I opened Brian's laptop this evening, and this was the background picture.

Good morning. Not sure what you're going to read this morning - it's one of those times when there is so much happening around me, it's easier to avoid the whole thing and talk about the weather. There are too many thoughts banging around; maybe a public arena is not the best place to sort them out. So. You'll either find insignificant details of my life or vague, cryptic statements below. We'll see what tumbles out first.

* I finished the West Wing. Didn't make it to Sunday night, but I did stop for a full 36 hours before picking it back up. All's well that ends well. I'll sleep better at night knowing that Josh, Sam, and Donna are eternally in the West Wing.

* A year ago, we were getting ready to fly down to West Palm Beach to interview with a church. After our weekend there, I was sure we'd be moving to Florida. Of course you already know that we didn't, but as I stood in our little church in Millbrook yesterday, I realized that all of the things I loved about the church in Florida, we have in Millbrook. So maybe I had the location wrong, but I knew what we were looking for. And, really, isn't knowing what you want 68% of the battle? The rest is just tenacity.

* Kat - can you tell that I like Kat's blog? I refer to it all the time. I think if we knew one another in real life, Kat and I could be friends. But I digress - talked last week about how quick christians are to criticize the church and christian culture. We put a lot of energy into tearing one another down. I've been thinking about that since then. Right now, I have two friends who are being slammed by their churches, and I really really want to rant and complain about them. But the truth is - it could just as easily be me. They love my friends, and mean well. I know there have been times when I have had good intentions, but have done more harm than good. They aren't the problem; sin is the problem.

* Do you want to know how crazy I am? I'm keeping data on when Asher sleeps. I could defend it, but you don't want to hear all of my justifications, I'm sure. My professors would have been so proud. So, if you want to hear about the details of Asher's sleeping patterns, email me and I'll send you a spreadsheet.

* All week I've been thinking about how Jesus described our current moment in history. "Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but he who stands firm to the end will be saved." I don't think He meant saved from hell; I think He meant we would be saved from the effects of the increase of wickedness. Saved from bitterness, hopelessness, rage - in other words, saved from cold love.

Have a good day, everyone.

gather up

by Peter Bradley Adams

gather up in the arms of your pity
the sick, the depraved, the desperate, the tired
all the scum of our weary city
gather up in the arms of your love
those who expect no love from above

I ask you this, which way to turn
I ask you this, which sin to bear
which crown to put upon my hair
I do not know, I do not know

I wait to take the hand of love, with every one you gather up
I wait to take the hand of love,
come every one, come gather up

there's lonely people in the lonely night
they grab a lonely dream and they hold it tight
there's lonely people in the lonely day
who work to sit their dream away

so I ask you this, which way to turn
I ask you this, which sin to bear
which crown to put upon my hair
I do not know, I do not know

I wait to take the hand of love, with every one you gather up
I wait to take the hand of love,
come every one, come gather up
won't you gather in your arms, gather in your arms

Help! I'm slipping into the netherworld of television.

It's a bad bad thing for me to live so close to someone who owns every single episode of the West Wing. I've watched 15 episodes of Season 7 since WEDNESDAY MORNING. I didn't intend to camp out in front of the tv, it's just that, you know, my life is conducive for television watching right now. I usually don't do that (except for Oprah and the first hour of the Today Show), but for the past few days, I have. I have to stop, though, because I had a dream last night that Chandler - isn't his name Joe Brown? I can't remember - from White House Council's office in Season 4 and I were investigating Toby. It was a scary dream, actually. So. No more West Wing until Monday. Maybe Sunday night. But definitely not before.

In the meantime, the demise of Toby reads like Shakespeare. And I am so so sad to see it happen - CJ is the only one left from the golden years. But I'm glad he and Josh are working together (however covertly) again. The scene with Abby and Jed talking about Ellie being straight was hysterical. Not too sure what I think about Will and Kate - it seems slightly creepy to me. And Donna and Josh! They BETTER finish the show with Donna and Josh eloping or something. Seriously. But don't tell me if they did - I'll find out Monday. Maybe Sunday.

