All Things Heathen And Santa II

All Things Heathen and Santa

Tis that time of year again where I feel the sting when I see the various posts and questions regarding the decision to "lie" to our kids about Santa and the ever
popular "Elf on the Shelf."

Each year my kids bring a new perspective on the issue because they are growing and changing their own views.

This year as we were getting our Christmas decorations out my four-year old says, "I love this time of year."

"Why," I asked (really was waiting for her to be the best little
Christian and say, "It's because Jesus is born").

"Because Santa comes and brings presents!" She answered.

Hmmmm not what I wanted so I thought I'd try putting a little Jesus
in this conversation.

"Well, I love this time of year because Jesus was born," I said.

"Not me," she replied confidently. "I like Santa!"

Oh crap. I was ready to throw the Santa towel in. I'm ruining my child.
She doesn't care about Jesus, just Santa!?!? How am I going to undo this damage!?!? Clearly we aren't spiritual enough!

But wait, it gets better. Last year we started the Elf on the Shelf tradition.. This tradition is when Santa sends down an elf to be on the "lookout" and report back to him every night on how their little boys and girls are behaving. The next morning the elf is in a different spot making it fun for the kids to find him.

When Freddie our elf had shown up on the first day, MarKay was beside herself. She
said, "Daddy I'm going to go straight to bed because you know who's
watching me?"

I was thinking, "say Jesus, say Jesus, say Jesus".....then her eyes got so big and her voice got whispery and poignant and she said, "Freddie!" My husband and I sat there with that plastered fake smile as we nodded and listened to her be so proud of her behavior.

She gets it.  If she gives a good report to Santa, then she gets her gifts from him.  If she is naughty......no gifts for her.

Since then I have really put in some serious thought on the issue. I coming to realize that I'm not sure I want to replace the idea of Santa with the idea of Jesus.  I don't want
MarKay to think that "good" equals blessings or gifts from above and "bad" equals no
blessings or gifts. The number one thing I have learned on this
journey of life is being "good" guarantees you nothing. The fact is,
God doesn't want us to be "good" for Him. He wants to protect us from our
actions. Even so, I know a lot of "bad" people who get plenty of
gifts......

So I started to get used to the idea that Santa was "the naughty or nice guy" for 25 days of the year. Not to mention, I don't mind the good behavior
either. I've also eased up my guilt a little by incorporating the Christmas story into our elf
antics. Freddie has been "asking" MarKay (with hand written notes) what the "real" meaning of Christmas is. After I read the first Freddie note I looked at MarKay and asked, "What IS the real meaning? Whatever could he be talking about?"  She looked at me with her head tilted to the side.  "Hmmmmm......elves!?" she replied. Crap again!  Good thing I placed Freddie in the nativity scene to give her a hint.

I said, "Oh wait! On this letter Freddie says his location gives you a hint.  Where is Freddie? What around him could be the REAL meaning of Christmas?"

"Ohhhhhh baby Jesus." She said almost as if like she was discovering it for the first time too.

Let me tell you, this little tactic has worked.  I have found myself showing picture books of Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem to the elf
as I'm reading them to my girls. Markay takes it even further and will show him her Sunday school papers and explain every detail of them too. She really does know a lot about Jesus.

Today I was wearing a "Jesus" shirt that I got from my church. It has a large silhouette of long hair and a beard on it.  I was saying goodbye to my girls as I was rushing out the door to make a meeting. As I said goodbye to
MarKay she yelled down the hall, "you going to wear your Jesus shirt?"

"Yep wearing the Jesus shirt,"I said.

"Well just remember, Jesus is always with you, you don't need a shirt
for that" she yelled back.

At the time I thought it was cute but now I think it is profound. Quite honestly
it is the very thing I want her to build her entire life upon. Whether you are "bad"
or "good," in the trenches or on a mountaintop.....whether you are
basking in His Glory or barely getting out of bed......Jesus is always
with you. He loves you.....no matter what.

