Christian movement. Crunchiness is not, in and of itself, a thing well-pleasing to God. Like anything else in life, we need to evaluate everything we read, hear, think, etc., in light of God's Word. There is a lot of good in moving towards God's Creation rather than trying to improve upon it. But a great deal of crunchy thinking does not stem from this attitude, but rather from a New Age mindset that is still evolutionary. Only in this case it is not man who is god, but Nature.

To the New Age granola-eater, the world is a place of beauty and wonder and marvelous design that has been engineered over the millenia by the steady march of Nature. Nature has conquered challenge after challenge in the evolutionary procession and always emerges triumphant with improvements that make man's engineering pale by comparison. The world as Nature made it is a marvelous place and we, the evil humans, are Nature's enemies. With our constant attempts to usurp Her authority and stake our flag on every square foot of Earth's surface, we threaten the flora and fauna everywhere and if Nature is to have any hope of surviving man must become subservient to Her great reign.

But this is very different from the Christian Creationist view. To us, the beautiful earth is not placed here to rule over man. Man is placed here to rule over the earth.

• “So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. Then God blessed them, and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply; fill the earth and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, over the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” - Genesis 1:27-28

We have been given the dominion mandate of Genesis 1 for a reason. God created the world to be filled with wonder and beauty – to be filled with endless realms of discovery that we are supposed to search out in order to understand more of His goodness and majesty. It exists for one purpose: to bring Him glory. We are to glorify Him by searching out the wonders of His Creation, and by bringing it into submission. This command was given before the Fall of man, so it would have been our job anyway. Now, thanks to the Fall, it is much more difficult than it originally would have been to obey this command. But we are still to seek to understand how to utilize Creation better. How to use it to overcome the negative effects of the curse. How to tap into the incredible resources that the Master Designer has built into His Creation.

We are not to be ruled by Creation. We are to rule over it. We are the crowning touch to God's Creation, but we are not little gods as a result. We are foolish children who need to learn from His Creation rather than taking it upon ourselves to improve upon it. We should not place ourselves too far over Creation, but neither should we place ourselves under it and insist that “Nature should teach us.” No. Because sometimes what comes naturally is not the best. We all know that our sinful natures come naturally, but we aren't supposed to just sit back and say, “Well, apparently that's how God made me.” There is a balance, and I think in many respects the non-Christian crunchy movement misses that balance entirely. And why wouldn't they? They are not coming from a Biblical perspective.

But we are, and I would just caution all of us who are intrigued by all things crunchy – we need to be very careful that we evaluate every claim of the crunchy movement in the light of Scripture.

Now, as an example. I keep running through the same channels trying to figure out what is the right answer about dairy products. What do I mean by the “right answer?” Well, is it better to drink non-pasteurized milk? Is it worth the supposed risks? Or is it better to avoid dairy entirely? I have heard from numerous Crunchy Sources that it is better not to consume any dairy products – and especially not to drink pure milk. Because, after all, milk is intended for baby cows. Not for humans. No wonder it messes us up! We're stealing milk from the baby cow's mouth and drinking it ourselves and wondering why it makes us sick!

I subscribed to this view for some time but drank milk anyway because I wasn't sure how to get along without it. It's such a perfect way to get in some protein and was a lifesaver when I had morning sickness and couldn't get anything down that required chewing. At least, not without a lot of work. If I wanted to just have some easy nutrition for a change, milk was always the perfect answer. Not to mention all of that stuff about calcium – I mean, I know the no-milk types point out that you can get it just as well via leafy greens and such. But what about when the mere mention of leafy greens makes you have to go hang over the toilet for 10 minutes? Yeah. It wasn't happening. So I reluctantly drank milk and loved every minute of it. But I digress.

Just a few months ago, it suddenly hit me that the Lord promised Canaan to His people as a “land flowing with milk and honey.” Why would He have promised that as a good thing if He really thinks it's better for us not to drink milk? Why would milk have been a kosher food if it really was not intended for us to drink? He banned many other foods and it was not pure caprice on His part. I would hazard a guess that, even though we are not required to keep kosher any more, we would do well to study why He might have banned those foods. Pigs eat their own feces. I saw one doing it at a petting zoo last weekend and suddenly my relish for the rapidly approaching holiday hams decreased by a factor of roughly 100. It makes sense to me that perhaps it would be healthier not to indulge in pig on a regular basis. God did not make His laws on a whim. I would like to seek to learn from them.

If He didn't make His laws on a whim, I'm sure it's not a whim that milk was allowed for human consumption. Scripture presents it as a sign of prosperity to live in a place where the cows are able to eat well and produce a lot of milk so that people could partake of it, too.

Perhaps milk as God designed it isn't so bad for us. Perhaps, by virtue of this reasoning, it makes sense that the problem with milk is not milk, but trying to improve it by our pasteurization and homogenization techniques that we have been so clever about implementing. I have not yet reached a conclusion on what I want to do about raw milk. First, I'd want to be sure I knew exactly where it was coming from and what conditions were like there; and second...it's kind of prohibitively expensive and we are milk guzzlers around here.

From an evolutionist's perspective, the no-milk position makes sense. Cows evolved milk to feed their little cows, so it's perfect for them. This is preposterous enough in itself, but to believe that it also somehow evolved to be nutritious for people it was not evolved for, well – that's just going too far.

But from a creationist's perspective it makes perfect sense that God would design the cow to produce milk abundantly for her little one so that there would be enough to share, and then to fill it with vitamins, minerals, beneficial bacteria, healthy fats, and more so that it would also benefit the humans who would drink it. Oh, and it's fantastic for baking with, for making sauces, for making delightfully creamy soups, and it's really nice on it's own, too. Isn't this just what a good and gracious and loving Creator would do?

So I believe it makes sense from a Biblical perspective to believe that God created milk for our consumption. It also makes sense to believe that it would, of course, be its best the way that He made it first – before we tamper with it and try to improve it. On principal, it makes sense to me that raw milk must be the best way to go. I have not actually started bringing it into our home, yet, but I am working in that direction.

That being said, I should qualify that there are people who have actual milk allergies. Of course, we are all affected by the Fall and in some people that means we are sensitive to things that we are not supposed to be sensitive to. In some cases, the fact that lactase is present in raw milk might help the lactose sensitive to tolerate it. But in other cases it may not be that simple. I have actually had raw-milk proponents tell me that if you just drink raw milk long enough your body will get used to it no matter what kind of allergies you think you have. I am sure that for some people it takes some getting used to, but I am sure that others would not be able to adjust because their body just wants to reject milk. That is the kind of effect we should expect from the Fall. So neither do I believe that raw milk is a miracle food that works wonders for all people no matter what. In a fallen world, I think the only miracle food that has ever existed was called “manna.” And if you'll pardon my grammar – manna ain't milk and milk ain't manna.

