Saturday, May 3, 2014
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Wine and the Winepress
Oswald Chambers said that we often see the "wine" of people's lives, without having to see them going through the "winepress."
As I've spent this amazing weekend at the Linger conference, I wondered, "God, why did you bring me 1,120 miles from home, just to tell me I need to spend intimate time 'Lingering' with You? Couldn't You have found a cheaper, more efficient way to remind me of this truth--that still involved some sleep & solitude?" :).
Of course, He could have. He could have let me see Shane & Shane, learn from Jennie Lee Riddle, hear Matt Chandler, etc. I could have drank deeply of the "wine" of these teachers, absorbed their wisdom and experiences--but then I never would have heard the stories of the winepress...
It put our family's struggle with the academia-vs-business career paths in perspective, let me tell you.
Then I met this guy--the founder of a small business that makes bean bag chairs for churches. You can check him out at Xorbee.com.
Now, they're AWESOME,(and I spent two hours sleeping on one yesterday) but the desire of his heart was to be in ministry. "My M.Div really prepared me for the bean-bag business," he said with an eye roll. But he has four kids, and wanted his wife to be able to stay home...and bean bags paid better than ministry. He had to experience the long slow death of a dream.
Now, they're AWESOME,(and I spent two hours sleeping on one yesterday) but the desire of his heart was to be in ministry. "My M.Div really prepared me for the bean-bag business," he said with an eye roll. But he has four kids, and wanted his wife to be able to stay home...and bean bags paid better than ministry. He had to experience the long slow death of a dream.
Then I took a class from Randall Bayne:
He wrote a play that went to Broadway. Seriously. It only took him twelve years, a ton of rejection and heartache, constant criticism from the Church for using profanity or secular environments in his art, and the constant, nagging feeling that what he was doing wouldn't *accomplish* anything.
This guitar player/songwriter blew me away:
(His name is Sean Carter, and you can listen to his amazing song "The Desert" at this link on Youtube--just know his voice is actually 1000x better than that recording.)
I spent a little time talking with him, and found out that he and his wife literally didn't sleep for three years. Three. Years. (I just met his wife, who took the picture, and she corrected him: it was five years for HER. Sean is just a deeper sleeper.).
Their daughter had a perfect storm of medical conditions that wouldn't allow her to sleep--so she screamed all night. They would hold her, hand her off, doze, rinse, repeat. His incredibly energetic wife, Christi, STILL can't sleep consistently. She said, "Eight hours of sleep means PARTY TIME!!"
I've struggled for years with sleep--but I thought I was the only one.
Oh, and the beautiful lady singing next to Sean? That's Crystal Yates:
She has one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. Ever. (The other would be Christine Kimball.). Crystal has a 17 year old. And a one year old. (Do the math.). This baby came *after* she and her husband Will gave away everything they had to live with and be mentored by a worship leader they'd never met. She didn't complain, but my guess is that it was stressful. Mildly stressful. Just mildly.
My favorite story of the trip was of the mom of four kids who wrote a worship song using only four chords on the guitar--because they were the only four guitar chords she knew. She'd been making spaghetti and changing diapers and teaching classes and was EXHAUSTED...and then it took another *nine years* before that song was ever released to a wider audience.
Her name? Jennie Lee Riddle. Her husband is Darrin, the former paratrooper the first picture. The song was Revelation Song.
The icing on the cake? Finding out that this guy on the far right end of the panel didn't go on a date till he was 30!!
Yeah, that's Shane Barnard.
I'd heard all of my life that believers have God fighting on our behalf, that we're over comers, that of course we suffer, but, you know...VICTORY!!! There's such an insidious lie that worms through the underbelly of my theology: if things are going badly for you, you must not be doing something right. You need to do more. Try harder. You're not married yet? You're not in the ministry or career you want? You don't have enough money? You don't have kids? You have too many kids? Do more. Try harder. Things don't go badly for believers if you're REALLY walking with Christ.
Yes they do. They go badly, even if I'm doing everything "right." Dreams get derailed. People get sick. Children come and go and change me. Marriages need work. Or marriage doesn't come at all! Sometimes, it has NOTHING to do with anything I've done or haven't done.
Yet, in the midst of all their pain,or their struggles, or their "wine-pressing-moments", these people I met here at Linger trusted God.
And they created.
And we drink their delicious wine, the fruit of their labors, without ever seeing the pain of the winepress.
Thank You, Lord, for bringing me 1120 miles to show me the winepress. Thank You for Linger. Thank You for rest.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
"If you give an INTJ a chore..."
If you give an INTJ a chore, he'll ask
you to be more specific. You specify the kitchen. He'll narrow his
focus to the dishes.
He'll want to make out a detailed action plan for accomplishing that chore.
After making that plan, he'll realize he didn't account for a couple of contingencies
So he'll develop contingency plans...49 of them.
While he's developing the plans, he'll realize, “This could be much better organized with a spreadsheet and a mind-mapping tool!”
So of course he'll have to look for some free mind-mapping software.
While he looks for the software, Linux crashes. So he re-installs Linux.
After Linux is fixed, he resumes his search for the free mind-mapping software. He finds four different types, then has to narrow it down to the most efficient, but feature-rich, and scriptable program.
After choosing a program, he works on the first three mind-maps, before realizing it's a repetitive boring chore. So, he decides to write a Python script to generate maps more efficiently.
Which means he'll need to review class-based coding techniques.
Satisfied that he has mastered Python's class implementation, he proceeds to write the script.
While writing the script, he has a great new idea for improving his Geogebra workshop. He reprograms his workshop, changes the powerpoint presentation, records his lecture, and sends it to his collegues for review.
But suddenly is distracted by his ENFP wife, showing him her latest bulletin board on Pinterest, with great designs for their kitchen remodel.
They spend the next hour dreaming about the perfect kitchen design, and planning out the finances and steps for the next year's household projects.
Suddenly, they realize they're hungry. But before they can cook, they have to have the non-stick skillet.
He'll want to make out a detailed action plan for accomplishing that chore.
After making that plan, he'll realize he didn't account for a couple of contingencies
So he'll develop contingency plans...49 of them.
While he's developing the plans, he'll realize, “This could be much better organized with a spreadsheet and a mind-mapping tool!”
So of course he'll have to look for some free mind-mapping software.
While he looks for the software, Linux crashes. So he re-installs Linux.
After Linux is fixed, he resumes his search for the free mind-mapping software. He finds four different types, then has to narrow it down to the most efficient, but feature-rich, and scriptable program.
After choosing a program, he works on the first three mind-maps, before realizing it's a repetitive boring chore. So, he decides to write a Python script to generate maps more efficiently.
Which means he'll need to review class-based coding techniques.
Satisfied that he has mastered Python's class implementation, he proceeds to write the script.
While writing the script, he has a great new idea for improving his Geogebra workshop. He reprograms his workshop, changes the powerpoint presentation, records his lecture, and sends it to his collegues for review.
But suddenly is distracted by his ENFP wife, showing him her latest bulletin board on Pinterest, with great designs for their kitchen remodel.
They spend the next hour dreaming about the perfect kitchen design, and planning out the finances and steps for the next year's household projects.
Suddenly, they realize they're hungry. But before they can cook, they have to have the non-stick skillet.
In order to get the non-stick
skillet—the INTJ has to do the dishes.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Missionary Envy, The Mess...and The Ultrasound
I know this isn't true, but it feels like most of my close friends from college are missionaries now, or at least used to be--out there in the world, making a difference for Christ, helping the poor and oppressed, lifting the downtrodden, translating the Bible into languages that never even had the printed word before...sigh.
You know what I did today? I made cupcake frosting!! It had no dairy or soy, and it was deeeeeelicious.
You know what else I did today? CLEANED UP MESSES.
Some days I can't help but be a little grossed out by my world. Bodily fluids and yucky foods, smells, and situations are just a part of life for me. Wiping up little booties and noses just doesn't feel as (drum roll please) world changing as going to Africa. At least in Africa, smells and mess and lack of sanitation would have a bit of glory attached to it. "You endured all THAT for the sake of the gospel? You must be really strong." As a mom, you're supposed to just deal with it---and clean it the heck up.
Once, I was having a particularly rough patch of missionary envy. One of my closest friends had (AGAIN!!) gone overseas. (My friend-losses to the Missions call were in the double-digits by this point.) We were giving her a small monthly support check, so we got these nifty little newsletters from the missions organization. One of the writers talked about how stretched he was, about how he was translating one day, fixing a tractor the next, and learning how to build a gravel road the day after that.
(I was still wearing the same spit-up covered sweats from three days ago, and hadn't left the house in a week. In that moment, I would have given ANYTHING for that kind of variety.)
The ended the article by telling a little story about a missionary doctor who approached him. He only read French and either Afrikaans or Swahili, and the author could read English and French. The doctor had just received an ultrasound machine--but the instructions were in English. Not only that, the doctor had never even heard of an ultrasound before!!! So, the writer ended his day by training a doctor in how to use an ultrasound machine.
Seriously? Seriously.