When she sees the "bad guys" seemingly  get all the glory, or when she feels she's done everything "right" and still falls flat on her face, I pray she remembers, Jesus is always with her. When tragedy, fear, and anger are her friends and God is her enemy I pray she knows Jesus is always with her. When she holds the hand of her one true love and holds the head of her firstborn child I pray she feels that Jesus is always with her. And when I'm no longer here to tell her that, I pray she lives like Jesus is always with her.

So December 1st through the 25th can have the magic, mystery and fun of the elves and Santa.  I will gladly take all of the 365 days that have Jesus.  I decided that I'm ok with that because somehow someway my child is getting the REAL meaning of Christmas without me even trying.

The Problem With Silence

The problem with silence

I'll never forget sitting on "the couch" three years ago in my darkest
of days listening to my therapist tell me my "homework."  I loved
having homework because I wanted to get through this hell as quickly
as possible so whatever that meant, I would do.
She said, "I want you to sit and do nothing for five minutes. I don't
want the TV on, or music. Just be. Whatever comes of that is fine."

Sounds easy enough. Five minutes is nothing.

So I sat in a dark room.  I looked at my hands finding every wrinkle
and nook. I looked up and found a crack in the ceiling.  I noticed the
paint wasn't quite right in the far left corner.  After all of this,
I glanced at the clock. Dang it!, only thirty seconds went by! I
forced myself to focus, to sit. As the minutes slowly turned, I was
astounded at how painful, agonizing, and very difficult it was.  In
that time I felt pain, sadness, anger......I cried.  I relived
heartache and questioned my values. I didn't like to "just be," it was
excruciating.

Then I understood.....this is silence.  I do not welcome it, I curb
silence with noise.  I find noise that takes me away, away from the
fear, anxiety, anger.  I find things to lift my spirits, thwart my
pain for another day. I don't deal.

Well that homework assignment was done. I got it, so I did it a whole
3 more times after that and then I forgot about it. I went back to
filling my days with music I loved, TV in the background, books of
interest, and the noise of my two children singing, chattering and
arguing.

A couple weeks ago I got to venture up the mountain for a weekend away
with the women on my side of the family.....by myself. I was even
making the drive by myself which is unusual. I blasted my favorite
songs on the radio and sang at the top of my lungs. Then I started
meandering up the long winding road.

My radio station was fading. I went as long as I could until all I
heard was static. My CD player was full of kids music and my iPod at
home I was forced to be in silence. "This is going to be a problem," I
thought.  I didn't want to feel. I dreaded it.  I wondered what
thoughts would reside in my soul. I wondered what I would "just be."

So I embraced it, turned off the static and drove in silence.

Going up the mountain in fall weather was breathtaking. The trees were
laden with crimson and golden leaves while the wind caused them to
twinkle against the evergreens. Looking down I saw a blanket of clouds
kissing the valley. Snow was expected as a chill seeped into the
crevices of my car and settled into my bones. The seat warmer had been off for
a year and I got to turn it on.

I started to get overwhelmed by this amazing beauty. Beauty of God, the beauty of my life and even the beauty of pain.  Tears filled my
eyes and overflowed down my cheeks. I didn't know why I was crying but
I knew it was a good cry, one that I would not have had without the
friend of silence.

After the arrival at the cabin, it was just me and my mom for a few
hours. As we sat and chatted by the crackles of the fire, snow
flurries started to float down from the grey sky above. I went out
alone to take some pictures and the silence was deafening.  I could hear my every breath and crack of kindling under my feet.  It's as if the world was muted, silently preparing to cover itself in white splendor.

I looked up and basked in the miracle of snow and just sat as tears
streamed down my face. This was magical, I was lucky to have this
moment, to receive these little frozen kisses from above. I didn't
want it to end. I wanted this simplicity to last forever.

My moment soon faded as life swept me up again in her whimsical hustle and bustle.  As I look back on my long-time battle with silence, I realize that the problem with it is the fear it brings.  I fear what I will be. Will I be  angry, sad, bitter, or confused? Will I
get in touch with the dark, ugly side of me? I fear these emotions,
these potential heartaches.

But by avoiding them, I miss the joys. The immense beauty, the silent
blessings and secrets from my creator.

