So those of you who've been following my blog know that I was a little disgruntled with God at the start of the month. I felt I wasn't getting my proper "due" from a life's worth of tithing. I was selfish and pouting, throwing one of those temper tantrums my own daughter will soon enough be throwing.
Well, it is now the end of February and I am happy to say that I was fed every day of the past month and have been immensely blessed by all of your words of encouragement and prayers.
As I've said before, a lot of preachers like to promise people unexpected financial blessings when they tithe. This has not been the case in my life. And, frankly, it was not the case this month either. Yes, we received an extra $20 or so in my unemployment benefits check the day after tithing early this month; Craig was terribly excited but, again as I've said before, I was skeptical. Sure enough, when the mid-month check was due to arrive in the mail I received instead a notice that my benefits were being suspended until they could interview me at the end of the month. As I'd been planning to buy groceries with that mid-month check, this was slightly frightening.
But here's my praise report and what I want to share with everyone: God got us through this entire month on what I thought would only be two weeks' worth of food. I spent $98 on Jan. 31 for groceries and have only supplemented that twice since then, spending $20 at Albertson's a couple weeks ago and $12 at a farmer's market last Thursday. I remember a time when I would spend that amount on just one week's worth of food! I don't know how this happened. I truly feel like the widow in 1 Kings 17; she had only a handful of flour and oil but just as the Lord declared, "The jar of flour [was not] used up and the jug of oil [did not] run dry until the day the LORD [gave] rain on the land."
Craig's next paycheck arrives Friday. My interview with the unemployment office was yesterday and they've already notified me that my check is in the mail (silly me, I marked my freelance income as "freelance" instead of "self-employment;" now I know better). I'm already planning my grocery list and plan to hit the store first thing Friday morning!
All I can say is praise God--not only for providing this month but (more importantly) for showing me that I can trust Him to pull me through.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Lessons from the Sea
I was the nerd who really liked school. Maybe I didn't like waking before dark or doing algebra homework on the pep bus on the way to games, but I liked school. I liked the smell of my textbooks and filling in my weekly planner with the big dates listed in each course's syllabus. In college, I liked writing research papers and I liked talking about the research my classmates were doing. I liked lifting hefty, spine-worn books that I would never choose to read in my spare time and knowing that by the end of the semester they'd have all been read and dissected.
I think because I liked school so much, I never envisioned myself being a "housewife" or "stay at home mom" or "unemployed woman" (pick whichever term you like best). A lot of it could have been the menial, technical, and isolated job I ended up with after graduate school, but suffice it to say that working was not nearly as stimulating to me as schooling had been. I felt myself growing stagnant, falling into routine, slipping into this groove in which it seemed I'd never learn anything ever again.
Then I was laid off and newly pregnant to boot and my husband agreed I should stay home and work on getting some freelance jobs and preparing a home for our new baby. I was worried about making this work. I still am, but I must say I've learned a lot more in these past two months of staying home than I did the year and a half I spent as a "career woman."
For one thing, I've learned how to make beets. More than that, I've learned what raw beets look like sitting on the stand at a farmer's market. I've learned that there is no such thing as a beet that is too big. I've learned how to rinse and cook even the beet greens and serve those with vinegar and rice. I've learned that my husband (the ultimate hater of all things vegetable) absolutely loves beets. Eight years of marriage, and I'm only now learning this!
I've learned that the absolute worst time to go to the gym near our house is 10:30am because that is when the janitor vacuums the area around the treadmills and because, when he does so, I am unable to hear my fiction podcasts from The New Yorker and NPR. I've learned the best time to go is 6:30am when the retirees come in with their fresh makeup and knobby, old man knees and flirt with one another.
I've learned that my ferocious, twelve-pound miniature pincher can walk right past a playground full of screaming toddlers but will try to attack any fluffy, four-legged animal within her line of sight. I've learned that the two 90 pound black beasts we sometimes see on our walks are terrified of her.
I've learned that Wednesdays are the best days to shop at the local market nearby because that is the day the previous week's specials overlap with the upcoming week's specials. I've learned that everything in that store is overpriced unless it's on sale, but if it's on sale it's normally the best deal in town. I've learned how to shop best deals in town online.
I've learned that the teenaged girl who sometimes stays with the older couple next door to us can scream until your heart breaks for her and that, if I stand in the far corner of our house near the piano, I can hear her crying.
I've learned that the middle-aged father of two in the upstairs unit across the path is also an artist, and that if I wake early enough I can see him painting before he leaves for work. I've learned that seeing him paint that way in the dark mornings when everyone else is asleep makes me inexplicably happy.