I felt like the most useless person on the face of the planet. I spent all of my time pregnant and breastfeeding and cleaning--and this guy was literally saving the lives of women and their babies, just by knowing two different languages.
At least, I felt that way until I had another ultrasound. Suddenly, I imagined being a fly on the wall during that missions conversation:
"Um, this is a probe."
"...and this is a probe cover."
"...then, um...you apply a lubricant to the probe. No, I'll explain that in a minute..."
"...then drape the patient's knees to give her some privacy. No, it doesn't make any sense to me either. Then you insert the probe here..."
"Well, then you look at the screen, and you can see the actual baby!! See, there's the heart, lungs, brain...look, it's waving at you!"
Long, long ago, I loved an album called "This Beautiful Mess" by Sixpence None the Richer. I realized that, regardless of whether I was serving God overseas, or serving my kids here in my own house, we were all living in a Beautiful Mess. Our callings weren't always going to be easy, or comfortable, or worthy of a slide presentation at a church missionary tea (gross...) but we were all serving the same Lord.
I don't have missionary envy any more, but I am taking steps to make sure that I'm doing what God called me to do every day. Sometimes that includes yucky stuff, like snot and diapers and dishes caked with gluten-free cajun chicken bits. Other times that includes guitars. Today, it includes trying to encourage you--God didn't assign you a ranking based on some mythical Missionary Awesomeness Scale. He loves you, and He will use you exactly where you are.
You know what I did today? I made cupcake frosting!! It had no dairy or soy, and it was deeeeeelicious.
You know what else I did today? CLEANED UP MESSES.
 | |||||||||||
| Why yes, that IS snot mixed with Frosted Mini Wheat crumbs. Want a kiss? |
Some days I can't help but be a little grossed out by my world. Bodily fluids and yucky foods, smells, and situations are just a part of life for me. Wiping up little booties and noses just doesn't feel as (drum roll please) world changing as going to Africa. At least in Africa, smells and mess and lack of sanitation would have a bit of glory attached to it. "You endured all THAT for the sake of the gospel? You must be really strong." As a mom, you're supposed to just deal with it---and clean it the heck up.
Once, I was having a particularly rough patch of missionary envy. One of my closest friends had (AGAIN!!) gone overseas. (My friend-losses to the Missions call were in the double-digits by this point.) We were giving her a small monthly support check, so we got these nifty little newsletters from the missions organization. One of the writers talked about how stretched he was, about how he was translating one day, fixing a tractor the next, and learning how to build a gravel road the day after that.
(I was still wearing the same spit-up covered sweats from three days ago, and hadn't left the house in a week. In that moment, I would have given ANYTHING for that kind of variety.)
The ended the article by telling a little story about a missionary doctor who approached him. He only read French and either Afrikaans or Swahili, and the author could read English and French. The doctor had just received an ultrasound machine--but the instructions were in English. Not only that, the doctor had never even heard of an ultrasound before!!! So, the writer ended his day by training a doctor in how to use an ultrasound machine.
Seriously? Seriously.
I felt like the most useless person on the face of the planet. I spent all of my time pregnant and breastfeeding and cleaning--and this guy was literally saving the lives of women and their babies, just by knowing two different languages.
At least, I felt that way until I had another ultrasound. Suddenly, I imagined being a fly on the wall during that missions conversation:
"Um, this is a probe."
"Well, then you look at the screen, and you can see the actual baby!! See, there's the heart, lungs, brain...look, it's waving at you!"
Long, long ago, I loved an album called "This Beautiful Mess" by Sixpence None the Richer. I realized that, regardless of whether I was serving God overseas, or serving my kids here in my own house, we were all living in a Beautiful Mess. Our callings weren't always going to be easy, or comfortable, or worthy of a slide presentation at a church missionary tea (gross...) but we were all serving the same Lord.
I don't have missionary envy any more, but I am taking steps to make sure that I'm doing what God called me to do every day. Sometimes that includes yucky stuff, like snot and diapers and dishes caked with gluten-free cajun chicken bits. Other times that includes guitars. Today, it includes trying to encourage you--God didn't assign you a ranking based on some mythical Missionary Awesomeness Scale. He loves you, and He will use you exactly where you are.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
The Insomniac Wonder Toddler
It's 3 a.m. The Insomniac Wonder Toddler is crying, and crawls into our bed.
(Let's just call her the IWT for short. I call her the IWT because she seems to function on less sleep than a frat boy during finals week, yet she never loses her sunny disposition.)
She still has her shoes on. We allowed this at bed time as a compromise--you take the yucky cough medicine, and we won't make you take your beloved shoes off.
She gulped it down, and only then did we realize it only lasted for four hours. Labels, dang it, are there for a reason.
However, it's 3am, and she's not coughing, so I fall back asleep pretty quickly....
...only to get slammed awake by a solid kick to the mouth with the shoes.
I'm incredibly blessed, because I have no missing teeth, no bleeding lips, and IWT is still mostly asleep--however that's when the cough medicine decides to wear off.
I wake her up juuuuust enough to threaten to take the shoes away, and get her to swallow some of the medicine--while she allows the rest to trickle down her cheek, providing an excellent sensory experience as she smears it all over her hands and jammies. After three kids, I know cold wet wipes and late-night clean ups are not my friend, so I turn on some hot water and get a wash cloth to juuuuuuust the right temperature to be soothing, not burning, not cold...and she still screams like I'm raking her face with sand paper.
Finally, we're both tucked back under the grape-stained covers, and since she's wide awake, she's inspired to sing:
IWT: "I'm higher than the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling. I'm higher than the ceiling..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhh...."
IWT: "But I want to siiiiiiiing!!!" [Starts crying]
Me: "Honey, you can sing when the sun comes up."
IWT : "Ok. I looooove my sisters and Daddy and Mommy..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhhhhhh""
IWT: "I'm not singing!!! Jesus loves me, dormez-vous, dormez-vous, Jesus loves me, dormez-vous...."
I'm too busy giggling to care. I prop myself up with a few pillows, snuggle her in the crook of my arm, and wait to see how long sleepiness will take to settle back in. IWT talks and sing-songs about night time, the snow, her big sisters, that Jesus loves her.
I feel the baby kick hard in my belly, pull up my night shirt, and put her hand on the bumpy spots. "No, mommy, close it! I don't want to see the baby!! Noooo!!"
It took an hour, but she finally succumbed to sleep again.
This is pretty typical. It used to be a lot worse. She used to wake up three times a night, ready to play, to chat, to explore the house. The pediatrician finally suggested benadryl at night--which hyped her up.
I've HEARD of kids getting hyper on Benadryl, but I'd never actually met one until I gave birth to one.
He allowed me to try half a miligram of melatonin for a week, to see if it would re-set her schedule. It seemed to help, but started to give her nightmares, so I only used it for five days.
But at least we're sleeping MORE. At least today is Saturday, and the Mathman let me sleep, got the kids up, gave them breakfast and let them veg out on Netflix-- before they got bored and started making up their own stories about evil witches that want to eat little children and steal them out of their beds in the middle of the night.
I mean, where could they have gotten an idea that their sleep would be disrupted by a cackling hyper active squealing person who laughs at their misfortune?? ;)
(Let's just call her the IWT for short. I call her the IWT because she seems to function on less sleep than a frat boy during finals week, yet she never loses her sunny disposition.)
She still has her shoes on. We allowed this at bed time as a compromise--you take the yucky cough medicine, and we won't make you take your beloved shoes off.
 |
| I don't get it, but two of my three girls have loved these shoes so much that they've snuggled them... |
She gulped it down, and only then did we realize it only lasted for four hours. Labels, dang it, are there for a reason.
However, it's 3am, and she's not coughing, so I fall back asleep pretty quickly....
...only to get slammed awake by a solid kick to the mouth with the shoes.
 | |
| IWT's favorite sleep position, diagrammed with precision by howtobeadad.com |
I wake her up juuuuust enough to threaten to take the shoes away, and get her to swallow some of the medicine--while she allows the rest to trickle down her cheek, providing an excellent sensory experience as she smears it all over her hands and jammies. After three kids, I know cold wet wipes and late-night clean ups are not my friend, so I turn on some hot water and get a wash cloth to juuuuuuust the right temperature to be soothing, not burning, not cold...and she still screams like I'm raking her face with sand paper.
Finally, we're both tucked back under the grape-stained covers, and since she's wide awake, she's inspired to sing:
IWT: "I'm higher than the ceiling, the ceiling, the ceiling. I'm higher than the ceiling..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhh...."
IWT: "But I want to siiiiiiiing!!!" [Starts crying]
Me: "Honey, you can sing when the sun comes up."
IWT : "Ok. I looooove my sisters and Daddy and Mommy..."
Me: "Honey Bear, shhhhhhhhh""
IWT: "I'm not singing!!! Jesus loves me, dormez-vous, dormez-vous, Jesus loves me, dormez-vous...."
I'm too busy giggling to care. I prop myself up with a few pillows, snuggle her in the crook of my arm, and wait to see how long sleepiness will take to settle back in. IWT talks and sing-songs about night time, the snow, her big sisters, that Jesus loves her.
