Love Me by JJ Heller

I haven't ever heard this song before, but in searching for favorites to share, I stumbled upon this. I found it to be so pretty.

Love Me by JJ Heller

I am often lonely, wishing and praying for a friend with whom I can be 'just me.' I remember lamenting this to my mom when I was in college. I told her, 'I have no friends with whom to play!' She laughed at how I said it and said, "Maybe that is why!"

I listened to this song and it struck me that I am probably not rare in my longing. I suppose we all feel lonely and different at some point or another.

I must remember that I am exceedingly blessed to have my Lord as a friend. We all do. But sometimes it doesn't feel like enough. And man, I feel guilty for even thinking that seemingly ungrateful, even blasphemous, thought! But then I think, 'He made us for relationship.'  It naturally follows that we want and need people.

I do have someone. I have my husband. I am totally me with him. I have no secrets. And in my most unlovely states, he actively loves me. I am blessed. I get to experience Jesus-caliber love from someone tangible. I would love an Anne Shirley-style kindred spirit of a girl friend. But when I sit and think--and climb out of my pity party--I realize I have two fantastic sisters who also love unlovely me. My kids take me for who I am and still want to be with me.

That is all pretty darn good!

TMI—Read with Caution and Mercy

Last night we were settling in for the night when my husband said that his ‘modi’ hurt.  That is the word for head in Korean.  I have lost my Korean vocabulary but for a few words, including modi.  The moment he said it, though, he sighed and asked, ‘Why would I say that?’  I laughed, a little triumphantly, and said that I had worn a groove out of him into which only I can fit.  I had ruined him for anyone else!  I quickly acquiesced that I have a similar groove in me for him.

He said that it is more like several grooves, and he weaved his fingers into mine.  He said that pulling apart would be so very painful with all those points of contact.  I quickly agreed.

Very sweet, huh?  I should have just left it at that, or reacted with a more romantic and amorous move.  But you need to understand something.  I am too often the unarmed victim in the ‘game’ of family flatulence.  The have me at their mercy and I am shamefully outnumbered.  I am regularly left writhing under a blanket after an attack.  Living like that can make one a little crazy.  So, you see, when I have something to offer on this front, I absolutely must act!  It is a matter of self-respect?

I am not heartless, however.  I was able to recognize how tender the moment was, so in keeping with it I…I….Well, he had just said that we should stay together forever, so I…I….  I offered to ‘toot’ on it.  *Blush*

He was properly appalled.  He asked if I thought men actually offered to ‘toot’ on things.  “Hey, Dude, let’s toot on it!”  “But Dude!  We tooted on it, man!”  I thought he was offended by my terminology.  I laughed so hard as I realized it was the deal itself that caused the affront.  I guess there is a reason why I am usually the unarmed, squealing girl in this battle.

Try Getting out of THAT!

Vacation writing!  Even though I will be away, I want to keep up on regular posting.  So I have some funny stories to share this week. Enjoy!  On the KidsROCK Blog today there is a great story and there will themed music links for the rest of the week.  Check it out.

Why is it that the most womanly thing we do is simultaneously the least lady-like?  What’s with that?  (Like my Seinfeld impression?)

After the birth of our son, my husband and I were enjoying a quiet moment together in the hospital, reviewing the happenings of the past couple of days (39 hour labor, than you very much!).  It was scary.  It was tough.  It was miraculous.  It was smelly.  Whoa…What?  I’m sorry, did you say it was smelly??  Ok.  That is SO against the rules!  A man can’t criticize the aesthetics of birth!! Come on!

But my darling already knows this—he is so good about all the rules (no jeans make my behind look fat).  I stared at him in disbelief while he looked utterly panicked.  He said he thought it was ok since I had said it first.  Umm…No…Pretty sure I never said anything about anything smelling!  He said, “Remember?  While you were pushing, you said, ‘It stinks!’”

My response?  “No.  I said, ‘IT STINGS!!!’”

I Guess I Deserve it

It makes sense that if I finish the school year at the end of August,  I would do my spring cleaning in September.  I can only pray that people will still be interested in shopping a yard sale in autumn!

We are doing a major purge, clearing out more that we have before.  Actually, I have only done two garage sales in my 13 years of marriage, so it isn’t difficult to top my past efforts. 

I am getting rid of my stash of Pampered Chef and other kitchen products.  All that alone opens up a lot of space, I am ashamed to say.  It certainly explains why being a consultant was such an abysmal financial endeavor for us!

The kids will be getting rid of toys and clothes, and we will be thinning our books, movies and computer games.  Again, just one of those categories creates empty space for us.

