Fear itself.

So I’m having some good health days mixed in with the not-so-good days. I even rode my bike this past weekend. I’ve gotten several headaches, but they’ve all gone away with a Diet Coke and some Excedrin. My neck hurts like it always has, but I know how to live with that, miserable as it is. So I ought to be overjoyed, right? And I am happy – I’m relieved that not every day is going to be horrible. Funny thing is, I’m not sure exactly why I’m feeling better – I haven’t worn the collar or vest as much as prescribed because I haven’t been home. I keep intending to put them on, but I can’t drive with them and it has been too warm to leave them on when I’m out. I’m thinking hormones – they can make things swell and joints get loose or tight. Who knows?

Anyway, I’ve been afraid to tell people that I’ve been feeling better. And I think I have pretty good reason for that. First, as I’ve said lots of times, I know that God doesn’t always do what we want. When I got pregnant right after Ethan’s big lung surgery, I believed it was an answered prayer. So what do I call it when I have a miscarriage at the end of my first trimester? A answered fear? Tom and I had already told everyone we were having a baby because we’d seen its heartbeat and everything looked good. If you’ve ever had to un-tell people something like that, you know that it’s an awful feeling. The worst.

I guess I’m also afraid that if I tell people I feel a little better, they will assume I will continue to feel better and forget about me. Now I hate having people ask how I am all the time, but I do so appreciate prayers. I don’t want people going to their prayer journals and marking me off as “answered”. I know that God can heal me completely, but I also know that I’m not healed completely. Does thinking that mean that God is in heaven saying, “Oh, she’s not claiming healing, so I can’t heal her”? Nope. No way.

So I’ll put it this way: I am healed in Jesus’ name. My spirit is whole and, though scarred, healthy. I can survive anything that comes my way because Jesus lives in me and gives me strength. In fact, when I am weak, He does His best work. The Bible says that our bodies are outwardly wasting away – sounds like aging and imperfections to me. God might spontaneously decide to make my body fully young and healthy again, but if it continues to waste away – well, I look forward to the pain-free eternity that awaits me after my body is dead. How’s that for faith?

I’m sorry I’m afraid – and I’m sorry for people who think that fear represents a lack of faith or trust. But I’d rather be honest about how I feel than to try to put on a brave face and act like I think I’m all better. If God tells me that He’s going to do a big miracle for me, I’ll let you know. Until then, for now, I’m feeling ok. Tomorrow? Who knows? I have no expectations either way.

Yes, even you can make delicious ribs

I always thought trying to make good babyback ribs was something only master chefs (and the people at Old Carolina BBQ) could do. Then I made them myself for the first time. Wow. So easy and amazingly good. I don’t have pictures to make you drool – I’ll maybe add some tomorrow when I make these for our anniversary dinner. Eleven years ago, I was just barely 20 and on the eve of my wedding. Today, I’m barely 31 and on the eve of eating some yummy pig meat.

Ok, here’s how you do it. I’ve added pictures of me preparing them, but they are going to be cooking tomorrow. So hopefully I’ll remember to post pictures of them before we eat them all.

First, buy two racks of babyback ribs (about 3 pounds each). (Or buy one and cut this recipe in half.)

This one's a biggie - 3.5 pounds.

Use a paper towel to remove the membrane on the back of the ribs (the not as meaty part) unless your butcher did it already. Like this:

Second, rinse the meat in water and pat dry with paper towels. Next, use a sharp knife or kitchen shears to cut the ribs into sections of 2-3 ribs each. (Not necessary, but it helps with portion control.)

I use a homemade rib rub which I highly recommend you use because I find that the ones I’ve tasted from the store are WAY too salty. I like sugar with my meat. Here’s my concoction:

• 1/2 tablespoon paprika
• 1/4 tablespoon pepper
• 4-5 heaping tablespoons brown sugar
• 1.5 teaspoon salt
• 1.5 teaspoons celery salt
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder
• 1 teaspoon dry mustard
• 1 teaspoon cumin

Mix this well and then rub it all over the rib portions. I make sure that it’s thickest on the meaty part before drowning the other parts with it. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Try to restrain from eating your fridge in the morning – it will smell delicious.

Place all the meat into 2 baking pans and cover with foil. Bake in a 275 degree oven for about four hours. Again, you may wish to wire your jaws shut so you don’t eat the stove. Or the rest of the kitchen. Because the smell is amazing.

Remove the ribs from the oven and crank up the heat to 400 degrees. Or turn on the grill to med-high heat. Drain the liquid in the pans and either put the ribs on the grill or back in the pans – uncovered. Baste with your favorite barbecue sauce – or doctor the sauce up a little by adding brown sugar and some lemon juice. That’s what I do – so yummy!!