Hippocrates said it well: “One man's meat is another man's poison.” Raw milk may be good for most people, but it is still milk and could cause serious reactions in some.  But regardless, I believe that milk was designed to be useful for humans - not just baby cows.

And for now, I will leave my discussion of being a Crunchy Creationist, to resume at any time when I think of a new topic to cover. :)  I already have another installment in the works!

In Which Mommy Nearly Has a Meltdown - Part II

 Part I

I stopped in terror. I had not entered the broad, wide-aisled room that I had been anticipating. I had entered a long, narrow room filled with narrow aisles full of shoes...and no clothes in sight. There were scores of people swarming everywhere, and there was a long line backed up from another room. I had no idea that it was an incredibly long check-out line. I was too busy trying to figure out where in the world they had hidden the clothing section.

I had to drag the strollers through the long, narrow aisles (filled with people bending over who seemed mostly oblivious to the fact that I was, like, attempting to get past them). I came to a long, narrow hallway (half-full of people waiting in line in one direction and half-full of people trying to get around the people in line and the crazy woman with two umbrella strollers coming in the other direction...you do the math). And I finally entered the huge gymnasium where I had heard the clothing was hidden.

But the line was blocking the aisle to get to the clothing. The only way through was to wind through the toy tables. So I reminded myself of the coat I needed to find for my oldest and barrelled right in. And promptly encountered more people; people bending over tables, people trying to get their children out from under tables, people leaning against tables, people standing between tables talking on cell phones, people planking between tables...

Okay, just kidding on the planking. But seriously. I could not get through. I kept thinking I saw a way out and discovering it was a dead end. Someone who laid it out thought it would be funny to make it into a maze. Or something.

I had to stop, look hard for the opening, and then slowly trace back what route through the towering toy tables would actually get me there.

So I got there, managing to inconvenience quite a few people in the process as I walked between them and the toys they were looking at with my two umbrella strollers. At the moment I did not feel so much like I was dragging umbrella strollers behind me as I felt as if I was towing two F250s.

And I continued to get amused/sympathetic/irritated glances from people. I was beginning to lose my handle on the Super-Confident look I was trying to pull off and just gave up and focused on trying to avoid creaming anyone in my winding navigation technique.

At last I got out. Or got as far as the exit to the toy section. That was when I realized that the line to get out was two people thick and was completely blocking the way into the clothing section. There was no way around it – not with two umbrella strollers. People who were stroller-free were having enough trouble that they were resorting to crawling under the racks.

Somehow I found myself in the midst of the line, so I stood there wondering if I looked as bewildered as I felt. And once again, based on the comments I get about my facial expressions, I probably looked even more bewildered than I felt. That's how it usually seems to go with me! If I see a cloud go across the sun and wonder if it's going to rain today I'm liable to get comments like: “Don't worry, it's not like it's a tornado.” Just as a for instance. But I digress.

So I stood there in line, wondering if I should just duck under the racks, too. But I sized up my strollers and remembered that when I size up myself these days I usually underestimate – ahem – I decided that I'd better not go there. Perhaps that coat was not in my future after all. I looked around for escapes and saw more and more people resorting to crawling – under clothing racks, under toy tables, in between rows of people...and I decided that I was in a zoo and the best way to preserve any scraps of dignity I had left would be to simply vamoose. Now.

“Okay,” I said to my girls, “That's it. We're done.”

And I began the long, long way back out. I will not bore you with the details, but it was remarkably similar to the trek I had in, only more so. Which sentence is basically nonsense, but it really means that I met even more people who never saw the woman with two F250s approaching and were rather irritated when I said “Excuse me.”

I was exhausted by the time I had safely hauled my two girls back to the entrance and was beginning to realize that I must have tendencies to claustrophobia just based on the number of times I had felt like screaming in terror. Being surrounded by masses of people who don't even seem to see you is an extremely strange experience, and experiencing it when you are laden with two umbrella-strollers'-worth of kiddos makes it even stranger. It was a very trapped sort of feeling. But I was out. I was about to get into the fresh air again.

I went racing for the door when the Legalistic Lady stepped into view with her arm across the doorway. “I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't come out this way.”

I think I just stared at her blankly for a bit. “What?”

“You can't go back out this way – you need to go out of the Exit.”

Oh, great! Just go back out of the Exit. Which is back through the narrow room and the narrow hall and the enormous gym that was absolutely choking itself to death with hordes of people who had no interest in letting me through.

“I can't,” I said piteously, and added observantly, “I have two umbrella strollers.” Just in case, you know, she had somehow missed that.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “You can't come out.”

I think that was the closest I have ever come to having a hissy-fit. Thankfully, I didn't, but I did get angry, I'm afraid. I wish I had just stood there and reasoned with her a bit more, but in the mood I was rapidly descending into it probably would have gone more like: “What, do you think I'm shoplifting? Where do you think I'm hiding the goods? In my umbrella strollers? Do you want to search me? Search me right now. Give me a pat down. I don't care anymore. Just let me OUT of this lousy sale or I am going to turn into a screaming banshee!”

Which might have felt good at the time but it really wouldn't have been at all exemplary. Not that I was exemplary in my manner of exit, either. I was keenly aware that I was rapidly approaching something akin to panic. Before you judge, just ask yourself this: have you ever been stranded inside a building swarming with strangers who don't even seem to know you are there with no way out, after you're already exhausted; and with your arms so full of two umbrella strollers that you can't get past everyone at anything faster than a snail's pace? It's surprisingly disturbing. Try it sometime if you doubt me.

Of course, I had also just recently congratulated myself that I was doing much better at not reacting automatically with drama to every situation that presented itself to me. And I do think I'm better than I once was, but I knew at that moment that the slumbering drama queen was not only not slumbering anymore; she was about to embarrass me big time if I didn't watch out.

So I spun around from the Legalistic Lady, put one stroller in front of me and one behind, and barrelled down the aisle, knocking over at least one innocent bystander in the process. Okay, so I didn't knock her down, but I did crash right into her ginormous tote bag as I hurtled past. I barrelled a bit further before I kind of realized I had hit someone, so I turned around and apologized. She was staring at me like I was a creature from outer space and it hit me that I needed to be careful. Even at a children's clothing sale, where you'd think most of the people are pretty pro-children...I needed to be careful to be a good witness for having children.

