Devotions

I usually have my own reactions to stress: I'll cry or have sweets or just zone out. But when larger crises hit, I usually don't deal very well.

Last night my husband and I had to deal with what I would say is the most difficult situation we have come across in our marriage so far. Of course we both cried and held each other for a while. I need the reassurance that my husband is and will always be there for me, and I know he likes comforting me and wrapping his arms around me for protection.

This morning, though, I had a new reaction to this tragedy. After breakfast, I picked up my bible, and my husband sat with me as we both continued through our usual devotions. We prayed together, asking for clarity in our situation, then opened our separate bibles and read from where we were.

I happened to be just finishing 1Kings and starting 2Kings. Elijah advises the kings of Judah and Israel to heed God's commandments in the end of 1Kings, then he is taken to heaven in a whirlwind in the beginning of 2Kings. His abilities are transferred to the prophet Elisha.

One story in particular struck in reading about the prophet Elisha: There was a woman with an old husband who didn't yet have any children. Elisha told her that God would give her a son in a year. She was confused about how this was possible, but trusted Elisha's prophesy. She did give birth to a son about a year later, and when the son was a toddler, he grew sick and died. Upset, the mother brought her son to Elisha, who brought the child to life with his staff.

Despite what else may go on in our lives, God has a plan, and he has promises he will keep. I'm trying to keep that in mind for this week.

Flowers

Beardface and I volunteered to make dinner tomorrow night for our small group.

(For those of you not in the loop, a small group is like a bible study but with more fellowship and friendship.)

I sent Beardface to go buy some fish for dinner at the local grocery store. We had several minutes of conversation before he left to break him down on what kind of fish to get. Then he gets to the grocery store, and he has a hard time finding what it is I asked him to get. So Beardface calls me, while he is in the freezer section of the grocery store; we have several minutes more of conversation about how to find this fish that I wanted.

Meanwhile, I'm at home with Swedish meatballs on the stove. I'm stirring noodles and anxiously waiting for him to come home, when Beardface walks into the door with the perfect fish and some flowers!

I can't say what these flowers were for, but they were absolutely sweet and very pretty. :-)

Surviving the Kids

Well I barely survived my first Sunday with the kiddies. I made a narrow escape with little more than chewed up animal crackers on my shoulders. I'm too exhausted to update more.

More to come.

An Unusual Position

Recently I've taken a position serving at my church. I had several options to choose from: ushering, making coffee or breakfast, directing traffic in the parking lot, etc. Did I choose any of these fairly less than social activities? Absolutely not.

For the next few months, I will be watching my fellow church-goers babies while they attend service. For those of you who attend a church that does not have this service, you may be reading this thinking, "Wow, that's awesome. There aren't any screaming babies in the middle of the sermon." This is exactly why our church provides the service.

But, I have very little experience with children at all. In fact, allow me to document here:

Age 13 - My cousin has a baby boy. He is adorable and cute and cuddly, so I decided to touch his head. He screams. I refuse to touch babies for years.

Age 15 - I get a job as a camp counselor for snooty rich kids. I am in charge of 20 8 year old boys and girls. I nearly shoot myself after work each day.

I have no other real substantial contact with children again. Seriously. No one small enough or not for long enough to warrant a short description here.

So, I will be watching people's children on Sunday. I'm not worried I won't do well, I'm just worried I'll bore the kids. But their toddlers, so I suppose small things amuse them. Hopefully I'll be ok.

Did You Leave Your Baggage at the Airport?

I can get fairly cocky at times, most especially when dealing with a certain few topics: science, logic, and levelheadedness. I pride myself in my ability to think logically and clearly despite stressful situations. Whether or not I actually have this ability is completely up for debate.

The past few days have been a bit strange in the Beardface household. I have been mildly hormonal and a bit over-emotional, which can terrify my husband at times and frustrate him at others.

My biggest weakness, though:

Jumping to conclusions.

Without going too deep into my childhood and all the wonderment that it entailed, I will tell you that I am accustomed to being wrong. All the time. If something happens, it was always my fault. After years of this kind of treatment, I really did absorb some of these thoughts into my own psyche. So much so that it has become a part of my personality. I find myself constantly apologizing for things that I either have not done or have no control of.

