On the subject of doubt

For a while now I've been silently stalking Redlefty's blog Megaloi -- "Great Things".  He recently wrote a great post on the subject of doubt.  I must admit, I've pondered (and continue to ponder) every single point he presented.  Here's a snippet:

..."If God exists, I'm not sure I'm worshipping the right one

Look at human history and notice how many different gods have been named, praised and defended. There are thousands (millions when you include Hinduism). Is it possible that Christianity has it right? Yes, but the odds aren't overwhelming in our favor.

Even within Christianity, there are so many different perceptions of God. Benevolent father, vengeful deity, distant superpower... some Christians think God is just a big pile of love and others think God intentionally leveled Haiti with an earthquake to punish them for sin. That's a wide, wide range."

Check out the rest of his post "What I'm not sure about". It's a good read and his honesty is refreshing

Food for thought

One of the things Dan and I were forewarned about was that it is quite common for former preemies to have oral aversions as they grow older.  I guess being on a ventilator for 6 weeks, and having tubes shoved down your throat for the first 3 months of your life will do that to you.

Ian's oral issues are pretty mild.  He has some texture issues, and had to have some therapy early on because he had issues with chewing food, but he finally got the hang of it.  Perfect technique.  The thing is though, just because he knows HOW to chew, doesn't mean that he WANTS to chew.  It's just not his favorite thing, and sometimes he will forgo eating altogether if there is a lot of chewing involved.  That, my friends, is a habit we are trying to break.

On the menu for dinner last night was rosemary chicken, potatoes, and mixed veggies.  On the chewing scale, it ranks as moderate in my book.

As I prepared Ian's plate I said a a short, silent prayer:  "Please let Ian eat a good amount of food tonight".

I placed Ian's plate on the table, yelled out "Time for dinner", and without any fuss he got into his chair.  Dan said a prayer for the food, we all said Amen, and began to eat.

Ian picked up his fork and took a bite of chicken.  Sweet!
A few seconds later he scooped up some potatoes and shoveled those into his mouth.  Score!
It took a few minutes of intense chewing, but he successfully swallowed his food.  Yippee!

On to the second bite:  Ian did another chicken and potato combo, only this time he needed a lot more coaxing and cajoling get him to swallow his food.  He finally did it though.  Whew, what a relief.  Or so I thought.  Here is the abbreviated version of what happened next.

Ian: Done! Done!  Down please.
Me: Ian you need to eat some more food
Ian: No thank you.  Done.  Down please
Dan (putting more food on Ian's fork): Here Ian, take a bite
Ian (shrieking and crying): No!  Done.
Me (frustrated): Fine Ian, you can go to bed hungry

I helped him get out of the chair, told him to go pick out a book, and that I would be there to read it to him in a few minutes.

*SIGH* 

"Don't worry", Dan said.  "I'm telling you, there is going to come a day where we are going to worry about how to KEEP him fed.  When he'll be eating us out of a house and home."

"Yeah, yeah" I thought to myself. 

I was frustrated...

And tired...

And if we're being completely honest, annoyed.

It was obvious it was going to be one of those nights where the kid just didn't eat much.  I was simply going to have to shake it off.

I walked into the living room and Ian already had his book picked out.  I plopped down next to him on the couch, got comfortable, and we began to read.

Dan walked in a few moments later with a plate in hand  (don't worry, we eat in our living room, it's cool)  About halfway through the story, Dan stuck out a forkful of food.  "Hey Ian, you want to take a bite?"  Ian happily leaned over, devoured what was on the fork, and immediately got back into the story.  A couple of pages later, Dan gave him another forkful and again Ian gobbled it down.  Fast forward a couple of books and most of the food that was on the plate Dan brought in was gone.

Well what do ya know?  Looks like the kid ended up eating a good amount of food after all. 

Moral of the story: Just because things don't happen exactly the way you expect them to, doesn't mean you won't get the end result you were seeking and praying for.

In my mind, in order for Ian to eat a good amount of food, the family had to be gathered around the dinner table and he would eat bite after bite. When Ian only had two bites at the table, I figured the night was failure (food wise) and chalked it up to a lesson in patience.

I think I'm starting realize that it's my job to have faith, but that it is God's job to work out the details.

Oh, and the second moral of the story:  My husband is a freaking genius.

Happy New Year

http://www.flickr.com/photos/macills/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Merry Happy Holiday of your choosing. Or not

I grew up in a religious tradition that didn't believe in Christmas. Oh don't get me wrong, my family and I exchanged gifts every year, we even put up a tree when I was a small child (at my mother's insistence, but even that didn't last too long), but it was made quite clear from early on that we were in no way celebrating Jesus' birth. You see that would be wrong.

Wrong, you ask? Why would celebrating the birth of Christ be wrong?

Well, the religious group I was reared in believed since Christ never explicitly asked us celebrate his birth as a religious holiday, if you chose to do so you would be participating in "unauthorized worship" of God; And we all remember what happened to Nadab and Abihu when they offered unauthorized fire (worship) to God, right?
What Christ DID ask us to remember, they argued, was his death and resurrection, and the way to do that was through Communion, not some trite holiday that Christ never even instituted. Combine all of that with the pagan origins of Christmas* and the Jeremiah 10:2-4 passage that obviously condemned Christmas trees, and what you had was an airtight case against Christmas.

So instead of saying "Merry Christmas", I was taught to say "Happy Holidays", not to give credence to any other religious celebration mind you, but to declare that we were not celebrating Christmas.

