in Seminary

(cough, cough.) wipes away dust and cobwebs. creaky door swings open.

Anybody home?

I know. I know. 

Last time I wrote a post I said I'd write again a week later. 

I know that was 8 months ago. 

But Seminary is no joke, y'all!! It is a time-sucking, family destroying, killer of souls! 

Okay, maybe it's not. 

Well, sometimes it is. 

But mostly it's not. (well, it's finals week... so right now it is.)

I saw a friend at church last week. She asked how my family was doing and if the hubby and I had had our bi-annual, "end of semester" fight yet. I cracked up! Because yes, yes we had. 2 weeks ago. And then we discussed the idea of having a Spouses-End-Of-Semester-Support-Group. :) 

Because Seminary is hard! Like, really hard. Like so hard that our school offers free and reduced counseling for couples and families, as well as a number of marriage strengthening classes and retreats. This is not a, "Well, I just graduated from a Christian University and I can't find a job so I guess I'll go to Seminary" type decision. (Please, please try to find a job at McDonald's first!)

But sometimes, you just can't help it. Sometimes, you work a job for ten years and all you can think about is teaching people about Jesus. And you take all the classes and attend all the trainings that your church offers. Then all you can think about is helping people who want to teach people about Jesus. So you spend lots of time talking to people who teach people about Jesus and you realize that you need more training. And your wife tries to talk you out of it, and you take a few online classes so that "our life doesn't have to change all that much," and you get permission to work remotely and finally, one day, you admit to your wife, "I think we need to move to Wilmore." And she sighs and says, "I know. God has been telling me the same thing." And then she cries in Jimmy Johns. 

Or something like that. 

And then working and studying and babies and small townhouses and papers and biblical languages... and a few weeks ago, I was done. I was ready to tell M that we have to quit school because the kids need a dad and I need a husband and we're tired of sharing him with his classmates, teachers, homework and books. So I prayed. And I pleaded. "God, if you want us to stay, you have to give me a vision for what's next. You have to give me a reason bigger than a degree." And God, in his mercy, did. 

At the end of April, I was out with my girl running some errands on a Saturday morning. And since it was only the baby in the car, I was able to listen to NPR. (Yeah for hearing adults talk!) An episode of This American Life called "Heretics" was playing. In it, a young pastor starts his ministry feeling like it's his responsibility to "get as many for Jesus as possible because everyone is headed for hell." Now, he preaches from a place of feeling like nobody is going to hell, because Jesus died for everybody and it doesn't matter whether you believe in him or not. Hearing this, I thought, "No wonder people think Christians are crazy. This guy is using the Bible to say BOTH that everybody is going to hell and nobody is. I'd think we were crazy, too! ugh! Bad theology!!" (I should clarify... it's not the fact that he changed his mind.... because faith has to be a living, moving journey... or it dies. I felt like he started from a place of bad theology and ended in a place of bad theology. What happened to the middle ground, people?)

And the next morning, God brought that moment back to my mind while I was worshipping in church... it felt like He was saying, "Bad theology doesn't just lead to bad choices. Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name." 

You see, M and I have long been fans of the saying, "Bad theology leads to bad decisions." 

For example: 

"We can't really afford this car but God isn't stopping us from buying it so he obviously wants us to have it." (or God's way of telling you not to buy it is that you can't afford it...) 

or "I need to find a different church because there are no single people here and the Bible says "it is not good for man to be alone" and "be fruitful and multiply" so I need to find a church where I can get married." (or there's a whole part in Corinthians about how good it is to NOT be married...)

or "I'm not allowed to tell my husband, "No" because 1 Corinthians 7:4 says "the wife does not have authority over her own body..." (um, I don't think you read the whole verse... it says the same thing about the husband's body belonging to the wife and that whole section of the letter is talking about not manipulating each other with sex. So, there's that.) 

But this seemed different... this seemed bigger: Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name. 

Bad theology makes pastor's say, "Give all that you have to my church and God will abundantly bless you." 

Bad theology can be used to justify holding up signs and saying horrible things like "God hates gay people." 

Bad theology convinces a husband that he is allowed to beat his wife because "the wife does not have authority over her own body..." 

Bad theology has created an image of Jesus that is manipulative, hateful, superior, takes advantage of the poor, suggests women stay in abusive marriages, only blesses hard work, and requires strict adherence to church tradition in order to be saved. 

and I gotta tell you, that's not who Jesus is. 

and it breaks my heart that that's the only "Jesus" that some people see. 

