Mairsy Dotes

Yesterday was my 33rd birthday. I don’t wig out about getting older. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I still look young enough that I don’t dare try and buy any form of alcohol without also having a firm grip on my ID.

Except this was a little weird.

M, turns to me and says, “This is your golden year.” I said, “It is, is it? Why’s that?”

It’s my golden year because if I make it to my next birthday, I’ll be older than Jesus ever was.

Wow. That’s something to wear on a tshirt “One day closer to being older than Jesus“

I love him beyond all ability to express. But sometimes? Living with him is like an out of body experience.

So, I recently had my three year blogiversary. I think it was on February 23rd–but I might be remembering the date wrong, and I don’t want to navigate away from my “write post” page in order to be accurate. Accuracy in some things–pregnancy tests, for example–is a highly desireable. Accuracy in my own dorky blog? Eh. I can take it or leave it.

Gee, Mojavi–no wonder we’re such good buds! We’ve been reading each other for three years now! I’m deliberately not counting those periods of time when we went AWOL, because we always checked each other’s site, wondering, “Where in the hell is that girl?!”

I’m so glad to have this blog. It keeps me grounded, it gives me a place to work out my thoughts, share my opinions, chat with people I’d never meet otherwise, vent, celebrate, query, and kill time. I hope it gives you all a place to do the same.

When I first started blogging, I suspected that no one would ever want to read it. Imagine my surprise when people did. Imagine my greater surprise when some of you kept coming back for more! Y’all have SERIOUSLY got too much time on your hands.

You’re offered me prayers when I didn’t even know that I needed them, you’ve cried with me over deaths I’ve played midwife to, you’ve rejoiced over my babys’ milestones, you’ve debated theology, faith, and where the two intersect and/or disconnect, you’ve watched me pastor, and you’ve watched me sell pants–both with varying degrees of success and failure.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for coming here and reading this silly little exercise in self-indulgence. For allowing me to be part of your life, and for allowing yourselves to be part of mine. I love that my life is richer for “knowing” you–thinking, “Oh, I’ll want to write about this because I know Jess will appreciate it” or “Mojavi is SO going to get a kick out of that” or “Gee, I wonder if Dennis is watching the Academy Awards, too” or “I’m too lazy to send out an email, so Jules will read this and know what’s up with me” or any of the other ways my “blog buddies” float in and out of my consciousness pretty much every day.

I started my blog with fear and trembling, but it’s become a source of incredible blessing, largely because of all of you. Muchas smooches, buddies, and here’s to many more years of hanging out.

This morning, after my management meeting, I get to go have my girly bits examined. Blah. And now, I’ll get all kinds of hits from all kinds of perves Googling “girly bits”–although, if they use the phrase “girly bits” they’re probably not all THAT pervy.

M and I joined a church yesterday. It was the first time we’ve ever belonged to the same church. When we were married, but still in sem, we maintained our memberships in our home congregations; after sem, we held memberships at our different churches; after Kansas, we weren’t particularly interested in putting our names on a church roll, so we church-hopped (or went out for bagels–we called it “being Jewish”). It was a bit surreal, being presented like that, as a complete family unit. It doesn’t happen very often, when you think about it–being presented. And it was the first we were ever presented as a family.

 OK. Now I have to wrestle Nea down so I can comb her hair so I can get her to preschool so I can get to work so that I can go to my doctor’s appointment. Tomorrow I have a meeting with someone who is the president of a “voice of dissent” organization within my church body. She’s been nothing but kind and supportive, and might be my ticket to getting a church. It just might also mean cutting ties with my religious organization, and as much as I dislike the things they are doing and saying, I’m also not sure I’m ready to leave. Mainly? Because I think they’d like me to.

Ah. And NOW you get a snapshot into the true personality of Beege.

Since I’ve posted not one but TWO new entries today, I feel I’ve earned the right to make my third post a meme.  

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago, I was finishing up my bachelor’s degree while eagerly anticipating a move eastward to St. Paul, Minnesota to begin seminary. I was living with a roommate that I hated, dieting my way on 900 calories a day down to a size 7, and wondering if I would EVER get married, because no matter what anyone told me, Jesus was not, in fact, enough.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
Not much. Waiting for Sarah to arrive. Bitching about how much I hurt and dealing with round 2 of gestational diabetes and hating every damn minute of it. February 2007? Not a happy time for the Beege.