My children, by the way, were being little angels. Mommy was not. Even with these realizations, I was still too panicked by the prospect of spending 2 hours trying to get out of this place that I was not reasoning very clearly. I stopped right in the middle of traffic because there was no where to go, pulled my eldest out of her stroller, and collapsed it. This helped slightly, but now I had to figure out how to hold two umbrella strollers AND my toddler's hand.

So we finally managed to work our way into the gym, and when I saw that it was even worse than before, I backed into a blessed corner that had no traffic and thought perhaps I would just stay there until the sale was over. I was getting a lot of sympathetic glances at this point which made me think I must look like I was about to cry. Maybe I was about to cry. That would be great. My children were being perfect and then Mommy has a meltdown? Tears welled up in my eyes and I told myself not to be an idiot and decided that I must have claustrophobia. But I'm not big on just saying, “Oh, I have claustrophobia! That means it is OKAY to freak out right now, because it's just claustrophobia.” So I tried very hard to put a lid on it, and I did.

I assessed my escape options. Let's see. Collapse the other stroller and crawl under the toy tables with my two kiddos and then drag the strollers out after me and then cut through the check-out counters and escape.

Ummm...no.

Hey, there's an emergency exit right behind me. “Alarm will sound.” Just make a run for it before anyone figures out who caused it.

Umm...can you say mass panic, people trampling each other, not to mention breaking rules and at best inconveniencing lots of people?

Definite no.

I'm just being honest! The thought crossed my mind, that's all. Okay, it crossed it more than once.

Or...I can just turn into a broken record and say “Excuse me” about 100 times until I've plowed through the line into the clothing area, from which I will have a clearer shot to the check-out counters and that beautiful, distant spot of sunshine I see under that tiny “Exit” sign over there.

I opted for the latter choice. So I dove into the toy maze, with many repetitions of “Excuse me” and “I'm sorry” and came out of the toy maze in just a few minutes. I briefly pondered diving under the clothing racks again, but turned back into the broken record and hauled my strollers and children through the line into the clothing section.

Now that we were there, I only wanted out. No way was I going to stand in that line to check out. It would be too hard to even navigate my way to the back of the line again. No. I was getting OUT.

And I did. I went right through the checkout counters, had the guy at the door take the tag off my eldest's doll, and burst out into the fresh air. Set up the stroller again, and resumed the man-handle grasp on the inner stroller handles. And raced back to the car as fast as I could.

“That was interesting,” I said as I unloaded my little angels into the car and folded up the strollers and resumed the driver's seat. “You girls were amazing. You were so good. And Mommy is the one who almost had the meltdown. I kind of did have a meltdown.” And I apologized to them for being a bad example. I'm pretty sure they had no idea what I was talking about, but I figured I should get it out there – and so I did.

And resolved that never, ever again, under any circumstances whatsoever, will I go to a consignment sale with two umbrella strollers.

In Which Mommy Nearly Has a Meltdown - Part I

So this got kind of long.  But it was too amusing not to post.  To keep it readable, I'll do it in two sections.  :)

A few weeks ago I decided it would be a rather brilliant idea to get up bright and early in the morning, pack up my two girls, and head off to a consignment sale.

A consignment sale that was 1 hour away from our house.

A consignment sale whose rules clearly stipulated that only umbrella strollers were allowed before 12:00 noon.

What – are your alarm bells going off? Well, mine weren't.

I cheerfully posited that we would rise early, quickly eat breakfast, load up, and take off for a day of fun, bonding, and getting fabulous deals on clothes from the homes of the affluent.

So, being the eternal optimist masquerading as a pessimist (i.e. I fully expect the worst case scenario but unfailingly believe the best case scenario will actually make itself happen anyway)...I went to bed long after midnight and cheerfully set my clock for 6:30 a.m.

And that was how my error began.

Of course, anyone with any mathematical prowess at all will quickly recognize the fatal flaw in the basic premise of my plan. Hey, for my money you don't even have to have prowess. Just a basic knowledge that 1+1 does not equal 1.

To clarify: umbrella strollers generally come equipped with two handles and four extremely wobbly wheels. Especially the two in the front.

People generally come equipped with two hands, which, when it comes to strollers, are both generally employed upon the two handles aforementioned.

So...umbrella strollers only before 12 noon and 2 young children to get around with me = a distinct and glaring difficulty.

But my ever-hopeful mind recalled fond images of previous consignment sales that I had attended by the same group. Not in the same venue, but each of the other 2 venues I had visited possessed a fair amount of wiggle room. No problem, I thought. I shall hold of one handle of each stroller and man-handle them through the aisles, which won't take long, and then I will be at the clothes aisle I seek and that is where I'll stay. Not so tough. Not ideal, but manageable.

I am, after all, an overly-cautious type, and I keep telling myself I should take more risks. This sounded just risky enough, but also manageable enough to be worth doing.

Yes. I completely dismissed the difficulty from my oblivious little mind and went to bed at 1:30 sharp. Or was it 2? No matter.

From that point on, the Lord kept sending my glaring signals that this was a bad idea...but I was blissfully oblivious of them until I was seeing them in retrospect.

I woke up to my youngest turning on the morning banshee shriek (which lasts exactly long enough to make me get up and look at her and then it turns into coos and giggles – the little actress) and sunlight pouring in the windows.

It was not 6:30.

It was 8:00.

Glaring Signal number one.

I groaned as I realized that there was no way I could be there by 8:30 at this point and imagined other people snatching beautiful little dresses that I could have found if only I hadn't overslept.

Then I reminded myself that I was not in dire need of anything, and it was fine – we'd just go later and I would never know what I had missed.

So the scramble began, and just under 1 ½ hours later we were pulling out of the driveway.

And we drove and drove and it was a beautifully scenic route through nicely-developed areas and crepe myrtles hanging heavy over fences and paper birches draping rooftops and long, winding driveways disappearing into groves of trees. It was all thoroughly relaxing (well, except for one or two blood-curdling shrieks from the back seat) and I was very happy we had gone out in spite of our later-than-desired start.

Well, it would help me keep from buying much at all, since I had places to be later – I would just go quickly and see if it looked like a sale worth coming to in the future.

And as I thought about these things, I found myself navigating a very long, winding road that plummeted down, down, down as if we were suddenly in the mountains. It was sharp turn after sharp turn and it seemed as if everyone coming the opposite direction felt the need to hug the center line as closely as possible. I was extremely relieved to be through with it as I turned onto the road that my GPS had been warning me about for the past endless, winding mile and a half.

As I contemplated my pleasure to be through with that somewhat-harrowing ordeal, I realized that my GPS was urgently telling me to make a U-turn. To turn onto this road. Onto that road. SOMETHING.