M is in school so that he can be a teacher. He doesn't want to preach, he doesn't want to lead a church. He wants to help the people who do those things. And now I understand why... because Bad theology gives Jesus a bad name. And if a PASTOR is the person teaching the Bad Theology... well, then that's all sorts of bad-ness. 

So that's our vision. That's our purpose. We're not in seminary so we can get a degree. We're in seminary so we can learn the difference between good and bad theology; how to use the original language of the Bible to put it's message in the correct context; and how to help others learn the difference between good and bad theology within their own cultural context. 

Because GOOD theology can introduce people to who Jesus REALLY is. 

And that's a vision I can get behind. 

in the family way... the post that I didn't write last year.

It's been over a year since I wrote a blog post. I was going along there pretty consistently for awhile but then something happened... something very unexpected, very wonderful and very unplanned. We got pregnant. And then lots of things happened... sickness... and school... and Hebrew... and new doctors... and new friends... and a daughter.

And now there are 5 of us.

It's not a great photo... but it's us:
Sleep deprived, sweaty, upset and in love. 

And it took me awhile to figure out what I wanted to say about all this... and then I didn't know if I was allowed to say it... and then God put me on the spot one day during church.

Our Pastor was teaching on something from the Bible that had great impact to our lives and was filled with important and enlightening truths... or something (church these days =  comforting a baby and shushing a toddler). In the middle of all this exposition and encouragement, he asked us to to take a moment to be silent, then tell God whatever we wanted to tell him. So I did:

"God, I'm mad at you."

Wait, what?
Oh no, so that's in there.
Dang it.

And then I remembered about three c-sections in less than 4 years, a husband who is working and in school full-time, three kids 3 and under, SO MANY DIAPERS, never a moment alone, never losing the baby weight because there are always more babies... and, most importantly, how we were trying NOT to get pregnant.

So I realized that I WAS mad at God.

And then I felt terrible!! Because so many friends, family, strangers on Facebook have been disappointed in their pursuit of trying to start a family. There are so many women who have cried and cursed God as another fruitless month goes by. And here I am, drowning under so many blessings and angry about the timing. It seemed foolish. It seemed ridiculous. It seemed selfish.

But there you are... I was mad at God last year when we found out that we were pregnant. So I didn't write about being "in the family way" like I did for my other kiddos.

So here you go Baby Girl, this one's for you.


Last year, I got pregnant.

And then we found out that we were having a girl!

So we rearranged our house and gave away lots of boy clothes and figured out how to put three kids in one bedroom. Then we had a c-section.

And now we have a daughter!!!

And she is gorgeous and wonderful and smart and a true blessing and light to our lives!


And yes, she is adored by her brothers. :)

 


And God and I? Well, we're working it out. But that's another post for another time. (Hopefully, next week. But kids are crazy and who knows what could happen between now and then.)

inspired

My D is only 34 months old. But he faces fear like a CHAMPION! Seriously... this kid is legend (wait-for-it) dary! If there is something that he is afraid of, (or a thing of which he is afraid?) he screams this ear-splitting, high-pitched wail and stomps his feet while he turns in a circle, then runs in the opposite direction as fast as he can. Seriously...he even makes his brother cry.

But that's not the amazing part.

This is.

D insists... cries, stamps his foot, throws a fit until I turn the car around... on returning to the site of his flight and facing the thing which scared him. Seriously. This 2 and a half year old insists on facing his fears.

For example: Dogs scare D. (We lived next door to an untrained pit bull for the first 18 months of D's life. We had to instill a healthy fear of dogs in order to keep him safe.) Most of our family has small dogs. He has learned how to handle those... from a safe distance, while they're in a cage. But big dogs? No way, no how. He trembles. He screams. He shakes. And if one sneaks up on him at the park while he is climbing a rock and looking the other way... the whole community will hear his high-pitched panic. (Sorry about last Thursday everyone. ;) But he insists on facing the dog. He insists on trying to pet the dog. If he sees a plastic version of "Spot the Dog" at Target, he will first run away in fear. Then, he will traverse the aisles, his toddler size 9 converse plodding methodically behind Mommy keeping time to the rhythm of his mind, thinking about it. And after we find the diapers we are looking for, and after we use the self-checkout, and as we are walking to the car... he will stop. And he will stand. And he will square his shoulders and squeeze his fists together and say, "Mommy, I need to pet the doddie (doggie)." And he will turn around and march back in before his mother has a chance to say, "No, wait, stop." And he will get about 10 feet into the store, start to lose his nerve, bring both hands to his mouth and growl (causing his mother extreme concern when she finally catches up with him after using diaper boxes as a barrier to part the sea of humanity that washes through Target's automatic door.) Then he'll straighten up, literally square his shoulders and march his toddler legs right up to the doggy. And after a few more minutes of consideration, he will reach out his hand and pet that doggy! And the whole time he will wear a T-shirt that says, NOT ironically, "Tiny but Tough."