I feel the baby kick hard in my belly, pull up my night shirt, and put her hand on the bumpy spots. "No, mommy, close it! I don't want to see the baby!! Noooo!!"
It took an hour, but she finally succumbed to sleep again.
This is pretty typical. It used to be a lot worse. She used to wake up three times a night, ready to play, to chat, to explore the house. The pediatrician finally suggested benadryl at night--which hyped her up.
I've HEARD of kids getting hyper on Benadryl, but I'd never actually met one until I gave birth to one.
He allowed me to try half a miligram of melatonin for a week, to see if it would re-set her schedule. It seemed to help, but started to give her nightmares, so I only used it for five days.
But at least we're sleeping MORE. At least today is Saturday, and the Mathman let me sleep, got the kids up, gave them breakfast and let them veg out on Netflix-- before they got bored and started making up their own stories about evil witches that want to eat little children and steal them out of their beds in the middle of the night.
I mean, where could they have gotten an idea that their sleep would be disrupted by a cackling hyper active squealing person who laughs at their misfortune?? ;)
Friday, January 31, 2014
"How Bad It Had Been..."
When Mrs. Moore, the woman that C.S. Lewis had lived with for several decades, finally passed away, he wrote to a friend, "I'm only just now realizing how bad it has been..." (
I can't, for the life of me, find the letter right now. I'm 90% certain he wrote it to Arthur Greeves, but most of my bookmarks have fallen out.)
Only after Mrs. Moore was no longer a part of his life, did he realize he'd been subjected to years upon years of verbal and emotional abuse.
I can't help but reflect on how liberated he must have felt, as I emerge from a cocoon of sadness and sickness myself. Since last August, I've been struck with hyperemesis, a fancy way of saying, "She pukes all the time while she's pregnant." To add insult to injury, I developed a gallbladder problem, which had me nauseous and vomiting AGAIN, as soon as the hyperemesis wore off.
In addition to that, my youngest daughter (who just turned two) is an Insomniac Wonder Baby, and I've not had consistent sleep since she was born. I've been exhausted, nauseous, vomiting, weak, short-tempered, frustrated, and barely coherent for all of recent memory.
Until last week.
Not only did IWB sleep at least six hours at a time, but I must have either passed the gallstones or gotten my diet in a better place---because I wasn't nauseous, wasn't vomiting, and I was rested.
All day yesteray I PLAYED. I played with the toddler, and I played guitar. I felt like a new woman. I smiled. I cheered. I cleaned my house.
Then, the Insomniac Wonder Baby got a cold, and coughed all night last night. She's still too young for most cough medicines, so....welcome to my first night in a week with no sleep.
I feel like a train hit me.
All I want to do is read old novels and mindlessly surf the internet. I'm so exhausted and sore and brain-dead that I can hardly function.
For the last several years, I've wondered, "Why haven't I been getting more done? Why haven't I accomplished more in my life? Why haven't I been more successful? Why haven't I finished such-and-such project? Why am I so dead?"
Well, I've been pregnant seven times in the last nine years. I've lost three pregnancies (one was twins). I've nursed. I've bottle-fed. I've worked third-shift. I've gone so long without sleep, because I had an undiagnosed sleep disorder. I've had food allergies, I've had moves, I've had infants, toddlers, school-aged children....and I've had hyperemesis. I've been nauseous, vomiting, sleep-deprived, over-worked, uprooted....
...and I'm JUST NOW REALIZING how bad it has been.
After this past week, I'm more and more confident that it will get better. No more babies. No more ridiculous expectations. Small, gentle goals. Rest.
The Insomniac Wonder Baby is napping right now, so I think I'll join her....zzzzzzzzz............
I can't, for the life of me, find the letter right now. I'm 90% certain he wrote it to Arthur Greeves, but most of my bookmarks have fallen out.)
Only after Mrs. Moore was no longer a part of his life, did he realize he'd been subjected to years upon years of verbal and emotional abuse.
I can't help but reflect on how liberated he must have felt, as I emerge from a cocoon of sadness and sickness myself. Since last August, I've been struck with hyperemesis, a fancy way of saying, "She pukes all the time while she's pregnant." To add insult to injury, I developed a gallbladder problem, which had me nauseous and vomiting AGAIN, as soon as the hyperemesis wore off.
In addition to that, my youngest daughter (who just turned two) is an Insomniac Wonder Baby, and I've not had consistent sleep since she was born. I've been exhausted, nauseous, vomiting, weak, short-tempered, frustrated, and barely coherent for all of recent memory.
Until last week.
Not only did IWB sleep at least six hours at a time, but I must have either passed the gallstones or gotten my diet in a better place---because I wasn't nauseous, wasn't vomiting, and I was rested.
All day yesteray I PLAYED. I played with the toddler, and I played guitar. I felt like a new woman. I smiled. I cheered. I cleaned my house.
Then, the Insomniac Wonder Baby got a cold, and coughed all night last night. She's still too young for most cough medicines, so....welcome to my first night in a week with no sleep.
I feel like a train hit me.
All I want to do is read old novels and mindlessly surf the internet. I'm so exhausted and sore and brain-dead that I can hardly function.
For the last several years, I've wondered, "Why haven't I been getting more done? Why haven't I accomplished more in my life? Why haven't I been more successful? Why haven't I finished such-and-such project? Why am I so dead?"
Well, I've been pregnant seven times in the last nine years. I've lost three pregnancies (one was twins). I've nursed. I've bottle-fed. I've worked third-shift. I've gone so long without sleep, because I had an undiagnosed sleep disorder. I've had food allergies, I've had moves, I've had infants, toddlers, school-aged children....and I've had hyperemesis. I've been nauseous, vomiting, sleep-deprived, over-worked, uprooted....
...and I'm JUST NOW REALIZING how bad it has been.
After this past week, I'm more and more confident that it will get better. No more babies. No more ridiculous expectations. Small, gentle goals. Rest.
The Insomniac Wonder Baby is napping right now, so I think I'll join her....zzzzzzzzz............
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
INTJ Parenting
This was when our little Firecracker was six. Now she's eight, and has already read all of the Narnia, Percy Jackson, Little House, and Dork Diaries books.
We didn't special-order her this way, or do anything to "foster a love of reading," except be fans of good books ourselves. Now, we can hardly keep up with her voracious appetite for more stories. And [wipes away a tear] she's started writing her own.
Any book suggestions for a third grader who reads at a high school level???
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Sherlock's Parents........Sooooo Normal!!!
The thing is, I married Sherlock.
(Well, I married a milder, more caring, less sociopathic version of Sherlock.)
Different Meyers-Briggs enthusiasts have pegged Sherlock as slightly different personality types. I say he's a textbook INTJ, like my husband.
It's an eerie thrill when I hear words in a British accent that my husband has said, in exactly the same context, in exactly the same tone of voice, for exactly the same reason.
It's a hilarious release to watch John Watson's reaction, knowing that I'm *not alone* in my dumbfounded response to cold-hearted analysis.
The best part about last night's episode? Meeting Sherlock's parents. :)
Sherlock's reaction to his parents was simply classic iNtuitive/Sensor interaction: the
parents talk about concrete, every-day things, with an adult child who was only interested in the world of ideas. The parents were caring, normal, every-day people who had absolutely no clue how to interact with their abstract, mind-palace loving son.
The SJ (Sensor/Judging) personality type makes up about 45% of the population. The SP (Sensor/Perceiving) type is 35%. My beloved NT's (iNtuitive Thinkers) are only 5-10%. That means that NTs--our question-asking, saliva-analyzing, wall-shooting abstract thinkers---are very, very likely to find themselves in households completely dominated by Sensors.
(I married one NT, and then gave birth to another. It's never dull around here.)
Problems arise between Sensors and Intuitives, usually because one spends time judging the other.
The SJ rolls his eyes: "Dear God, get your head out of the clouds and be PRACTICAL!"
The NT snarks, "Stop boring me and think."
The difference is that I've watched my husband work very hard to learn how to communicate with the Sensors in his life, while Sherlock just shoves them out the door. (Cause, um, I didn't marry a sociopath!!! And I have to say, "Go Molly!") He shows so much love and respect towards his parents, and other SJ relatives and friends. It was just hilarious to see the NT/SJ interaction in its unrefined state.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
An 8-Year-Old ENTJ Corrects Her INTJ Daddy. In Front of His Class!
The other day we had one of those scheduling snarls, where I had to take one child to a doctor, and my husband ended up taking the oldest two into his class with him. Justin teaches math for education majors, and my kids are usually really, really good about doing their homework--or at least behaving--while their Daddy teaches the teachers.
Well, those students got an education...in ENTJ behavior. (Yikes!!)
I came home and found this stack of papers. Apparently, Lily had written out several notes, and placed them, one at a time, on her Daddy's chalkboard. During class. Yeah.
We had a conversation about how this needs to NEVER, EVER happen again during class--after I laughed my head off and took pictures of everything. :) Unfortunately, she wrote several notes in yellow highlighter that I couldn't make show up properly, but you get the idea. :)
She's a firecracker. She always will be. I love that about her. :)
Well, those students got an education...in ENTJ behavior. (Yikes!!)