Bake or grill until the sauce is starting to caramelize – you’ll see bubbles in it. Watch closely – it’s really easy to end up with burnt sugar instead a thin crust of barbecue sauce. This only takes a few minutes – maybe 5 to 10 minutes.

Serve with extra barbecue sauce if you want to add more flavor. These ribs will be so juicy and tender and do literally fall off the bone. Enjoy!

Bottom Feeders (as in fish that eat poo)

We went to the Cleveland Zoo on Tuesday. Fall is really the best time of year to go, but late summer works too. It’s not so crowded and the weather is more than tolerable. One of my favorite exhibits is the wolf exhibit (and yet it’s very depressing) because if you go later in the summer or in the fall, the wolves are extremely active. One of them, as a coping mechanism for being in captivity, comes up to the window and trots back and forth down the length of the window, stopping at each end to rub its nose in a kind of figure-8ish loop on the window before it turns around to go the other way. It breaks my heart – but it delights the kids who think that the wolf is playing with them. I don’t have the heart to tell them that the poor animal is depressed. (Have you ever seen the sun bear at the Akron Zoo who shakes its head back and forth like it’s dancing? Yeah, he’s also depressed.)

Anyway, to my delight – and to my kids’ delight – the beavers were actually swimming all around on Tuesday, as well. They have one of those big tanks where you are actually standing under the water level so you can see what’s going on below the surface. It was so cool to see the beaver swim from one side of the little pond to the other right in front of us. Then both beavers came out and were doing underwater flips and all kinds of cool stuff. Watching my kids run back and forth with it was one of those moments in my life where I felt like I might burst because I was watching little people who belong to me experience something for the first time. I may have gotten goosebumps.

That’s when one beaver pooped while it was swimming. It was, um, fascinating, I guess. The little – er – turd, sank to the bottom of the tank. Thankfully my kids didn’t notice. But someone else’s kid did – mainly because a catfish swam over and ate that poo right up. He pounded on his mom’s arm and hyperly pointed out that the fish at the beaver’s poop!! “Cool!”  That’s when I made a stupid (yet very funny) joke to my friend who was standing next to me: “That’s what I call bottom feeding.” Get it? Bottom feeding? As in the poo came from the beaver’s bottom? Stupid, I know.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that lately. Does that fish know it was not eating something pleasant? Was it aware that there are a host of other tasty things in the world that are not processed foods? (Hee-hee, I guess you could insert a joke about people eating processed foods here, but I will spare you the thought.) Is it settling for poo, or is it waiting fir the turds with great anticipation? What if there was a worm and poo next to each other? Would it reject the tasty worm for grossness?

I do have a point. It’s just really silly. I want to know if I am a bottom feeder? Not literally, of course – I even try to limit processed foods in our home. (wink wink) But I mean in life. Do I settle for crap when I could have chocolate? Not everyone has it in them to actually try to be something. In fact, many people are held back by fear. In a way, it is similar to trying new foods. What if I don’t like it? = What if I fail?

How many people who are capable of managing an entire company either turn down promotions or hide so that they won’t be promoted because they are content with crappy hours and pay? How many don’t get a master’s degree because they don’t think it will ever make a difference? How many do half- (well, I was going to use the “a–ed” word just because of the great pun, but I don’t typically say that, so you can just imagine that I did) hearted work because they are lazy, yet they have the potential to invent something that could change the world – if they just put some effort into it?

We are coming up on the season for submitting poems and short stories to publications that actually care a great deal about the work they print. Literary reviews that literally reject over 98% of the works submitted to them. I’ve been published by a few online journals now, but I feel as though I’ve sold myself short. Like I ate poo instead of chocolate because those journal accept 98% (well, 50% anyway) of what’s submitted.

On the one hand, these “elite” journals offer no appeal to me. I do not want my writing to be lumped in with poetry that is “existential”. I don’t write what I don’t think people will understand. I think my writing is better than that. I don’t like most poetry because it’s too weird and out there for me. Yet, my professor from my poetry class said that as a former editor, he thought my poems would be well-received by journals, even if they weren’t written in the typical style.

So here I am, trying to determine my goals. Do I want to remain a bottom feeder? Am I content with crap when I could have chocolate? I guess I’m afraid that I was not created to be more – that bottom feeding was my destiny. Maybe God is watching me in the fish tank of life, seeing me scoop up the poo left by some chintzy internet publication that accepts anyone who submits to them and He’s wishing I would set my sights higher.