and his mother will drop the diaper boxes, find her phone, capture the moment digitally, write a blog post and cry. Because that's how she wants to be.

in Resignation

From: Mrs. Schlatt
Personal Assistant/Mother to Mr. D and Mr. B
Schlatt Industries
Dining Room Table

To: Misters D and B
Schlatt Industries
Bedroom #2
Crib 1 and Crib 2

Re: Letter of Resignation

Dear Sirs,
         This letter is to inform you of my resignation, effective 2 weeks from today. I have done my best to fulfill the duties of the job for which I was hired, but it has come to my attention that your requirements/demands far exceed the obligations of my original contract. I have tried to inform you of this incongruity (begging, pleading, bribing, disciplining) but neither of you seems willing to negotiate/listen to me. As a result, I will be resigning my position in 2 weeks time.
         Mr. D and Mr. B, you have employed my services as a personal chef and nutritionist since you both first joined the company. I have done my best to supply you with nutritious meals, feeding you whenever you are hungry, changing my own diet to suit your nutrition needs and even going so far as to give you both food from own plate and body. However, Mr. B, you still INSIST on eating old food off the floor and digging things out of the trash can when I am not looking. Last night, you peeled a farmer sticker off of a puzzle and ate his head!

        Mr. D, you are no better. You throw an absolute fit when I limit your sweet intake or give you water instead of the coffee that I am drinking. You also insist on eating whatever Mr. B is eating. Even if I have prepared an enchilada casserole, you still insist on eating cold, mashed green beans. I'm sorry but I can no longer serve in this capacity.
        Sirs, it is in my original job description that I must keep the house neat and tidy, your laundry clean and ready to wear and the dishes clean. I have attempted to fulfill these duties to the best of my ability. However, you have thwarted my efforts at every step! If I am vacuuming, Mr. B, you scream and insist on being held. If I am sweeping the kitchen, Mr. D, you insist on using your small broom to "help," when in reality, you are just scattering the dirt pile. (Mr. B, you then attempt to eat whatever I have managed to collect in the dustpan.) If I am attempting to wash the dishes, Mr. B, you climb into the dishwasher and try to pull out all the silverware and drink the dirty water that is collecting on the dishwasher door.

        When I finally manage, with much effort, to fold a load of laundry, you both cause a distraction (i.e. Mr. D hitting Mr. B in the face or Mr. B grabbing a toy away from Mr. D) then sneak over to the laundry basket and scatter the clothes. I'm sorry, sirs, but I can no longer serve as your housekeeper.
         Finally, sirs, I don't know if you realize but a full time job is typically 40 work hours a week. In dire circumstances, an employer may sometimes require 50 or 60 hours to meet a deadline or complete a project. Mr. D and Mr. B, you both require me to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week! I get no vacation and no downtime. Sometimes, you even require me to work through my coffee breaks! There have also been numerous times where you both insist that I work all night long! This is far and above what any employer should require of an employee. My health is suffering as a result... I do not get enough sleep, I am living under more stress and worry than ever before, and having a healthy meal plan or a workout schedule seems impossible. I can no longer work under such extreme conditions.
      I don't know if either of you realize but I am overqualified for this job. I have two degrees that allow me to teach people far older than either of you. I spent a good amount of money for 5 years of college and now, you expect me to clean dirty diapers and wipe both of your noses/hands/bottoms. This is not an appropriate use of my talents. I'm sure that I will be able to find a job where I can use my degrees, where they treat me appropriately and where I am able to use my brain for solving complex problems, instead of reading the same mind-numbing Curious George book for the 12th week in a row!
     In short, Sirs, I no longer have the mental capacity to fulfill the job requirements that you insist upon. I will be retaining my position as mother, but resigning as personal chef, nanny and housekeeper. Thank you both for your time.

                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                        Your Mother

     PS: No fair learning to say Mama, Daddy and Da'id. No fair squealing with delight when we walk in the room. No fair tucking your head under my chin whenever I pick you up. My resolve will stay strong....

     PPS: Sigh. I cannot withstand the cuteness...

From: Mrs. Schlatt
Personal Assistant/Mother to Mr. D and Mr. B
Schlatt Industries
Dining Room Table

To: Misters D and B
Schlatt Industries
Bedroom #2
Crib 1 and Crib 2

Re: No longer resigning.