I've learned that even when I'm home all day, I am selfish with my time and reluctant to call people. I've learned a good remedy to my selfish hoarding of time is going to a Tuesday morning Bible Study, where I've learned the names of women who know where I am and what I'm going through. I've learned the days go quicker when I'm sweeping and freelancing and walking and cooking than they ever did when I commuted two hours a day.
All in all, I've learned that I really like this whole housewife gig and I hope it works out for a good while longer.
I think because I liked school so much, I never envisioned myself being a "housewife" or "stay at home mom" or "unemployed woman" (pick whichever term you like best). A lot of it could have been the menial, technical, and isolated job I ended up with after graduate school, but suffice it to say that working was not nearly as stimulating to me as schooling had been. I felt myself growing stagnant, falling into routine, slipping into this groove in which it seemed I'd never learn anything ever again.
Then I was laid off and newly pregnant to boot and my husband agreed I should stay home and work on getting some freelance jobs and preparing a home for our new baby. I was worried about making this work. I still am, but I must say I've learned a lot more in these past two months of staying home than I did the year and a half I spent as a "career woman."
For one thing, I've learned how to make beets. More than that, I've learned what raw beets look like sitting on the stand at a farmer's market. I've learned that there is no such thing as a beet that is too big. I've learned how to rinse and cook even the beet greens and serve those with vinegar and rice. I've learned that my husband (the ultimate hater of all things vegetable) absolutely loves beets. Eight years of marriage, and I'm only now learning this!
I've learned that the absolute worst time to go to the gym near our house is 10:30am because that is when the janitor vacuums the area around the treadmills and because, when he does so, I am unable to hear my fiction podcasts from The New Yorker and NPR. I've learned the best time to go is 6:30am when the retirees come in with their fresh makeup and knobby, old man knees and flirt with one another.
I've learned that my ferocious, twelve-pound miniature pincher can walk right past a playground full of screaming toddlers but will try to attack any fluffy, four-legged animal within her line of sight. I've learned that the two 90 pound black beasts we sometimes see on our walks are terrified of her.
I've learned that Wednesdays are the best days to shop at the local market nearby because that is the day the previous week's specials overlap with the upcoming week's specials. I've learned that everything in that store is overpriced unless it's on sale, but if it's on sale it's normally the best deal in town. I've learned how to shop best deals in town online.
I've learned that the teenaged girl who sometimes stays with the older couple next door to us can scream until your heart breaks for her and that, if I stand in the far corner of our house near the piano, I can hear her crying.
I've learned that the middle-aged father of two in the upstairs unit across the path is also an artist, and that if I wake early enough I can see him painting before he leaves for work. I've learned that seeing him paint that way in the dark mornings when everyone else is asleep makes me inexplicably happy.
I've learned that even when I'm home all day, I am selfish with my time and reluctant to call people. I've learned a good remedy to my selfish hoarding of time is going to a Tuesday morning Bible Study, where I've learned the names of women who know where I am and what I'm going through. I've learned the days go quicker when I'm sweeping and freelancing and walking and cooking than they ever did when I commuted two hours a day.
All in all, I've learned that I really like this whole housewife gig and I hope it works out for a good while longer.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Swimming for Endurance
When you're in your first trimester, people like to tell you that things get better. At first you believe them. Then as you get into your 10th and 11th weeks still feeling like you've been run over by a bulldozer, you stop. You begin to think that you will be one of those "unlucky few" for whom morning sickness, dizziness, and nausea are ongoing battles throughout the entirety of your pregnancy.
Next thing you know, you're a couple weeks into your second trimester and have never felt better. Your stomach pops out enough that people stop dropping their diet and exercise tips into every conversation and instead begin talking about their baby nieces, nephews, or grandchildren. You get to start a baby registry and wear new clothes. People tell you that your skin and hair glow. Though you read that the second trimester will be replaced all too soon with the back pain, fatigue, and numerous other discomforts of the third trimester, you don't pay much attention. You feel great. Never felt better. How could third trimester discomfort really be that bad? After all, you survived the first trimester just fine.
Then it happens. You hit the cusp of your 24th week and notice you're not feeling quite so hot any more.
At least that's how it seems to be for me. The 24th week starts this weekend and, though www.parenting.com lists the third trimester as officially beginning at 28 weeks, I'm experiencing all kinds of new aches and pains. Some of it is inexplicable. Why does the right side of my neck and shoulder hurt when I laugh? What is this tightness in my chest when I yawn? Why can I hear the veins in my head? Others have perfectly logical explanations if no real logical solution.
