Chewymom

As I have reminisced about my simple high-school faith, I have been listening to some of the old music of that day. I discovered a seven-part series on You Tube called “The Keith Green Story” and watched the whole thing. Oh what an influence that man had on my life in the 80s!

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.

Back in 1870, the 15th Amendment was added to the Constitution, allowing black people the right to vote. However, if you were unfortunate enough to live in my state of Alabama, the reality is that you could not vote until 1965, when the Voting Rights Act was passed. That’s one year before I was born. Check out this voter application that had to be filled out prior to 1965. And parts B and C of the Literacy Test.

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.

Brig said this after we opened TEN envelopes, all from the Social Security Administration relating to his SSI claim, and all arriving on the same day in the mail.

I have spent the last 18 years fighting. You parents who have a child with special needs of any kind are nodding your heads. You know what I mean. I have fought to have Brig in a regular preschool. I have fought to have him promoted with his age group in Sunday school. I have fought to get him onto regular sports teams - soccer, t-ball, basketball, swim team. I have fought to have him included in regular classes, and I have fought to get him the therapies he needed.

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!

When I think about my faith back in high school, I am filled with both longing and remorse. It was a very simple faith, really. I had always been curious - a seeker of sorts - asking annoying religious questions at my more socially-oriented youth group and always trying to find a deeper spirituality than what I observed among most of my peers.

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.

Years ago, the Chewyfamily viewed Halloween with great disdain and suspicion. We, along with most of our friends at the time, refused to even call it by the name “Halloween.” We acknowledged it only as “Reformation Day” and would do fun stuff like sit around and discuss Martin Luther nailing the 95 theses to the door. A big day in protestant history, to be sure. But hardly exciting to small children!

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?

But not for the reasons you may think. Most people equate the overturning of Roe v Wade with the pro-life movement. Ideally those who claim to be pro-life have the ultimate goal of seeing abortion numbers go down. The problem, as I see it, is that if Roe v Wade is overturned, it becomes a state issue. Some of us might be able to hold our heads up proudly as our own state makes abortion illegal. We could turn a blind eye as rich teenage girls are carted just across the state line to a state where abortion is legal - maybe even up to the 9th month. We could decry the morals of the poor girls who are made to carry a teen pregnancy to term. We could vote against funding programs that would help the poor, single moms, claiming it is a redistribution of wealth or that they got themselves into this mess, or they need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, or whatever. And all the while, abortion numbers would likely remain pretty close to what they are right now. But in our state they would drop, and that’s what we care about, right? Or do we care about truly reducing the number of abortions?

So why would I like to see Roe v Wade overturned? Because clearly, I don’t think it will really change the numbers that much.

Without Roe v Wade, people will be forced to vote on different issues. It would open the door for a third party, because the religious right would not fear that voting third party would put the pro-life movement in jeopardy. Christians in particular would be forced to look closely at other social issues, at economic issues, at foreign policy issues, rather than focusing on a single issue.

Roe v Wade being taken out of the picture would also force candidates to stop using the abortion issue to win votes, when they really have no intention of doing a thing about the issue once in office. Call me cynical, but I believe that is what many in the Republican party have been doing for decades. They know they cannot win votes unless they claim to be pro-life, so they do. Once in office, however, that issue is tossed aside until election time again, when it is dragged back out of the closet, dusted off, and put back on a pedestal as the KEY ISSUE. Just look at this quote from the Pro Life Alliance website:

After all, when the Supreme Court reaffirmed Roe in Planned Parenthood v. Casey in 1992, all five votes to sustain Roe were from judges nominated by Republican presidents: Blackmun (who authored Roe), Stevens, O’Connor, Kennedy and Souter.

Call me cynical, but I really think the abortion issue is simply a tool to win votes. It is not an issue that presidential candidates truly have a passion for an intend to change. It just charges up the base of support, one way or the other. And among Christians, it is an issue that many use to judge the faith of fellow believers. As I said in a previous post, a vote for Obama is a vote against Jesus, in the eyes of many.

So I would like to see this issue just go away. I want to be able to intelligently discuss politics and NOT have the abortion issue come up. I want to think that people in my town might be able to put the words “Christian” and “Chewymom” in the same sentence again. (And not a sentence that goes something like, “Chewymom likes Obama, so she is definitely not a Christian.”) I would like for Christians to feel like they have the freedom to look at other issues when they cast their vote.

I’m not holding my breath, though, because “pro-life” or not, I don’t think we will see Roe v Wade overturned any time soon, if ever. So cynical Chewymom predicts that elections will continue to be about one issue from now until the day Jesus comes.