Five snacks you enjoy:

1. Microwave popcorn (except for the whole popcorn lung thing–yicky!) 
2. Cucumbers.  
3. Shoestring potatoes 
4. Tillamook extra sharp cheddar cheese
5. Ice cream

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to:

1. American Pie-Don Somebody 
2. Breathe-Sia 
3. You’ll Be in My Heart-Phil Collins (It’s Linnea’s favorite lullaby)
4. A Mighty Fortress-Martin Luther
5. Abide with Me

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

1. Pay off ALL debts
2. Pay off my parents mortgage as a thank-you for letting us crash with them
3. College funds for the girls, or if they don’t want college they can have the $$ when we die. 
4. Take a trip that was just M and I–a romantic getaway.  
5. When the girls are a little older and smashingly fabulous Disneyworld vacation.

Five bad habits:

1. Incurable sweet tooth. 
2. Procrastinating.
3. Not returning phone calls. Ever. If you want a response, you’d better email. 
4. Not cleaning up after myself. 
5. Not hanging up my clothing–just leaving it in a pile on the bedroom floor. OK when most of my clothes came from Target, not so much now that they come from the Fashion Emporium.

Five things you like doing:

1. Laughing with M. 
2. Laughing with my girls. 
3. Reading.
4. Knitting. 
5. Writing/Blogging.

Five things you would never wear again:

1. Stirrup pants.
2. Multiple jelly bracelets–or jellyshoes. 
3. Terry cloth shorts. Or shorts of most any kind. I’m firmly in capri pant territory, now.
4. Blue mascara. 
5. My apologies to Anne Shirley, but: puffed sleeves.  

Five favorite toys:

1. Computer 
2. knitting needles
3. DVD player
4. Camera 
5. Books

 Yeah. This is pretty boring. I’m toying with the idea of not publishing it–it’s not witty or anything like that. Oh well.  

For Linnea’s 4th birthday party, M learned how to make balloon animals.

This played directly into the gift that I received for Valentine’s Day. What did he make, you ask? A lovely heart, pierced by an arrow? A whimsical bouquet of balloon flowers?

Read the rest of this entry »

So, this morning was a disappointment. I have been looking since Christmas for a makeup kit for little girls–I had them when I was growing up. They had the perfume that was like a tube of chapstick, fingernail polish that peeled off your finger nails in a single rubbery piece, lipgloss, etc. Everything I’ve found is for ages 7 and up, and really: they’re just little containers of grownup makeup.

I was in Target’s Valentine’s Day land, and I found a small little purple tackle box (heh, remember Caboodles?) that said, “Makeup Kit” on it. I flipped it over, and it said “Ages 3 and up!” and it was $2.99. So I bought it, excited that I’d finally found my girl some “makeups”. 

 I gave it to her this morning and you know what? It was candy. That really crappy chalky candy that’s pretty much sugar molded into shapes. There was a lipstick, a bottle of pure, loose sugar that was the “nailpolish” and a candy necklace and bracelet.

I was mad. And I’d already thrown out the wrapping so I can’t go back and see if I was misled, or if it said on there somewhere “Not real makeup. Crappy chalky candy only.” When she opened it, I said, “Darn it! It’s just that candy that’s pure sugar–it’s not makeup at all!” and she patted my arm, and trying to subdue the look of complete glee in her eyes said, “Oh, that’s OK, Mama. I LOVE sugar!” Yep. I know.

We’re not doing anything big for the holiday. We never do. We’re going to have a crab dinner here at home, and my father has promised (rather mysteriously) that he’s got dessert under control. I’m happy about it, since my love of all things chocolate is eclipsed only by HIS love of all things chocolate. Dads are great.

So, on a slightly different note: I’m loving all the conversations going on around the Psalm. Although, Moe–M reminded me that your Master’s is in OT. Reel me in if I go too far, OK? I love the variety of voices we’ve got in our conversation–an ordained minister, Moe who holds a master’s degree in theology, an evangelical Christian, an orthodox Christian (Jess–are you Greek or Russian orthodox?), and a few people who don’t have an intimate, daily relationship with the church, who will keep us all from getting too self-congratulatory (and God only knows, Christians can frequently get self-congratulatory).

So, I’m thinking on the next thing that I want to write on. I should have it up later today. Thanks for playing, kids! I love stuff like this.   

So, since all three of you wanted to discuss Psalm 51, I thought I give you a little background about it–knowing backstory can be key in a lot of biblical study, but it’s also frequently completely gravy.

Psalm 51 is subtitled “A Psalm of David”. David was one of the top 3 kings in Isreal’s history (Saul, David, and Solomon are the trifecta)–and as anyone who has ever watched a Mel Brook’s movie knows: it’s good to be the king. One day, Dave was catching a cool breeze on the roof of his palace, looked across the way, and happened to see a fine young thing bathing on her roof. Her name was Bathsheba, and David sent her to come over to the palace of dinner and (in all likelihood) a little boot knocking.

Catch? Bathsheba was married.

Catch number two? Her husband (Uriah) was away fighting in a war.