The other morning I woke before the alarm with a terrible leg cramp. I've had minor leg cramps before now. I know to eat bananas and yogurt. But this was a major leg cramp. When I reached to massage it away, my whole body seemed to cramp up and I started writhing and groaning. Poor Craig literally "jumped" awake to find his pregnant wife acting like she's having some sort of epileptic fit right there on the bed. He managed to rub it out for me but for the whole day my leg felt like a pillar of static fuzz.
Then there's a new and growing pain right above my right hip. It's been there before sometimes when I turn too suddenly, laugh too hard, or rise too quickly. But it's getting worse. It's beginning to interfere with my walks. I'm told this is from a frayed and stretched tendon--like a rubber band pulled too tight and made loose and wobbly. I was told to "walk slower," but I question this because I've also been told that women who
burn a certain number of calories each day have quicker labor and deliveries. I've read that labor and delivery extracts roughly the same physical toll as running 17 miles. I've never run 17 miles. I'd pass out if I tried to run 17 miles. I should be in training, not strolling through the park.
Then there's the sciatic nerve flaring up. That takes heat so my husband went out and bought an electrical heating pad. The only problem is that there is not an over abundance of electrical outlets in our house; the ones that exist are hidden in corners behind furniture. So I carry around the heating pad along with a long, ugly, orange extension cord all day.
Meanwhile, I haven't been sleeping well. I get that shallow, REM sleep where you dream strange dreams and wake one hour later. I lay there trying to pick dreams apart, to separate what really happened from what didn't (I didn't, for instance, slap my friend so hard her face flared red and she refused to speak to me any more). And a couple hours later I get to dream for another hour or so before waking and starting the process all over again. So far I haven't waked simply because I had to pee, but I hear that's coming too. Maybe by then, though, I'll be getting pulled from real sleep instead of this state of half-sleep where the only thing resting is my body.
They say the lack of sleep women experience during pregnancy is training for when the baby comes and keeps them up all night. It seems to me that it'd make more sense to let us poor women rest while we still can. They also say all this pain will be worth it and I suppose I believe them. I've read stories of women who had hiccups the entire last 4 months of their pregnancy only to get pregnant a second and even third time--experiencing those darn hiccups with each baby. So it must be worth it all in the end, and even if it isn't, there's my pride to consider: if other women can do it, so can I.
Next thing you know, you're a couple weeks into your second trimester and have never felt better. Your stomach pops out enough that people stop dropping their diet and exercise tips into every conversation and instead begin talking about their baby nieces, nephews, or grandchildren. You get to start a baby registry and wear new clothes. People tell you that your skin and hair glow. Though you read that the second trimester will be replaced all too soon with the back pain, fatigue, and numerous other discomforts of the third trimester, you don't pay much attention. You feel great. Never felt better. How could third trimester discomfort really be that bad? After all, you survived the first trimester just fine.
Then it happens. You hit the cusp of your 24th week and notice you're not feeling quite so hot any more.
At least that's how it seems to be for me. The 24th week starts this weekend and, though www.parenting.com lists the third trimester as officially beginning at 28 weeks, I'm experiencing all kinds of new aches and pains. Some of it is inexplicable. Why does the right side of my neck and shoulder hurt when I laugh? What is this tightness in my chest when I yawn? Why can I hear the veins in my head? Others have perfectly logical explanations if no real logical solution.
The other morning I woke before the alarm with a terrible leg cramp. I've had minor leg cramps before now. I know to eat bananas and yogurt. But this was a major leg cramp. When I reached to massage it away, my whole body seemed to cramp up and I started writhing and groaning. Poor Craig literally "jumped" awake to find his pregnant wife acting like she's having some sort of epileptic fit right there on the bed. He managed to rub it out for me but for the whole day my leg felt like a pillar of static fuzz.
Then there's a new and growing pain right above my right hip. It's been there before sometimes when I turn too suddenly, laugh too hard, or rise too quickly. But it's getting worse. It's beginning to interfere with my walks. I'm told this is from a frayed and stretched tendon--like a rubber band pulled too tight and made loose and wobbly. I was told to "walk slower," but I question this because I've also been told that women who
burn a certain number of calories each day have quicker labor and deliveries. I've read that labor and delivery extracts roughly the same physical toll as running 17 miles. I've never run 17 miles. I'd pass out if I tried to run 17 miles. I should be in training, not strolling through the park.
Then there's the sciatic nerve flaring up. That takes heat so my husband went out and bought an electrical heating pad. The only problem is that there is not an over abundance of electrical outlets in our house; the ones that exist are hidden in corners behind furniture. So I carry around the heating pad along with a long, ugly, orange extension cord all day.