Luckily, today I have actual work to do, so I won't be home to be tempted to cheat. Happy Friday, everyone!

a half hour in the life of

she just wants

The Writer's Almanac has been reading from a book of poems called She Just Wants. The book answers the question, "What does a woman want?" I'm posting a few here - ones that I found already out in the Inter-World that I thought you might enjoy. As an aside, it was interesting to see which ones were posted most often on blogs. The one I saw more than any other is "Understudy". It made me think of something an acquaintance said last week: "I'm just tired of being tired." Anyway ... She Just Wants, by Beverly Rollwagon.

Essential

She just wants to keep her essential
sorrow. Everyone wants her to
be happy all the time, but she doesn't
want that for them. There is value in
the thread of sadness in each person.
The sobbing child on an airplane, the
unhappy woman waiting by the phone,
a man staring out the window past his
wife. A violin plays through all of them,
one long note held at the beginning and
the end.

Employed

She just wants to be employed
for eight hours a day. She is not
interested in a career; she wants a job
with a paycheck and free parking. She
does not want to carry a briefcase filled
with important papers to read after
dinner; she does not want to return
phone calls. When she gets home, she
wants to kick off her shoes and waltz
around her kitchen singing, "I am a piece
of work."

secret

She just wants to know your secret.
She won't tell if you've had an affair,
or your face lifted, or when you last made
love. She won't tell if you're pilfering
from the office, or gambling when you're
supposed to be at the hospital visiting
your mother, or what you would do
for money. Strangers tell her the most
unlikely things, and she never repeats
them. Once, a woman told her she
carried a gun. Silver with a mother-of
pearl inlay on the handle, a little jewel.
She opened her purse, and the gun
rested in its own velvet pocket, ready and
dangerous. Like every secret.

understudy

She just wants an understudy, a body
double for the days when she does
not feel like appearing in any of the roles
she has assumed and/or been assigned.
She places an ad in the paper. Wanted:
one wife, mother, daughter, neighbor,
friend. Live-in OK. Own car necessary.
No lines to memorize; everything ad-
libbed. No days off.

update

Sunday was an exceptionally bad day, complete with heatlessness, a treed cat, a banished golden retriever, and a marital "discussion" witnessed by my mother. Aren't you sad you missed it? But we survived, and now all is well. However, between the weekend birthday festivities, the (lack of) heat, and Asher's shots yesterday, I have been so crazy that I forgot not one but TWO obligations so far this week. It's only Tuesday!

Someday, I am going to be on time everywhere I go, I'm not going to forget important things like keys and appointments, I'll never run out of formula when out in public, and my dishes will always be clean. Today is not that day.

Which leads to an aside - I have to tell you about Brian's confidence in my memory. One of the first times I took Asher out alone, Brian called to check on us. When he asked how I was, I told him I felt frazzled. I'd forgotten this-and-that for his diaper bag, the place I needed to go was closed, and I couldn't find ... whatever. Brian responded, very slowly (I KID YOU NOT), "Do you have the child?" I'm not THAT discombobulated. Not yet, anyway.

PS - as long as I'm giving random reports about the mundane details of my life - I can wear my wedding rings again. Yay for me! I've missed them.

to love and not love

(This idea was shamelessly stolen from Joshilyn. Just so you know.)

TO LOVE: Asher has started laughing. Who wouldn't love that?

NOT TO LOVE: MY HEAT STOPPED WORKING THIS MORNING (and a mortified gasp echoes from the crowd). Again. Like everyone else, Alabama is having an unusual winter, which means we really need our heat to work. Not to worry. I kept all the phone numbers from the last time our heat went out (like, two weeks ago!), and I will be calling them all this afternoon.

TO LOVE: I just joined a Bible study that's using a Beth Moore book this time. It's been a long time (since Nashville, and really, we were always more serious about snacks than the study) since I've been a part of a Bible study that had homework. It's kind of fun.

NOT TO LOVE: My heat is out, and it's 31* outside. With the wind chill, it feels like 20*.

TO LOVE: I finally have birth announcements quasi-ready for the mail. I decided not to find out what Emily Post has to say about birth announcement timelines, because it just wasn't going to help me get them done any faster. So - look for one in a mailbox near you. Sometime this week, I hope.

