It's about that time.

No, Mom.
Not baby time. This isn't an announcement ;)

It's about that time rather, that I start making a discipline of writing again. Oh sure, I've never really stopped altogether. I'll jot verses or thoughts in my calendar as a shoddy attempt to remember certain events or things that God did. But it's not the same. And so then I find myself walking around in a perpetual state of self loathing, asking myself ever so often, "and why haven't you processed through that thought on paper?" Or this one pops up a lot too. "You are not skilled at any form of house work, cooking, baking or the like. You can only use the "I like writing better" card if you are actually writing."

And while I hate to admit it, I think my sub-conscious has a point. Granted, I can be a bit hard on myself sometimes (as the creative psyche always tends to be), but the fact of the matter remains. Why am I NOT doing the thing I love to do? I can't play the blame game here because all of the other suspects have an alibi. No time? Not true. You just finished season 9 of Scrubs with your husband. No resources? False. You are a 2 apple computer family. No ideas? Seriously? You work with Jr. Highers. They are a creative gold mine for writing material.

I have a little post card on my desk (right next to this AMAZING picture of my niece. It's this one right here:



The card says, "a consistent life is not a perfect life."
I have gone back and forth about this little ditty for a little while. And I think I have come to agree with it. I think. Granted, in the Christian walk, I don't want to use this as a wild card. I'm not saying that we can all give up hope of perfection or holiness and chalk up mediocrity to a life of sinful consistency. Not at all. The reason I like this reminder is that it encourages us to press on in the midst of failure.

So I am giving myself permission to have some pretty lame pieces of writing take place in this space and to let myself know that while each post may not be perfection, if I want to be a consistent writer, then words without blemish won't be part of the equation. It also frees me up to write about...well whatever I want I suppose.

I think a big reason I have steered clear of this whole gig is because I've forgotten that it's ok to have fun with it too. Sometimes with my Jr. High girls I get in these panic modes, where I feel like I only have a certain amount of time to communicate God's truth to them in their life and I have to remind myself in my lessons, that we are all still kids at heart, all of us just looking to hear a good story, and that they are God's handiwork, NOT mine.

This gives me more liberty as well. That it's God who has given me this desire and I don't have to be the one dreaming up life altering prose at the dawn of each day. It is my responsibility to be obedient and listen to my Creator every day, but it's Him who blesses the words and draws them forth.

So. With perfection out of the equation and liberty in it's place.

I say again to myself, (gathering up courage):

Jessi, It's about that time.

Christmas Musings.

I really do enjoy all the festivities at this time of year.
We've been so blessed. Such an abundance of God's provision in our family and in our friendships and places of work.

But no holiday party or Christmas program, can outshine the blessed peace that comes from an early waking, met with snow-covered ground, and quiet time with the Savior of the World.

There are no words to describe such sweet communion as that.

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.