She's a maniac on the floor.

The big news around town lately is that the neighborhood grocery store is being bought out by their competition. These stores everywhere are having mad blowout sales to get products off of their shelves. Apparently this was all over the television and radio airways, but my tendency to be a media groundhog made this discovery reveal itself to me at 8:30 at night when I went to buy some apple juice and cinnamon sticks, aka, the poor man's version of apple cider.

Huge mistake. Not only did it feel like the Apocalypse had struck, with everyone vying for the shopping carts and running up and down aisles grabbing things like pickled beets and rutabaga, but the lines were especially long.
(We are talking grab your gear and set up camp kind of long.)

In the midst of all this chaos, I had the best intentions of remaining cool,calm, and collected. However... those who know me are well acquainted with the fact that crowds are not my forte. Thinking that I had the whole chaotic check-out thing licked I walked right on over to the self-checkout. The method to this madness was the inkling that no hoarder of 30 mayonnaise tubs and their train of carts was going to want to do the work of checking out their OWN spoils. It was a fool proof plan.

Basking in the glow of my self pronounced genius, I sauntered up behind a pregnant lady who (while she had a cart full of food) also had a two person stroller. The tactic behind that choice lay hidden in the quiet and split second reasoning that this lady would most likely be adept at multi-tasking. She obviously had two kids and one on the way, but aside from that decided to schlep them along to the Rockford event of the century at 9:00 at night. I immediately concluded that she was one of those mom warriors. The kind that can make grilled cheese with one hand while folding laundry with the other. Oh yeah. There was no doubt in my mind that we would be out of there in a split second. So I patted myself on the back once more for this my second keen observation skill of the evening and began daydreaming about what it would be like to work as an apple cider drinking FBI agent. She went to grab the last item in her cart and I grabbed a couple dollars from my purse to check out next.

As soon as she finished scanning her last jar of generic barbecue sauce and she began to reach for what I presumed to be her wallet, she instead grabbed the sun roof to her stroller and pushed down the cover. Horror struck. I'd been sorely misled. For there was no rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed baby cargo occupying those seats. Just more canned goods.
And so on she went.
Scanning....and scanning...and scanning...

beep.
beep.
beep.

It was like a rare form of Chinese water torture. And it began to get the best of me. The walls started caving in. My heart rate started pounding. Just moments away from panic, I remembered the kind-hearted words that my husband always whispers to me in these situations of irrational angst:"Get a HOLD of yourself, woman!" So I muttered this to myself. A few times actually. And it began to work. I began to see myself minutes away from my hot cup of apple cinnamon delight.

beep
beep
beep.

It seemed like a lifetime passed me by. I actually contemplated what to get my unborn nephew for his 16th birthday. Time was crawling by, but I had managed to keep the crazy under control.

This tactic however, was short lived when much further into her scanning I noticed out of the corner of my peripheral vision...a binder. A very THICK binder. It wasn't a trapper keeper or daily planner. We are talking one of those binders with the ability to hold massive amounts of paperwork. The accordion binder. NOT unlike those that I had seen on TV with the CCL. The crazy coupon ladies. Calling back on my aforementioned FBI worthy skills of observation, I narrowed in on the suspect.

No sooner than she had bagged her last container of hummus, she opened the foreboding binder compartment. What she pulled out with her pristine, pink nails was not cash. At that moment my worst fears were confirmed. I had been duped again. She was clutching coupons. Mass amounts of them.

More time passed. I began to wonder if my husband had sent out the search troops.
The more she kept beeping, the closer she pushed me to the edge...

It's amazing what the mind is capable of. At one point I remember envisioning myself committing copious amounts of handcuff worthy material. Most to all of which involved lighting things on fire with my apple juice as lighter fluid, and using the coupons to feed the blaze. True, that particular liquid may not be the scientific equivalent of propane or gasoline, but in the moment, while clutching my $ 1 dollar gallon of Juicy Juice, I seemed to think that it was no only perfectly logical, but also perfectly just. I would be the Robin Hood of this land...or at least this line...and rightfully give people back what was taken from them. Their Wednesday night.

Alas,what could I do but watch in horror.
Reason somehow sunk in. I'd come that far. To engage in crimes of arson would surely not have brought me any closer to my end goal. So instead, I stood. Rendered helpless by the pregnant coupon queen and her money saving ways.

While it is true that restraint showed it's face to some degree and I may not have set the store a-blaze, I will say that the evening came to a close with what I would like to refer to as a less than koshir moment.

Blame it on the late hour or perhaps even on the jealousy that her bill ended up being just as much as mine...
Whatever the case may be or the reasoning behind it, you can rest assured that I took all my pent up anger about the entire evenings events and used it to fuel one of the most hard core, soul shaking, earth shattering...

eye roll/sigh combination that the likes of this town had ever seen. I also accompanied it with a slam of my cinnamon sticks into the bagging area. True, she may have ventured off at that point. But I know she must have felt it. Even the overseeing self-check out clerk could feel it. Oh yeah. He didn't say anything, but he knew. This lady had just been served a slice of "You've GOT to be kidding me" pie. And I did NOT give her a discount.