NOT TO LOVE: It blows cold air, instead of hot. And then it never shuts off, because the house will never ever no never reach the desired temperature if injected with cold air in the winter.

TO LOVE: Brian started his new job Friday. He hasn't been this excited about anything since the band stopped touring. I'm really happy for him.

NOT TO LOVE: And I have a two month old son, whose favorite activity in life is to squirm out of blankets, who has a serious aversion to wearing his so-very-cute winter coat for very long (it's a hat thing - he hates hats). In other words, I'm going to need the heat to work if I intend to keep him warm. And I do.

TO LOVE: Consignment sales. Babies don't wear clothes long enough to wear them out, so I've been able to find cute practically new clothes for him very cheaply (some things still had tags on them). His GrandpaBirthdayOveralls, for example. Plus, Carrie and I always go together, and baby clothes are all CUTE, so it makes for a fun day.

TO LOVE: Well, sort of. Asher was scared for the first time last night. The house was quiet, he was almost finished with his bottle and veryverynearly asleep, when Taylor started barking. All babies startle easily, but this wasn't that - this was red-faced, silence-before-the-squeal type crying. He had to stop eating so that he could settle down. As I was soothing him, the silliest thing went through my mind. I thought about how counselors ask, "When was the first time you felt that way?" Isn't that crazy? I absolutely am not saying Asher's going to need therapy because the dog was too loud. Not at all - what I realized last night was this: though the next few years are profoundly important for his future, he won't remember them. I will. He will know the effects of them, but they will be MY memories. And though it's his life, in some ways, this season of it will mean more to me than it will to him. It's why I take pictures every day. I want to remember it all.

Stay warm, everyone.

PS - 3 HRS LATER:
TO NOT LOVE: Things have gone downhill rather quickly since this morning. Did anyone know babies don't like to be cold? I had an idea, but I've been TOLD this morning, REPEATEDLY, how MUCH babies don't like to be cold. In response, I left three angry mamabear messages on three answering machines, and so far had no response (though it's only been half an hour). Asher has calmed down - finally - because we're both wearing our warmest clothes, and I have him strapped to me in the Snuggli (this thing is INGENIUS, by the way). It's a little complicated to get him strapped in - think bunjee jumping/ sky diving, and you'll have the right idea - but worth the effort.

Anyone know anything about heaters?

Dear Mary and Lane,

Come back. We miss you.

I know you're busy; I don't care. Rant about the snow, the White Sox (Red Sox? Red Socks? See how lost I am without you?), Hillary Clinton ... I won't complain. I miss the serial posts and the long descriptions of the sexual dysfunctions of your pets. I miss the pictures of gourmet Thanksgivings and unfamiliar cities. But mostly, I miss you.

Seriously! You two have always been my Cool Friends. Without your omniscience, I've devolved into drivel over pacifiers, and you have become the Mythical Figures Formerly Known as Mary and Lane. You guys are the creative powerhouse (powerhi, Brian would say) around here. Haven't you seen how pathetic blogs have become lately? I desperately need a good argument. I'm so lost without you that I didn't even know there WAS a new Sandra McCracken CD. How am I ever going to know what good shows I'm missing? Plus, it's been like, MONTHS since I've read any good satire or book reviews. Can't you see how dire the circumstance really is?

C'mon, come back. Set up a password, and we will solemnly swear not to link you, even on your funniest or most profound days. We won't even REFER to your blog, if that's the way you want it. We'll just come up with a secret password to use when we want to respond. Something like this: "I ate chicken for dinner last night," can actually mean, "Mary wrote the most hysterical thing EVER on her blog go read it right now," and "I hear tomatoes are in season," can be understood as "I think you're a raving lunatic, and here's why." Or something.

Please come back. Without you, I have no one to disagree with.

Amen.

sleep, 68/45, good monsters

Here they are, in no particular order.

