"God Bless America, and no place else" ~Head of State

I have two kids. I love them both so very much. Although they have drastically different talents and interests, I strive to invest in both of their lives in meaningful ways. I dare say that if I had a favorite, if I only loved one of them, it would be considered abuse.

I have known for a while now that American Christianity looks different from the rest of the world's. This election has magnified those differences to amazing scales. I've read blogs that suggest Jesus is for a platform or an agenda. I've heard Jesus reduced to a small political judge, holding a Supreme Court Gavel. And just today, oh today, I read something that suggested it is not enough that God will still sit on His throne after the election. Seriously? Is there anything more threatening than God no longer being God? Clinton is that scary? Trump is that bad? Can we please reframe?

I'm going to say something. It's HUGE. It's shattering. It's way crazier than classified email and bus conversations. It's very radical and might alter the world.

God. He actually loves the world. To say that He cares about American politics makes about as much sense as believing that I'm concerned about who is the ringleader at the local circus. I mean, I guess I care, but I'm a little more focused on other tasks at the moment.

We are all God's children. The Iraqi muslim? God's kid. The Syrian refugee? God's child. The Afghani woman? Still His. The homeless in Haiti? Also His. You? Yep. Me? Thank the Lord, yes.

God doesn't just love America. Therefore, I have to believe He is also invested in those Mexicans we are trying to keep out. I honestly read something today that said, "God is looking for heroes to rise up and-by His power-intervene to save America". I'm sorry Mario Murillo. God isn't looking for a hero. God always has been the hero. He always will be the Hero. David and Goliath? God's the hero. Daniel and the lions, still God. Elijah and the prophets of Baal? Pretty sure, God started that fire.

God isn't trying to save America. He wants to save the world. If America has to crumble for the world to know Him, then America doesn't stand a chance. Nor should it. The political stance of the Pharisees looking for a leader to overthrow the government didn't work out well for them. It will not end well for us either.

One of my favorite authors challenged me deeply with a truth I will never forget. When we are tempted to claim God's promises for our lives, it needs to pass a simple test. "Here it is, If it isn't also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn't true. If a sermon promises health and wealth to the faithful, it isn't true, because that makes God an absolute monster who only blesses rich westerners and despises Christians in Africa, India, China, South America, Russia, rural Appalachia, inner-city America, and everywhere else a sincere believer remains poor. If it isn't also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn't true". ~Jen Hatmaker

There is only one God. The American president isn't Him, won't be Him, and doesn't represent Him. Maybe God is deeply focused on the needs of this poor mom in Haiti and His concern is not about my need. Since, I'm typing this on a computer from the comfort of my living room, maybe God's concern is my lack of concern for the poor?

Want another crazy idea? God loves Hillary and He loves Donald. He loves them the same amount that He loves Obama and Putin. Since He doesn't play favorites, He loves you exactly that much as well. He loves me too. Wrap your mind around that.

I've looked and looked and looked again. It definitely says, "For God so loves the world". Maybe if we took our eyes off the circus and beyond our borders, we could work with a Hero. We might just realize we are all His favorites.

How Trump made me realize I'm a racist.

I never considered myself a racist. I believe I treat people equally. I have friends of all races and backgrounds. I've taught my children that people are people who deserve to be treated as, people.

Yet, I've had this restlessness recently. A feeling that something is missing. That I'm working a puzzle I didn't even realize was in front of me. I couldn't figure out what the picture was and I certainly wasn't sure how many pieces I had to work with.

Several years ago, I sat with a group of friends in a small Italian restaurant. A male in our group was making derogatory statements. Some would say I am a strong female that can easily defend myself. I sat beside a woman who I considered stronger and more articulate than me. She and I confronted this man about his comments. He continued to escalate. Eventually, he was yelling and others were staring. She and I weren't backing down either.

I got in my car feeling defeated, belittled, and confused. I was not the least bit shocked by this man's comments. He has proven to me over and over again that he does not hold women in high esteem. He didn't really rattle me. What I was genuinely shocked by was the other men in our group. Strong men. Christian men. Good men. Who sat with us and said nothing. Absolutely nothing. When I spoke with one of them later, I asked why. He seemed surprised at my question. He said that he knew my friend and I were strong and weren't going to allow him to bully us. He thought we "handled" the situation well. He said he knew how independent we are and didn't think we needed defending. As we talked, I was able to communicate to him that his lack of participation did not communicate my strength. It communicated a message to the man that the other men in our group thought he was right. We learned a little more about communication that day.

Flash forward to years later. I witnessed a conversation between two men. So derogatory. So inflammatory. So embarrassing. It wasn't about me, but it was about my gender. Again, these were two people who I naively thought would be a defender of women. As I confronted them, I was shocked. They too considered this "just talk". Their perceived inability to understand how hurtful their words were made no sense to me.