HELLO! You went the wrong way, Einstein.

Oh. So I followed her suggestions to reroute and, as I frowningly drove along trying to figure out what I had gone wrong, I had a distinct sense that we were taking a very circuitous way back. And then we were turning back onto a road that I knew I had already been on before.

And as things began to look more and more familiar, I began to get a sinking feeling.

Just as I feared. There we were, up at the top of the mountain road again, with my GPS heartlessly commanding me to go down again.

Say what?

Glaring Signal number 2, perhaps?

I reluctantly made the drive again – fortunately there was much less oncoming traffic this time – and made sure I paid close attention to the machine's instructions this time. And I went the right way. 10 minutes later than I would have if I'd just paid attention the first time.

Okay, so that was a little anticlimactic.

I began to feel, uneasily, that this whole idea had been decidedly bad.

Judging from the restless sounds in the back, my children (and the youngest in particular) were beginning to share that sentiment.

But I was over halfway there, so I plowed ahead, and managed to arrive at the sale more than 2 hours later than I had hoped to. After I finally managed to park, I began the long process of loading the girls into their 2 respective umbrella strollers. During which process the owner of the car next to me showed up.

Out of the 50 million cars in the parking lot, it would be the one right next to me that was trying to leave.

Glaring Signal number 3, in the form of an angel. Not really an angel, but the whole thing should have made me stop and think...y'know, this keeps getting more and more complicated. I really should just get in my car and go away.

But I didn't get it! I just hustled to get out of the way.

She was trying hard to be gracious and move slowly so that I wouldn't feel rushed, but I don't like to be in peoples' way.

Wait. What's that? Are you asking what I was doing taking two umbrella strollers to a crowded consignment sale if I don't like to be in peoples' way? Ummmm...yeah. You have a point there. You really do. Just call me cotton-brains.

So I hurried and managed to scoot out of her way fairly quickly, holding the inside handle of each stroller in a death grip and using every ounce of upper body strength I posses (don't laugh) to keep them going straight in front of me.

I noticed amused smiles coming at me from every direction, so I just put on a super-confident face (which, knowing how my attempts at controlling my facial expressions always backfire, probably looked more like a super-stressed-out face...even though I wasn't super-stressed-out...YET) and forged ahead until I got to the sign which said “Enter here.”

So I entered on the left side of the “Enter here” sign, but the Legalistic Lady overseeing the entrance said, “No, over here.” She made me back up my two strollers and I had just started to go go forwards again when I totally lost control of them just trying to get BACK in where I had already gone in once just so I could get back in on the RIGHT side of the sign.

Never enter on the left side of an “enter here” sign. Unspoken rule of consignment sales. Now we know, right?

I was having no success in getting back in control of my strollers so I just kind of picked them both up at once and dropped them down on the Right Side of the sign and plastered on a stupendously fake smile. I chatted cheerfully with the Legalistic Lady as she put bands on the strollers so no one would think I was stealing them, put a band on my eldest's doll so no one would think she was stealing it, and glanced at my purse and said, “Well, no one would think you were stealing THAT!” and wished me well with my two strollers as I struggled off wondering what in the blue-green earth she had meant by that statement.

I like my multi-colored-stripes purse. It matches almost every outfit I own. Casual ones, anyway.

Anyway, I plowed through the Large Items tent that I was routed into, on my way to the clothes I was interested in. I started down one aisle and discovered that there was no outlet. There was only one way out and it was blocked by shoppers. So I excused and pardoned my way down the aisle trying not to clobber anyone with my strollers...and I escaped into the open air.

There were signs pointing us into the Fellowship Hall area of the church building, which required me to haul my children over a curb and navigate a winding pathway riddled with toddlers having meltdowns and dads bored out of their minds.

Have you ever tried navigating a narrow, winding sidewalk with two umbrella strollers? You should. It's eye-opening. And I had aching forearms for a week afterwards. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

Moving on to more cheerful topics, a kind lady opened the door for me and I pulled one stroller in while she pushed the other behind me past another Legalistic Lady guarding the doorway.

How do I know she was a Legalistic Lady, you ask? Just you wait and I'll tell you. It comes later in the story.

-------

More soon!

Edit: Part II

Spaghetti with Meatballs - Whole30 Style

Last week, as I mentioned in my previous post, I began the Whole30 Challenge.  Refer to the aforementioned posts if you want the whys, wherefores, and hows of this decision - for now, I am going to share my first recipe.  It's not really "my" recipe - it's combined from a few different blogs, starting with an idea from NomNom Paleo.  Yes.  Using zucchini to make spaghetti!  I had to try it.

So I bought myself a julienne peeler...

 

And got started.

First, before the spaghetti noodles were an issue, I had to make sausage.  So I found this recipe and followed it.  Only I quadrupled my quantities.  And I ask you in advance: please pardon the quality of these photos.  I may be a beginner at this food-blogging thing, but even a professional would have had trouble with the lighting I was dealing with.  I was cooking at 8:30 at night.  Why???  Long story.  Just trust me - there was NO natural light to be found.  I apologize profusely for the, um, unappetizing colors you might encounter.

Now, without further ado!

I combined:

1 lb ground turkey or pork

1 T onion flakes
1/4 tsp each cumin, black pepper, nutmeg, oregano, red pepper flakes, and ground ginger
1/2 tsp each dried basil, thyme, and sage
1-1/2 tsp sea salt
1 egg, lightly beaten

I browned up half of the sausage and saved it for use in a breakfast casserole.  I took the remaining 2 lbs and formed them into cute little balls about 1" in diameter while I heated a pan of grapeseed oil on the stove.  Why grapeseed oil?  Because it was a light oil that I had handy and it has a high smoke point - a big plus for a perpetual everything-in-a-pan-burner like myself.

Once that was done - and it took a long time to transform 2 lbs of sausage into 1" balls - I dropped a few of them into the hot pot to brown quickly.

Note: please don't leave the little meatballs for more than a few seconds to brown them on each side.  I put my first batch in and went back to forming more meatballs.  Duh.  I wasn't thinking about how hot the pan was, and should have known better.  They were so stuck I could barely retrieve them and they pretty much fell to pieces on me.  What we're going for here is not to cook them through - only to lightly brown them on all sides so they will have a nicely caramelized exterior before we cook them in tomato sauce later.  If we just plopped them right into the pot of tomato sauce raw, they would cook, but they wouldn't have that nice, savory, slightly crisp exterior that makes a nice contrast with their juicy innards.  Yum.  I'm getting hungry talking about all of this caramelization.  Let's move on to the next step, shall we?