I came home and found this stack of papers. Apparently, Lily had written out several notes, and placed them, one at a time, on her Daddy's chalkboard. During class. Yeah.
We had a conversation about how this needs to NEVER, EVER happen again during class--after I laughed my head off and took pictures of everything. :) Unfortunately, she wrote several notes in yellow highlighter that I couldn't make show up properly, but you get the idea. :)
She's a firecracker. She always will be. I love that about her. :)
Ooooh, Villains Say BAD WORDS!!
In the few short months I've been working as an Author's Assistant, I've been amazed at how closely and lovingly these writers interact with their fans.
I'm also amazed at the feedback they receive!! I don't get my clients' emails, but I do usually get their Facebook messages and social media posts. Here's a comment that comes up over and over again, in a hundred different variations:
"I LOVE your books, and I think you're the greatest writer EVER, but would you please stop swearing in your novels? It's just too much for me."
So....you picked up a book about a small-town female police officer stopping a serial killer that happens to be her ex-husband, and you expected them to say "Darn" and "Oh sugar!" when they get shot?
Sorry, not buying that excuse. :)
I love, love, love this job, and I love my authors, and I hope that they never change their dedication to bringing authentic stories to life for their fans.
I'm also amazed at the feedback they receive!! I don't get my clients' emails, but I do usually get their Facebook messages and social media posts. Here's a comment that comes up over and over again, in a hundred different variations:
"I LOVE your books, and I think you're the greatest writer EVER, but would you please stop swearing in your novels? It's just too much for me."
So....you picked up a book about a small-town female police officer stopping a serial killer that happens to be her ex-husband, and you expected them to say "Darn" and "Oh sugar!" when they get shot?
Sorry, not buying that excuse. :)
I love, love, love this job, and I love my authors, and I hope that they never change their dedication to bringing authentic stories to life for their fans.
Monday, January 13, 2014
"Brownie Cupcakes" and why we call them that. :-)
Since Lucy Guardino is "Just your average Pittsburgh soccer mom, baking brownies
and carrying a loaded forty-caliber Glock..." I had a crazy idea. In the shower.
Which is where I get all of my crazy ideas. :-) "What if I offered some of my brownie
cupcakes as a prize, if the novella reached 200 on the Kindle rankings? I mean, I can't
offer a loaded glock, but this is the next best thing, right" ;-)
Well, I had no idea that the response would be so overwhelming! Lucy Guardino fans
responded instantly, and AFTER SHOCK's rankings went up over three hundred
points in just two days!! Fans from all over--including at least one all the way from
Australia--had a sudden, incalculable chocolate craving. <3
Sadly, I can't send cupcakes to all of you, but you all certainly made my day--and CJ's!!
At the very least, I'll share the (original) recipe with you, and the story behind
creating it. (I also hope to add pictures soon, but I got preggo-sick tonight, so it
couldn't happen yet.)
See, I'm allergic to wheat and milk. Seriously. Unlike Scarlet in BROKEN, my allergy
actually causes me to swell up, have trouble breathing, and cough my lungs out until
I'm doped up on Benadryl.
This meant I had two options: 1) I could spend the rest of my life eating over-priced
gluten-free foods that tasted like processed cardboard, or 2) I could become the best
dang scratch-cook in allergy-friendly history.
I chose the second option. :-) It took about two and a half years, but I managed
to develop a knack for making food that was nutritious, yummy, and wouldn't keep
me in a perpetual Benadryl coma. A girl's gotta have priorities.
A friend of mine posted a cupcake recipe on a blog that we tried to create together, but
every time I tried to make it, the cakes kept falling apart. Plus, they were dry, and I left a
trail of crumbs that would put Hansel and Gretel to shame with every bite. It took about
three months, (I had to eat all my mistakes. Darn!) but I finally made enough tweaks and
changes that the cupcakes that came out were moist, held together fairly well....
...and when my kids ate them, instead of spitting them out and going "YUCK!!, Are
these gluten-free?" they licked the paper liners clean and said, "Oh mom, they taste
like yummy brownies!!"
And that's how these brownie cupcakes were born. :-)
Recipe:
3/4 cup Teff Flour
1/4 cup Sorghum Flour
1/2 cup Tapioca Flour
1 cup good quality baking cocoa
1/2 tsp baking soda
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 sticks margarine (Earth Balance is is dairy free, and they have a soy free option as well) or butter, room temperature
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar
4 large eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 1/2 cups milk (dairy, rice, soy) plus 1 1/2 tsp vinegar to mimic buttermilk
1-2 cups of Enjoy Life Chocolate Chips (these are dairy-free, but if you don't have any allergy, you can try regular chips)
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
This
makes about 2 dozen cupcakes. Lightly grease the bottom
of the
baking pans, then dust with a little cocoa powder, or line 2
muffin tins with cupcake
liners.
liners.
Whisk
the three flours together. Add cocoa, baking powder, and
baking soda to the
flours and whisk together in a medium bowl.
flours and whisk together in a medium bowl.
In
a separate bowl, with your mixer, beat the butter until creamy. Slowly
add the
brown sugar and the granulated sugar. Whip this mixture until fluffy.
brown sugar and the granulated sugar. Whip this mixture until fluffy.
Add the eggs one at a time to the creamed mixture, then add the vanilla.
Turn the mixer to low and alternate adding the flour mixture and the buttermilk.
Using an eighth-cup measuring cup, fill the cupcake liners to 2/3rds full. Then, one
teaspoon at a time, add the Enjoy Life Chips to each cupcake. Stir with a toothpick to
incorporate into the batter. (If you don't do this, the chips tend to settle to the
bottom, and you lose a good bit of moisture.)
bottom, and you lose a good bit of moisture.)
Bake immediately for 12-15 minutes, until the cupcake is springy to the touch and a
toothpick comes out clean. [Careful, because the toothpicks can come into contact w/
yummy gooey chocolate chips!]
For frosting, you can either 1) Buy frosting that's labeled gluten-and-dairy free, or
2) Try mixing one part shortening to one part cocoa, and three parts powdered
sugar, then adding soy/rice/almond milk, a teaspoon at a time, until it reaches the
consistency you want.
2) Try mixing one part shortening to one part cocoa, and three parts powdered
sugar, then adding soy/rice/almond milk, a teaspoon at a time, until it reaches the
consistency you want.
(I wish I had a more specific recipe for this, but since I make different quantities all
the time, I just TASTE it until I like the results I get. :-) With a disposable toothpick,
of course.)
the time, I just TASTE it until I like the results I get. :-) With a disposable toothpick,
of course.)
Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Lots of Love,
Dotty
Monday, June 3, 2013
The "Entitled" Endangered Electric Guitarist?
I read this article over and over again. Steam started coming out of my ears.
The author asks, "Why is it so hard to find a good electric guitarist for a church band?"
His answer?
The current generation is "possibly" too lazy and entitled to put in the hard work and dedication to learn electric. They'd rather pick up an acoustic.
Dang. I had no idea my acoustic = entitlement
The author, Dan Leverence, makes so many inaccurate assumptions that I can't believe this article made it past the worshipleader.com editorial staff. This is *not* the way I wanted to join the community at worshipleader.com, but there are some points that have to be addressed.
There are at least four legitimate reasons why more believers don't learn electric guitar:
1) Bad Theology.
I'm so glad that everyone at Worshipleader.com has the freedom to play electric guitar at their church. However, some of us grew up in rural churches full of misguided people that believed all "head-banger" music was "of the devil." Those of us who attempted to bring "contemporary worship" music to a highly traditional church were given a resounding "No," because Lucifer himself might be hiding out in the Marshall amp.
This is not a dated problem. Just last week, I picked my daughter up from preschool, and found out that certain music is prohibited in the host church because of "The Beat." Apparently, some beats are satanic. (Click on any word in that sentence for an article that will make your head spin.)
I wish I was making this up, but this is a false belief that has infiltrated church culture for decades.
Of course, many young people move on from churches like this, but what should they do in the meantime? Fight with their parents, pastors, and teachers over musical styles? Hide money in a coffee can to buy that Fender Strat? Bury their musical talents and tell the Lord, "I'm sorry, Mom thought that if I played electric, I'd start sacrificing babies"?
I picked up an acoustic guitar, and learned to play hymns. I learned the language of the people I went to church with, and how to communicate "worship" with their words and traditions. According to Dan Leverence, that doesn't mean I was trying to serve the people closest to me with my gifts --it means I was too lazy to put in the hard work of learning electric.
Dang, and I thought I was being Christ-like.
Mr. Leverence is a worship pastor *and* an adjunct professor in a worship ministry degree program, and he doesn't mention this theological phenomenon once. Mr. Leverence, have you asked any of the guitarists you teach what their families and home churches think about the electric guitar? Do you think anyone in an informal conversation is going to volunteer, "I'd love to play electric, but my dad would kick me out of the house, and brand me a heretic"?
2) Lack of Musical Mentors
Despite the prevalence of worship bands today, there's no mention in this article of the fact that contemporary worship music *in churches* is less than 30 years old. (Hmmm, that's kind've the definition of "contemporary.") Mr. Leverence's solution to the "entitlement" of young guitarists who are too darn lazy to pick up an electric was to form healthy, mentoring relationships.