Meanwhile, I haven't been sleeping well. I get that shallow, REM sleep where you dream strange dreams and wake one hour later. I lay there trying to pick dreams apart, to separate what really happened from what didn't (I didn't, for instance, slap my friend so hard her face flared red and she refused to speak to me any more). And a couple hours later I get to dream for another hour or so before waking and starting the process all over again. So far I haven't waked simply because I had to pee, but I hear that's coming too. Maybe by then, though, I'll be getting pulled from real sleep instead of this state of half-sleep where the only thing resting is my body.
They say the lack of sleep women experience during pregnancy is training for when the baby comes and keeps them up all night. It seems to me that it'd make more sense to let us poor women rest while we still can. They also say all this pain will be worth it and I suppose I believe them. I've read stories of women who had hiccups the entire last 4 months of their pregnancy only to get pregnant a second and even third time--experiencing those darn hiccups with each baby. So it must be worth it all in the end, and even if it isn't, there's my pride to consider: if other women can do it, so can I.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Beast Within
I like horror movies. A lot. More than I probably should to be perfectly honest. People ask me why and I generally don't have a good answer except to say that they really get my attention. I've sat through any number of "good" romance or drama or action movies and not really cared much either way what happened, but I've never had that sensation during a horror movie.
A friend of mine from graduate school had a much smarter response to that question. She said she liked horror because it explores the basic primal fears that we all have locked away inside. I think there's something to that and something about the darker side of the imagination that is worth examining. After all, I don't like just any horror movie that makes use of buckets of fake blood and chain-saw wielding maniacs inexplicably killing people. If you're going to scare me, be smart about it. The best horror movie I've ever seen is the 1963 The Haunting, in which you never see a single ghost (it's rated G). Asian horror films typically get it right too; these movies, like Korea's A Tale of Two Sisters, typically focus on family relationships more than psychotic, blood-thirsty monsters. They examine that line between love and hate, jealousy and rage. The horror is in the power of our emotions and what we are capable of.
So it should come as no surprise when you learn that Craig and I chose The Wolfman over such romances as Valentine's Day, When in Rome, or Dear John as our Valentine's date. A remake of the 1941 film (the foundation for all future werewolf movies), it maintained that epic sensibility so many older movies have and, like all werewolf movies, it dares you to think about your own "beastly" qualities locked away inside of you. As the movie states at the very beginning, even those who say their nightly prayers are susceptible to the rage inside. A distinctly Christian ideology, I think, that we are all sinners at heart.
Regardless, it was great film. And I'd determined to snuggle into my seat and thoroughly enjoy the luxury of watching a horror movie in a movie theater on a date with my husband before our little Salmon Egg makes her debut into the wider world and puts a serious crimp in my horror movie viewing. Unfortunately, no one had told me I've already crossed the point of no return.
I had thought I'd be able to sit back and unabashedly enjoy watching Benicio Del Toro morph from man to wolf, but I was wrong. There was a glimmer of guilt even though our egg has not yet hatched. Why? Because I made the mistake of reading shortly beforehand that our baby can now hear environmental sounds and that loud or sudden noises will "startle" her. This movie has quite a few loud and sudden noises and our theater had the volume cranked up. And let me tell you: our little one was most assuredly "startled." Watching Del Toro's inner beast physically push and break its way out, I felt I had my own beast pushing and clawing inside of me. A unique experience, to say the least.
A friend of mine from graduate school had a much smarter response to that question. She said she liked horror because it explores the basic primal fears that we all have locked away inside. I think there's something to that and something about the darker side of the imagination that is worth examining. After all, I don't like just any horror movie that makes use of buckets of fake blood and chain-saw wielding maniacs inexplicably killing people. If you're going to scare me, be smart about it. The best horror movie I've ever seen is the 1963 The Haunting, in which you never see a single ghost (it's rated G). Asian horror films typically get it right too; these movies, like Korea's A Tale of Two Sisters, typically focus on family relationships more than psychotic, blood-thirsty monsters. They examine that line between love and hate, jealousy and rage. The horror is in the power of our emotions and what we are capable of.
So it should come as no surprise when you learn that Craig and I chose The Wolfman over such romances as Valentine's Day, When in Rome, or Dear John as our Valentine's date. A remake of the 1941 film (the foundation for all future werewolf movies), it maintained that epic sensibility so many older movies have and, like all werewolf movies, it dares you to think about your own "beastly" qualities locked away inside of you. As the movie states at the very beginning, even those who say their nightly prayers are susceptible to the rage inside. A distinctly Christian ideology, I think, that we are all sinners at heart.
