The Overprivileged

I step onto a zebra carpet in my Chacos and UNC t-shirt, holding the baby—my stomach drops. Ornate architecture, pristine carpets, rare pieces of modern art…no, I am not in a museum. I am in my “dad’s” brother’s house (if you can call it that) in Philadelphia. Complete with salt-water pool, four floors of garish décor, guesthouse, poolhouse,  and greenhouse (really?), this Philly mansion would’ve made the Fresh Prince think twice about heading off to Bel-Air. I think the best word to describe it would be immaculate. Instantly I felt nauseous. It was like watching one those heart-wrenching children-starving-in-Africa infomercials while eating a $50,000 sundae with gold flakes (I saw it on the travel channel once…). 

For some reason, I feel like I have said this phrase aloud several times this summer, maybe in random deep conversations or meeting new people or something, I don’t know—“Money is not important to me.” Let me preface the next paragraph with this: I have never been starving, without a home, or on welfare. I like new clothes, I am typing this on a laptop (loaner from UNC, for which I also received a grant), and I have a smartphone. But, I have received a PELL grant from the government in order to go to school, I have done work-study, and I have not had peace concerning my family’s finances. I surely hope I am not the first person to say this, but SINCE WHEN HAS MONEY SOLVED OUR PROBLEMS OR MADE US HAPPY? Seriously, have you EVER seen it work? What do you think all those rich moms gossip about? It’s the alcoholic grandfather, the sleazy secretary who sleeps with someone’s husband, the family outcast who takes a job in the Peace Corps instead of the family law firm. Money hasn't ever, doesn't, and won't ever satisfy anyone. 

But don't take my word for it....try on Patriots QB Tom Brady for size.

Matthew 19:23-24

 "Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly I tell you, it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God."

Meeting Strangers

I must be completely, irrationally, and embarrassingly honest. One of my most favorite things in the world is meeting strangers. By all means, take the window seat or plop down next to me on the subway, and interrupt my dinner if you think I resemble Scarlett Johansson or stepmom you haven’t seen in 20 years, because I would really like to meet you. I could people watch for hours on end…and I actually have. Because as much as I savor solitude like the last bite of a hunk of NY cheesecake, I just love people. I want to know their stories, where they came from, and why they are where they are now.

When the parents told me I could go into the city one day prior to the family, stay in their friends’ swanky SoHo apartment, and greet them the next day at noon, I could barely contain my excitement. Ever since I was a little girl, exploring the Big Apple (does anyone still call it that?) had been my dream.

The idea of sashaying down the street in NYC had me starry-eyed, but I figured with my lack of any sense of direction and knowledge of the subway system, I had better have a guide. So, my aunt and uncle who reside in Princeton, New Jersey, hopped on the train to meet me for a day in the city! When I arrived with my (you guessed it) iced soymilk chai latte in hand they were sitting on the steps.

Our first destination was the World Trade Center memorial and museum….something that had me watery-eyed and melancholy. The memorial is truly something to behold.

We had lunch on the waterfront overlooking New Jersey across the way and grand yachts and shiny catamarans on the surprisingly pretty water. I devoured a huge hunk of spinach and gruyere quiche (forgetting the slice of greasy NY magherita pizza I had as a mid-morning snack), and we even spotted a man giving his autograph to a patron.

Having lived in the South my entire life, I was a little flabberghasted when I was walking down the street and a random older woman pushed my shoulder as she walked by! I stood there for a moment, wide-eyed and bewildered and thought, This would never happen in the South. It wouldn’t and that is a blanket statement that I am fully qualified to make. I was also stunned when someone just yelled, “Sexy!” at me and the number of cat calls I received when stuffing my face with gelato on a Tuesday night.

When touring the city with my aunt and uncle, I was ever so grateful because the subway system proves to be significantly more convoluted than that of London’s tube network. There are few words to describe the New York subway. Some may say dirty or gross, but I say it's the most wonderful thing in the world. You get to see all these different kinds of people going to different places or the same places and you get a brief period of time to just wonder why!