Now we have Trump. Trump and his "locker room" conversation. For the record, he didn't just say "mean" things. He said he assaulted women. He said he grabs them. He doesn't wait, he just starts kissing them. He said he can do anything. I find myself yet again, not shocked that he said this. I often remember the quote from Maya Angelou, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time". Trump has demonstrated over and over that he has little use for any person that does not offer direct benefit to him. What I am surprised by, are all the men sitting at the table. Saying nothing. I don't just expect Christian men to come to our defense, where are all the good guys? Just regular good men? Why is it so silent? I recognize that some evangelical leaders are citing "years ago" and "he asked for forgiveness". In other words, "We have a platform to push and agendas to manage so lets just call him saved and move on from this". There is a constant call to remember that the next President will elect the Supreme court justices and we cannot allow Hilary to do this. I agree, I don't want her picking them either. Can we just at least acknowledged that Trump has not shown any wisdom, discernment, or ability to make a smart choice. People say pro life. Do you not know that Trump used to be pro choice? Are we so convinced that he is really pro life now? Could he just be saying that to buy the Christian vote? Have we even considered this? His life does not reflect value to an entire gender. What if he made that girl he grabbed and took pregnant? Do we really think he would suddenly treat her decently? Would he still be pro life?

Silence.

I'm not asking for people to support Clinton. I get it, I'm not a fan. For the love of our Heavenly Father, stop defending this man. Your defense says he is right. Your defense says it's ok.

Then, my own personal epiphany. As a white female, I haven't really understood the black lives matter movement. I haven't felt the need to be involved, because, as I said, I didn't think I was a racist. Now, with Trump's help, with the help of silent good men, I think I'm getting it. Since I haven't said anything, since I didn't rush to defend our African American friends, because I was silent, I gave the perception that it was ok. I am deeply sorry.

Moving forward, I will speak up when it is wrong. If I see someone in the store simply being mean because of race, I will ask them to stop. If I see an injustice, I will stand with you and call it that. I will admit there is a problem and I will work towards solutions.

I've learned that simply having black friends and loving all people in my personal life is not enough.

If I have a seat at the table, I will defend you and speak up when needed.

Jesus met this woman at a well. This Samaritan woman. This woman who lived an immoral life. A woman who was living with a man who wasn't her husband. He spoke to her. He offered her living water. When the disciples saw him talking to her, "they were amazed that He had been speaking with the woman, yet no one said 'What do you seek?' or 'Why do you speak with her?'" From this woman, who ran and told the city, many people were saved.

Let me take some liberty here and imagine the scene today. A Muslim Syrian female refugee now lives here. She can't gain legal status because all of her personal information is in Syria. She's at the store, at night, trying not to draw attention to herself. She is shunned and ignored because of the "garb" on her head. She turns the corner and is face to face with Jesus. He buys her groceries, he offers her His salvation. He offers love and permission to live in His kingdom. No one dares question Him about speaking to her.

If we are going to leave those around us silent, let it be because we are about His kingdom work. Let it be because we are including those that have been excluded. Let it be because we are radically different.

Let it be because we forever have a Heavenly table in our mind and a loving Savior by our side.

I'm still missing pieces to the puzzle. I think the picture is forming. It's a picture of me. I'm running from this well towards town. Jesus isn't behind me though. He's with me, holding my hand, pulling me forward. And, in my picture, neither of us are silent.

To "that" teacher

Full disclaimer. My kids have had some AMAZING teachers. In fact, we have been blessed with people who have loved them and genuinley wanted to teach them. We have done our best to support teachers and help when we could. We love teachers and are so grateful they still want to teach little lives in this crazy educational system.

With this disclaimer over, I have to acknowledge how difficult this year has been.

To our first mean teacher,

Wow! Are you as glad as I am that this year is completed? Every interaction I have experienced with you, resulted in me being keenly aware that you do not like children. In fact, you appeared to be annoyed by their presence. I watched you roll your eyes at them as they walked in the room. I watched you hide around the corner and purposely not step into the classroom during the parent meeting regarding the state testing. I definitely noticed how my little girl talked about how loud you can yell.

Anyways, I know I'm more than happy this year is done. You did teach her a few things though. This year, we learned how to work with difficult people. We learned that some people are not happy. We learned their happiness is not dependent on our behavior. We learned that some people, can never be pleased by us because something inside of them is sad.

We learned that it is not okay to stop trying because someone else does not care. You remember when she didn't turn in homework? Well, she stopped turning it in because she realized you weren't really looking at it. She said you never even bothered to explain where to place it. Did she give it to you? Did she put in the box on your desk? Were you going to walk around and collect it? You did all those methods, which she found confusing. And, with the yelling, she was afraid to ask. Remember when we met about this? You rolled your eyes at me too. Fortunately, for us both, I have the ability to regulate my emotions and calmly asked you how she is supposed to turn it in to you. You acknowledged your lack of routine. It was the other, really good teacher in the room, who suggested you remedy that. I knew then, we were in for a long year. It was September.

We learned that even when other people don't care, we do our best anyway. We learned that when teachers change grades, we can demand to see papers. We learned that some teachers do not allow straight 'A's no matter how hard someone works. We learned to work hard anyway. Knowing my girl scored second highest in the entire class on the state pretest tells me she has a great grasp of content she needs to know. Seeing that you marked through and changed numerical grades on the papers we asked to review, made me believe, she was right all along. You didn't really grade papers.

