We have been going to my baby brother, Seth’s, highschool football games on Friday nights, and, this past Friday night, it was getting rather cold. To keep warm in the bleachers, I had Elijah sit in my lap. He was keeping me pretty toasty, so when Abby Jo wanted in my lap, too, I put her in Elijah’s lap. She was facing Elijah, with her legs around him. If you know Abby Jo at all, you know that her favorite person in the world is Elijah. Sitting in his lap this way, to her, meant she was in perfect hugging position. She was hugging and kissing her big brother, and quite enjoying it. He was putting up a bit of a resistance for appearance’s sake, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

My babies were just so completely precious that I wanted to get in on the affection. I laid the side of my face against Elijah’s head, and gave a little, “mmm, mmm, mmm!” while giving him a squeeze. Abby Jo looked at me with one of her classic dirty looks, and looked deep into my eyes. Perfectly expressing her displeasure with her scrunched up face, she very deliberately said, “Mine!”

I tried to argue. I told her that he was my baby, too. That I made him. That I GREW him in my body. But she did not care.

Flashing another dirty look, she reiterated, “Mine!” and gave her brother a kiss.

You gotta love an eighteen-month-old already firmly entrenched in the terrible twos.

After picking my friend, Cassi, up the other day, Kyra asked her why she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. She was trying to buckle it, but was having a hard time.

“That seatbelt is really jacked up.” I told her, as Chris ran a stop sign. “You just ran a stop sign!” I told him.

Chris said, “I always blow past it. I don’t see it, and forget it’s there.”

Cassi was still struggling with her seatbelt, and Chris said, “Don’t worry about it. I usually only blow through two or three stop signs, and we already passed one of them.”

To which Owen piped up and said, “It’s because we’re ninjas!”

Life in the world of Facebook can be interesting, to say the least. People who ordinarily wouldn’t know a thing about your personal life get the chance to weigh in on anything you decide on the fly to post a status about. Whether it’s what you’re eating for dinner or how much you hate your kids’ homework assignments, someone has something to say about it.

This past Saturday, I got out of class early, and went on a solo shopping trip. I had to return two tops that I bought on Friday because they didn’t fit right. I was too big for them. It was kind of disappointing, because they were super cute. While I was out, I tried on several different things. The more things I tried on, the more depressed I got. I had gained weight, and I had gained it all in my stomach. My clothes at home didn’t fit, and none of the clothes I was trying on while shopping were fitting. While shopping, I posted these Facebook statuses (statusi?) from my iPhone:

“Getting fat is a burden.”

“Now that I’m sufficiently depressed and insecure, I’m going to take my sinking body image and go home. I think P90X is in my future.”

Shortly after posting these statuses, the comments started rolling in. Friends were telling me I was crazy, skinny, beautiful, delusional, etc. While I appreciate that they were trying to make me feel better (really, I really, really do), I started to think it wasn’t really the right response. I had gained six pounds. While I know that I am not obese or anything, my clothes don’t fit. (Warning: I’m fixing to break woman code and talk about actual numbers regarding weight. I expect to get my notice of expulsion from womankind soon.) I have a skinny weight, a normal weight, and a fat weight. My weights are different than yours. We are different people. I’ve learned what is what for my body, though. When I weigh between 120-122, I feel skinny. I look pretty good, and I feel great about this weight. My normal weight, however, has consistently been right around 125 since I was about thirteen or fourteen. This is the weight that I generally stay at when I’m not trying to lose weight but am eating right for the most part. I look like me, and I feel good about this weight. When, like the last few weeks, I indulge way too much at Menchies (my favorite frozen yogurt place), eat out more often than not, and order regular soda when I do…I reach my fat weight. That would be 130, or, Heaven forbid, higher. If I step on the scale and weigh 130, I know that I am not taking care of myself properly.

Where am I going with all of this? Simply this: We aren’t doing our friends any favors when we enable them to be unhealthy.

I know that women and girls largely have unrealistic ideas about their bodies and their ideal bodies. I have struggled with unhealthy body image and bulimia since I was a young teenager. There have been times that I am sure I needed nothing more than to have someone tell me that I was beautiful and I didn’t need to change a thing. That would have been wonderful. There have been times that I’ve had to have my friends tell me that I am acting crazy; that what I was saying about myself just wasn’t true. I’ve had very unhealthy weight loss goals, and incredibly unhealthy weight loss methods. Operative word: had. I’m really making a lot of progress with my self-worth, self-esteem, body-image, etc. I guess maybe I’m getting older and coming into my own as a woman. (I know. I know. Cheesy.) I’ve also gotten counseling that has helped with the way I think about things. It’s made a difference, and I feel like I’m in a pretty healthy place right now.

Mentally, that is. Physically, I was getting fat. I avoided dealing with it, even though I was aware that I was gaining weight. I just didn’t want to deal with it. It’s kind of scary, with my history, to think about going on a diet or starting a work out routine. I put it off longer than I should have, and it all came to a head Saturday. I knew I had to do something about it. While all of the old, unhealthy behaviors did cross my mind while I was thinking about losing the extra fat I had accumulated, I won’t lie, I didn’t entertain them too long. I want to be healthy. I want to be a good example to my daughters.