Regardless, it was great film. And I'd determined to snuggle into my seat and thoroughly enjoy the luxury of watching a horror movie in a movie theater on a date with my husband before our little Salmon Egg makes her debut into the wider world and puts a serious crimp in my horror movie viewing. Unfortunately, no one had told me I've already crossed the point of no return.
I had thought I'd be able to sit back and unabashedly enjoy watching Benicio Del Toro morph from man to wolf, but I was wrong. There was a glimmer of guilt even though our egg has not yet hatched. Why? Because I made the mistake of reading shortly beforehand that our baby can now hear environmental sounds and that loud or sudden noises will "startle" her. This movie has quite a few loud and sudden noises and our theater had the volume cranked up. And let me tell you: our little one was most assuredly "startled." Watching Del Toro's inner beast physically push and break its way out, I felt I had my own beast pushing and clawing inside of me. A unique experience, to say the least.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The New Current
A few years ago I wasn't sure I'd even want kids. Ever. Today I find myself using up precious Amazon gift cards on such books as Baby and Child Care by Dr. Dobson and The Mayo Clinic Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy. It's hard to do when Amazon pops up with books especially recommended for me--books by Paulette Jiles and Marilyn Robinson and Flannery O'Connor. I wonder when those types of recommendations will be replaced by such titles as Burping for Buffoons and Diapering for Dummies. I wonder if, when that day comes, I'll ever read a decent book again. If I'll even know what the decent books are any more.
All kinds of changes are happening these days. I've learned how to pile my hair on top of my head mommy-style (Craig says it makes me look old). We've started putting a children's gate in the doorway to what will soon be the nursery (so the dogs will be accustomed to not being let in without adult supervision). Our conversations are peppered with talk of how to approach future sleep and feeding schedules. My stomach has gone from flat to chunky to "Is she or isn't she" proportions. Here's some photos of my growing abdomen--you all have my mom to thank for pestering me into this. And no, the photos are not being taken in consistent time intervals; I'm too busy researching bottle sanitizers to take pictures of myself. Enjoy.
All kinds of changes are happening these days. I've learned how to pile my hair on top of my head mommy-style (Craig says it makes me look old). We've started putting a children's gate in the doorway to what will soon be the nursery (so the dogs will be accustomed to not being let in without adult supervision). Our conversations are peppered with talk of how to approach future sleep and feeding schedules. My stomach has gone from flat to chunky to "Is she or isn't she" proportions. Here's some photos of my growing abdomen--you all have my mom to thank for pestering me into this. And no, the photos are not being taken in consistent time intervals; I'm too busy researching bottle sanitizers to take pictures of myself. Enjoy.
Week 11: Chunky (I believe I was using hair ties to keep my pants buttoned at this point.)
Week 18: Hey, I think there's a baby in my belly!
Week 21: Yep, definitely a baby in there.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Unknown Life in the Depths
Yesterday we held our breath and plunged deeper into the fish tank. At the bottom were bright lights, purple-clad workers, teeteringly pregnant women, and babies in slings. We had come to the depths of parenthood for one purpose alone: a baby registry at Babies R Us.
The water that deep into the tank is not like it is further up where the sun can still penetrate and warm you. For weeks I've been happily "nibbling" away so to speak at my online registry (myregistry.com), adding whimsical wishes to the list--things like wooden high chairs, birdy-embroidered bedding, and sea turtle nightlights. It was time to go deeper. Time to get serious. Time to start shopping for things like diapers, burp cloths, and bottle sanitizers.
Registering at Babies R Us is a ponderous task and one hears war stories about it the moment pregnancy is announced. Mythical tales of damsels in distress, floods of tears, and registry lists a mile long are not uncommon. But we'd been mentally prepared beforehand.
For reasons unknown to me, this particular store is laid out in such a way that unsuspecting first-time parents find themselves in the midst of breast-feeding products immediately after being given scan guns. Craig happily started scanning away at bottles and milk bags, not realizing the row we looked at was only one of probably 10 different brands, each with their own pros and cons to consider. When we turned the corner and saw yet more bottles and milk bags--this time accompanied with nursing pads, nipple cream, pumps, and pillows, I understood where the floods of tears came from. We stood between two aisles circling slowly, horrified at what faced us in a few short months.
That's when another fish--one with a red ponytail, freckles, and newly loosened stomach skin--swam over to us and gave us lessons on the intricacies of newborn care. She warned me to stay away from certain products and hold off on others ("your baby will tell you what she likes," she said); she encouraged buying some items used and warned to only buy new ones of others. After Craig slunk off, she taught me how to freeze cabbages and shop for nursing pads ("they're just maxi pads for your boobs"). And then she moved on to cover Burt's Bees for Babies, bath tubs for newborns, the dangers of buying a used car seat, and the importance of a microwavable bottle sanitizer.