Booh.Yah.

Not all those who wander...

Whenever I've been in difficult situations that I would like to quit, I often find myself bitter and muttering the mantra, "I don't belong here". It's an age old,emotive cry that musical artists and authors have expressed over the years. Anyone that has been in circumstances like a taxing job environment or a new school,for example, have most likely felt that same painful sense of "not getting it" or "not fitting in" that usually rears it's ugly head through anger and isolation.

In the past, I have used it as a way to separate myself from the problem's origin, and in so doing, excuse myself from any responsibility or disappointment. If I don't belong here, then it is not my burden to bear. In essence, I give myself a "get out of jail free" card.

Lately, however, I've been learning that just as the rules apply in that of Monopoly, so do they hold true in life in the sense that I have been giving myself passes I am not at liberty to give. In fact, if I truly am the Christ follower that I profess to be, I cannot be looking for ways to avoid adversity for myself or the ones I love.

It's true. I don't belong here. I have a Home in eternity being prepared for me at this moment even as I write this(John 14:3). But just because my citizenship is elsewhere, does not mean that I'm allowed to "check out" of my temporary state when things get tough. And they will get tough. I live in a fallen world of sinners of which I myself am one. A sinner saved by her Savior, but a sinner nevertheless.

So it's because I don't belong here that I am called, rather commanded (Matthew 28:19), to stay the course so that others can come to know the same glory that their Creator has waiting for them as well.

Yes, I may be an alien in this world, but this does not mean that I am without a mission. And it's the times when I am tempted most to turn my back on the call, on the job, on the individual, on the location, that He asks me to remain. And in the remaining, perhaps have one more person realize, that they don't belong here either.

Terms of Endearment

This is my Bumblelina.
When she laughs, the world is perfect.

A Day for Fathers.

Dad,
I just wanted to make sure that I told you, to make sure that you knew,
how much I love you. And how proud I am that you are my Dad. The older I get (yikes!), the more I am aware that what you and mom have given to us in our lifetime is not only a gift, but a rare one at that. Beyond the fraternal wisdom or maternal care, you both point to something more. Someone more. And that is one of the reasons you are such a great Dad. Because you've never claimed to be perfect. You've always only ever shown the way to the One who is.

Happy Father's Day,Dad.
Love,
The Eldest and your fellow word lover.

Why I am falling in love with Jr. High.

The other day someone asked me what it was like working with Jr. Highers.

At that exact moment in time, I found myself at a loss for the right words to describe what that opportunity is like.

But as I walked back to our apartment tonight,I thought back on so many of our evening's events and decided that maybe I do have the words after all.

It goes a little something like this:

Can I go to the bathroom?

Bieber Fever!

We broke up.

Again.

WHAT ARE WE DOING TONIGHT??????

I don't like that flavor ice cream.

I just spilled ice cream all over her shirt.

Can the 4 of us go to the bathroom?

I am in a play this weekend!

We won our basketball game!

School was horrible today and I want to never ever ever go back there ever again.

Want to read my story? It is about a princess who is a Ninja.

OK SERIOUSLY wHAT ARE WE DOING TONIGHT???

Guys, let's sit with the 8th grade boys.

Can I have another bowl?

I don't know how to play this game.

Wait, what are the rules?

I heart Justin Bieber.

I really miss my brother. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers I am alive.

8th grade guys are so dumb.

There is a bully at my school. I don't like going.

Will you do my homework for me PLEEEEAAASSEEE.

I stayed up til' 4:00 in the morning WAHOOOO!!!

Which do you like better Unicorns or Platypi?

I just drank a mountain dew.

I don't know what to do. My friends all swear and I don't want to.

You don't dance very good.

I just threw up.

She just threw up.

My dad left. I don't think he's coming back.

I have a bagillionzillionkatrillion pieces of homework to do!!!

I don't wear deodorant. I don't need it yet.

Can the 8 of us use the bathroom?

I don't think she likes me. She had a party and I wasn't invited.

I hate my hair.

Ninja Ninja Ninjas, you are so beast, beast, beast.

Ok, next week, let's all dress up like we are nerds or something.

I ate something off of the floor and I am not sure what it was. Also, I don't feel well.

I wish more of my friends knew Jesus.

It's my birthday next week and I am turning 13 and guess what guess what guess what...I get to be on Facebook!

That lesson from last week...I really needed to hear that. It reminded me that God knows what I am going through.


What is it like working with Jr. Highers? One of the craziest, messiest,most hysterical and random rides you will ever take in your entire life. But it is one fraught with moments of the Divine. They are the moments that shine bright amidst the chaos. The moments in a growing child's life when you actually get to witness the hand of God molding one His son's or daughters. It is a responsibility that we do not take lightly and a privilege that we do not take for granted.