We learned that when an adult shows you things you know you shouldn't read, like emails between our parents and teachers, we need to tell our parents. We learned passive aggressive at nine isn't pretty. We learned this girl has more of her mom in her than we knew. We learned it isn't appropriate to be direspectful to adults, even when we are right. We learned to stand up respectfully. We also learned that parent's are the best advocates we have. We learned that a lot can be solved through communication.

We learned it is more than okay to ask for clarification. We learned to request expectations so we know what we are striving for. We learned that teachers have to follow rules too. We learned to ask for help; from past teachers, from other students, from administration, from God, and from somewhere inside of us.

We learned that some situations, you just have to take one day at time. Some things we cannot solve, but we can learn from.

So, mean one, I can't say at the end of the year that you didn't teach her or us anything.

I wish you would be the last mean, unrealistic, person she will deal with in her life. I know that can't be. So, thank you, for teaching her to dig deep, work hard, do well anyway, and to remember her identity is not yours to define. Those are lessons we all need to know.

Too bad there isn't a column for that on her report card.

Have a great summer. Maybe look for another line of work? May I suggest you go write for Pearson? You won't have to see a kid again, yet you can hold them to totally unrealistic expectations. That seems like it would be a good fit for you.

Second Trimester

I watched my kids eat spaghetti tonight. Just regular spaghetti. They laughed and bantered with each other. It's been a rushed evening with Chris at a volunteer meeting for soccer and the rest of us at soccer practice. They needed to get to bed. I had this thought again. It circles through my mind a lot, but sometimes I'm reluctant to admit it. Here it is: these might be my favorite years. Several of my close friends have heard me describe this time in the lives of my kids as "The Second Trimester".

As I see it, life with kids under our roof, is divided into three trimesters. Just like pregnancy. All three look and feel entirely different per pregnancy and per kid. However, each pregnancy has the same goal. Growing this tiny human into someone who can survive outside in the world. They are born. The next 18 years under my roof look different per year and per child. The goal is much the same. Growing this tiny human to love God, love people, and survive in the outside world.

The first trimester of pregnancy, I was exhausted, hungry, nauseous, and completely in shock. How can this be real? Was the test right? How about the doctor? Is she sure I'm pregnant? What can I eat? Not eat? Someone gave me that What to Expect book. It totally freaked me out. The first trimester with kids? I was exhausted, hungry, in desperate need of a shower, and, well, in a baby fog that could be a close cousin to shock. It was all about diapers, put that down, pick that up, don't touch, please don't jump, let's get dressed, please sleep. Exhaustion beyond measure with a side of what in the world have I gotten myself into? My big goals were simply reduced to, can we just all stay alive? So noteworthy.

Later, in the third trimester of pregnancy, I became huge. I'm convinced it only exists to make us all comfortable with the idea of labor. Before that trimester, I was terrified of labor. Somewhere around 32 weeks, my swollen belly, ankles, face, self was all about labor. Let's do this. Let's get this alien to the outside and let my body be all by itself again. (little did I know it's never been just mine again). While I haven't experienced a teenager at my house yet, I've had enough friends assure me that teenagers exist only so we can be okay with the idea of them leaving the house. They are clumsy, awkward, and so full of themselves. They do some things well and have such big goals. Sometimes, they don't look anything like those babies in the first trimester and parents count down until that alien gets out.

Second trimester? Do you remember the second trimester of your pregnancy? Mine was blissful. I wasn't sick anymore. The tiredness had subsided. I finally looked pregnant instead of fat, but I could still see my feet. I could feel the baby move and dream about who this baby would be. Right now, in this season, that's how I feel about my kids. They will be seven and ten this summer. They sleep through the night, (well more nights than not). They can bathe themselves, get dressed on their own, and even get their own breakfast. Yet, they also still want me around, they ask me to play, or read, or watch a show with them. All their "why's?" have turned into "watch me". I really do like watching them. They are growing before my eyes. They still like to snuggle with me, have me lay beside them, and tell me all about who they dream to be someday. They have outgrown me holding them in my arms, but they still very much fit in my lap.

This second trimester, I feel more like a Mom. I'm more settled into this role. I'm learning that it really does "go by too fast". I remember constantly that this is it. This is their childhood. If I delay things, it may not happen for them. Today is my one chance to have them in my house, at this age. I'm learning to both release the pressure and recognize the beauty of that statement. We don't get most days perfect. I'm also learning that's more than okay.

This Mother's Day, I'm so grateful for this time, in their lives and mine. Who knows, maybe the third trimester will turn out to be my favorite? Most likely every memory will be my favorite. I'll remember holding them and rocking them. I'll remember Curious George and American Girl Dolls. I'll think about lost teeth and first pair of glasses. Hopefully, I'll be even more settled then. More convinced to let all the "mom guilt" go and know that God was guiding them and me, together, as a family. I may decide all the days of their childhood were the best ones. Then again, I hear grandchildren are really, really, fun.