The Beauty of Chai

This morning was a hectic, mayhem-mommy morning. Even though I awoke later than usual, I was thrust into care for a very fussy Watson and two very whiny older kids from the get-go. My frustration peaked when the parents dropped me and all three little ones off at the park, while they went to run errands. Normally, such a task wouldn't faze me, but I was left with next to nothing to battle the scorching heat and bad attitudes. They proceeded to unravel me, asking for water and mommy and daddy so many times I'll likely hear those phrases in my sleep tonight. Watson could not be cajoled, and my temper rose.

When this happens, thoughts in my brain rise like floodwaters, and before I knew it, I was brought to the brink, being taken advantage of, overworked, underpaid, and HOW DARE THEY BE SO SELFISH! Until this point, I have never understood what old people (old TV shows or songs or movies) mean when they say, "Oh, my poor nerves!" It felt like I was guitar whose strings were being cranked tighter and tighter--and just so you know, that does not feel like any sort of feeling I would like to feel again.

I needed to get away for a little bit, loosen my strings, untangle this unhappy bundle of nerves I had become. So, when I was told that I would have a few hours off this afternoon, I leapt at the chance! Off on another beautiful bike ride on country roads with vineyards and wheat fields whizzing past. In the matter of about an hour and half, I managed to bike to the coast, dip my feet in crystal (yes--crystal) clear water on the shoreline of North Fork, Long Island, trace the pretty multicolored pebbles with my toes, briefly contemplate a skinny dip (remember, untangling the nerves!!), swiftly change my mind upon spying the older man (the only other beach occupant at the time) down aways, and return with sandy feet and new tan lines.

After this outing and a quick shower, I threw on my feel-good coral and navy blue summer dress and headed to Tea Time Cottage of Riverhead, NY. Welcomed by a Nashville radio station and a flower-child entrepreneur, I secured my table for one and pot of Roasted Mate (mah-tay, a South American infused tea-type drink made from yerba mate leaves) Chai, milk and sugar (in-the-raw) on the side.
Here, I wrote this:

When I am lonely, I seek out Chai. In Chai, there is love and truth and comfort. It's spectacular, Chai is, because it's  a rare thing to find both truth and comfort together. Oftentimes, mutual exclusion separates these two mysterious entities (one far more mysterious than the other), which is unfortunate. But, truthfully, if they were tethered in some way, they would both be rendered void. Think about it. If the truth was always comforting, we would have great cause to grow suspicious of its truthfulness--therefore causing discomfort in this probable falsehood.

It is safe to say that I am now untangled.

If Patience is a virtue, then so is Motherhood

"No strollers allowed." Really, National Aquarium in Baltimore? I can't stroll this 20 lb (roughly...) baby around the largest aquarium on the east coast?  I have to wait in line for 15 minutes to get a ticket only to have an entry time that's in an hour and half? It's okay family of 12, you just take your time in front of the shark cage; my hyperactive 3-year-old excels at waiting his turn.

At least it was a beautiful day!

When I was a junior shepherd in 5th grade for the little kids' Sunday School, my senior shepherd made me an end of the year thank you gift--a tiny beaded bracelet that spelled P-A-T-I-E-N-T. I have literally (this is my first appropriate use of the word "literally" in years) been branded with the mark of patience since I was 10. So, when the dad told Thomas "Daddy doesn't really do lines," as he eyed the crowd in front of the aquarium, I scoffed to myself. It's just a line, get off your high-horse and wait a few minutes. Really, I was on my high-horse thinking I was so amazing at be patient. I found out later that it's a little harder than you might think.

