Chewymom

I am sorry to disappoint you. I don’t think you found what you were likely looking for. My teens don’t even have jugs. But thank you for stopping by.

That site meter makes for interesting reading sometimes.

If you have not already heard the news, please click here and here, and keep the Chapman family in your prayers. I love what Steven Curtis Chapman and family have done to encourage people to adopt “unwanted” children. And this story hits so close to home because I have a five-year-old daughter and a teenager who drives. Especially be in prayer for the son who was driving–I don’t know how a person ever gets over something like this….

Check out what happens when a bunch of brothers decide to pool their resources! And when they come up short, they offer to thoroughly clean the house for housekeeper wages to make up the difference. I call that a win-win!

PS3 and ROCK BAND!

I got exactly what I wanted for Mother’s Day yesterday. A lazy day at home with my family, and a bunch of ooooold Dan Fogelberg tunes on my iPod. Today I set out for my walk/run. And might I add I ran for THIRTY MINUTES, y’all!! I had the iPod play all Fogelberg, and I reminisced.

In high school, I was ALL ABOUT the Dan Fogelberg albums. I could put them on my record player (yes, I am that old) and listen for hours. I would get lost in the songs about love. I would croon right along with Dan and get so caught up in the plight of the gambler, that I would momentarily forget that the cowboy-wannabe who had introduced me to Fogelberg had just dumped me. I would listen to the words of “Windows and Walls” and want to weep as I thought of my widowed grandmother living with us, primarily in the room below me, and how lonely she must be. Some of Dan’s songs were so deep I wasn’t sure I really understood them at all, but I put in hours trying.

Today I relistened to and relivedmany of those thoughts and emotions as I ran. And then a song came on that caught my attention. It seemed almost to be a good-bye song. And perhaps it was. I had not heard it before, so I suspect it is from a newer album, perhaps written after Fogelberg learned that he had prostate cancer.

I was so grieved back in December when I learned that Dan had passed away. Which seems odd because it isn’t like I knew him or anything. I wouldn’t be looking around my table at Christmas, grieving over the empty space. But because Dan shared his soul through his music in a way that spoke to me and that walked me through many years of teenage angst, I guess I felt a kinship with him and felt like I had a window into his soul. And today I was just thinking how thankful I am that sometimes God creates a life and breathes depth and skill and music into it that allows it to weave amazing lyrics that touch the hearts and lives of so many people in with haunting and soulful melodies that stir the soul. And I’m thankful that Dan Fogelberg and his music were such a part of my teen years and beyond, and that now–even though the records are long since scratched beyond recognition–I have those songs available to me again on my iPod.

Someone is offended. Or so I have heard, fifth hand.

All I really know is that it is someone from my church. Who told someone, who told an entire group of people, who told someone, who told someone, who told me. I’ll admit that I’m not shocked that I’ve offended someone. I am a queen of opening my mouth to change feet. I know that I offend my children daily—I make them eat their green beans, I take away cell phone privileges, I play *“Boogie in Your Butt” as I drive up to the middle school, and I occasionally even refuse to order pizza. It offends the heck out of my gang. (*Disclaimer–the above link may, ironically I suppose, offend some of you. But I’m very juvenile, and I find it really, really funny.)

I’m guessing that this offense goes a little beyond having to eat green things at dinner or having your mother play “Boogie in Your Butt” in front of your friends, and I am also guessing that it has to do with my blog. But that’s all it is–a guess–because the offended party chose to discuss this with others, and the circle grew until it got back around to me. I do not like to offend people, and so I want to apologize. But that is made rather difficult because I don’t even know what I am apologizing for. I guess I’m not even sure if I’m sorry! I mean, I am sorry if I have hurt feelings, but I’m not sure if whatever I have said is something I would regret saying (or writing) or if it is something I would say I feel strongly about and still stand by.

And I guess that brings me to a point about this blog. I started it anonymously. I never really intended for it to become something for local friends to read. It has become that, and I have tried to get used to that idea. It’s a little weird because real-life acquaintances know intimate details about my musings, but I don’t know the same about them. My blog is where I hash out my ideas and thoughts. It is a journal that I have chosen to make public. I need to operate within the realization that it is public, and I have no doubt I should at times use a more effective filter on my brain-in-print.

I would ask that anyone (especially local folks) who reads this do so with the understanding that first, when I write about things, it isn’t always about this city, this church, etc. I have lived in five cities and been a member of seven churches in my married life. Not every issue I write about has to do with situations that my local acquaintances are familiar with, even if there does seem to be a correlation. Also, realize that I often hash out my thoughts on major issues using minor examples. I am thinking aloud. And I am currently questioning a lot of my long-held beliefs. That doesn’t mean I am questioning your beliefs, although if I make you think I don’t mind. But I am having my own mid-life crisis working through a lot of things that I have always believed just because, and I have to know if I still agree with myself. It is highly likely that you will be shocked and dismayed. That you will question my spirituality, my faith, even my sanity. I hope that you can handle that, and handle realizing that you are seeing some inner-workings of my heart that are often reserved for intimate friendships, or for the safety of an anonymous blog. If you are not comfortable with it, I would ask that you click away. Really.

And if you truly do feel that I have said something hurtful or offensive to you, I am asking that you talk to me. You can comment on here–you can even do so anonymously. Just like the people who commented on this post. Except they only think they are anonymous. (We know who you are…we have not forgotten…punishment is still forthcoming.) Or you can speak to me face-to-face. But I would ask that if you choose to continue to read my blog and find me offensive, please let me know.