After all of the meatballs were browned and waiting in a new pan (it took a while, but it was worth it), I simply popped open a jar of spaghetti sauce.  So easy, it made up for the labor of making the meatballs.  I chose one of the only brands I could find that did not contain added sugar or soybean oil.  C'mon, people. Soybean oil in spaghetti sauce?  Since when??

 

 Just as an aside, do you see that jar to the left?  Yeah, that was an Old Italian Spaghetti Sauce, or something.  Same brand, and an identical ingredient list except that the tomatoes were "Roma tomatoes."  I wondered why it had such a dark, rich color compared to the plain old "Spaghetti Sauce" pictured.  Well, I found out when I popped them both open.  Same exact sauce inside.  But the "Old Italian" stuff was in a dark red jar.  Yeah, I don't really understand the marketing thought process behind that one; but moving on!

In goes the sauce, so the meatballs could braise.  I got it up to a nice simmer, put the top on, and cooked those babies for nearly an hour, for two reasons: 1. I am terrified of salmonella in turkey and was determined to kill all traces of it; and 2. I kind of forgot about them for the last 20 minutes or so.  I had really intended to pull them at 40 minutes.  But that's the best part about braising - it's hard for your meat to dry out when it's drowning in liquids!

I'm actually totally faking you guys out with this long post because I'm just blabbering and trying to disguise the fact that I hardly took any pictures.  I'll do better in the future.  I'm new here in the cooking blogosphere.  This isn't even a cooking blog, for crying out loud.  I need a "Handprints in the Kitchen" section or something.

While the meatballs braised, I pulled out my knife, cutting board, and brand new julienne peeler.  And then I washed up about 6 zucchini, thinking I would only make enough noodles for a couple of meals.  

And from there, it's as easy as peeling the zucchini.  Per the suggestions at Nom Nom, I left the tops on the zucchini so I could use that as a handle, and used my knife to cut a thin slab off the side of each zucchini so it would lay flat on the cutting board.  From there, I grabbed on and went to town with my julienne peeler.  You should check out the pictures at Nom Nom because she did a much better job of photographing the process!

I only photographed the middle of the process:

And the end result.  Voila!  Spaghetti noodles!

I tossed them in a microwave-safe covered dish with olive oil, salt, and pepper, and popped them in the microwave (covered, of course) for 2 minutes.  My microwave is from the dark ages of microwaves, however, so you might need to do yours less.  It all depends on what texture you want!

And at last, after the meatballs were done, I was able to assemble my plate of spaghetti.

And it was delicious.  Really, really delicious.  So delicious that my husband, who isn't even doing the Whole30 yet, asked if I could make it again.  I would be happy to oblige him.  Next time around, though, I will remember - a word to the wise - don't eat too many zucchini "noodles" with each serving of your meatballs.  I kind of forgot about the fact that zucchini is, um, a lot more Fiber-Rich than your typical semolina noodles.  I'll spare you any details, but suffice it say: you could be a bit uncomfortable if you don't treat your zucchini noodles with respect and take a modest portion.

Here is the recipe in its succinct form:

Turkey Meatballs w/Zucchini Spaghetti 

(Printable version)

Meatballs:

1 lb ground turkey or pork
1 T onion flakes
1/4 tsp each cumin, black pepper, nutmeg, oregano, red pepper flakes, and ground ginger
1/2 tsp each dried basil, thyme, and sage
1-1/2 tsp sea salt
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 T grapeseed oil, light olive oil, or other light oil suitable for frying
1 jar of your favorite spaghetti sauce

Combine all ingredients except oil and sauce.  Form meat into 1" balls.  Heat oil in a pan over medium heat.  When the oil is hot (you can tell if it is starting to have a shimmery look), add a few meatballs at a time.  After a few moments, quickly use tongs to turn the meatballs over and roll them around so that they brown nicely on all sides.  If you leave them too long on one side, they will stick and fall apart!  Keep them moving!

When the meatballs are nicely browned, move them into a fresh pot and add a new batch to the hot pan.  Continue until all of your meatballs are browned and transferred into the new pan.  Pour in the jar of spaghetti sauce and gently stir so that it coats all of the meatballs.  Bring pot to a very low simmer, cover, and cook for 30-40 minutes, or until meatballs are thoroughly cooked.  While the meatballs are cooking, you can start on your:

Zucchini Spaghetti
6 medium zucchini
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
julienne peeler

Cut a thin slice off the back of each zucchini so they will lie flat on the cutting board, leaving the tops on to use as a handle.  Using a julienne peeler, peel each zucchini, pressing firmly to form solid slivers - "spaghetti noodles!"  Toss zucchini noodles with olive oil, salt, and pepper to taste.  Put in a covered microwave-safe dish and heat for 2 minutes until just warm but not starting to disintegrate. 

Pour spaghetti and meatballs over the zucchini noodles and enjoy your grain-free pasta!

Doing the Whole30

Last Thursday I decided to start the Whole30 Challenge, cold-turkey.  I had been contemplating a drastic diet change for a while, owing to quite a bit of stubborn baby weight and numerous minor health problems that all added up to = a pretty constantly exhausted, overweight, out-of-shape me.  After I seemed to hit a particularly low point last week, energy-wise, I decided something had to change.  So I made the plunge.  Before I talk any more about it, though, I should probably tell you what "it" is.  But before I do that, I should give a few disclaimers, as well.

The Whole30 Challenge is based on a Paleo/Primal view of eating, whose premises I actually completely disagree with.  Their take is that we should be eating the foods our ape-like ancestors ate back in the hunter-gatherer days when no one (supposedly) would have used grains (not having the means to harvest them) or dairy (because they were too busy eating meat from cows to bother milking them, presumably), or numerous other foods that require a higher level of intelligence to obtain.  Something like that.  Basically, they say, we should be eating the foods that helped us to evolve to the state we are at.

Well, I think that's a bunch of hogwash.  But coming at it from a Creationist perspective, I still arrive at similar conclusions.  God created food, and it's very good the way He made it.  As soon as we add ourselves into the equation, though, we can mess things up.  And, of course, the Fall has made some of us more susceptible to allergies and such.  It makes sense that we should be eating food as naturally as possible most of the time, because that's the way God made it, and I'm sure He's better at making nutritious food than I am.

However, I don't think it's wrong to process and cook foods and change them from the way He created them.  He loaded the foods He created with all kinds of nutrients and benefits that we can sometimes access only  by processing and cooking them.  He didn't create the food and just hand us knives and forks and tell us to have at it.  No, we have to process animals to even access the meat, and we pretty much have to cook it to be safe.  Many fruits and vegetables are more digestible after being cooked.  Some nutrients are more easily absorbed from cooked foods.  He gave us the dominion mandate for a reason - we are to use the  minds He endowed us with to figure out the best ways to utilize the food He created.