Catch number three? Bathsheba ends up preggers. Uriah will TOTALLY know it’s not his, because he’s not been home, which means that Bathsheba will probably be stoned to death as an adultress (never mind that the king commanded her–it’s always the woman’s fault. Some things never change.).

So David tries to cover his tracks, by sending for Uriah to “get a report” on how the war is going, and then tries to send him home to wash his feet (interesting biblical side note? Frequently in the old testament, “feet” is used as a euphamism for male genitalia). Uriah won’t go–he stays close by his king, and doesn’t go to his lovely young wife sleeping just a few yards away.

So, since Uriah wouldn’t cooperate and wash his feet with his wife, David sent Uriah to the place of heaviest fighting, and Uriah was killed.

David is trying to pretend that he’s all cool about it, and that if he ignores it, it will go away (again: some things never change), but the prophet Nathan tells a little story one night about a ewe lamb that a rich man stole from a poor man, and Dave gets all kinds of pissed off and announces that he will go and find the jerk who stole a poor man’s lamb when he could have gone and bought a lamb for himself and make him pay, and Nathan (always in high dramatic fashion in my head) points (also always in my head) to David and thunders, “You are the man!” And David realizes that he’s caught in his infidelity, that everyone knows about it, and he repents (because people tend only to repent from things when they feel like they’ve been caught in their mistake–some things never change).

If you want a less Cliff-notey version, feel free to look up the story in 2 Samuel 11. You can probably find in on-line by just typing 2 Samuel 11 in a search engine. God, I love technology.

Psalm 51

Prayer for Cleansing and Pardon

To the leader. A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.
¹Have mercy on me, O God,
   according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
   blot out my transgressions. 
 
²Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
   and cleanse me from my sin.

³For I know my transgressions,
   and my sin is ever before me.

⁴Against you, you alone, have I sinned,
   and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are justified in your sentence
   and blameless when you pass judgement.

⁵Indeed, I was born guilty,
   a sinner when my mother conceived me.

⁶You desire truth in the inward being;
   therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart.

⁷Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
   wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

⁸Let me hear joy and gladness;
   let the bones that you have crushed rejoice.

⁹Hide your face from my sins,
   and blot out all my iniquities.

¹⁰Create in me a clean heart, O God,
   and put a new and right spirit within me.

¹¹Do not cast me away from your presence,
   and do not take your holy spirit from me.

¹²Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
   and sustain in me a willing spirit.

¹³Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
   and sinners will return to you.

¹⁴Deliver me from bloodshed, O God,
   O God of my salvation,
   and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance.

¹⁵O Lord, open my lips,
   and my mouth will declare your praise.

¹⁶For you have no delight in sacrifice;
   if I were to give a burnt-offering, you would not be pleased.

¹⁷The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit;
   a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

¹⁸Do good to Zion in your good pleasure;
   rebuild the walls of Jerusalem,

¹⁹then you will delight in right sacrifices,
   in burnt-offerings and whole burnt-offerings;
   then bulls will be offered on your altar.

So, maybe a good place to start would be to find out if there’s anything in particular you WANT to ask about the psalm, or anything that stands out to you, or words that are particularly important to you–and if not, then I can just start holding forth.

…and Jess ever offers to make you this, you will run–not walk–to her sweet apartment in Portland, sit on her red couch and let her feed you. Because this soup is so good, it’s almost unbelievable–hearty, spicy, warm, great texture, EASY–there’s nothing that’s not wonderful about it. I couldn’t find italian sausage, so I used Jimmy Dean’s Hot sausage. So good. Next time? I’m making a double batch. And it’s got a wonderful broth…the night we had it for dinner, I used nummy crusty sourdough bread to soak it up. The next day for lunch, I poured the pitiful amount that was left over over mashed potatoes and gloaried in the potatoey brothy goodness.

Heh. I like bringing lunches to work that make my coworkers jealous.

Not much going on. People are all kinds of pissed that I didn’t get to at least interview with the church, though I’m pretty sure that it’s not going to do me any good. At least I know I’m not over reacting in my being ticked.

Work is slow, and the clothes are cute, so I’m having a really hard time continuing my spending fast (it was really fun to have a little money left over at the end of the month, so I’m continuing my discipline…I’m amazed at what all I’m honestly able to live without. Although, in the interest of honesty? I DID buy a new lipstick at Target tonight when I had to run there to get formula–it was a color I wore years ago, I loved it, it looked great on me, but then I forgot about it, and tonight Target was clearancing it out, so at least I got a deal on it).

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I got to listen to the WORST Ash Wednesday sermon in my life. Gah. It’s so hard to go to church, and listen to the drek that’s coming from the pulpit and try and reconcile myself to the fact that THESE people have churches, and I don’t?! The world is whacked.