This fantastic trait has now weasled it's way into my marriage. When my husband and I are having a disagreement, I automatically assume I am at fault and apologize (which is usually followed by a small dissertation on why I am a moron for doing what I did). I'm blessed to have a husband that does not take this at face value. Rather he has forbidden me from putting myself down in his presence and from apologizing for inane things.

What it boils down to is this:

I had thought that growing up, I was handling everything I was dealt. I was told that for my situation, I was a very stable young lady, and I should be proud of my level head. This may be true, but my past was not without its consequences. And as much as I hate to admit it, these consequences have begun to affect my marriage.

Do you bring baggage into your relationship/marriage? How so? Do you notice its effect on you and your significant other?

The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, you know.

Hormones

I would like to state here that I am normally a very rational human being. Most days.

Today, this was not the case.

Beardface and I carpool to work, and as a carpooling couple, we have to work together in the mornings to get our things ready and get out the door on time. It is quite like a magical synchronized swimming routine:

I get up silly early to run in the pre-dawn darkness, while my husband slowly rolls out of bed. By the time I'm back, he is either showered or still in there, which means I start my own shower or jump in with him (score!).

Then there is this 15-20 blurr that includes dressing and putting on deodorant and things. I honestly am never sure how this gets done in the morning, but it does.

When we are both dressed and fairly presentable, we sit down to breakfast together. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you can still be at work by 7am and sit down to a wholesome breakfast. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

This morning in particular, after breakfast I had a few last minute things to put into our respective lunch bags, allowing Beardface the time to go brush his teeth. (Aside: My husband is one of those strange people that cannot brush his teeth before breakfast. I refuse to see the logic in this, but as his wife, I am willing to overlook it.)

Anyway, as I finish putting things together in the lunch, I peek to see if Beardface is around because I was going to slip a note into his lunchbag. When I look around the corner what do I see? My husband is on Facebook. Annoyed, clearly, I ask him (not so gently) to go brush his teeth. He grumbles and does so.

The entire ride to work there is some serious tension. I think he is angry with me, and he thinks I am angry with him. It is all sorts of out of wack.

When I get to work, I immediately e-mail Beardy to call a truce. At lunchtime I check my e-mail again. No response. So I call him. Voicemail. Then towards the end of the day I check e-mail again. No response. No phone call. I e-mail him one last time.

On the way to pick him up after work I text something sarcastic asking if he wants me to pick him up, and the poor man is confused.

I had quite literally worked myself into a frenzy enough that I was blazingly angry at him for not having tried to contact me at all during the day.

Hormones.

Competition and Fish-Fries

Do you have a friend that you absolutely cannot stand because they seem to always one-up you? Your cat can fetch, well theirs can speak on command. You bought a 2 bedroom house, well their house has 3 bedrooms and a wrap-around porch. You broke your arm playing basketball as a kid, well they lost their kidney in a rough game of ultimate frisbee.

I hate these people, too. Usually. But I find myself doing acting in this way toward my husband often. He will tell me about something from "back home" (the midwest), and I immediately have to top it with something oh-so-much cooler that's in New Jersey. Or I'll just rationalize that what he claims is so awesome is actually not that special at all.

I am careful not to do this with his accomplishments. I would never belittle my husbands efforts at work, school, in church, etc. In fact I remind Beardface regularly that I think he is the strongest, smartest, and most wonderful man on Earth. Why, then, do I feel the need to cut down everything he has seen or experienced before me?

I think on some level I feel rejected when he does that. As if everything we do together cannot hold a candle to all the awesome things he has done in his life before me. It makes me feel boring and like a bit of a homebody.

I know I'll feel better once I lay that feeling down and just listen to what my husband has to say. It's a place to get to; I know. But in the meantime, I'll be pumping up Jersey's image in my household.

Man, I Feel Like a Woman

Tonight's blog will be short and sweet, but I feel this is an important moment in my life that I have to share.

Beardface has some friends over tonight; they're playing video games and computer things. You know, the usual. I had left to go grocery shopping just as his friends pulled up, so I can only assume that my husband offered them something to drink and eat.

I returned home, put away the groceries, and started on my weekend tradition: making bread. I warmed up some dinner for Beardface and I, offering some to his friends of course. When I set my husband's dinner down at his computer desk, I noticed one of his friends was using a coaster for his glass.