Now that I'm over the initial You-Have-To-Be-Kidding-I'm-Somebody's
-Parent?!! of Asher's arrival, the most complicated aspect of my new job is its unpredictability. Just because something worked one day does not mean it's going to work the next. Sleeping, for example: some days are sleepy days and some are not. Some days, he cries to be held and will fall asleep immediately when picked up. Others, he cries to be put down and will fall asleep only if left alone. The pacifier - a cursed and decidedly un-pacifying invention - is equally random in its usefulness. Sometimes it's the only way he can go to sleep, sometimes he gags on it. Sometimes it calms him down until he's nearly asleep, when he spits it out and wakes up crying, looking for it. When this happens - this part is predictable - I become the Pacifier Holder, and Asher never completely falls asleep. In short, neither of us is pacified by the stupid thing. Today he cried until the phone rang; when I started talking, he fell asleep. So maybe he needed some background noise? Who knows. I've given up looking for a pattern.

I'd like, once again, to argue in favor of internet music sharing. If your music is on the Top 40 every week, I can see how sharing music is robbing you of your guaranteed 20$ a pop from millions of loyal fans. But if Casey Casem has never heard of you, it's the best thing that could happen to your career. Don't believe me? Ask John Mayer. Anyway, I digress. Thanks to YouTube, we bought Jars of Clay's Good Monsters this weekend. It's good - I'm not interested in writing a critique, so I'll just say that I like it. Especially "Oh My God." To quote Brian, if David were writing the Psalms today, he'd probably have written "Oh My God" himself.

High today? 68. Tomorrow? 70. Wednesday? 45. It's no wonder the entire state of Alabama has a runny nose.

That's all. Happy Monday, everyone.

Sunday morning again. A sunny Sunday morning at that - it's not inspiring me to do all that is necessary to get out the door in an hour and a half. I'm feeling more inspired to just sit here and drink my coffee and listen to music. We have new music right now, and nothing encourages solitude like winter sunshine and new music and good coffee.

Which brings me to this -

I have always enjoyed being around people, always liked meeting and making friends. It was the joke as I was growing up - I never met a stranger, and I never stayed home very long. Until now. The older I get, the less interested I am in being busy. Not only that, but a half hour before it's time to go somewhere, I start thinking of all of the reasons I shouldn't go. There are a few exceptions, of course, but in general, if there's going to be a crowd, I can think of something better to do. Why? Why is such a prominent part of my personality changing? I really don't want to become a recluse. Why does it take so much more energy to be around a group than it used to? Any thoughts?

Think about it, and get back to me. Meanwhile, here I sit, a lizard on a rock, enjoying the winter sun and warm coffee.

When I was a kid, I thought I could change the world.

I'm embarrassed now even to admit that, embarrased by my naivete and arrogance. But on days like today, when Kat is talking about American wealth and excess, and Oprah is talking about child slaves in Ghana, I wish I still believed it was true. And I admire my friends like Elizabeth and Mikkee who still believe it, and who have committed their careers to trying.

an embarrassment of riches

Peter said to him, "We have left all we had to follow you!"

"I tell you the truth," Jesus said to them, "no one who has left home or wife or brothers or parents or children for the sake of the kingdom of God will fail to receive many times as much in this age and, in the age to come, eternal life."

There was a time when God held up each piece of our lives, one by one, and said, "Do you want this? Or do you want more of Me?" We followed Him out of desperation, because we couldn't help ourselves. It was not because we were wise or righteous and CERTAINLY not because we saw a return for our money. We went spitting and cussing, unable to answer any of the "But how will you ..."'s, unable to alleviate the concerns of people who loved us. I questioned what we were doing at every turn, but God is more patient with us than we are with Him, and He has enjoyed proving me wrong over and over. One thing I can say for certain is that God cannot be mocked - what He says, He does. Without exception.

One of the best lessons learned in Kansas City is that the Lord is our provider - not Brian, not me, not a job or a church or a skill set. We are told to seek first his kingdom, and let everything else be added to our lives. We are also told that whatever we leave behind will be restored, in time. God gives us what we need, more than what we need, more than we would even think to ask of Him. Not because we've earned it, not because we've twisted his arm or been good. Because we are his children, and this was his promise.

One by one, everything we thought we wanted was taken away from us. And one by one, it has all been restored. In the past few weeks, as our little adventure seems to be evolving into a new season of life, we have been astounded by the overwhelming faithfulness of God. Asher, jobs, housing, our church, groceries, suits, guitars, gas, baby supplies - God has given us more than I could have hoped for, much more than I could have possibly imagined or earned or bought for myself. It's not because of anything I've done, not because we've been good enough. It's because He will not be swayed; his promise to care for His children is irrevocable.