The meandering road reminded me of the pain of silence but brought me
the quietness of joy I had been missing.

This experience reminded me of a quote I read by Brene Brown,  "We
can't selectively numb emotion. Numb the dark and you numb the light."
This has been so true in my life. I avoid the dark like the plague
and I wonder how often I keep the light out as well.

Silence was just an acquaintance, a homework assignment but has slowly become my friend. I invite him over more often and visit with him on occasion. I don't always welcome him with open arms but like most friends, I welcome the challenges he brings.  Sometimes I miss my friend and don't purposefully avoid him, I just don't always have the time to enjoy him. But lately silence has been a friend I look forward to spending time with.  I find myself wanting it more and more.  I even get excited when I have an opportunity to sit with him.  Silence really is "golden."  There is more worth in silence than any other distractor I have.  Silence loves me just the way I am.  With him I can "just be" and whatever that brings is good enough and welcome.

Words of a Stranger: Two Feet to Selfishness

Words Of A Stranger: Two Feet To Selfishness


I was rushing out of Target with my 2 and 4 year old tucked into the cart.  It was getting late and dinner was on my mind.  I needed to get home so I could start putting it together.  I quickly buckled my kids in and got into the car.

I glanced out of my passenger window to see a woman grabbing my cart.  I thought she was going to ask me if she could take it but I noticed that she was very angry.  We caught eyes and she furrowed her brow as she screamed at me through my closed passenger door, "What, you couldn't move up your cart two more feet?!?!?! You selfish B@$&#!"

I was stunned.  I sat in my car with my mouth open continuing to look at her in disbelief.  She proceeded as she got into her car stating, "What is wrong with you?! You are a selfish, selfish, selfish (finger pointing) b$&@#!"

The best way I can describe how this verbal abuse effected me is by using the word; violated.  She violated my character.  Her entire view of me was wrapped up on an innate object and my positioning of it.

Several emotions and conclusions came to me over the last several days after this incident.

The first one being rage. My initial response was to get out of my car and walk over to her and beat her to the ground with my big ass purse.....with no remorse.   The second response I had was to roll down my window and spew hatred back at her.  As funny as that sounds, it scared me to death.  I wondered why these thoughts and emotions were coming to me.  I  wanted to harm her as much as she was harming me.  I wanted to convince her that she was in the wrong.....not me. I wanted to give her a dose of her own medicine, after all, she deserved it.

Sadness.  I wanted to cry.  Most of the time I get to choose to be vulnerable.  I open myself up to others on my own accord.  But this, this was an unplanned, an unwarranted attack on the very depths of who I am.  I was off-guard with my defenses down, I cried over the wound she had caused.

Anger.  Although I think this goes along with rage I felt anger for a different reason.  As I played the scenario over in my head and felt the sting, I got mad.  Why do I care so much!?  She is a complete stranger who doesn't even know me and here I am shedding tears and pondering over the event for days! She clearly has issues if she is going to take something like this out on me! UGH!

Defeat.  She won.  She left in her car thinking, "she told me."  She took a piece of me and ran.....all the while never thinking she was wrong.  I didn't defend myself.....I couldn't think of what to say to convince her that she was devastating me and it wasn't OK.

Lack of Grace.  So, I may have made a mistake, I may have forgotten to move the cart up but I felt an absence of grace.  I wasn't allowed to make a mistake.  I had to be perfect, no excuses.

Scum of the earth.  I notice when I have interactions with someone who feels entitled, they make me feel like less than a person.  She wanted me to feel this way.  She was the "better" person while I was just selfish and I don't consider anyone or their feelings.

So what did I do?  I stayed in my car.  I looked into her eyes the whole time she was spewing at me.  I wanted her to know I was looking straight into her soul.  I had two impressionable girls in the back seat of my car. Thankfully they weren't paying attention but I knew they would if I opened my door or rolled down my window to respond. I also knew they wouldn't be watching her but they would fix their eyes and ears on me and see how I would respond.  So I sat........ and took it.