I do not believe that natural foods are perfect.  There is no such thing as "nature's perfect food."  Because there is no such thing as perfection in a fallen world.  So some foods may be good for some people and not good for others, depending on blood-type, mutations, and genetics.  I don't believe there is an end-all, be-all, cure-all diet out there.  Part of the dominion mandate would involve figuring that out for ourselves - through trial and error and the experience of others.

So I think God meant for us to enjoy wheat, dairy, sugar, and all the other "bad guys" of the crunchy nutrition world.  He declared it as a blessing for the Israelites to be going to inhabit a "land flowing with milk and honey."  I don't think He would have said that if He never intended for us to eat those foods.  He also said, "Eat honey because it is good," but cautions against having too much, because it will make you sick.  Job asked, "Is there any taste in the white of an egg?"  It has long been in the human condition to want food to taste good, and elevating "health food" to the point that we lose tasty food would seem to be completely missing the point for me.  God made food to be good, and He made us to enjoy food, and that is a good thing.  I am not prepared to label wheat, dairy, sugar, legumes, or any other type of food as something that no one under any circumstances should eat.  We are all different.  For those who can tolerate wheat, by all means, eat all the pasta and sandwiches and tortillas you want, and I will try not to envy you.  We are not all the same.

So, that being said, I am all in favor of eating wheat and dairy.  But it makes me sick if I overdo it.  Perhaps I need to look into soaking my grains and buying raw milk, but I haven't gotten around to it, yet.  If there is an alternative to giving it up entirely, I am so on board with that!

For now, however, I am aware that certain foods that should be good make me sick.  I have numerous seasonal allergies, and seem to be prone to get sensitized to foods if I overindulge in them.  If I can cut the sensitizing foods out and then add them back in on a more controlled rotation, I might be able to get away with it. 

There.  Disclaimer's over.  Now onto the Whole30.  I stumbled across it while on vacation a few weeks ago, when I had some time to surf around and think about diet changes I should make.  I was intrigued when I came across it via Pinterest (my new addiction favorite site).  The basic idea is that you eliminate all foods that have a history of causing inflammation, as well as all processed foods of any kind, for a period of 30 days.  It would be easier to list what you can eat: meat, fruits, and vegetables.  Basically, that's it.  You can use healthy oils, vinegars, spices, etc. to dress it all up.  And you can have eggs.  But here's the Don't List, taken from the Whole30 site:  (I am reluctant to link to it owing to my rather strong disagreement with their premise, partly because I don't want to officially endorse them and partly because I don't really want to go starting fights via linkbacks.)

• Do not consume added sugar of any kind, real or artificial. No maple syrup, honey, agave nectar, Splenda, Equal, Nutrasweet, xylitol, stevia, etc.  
• Do not eat processed foods. This includes protein shakes, pre-packaged snacks or meals, protein bars, milk substitutes, etc.
• Do not consume alcohol, in any form. 
• Do not eat grains. This includes (but is not limited to) wheat, rye, barley, millet, oats, corn, rice, sprouted grains and all of those gluten-free pseudo-grains like quinoa.  
• Do not eat legumes. This includes beans of all kinds (black, kidney, lima, etc.), peas, lentils, and peanuts.  No peanut butter, either.  This also includes all forms of soy – soy sauce, miso, tofu, tempeh, edamame, tamari and all the ways we sneak soy into foods (like lecithin).
• Do not eat dairy. This includes all cow, goat or sheep’s milk, cream, butter, cheese (hard or soft), kefir, yogurt (even Greek), and sour cream.
• Do not eat white potatoes. It’s somewhat arbitrary, but they are carbohydrate-dense and nutrient poor.
• Most importantly… do not try to shove your old, unhealthy diet into a shiny new Whole30 mold.  This means no “Paleo-fying”  less-than-healthy recipes – no Paleo pancakes, Paleo pizza, Paleo fudge or Paleo”ice cream.  Don’t mimic poor food choices during your Whole30 program!  Those kinds of food miss the point of the program entirely.
• One last and final rule.  You are not allowed to step on the scale during your Whole30 program.  This is about so much more than just weight loss, and to focus on your body composition means you’ll miss out on the most dramatic and lifelong benefits this plan has to offer.

And there you have it.  I actually completely forgot about the last rule, but who cares?  I'm fine with weighing myself.  I've lost 4 pounds already and I'm glad I know it because otherwise I probably would have quit the diet.  Why?  I'll get to that in a minute.  First, why did this appeal to me?  Because I think in some cases it is a good idea to do some kind of cleansing - where you cut out all potentially irritating foods and give your body a chance to recover.  And you might find that you feel so much better that you just want to keep eating that way! 

So I started with high hopes of success and am now 7 days into my challenge.  And as I mentioned, I've lost 4 pounds.  I am ecstatic about that part!  But I almost gave up because I felt horrible - until today.  Totally exhausted and shaky and ravenous and like I was operating in a fog.  I'm sure I've been detoxing, and I was getting increasingly concerned about whether it was healthy for me as a nursing mom.  But today was much better.  I had read that many people struggled with adjusting for the first week or two, but then had marked improvements in their health.  There are accounts of people getting over seasonal allergies, chronic fatigue, asthma, Crohn's Disease, arthritis, diabetes, endometriosis, hypoglycemia, IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome), Lyme disease, and migraines - all from following this diet.  Most of them had their symptoms return if they went back to eating as they had before.  Well, with my minor issues of allergies and fatigue - and accompanying sinus infections - oh, yeah, and weight loss - I am hopeful about what it might do for me!

And now you know - why I'm trying the Whole30.  My original intent was to blog about each day as I did it, but since I started a bit unprepared and spent the first two days basically foraging until I managed to get a decent amount of food cooked up...well...it wouldn't have made the most interesting blogging.  But I have at least one recipe I want to share that I found via another blog - spaghetti and meatballs with Whole30-friendly noodles.  What could it be, you ask?  It starts with a "Z."  And it's much easier than you'd think. 

Stay tuned.

Posting Should Be Easy

Really.  How hard can it be to just put up a blog post once a day?  It doesn't sound so hard.  But from my blogging, you would think it's the hardest thing in the world.

Perhaps it's because I think every post I put up has to be earth-shattering.  Deep.  Unplummable.  Okay, so I'm fooling myself on the last one.  Or two. 

Hey, I like to dream!

Anyway, all of that to say - I just need to start posting, people!

So I'll post about what I've done today.