I, of course, immediately proceeded to forget all of her lessons after she swam off. After finding my husband scanning a "My Mommy's Hotter Than Your Mommy" bib, I pulled him over to the stacked shelves of bottle sanitizers and brushes. I pulled out our Registry Essentials checklist and compared the items on the wall to the items on my page. We decided to delete the first packages of bottle supplies we'd scanned and scan this new brand of bottles and sanitizers instead. And then we quickly made our escape to baby hygiene, where similar conundrums presented themselves all over again.
It did get easier as we swam further along. Maybe we got used to the depths and maybe the baby gear supplies just became more familiar as we moved into swings and away from breast feeding. Either way, we made our way back to the surface without a single tear dropping. When we emerged from those sliding glass doors, the sun was warm and life looked a little bit more like we're used to.
The water that deep into the tank is not like it is further up where the sun can still penetrate and warm you. For weeks I've been happily "nibbling" away so to speak at my online registry (myregistry.com), adding whimsical wishes to the list--things like wooden high chairs, birdy-embroidered bedding, and sea turtle nightlights. It was time to go deeper. Time to get serious. Time to start shopping for things like diapers, burp cloths, and bottle sanitizers.
Registering at Babies R Us is a ponderous task and one hears war stories about it the moment pregnancy is announced. Mythical tales of damsels in distress, floods of tears, and registry lists a mile long are not uncommon. But we'd been mentally prepared beforehand.
For reasons unknown to me, this particular store is laid out in such a way that unsuspecting first-time parents find themselves in the midst of breast-feeding products immediately after being given scan guns. Craig happily started scanning away at bottles and milk bags, not realizing the row we looked at was only one of probably 10 different brands, each with their own pros and cons to consider. When we turned the corner and saw yet more bottles and milk bags--this time accompanied with nursing pads, nipple cream, pumps, and pillows, I understood where the floods of tears came from. We stood between two aisles circling slowly, horrified at what faced us in a few short months.
That's when another fish--one with a red ponytail, freckles, and newly loosened stomach skin--swam over to us and gave us lessons on the intricacies of newborn care. She warned me to stay away from certain products and hold off on others ("your baby will tell you what she likes," she said); she encouraged buying some items used and warned to only buy new ones of others. After Craig slunk off, she taught me how to freeze cabbages and shop for nursing pads ("they're just maxi pads for your boobs"). And then she moved on to cover Burt's Bees for Babies, bath tubs for newborns, the dangers of buying a used car seat, and the importance of a microwavable bottle sanitizer.
I, of course, immediately proceeded to forget all of her lessons after she swam off. After finding my husband scanning a "My Mommy's Hotter Than Your Mommy" bib, I pulled him over to the stacked shelves of bottle sanitizers and brushes. I pulled out our Registry Essentials checklist and compared the items on the wall to the items on my page. We decided to delete the first packages of bottle supplies we'd scanned and scan this new brand of bottles and sanitizers instead. And then we quickly made our escape to baby hygiene, where similar conundrums presented themselves all over again.
It did get easier as we swam further along. Maybe we got used to the depths and maybe the baby gear supplies just became more familiar as we moved into swings and away from breast feeding. Either way, we made our way back to the surface without a single tear dropping. When we emerged from those sliding glass doors, the sun was warm and life looked a little bit more like we're used to.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I know God feeds the sparrow; what about the salmon?
This is not a post that I wanted to write. It's intensely personal and, though I think I'm fairly open with people, it's hard to get this personal on a blog--which is ironic because isn't that, after all, the whole point of a blog? A vanity press to air your thoughts and feelings to a world that hasn't asked you.
It's also not a post I wanted to write because it's about both faith and money. The only two topics I know of that are guaranteed to upset people. And I hate upsetting people.
So here we go: faith and money.
A little over one year ago, I was notified that my job position would be ending Dec. 31, 2009 and my husband was notified that his salary was going to be immediately and "temporarily" reduced by 15%. That was an emotional time. I'd just graduated from graduate school, my husband had accepted what should have been an amazing job position, we'd moved all the way out to Southern California for said job position, I'd accepted my first "real" job, and as far as we could see, things were only going up. So of course, that was the perfect time for the hammer to fall.
About the same time all that drama was going on, our pastor preached a couple sermons about tithing. (Cue scary music.) I know most of you reading this don't tithe and a good number of you don't even share my faith, so I'm betting there's a lot of eye-rolling going on right about now. Anyway, Craig and I had been tithing consistently over the years but in the midst of this financial upheaval, these sermons on tithing convinced us that tithing on our net income was not technically "giving the firstfruits of our labor to the Lord," and because we wanted to be obedient, we decided to start tithing on our gross income. This resulted in a couple overdraft fees while we searched diligently for a cheaper apartment and other ways to save money. Eventually, we got beyond that point. We moved, cut our spending, and were able to tithe on our gross income without netting $35 overdraft fees every month.