And if you are one of the people who has chosen to keep the rumor mill going by passing it along that “Chewymom is offending people…” well, all I can do is point you to a little game you probably used to play in Kindergarten where you sat in a circle, and the first person made something up and whispered it to the next. And on it went back to the starting point, and then you compared the two versions. And laughed hysterically, because they were nothing alike. And hopefully learned a lesson about rumors. The lesson being that rather than being a party to spreading rumors, if you go to the source, you are more likely to find out the truth than if you keep spreading a more and more distorted version.

As usual I have said in 1000 words what could have been said in probably fifteen words or less. If I have offended you, I am sorry. And please talk to me about it. The end.

For more Wordless Wednesdays, click here.

We had been living in north Alabama for about a year when we decided to move about 15 miles west into the town where we had become “plugged in.” We had joined a church, joined three soccer teams, lined up two piano lessons, and given birth to a baby girl in that town, and the only thing tying us to the town where we lived was the proximity to Chewydad’s work.

Whenever I was over in the next town, which was approximately five times per week, I would drive around to see what was on the market. There was this one house that I fell in love with. It was brick, next door to a family we knew, and oh the neighborhood! It had been built around an elementary school. Literally. The school sat on a rectangle of property which included a big field and some woods. And the homes were built on the four streets surrounding the school, so that they all faced the school–like a little square. This house sat on the street along one of the sides of the school.

It had been on the house a very long time. It was way over priced, and a contract had recently fallen through because some mold was discovered in the master bedroom closet. Although it was out of our price range, I began to wonder if we might be able to get the house for half of its asking price. A close friend of mine said, “I’m going to pray for that! We’ll pray that the house will sell for $150,000 instead of its asking price of $300,000!”

I did not quite have the faith of my friend, but I prayed along with her, because after I saw the interior of the house, I adored it. Brick kitchen floor, unusual layout, numerous gathering rooms, a back yard large enough to add a pool, and right across from the school!

As time went on, I debated whether this was the house for us, and my friend said, “Pray for some big sign!” Now, I’m a little leery of that sort of thing, being a good Presbyterian and all. Still, I secretly prayed that if God really wanted us to have that house, he would let me see a purple bus. That was just bizarre enough that it couldn’t happen unless God wanted it to.

Time went on, we continued to look at other houses, and we got a little nervous about the work that might be needed in that house. Another house on the square around the school came on the market, and this one was in our price range. We made an offer, and miraculously sold our house in the other town rather quickly.

On the day of our final walk through, just before closing, our realtor happened to mention that the house we had loved had a contract. For $150,000. My heart sank. We had prayed that it would sell for that very amount! But I wanted it for ME! I puzzled over why in the world we had never made an offer, and I consoled myself with the fact that it did need a lot of work.

I busied myself with my own new house and did not give much thought to the other house. Until I was driving to the local pharmacy located about two miles from our new house. And noticed a retirement home with a fleet of purple buses. I nearly fell over. It had been perfectly and easily within God’s ability to show me a purple bus on one of my daily trips to this town. And yet he kept them hidden from my sight. And meanwhile, he answered my prayers that the house would sell for 1/2 of its asking price.

We watched as the family that bought the house spent a lot of money upgrading and fixing things up–the yard, the roof, the bathrooms the mold. And then something happened and they couldn’t pay the bills. The house went under foreclosure. And we learned that there were major structural problems. Another family got a bargain, fixed the structural issues, ripped out walls, and completely redid the house. It is beautiful now!

And every time I drive past it, I feel a twinge. But it isn’t really a twinge of sadness as it is a twinge of amazement that God had somehow used the desires of my heart, along with the encouragement of a friend to direct me to pray for two specific things. And he had answered the one with a yes–that it would sell for 1/2, and the other with a no–that I would see a purple bus. He was very specific about how my prayers were answered, and in fact, he had been guiding my exact driving paths through the city in the months prior to us making an offer on the house we bought in order to allow me to NOT see the purple buses. And the combination of those things is an affirmation of God’s love and his care of such tiny, specific details in my life.

I have been a fan of Horny Toad clothes since I got my first black dress made by them about five years ago. I have only bought their clothes through retail stores, and today I got a catalog directly from them. As I flipped through, I came across a page in the center that tells about a program called Planet Access Training, which is a non-profit life-skills training group in Chicago. Horny Toad has partnered with PAC, and they even send their employees on vacations with adults with developmental disabilities through the Search for Adventure travel program.

On page 31 of my catalog was printed the following letter, which I loved:

To all Toads,
Thanks to you guys I just spent an incredible week out in Gunnison, CO at the Powderhorn Dude Ranch. It was so beautiful out there–a perfect place to get away fro cell pones and computers. The best thing about the week by far, was the group from Search.
Getting to know Ed, Richard, Mark, Jim, Allie and Jen made the week. It’s hard to put into words how much fun we had. I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so much!
We kept busy all week. We rafted down the Gunnison, rode horses, went 4-wheelin,’ hiked, took a pontoon boat down the Black Canyon gorge, squared danced and played a few hands of Blackjack. Those guys had the time of their lived, as did I.
I don’t know how to describe it other than to use Ed’s words. He’s an older guy who’s pretty quiet. He has difficulty seeing but he’s willing to try everything. He does a mean Elvis, too. I was helping him walk back from horseback riding and he started laughing to himself. I asked, “What’s so funny Ed?” His response was, “I just can’t believe how blessed I am.”
That says it all for me. Thanks for making that happen for Ed, and for me. It’s a week we’ll never forget.
Sarah McDonald

If you are looking for cool outdoor clothing, please be sure to check out Horny Toad! This is a business I’m happy to support!