So the parents were off to their wedding with Harper and Thomas; once again, just me and the baby hanging out. I had to kill time at the pool with Watson, and for how much he likes bathtime, the pool is not really his deal. He much prefers to crawl around on the hot concrete and open and shut gates 'til he can open and shut no more. I was getting antsy--it was definitely past his bedtime I still had quite some time before I had pick up Thomas from the wedding and take them to the hotel for bed. I showed up at 7:15 precisely, with two grilled cheeses with fruit from the pool grille (one for Thomas and Harper), picked Thomas up, headed back to put the boys to bed. 

Moving their cribs into my room, complete with respective sound machines, night-nights and lovies, sippy cups, and jammies was no easy task. Finally they were settled in bed. That's when it happened...the stench came wafting up like a mushroom cloud. The baby pooped, so I took him into the other room to change him. I promptly bring him back and Thomas so kindly informs me that he, too, had pooped in his diaper. My patience was paper-thin. After changing him, they both whined for an hour. I was BEYOND livid, attempting to drown their cries with Netflix. 

I was awakened at a ripe 6:15 am. For the next two hours I attempted to entertain them and feed them, simultaneously awakening the entire fourth floor of the Hampton Inn and garnering the stares of countless confused hotel patrons. Somewhere between banging on random hotel room doors and crying for a waffle my patience left me like a deadbeat dad. 

Just goes to show you, the second you think you've got one area of your heart clean, tidy, and tucked away, the Lord can unpack it quicker than you ever thought possible. 

Good morning, Baltimore!

No, I didn't belt that out Tracy Turnblad-style, but I certainly felt like it when I awoke to screams and cries of "my" kids one hotel room away.

The roughly ten-hour drive from Charleston to Baltimore should have been a nightmare....three kids, several pit-stops, DC traffic--but I was positively serene. Something about the methodic hum of rolling down the interstate, seas of trees or city lights or even nothing at all flowing by, and the tinker of some old tune on the radio sends me waltzing through a world of thought, the most tranquil, curious, thought.

I thought about comfort and decided to revisit a passage I once wrote on comfort (while I'm trapped at the hotel....baby's gotta nap sometime!).

How did these tangles even get here? It’s from comfort. That’s what tangles things. You sit there for a bit too long and before you know it, you’ve been tangled. Tangled up in something good, you say? Why, never! Conformity to treachery ain’t too far a leap. Comfort, comfort, comfort. We toil for a seat in Luxury’s lap, but we don’t realize how comfy our deathbed is gonna be. We don’t want you rolling in your grave, after all.

I suppose when one lives with people who are not one's family and who are at such different stage in life than one is, one ponders the future a good bit more than one should. I have tried so desperately to become a moment-liver (see my old post!), but I can't help but wonder, what will my husband be like, my kids, and my home?

There is one big benefit to all this future-thinking though! It allows me to do something that I do very well as the youngest of four mistake-making kids, and that is observational learning! I love my "parents" for the summer very much. They are generous and kind and have a great taste in music. Their life is not what I want for my future. I do not want to shop exclusively at J. Crew and sip margaritas while my kids play in the pool at the country club and go on couples' trips to Aspen.

 I say this with extreme caution, knowing that I could be perceived as judgmental or arrogant. I am guilty of the worst. I go about my day thinking of all the ways I can please myself. I have far too many clothes and like to eat fancy food. But that is not what I want in life. Please understand that this is coming from a place in my heart where God allowed a glint of the reflection of his everlasting light to shine most briefly.

In just a moment, I'm going to stop rambling. Here is my point: take a look at all the things that people try to satiate their every craving with--it could be anything from weed to new shoes to a promotion to the big office with the city view. They say--WE say, "I'm satisfied with this...for now," but this satisfaction is a fleeting thing. The world spins and designers make new shoes and CEOs lose their jobs  and the flying high comes crashing down. Our very earth moves every second. How many gods boast to be changeless? Try Hebrews 13:8 on for size.

"Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever."

