In Which I Throw Myself on the Sword

I’m going to go get in the niche that I identified at Blissdom, 20 months ago.  What was working wasn’t the “complaining about being broke” stuff, or the “attempt at spiritual thoughts for handicappers like myself” stuff.

It’s the parenting stuff.  I am a mediocre parent at best, but my kids are supers and my reviews are good.  I guess the photoshop is taking good care of all that white-out…

Here goes.

It should come as no surprise to anyone who reads, blogger or IRL acquaintance, that I’m a bungler.  One needs only observe for a moment.

I’m a buffoon.

I know what I think (YES, I DO TOO!!!), but I’m always in a hurry and that’s what kicks my butt in practice.  I want to say less. End up saying more.  Of the wrong things.

But life is such a fascinating business.  Sweet or bitter.  We are exquisitely intricate, almost infinitely durable, little individual masterworks of God.

I get distracted with all the beauty, all the potential.  I want to map out all the connections, so when the chapter ends,  I can say, “Look!!!  It was there all along.”

I seem to never actually finish what I’m saying, because I never finish thinking– seeing more meaning.

It all matters.

Practically, no one cares.

Yet, think, I do, and I’ve discovered thoughts that will come as alarming in my community. (OR possibly, they might not and I’ll kick the door open for some honesty.)

I have my husband’s endorsement, and everyone knows how orthodox he is.  (There’s some chance that he didn’t marry me for my strong Christian character, but because I made a great exit danced in the rain.  So he could own the ability to do so even if he never will.)

Parenting is not for…  Never mind.

It’s grueling, messy, costly and embarrassing.  It’s delightful, tender and magical.

It drives me to distraction.  It drives me to my knees.

And God is there.  Plain spoken and supernatural.

Laughing at me, not with me.

While the fire consumes and the storm rages, showing me that the valley is the mountaintop.  The battle is the one I was born for.

A good soldier counts her life as of no account for the security of the ones she’s charged to protect.


















  1. You are, by far, NOT a buffoon.

    But that did make me laugh.

    And I, too…have my buffoony days. Or weeks.

    You’ve got it going on, sister. Big time.

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