Well, that would mean that there would have to be an older electric guitar player in the church. An older guitar player who had already fought and won any psuedo-theological battles about "rock" music in church. An older guitar player who had a heart for teaching, for washing the feet of the younger generation, who didn't feel threatened by someone younger coming in to possibly take his place.
If contemporary worship music is only ~30 years old, then how many of those guitarists do you think are out there?
I was so blessed to HAVE such a mentor when I was a young teenager. A man named Terry Steiden saw that I had musical talent, and a desire to serve God with it. He explained the subtleties of leading worship, how to play in a band, how to do acoustic techniques like palm-muting and arpeggios, how to vary the dynamics, and how to do it all to God's glory.
In 15 years, he's the *only* such guitarist I've met, who's actively been willing to mentor me. I've sought mentors out, I've paid for lessons, I've connected with my (harried, busy, over-extended) worship pastors, and yet there's been only one Terry Steiden in my life.
(Terry, I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!)
3) Gear is expensive!
As a young teenager, already working one or two jobs outside of high school, leading my FCA chapter, leading people to Christ, and trying to get into college, I was THRILLED that my father paid for a Taylor 410 CE acoustic guitar. I still have that guitar today, and I will forever be thankful to him for it. But there was no way, I repeat NO WAY he was going to support my desire to play hard rock music. There were too many theological questions around it. (Plus, he hated the sound of it. If it wasn't bluegrass, it wasn't good enough.) How is a young adult going to grow as an electric guitarist when she *must* have gear to grow, and gear is so expensive? (This was also in the late-90s, when sites like Craigslist and Ebay weren't around to give us access to decent-quality used gear.)
Now that I'm an adult, I buy my own gear, and I borrow some from my church. However, to characterize a generation of young people as "entitled" because they won't drop 2-3 grand on a gig for a worship band is outrageous. Should they take on an extra job, outside of high school and college, just to pay for this gear?
And what will they get in return for their hard work and investment?
Mr. Leverence says, "... if the emerging generation sees that more doors of opportunity can open to them if they expand their abilities[to electric] it’s motivating for them." What are these doors of opportunity? Playing as a volunteer in a church band? Touring, perhaps? Playing in *bigger* bands? Bigger churches? What are these amazing excellent opportunities that only open up to people who play electric? Avoiding being called "entitled"?
There was one aspect that Mr. Leverence didn't touch on at all:
4) What if the guitarist is a girl?
How many female guitarists do you know? (I personally know three. Exactly three. And I've been leading worship for 15 years. I met Ashley Cleveland at the CMS conference about a month ago, so I guess that brings it to four.) Mr. Leverence, with all of the boundaries that MUST be in place in a healthy ministry (no one-on-one time alone with members of the opposite sex, etc.,) if mentoring relationships are the way that guitarists grow, how would you advise a female guitarist to go about getting this mentoring? Are we destined to either stay entitled and unteachable, or stay in the lower-skilled realm of acoustic guitar? How many Terry Steidens are willing to take the risk of mentoring a young girl? How many Vickie Steidens are going to be okay with their husbands spending quality time with a young girl?
The acoustic guitar was not a way for me to escape responsibility, stay low-skill, or accommodate an entitled attitude. It was a way for me to work with the theological, logistical, financial, and relational issues I had to deal with, and still develop my skills to God's glory. Ignoring those issues will limit your ability to understand why you don't have enough electric guitarists to get the sound you want.
Okay, I've stretched my three kids' patience to its limit. My 18-month old is banging on the piano, my 4-year-old is doing gymnastics on my chair, and my 7-year-old is reading Narnia. I hope this response shows some of the problems with Mr. Leverence's article, and maybe worship leaders will have some helpful information to "get the electric guitarist off the endangered species list."
And I only have one more payment to make on my ES-335 Dot, before it comes out of layaway..... ;)
The author asks, "Why is it so hard to find a good electric guitarist for a church band?"
His answer?
The current generation is "possibly" too lazy and entitled to put in the hard work and dedication to learn electric. They'd rather pick up an acoustic.
Dang. I had no idea my acoustic = entitlement
The author, Dan Leverence, makes so many inaccurate assumptions that I can't believe this article made it past the worshipleader.com editorial staff. This is *not* the way I wanted to join the community at worshipleader.com, but there are some points that have to be addressed.
There are at least four legitimate reasons why more believers don't learn electric guitar:
1) Bad Theology.
I'm so glad that everyone at Worshipleader.com has the freedom to play electric guitar at their church. However, some of us grew up in rural churches full of misguided people that believed all "head-banger" music was "of the devil." Those of us who attempted to bring "contemporary worship" music to a highly traditional church were given a resounding "No," because Lucifer himself might be hiding out in the Marshall amp.
This is not a dated problem. Just last week, I picked my daughter up from preschool, and found out that certain music is prohibited in the host church because of "The Beat." Apparently, some beats are satanic. (Click on any word in that sentence for an article that will make your head spin.)
I wish I was making this up, but this is a false belief that has infiltrated church culture for decades.
Of course, many young people move on from churches like this, but what should they do in the meantime? Fight with their parents, pastors, and teachers over musical styles? Hide money in a coffee can to buy that Fender Strat? Bury their musical talents and tell the Lord, "I'm sorry, Mom thought that if I played electric, I'd start sacrificing babies"?
I picked up an acoustic guitar, and learned to play hymns. I learned the language of the people I went to church with, and how to communicate "worship" with their words and traditions. According to Dan Leverence, that doesn't mean I was trying to serve the people closest to me with my gifts --it means I was too lazy to put in the hard work of learning electric.
Dang, and I thought I was being Christ-like.
Mr. Leverence is a worship pastor *and* an adjunct professor in a worship ministry degree program, and he doesn't mention this theological phenomenon once. Mr. Leverence, have you asked any of the guitarists you teach what their families and home churches think about the electric guitar? Do you think anyone in an informal conversation is going to volunteer, "I'd love to play electric, but my dad would kick me out of the house, and brand me a heretic"?
2) Lack of Musical Mentors
Despite the prevalence of worship bands today, there's no mention in this article of the fact that contemporary worship music *in churches* is less than 30 years old. (Hmmm, that's kind've the definition of "contemporary.") Mr. Leverence's solution to the "entitlement" of young guitarists who are too darn lazy to pick up an electric was to form healthy, mentoring relationships.
Well, that would mean that there would have to be an older electric guitar player in the church. An older guitar player who had already fought and won any psuedo-theological battles about "rock" music in church. An older guitar player who had a heart for teaching, for washing the feet of the younger generation, who didn't feel threatened by someone younger coming in to possibly take his place.
If contemporary worship music is only ~30 years old, then how many of those guitarists do you think are out there?
I was so blessed to HAVE such a mentor when I was a young teenager. A man named Terry Steiden saw that I had musical talent, and a desire to serve God with it. He explained the subtleties of leading worship, how to play in a band, how to do acoustic techniques like palm-muting and arpeggios, how to vary the dynamics, and how to do it all to God's glory.
In 15 years, he's the *only* such guitarist I've met, who's actively been willing to mentor me. I've sought mentors out, I've paid for lessons, I've connected with my (harried, busy, over-extended) worship pastors, and yet there's been only one Terry Steiden in my life.
(Terry, I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!)
3) Gear is expensive!
As a young teenager, already working one or two jobs outside of high school, leading my FCA chapter, leading people to Christ, and trying to get into college, I was THRILLED that my father paid for a Taylor 410 CE acoustic guitar. I still have that guitar today, and I will forever be thankful to him for it. But there was no way, I repeat NO WAY he was going to support my desire to play hard rock music. There were too many theological questions around it. (Plus, he hated the sound of it. If it wasn't bluegrass, it wasn't good enough.) How is a young adult going to grow as an electric guitarist when she *must* have gear to grow, and gear is so expensive? (This was also in the late-90s, when sites like Craigslist and Ebay weren't around to give us access to decent-quality used gear.)
Now that I'm an adult, I buy my own gear, and I borrow some from my church. However, to characterize a generation of young people as "entitled" because they won't drop 2-3 grand on a gig for a worship band is outrageous. Should they take on an extra job, outside of high school and college, just to pay for this gear?
And what will they get in return for their hard work and investment?
Mr. Leverence says, "... if the emerging generation sees that more doors of opportunity can open to them if they expand their abilities[to electric] it’s motivating for them." What are these doors of opportunity? Playing as a volunteer in a church band? Touring, perhaps? Playing in *bigger* bands? Bigger churches? What are these amazing excellent opportunities that only open up to people who play electric? Avoiding being called "entitled"?
There was one aspect that Mr. Leverence didn't touch on at all:
4) What if the guitarist is a girl?