When searching for wrapping paper, we had to be sure to not pick anything that was overtly religious, and you didn't dare buy anything with a Santa Claus on it. Oh, and by the way, we weren't buying Christmas presents, we were buy presents for the holidays.

But there was a problem.

I LOVED CHRISTMAS. I still do.

Christmas trees whether big or small, ornate or simple, I adore them.
Nothing thrills me more than to hear a beautiful choir or soloist sing Silent Night, Joy to the World, or Oh Holy Night.
Christmas Lights: LOVE, LOVE, LOVE THEM. I used to beg my parents to take the long way home so that I could ooh and ahh at all of the elaborate decorations.
And even though my church never had a Candlelight Christmas Eve service, when I had the chance to watch them on TV, I thought they were absolutely beautiful.
Of course as a child I enjoyed waking up to presents, but honestly that was just the icing on an already delicious cake.

Over the years I began to notice a shift during the Christmas season. To be fair, I can't say that there was a definite change of mindset, it may be that I simply became more aware of what was going on, but people seemed to focus a little less on the birth of Christ (for those that celebrated it religiously), and more on presents. Instead of candlelight services being shown on television, there seemed to be more and more commercials advertising some super sale of the week.

And then the biggie:

People began to say "Happy Holidays", in an attempt to acknowledge other religious holidays *GASP*

It was official. The war had begun.

Nowadays it's commonplace to hear that we Christians should be on a mission to "take back Christmas". That instead of saying "Happy Holidays" to the sales clerk, you should look him or her square in the eye and say "Merry Christmas. Jesus loves you". And I have read many a blog post, email, leaflet, you name it, reminding me that "Jesus is the reason for the season."


Can I tell you a something? It's just between us right?


I really don't think Jesus gives a rat's you-know-what about whether we choose to celebrate his birth on December 25th.


There, I said it.


As much as I love Christmas and decided as an adult to take time to reflect on Jesus' birth, life, and death, I don't think he cares one way or another.
And while I may have issues with many aspects of my religious upbringing, it's true: Jesus never told us that we needed to celebrate his birth, so if you choose not to do so, I think that's perfectly acceptable.

What I DO believe matters each day of the year, not just during the holiday season, is that we all strive to be joyful, compassionate, and loving people.

So it is with that spirit that I say to anyone reading this

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

*note: If you have never heard of the pagan origins of Christmas and are interested, feel free to google that phrase for details. To be frank, I'm just not interested in linking to it.

Because sometimes I just need to shut up

If you are reading this, it probably means you subscribe to this blog in a reader -and if you haven't, you really should. I mean really, why torture yourself? Can't you see that I'm a bit of a flake that posts sporadically :)

Anyway, I just wanted to drop a line to say "Hey, I'm still here."

No need to worry, I haven't been attending any of my infamous parties, but sometimes life gets busy, and the unexpected happens, so while I've had tons of things running through my head, sometimes the best thing for me to do is to simply shut up. So that's what I've done. But don't fret, I imagine I'll be back soon to overthink and overanalyze this thing that we call life.

Bits and Pieces

1. A few people have asked where Ian's Halloween pics are this year, but we don't have any. My Grandmother's funeral actually fell on Halloween, and after travel, the funeral, lunch, and spending time with immediate and extended family, we were too tired to do the trick or treating thing. We went back to my parent's house to hand out candy to the kids in their neighborhood. Initially I was feeling pretty guilty about not getting Ian dressed up, but that guilt pretty much disappeared when I realized how much fun he was having handing out candy and playing with the kids that came to my parent's door. The blogger Momma in me almost whipped out the camera to take pictures, but I made a conscious decision not to. I think sometimes in an effort to document what's going on, I actually miss the opportunity to experience what is going on, so I decided not to take any pictures and just be. Hopefully, that makes sense.

2. In an effort to become an even bigger narcissist I joined facebook, and now my worlds are colliding. You do remember that Seinfeld episode, right? If not, let George Costanza refresh your memory.
I have friends from high school, college, the church I grew up in as a kid, and the church I attend now all "gathered" in the same "location". It's enough to give me a headache.
Oh, and what's the deal with people I don't know sending me a friend request just because we have mutual friends? Dude! I don't know you. Why do we need to be virtual friends? I don't get it. And even more importantly, what happens if someone remembers you and sends you a friend request, but you don't really remember them. What do you do then? Ugh, it's too much pressure. This can't be good for my health.


3. Last week (or the week before, I can't quite remember) I was in the kitchen and Ian was in the living room. The TV was playing a recording of a NBA basketball game. After a minute or two of watching the game, Ian picked up the remote, brought it to me so I could change the channel, and when I inquired about what he wanted to watch, he said "Football". I could hear Dan's smile all the way in the other room.

Remembering my Grandma

Some people have their wedding rehearsal dinners at big fancy restaurants. Dan and I had ours at my Grandma's house.

Lots of people have their child's first birthday celebration in their own home. Ian had (one of) his at my Grandma's house.

Christmas, Easter, New Years, Fish Frys, Barbecues, do you know where the family gathered? Yep, at Grandma's house.

And now, so suddenly, so unexpectedly, my Grandma is no longer at Grandma's house.

Instead, she is in a house far more grand, far more precious, and far more permanent than her earthly home.

Instead of being at Grandma's house, she is now in the Father's house, and that simple thought can make me smile even when I find myself misty-eyed.

She was one of a kind, was deeply loved, and will be greatly missed