Which would be...not much.

Yep.  It's been one of those lazy Saturdays that only comes around a few times a year - usually owing to some kind of illness.  It's lazy because my husband had to work most of the night (from home, thankfully!) and so he's very tired...my oldest wee one seems to have roseola and is laying a bit low with a fever and feels like doing lots of cuddling and book reading and Winnie-the-Pooh watching.  And I spent all day yesterday on my feet in the kitchen cooking and cooking for my latest attempt at a diet!  (You know, I should blog about that, really - stay tuned, but don't hold your breath.)  So it seemed like a great day to lay low and just enjoy each others' company. 

This means, being the foodies that we are, we've been spending a lot of time watching the Food Network.

 I suppose that might sound a little strange to some people.  When we're feeling tired and lazy, we don't usually turn on a movie...we tune into the Food Network.  Or the Cooking Channel.  We just love staying hungry!  Especially when we're trying to do a grain-free-dairy-free-legume-free-sugar-free-almost-everything-else-free diet!  It makes it that much more tantalizing to watch Paula Deen cook up a delicious looking wafer-pudding.

Or not.  But I enjoy the helpful cooking tips so much that I just can't resist watching.  And Manly likes suggesting, "You should make THAT," or, "It would be fine with me if you wanted to make THOSE" periodically.  I always agree with him.  He has excellent taste.  I mean, he married me, right?

I'm just kidding about that last part.  I still can't believe he picked me.  But he wouldn't want me to carry on too much about my unworthiness and stuff so I'll just leave it at that.

We watched "Pioneer Woman" - the first episode.  I thought it was fascinating and, though I don't see myself cooking country fried steaks anytime soon...I love the glimpse of farm life.  I may be a city slicker, and I love having my bakery a block away and two organic grocery stores within a 20-minute drive - not to mention all of the shopping choices.  But it sometimes seems to me that the country lifestyle keeps people a lot closer to reality.  It keeps them a bit more grounded, somehow - a better sense of what really matters and how things really work.

And of course there's something intoxicating about the thought of waking up in the morning and looking out of the window at miles of rolling countryside...and knowing it's your land.  To breathe the fresh air.  To work the land - your land.  To be more self-sufficient.  I know it would be a lot more work than this city girl is used to.  But I don't think that could be bad for me.  I'd probably be in much better shape without having to make time to do a workout!  Manly and I are definitely intrigued by the idea of the country life.  But this isn't the season of life for it.  We'll just dream for now! 

Sleeping Beauty

Like all of mankind, I am a beauty-seeker. And yet, so often, I forget to look for it – until a moment, a flash, a segment of beauty strikes me full force and I must stop and take it in.

Tonight I was readying for bed by the crib of my youngest. I glanced over at her in true motherly form – just to be sure she was alright – and was suddenly transfixed. Transfixed by her beauty. Oh, I am sure to many other mothers she is no more beautiful than the next baby – though I happen to think she is an exceptionally beautiful baby indeed.

But there she lay, and I stopped and whispered, “That is beauty.”

I am glad I stopped and saw the beauty of that moment. Tiny little girl all scrunched up in pink with her little ruffled bottom up and her fat, fluffy-pink-clad knees tucked under and her dimpled little arms tucked under her tummy...fuzzy little head with the perpetual cow-lick turned away from me with just some chubby velvet cheeks visible...little back rising and falling gently. Sheer peace – pure beauty.

My mommy heart pattered and I was thankful for the sublime beauty that is a sleeping baby. She is beautiful when she is awake, but she is astonishingly perfect when she is sleeping. Feather eyelashes draping over rosy cheeks...suck, suck, suck at the pacifier...little button nose breathing...little fontanel pulsing...beautiful and alive and sweet and sleeping.

Yes, I thought to myself...she is a beautiful child.

Even if she does often demonstrate the characteristics of a screaming banshee. Really...the shrieking of earlier today aside...I paused to soak up the moment and remembered that God makes them so cute when they are sleeping so that we will have a chance to forget about those screaming-banshee moments.

In the midst of the next screaming-banshee moment, I hope I remember to remember this moment of simple beauty.

Living to Die

In these quiet moments of naptime, I am faced with two options of how to spend the next two hours: I can catch up on the mountains of dishes from a very busy weekend, or I can sit here in my sunroom, sitting tea, writing the blog post that has been burning in my bosom.

It seems to me that it would be easier to write while the young ones sleep than it would be while they are awake. They enjoy watching me in the kitchen. So here I am, soaking up a bit of warmth from the cool morning sun and watching the sun cast window-paned shadows across the honey hued floors.

And simply thinking.

This life is the only chance at life we get. How quick we are to be caught up in the pell-mell rush of a mad society, sweeping the stragglers along in its current, saying hurry, hurry, hurry, and do more, do more, do more, and keep up, keep up, keep up.

Hurry, hurry, hurry – you're not hurrying fast enough – hurry more. And more.

But really, what are we hurrying towards? We race to fit all of our activities in so that we can get more done. We race madly, headlong through life, stressed and aggravated with all of the inconveniences that keep us from finishing our goals – especially those needy little nuisances called...

Our children.

So often we view them as impediments. So often we view them as aggravations to be managed. As road-blocks to keep sweeping out of the way as we fiercely bulldoze our way through life.

The young years in particular – we are so quick to view them as miserable days of drudgery to somehow live through by providing each other moral support and commiseration in MOP groups and playdates. Somehow we'll get through. Someday we'll get our lives back when these – these little leeches grow up.

These little leeches. These little needy leeches sucking our lives and our time away so that “me-time” is non-existent and so that there are even more dishes and laundry to be done but no one is old enough to help and they are always making messes and they never nap as long as they are supposed to so that I can have time to sit down and flip through a magazine and if I ever DO start to relax I'm always snapped out of it by loud feed-me shrieks or stinky diapers or needy hands reaching for hugs.

But wait a minute. Just wait a minute. So this society teaches me – that children are needy little annoyances to be pawned off to daycare as soon as possible so that I can get my life back. That they are inconvenient. Life-sucking. Exhausting. Maddening.

And so I see, in myself and all around me, the quick tendency of young Christian mommies to cave to the pressure to believe our children are our worst nightmares. To crave me-time and pout when we don't get it. To sulk when we can't sit and drink tea without being interrupted. To cry over mountains of dishes and laundry. To whimper because we don't get to be with just our husbands anymore and to sigh because we can't ever hug him without a half-dozen little hands coming up reaching for hugs, too.

But really. Really. Is this all there is? Is parenting something merely to live through? To merely survive and come out a triumphant empty-nester, joyful because the leeches have left our lives?