So I’m toying with the idea of writing some Lenten reflections on my blog. Anybody interested?

I just realized something odd about myself.

I adore football season. I get really excited when the preseason games start in the late summer, and I’m always sad when the SuperBowl is over–and I comfort myself with the knowledge that I’ve got one last weekend of football with the ProBowl.

So what’s weird about that, you ask?

I never ever watch a game. Ever.

So, moving on from my bad news, I’m going to fill you in on my Girl Date, which was loads of fun. Liesl is just fantastic–funny, down to earth, unflappable, a great mom, really smart–the total package. And I’m so freaking glad that the Cuz had the good sense to marry the girl.

We went to a “Children’s Expo” which was sort of a misnomer, because there really wasn’t much for kids to do there–it was mostly aimed at mom’s. Which was fun, and fine, because we didn’t bring the kids with us, anyway. There were plenty of “goodies” that we could bring home with us for them, without having them there with us ruining our good time.

At one booth, Liesl was looking at consignment clothing, and I was just dorking around (since I was attempting to continue my spending fast, and my children need more clothing like they need another hole in their sweet wee heads). Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man looking at me. I’m thinking, “Yeah, Beege, you rock your new trouser-cut jeans!” and feeling all empowered by the absence of my children, I smile at him. He smiles back, and then all of the sudden all the tiles slide into place in my mind and I realize, “Beege. You know this guy.” He comes over, still smiling, “Beege. How are you. It’s been a really long time!” It was a guy I had  total crush on in high school. Josh. And he looks exactly the same. Totally. And his wife and kids are standing there, so I grin sort of foolishly (definitely not my jean-rocking smile) and say, “Josh. How are you? It’s nice to see you again.” and then slipped away.

I felt like such the goober. And I’m not sure why. I mean–I’m always suprised that people even remember me. I always expect a, “Gee…you look sort of familiar…did I go to school with your sister?” Or even a, “Ahhh, no. Can’t say as I can place you. We hung out in geometry sophomore year? Really. Huh. I got nothing. Sorry.” But Josh remembered me. Remembered my name. Gave me that cute smile I remembered dreaming about when I was 15. Stroked my ego a little bit, because I’m feeling so far from sexy and attractive it’s not even funny.

But the other weird thing is living in a place where I know people. Where I have a history with people. Where it’s completely possible (indeed, probable) to run into an old crush at the convention center, or have my hair cut by a former best friend, who is a former best friend because I got religion in high school (and I also got annoying about getting religion in high school) and she told me, “God’s a jerk.”  Pious little me couldn’t allow my golden crown to be smudged by hanging around with someone who would say that, so I fled to the sanctuary of the Baptist youth group. Now, I’ve uttered that same sentiment a time or two myself (actually, mine is a lot less ‘God’s a jerk‘ and a whole lot more ‘What the hell? Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole? God?‘ To which the answer is always, ‘Ummm… yeah. I thought I’d made that pretty clear.‘ and I never have an answer after that.)

Every move we’ve ever made, from my first move east for seminary 10 years ago, to the one we made in October has been a fresh start for us–we’re going to have to make our own way in a new place, with new people, who don’t know us. But the longer I live here, I realize: I’m not in a new place, with new people, who don’t know me. I’m in my hometown, with all that goes along with it. And it’s strange. Because I am so different from who I was when I lived here before. But all these people I knew from before who are still here? In my head, they are exactly the same as they were when we traded gossip about how tampons would make you lose your virginity. Odds are: they’ve changed, too.

I never in a million years expected to come back to my hometown to live. When I left this place for college it was with wings of joy in my heart ‘cuz I was going to the big city: Spokane. And I would NEVER come back to this place again, except to visit and encourage my parents to move so that I’d never have to come back to this place again.

But I find myself here. And it’s good. It’s a good place to raise kids. It’s good to be near family. It’s even good to run into old crushes, and have them not only remember me, but be happy to see me. It’s good to think about getting to see my old best friend, and apologize for being such a schmuck. It’s good to fall asleep, with the moutain snuggled up behind our house as surely as M is snuggled up behind me. It’s good to be in the land of wheat fields, and vineyards, and mighty, deep blue rivers. It’s good to see my children embraced and loved by the people who embraced and loved me when I was a girl.

So. Life is definitely weird. But life is also definitely good. Even in the face of inexplicable church decisions. Even in the face of selling pants for the forseeable future. Even in the face of wondering if we’ll ever get to the point where we’ll be bringing in enough money, and have enough bills paid down, that we can move out of my parents’ house and into something that’s ours. It’s still good. I still get to be married to my best friend. I still have the sweetest and most loving girls I’ve ever come in contact with.

Life is boog.