Prompt

It's been a busy past few days, but today I felt prompted to post. Last night I had just snuck up to my third floor hideaway--which consists of my bed, a bathroom, and some living space with a couch and TV. Just a few minutes after plopping on said couch and opening my laptop to watch some quality Netflix, I heard the obnoxious creak of my door opening and some soft pitter-patters up the stairs. It was about 9...a solid hour and a half after Harper's bedtime and she scooted next to me.

She couldn't sleep, so we talked for a few minutes and then I walked her back down. I snuggled up next to her in her bed. She said she wanted a dreamcatcher for her bad dreams, but I insisted she didn't need one at all! I tried to prompt her to think about something else....perhaps the two-week long trip we will embark on Thursday! Or maybe her favorite TV shows, or the beach, or her bet friend Eva Gray.

Before long, she simply said, "You can go back upstairs now. Goodnight, Anna!" And that was that.

I'll leave you with this lovely quotation!

Eternity

You know what felt like eternity? The beach, as my blistered heels pounded the sand this morning. But a lovely breeze and the stares of strangers kept me going on a nice little beach jaunt this morning to get my blood pumping. Endorphins, plus a deposit into my checking account, mixed in with a little soymilk chai latte, and you've got me in the most wonderful mood!

As great as this morning was, though, something has been nagging me as of late. While my occupation (nanny of three and mommy-helper!) is one of service (aka I probably give more than I take), I've been missing the ability to give back. Serving others has always been a part of my life, and while it probably hasn't always been for the right reasons, it means a whole lot to me.

So in the little town of Mount Pleasant, a world of beach bums, business tycoons, and the incredibly fortunate, I would like to shine a light--not of my own, but of the one who owns me! Despite Charleston's historic and ritzy reputation, downtown has its fair share of gang violence. With any city comes homelessness, orphans, and the like.

So, I will be praying for a service opportunity! As far as I'm concerned, there's never a lack of people needing help :-)

Get ready for this irony...My Utmost For His Highest this morning is about the rich young ruler having to sell all of his possessions and follow the Lord! Could you do it? Give up that one worldly thing that you let define you?

Whole-y Moly

If you asked everyone in the world to write down what their life goal was, you'd probably get a lot of this: success, wealth, happiness, true love, etc. Inspiring aspirations right there (for the most part).

Today was hectic, to say the least. Rain sent me and the older kiddos to the library, which was a bit more like a zoo. Once home, there was serious cleaning to be done, and Capers was no help....meaning he (attempted to) gobble anything within the reaches of his big furry paws. I managed to put Thomas down for a "rest" (the term "nap" is a little too unnerving for him), with Harper and the baby occupied in the playroom, while I whipped up a veggie burger. See, I needed the protein for my workout later--the gym that the parents are members of has childcare up to two hours!

I leapt, quite literally, at this opportunity. I packed all three kids in the car and headed for a solid sweat sesh. And believe me, it was. 30 minutes intervals on the elliptical to get my bearings, calisthenics and weights for about 40 minutes, and 20 minutes on the treadmill! It was exhilarating. I wasn't even famished afterwards. Good thing, too, because then we went to the farmer's market with the whole fam! Dinner was a locally grown peach and a homemade black bean/corn/cheddar crepe.

Today felt whole. Because I've been eating almost entirely organic, have cut out any kind of soda, and focused in on protein (pescatarian only!). Because I've had time to legitimately read for pleasure and pleasure only. Because I get to love on these precious children. Because I always spend time daily with the Lord and in His word!

That last one is by FAR the most important. While I haven't been out much and had crazy amounts of companionship (um, next to nothing), I have rested in the Lord and His plans. So, yes, I probably had some serious endorphins from my workout. Surely eating right has helped my body feel great. But my heart? It belongs to the Lord.