Until recently, when my job officially ended. We got through January just fine because I had half a month's salary paid as part of my severance package. But then we found ourselves looking at the budget for the coming months and, lo and behold, each month from now until April (the date Craig is rumored to be getting his full salary back) carries a deficit equal to what was once roughly half a month's income for me. Ugh. The same day we realized we had these looming deficits in our monthly future, we attended a financial seminar at our church. This seminar outlined God's perspective on finances as revealed in the Bible and gave steps on how to achieve debt-free living. The speaker ended on a call to tithe (because, after all, tithing is irrefutably part of God's financial plan as outlined in the Bible).
Well, this is where I got rebellious. As the speaker tried to convince us that God meets our needs when we tithe by sharing tales of unexpected financial blessing accompanying tithing, I became very, very bitter. Where was our financial blessing? I'd tithed the entirety of my adult life. Why wasn't I being blessed? What was the deal with those overdraft fees I'd been "rewarded" with after tithing? Craig and I determined to stop tithing.
And then I was terribly convicted. I can get religious here and say "and then God told me..." or I could be secular and say "and then I realized..."
Either way: the thought came to me, "How dare I throw a tantrum and willfully disobey GOD because of a perceived lack of financial blessing? I have been given rich spiritual blessings! I have been blessed with parents who pray over me every day and who introduced me to Christ. I have the security of eternal life in heaven. I have a husband who seeks God's will in all things. I have friends who encourage me and love me. And above all, I have the blessing of being obedient to God and living under His protection and in relationship with the creator of the universe! How dare I demand something as temporary and unfulfilling as money in light of all that? My tithe money goes to feed and clothe people living in shacks, motels, and the streets of Skid Row! My tithe money goes to sending preachers and missionaries into the world to save people from bondage, to provide education, medical supplies, and ways of escape from prostitution. My tithe money is storing up heavenly riches and I'm willing to piss it all away because I might have to sell my Jeep or move from an apartment costing $1500/month to one costing $1000/month. How bratty of me!"
So I talked to Craig, and apparently God had been working on him in a similar fashion. We agreed to tithe. Not just on the net but on the gross, and not just on his income but on my very tiny unemployment checks and freelance jobs. Of course, a wrinkle in our plan emerged just as we were drifting off to sleep: in our attempt to cut costs we hadn't ordered new checks yet and had no check on which to write our tithe. Which only meant that we woke up earlier than usual so that we would have time to drive to our bank's ATM and withdraw the tithe amount in cash. Somehow that whole process made the act of tithing much more sacrificial and deliberate.
Well, just because we had the conviction and the cold hard cash in hand doesn't mean it was all roses. I wept during worship leading up to the "Tithe and Offering" portion of service. And I wept some more listening to our pastor preach afterward. I prayed, "Dear God, I know you're here and watching over me, but I need some real, tangible proof right about now. I don't need money; I just need assurance. Surely you can do that." Guess what? He did. After the service, an acquaintance came over and said God had been laying us on her heart all morning and she wanted to pray over us and let us know that God was in control. And this acquaintance had no idea what we've been struggling with. So of course, I cried again.
And now, even though we're faced with the same deficits and the same tough choices regarding our rent and our possessions, I don't feel the same. I feel calm like I haven't in a long time.
As far as unexpected finances go, we did get my first unemployment check sooner than anticipated and it did include an amount $20 higher than anticipated. Craig chooses to look at that as a financial reward; I'm more skeptical. But $20 is $20 and God is God and even if we have to sell all we own and move into a cramped studio somewhere (sticking our baby in a closet, I suppose), we'll still be alive and we'll still be together and we'll still be walking in faith with our Lord. And that's all that really matters at the end of the day.
PS: You don't have to be "religious" to see the benefits of tithing, so stop rolling your eyes now! Even atheists can "tithe;" just read Oprah's take on it!
It's also not a post I wanted to write because it's about both faith and money. The only two topics I know of that are guaranteed to upset people. And I hate upsetting people.
So here we go: faith and money.
A little over one year ago, I was notified that my job position would be ending Dec. 31, 2009 and my husband was notified that his salary was going to be immediately and "temporarily" reduced by 15%. That was an emotional time. I'd just graduated from graduate school, my husband had accepted what should have been an amazing job position, we'd moved all the way out to Southern California for said job position, I'd accepted my first "real" job, and as far as we could see, things were only going up. So of course, that was the perfect time for the hammer to fall.