For a truly eloquent, heartfelt post along these lines, head over to my friend Nicole’s blog and check this out.

So, apparently I have made a few fashion blunders in the last several days. I have been seen in public wearing 80’s style clothing. My roommate in college–which was back in the 80’s, I might add–being the most fashion conscious person I know, is likely not surprised in the least.

My fashion woes began the other day. The weather had turned cold, and I pulled a blue sweatsuit out of my closet and threw it on. I only purchased this sweatsuit two years ago. It is a kind of clay-washed look with a crew neck sweatshirt that has an unfitted waist - it just hangs. The pants are ankle length with a loose elastic hem. Nothing screams, “I’m cold, I’m crampy, I’m grumpy, and I’m sitting around the house all day…except when I’m running necessary errands for my family” like these sweats. I was happy in them all day.

Until my 16-year-old son Ben looked at me and said, “Mom, that sweatsuit is so…80’s.” Okay, Ben is not really lacking in fashion sense, but I wouldn’t exactly call him cutting edge. My mouth dropped open in mock offense, and I asked, “What’s 80’s about this? I only bought it two years ago?” He informed me that it is not very stylish to wear all one color. And the elastic on the legs! Sheesh!

I went about the rest of my day a little less sure of myself, but not terribly worried.

And then today. Well, let me back up a bit. For those who don’t know, I am training for a marathon. Or I’m supposed to be. I am running with Team in Training and raising money to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. But when the weather in Alabama is still in the 30s at 9:00 I begin to wonder why exactly I am doing this. But I forced myself to pull on my running tights, a fleece pullover, etc. and head out the door. I had donned this same gear on Saturday, only I covered the tights with a pair of running shorts so as not to shock the rest of my running team. Except that when said shorts are on over tights, they crawl right up my backside. Even worse than they do when I’m not wearing the tights. Making the shorts rather useless, not to mention time-consuming as I spend every few minutes pulling them back down.

So today I brilliantly decided to forgo the shorts. It was a short solo run, and I would be going along the golf-course road, late enough in the morning that I was only likely to pass a couple of other women in similar running gear, with skinnier backsides. I could handle that.

About 2/3 of the way into my run, I noticed a mob up ahead. Uh oh. As I got closer, I realized it was a group of about 20 Army men and 2 Army women. Double uh oh. Suddenly the spandex-only on my bottom half was seeming like a very bad idea indeed. There was nothing to do but mutter under my breath, “It’s okay, I’m training for a marathon. It’s okay, I’m training for a marathon,” over and over as I passed them.

And then as they passed me back, I just pretended that I wasn’t jiggling “back there” and that I didn’t even notice them. And I wondered who in the 80s made wearing spandex alone seem like a good idea. And why it had seemed like a good idea on this morning in the year 2008.

Maybe I really do need fashion help. If any of you have advice, send it along, because otherwise I’m doomed to either dress like I did 20 years ago or take fashion advice from a 16-year-old boy.

Today is Brig’s 18th birthday! I have not made a big deal of any of my childrens’ birthdays on my blog this year, so it seems unfair to make a big to-do about Brig’s. But I have to comment on three things.

First, Brig registered to vote a few weeks ago. His birthday is exactly 8 days before the election, and he has been just DYING to vote this time! He is very opinionated about his candidate, too! I just cannot wait to take him to the polling place and show him how to cast his ballot! We have a sample one, and he has been practicing.

Second, I had the pleasure of registering Brig for Selective Service today. You can do that online now, and it takes about 30 seconds or less. Now, if we ever implement a draft, I’d like to see what they would actually do with Brig!

And last, I leave you with a little birthday tale. On the kids’ birthdays, we let them pick the meals for the day. Usually we don’t go out to eat, but this is a big birthday! So Brig, after having donuts for breakfast, really wanted to go to Pizza Hut for dinner. And so we did!

The great thing about eating at a restaurant on your birthday is that you can always count on the waiters to embarrass you by singing and bringing you a little dessert with a candle in it. And you can always count on me to announce a birthday, because it’s worth the embarrassment for a free dessert!

So I told Paula, our 40-something waitress that tonight we were celebrating Brig’s EIGHTEENTH birthday! After she took care of bringing our pizza out to us, and while we waited thirstily for drink refulls, she went back up to the front. She hit a button the register, pulled out a strip of register paper, and used hi-liters to draw a cake and write Happy 18th Birthday. She brought it to the table, handed it to Brig, and walked off.

So that was it. Brig got some extra register tape with the doodles of a 40-something year old waitress.

And he was REALLY HAPPY about it! He really was! That’s just Brig for you.

Happy birthday, young adult son!

From Huffington Post