If you ever get the chance to talk to one of these hundred mile per hour human beings, I encourage you to listen closely. You never know what's between each line.

he is my favorite.

I love my husband.
I just wanted to take a moment to brag on him.

Yesterday, the first words out of his mouth after I had shared a blessing of God's provision were, "We need to pray right now and thank God for this."

To have a man that turns to God in crisis is a blessing.
But to have a man that turns to Him in abundance is a joy beyond comparison.

And I can't believe I get to call this one mine.

Snapshots and a Few Thoughts.

Earlier this fall I had the privilege of spending an afternoon with a delightful five-year-old girl. We had just finished building a miniature log cabin with some wood scraps when the rest of her family ventured out to begin that evening’s bonfire. Not uncommon to most family activities, someone had brought their camera and began taking a few snapshots to remember the day. I was about to suggest a swinging door for the small front entryway when my play date tapped me on the arm and handed me a stick saying “hold this like this”. She then pointed in front of us to her mom who was about to take our picture. So we sat in close to each other and smiled and the picture was taken. Nothing too unusual except for what happened next. She asked her mom for the camera and walked it back over to me with the digital screen reflecting our pose. And then in the middle of a golden, September evening, that same five-year-old girl looked over and asked me, “Jessi, do we look cute?”

The question was a simple one and not something unlike what I would ask one of my sisters regarding a pair of jeans. But what caught me off guard was the age of this young inquirer and her acute awareness of self-imagery.

A few weeks later my husband and I were walking through the local mall and passed by a mother and three kids. Amidst a flurry of the youngest crying, and the two year old throwing Cheerios on the ground, the eldest daughter (around ten or so) kept insisting that her picture be taken mimicking the model in the store window. Now it’s been a few years since I was that age, but for the life of me I can’t seem to recall such urgency for documentation of my days. I remember a time when taking pictures of birthday cakes or catching a fish down at the dock meant we smiled because our parents told us to. Not because we were wanted to reassure ourselves of our cuteness.

It’s not just grade-schoolers. In fact, the more I come to know and love the Jr. High girls I am able to work with, the more I see this same way of thinking in their social mediums. Countless photos are found on Facebook of individuals taking their own picture from an arm’s length, all with various captions labeling each photo as “me”, “my new hair-cut”, or “just bein’ me”. I’ve even had a few girls come up to me with pictures on their phones saying “Don’t I look good here?”
You-tube is another venue where this line of thinking can be found. It is inundated with homemade videos starring the self. Just the other day one of our patients at work, after waking up from her surgery, insisted that her mother film her groggy antics for her to post on You-tube. Over and over again she mouthed, “film me, film me, film me, Mom”.

However it is not the self-portrait that I find particularly incriminating. Lots of the world’s great artists drew, sculpted, or wrote about “the Self”. But what is discouraging is the intensity and the frequency the adolescent mind seems to be consumed with their appearance.

True to my easily defensive nature I tried blaming this issue on several things. The first being Facebook itself. Such an easy target with tools to create ones own profile and publish images to validate that identity. But although this seemed to be an easy explanation it didn’t account for the fact that my 5-year-old friend was acquainted with this pattern of thinking as well and she is nowhere near a Facebook account. So that possibility was out.

Then there was the old standby- television. Older generations have been blaming behavioral issues on that box for years. Yet while the shows may have changed (arguably for the worse), the medium remains the same. Marshall McLuhan, philosopher and communication theorist, advocates an extremely convincing argument that the medium of television itself is in fact the message. On the basis of this philosophy it seemed that there was nothing new under the sun that would cause such a me-focused behavioral change.

Another possible scapegoat I explored was the digital camera. It could be argued that the digital age has only fostered an insatiable desire for instant gratification. But could the lack of film processing really be the sole culprit of a growing self ware, self-absorbed generation? It seemed too easy.

Truth be told, I’m not sure how long I would have gone on pointing fingers at anything or anyone other than myself, had one of my small group students not revealed a specific and humbling story. Over the course of one of our studies, she shared how her and her friends always sit in the upper balcony at church. One particular service she could not help but notice the deaf interpreter who always came to church to sign for just one woman. She shared how touched she was by his servitude and dedication and that it convicted her to emulate those same characteristics.

She “couldn’t help but notice.” I’ve always been told that those around us are watching what we do, but what I had failed to realize up until that point, is that it’s so much more than that. Not only do we have a younger generation noticing us, they are also processing and incorporating what they see into their daily lives.
So the answer then to where our youth are drawing their awareness of self-awareness, is not from networking system, machine, or digital immediacy at all. But rather those they are imitating on a daily basis. Me! My generation! Our youth are paying closer attention to us than we think. Which leads us to the sobering conclusion that the message we are sending out lately is the elevated importance of the question “How am I looking?” When in actuality, in all matters and at all times it should be, “How am I living?”