About the same time all that drama was going on, our pastor preached a couple sermons about tithing. (Cue scary music.) I know most of you reading this don't tithe and a good number of you don't even share my faith, so I'm betting there's a lot of eye-rolling going on right about now. Anyway, Craig and I had been tithing consistently over the years but in the midst of this financial upheaval, these sermons on tithing convinced us that tithing on our net income was not technically "giving the firstfruits of our labor to the Lord," and because we wanted to be obedient, we decided to start tithing on our gross income. This resulted in a couple overdraft fees while we searched diligently for a cheaper apartment and other ways to save money. Eventually, we got beyond that point. We moved, cut our spending, and were able to tithe on our gross income without netting $35 overdraft fees every month.
Until recently, when my job officially ended. We got through January just fine because I had half a month's salary paid as part of my severance package. But then we found ourselves looking at the budget for the coming months and, lo and behold, each month from now until April (the date Craig is rumored to be getting his full salary back) carries a deficit equal to what was once roughly half a month's income for me. Ugh. The same day we realized we had these looming deficits in our monthly future, we attended a financial seminar at our church. This seminar outlined God's perspective on finances as revealed in the Bible and gave steps on how to achieve debt-free living. The speaker ended on a call to tithe (because, after all, tithing is irrefutably part of God's financial plan as outlined in the Bible).
Well, this is where I got rebellious. As the speaker tried to convince us that God meets our needs when we tithe by sharing tales of unexpected financial blessing accompanying tithing, I became very, very bitter. Where was our financial blessing? I'd tithed the entirety of my adult life. Why wasn't I being blessed? What was the deal with those overdraft fees I'd been "rewarded" with after tithing? Craig and I determined to stop tithing.
And then I was terribly convicted. I can get religious here and say "and then God told me..." or I could be secular and say "and then I realized..."
Either way: the thought came to me, "How dare I throw a tantrum and willfully disobey GOD because of a perceived lack of financial blessing? I have been given rich spiritual blessings! I have been blessed with parents who pray over me every day and who introduced me to Christ. I have the security of eternal life in heaven. I have a husband who seeks God's will in all things. I have friends who encourage me and love me. And above all, I have the blessing of being obedient to God and living under His protection and in relationship with the creator of the universe! How dare I demand something as temporary and unfulfilling as money in light of all that? My tithe money goes to feed and clothe people living in shacks, motels, and the streets of Skid Row! My tithe money goes to sending preachers and missionaries into the world to save people from bondage, to provide education, medical supplies, and ways of escape from prostitution. My tithe money is storing up heavenly riches and I'm willing to piss it all away because I might have to sell my Jeep or move from an apartment costing $1500/month to one costing $1000/month. How bratty of me!"
So I talked to Craig, and apparently God had been working on him in a similar fashion. We agreed to tithe. Not just on the net but on the gross, and not just on his income but on my very tiny unemployment checks and freelance jobs. Of course, a wrinkle in our plan emerged just as we were drifting off to sleep: in our attempt to cut costs we hadn't ordered new checks yet and had no check on which to write our tithe. Which only meant that we woke up earlier than usual so that we would have time to drive to our bank's ATM and withdraw the tithe amount in cash. Somehow that whole process made the act of tithing much more sacrificial and deliberate.
Well, just because we had the conviction and the cold hard cash in hand doesn't mean it was all roses. I wept during worship leading up to the "Tithe and Offering" portion of service. And I wept some more listening to our pastor preach afterward. I prayed, "Dear God, I know you're here and watching over me, but I need some real, tangible proof right about now. I don't need money; I just need assurance. Surely you can do that." Guess what? He did. After the service, an acquaintance came over and said God had been laying us on her heart all morning and she wanted to pray over us and let us know that God was in control. And this acquaintance had no idea what we've been struggling with. So of course, I cried again.
And now, even though we're faced with the same deficits and the same tough choices regarding our rent and our possessions, I don't feel the same. I feel calm like I haven't in a long time.
As far as unexpected finances go, we did get my first unemployment check sooner than anticipated and it did include an amount $20 higher than anticipated. Craig chooses to look at that as a financial reward; I'm more skeptical. But $20 is $20 and God is God and even if we have to sell all we own and move into a cramped studio somewhere (sticking our baby in a closet, I suppose), we'll still be alive and we'll still be together and we'll still be walking in faith with our Lord. And that's all that really matters at the end of the day.
PS: You don't have to be "religious" to see the benefits of tithing, so stop rolling your eyes now! Even atheists can "tithe;" just read Oprah's take on it!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)