I hope to move more quickly through the house than I did today through the garage, though.  I found the old scrapbooks and photo albums of the kids when they were little.  Major derailment ensued as we strolled down memory lane.  I showed them my own yearbooks and I have some old things from my time in Korea.  I even let my girl try on the traditional dress that used to belong to me when I was her age. 

It feels good lightening the burden of stuff we have accumulated!

I have a Great Husband

I have been obsessively reading these culinary mysteries by Diane Mott Davidson lately.  I don’t know why, but I am practically obsessed with them.  I usually prefer Biblical, historical or Christian fiction.  I have always gotten so much from those genres, savoring the Truths in them for weeks and months after I finish the last page.

Now I am reading these rather silly books.  Not a lot of wisdom or eternity can be found in them.  As I read more, though, I can see either a growing faith in the author, or just a growing boldness in her faith.  Her chapters have always been laced with delicious recipes, but are increasingly including prayers and Scripture.  But I don’t care!   

I don’t read them for spirituality.  I am just enjoying the mystery—immensely!  Ridiculously and shamelessly are other accurate terms.  The books are a lot of fun.  I have tried out a couple of other authors, too.  Some I have liked, others haven’t gotten me through the first book.  But I always come back to the Goldy books.

I tell my husband about them as I read.  Today I told him about a major development in the overarching storyline—something I’d sort of been hoping for.  He graciously acknowledged that it was about time.  So sweet to pretend to care!   But then I turned suddenly concerned and told him that there was trouble for Goldy.  He replied that of course there was.  Then I, because I am twelve and can change emotions more quickly than socks, became indignant and said that she was innocent.  My hero didn’t miss a beat.  He said, ‘I know she is, but you know people are going to suspect her after all she’s been through.  But it will be ok, she is innocent.’  He kissed me on the forehead and walked out of the room.

You know that he will even hold my hand when I am reading the scary parts?

What kind of great guy plays along with that sort of silliness and can keep up on plots to whodunnits that he doesn’t even read?  My kind of guy, that’s what! 

Praise the Lord!

We seem to be blessedly out of the woods!  My darling man woke today and answered our daughter’s desperate question, ‘are you all, all, all, all better?’ with a ‘yes!’  YAY!  I posted about my husband’s food poisoning a couple of days ago—I usually am able to keep a few days ahead of things.  So with the wonder of modern technology, the plea for prayer gets to be followed immediately by proclamation of health!  In actuality, he fell ill Monday and was well Wednesday morning.  And no hospital visit needed!!

 

Honestly, on Tuesday my biggest concern was the dehydration.  He looked so haggard and hollow, and he was shaking and dizzy.  Isn’t just like a man to lose 20 pounds in one night?  He claims it was more like 400!   I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes my throat unheeded every time he says it.

 

The biggest blessing to my heart through it all was the wonder of the people in our lives.  People called, prayed and offered sympathy and advice.  My moms offered wise council, my sister did the same.  Friends offered child care.  I was humbled and blessed to overflowing by the loving care with which we were treated.

Now, all is well.  We are in a day of recovery and restoration.  We missed the cool tour to the Nevada State Museum, which is a disappointment, but we may hit it for vacation.  Our pay was cut by a halting amount this month, so our planned vacation is on hold. 

My Poor Man

He has had quite a week full of ups and downs.  He got to go to an apologetics conference and to visit his brother.  Two fabulous treats in one!  He was lonely at the conference, he said, but came home with some neat DVDs we will watch together—once he is up to it.  That is the clincher!

Now my poor man is not up for much of anything.  It looks like he had some bad dressing and is suffering pretty seriously from food poisoning.  I feel horrible for him.  There doesn’t seem to be much either of us can do, but ride it out.  Not many people read this, I know, but please pray for my wonderful man.  At this point, he says death would be a relief from the cramping and bathroom time.  He is no drama king and considers any talk about death to be morbid and wildly inappropriate. 

Please pray his recovery is swift, and that we do not end up in the emergency room.  Our hospital frankly isn’t a place one would want to end up if in need of medical care—which, I realize is a bit of a contradiction.  There is always this peculiar internal conversation that happens when one is sick or injured here.  “How sick am I?  Sick enough to go to the hospital? Maybe, but am I healthy enough to sustain whatever they might inflict on me?  Yeah…no…I am just too sick to go to the hospital.”

I can see my darling husband weighing the consequences each time I offer to take him in.  I can’t tell if his no means he is well enough to suffer at home, or too sick to endure the hospital.