A couple days after the violation, I had to return to the scene of the crime.  I was scared.  I gave myself a pep talk (it consisted of me chanting:  "be perfect, be perfect, you can do it!") and decided to go in with confidence. I parked beautifully if I don't say so myself, I went in with a smile and two crazy kids hanging off my cart.  As I drove down each aisle I surveyed each person I passed.  I smiled when necessary and quickly apologized for any missteps along the way.  I had my guard up but what transpired through this was really quite amazing.

My youngest decided she was going to sing at the top of her lungs. Over and over and over again.  My instinct was to stop her because I didn't want to set anyone off but then I stopped.  Here I was about to squelch joy "just in case" it was going to be offensive.  I caught myself and instead, I started singing along and so did my four-year old.  Soon we were all singing "Fantastic Gymnastics!" through the aisles of Target.

As we traveled I can't tell you how many smiles I got.  One woman stopped me and said, "I don't know about you but I'm really enjoying them."  Another man told me I was doing a great job as a mom.  Someone else said they missed those days with their kids and I can't count how many "cutes" I got.

My soul filled with joy as I realized, my guard was up today for violation and all I got was validation.  A piece of heaven came down and shone it's face to me.  We kept singing and laughing all the way to the car and after I finished packing the groceries and buckling the girls in, I pushed the empty cart up two more feet with a smile.   Not because I was told to but because I was OK with giving myself some grace even if others couldn't.

Make-Up My Mask

Make-Up My Mask

Being a mom of two young girls I have to get myself ready before they wake up or else it just doesn't happen.  Since I'm a working mom, getting my "face on" before my little ones rise is a must.  The other day I happened to be freshening up my make-up when my four-year old came in to chat as I was getting ready.  The conversation went something like this:

"Mommy, what are you doing?"
"I'm putting on make-up," I said.
She replied, "Why?"

I paused.  My natural response was, "To cover up my blemishes." Or, "To make me look prettier." Or perhaps the most recent reason, "To cover my wrinkles so I look younger."

I sat there in silence because I wanted to protect my sweet innocent daughter from the truth that, I cover up my face to present a better one.  Finally I just told her, "Its what grown up people get to do."

I thought about that for awhile, yeah we "get to" feel insecure about all of our flaws and cover them up.  We "get to" feel prettier and  more secure with our "face on.". Somehow someway, this is a "privilege" that all girls wait with baited breath to do....

Ironically enough, about a week later I participated in a fundraiser where professionals did my hair and make-up and pictures were taken of me.  I paid an amazing reasonable fee to help my friend go to Palestine.

An awesome opportunity turned into a vulnerable situation for me.  The last time I had my hair and make-up done was for my wedding.  Of course you get your hair and make-up done then.....you have those pictures for a lifetime, you MUST look your best! But this, this was just for me? It seemed kind of selfish, and a little out of the box.

It was hard for me to leave my house with no make-up and my hair all a mess.  I knew I would look like a fraction of myself in no time but the car ride was a bit painful.  I arrived to see make-up artists all set up.  Beautiful dresses lay all around and people were buzzing with excitement.  I immediately felt like I didn't belong in this environment but laughed it off and tried to soak it all in.

As I sat, I got layers and layers of make-up put on my face.  I moved several times just to get in the perfect light.  As I glanced over at the make-up table, I felt like there were surgical tools that I couldn't begin to identify being used by my "expert" of transformation.

A half an hour later, I looked in the mirror at the final product. I felt like a different person in my own skin. Being the actress that I am, I needed to portray a character...... a confident beautiful woman who was used to this kind of pampering and attention.  As the photo shoot proceeded, I kept telling my subconscious to "be myself" but I wasn't really sure who that was.

Weeks later I came to the conclusion that the "final product" was representing a different version of myself.  The reflection in the mirror was the "pretend perfect Erin" version.  My wrinkles and blemishes were covered and the perfect artist worked on all the aspects of my face.  It's unrealistic and inauthentic.

The layers of make-up are the layers of my mask.  This mask lets you see the perfect version of the truth.......flawless.  As I hesitated to reveal the "secrets" of why I wear make-up to my daughter,  I realized that she will start applying the layers of her mask.  Little did I know that my response of, "that's what grown-ups get to do," was so profound as is sickening.