Or is this the kind of thing that will teach our children – like all of the world's children – that they are not really cherished; that they are not really, deeply loved; that they are driving us crazy and we'll be glad when they are gone...and so, one day, we will find ourselves needing their care and instead will find that we are not really cherished; that we are not deeply loved; and that we are driving them crazy and they'll be glad when we are gone. And we will sit in a broken rocking chair in a white-walled nursing home with indifferent care and nothing to look forward to but a forced once-a-year visit from our children to ease their guilty consciences.

Much like now, when we sit and read books with our children to ease our own consciences...to make them happy so we can get back to our lives and do something More Important again. I know I have done it from time to time. I am guilty as charged.

I am here to say that I am tired of it. I am tired of hearing the cry that our children our nuisances and we whine, whine, whine and look forward to the days when they will not be nuisances any longer.

Or, in other words, the days when they will no longer need us and we can get back to living our lives.

I say no. I do not want to live that way. I do not want to spend life living it to myself like the world's children do and find that when I die I have only myself left. I do not want to hurry through life, calling my blessings curses and slapping them aside, only to arrive with haste at death and find that I have no one beside me. I do not want to shun my Lord's commands to the point that I put my own soul in danger by swarming to believe the lies of the world and refusing to heed His truth. Refusing to put on His love and take up His cross and look to the joy set before me in His resurrection.

I don't want to go through life with blinders on, missing everything beside me, racing into the vortex of this mad rush our society calls life, only to reach the end of it and realize that I just lived life by missing it completely. I don't want to look back and see my children's arms reaching out to me from the past and realize that it is too late now – too late to reach back out to them; too late to put my other priorities aside and make them my joy; too late now to share the love of Christ with them; too late, and all that is left for me is that death which I have madly spent my whole life racing toward.

I do not want to reach death worn out and spent from living a mad rush to the end. I want to reach death worn out and spent from pouring myself out to the people God has put in my life; especially my husband, and especially my children. I want to reach death and know that I have called good what God calls good, and evil what God calls evil. I want to reach death and know that I have poured myself into my children and that, whether they really appreciate it or not, they have seen Christ's love through me. I want my life to be a love-song of grace; not a love-song to myself.
 

I want to live so that my life will keep speaking after I die. Like Abel who, “being dead, yet speaks.” I want that to be me. And I am pretty sure that a life lived to myself won't get me there. I will be buried and my soul may be in heaven, but my empty shell will rot and so will the memory of my empty life. My children will have no legacy to perpetuate but the same one I gave them – that their children – my grandchildren – are nuisances to be endured until they are finally gone and they can get on with living life in a mad rush to the very same memoryless end as mine. My memory on earth will not carry the sweet perfume of Christ from generation to generation; it will carry the stench of worldly selfishness and that will be my fearsome legacy.

No, I want my children to learn from me that they are precious in my sight; that I love them more than my own life and that their needs are my delights. That I love their questions and love their little squeaky voices and the pitter-patter of feet and that I truly believe the words of God: “Behold, children are an heritage from the Lord; the fruit of the womb is a reward.” That I do not want them out of my way; that I do not think their needs are trivial annoyances; that I value them deeply and lovingly guide and shape them to become Christ-honoring men and women of faith and strength and love. To love God with all of my heart, soul, and mind, and from loving Him so, to reflect Him more, and to love my children as He loves His...more than my own life.

So I am asking all of you mothers out there – you life-carriers; you nurterers; you soul-shapers and heart-searchers – join me. Join me in a celebration. A celebration of life, and of all good things. And that list of good things most emphatically includes our children.

I do not want to be afraid to die. I am asking you to die with me. Let's die NOW. To ourselves; to our selfish wants...because in doing so I suspect we will find that the life of the dead-to-self is far sweeter than the life of those who live to self alone.

Let's live dead to self and alive to God; and in doing so, show Christ's love to our children and show them fullness of joy – for death to self knocks self out of the way and brings us into the presence of Christ. And “in His presence is fullness of joy.”

Let's stop showing our children that death to self means whiningly enduring hardship and trusting that somehow Christ will give us strength to just Get Through This Wretched Time. Let's show them instead that death to self is discovering what it means to really live – to live joy and fullness and grace. To carry the cross is to laugh in the face of death. To carry the cross is to proclaim to the world that we do not fear death for we serve the One who conquered it. He lives today and rejoices in His children bought by His blood. Let us, in our lesser way, reflect this by giving our life's blood – every beat of our hearts – away. Just give it away. Let's quite obsessing over that all-elusive “me-time” the world tells us we need and take our children by the hands and lead them to the cross and look up at the One who gave no thought to me-time...who lives to make intercession for us.

The One who is never too busy to hear our pleas. Who is always ready to pick us up when we fall. Who doesn't make light of the problems that seem too great for us that to Him must seem like nothing. He corrects us consistently and with love and doesn't spoil us and yet showers us with mercies and a thousand new blessings every day. Who gives us richly all things to enjoy. Who somehow delights in us even though we fail daily – hourly – every moment. I cannot fathom this kind of love, but I do know this: if I am His child, I must model this for my children. If I cannot, I must not know Him well enough. When I fail, I need to run to Him for forgiveness and wisdom. He will never scold me for asking Him for wisdom; He will always be waiting with open arms to hear my pleas for help. But I must fling myself upon Him if I am to have any hope of loving these precious children He has given me – to give them love that is even a shadow of His love for me.

But I have to do that for them. I must. THIS...this is my life's calling. Not to make time to watch that next installment of my favorite TV show. Not to find time to curl up and read that book. Not to travel the world. Not even desperation to find time to be with friends or to be alone with my husband, though those things are important – if they become all-consuming desires and I let them make me bitter towards my children, then no. I have made them idols. May my one object of worship be Christ.

May Christ be seen in me.

I will fail. I will have days when I will resent the mundanity of it all. When I will fail to look into the simple moments and see the glory that is there. When I will see piles of dishes and laundry and hear childish whimpers and feel overwhelmed by it all...it will happen. But I must pause to remember my Lord's climb to Golgotha and remember His many words in praise of children and realize how absurdly blessed and rich I am.

And never, never to give my children reason to think that I wish they had not been born, or that I can't wait until they are gone. Not by action, comment, or Facebook status. If I begin to feel strapped down by them, to take that attitude to the Cross and come away repentant and reminded that they are a blessing. If God declares them a blessing, am I not sinning if I declare them to be otherwise?

Our children are watching us. We must lead them to the Cross. We must show them Christ-life.

Join me on this journey...this journey of death to self...

Because it is not death to die.