It’s funny, though – I’ve tried to convince myself that the gourmet food offered by the “real” journals is too frou-frou for me. That hot dogs are good enough even though I could have steak, if I just tried. I’ve settled for McDonald’s when I could actually afford The Melting Pot. I’m not sure what my goals are, really. I guess I’ll at least have to try the steak, just to see if it’s any good. I don’t like going out on limbs, but as my good friend told me, “That’s where the fruit is.”

 

Stick a fork in me

Seriously. Have you tried shopping for kids’ clothes recently? If you have, do you find yourself wishing to punch the computer screen? (Because I do most of my kids’ shopping online.) What’s the deal with skulls on all the boys’ clothes? Other than that, I’m ok with most boys’ stuff. Well, except the “attitude” shirts. The ones that reinforce that kids are equal with adults or that kids shouldn’t be expected to have any self-control. Right now you can go to Old Navy’s website and by a dozen skull t-shirts (What’s my problem with skulls? Mostly the attitude that is associated with them, I guess. And they aren’t “nice.”) and shirts that say:

I am so bored. (Spelled with Scrabble letters)

Homework is not in my vocabulary

If you can read this you’re in my way

Allergic to school

Yes, call me a prude. It’s ok. I just have a problem with programming kids to think that school stinks or that they can be rude to other people. Sure, as adults, we smile at that and think, “Oh yeah, school was awful” and get the shirt for our kids because it would be funny. Isn’t it a mixed message to tell your kids they need to do well in school and then to let them wear a shirt that says they won’t do their homework? Not cute if you ask me.

And don’t get me started on girls’ clothes. They’ve got lots of attitude shirts too. Lots of “I’m a princess so you better treat me like one” shirts. (FYI, I call my girls “princesses” because they are daughters of the King of Kings. And I teach them how REAL princesses act: Generous, kind, sharing, etc.) And skulls also abound for them – with pink bows even. That’s bad enough – but it gets worse. Once your baby is a toddler, you have the option of dressing her like a tramp. Yes, I said “tramp.” It’s insanely hard to find shorts for girls that don’t come halfway up their bottoms or pants that go halfway down. All the shirts become “fitted” which is fashionspeak for “really really tight”. Fishnet hose and miniskirts, high heels (for toddlers, mind you), and shirts with messages that have a double meaning. (Granted, it was in a teen store, but I saw a shirt for girls that said, “Squeeze my peaches” with two very intentionally placed peaches on the chest. Really?? Even though it was geared toward teens, it was geared toward teens. Think about it.)

There are very few (inexpensive) brands that don’t dress little girls like teenagers or prostitutes. I’m terrified of the day when my girls are too big for Carter’s and Oshkosh. I hope and pray that as they grow older and we instill values into their lives, that we won’t have arguments about how short their skirts or shorts or low rise their pants are. How tight or low cut their shirts are. Maybe by the time they are teenagers, moo-moos will be in style? Hey, a mama can dream.

That whole “If God is good then how come…” thing

I think I talked about this before. If I didn’t, trust me, I think about it a lot. This was a rough week – I’m still feeling pretty cruddy although I’m functional again. But I’ve been a bit peeved at God. Questions about God’s goodness (or lack thereof) seem to be a major reason why people have trouble believing in the Christian God. And I get it – there’s so much pain and suffering in the world. It’s nearly impossible to comprehend how God can be good when there’s so much evil in the world. And at times, even I admit that it seems silly (and that’s putting it mildly) to blindly believe that “His ways are higher than ours.” Since I’m not a philosopher or an apologist, I’ll tell people who are really struggling with these issues to read C.S. Lewis’ “The Problem of Pain” and “Mere Christianity” or to listen to Ravi Zacharis (he has free podcasts that are awesome!) because both these men are amazingly great at explaining how God is good despite the evil in the world.

Personally, though, it’s always a struggle to believe that God really cares about me when it seems He is deaf to my cries for healing. And even though I emphatically don’t believe that God would heal me if I just had more faith (“name it and claim it, people”), I get thoroughly confused as to why – why – He won’t just heal me when I believe with all my heart that He can. After all, it was five years ago that my little buddy Ethan had surgery to remove a mass from his lung that never would have been discovered (until he was sick) had I not had contractions that had “no cause” when I was 25 weeks pregnant with him. And I’ve got two “spontaneous” twins that were conceived just before we were about to start fertility treatments again. I’ve seen with my own eyes how God can work – but I know from experience as well that He’s not always willing to work.

I talked about Paul having a “thorn in his flesh” a few posts ago. God didn’t take it – whatever it was – away from him. I sure wish Paul had a blog where he admitted that he got annoyed with God sometimes. I bet he did. The way he encouraged people in the letters he wrote (you know, the ones that became books of the Bible?) tells me that he had to have learned all those things before writing them. Paul is my hero. Do you know that he called prison, torture, stonings, shipwrecks and snake bites “light and momentary troubles”? Yeah. I may not ever get to that point. But I’m working at it.

