HT to Boomama

Click here to join my Chewymom team at MochaClub to support Orphans in Africa.

I have lived in Alabama a little longer than that, and I have been blessed with some dear friends. One of them is Mongoosemom, who started blogging a while back.

I knew Mongoosemom was a real friend a long time ago, but she really proved that when she invited our whole family of seven to join them at the beach during their vacation! It only worked out for us to be there for a few days, but boy did we have fun!

Mongoosemom’s friendship was proven even more when it turned out that I had an ear infection. It was a Saturday, I was far from home, and I was in pain. So we hauled ourselves to a health store and…well…this was the result.

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Only a true friend would help me stick a candle in my ear to suck out earwax, and help prevent me from catching my whole head on fire. I think her children are now terrified of me. Or just think I’m awfully strange. They wouldn’t be alone in that thought.

I loaded some Keith Green songs onto my iPod and listened to them as I ran today. The song “The Prodigal Son Suite” came on. This is not the original version performed by Keith Green, and it is broken into two parts, but you can hear the song here and here:

I thought about my life as a prodigal son. Actually, when I have heard that parable over the years, I have related to the older brother. I am the child who wants to live by the rules. I yearn for someone to give me a play-book and tell me how to act. I can do that! I tried it for years as a teenager and college student, not giving in to the usual temptations. As a parent, I bought into the Ezzo’s “Growing Kids God’s Way” and other programs that promised perfect children, if I would just live by certain rules.

My life fell apart when my husband decided to play the role of the younger brother and stray from his faith for a brief time. As he returned to his faith, everyone rejoiced! Elders prayed over him, people got together with him regularly for accountability, Bible study, and prayer. And I sat on the sidelines thinking, “What the hell??” Seriously. I had been offended and hurt, and suddenly I was forgotten while attention and praise was lavished on my husband. I was pissed!

And frankly, I felt like Jesus gave the older son the shaft in his little story. I mean, if we were talking about salvation, I was just fine with Chewydad being welcomed back into the fold. Lavishly, even. But come on! In the day-in-day-out of my life, I wanted just a little sympathy. A little help. A little pity. Something! I understood the older brother in the prodigal son story being pretty ticked off. Let’s welcome the brother back, be glad to see him and all, but enough already.

Have any of you felt like the older son in the story? Has anything happened in your life to give you a glimpse of the younger son? It did in mine, and I will share that a bit later.

I don’t think any of us white people can comprehend what this election means to black people. We have no clue how it feels to be a black or bi-racial child, growing up in America. Watch this video clip from the Ron Clark Academy and just hear the emotion in these children’s voices. Like Barack Obama or hate him, what he has done and is doing for the young black population is absolutely amazing. I am so thankful to be part of this generation so that I could see this happen in my lifetime.

HT to Nicole.

Today, I did not have to fight at all. As an 18-year-old American citizen, he has the RIGHT to vote, and I did not have to stand up to anyone to make it happen. We filled out the paperwork a few weeks ago and dropped it off, and today Chewydad drove him up to the polling place before school. Brig had the privilege of standing in a long line for almost an hour and then taking a pen and connecting the arrow for the candidate of his choice.

I won’t tell you to “vote Biblically” as I have seen people post on Facebook, with the obvious wink-wink, nod-nod, we-all-know-what-that-means mentality. And I won’t tell you which issues you need to concern yourself with, or which candidate you should support. As intelligent people, many of whom disagree with me on issues and candidates, I trust you to follow Brig’s example and make an informed choice and take the time to stand in line and cast your vote!

I was drawn to a Baptist church and began playing basketball there and occasionally attending youth functions. A dear friend Rebecca sat me down and explained in simple terms that there was heaven and there was hell. If I wanted to go heaven, I needed to believe in Jesus. If I chose to reject Jesus, I would someday find myself in hell. I’m no idiot, and hell sounded like a very bad idea, so I chose Jesus. And I chose Him with much fervor.

I spent a lot of time in the local Christian bookstore. It seemed to be such a peaceful place, and it was full of books about spiritual things and music about Jesus. My heart felt at rest when I was in the Christian bookstore. Besides books, I bought several bumper stickers, like the one that said, “Heaven or hell: Turn or burn.” Not the nicest way to put things, but a pretty simple message, you have to admit!

If there is anything I regret it is that my zeal allowed me to put offensive stickers on my car. It also found me pulling away from my unbelieving, heathen friends, lest my faith waver. And although I didn’t take the advice to burn my Eagles albums, I did put them in the back of my record stack and refused to listen to them, or any secular music, for a good 6 months.

My faith was extremely immature and often offensive to my high school friends and to my parents. And yet it was simple. There was none of this fretting over faith vs. works; free will vs. predestination; supralapsarianism vs. infralapsarianism; sovereignty vs. responsibility; law vs. grace; emergent vs. TR. The choice was simple: heaven or hell. And as obnoxious as I was back then, a part of me wants to go back there and have that simple faith again. The one that is given a choice: Do you love Jesus or not? Nothing more.

In the late 90’s, we moved to Atlanta and decided to amend our ways and let our kids dress up and attend a church festival. That was great, but we had just moved into our new home in a great neighborhood two weeks prior. As we met neighbors over time, they expressed their disappointment that we had not trick-or-treated at their door. Many had waited to meet this young new family with the four boys that they heard had moved here. But we never came.

Here we are, ten years later, and five of the seven of us trick-or-treated. Ben had to work tonight, and Drew is at a friend’s house. The rest of us dressed up - yes, even Chewydad and me. Brig and Sam used our ancient, but still quite useful M&M costumes. Sally was a princess. I was a nun, and Scott was a monk. Making some wonder what we were doing with so many children.

When we decided to start trick-or-treating, Chewydad lamented that we had not done it before. As he said, “When else do neighbors actually WANT you to knock on their door? When else do our neighbors show up at our house?” It’s a perfect way to build relationships with neighbors.

And yet tonight, as we went from house to house, Chewydad and I became really exasperated. We wanted to get on with it - hurry from house to house. Collect as much candy as possible, you know! But Brig would stop and engage EVERY PERSON in conversation. He might ask which veterinarian they used for their dogs. And then announce that he works for a particular one. He might realize that he knew one of their children or neighbors. But whatever the conversation was about, the point was that he was engaging the person at the door. He was doing the very thing Chewydad and I claim to want to do. Getting to know the neighbors. Showing an interest - a real, genuine interest - beyond just grabbling a candy bar and moving to the next house. Brig had more in mind than just filling his candy basket. He was networking.

And you know, I have to laugh. Brig knows everybody in this town, and I often am surprised and wonder how he does it. But that’s exactly how. He engages people in conversation. People remember him when they see him around town, because he is the kid who asked after their pet, their son, their mother. He remembered that they drove the red truck, or they live in the yellow house. He has commented (positively) that they have an Auburn hat or (negatively) an Alabama shirt.

Brig challenges me constantly. Often he does it by trying my patience, or by nearly making Ben late for school. But he also does it by showing me in his own way, how to engage the world around me. He just knows how to love people. He makes them feel valued and cared about. Who else thinks to do that on Halloween?