Dear Sirs,
     Please disregard my letter of resignation. Feeding you, caring for you, picking up after you... all small prices to pay for the privilege of watching you grow.

     Dinner will be ready soon... and please stop kicking your brother in the face.

                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                        Mom

in Celebration!

It's already been a year... a whole year.

It's so hard to believe that our Little Man is now, officially a year old! Our surprise baby, who has never allowed himself to be ignored, is cruising on the furniture, babbling to his Daddy and insisting on using a plate at the dinner table. (Seriously, if you don't give this kid a fork and spoon he will scream his head off!)

He loves reading...

all things music...

and wrestling with his big brother! (well, he tolerates it anyway. ;) 

 

  

But most of all... he LOVES to cuddle!

 

His life has not been the easiest... he was conceived when his brother was still recovering from heart surgery, carried during Daddy's first year of seminary and born a month before finals. His first few months were filled with stress and turmoil as Mommy battled postpartum depression and Daddy prepped the house for showings.

He has bravely survived surgery...

and moving to a new house and state.

But this spunky little guy has always made himself known and has a heart for adventure! His favorite place is outside... he longingly stands by windows and doors. He will escape given the least little opportunity. And watch those stairs! This kid is fast, fast, FAST! Before he could even fully crawl, he had climbed the staircase, terrifying both his parents who thought they had a few more weeks before needing to put up the baby gate. 

 

He is an introvert: he and Daddy both needed a nap after his birthday party, and he would rather spend the afternoon running his trucks than playing with his brother. (Much to his brother's dismay.) But once he has decided he loves you, you are his. He has a claim on your heart. (Just ask his Papa who has become B's special person. :)

 He jumps up and down when Daddy comes home, he shouts and coos when his brother wakes up and toddles over to peer through the crib slats, and he goes full flap, wiggling every body part he has discovered when Mommy walks in the room.

He is our cheeky monkey and we love him dearly!

Happy 1st Birthday, Little Man! 

(I'm sorry this post is two weeks late. I've apologized a lot your first year of life. Don't worry, we'll help pay for therapy in the future if you need it. ;) 

in Respect

This is D...

This is D's "hat"...

In fact, it's not just a hat. It's a football helmet. It's a baseball cap. It's a prince's crown. It's a bargaining tool in the constant, daily toy battle with his baby brother.

He claims it's his football helmet.

A Prince's crown with sword. 

(It's actually the bottom part of a Bob the Builder's hard hat that he got for his birthday last year. Not that that matters to a two year old.)

He's kind of a hat kid. 

Well... they're both kind of hat kids. :) 

Okay, so maybe it runs in the family.

But, ahem, anyway. D's hat.



One evening, a few weeks ago, Mike was traveling for work. He had flown to DC for project meetings so it was just me and the boys for a couple days. When that happens, we Google Hangout with Daddy at bedtime. We sing, we laugh, we sometimes read books. Before we hang up, Mike always prays. This particular evening, D, as usual, was wearing his hat. When Mike started praying, this head-strong, stubborn toddler removed his hat. Yes, that's right, he REMOVED his hat!! A 2 year old... taking his hat off to pray.

Now, this wouldn't be so ridiculous if Mike wore hats, or we attended church softball games on a regular basis, or we went to church with a bunch of cowboys who routinely removed their Stetsons. But he doesn't. And we don't. And even though we live in horse country, no one wears a cowboy hat to church. We have no idea how D knew that this is a sign of respect, appropriate to the moment.

My only guess is based on something that happened at church that same morning.

Worship at our church is incredible! We love it. We love it even more when we get to church on time and we don't miss the first few songs. :) But that Sunday morning, even though we were running late, we were still hit with authentic, Spirit-filled worship as soon as we walked in the door. (Spirit-filled worship = the worship team spending less time playing perfectly and more time listening and responding through improvised melody.) We found some empty chairs, settled the kiddos, D standing next to me, B strapped to my front in the Ergo, and joined in with song. After a few minutes, Mike stepped away from our chairs and knelt down in response to what he was feeling. At our church, this isn't something that causes much distraction. People are free to worship and respond however they like. (Within reason... after all, we don't want anybody to lose an eye because their neighbor was wildly flinging his arms.) But when my husband knelt down and bowed his head before God, my toddler followed suit. He joined his Daddy on the floor, on his knees, head bowed.

My son is learning to respect Jesus because my husband respect's Jesus. And that is an incredible thing.

And also a terrifying responsibility.
They will love what we love. They will repeat what we repeat. They will see people how we see people. They will see themselves how we see ourselves. They will see God the way we see God.

And with God's help, they will be nothing like better than us.