I am not sure whose idea that was, Beardface's or his friend's, but that was honestly the first time I've truly felt like the woman of my own household. Someone cared enough about my furniture (albeit a hand-me-down coffee table) to use a coaster. It really is the little things in life, isn't it?

A Little Deeper Today

In most parts of my life, I am very well controlled. I have self-control about working and exercising and finances and all of that. There is a particular part of my life (which, no, I am not going to share with you all, in which I have a difficult time exercising self-control.

It's a difficult beast to tackle, sometimes. You think you really have a grasp on it, but then something throws you a curve ball, and all of a sudden you've lost your grip.

That happened today, and it wasn't the first time in recent weeks.

Tonight I'm praying 1 Peter 6-9:

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings."

Really Arizona?

In light of the new bill passed in the state of Arizona, I would like to comment on our country's ever-changing policy on immigrants.

First, for those of you who do not know, the state of Arizona has passed through a bill mandating that any immigrants carry their naturalization papers or green cards on them at all times. If an immigrant is caught without his or her papers, he or she is subject to arrest and detainment. In 90 days, it will be a misdemeanor to be an immigrant not carrying immigration papers in the state of Arizona. This law also leaves much of its practice subject to the judgment of the Arizona police force. An officer may detain any individual he or she suspects of being an illegal immigrant at any time, simply based on physical characteristics.

The vast majority of immigrants in the state of Arizona are of Hispanic origins (mainly from Mexico). This law seems as though it is giving the Arizona police force permission to harass at will the state's Hispanic population.

My question is this:

When did the United States of America become intolerant to immigrants?

We are a country founded for enterprise and religious freedom, and over 96% of the United States current population are born into families of immigrant origins. Even those individuals who can trace their heritage as far back as a family member on the Mayflower are of immigrant origins.

America was a haven to refugees from many countries and hard-working citizens from across the globe who sought a better quality of life. Europeans and Asians came when their countries were suffering a famine or at war. Many South Americans came seeking safer conditions and a higher standard of living. Why now are we trying to stop the immigration of people from an impoverished country?

On a personal note, I know many Mexican immigrants, both legal and illegal. I noticed one thing they almost all had in common: a strong work ethic. These Hispanic immigrants risk their lives to enter into a country of hope only to work 70-80 hours a week doing back-breaking work for less than minimum wage. They hope to save up enough money to send back to their families in Mexico, usually. Others hope to be able to bring their families to America.

How is this any different than the immigration of the Irish and the Italians during the end of the 19th century? Did the men not come first, seeking jobs and hard work? Did they not send for their families later, or send their paychecks home?

The United States has a lot of pride in its "Melting Pot" heritage. We celebrate the Italians, the Irish, the Germans, the Scottish, the Japanese, the Native Americans, etc. Why, then, can we not celebrate the Hispanic cultures?

Yonder

If I hear this word once more at work, I'm throwing something. How difficult is it to say "Over there"???

Belly Noises

So tonight's little blurb will be short and sweet. Who else is seriously irritated by other people's stomachs making noises?

I hate it. It makes my skin crawl, literally. When I hear those rumbles and strange gurgles coming out of people's bellies, I want to yell at them to drink a glass of water or eat something.

sigh

Sports Pride and Insanity

I have to vent about this. Really, I do.

For anyone who has ever spent much time in the state of Virginia, you may have noticed that an uncommonly large number of cars are sporting vanity plates, or license plates with numbers and letters of the particle owner's choosing. This is for the simple fact that vanity plates are much less expensive in the state of Virginia than they are in other states across the country. (Believe me, I was even pleasantly surprised to see the low price of vanity plates, but decided against them since I had nothing worthwhile to imprint on the back of my vehicle. Vanity license plates should be a fairly big decision. I understand it is nothing compared to the purchase of your first home or naming your children, but consider this: every individual that sees your car sees your license plates. They may or may not judge you based on what you have chosen to put on them.

Now, when the cost of something is low, it's availability is higher, yes? I have never taken an economics course, but this sounds likely enough to be true. So vanity plates in this state are available and feasible for nearly everyone, including those with an annoyingly strong love for the Virginia Tech Hokies.