As I grew, I formed my mask to be what I thought I should be.  I put layer upon layer until I didn't recognize myself, I was a version of myself.....what I thought to be the "perfect" version. But I know that perfection is a lie, unobtainable.

More than anything, I became a character, a fictional woman who pretended to be.  I was the perfect Christian, wife, mom, athlete, and teacher.  Layer upon layer I developed this perfect mask.

However, along with being a "grown-up" comes pain, suffering, and trial.  The mask and the reality don't coexist. God originally orchestrated my face, my body, my character.  He is the original artist that I continually cover up with what I think is beautiful.  He created my flaws, my blemishes, my laugh lines.  I have pain, and hurt, and anger.....He knows that too.

Over the years I'm beginning to embrace the "natural look", the stripped away soul, and  melting off my make-up mask.  I'm starting to feel more "myself" without all the layers.  Before the layers offered security and now I find myself ripping it off to stay real, to love in this "real" often messed-up life.  I'm craving the raw relationship with the author of my life to pour into me His will for me.  With that as my role, I can do no wrong.

The next time I apply my make-up in front of my daughter I want to be honest with her.  Tell her that I put on make-up because I think it makes me look better.  But the truth is, I am more beautiful just the way God had planned and designed me to be.  But more importantly I want HER to know that SHE is perfect in HIS image too.

I pray that if I do make-up a mask, it is one of authenticity, vulnerability, and a rawness that reflects my true character no matter how flawed and blemished it is.  Because it is then and only then I can truly be Gods masterpiece.

Dear God, I'm Angry.....With You

Dear God, I'm Mad.....At You

My journey on this relationship with God has been well....a bit rocky.  There's been a battle in my head, one that rages and then goes dormant.  But time after time it continues to rear its ugly head.

I've never had to question why bad things happen to good people until they started happening to me.  This good Christian girl who followed all the "rules" would question everything.  I would face an emotion I never allowed myself.....anger.

Afraid of the rage inside I turned to my counselor.  After an entire session of tears and frustration she said the most profound thing ever, "Erin, God is big enough to take your anger. He understands it, he created it.  You need to have a conversation with Him about this.  After all, you are in a relationship with Him and anger is a part of that."

Read More at: http://formyfuturemr.com/2012/10/23/dear-god-im-mad-at-you/

Kim Kardashian's Pant Size: a Look Into Comparisons

Kim Kardasian Pant Size: a Look into Comparisons

One night I found myself fervently searching for Kim Kardashians pant size...From Google, TMZ, to ask.com, I was on a mission. A mission to make myself feel better. I had felt rather frumpalicious lately, 3 kids later, getting older,and past pictures had really put me in a  funk about my body. So naturally I start looking up an icon, someone men drooled over and fantasized about.  I needed her pant size....to compare.....to come out on top. Because if my pant size were smaller, than maybe I was beautiful too.

I've known for awhile that I'm hard on myself with my body image but I never quite understood why. I've lived in constant comparison mode of stars and people around me.

But as I sat searching, site after site I stopped....."why the heck am I doing this!?" I mean it's absurd and ridiculous. Why would it matter anyway? Would I hold my head higher if my pant size were smaller!? Or would I hang my head in shame because I didn't measure up? Either way I figured it to be a sad ending.

So I slowly put the computer down and ate some chocolate while surfing Facebook. Then I saw all the posts of pounds lost, work-out routines along with the diets that everyone posts and strangely enough, I found myself back at square one.

Funny enough, when I choose to compare, I discovered that I don't compare myself to someone that will make me feel worse.  Clearly I wasn't going to look up a runway models pant size, I wanted a chance here. In fact one of my favorite pastimes when I'm needing to unhealthily pick myself up is watching reality television.  Yes I know it is low-quality, maybe staged but I don't care. For the most part I can critique the character of these "stars" and feel pretty good about myself. I can come out on "top."

