For the Birds

I am a closet fusser. I come from a long line of fussers, both sides. At a cellular level I think I was born knowing how to worry. I have a clear memory of walking into KMart, I was probably seven, and I was tearful. When my mom asked what was wrong I said, "When will I ever lose my baby fat? I want a skinny tummy!" See? Fussing. I would worry about where we were going next, how we would get there - I learned how to read a map as early as possible to have something to do while traveling - that, and Dad explained, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn't allowed to ask ANYMORE questions. "Just ride along!" I fussed that people would stare at my handicapped sister, which they did, and then fussed about how I should respond. A glare? A sharp comment? A punch? I have always fussed.

You can rest assured that you are in my inner ring of friends if you've received a call from me at some random time that starts out with, "Hi. It's me. I just need to fuss. Do you have a minute?" Because though I've learned to master some of the crazy thinking that spins me off into a parallel universe, sometimes I need to spread my thoughts out somewhere and just acknowledge that they're there.

God has been good to me in that He hasn't left me to live in my fussy state. He's given me chances for redemption, and for that I'm grateful. Three words: Kids, Matt, birds.

Kids: I have three of them. They were all born within three years (and two days). They range in age from one to four. Every waking minute of my day is spent chasing, changing, refereeing, teaching, fixing, watching, and soothing. The things I used to waste time and energy on I no longer have space for. Remember the reference to the "funny farm"? I had a friend whose dad actually worked at the state institutions for the mentally ill when they were farms, real farms. People with mental illnesses went there and worked hard on farmland, and, according to this man, they got better and went home. There was something soothing and helpful to troubled minds that hard work with the hands healed. I guess God gave me my own funny farm right here in Illinois. There is something in the trench I work in that keeps me steady in a way I've never known.

Matt: My husband of twelve years. Words are cheap when it comes to describing one of the most amazing men I know. My husband strives to fulfill the call of scripture to "love his wife and Christ loved the church - and gave Himself for her." My husband daily chooses to value the children and me by placing a high priority on his family. I was recently accused of being a "submissive wife" (that's submissive, NOT passive). Guilty as charged. But I have the joy of being in a marriage where I gladly submit myself to my husband because he readily submits himself to me, consistently putting my interests and needs ahead of his own. Matthew has the spiritual gift of faith. While we are all given faith, his has that extra edge of permeating all of his thoughts. He sees things that I (and others) don't. He is able to confidently move towards issues that may not be clear to me, but that he knows God is in, and walks in obedience. His faith is an antidote to my fuss. Living day in and day out with a man who believes and relies on the character of God helps my worries about "woulda coulda shoulda" disintegrate into very tiny pieces.

Birds: I've tried something new. I went out and bought bird feeders, filled them, and hung them in the front and back of the house. The little birds who come and feed aren't incredibly exciting. I live in suburbia, for Heaven's sake. But several times a day I'm reminded of the line in scripture, "Why do you worry about what you'll eat? Look at the birds. Your Heavenly Father feeds them...". Well, I guess I feed them, but it flows out of all that the Lord has provided to me.

Why should I fuss about the future? Why should I fuss about this person and that person? My Heavenly Father knows, has known, and will continue to know everything. My only mandate is to rely on Him, enjoy His hand on my life, obey, and stop worrying. So between the funny farm, a godly man, and the birds, I'd say I'm finally learning to stop all the fuss.

The Heard of Cats

Some days I think shepherding cats would be easier...

Correction

(Izak and Liberty are standing in the kitchen, staring at a Munchkin all coated in white.)

Liberty: "Gibbergibbergibber 'white donut' gibbergibbergibbergibber."

Izak: "No, Yiberty, it is called (slowly with much clarity) POWER SUGAR."

Twelve

Somewhere amidst the diapers, tiny socks, bagel crumbs, tears, unclear speech, unclear fits, fits of laughter, short lectures, "hellos"/but a mostly "see-you-later" day...

I thank God for the blessing of twelve years of having you for my husband.

Happy anniversary, Lover.

It's my responsibility to provide the selection of library books from which Matt and Izak pick their night reading before bed. Today I gave into my dark side and got the funniest book ever - Walter the Farting Dog. I give it four stars out of four. What's best was sitting downstairs listening to my husband read it with all seriousness to Izak, who was amazed by the content. All the while, I couldn't stop giggling!