How many female guitarists do you know? (I personally know three. Exactly three. And I've been leading worship for 15 years. I met Ashley Cleveland at the CMS conference about a month ago, so I guess that brings it to four.) Mr. Leverence, with all of the boundaries that MUST be in place in a healthy ministry (no one-on-one time alone with members of the opposite sex, etc.,) if mentoring relationships are the way that guitarists grow, how would you advise a female guitarist to go about getting this mentoring? Are we destined to either stay entitled and unteachable, or stay in the lower-skilled realm of acoustic guitar? How many Terry Steidens are willing to take the risk of mentoring a young girl? How many Vickie Steidens are going to be okay with their husbands spending quality time with a young girl?
The acoustic guitar was not a way for me to escape responsibility, stay low-skill, or accommodate an entitled attitude. It was a way for me to work with the theological, logistical, financial, and relational issues I had to deal with, and still develop my skills to God's glory. Ignoring those issues will limit your ability to understand why you don't have enough electric guitarists to get the sound you want.
Okay, I've stretched my three kids' patience to its limit. My 18-month old is banging on the piano, my 4-year-old is doing gymnastics on my chair, and my 7-year-old is reading Narnia. I hope this response shows some of the problems with Mr. Leverence's article, and maybe worship leaders will have some helpful information to "get the electric guitarist off the endangered species list."
And I only have one more payment to make on my ES-335 Dot, before it comes out of layaway..... ;)
Thursday, March 28, 2013
My Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free Weight Loss Story
I've lost sixty-five pounds in fifteen months. Seriously. I can't believe it really happened.
I did it without an exercise plan, without starvation, and without spending thousands of dollars on surgery, supplements, or gym memberships.
I did it by eliminating two huge categories from my diet: gluten and cow's milk products.
\
I feel like I don't deserve this. I feel like a factory worker who played the lottery once on a dare, hit the jackpot, and gets to move into the most expensive house in town. "Do I fit in here? How do I act in this neighborhood? Where do I park my 79 Bronco? What do I do now?"
I'm embarrassed when I go into a clothing store and "don't really know" my size. I keep walking into the plus-sized stores in malls. I can't believe that the enormous, worn-out bras I'm throwing out no longer fit me.
However, the truth registers in the surprised eyes of every person that sees me: "Wow, you've lost weight! How did you do that?!?!"
When I tell them it's because I went GF/DF, very few people believe me.
They think I'm embracing a gluten-free diet trend, that I must be missing something (like cancer!) going on in my body, or that I'm going to start selling them quack supplements any minute. Even worse, a couple of people assumed I'd developed an eating disorder. No one understands that I didn't plan for this, I didn't invite it in, and I certainly didn't expect it to be this dramatic.
This is why I'm accumulating all the photographic evidence I can, and why I'm telling my story here. I truly hope it helps you in your own journey.
I don't have posed "before" pictures like some people do. I didn't set out to lose weight. When I was a *tight* size 16, I avoided the camera as much as I could. I'll give you what I have, and hope that it lights up your eyes with hope.
I've been pregnant six times. With seven children. (My first miscarriage was with twins.) I was 155 pounds when I got married in 2004, a year out of college.
I'd done Body for Life, I'd done Slim-Fast, I'd done starvation diets, I'd cut out fat in every conceivable way, and I'd worked out for hours at the gym. I've never been so discouraged as when I'd worked out for an hour, six days a week, paying for both the gym and the child care, and three weeks later lost a *pound*. It was impossible for me to maintain any motivation.
And I was always HUNGRY! I couldn't understand how any female could maintain life support on what I'd seen them eat! "A shake for breakfast, another for lunch, and then a sensible dinner?" Bullcrap. Or even worse, I'd heard people at restaurants say, "Take back what's on that plate, and bring me a quarter of it! Box up the rest!" I never could see how. I could eat as much as any football player for breakfast, and still be hungry at lunch time.
When I did Slim-Fast in college, I just concluded that skinny people must be hungry people. For a while, I was actually content to live that way. I wanted so much to change the image of myself as a lazy, uncontrolled slob that I was willing to starve
myself to do it. I did lose some weight that way, and got a ton of compliments, especially from family members. But I knew in my heart that it was a lie, and that if I continued on this path, I would end up with an eating disorder.
I finally said, "Forget it. I have to stop caring what people think. This is not worth my time. It's producing no results. If anyone loves me, he has to love me the way I am."
After having two living children and losing four, I was 180 pounds, and refused to weigh myself any more.
Then, in 2010, after marriage, babies, and lots of life changes, I read a magazine article about adults developing food allergies. Apparently, adults over 30 could still develop food allergies, but they were being consistently misdiagnosed, since allergies were thought of as children's problems. "Dang," I thought, "That must be hard!" and I put the information out of my mind.
In January 2011, the need for that information came roaring back.
I was going about my day, cleaning my house, taking care of my two-year-old, when I suddenly doubled over in stomach pain. It was intense, it was sharp, and it wasn't localized in one area of my body, like appendicitis or cysts or an ectopic pregnancy. I thought, "It must be gas, or something embarrassing," and laid down, thinking it would go away soon.
It didn't. A few hours later, I called my husband, telling him that I might need him to come home from work and take me to the hospital. I prayed, "Please, please God, don't let me get sick right now. What's going on? What do I need to do? Please, please God, tell me what I need to do."
I felt very clearly like God said, "Stop eating gluten."
WHAT?!!??!!?
That couldn't be God. That sounds ridiculous. Stop eating gluten? For real? Why would God say that?
I heard it again, deep in my heart, "Stop eating gluten."
I'd been walking with God for sixteen years at that point, but I still was always concerned that I wasn't hearing God's voice correctly, that I was putting my own ideas in there, that maybe I was influenced by a magazine article I'd read a while back....was this really God?
In John 10:27, Christ says: "27 My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me." I prayed that I would accurately follow His voice, and not just my own silly ideas.
Then I remembered a friend from an old church who had Celiac disease. He used to vividly describe his symptoms at Bible study, till I could almost smell the results. (He dubbed himself, "The King of Inappropriate Comments.") His wife is a trusted friend, so I wrote to her and asked her about what I was experiencing. "Oh yeah," she said casually, "Almost everyone I know who has it had the symptoms descend on them suddenly. Here, have some recipes to go on."
I read that I shouldn't stop eating gluten before a Celiac test, so I called my doctor, scheduled an appointment for a blood draw the next day, and laid on the couch and suffered. As soon as they drew my blood, I came home, cooked myself some rice, and basically ate nothing but rice, fruit, and soft chicken for the next three or four days.
My stomach got better, and I wondered if I'd made the whole "God said stop eating gluten" thing up. Maybe It was a virus. Maybe it was food poisoning. I decided to go ahead with the elimination diet for a full six weeks, just to see what would happen.
Then, five days after the gluten went away, the craziest thing happened: MY ECZEMA DISAPPEARED!
Completely. It was gone.
For the past two years, I'd suffered through a skin disorder that seemed entirely localized on my hands. From the base of my thumbs to the tips of my fingers, my hands became white, dry, cracked, and they finally bled. It hurt to touch anything. Holding my daughter's hand, writing a letter, and especially playing the guitar, all were actions that made needle-stabbing pain shoot through my fingertips.
Suddenly, less than a week after giving up gluten, my hands were as smooth as a baby's. I couldn't understand it. I couldn't prove it.
I started taking pictures of my hands, until I realized it wouldn't prove a darn thing---I had no "before" pictures! I hadn't expected to need any!
Then a letter came in the mail with the Celiac test results: negative.
I ate a whole wheat sandwich just to be sure that I wasn't truly out of my mind. I spent the entire next day in the bathroom---> and you just don't want to know more than that.
I decided then, with or without a Celiac diagnosis, wheat was harming my body, and I was staying away from it.
I happily said, "Bye Bye" to blueberry muffins, yeast rolls, regular spaghetti, and the staple food of my existence, Frosted Mini Wheats. I felt like a cloud was lifting from my brain--life felt like it was in sharper focus. I could touch a fabric, a book cover, the neck of my guitar, without leaving little blood smudges behind from my fingertips. I felt *excited*--the pain was gone!
My husband thought I'd lost my mind.
"You can't eat cookies. You can't eat your daughter's birthday cake. And you're happy about this? Where's the mourning and the grief over this enormous life change?"
I couldn't grieve: I had my hands back.
After a couple of months, however, I realized that if I even touched wheat, or if flour got into the air, my skin would react again, in just a day or two. I started wearing latex-free gloves when I made my kids' sandwiches. I removed all flour from my house, and the gluten-consuming family had to settle for frozen biscuits.
All this time, a strange thing was happening: for the first time in my life, I was leaving food on my plate.
I was giving food to my husband to "dispose of" after dinner. I was able to stretch the meals I cooked into a couple of planned leftover GF lunches for me.
By April of that year, I'd lost 10 pounds. I'd done *nothing* but eliminate gluten from my diet.
Now, that weight came back pretty quickly, thanks to the birds and the bees. :) In May of 2011, I realized I was pregnant with my third daughter, Annabelle Joy.
Now, I have *horrible* pregnancies.
I spend hours....which stretch into days...which stretch into weeks....with dizzying, debilitating nausea. I can't keep anything down. Heck, I can't *move my head* without losing any nourishment that my babies need. With all of my pregnancies, I've spent over 2 years of my life sick, throwing up, and confined to a couch.