So what I see when I drive around town are license plates like "Hokie Fan", Hokie Fan1", or "HOKIES". It isn't bad enough that maroon and orange litter our city (which for reference is not where V. Tech is located, but now the fans have to proclaim their love in my face from the back of their vehicle.

I feel there is nothing I can do to stop this, so I suffer in silence. But so help me, next time I renew my license, I may just get "HOKIE H8R".

A Runner's Personal Safety

I love to run. Truly I do. Many people do not love to run but do so anyway because they think it will make them skinny and sexy. I am not skinny, but I still love to run. Go figure.

I love to run so much that I wake up before 5 am every weekday morning to go for a jog before work. To some, this may sound like insanity. Rest assured, my sanity is fully intact.

Since I was about 15 years old, I have tried to run first thing in the morning at least five days a week. It really helps me to feel accomplished and just good about myself. I grew up in a more urban setting than I am currently living, but never felt that my safety was at risk.

According to Beardface, I had been wrong all along. We had a discussion today about pepper spray and handheld knives for safety purposes, and I expressed that I felt I'd never be able to purposefully hurt someone. Even out of defense.

My husband was very upset with this. This is a matter of safety! he insisted. He worries about me, and would feel better if I'd carry something with me on a run.

Now.

Like I said, I've been running nearly every morning for the past several years, and it has always been just me and the road. And sometimes my i-Pod. But never anything dangerous.

What if I stab myself or spray myself??? What then will I do??

Dilemmas.

Cinco de Mayo

Cinco de Mayo is the greatest American holiday, and no one can convince me otherwise.

Who doesn't love arroz con pollo, chips and salsa, and coronas with lime?

Seriously.

Tonight

It was a great night tonight, but now I'm exhausted. It's great to know that I have girls I can rely on, put my trust in, and will help me to become a better person right here in town. :-)

But I'm exhausted. For now, it's bedtime.

Gnight!

Guys' Night

I'm learning that sometimes in order to be a good wife, I have to just let loose and not care about what goes. I just need to let my husband do the things he wants to do. Other times, it's more appropriate for me to do with him what he really enjoys.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Although I am not the biggest fan of science fiction movies, tonight we are watching Star Wars: A New Hope. Apparently this as necessary to my existence as a human being. I have watched and enjoyed Episodes 1 through 3, but Beardface insists that Episodes 4 through 6 surpass the more recent Star Wars movies in all aspects.

So over pizza bagels and broccoli with cheese dip (clearly a compromise meal) I sit in my husband's arms and enjoy Harrison Ford in his finest 2 hours. I will admit, I am enjoying this, most especially because Jabba the Hut is a great imitation of Vito Corleone from the Godfather Movies.

In other news, and good news at that, we will be moving in July! Beardface and I got accepted to rent a small house near my alma mater on the other side of town. I'm so excited to have 2 whole bedrooms and a much bigger kitchen, plus a sun room and a front and back yard. It isn't much lawn, but it's enough for me to plant a few things and enjoy laying on the front lawn watching stars. I can't wait!

Soup Revelations

What do you think of when you think of pea soup?

So many people remember the scene in the movie The Exorcist when the young girl, while possessed, spews pea soup all over a couple of priests and her mother. Her head is spinning while green mush is shooting from her mouth, and it is quite possibly one of the most disturbing scenes in movie history.

I, on the other hand, have a different disturbing reference for pea soup. When I was younger, my father would sometimes make pea soup for dinner. And not just pea soup; ham and pea soup. Now, my father is very old world Italian, so putting some chunks of cooked ham into his soup wasn't enough. He had to purchase some shank of pig with the bone in it and boil it with his pea soup. Imagine for me, please, a green, mushy liquid with a pig's leg bone floating in it. Gross, right? Yea, I never touched the stuff.

Well, unbeknown to me, Beardface actually likes pea soup. Strange, I thought, for a man who isn't so big on veggies, but I figured I'd give it a shot.

I bought some dried split peas and followed a good old AB recipe (AB is my affectionate term for the Food Network chef Alton Brown). Honestly, it turned out delicous. Albeit gross to look at in the bowl, this soup was pretty darn tasty! It had a little bit of kick to it with curry powder and things.

My life, now has been changed. Pea soup is a friend in my kitchen, and in my belly. :-)