Timing

Mom had the baby (Watson) and Thomas (3, momma's boy) FINALLY fell asleep for his nap after an hour of whining. I was about to let the six-month-old Golden retriever into "clean up" lunchtime that ended up on the floor. That was when the movie moment started. Capers twirled around, pushed past me, and darted up the stairs, straight into Thomas' room. Every moment following that one was sheer chaos--a muddle of sunscreen, dirty diapers, and cheese quesadillas. It was that night during some juicy conversation with a friend, she cried out in frustration, "The timing is just never right!" 

Coming from a girl who's a little peeved herself with the way the cookie has been crumbling as of late, this absolute statement struck a chord within me. I'm sure there are many who could easily vouch for this mantra....perhaps the teen who emerges from car wreck paralyzed, or Dad who gets laid off right after the birth of his third child. And perhaps I am too young or inexperienced to take on this cynical notion. But being an ever-faithful optimist, I'd like to put a little spin on this statement. 

What if.....(drum roll, please?) the timing is ALWAYS right? What if our lives were orchestrated in such a way that the notes, when heard piecemeal, sounded off-key or out of sync, but, when strung all together, created the beautiful symphony they were always intended to become?

It's a difficult thing to remind ourselves that we are a direct product of every single event in our lives, but as I read today "It is a great thing to tell yourself the truth" (Oswald Chambers).

The truth is simply this--how are we to ever know if timing is wrong or right? We cannot see into the future, nor can we account for our circumstances. One thing we can trust is that as much as we pick and choose daily, there are things that are out of our control. Hindsight is a beautiful thing, my friends, and so is timing. 

Moment-living

Today I discovered a little piece of something called moment-living. Did I make this word up? Yes. Does that make it any less significant? Not at all. It's easy for me to dwell in the past, questioning the merit of certain events that shape us into who we are. It's easy for me to focus on the future, meticulously plotting dots on a line that doesn't even exist yet. But living in the moment? The hardest of the three, namely because the more we try, the more we fail. And failure, to us, is unacceptable. This is what I have to say about that. It is our fear of failure that makes us punch the numbers of the past in some equation to perfect the future. Today I made cupcakes. They were supposed to be red velvet--they were not red. The marshmallow fluff I used oh-so-creatively as icing melted into a goopy mess. They got rejected by a six year old (what child rejects cupcakes??). But you know what I also did today? I prayed. I ran into a family friend on complete happenstance. I drove 20 minutes to take a picture of something to send to a friend. Today was great, and God is great. Dare to fail and you give Him the chance to use you in miraculous ways each and every day. Living for the moment isn't Drake's ever-popular "The Motto" (what the teens these days say YOLO). That says do outlandish things as though you might live forever and never suffer consequences or take responsibility. Moment-living is to seize the life you have been (graciously, I might add) given and make the most of it by gripping it with all the strength you dare to have.

Trinity Sunday

We've heard it once, we've heard it a thousand times--the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My first week in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, has taught me a thing or two about selfishness. Children show us how truly selfish we are, but also how to surrender that. As a parent, you must sacrifice for your kids. You give up feeling fully rested and fed at any given moment in the day. You're sick? Well you had better hurry up and get better, because there are three little pairs of feet that are gonna be stomping up and down the hardwood stairs all day until you get yourself out of bed. Physical sacrifice, however, is the least of parental perturbation. You must loose yourself of the need to be accepted and loved by your child. They shout,"I hate you!" You must look on them with not an ounce less of love than the moment you first cradled their frail frame in your arms on the day of their birth. You tell them "no" out of sheer protection and aged concern, and they sprint in the other direction. You reach out, they recoil. The Father, oh how He loves us. We are that stubborn child. We are difficult to love, making short-sighted decisions and rejecting those whose only aim is to aid us. We wrestle, wreak havoc, and wrest the things most precious to life from the hands of others. So let's (yes, you, and I, and all) take a lesson from the Trinity. See how the relationship between a parent and child on earth approaches that of the unconditional--and then realize that our Heavenly Father is that much more perfect and holy. Oh, how He loves us.