(Of course, there are no pictures during this season!)
This last pregnancy was the worst, because it seemed like the sickness would never end. I missed my older children. I hated that my husband was constantly having to act as a care-giver. My home was filthy. At 28 weeks, I begged for God to intervene again. I felt "led" to do another elimination diet, this time with milk.
I stopped throwing up.
Within a day.
A *single* day.
I couldn't believe it. I walked around the house in a bit of a daze, touching my curtains, my wooden dining table, my stainless steel sink, all without the nausea threatening to cut my legs out from under me. I wrapped my hands around my growing belly, and felt happy to be pregnant for the first time in my life.
Unfortunately, giving up milk was hell.
I craved milk with the ferocity of a heroin junkie. I thought about it all day long--imagining a tall, cold glass with little condensation droplets running down the side. And an Oreo. I ached for a bite of pizza with stretchy, warm, mozzarella cheese. I snapped at my husband. I yelled at my kids. I'd burst into tears and apologize, then wish I could eat an Oreo again. I thought I would go crazy. Hershey's chocolate, M &M's, sour cream in my potatoes, Breyer's Vanilla Bean Ice Cream, heck, even hazelnut creamer in my coffee...all of that was gone.
However, if I swiped one sliver of Parmesan...if I sneaked a sip of chocolate milk.... if I took one lick of Lily's yogurt spoon, the vomiting and the nausea came roaring back, and I would be confined to the couch again.
I named my couch, "The Pit of Despair."
The cravings did go away, but it took six weeks. I thank God that Enjoy Life Chocolate exists. And Vegans. I love a crunchy dead animal as much as the next Ex-Southern gal, but the very existence of Vegans allows me to have reasonable substitutes for ice cream, butter, and creamer in my coffee.
My heaviest weight in my pregnancy was 198 pounds. Annabelle was born on New Year's Eve, 2011.
Thus began the next phase of my journey: Zombie-Land.
Having a baby is a long-term experiment in sleep-deprivation. I had no desire to start losing baby weight until I slept through the night, and I had no idea when that would happen. I nursed, I slept, I nursed again, I played, I cleaned, I nursed, I knew I was forgetting something....Oh! a SHOWER! Yeah, those are important...I nursed again...
When Annabelle was between four and six months old, my (beautiful, straightforward, and incredibly practical) friend Julie was walking behind me, and started laughing. "Oh Dotty...! I think it's time to get some new jeans. I think it's time to let those goooooo. You need to go down to the next size."
I hadn't even noticed that my size 16 pre-pregnancy jeans had worked their way off my butt as I was walking out of church. I was showing off my taste in granny-panties.
My husband laughed and said, "Yeah, the boob-jiggle while you were singing was a bit distracting too."
If a giant earth-quake had swallowed me up right then and there, I would have probably been ok with it.
I had no idea that I'd lost over 40 pounds since I'd had Annabelle. I weighed myself at one of Lily's doctor's appointments--155 pounds! My wedding weight! As soon as we got home, I put on my wedding dress and twirled around to show the girls what I looked like as a bride.
And it started falling off.
I went to Plato's Closet, because I was absolutely certain this wouldn't last. I was sure that as soon as I stopped nursing, the weight would pile back on, and I wasn't going to pay full price for temporary clothing.
I pulled on size 14 jeans, and they fell off.
I pulled on size 12 jeans, and they fell off.
I pulled on size 10 jeans, and they felt a little loose.
The size 8 jeans wouldn't *quite* button up--but they were close. I bought the 10's.
I'd been walking around in clothing that was almost twice as large as I needed.
That was last April. Between April and September, I went from 155 to 138. I gained two pounds over Christmas, and then lost them again with no effort. By March 27th, I was shocked to see the scale at 133.2!!!
Now, the size 8's are falling off. I need to buy some new clothes, and I'm scared to see what size I am now.
I didn't plan this.
I didn't spend hours doing Turbo Jam or lifting weights at the gym or doing Zumba or Jillian Michaels DVD's.
All I did--literally, the only thing I did--was eliminate gluten and cow's milk. I didn't change my activity level at all. I didn't eliminate sugar, fat, other carbs, "refined foods", or any "toxins."
However, I'm not trying to tell everyone, "You just need to go gluten-free to lose weight!" I don't believe that's true. I believe *I* was gluten and dairy intolerant, and that's what was going on with *my* body.
More than anything, I want my story to help dissolve some of the lies that surround overweight women in our culture: "You must have no self-control. You must truly not care about your body, or about the people who love you. If you'd just
put in 30 minutes a day at the gym, you'd see the fat melt off you like a snowman under a hairdryer. What is wrong with you?"
It's not true. If you can't lose weight, it may not be your fault at all. It may have nothing to do with your self-control, your will power, your strength, your character, or your heart.
Keep searching, because the answer is out there.
Pray.
God really does answer.
Thank you for reading my story--please let me know in the comments what you think, and if you have any questions. I'll be posting some recipes and some "Frequently Asked Questions" in the next few days.
 |
| Halloween, 2010. We had moved to a new town, lost an unborn son, had the worst season in our marriage yet, and I was 180 pounds. |
I did it without an exercise plan, without starvation, and without spending thousands of dollars on surgery, supplements, or gym memberships.
 |
| March 28th, 2013. I'm now 133 pounds. |
\
I feel like I don't deserve this. I feel like a factory worker who played the lottery once on a dare, hit the jackpot, and gets to move into the most expensive house in town. "Do I fit in here? How do I act in this neighborhood? Where do I park my 79 Bronco? What do I do now?"
I'm embarrassed when I go into a clothing store and "don't really know" my size. I keep walking into the plus-sized stores in malls. I can't believe that the enormous, worn-out bras I'm throwing out no longer fit me.
 |
| Lily and Eva's birthday party, in September of 2009. That skirt is a size 16. |
However, the truth registers in the surprised eyes of every person that sees me: "Wow, you've lost weight! How did you do that?!?!"
When I tell them it's because I went GF/DF, very few people believe me.
They think I'm embracing a gluten-free diet trend, that I must be missing something (like cancer!) going on in my body, or that I'm going to start selling them quack supplements any minute. Even worse, a couple of people assumed I'd developed an eating disorder. No one understands that I didn't plan for this, I didn't invite it in, and I certainly didn't expect it to be this dramatic.
This is why I'm accumulating all the photographic evidence I can, and why I'm telling my story here. I truly hope it helps you in your own journey.
 |
| Justin's graduation. :) I learned to always pose with my chin up, and never show the lower half of my body. |
I don't have posed "before" pictures like some people do. I didn't set out to lose weight. When I was a *tight* size 16, I avoided the camera as much as I could. I'll give you what I have, and hope that it lights up your eyes with hope.
I've been pregnant six times. With seven children. (My first miscarriage was with twins.) I was 155 pounds when I got married in 2004, a year out of college.
 |
| When I was pregnant with Lily, my oldest, my heaviest weight was 185 pounds. I threw up for 20 weeks, and lost 15 pounds in the first trimester. |
I'd done Body for Life, I'd done Slim-Fast, I'd done starvation diets, I'd cut out fat in every conceivable way, and I'd worked out for hours at the gym. I've never been so discouraged as when I'd worked out for an hour, six days a week, paying for both the gym and the child care, and three weeks later lost a *pound*. It was impossible for me to maintain any motivation.
And I was always HUNGRY! I couldn't understand how any female could maintain life support on what I'd seen them eat! "A shake for breakfast, another for lunch, and then a sensible dinner?" Bullcrap. Or even worse, I'd heard people at restaurants say, "Take back what's on that plate, and bring me a quarter of it! Box up the rest!" I never could see how. I could eat as much as any football player for breakfast, and still be hungry at lunch time.
When I did Slim-Fast in college, I just concluded that skinny people must be hungry people. For a while, I was actually content to live that way. I wanted so much to change the image of myself as a lazy, uncontrolled slob that I was willing to starve
myself to do it. I did lose some weight that way, and got a ton of compliments, especially from family members. But I knew in my heart that it was a lie, and that if I continued on this path, I would end up with an eating disorder.
I finally said, "Forget it. I have to stop caring what people think. This is not worth my time. It's producing no results. If anyone loves me, he has to love me the way I am."
After having two living children and losing four, I was 180 pounds, and refused to weigh myself any more.
 |
| Bend over, and don't show your tummy in pictures... |
In January 2011, the need for that information came roaring back.
I was going about my day, cleaning my house, taking care of my two-year-old, when I suddenly doubled over in stomach pain. It was intense, it was sharp, and it wasn't localized in one area of my body, like appendicitis or cysts or an ectopic pregnancy. I thought, "It must be gas, or something embarrassing," and laid down, thinking it would go away soon.
It didn't. A few hours later, I called my husband, telling him that I might need him to come home from work and take me to the hospital. I prayed, "Please, please God, don't let me get sick right now. What's going on? What do I need to do? Please, please God, tell me what I need to do."
I felt very clearly like God said, "Stop eating gluten."
WHAT?!!??!!?
That couldn't be God. That sounds ridiculous. Stop eating gluten? For real? Why would God say that?