Trying to see an end at this comparison tunnel, I confided in a friend a little about my struggle.  I'll  never forget her telling me that her body image problems went away when she became a mom. She insisted that I would have more important things to worry about. Well when I did become a mom, she was right. I worried about my child sleeping, eating, surviving AND how I could avoid that awkward "congratulations!" when a stranger mistook my fat belly pudge for another pregnancy! Somehow I don't think that is what she meant.

My comparing abilities are vast and don't discriminate.  I compare my childs development with others their age, my teaching abilities, and exercise routines.  I see amazing pictures of homemade dinners that toddlers eat and parenting strategies.  I've been known to compare Facebook friends and blog followers.....ugh shameful I know.

Perhaps the most frustrating part about comparisons is how to stop doing it.  I've been told my whole Christian life that I "shouldn't" because God made me perfect in His image. I'm given several verses that support that. Or I might hear, jealousy is a result of comparisons and that's no good either so, stop. Just stop. So I try.....read my Bible a little harder, maybe take a hiatus from evil Facebook and then it's back.  That's when I even compare my Christian relationship with those others that somehow can "stop" because they are just more awesome than me and my relationship with God.

The reality is comparisons happen. I often blame it on the media or on society's obsession to be skinny but the more and more I research shame and how it is prevalent in my life, I realize that comparisons are the root of shame. Shame makes me want to hide my secret search of Kim K's pant size, or that I would even use blog views or Facebook friends as a tool to make myself feel better.  I don't want to admit it to myself, you, or especially God.  How embarrassing to tell Him, my creator, that I'm just not satisfied with what I've been given.  

Somehow I think that may be the key......reach the shame, reach the root of the issue.  In order to reach the shame, I must give it to God.  Man, I can only imagine how Adam and Eve felt in the garden.  Come to think of it, Satan knew exactly what he was doing having Eve compare herself to God.


I never discovered the super secret answer to Kim Kardashians pant size (perhaps that is because of her shame). Yes, I was sad about that at the time but I did see the length I will go to in order to make myself feel better. I identified my source of shame, and the areas where I really excel at it.  I see what the serpent puts before me.  I can't say I've been vulnerable enough to give it to God, present myself completely, but I'm looking forward to that moment. Maybe, just maybe I will thank Kim Kardashian, Facebook, and reality TV for bringing me yet another step closer in becoming an authentic woman to my Creator and you.

In remembrance of my son....

In remembrance....

There we were.....on a movie date. It doesn't happen often so we reveled at the opportunity. And when you're a half an hour early for a movie, you get to enjoy the bazillion previews and pretty lame advertisements.

Then it happened. There was a preview/commercial of a dad camping out with
his son. They hiked, played hide and seek, explored, set up their tent, and built a fire.  The boy laughed while the dad told jokes, they read together and gazed up at the stars.  In the end, the camera shot pans out to reveal that they were in his backyard all along, just spending some quality time with each other and the....iPad.

Well, it wasn't the product they were advertising that got me....it was
the concept. It hit me as each scene unfolded....welling up in my
chest like a summer storm.....Jerry will never experience this with our boy.  I tried to
push it away because it felt silly crying over an iPad commercial but I was no match for the tears.  They started to stream down my face. When it ended, I knew I had to reveal
my vulnerability to my husband. After all I was grieving a moment HE
will never have. As I looked over we locked eyes and he knew,
understood, and felt the same way. He also knew to not take me over
the edge to the bawling phase (which I appreciated).....So he squeezed
my hand and held it tight as we gazed forward at the huge screen. I still proceeded to cry through the next two preview as the residual ache resided.

Although this emotion, grief, and sorrow took me by surprise, I was honestly OK with
it.  They say, "time heals all wounds"....but there are just some wounds
that I don't want healed.  I WANT to always remember my son, even if it's
through an iPad.  Just like when I shed tears at the Disneyland parades
when the princesses wave to my girls or Mickey blows them a kiss, so too I want to shed tears over the memories that will never be made.

Even though I feel grief over what would have been.... it still brings me to
a place of honor and love for my boy and all that he was going to be.  I will remember what was, and what could be.....I love you son.