There's a quote from a Barbara Kingsolver novel that says, "You'll have to forgive me if it all takes a while to sink in. I'm just blessed off my rocker these days. I've come into an embarrassment of riches." An embarrassment of riches ... that sounds about right.

This weekend was fun but HECTIC, with three twelve hour days in a row. Asher hung in there like a champ, and now we're both glad to have a quiet morning. Last night I said, "Don't be surprised if you come home tomorrow and I'm still in my pajamas." To which Brian replied, "Stay in your pajamas as long as you want. It's one of the perks of your job." That's the truth now.

So Asher's sleeping in, and I'm killing time on the computer (let's be honest. Killing time is the most useful function of a computer). I went back and read some old entries, and I've been inspired to write more than an update this morning. We'll see if I really can ... it's been a while, and who knows how much longer the quiet will last. Check back in a little while, though, to see if I was successful ...

Not for the faint at heart

Ever been to a two-year-old birthday party? It's so much fun. There are kids and babies and toys and grandparents and pictures and cake and chicken fingers and squealing and diapers and ... whew. This? Is the cutest two-year-old I have seen in a long time.




So Stephanie and I said, hey, I know what! Let's get a picture with us and our kids! Right ... it went something like this. "Georgia! Look this way! Georgia! Look at Daddy! Ready? Georgia - takethepictureSteve - Georgia Georgia CLICK! Okay, go play!" And somehow, magically, my son THREW UP at the exact moment Steve took the picture. Yes he did. I know it's gross, but it's also the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. So if you have the stomach for it ... our first picture of the Arnold and Gates children.

brought to you by the letter b

B - is for BIRTHDAY! Happy 2nd birthday Georgia! Georgia also shares a birthday with Elmo (or so the Today Show told me this morning), so happy birthday Elmo, too.

two years ago:



last summer:


B - is for BRILLIANT! and BRIAN! Coincidence? I think not. Why is Brian Brilliant? Because he has a new job! (This sounds more and more like a children's book. Sorry. I'll try to settle down.) Beginning February 16, Brian will be the newest Child Labor Inspector for the state of Alabama. Yay for us!

B - is for BRAVERY! That silliest of noted holidays, GroundHog Day, proved successful this morning as the little hog did not see his shadow. But, seriously, shouldn't we thank global warming, not the hog, for our early spring?

B - is for BABY! Which is actually more serious than this post would let on. My two friends who have large families both have babies in the hospital. Our pastor's wife, Julie, gave birth to a little boy earlier this week. I'm not clear on the details, but baby Paul is in NICU right now. Also, Halle's newborn, Levi, has RSV and is in the hospital, too. If you're the praying type, please say a prayer for both babies and their moms this morning.

B - is for BUYING! Asher got his first toy from his parents yesterday. He has plenty of toys, to be sure, but they are all gifts from grandparents and friends. Yesterday, I found THE SWING that I've been hunting for weeks. Yay for Asher, who won't look nearly so uncomfortable, and yay for his mom, who won't have a guilty conscience about allowing her child to sleep doubled-over indefinitely.

original:


(ps - In real life his eyes do not look this ev-il. It's just the angle and the corrected red-eye that makes his eyes look scary.)

Last but not least ...

B - is for BLANKET! This is my newest strategy with the sleep issue that's plaguing our house ('cause if the baby ain't sleeping, ain't nobody sleeping). He hasn't found his thumb (yet), and I hate hate hate the pacifier. But I totally get that babies need something comforting to help them fall - and, most importantly, stay - asleep. So now we have Geoff. Geoff (short for Geoff the Giraffe) was given to us on Monday by Amanda. It's a supercute miniblanket (in Texas they're known as lovey blankets, in Alabama as golly blankets) that looks like a giraffe. I've been incorporating it into sleepy time for a few days now. So far Asher hasn't noticed (nor would I expect him to), but I hope that, pretty soon, he'll know that Geoff = comfysleepy time. I'll keep you posted.

Happy Groundhogging, everyone.