I heard it again, deep in my heart, "Stop eating gluten."
I'd been walking with God for sixteen years at that point, but I still was always concerned that I wasn't hearing God's voice correctly, that I was putting my own ideas in there, that maybe I was influenced by a magazine article I'd read a while back....was this really God?
In John 10:27, Christ says: "27 My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me." I prayed that I would accurately follow His voice, and not just my own silly ideas.
Then I remembered a friend from an old church who had Celiac disease. He used to vividly describe his symptoms at Bible study, till I could almost smell the results. (He dubbed himself, "The King of Inappropriate Comments.") His wife is a trusted friend, so I wrote to her and asked her about what I was experiencing. "Oh yeah," she said casually, "Almost everyone I know who has it had the symptoms descend on them suddenly. Here, have some recipes to go on."
I read that I shouldn't stop eating gluten before a Celiac test, so I called my doctor, scheduled an appointment for a blood draw the next day, and laid on the couch and suffered. As soon as they drew my blood, I came home, cooked myself some rice, and basically ate nothing but rice, fruit, and soft chicken for the next three or four days.
My stomach got better, and I wondered if I'd made the whole "God said stop eating gluten" thing up. Maybe It was a virus. Maybe it was food poisoning. I decided to go ahead with the elimination diet for a full six weeks, just to see what would happen.
Then, five days after the gluten went away, the craziest thing happened: MY ECZEMA DISAPPEARED!
Completely. It was gone.
For the past two years, I'd suffered through a skin disorder that seemed entirely localized on my hands. From the base of my thumbs to the tips of my fingers, my hands became white, dry, cracked, and they finally bled. It hurt to touch anything. Holding my daughter's hand, writing a letter, and especially playing the guitar, all were actions that made needle-stabbing pain shoot through my fingertips. Suddenly, less than a week after giving up gluten, my hands were as smooth as a baby's. I couldn't understand it. I couldn't prove it.
 |
| January 12th, 2011 |
I started taking pictures of my hands, until I realized it wouldn't prove a darn thing---I had no "before" pictures! I hadn't expected to need any!
Then a letter came in the mail with the Celiac test results: negative.
I ate a whole wheat sandwich just to be sure that I wasn't truly out of my mind. I spent the entire next day in the bathroom---> and you just don't want to know more than that.
I decided then, with or without a Celiac diagnosis, wheat was harming my body, and I was staying away from it.
I happily said, "Bye Bye" to blueberry muffins, yeast rolls, regular spaghetti, and the staple food of my existence, Frosted Mini Wheats. I felt like a cloud was lifting from my brain--life felt like it was in sharper focus. I could touch a fabric, a book cover, the neck of my guitar, without leaving little blood smudges behind from my fingertips. I felt *excited*--the pain was gone!
My husband thought I'd lost my mind.
"You can't eat cookies. You can't eat your daughter's birthday cake. And you're happy about this? Where's the mourning and the grief over this enormous life change?"
I couldn't grieve: I had my hands back.
After a couple of months, however, I realized that if I even touched wheat, or if flour got into the air, my skin would react again, in just a day or two. I started wearing latex-free gloves when I made my kids' sandwiches. I removed all flour from my house, and the gluten-consuming family had to settle for frozen biscuits.
All this time, a strange thing was happening: for the first time in my life, I was leaving food on my plate.
I was giving food to my husband to "dispose of" after dinner. I was able to stretch the meals I cooked into a couple of planned leftover GF lunches for me.
By April of that year, I'd lost 10 pounds. I'd done *nothing* but eliminate gluten from my diet.
Now, that weight came back pretty quickly, thanks to the birds and the bees. :) In May of 2011, I realized I was pregnant with my third daughter, Annabelle Joy.
Now, I have *horrible* pregnancies.
I spend hours....which stretch into days...which stretch into weeks....with dizzying, debilitating nausea. I can't keep anything down. Heck, I can't *move my head* without losing any nourishment that my babies need. With all of my pregnancies, I've spent over 2 years of my life sick, throwing up, and confined to a couch.
(Of course, there are no pictures during this season!)
This last pregnancy was the worst, because it seemed like the sickness would never end. I missed my older children. I hated that my husband was constantly having to act as a care-giver. My home was filthy. At 28 weeks, I begged for God to intervene again. I felt "led" to do another elimination diet, this time with milk.
I stopped throwing up.
Within a day.
A *single* day.
I couldn't believe it. I walked around the house in a bit of a daze, touching my curtains, my wooden dining table, my stainless steel sink, all without the nausea threatening to cut my legs out from under me. I wrapped my hands around my growing belly, and felt happy to be pregnant for the first time in my life.
Unfortunately, giving up milk was hell.
I craved milk with the ferocity of a heroin junkie. I thought about it all day long--imagining a tall, cold glass with little condensation droplets running down the side. And an Oreo. I ached for a bite of pizza with stretchy, warm, mozzarella cheese. I snapped at my husband. I yelled at my kids. I'd burst into tears and apologize, then wish I could eat an Oreo again. I thought I would go crazy. Hershey's chocolate, M &M's, sour cream in my potatoes, Breyer's Vanilla Bean Ice Cream, heck, even hazelnut creamer in my coffee...all of that was gone.
However, if I swiped one sliver of Parmesan...if I sneaked a sip of chocolate milk.... if I took one lick of Lily's yogurt spoon, the vomiting and the nausea came roaring back, and I would be confined to the couch again.
I named my couch, "The Pit of Despair."
The cravings did go away, but it took six weeks. I thank God that Enjoy Life Chocolate exists. And Vegans. I love a crunchy dead animal as much as the next Ex-Southern gal, but the very existence of Vegans allows me to have reasonable substitutes for ice cream, butter, and creamer in my coffee.
My heaviest weight in my pregnancy was 198 pounds. Annabelle was born on New Year's Eve, 2011.
 |
| New Year's Eve, 2011. Annabelle Joy was born! The littlest love of our lives.. |
Thus began the next phase of my journey: Zombie-Land.
Having a baby is a long-term experiment in sleep-deprivation. I had no desire to start losing baby weight until I slept through the night, and I had no idea when that would happen. I nursed, I slept, I nursed again, I played, I cleaned, I nursed, I knew I was forgetting something....Oh! a SHOWER! Yeah, those are important...I nursed again...
When Annabelle was between four and six months old, my (beautiful, straightforward, and incredibly practical) friend Julie was walking behind me, and started laughing. "Oh Dotty...! I think it's time to get some new jeans. I think it's time to let those goooooo. You need to go down to the next size."
I hadn't even noticed that my size 16 pre-pregnancy jeans had worked their way off my butt as I was walking out of church. I was showing off my taste in granny-panties.
My husband laughed and said, "Yeah, the boob-jiggle while you were singing was a bit distracting too."
If a giant earth-quake had swallowed me up right then and there, I would have probably been ok with it.
I had no idea that I'd lost over 40 pounds since I'd had Annabelle. I weighed myself at one of Lily's doctor's appointments--155 pounds! My wedding weight! As soon as we got home, I put on my wedding dress and twirled around to show the girls what I looked like as a bride.
And it started falling off.
 | |
| August 2012. I started to realize something was different! |
I went to Plato's Closet, because I was absolutely certain this wouldn't last. I was sure that as soon as I stopped nursing, the weight would pile back on, and I wasn't going to pay full price for temporary clothing.
I pulled on size 14 jeans, and they fell off.
I pulled on size 12 jeans, and they fell off.
I pulled on size 10 jeans, and they felt a little loose.
The size 8 jeans wouldn't *quite* button up--but they were close. I bought the 10's.
I'd been walking around in clothing that was almost twice as large as I needed.
That was last April. Between April and September, I went from 155 to 138. I gained two pounds over Christmas, and then lost them again with no effort. By March 27th, I was shocked to see the scale at 133.2!!!
Now, the size 8's are falling off. I need to buy some new clothes, and I'm scared to see what size I am now.
I didn't plan this.
I didn't spend hours doing Turbo Jam or lifting weights at the gym or doing Zumba or Jillian Michaels DVD's.
All I did--literally, the only thing I did--was eliminate gluten and cow's milk. I didn't change my activity level at all. I didn't eliminate sugar, fat, other carbs, "refined foods", or any "toxins."
However, I'm not trying to tell everyone, "You just need to go gluten-free to lose weight!" I don't believe that's true. I believe *I* was gluten and dairy intolerant, and that's what was going on with *my* body.
More than anything, I want my story to help dissolve some of the lies that surround overweight women in our culture: "You must have no self-control. You must truly not care about your body, or about the people who love you. If you'd just
put in 30 minutes a day at the gym, you'd see the fat melt off you like a snowman under a hairdryer. What is wrong with you?"
It's not true. If you can't lose weight, it may not be your fault at all. It may have nothing to do with your self-control, your will power, your strength, your character, or your heart.
Keep searching, because the answer is out there.
Pray.
God really does answer.
Thank you for reading my story--please let me know in the comments what you think, and if you have any questions. I'll be posting some recipes and some "Frequently Asked Questions" in the next few days.
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