This is getting long and a bit rambly, but what I’m trying to say is, it wasn’t in my head. I really had gained weight. My clothes really don’t fit. I know my body, and my current weight is not a good weight for me. So why did everyone try so hard to tell me I don’t need to lose weight? I found it interesting that my friends Amy, Patti, and Aimee, who are all three in the Army, didn’t tell me I was fine, but encouraged me that I could lose the weight simply enough and gave advice on how to do so. They know the importance of being at a healthy weight. Their jobs depend on it. I appreciated their encouragement and support, and, of course, their commiseration. (Patti, you really made me feel better, saying we were in the same boat.) I think, as dangerous as it is, that we women would actually be better friends to each other if we quit trying to make each other feel good and, instead, lovingly encourage each other to be healthy.

So, here I am. I weighed 129 this morning, and I ate salad three different times today. I went and ran/walked Sunday night, and I hope to fit in more exercise this week, in between the massive amounts of homework. When you see me at church, run into me at Walmart, or pass my panting, wheezing self on the track, just give me an “‘atta girl” instead of telling me I’m fine where I’m at. I may not be fat for you or for anyone else, but I am fat for me and I don’t like it. I’ll let you know when I’m back to normal. Please feel free to tell me then, after I’ve actually done the hard work, that I look great, beautiful, skinny, etc. Then I’ll feel good about myself, and be healthy. Because when it’s all said and done, one of those things is ultimately more important than the other.

I have to ask. Is leaving gospel tracts lying in a public bathroom the most effective form of evangelism?

I really don’t think so. I think more often than not, they end up where I found this one in the ladies room in the used bookstore in Knoxville. I am sure the person who left this tract in the restroom had wonderful intentions, but I wonder if it’s little more than a waste of paper to just leave these tracts lying around.

I am of the opinion that tracts aren’t the best way to evangelize this country at this point in time. Unless it’s a Chick tract with pictures and a story, people don’t usually even read them. There are too many things competing for attention. I know some people are uncomfortable with anything else other than, at best, handing someone a tract or, at least, leaving a tract in hopes that someone will find it, read it, and get saved. I’m not saying that doesn’t happen. I’m sure it does. I would imagine, though, that it may be the exception and not the rule. This method of evangelism is better than nothing, of course. It’s a good place to start, I suppose.

I just think that in this day and age, people are largely desirous of one common thing. Relationships. People need people. Your neighbor or coworker or whoever is much more likely to be effected by your witness if you actually have a relationship with them. Think about it. If you were lost, do you think you would be more likely to pick up a small, paper brochure type literature from the germ laden toilet paper dispenser in a bookstore bathroom or to engage in a conversation with someone who is showing an interest in you and your life. Acting like you actually care about someone can go a long way. Seeming as if you are genuinely interested in their life makes you more credible when you show an interest in their soul.

This is my opinion, of course, and I am only talking about America. I don’t hold the same opinion about less modern countries. So, tell me. What do you think? Are tracts an effective means of evangelism, an archaic attempt to reach contemporary society, or somewhere in between?

“We profess to be strangers and pilgrims, seeking after a country of our own, yet we settle down in the most un-stranger-like fashion, exactly as if we were quite at home and meant to stay as long as we could.” – Amy Carmichael

I’ve been busy. Really busy.

But I’ve been happy.

Really happy.

I’ve been trying to consciously focus on the beauty that surrounds me every day. I am rich. I am blessed beyond measure. I am surrounded by luxury that most of the world can’t even fathom. My cupboards, on their barest day, are vast storehouses of abundance to the mother in Ethiopia.  The books on my shelves…the magazines on my tables…the Internet at my fingertips is a fathomless well of knowledge that the woman in North Korea can only dream of. I can only imagine what the domestically inclined mother of one in China would think of my four children that fill my home with laughter. I step in a hot shower every day, choose from an array of wonderfully scented soaps, scrubs, and shampoos, and I marvel at the decadence. I open drawers and peer in my closet, and I am astounded at how much I have. I have debated whether to send my children to a private Christian school or to choose from a plethora of available resources to homeschool them, all the while knowing that if I chose to do neither the public education system would educate them for me. We are so blessed. We are filthy, stinking rich, and most of the time we don’t even notice.

I decided to notice.

I have noticed that my house is always messy because it is filled with children. Children who live and laugh and love in this house every day. There is dropped and forgotten food on my kitchen floor more often than not because we have plenty. They have plenty. They never go hungry. It’s always available for them to help themselves when the least feeling of hunger presents itself, and that is the story that the cracker crumbs and sticky yogurt residue tell. The laundry piles up when I’m busy with other things because we have clothes to last us many days without doing laundry. If we run out of anything, we go to the store. If we get sick or hurt, we go to the doctor. If we want to go to church, we go. No one stops us. No one even makes it difficult. We are rich and free and abundantly blessed and we didn’t do one thing to deserve it anymore than those who live in Ethiopia or North Korea or China. God has showed us his unmerited favor, and that has a way of changing your perspective.

I’ve chosen to look around today, and marvel in the beautiful ordinary. The ordinary mess that is the rule rather than the exception. The noise level that can drive you crazy if you don’t take the time to see that it comes from wrestling boys, a little girl learning to play the piano, or the baby singing, “Mommy! Daddy! ‘Lijah!” in a musical testimony to being surrounded by love and family and good things from birth. The busy schedule. The college education, the good job that pays well, the church family, the karate lessons, the piano lessons, trips to the park, playdates with friends, family get-togethers, a little brother’s football game, and on and on and on.

How can we not realize how beautiful our lives are? We have everything we need! We have Jesus. We have family. How can we not revel in every beautiful day? How can we not marvel that our ordinary lives are beautiful, decadent, extravagant displays of wealth and favor?

Take a look around you. If you are rich enough to be able to log on and read this blog post, you are blessed. You are rich. I dare you to notice your ordinary today. Gratitude will follow.