I seriously can’t take it anymore…

I had a few weeks with fewer headaches and less severe headaches than normal. One of those was vacation and I’m so thankful the trip wasn’t ruined by my stupid EDS. But yesterday, I woke up and my neck was out – as in every tiny movement I make sends slicing pain down my neck into my shoulder blade. This is the first time the pain has been on the right side and that makes it hard to do anything, even if I could get up and do things. So all day yesterday, I wore my collar, laid around and watched TV – I couldn’t read because it hurt to hold the Nook in front of my face and I can’t look down if it’s in my lap. Today, my wonderful mommy came and help sort out clothes I got for the kids from the outlet stores and she did some laundry and made zucchini bread. Thanks, mom!

What really really really ticks me off is that even on a “good” day, that much “work” is too much. How pathetic that making lunch or breakfast or whatever is too much today. Heck, I can’t even go pee without gasping because of the shooting pain.

And I really really really want to know why I can’t stinkin’ catch a break!? I really want to feel at least a little normal. Will I ever? I’m not supposed to be worried about the future – I have enough trouble today. But I can’t help it. Will horrible days/weeks/months just be a part of my life from now on? Will I constantly be cancelling zoo trips, playdates and even trips to the friggin’ library which is only a mile away? Am I gonna wear a spot into the couch from sitting in the same place all day?

Already, my kids treat me like I’m made of glass and pray nearly every day that I’ll feel better. Doesn’t God hear their prayers and appreciate their complete faith and trust in Him? I can’t look into Kaylee’s eyes when she asks for something and say “no” without feeling guilty. Don’t her big blue eyes have the same effect on Him?

Why do I have to deal with this? There are worse things, yes, but I am struggling to see anything in a positive light right now. All I can see is the rest of my life filled with frustration and misery. I don’t need lectures right now – don’t tell me to buck up and stay positive. I’m content to wallow in my mud for now. I’m sure that in a day or two – when I can at least sit without feeling like crying – I’ll be back to my normal self. Until then, just pray for me because I’m not sure I know what to pray for now.

How beer bottles become treasures

The first time I found beach glass, I didn’t know what it was. As a girl, I had been walking along Euclid Beach on Lake Erie and found what I thought was a purple stone. I showed it to my dad who said he was pretty sure it was actually glass – something that had been broken and then worn smooth and frosty by the sand and waves. Since I had a rock collection, in it went and there it remained until we started vacationing by Lake Erie every year. That’s when I started finding lots of beach glass – big pieces and little pieces. White, amber, green, aqua and even a few bits of blue. Since then, searching for these treasures has becoming one of my favorite parts of vacation.

It occurred to me today that there’s a lot to be learned from beach glass. In the first place, the original vessel has to be broken or sea glass wouldn’t exist.

Second, the shard is just a broken piece piece of glass – worthless – until years of pounding by the waves and sand wear away the sharp edges. Nobody makes necklaces with broken pieces of beer bottles – unless the glass has been transformed into something lovely. Then people actually pay for and wear broken beer bottles.

Third, no matter how frosted and smooth the glass becomes, it’s still glass. Years ago, at Gem Beach, I found half of a bottle neck that was completely smooth and frosted. It was one of my favorite pieces because it was so big and recognizable as part of a bottle. I used to keep my beach glass in a box and my kids accidentally knocked the box off a table one day. My bottleneck is in three pieces now. I should have taken care of it – treated it like glass and not part of a rock collection. I can’t put it back together, it’s ruined. So I’ve put the pieces in a container with sand and other pieces of glass that I found that weren’t really smooth yet. I shake it up every day, and I hope someday those pieces will look lovely – I could put them back in the lake, but I don’t want to give them up.

Can you see how we are like beach glass? To become beautiful, we must be broken; we must die to ourselves every day. It’s our nature to think that we are good enough the way we are – but until we are broken, we’re just empty bottles. Then, once we are broken, the only way to be “healed” is to be worn down until our sharp edges become soft and smooth. Letting the waves (suffering and trials) of life pound us into the sand for years until we become something valuable. We can’t become cocky, though – no, sir. Though we might resemble something found in nature; though we look like rocks and to the touch seem as durable – we are still capable of being shattered. When that happens, God could decide we aren’t worth saving – He could toss us back into the world and hope we turn up again later. But He thinks we are too valuable – and so shaken up by – and yet remaining secure in – His hands, we begin the process all over again. The end result is that a vessel worth a few pennies if you recycle it, turns into something to be treasured – something worth digging through the sand to find. Something worth saving.