Happy Birthday, Caleb!

My “baby” brother with his favorite (only) niece!

50¢ Corndogs

As a family, we don’t eat out very often. Coffee and donut holes at Dunkin’ Donuts are usually our go-to-we-can-afford-that treat. Oh, and ice cream. Because ice cream is absolutely essential in one’s diet and budget. Right? 

Anyhow…

This morning I got a text stating that Sonic was having 50¢Corndogs all day! Now that is something I can afford. Even if we throw in an order of tator tots and cherry limeades (1/2 price via the app!). So, we had dinner out!

Emry loves corndogs. Ethan is a picky eater so he ate about half of it and then I had to take off the breaded part so he would eat the rest of the hotdog. Emry had a couple of tater tots. Ethan is beyond bizarre and doesn’t eat anything dealing with a potato. Both LOVE strawberry limeades and the mini size is perfect for little people. And even though it was a bit windy out, the weather wasn’t bad either.

 Emry and her strawberry limeade.

Ethan and his corndog.

How to Choose a Church

I was going to start this blog with the comment that I wish there was a book on the topic of how to choose a church. But then I Googled it. And there a multitude of said books. Wise King Solomon was correct: “Of making many books there is no end.” (Ecclesiastes 12:12)

I won’t judge any of these books by their covers, but I would have to say that choosing a church is not a simple read-and-do. Unless, perhaps, you don’t really care what kind of church you go to because all you’re interested in feeling good and checking a box on your highway to Heaven. (FYI: you’re not going to get to Heaven by simply checking boxes…or going to church.) But for those of us who want to worship our Lord and Savior with our family in Christ, well, finding a really good church is hard – even in America.

Just before we decided to move to Pittsburgh, a Sunday school lesson addressed the subject of churches. I can’t remember exactly what the entire lesson was about (something in Paul’s epistles) but our pastor in Pittsburgh wrote out a chart on the white board that a professor at his seminary had once shared. Basically, it broke out choosing a church into three categories:

1)  Essentials – these are articles in our doctrine that we would live and die on (if we were to live in a country where that was a real possibility). Things like Christ being the ONLY way to God, the Trinity, the deity of Christ (and also His manhood), Christ’s second coming (millennial views aside), Christ’s full and finished atonement for our sins and the literal death, burial and resurrection of Christ. In a nutshell: the bedrock of our faith.

2)  Distinctions – these are where the breakdown of denominations occur. For instance, the means and mode of baptism. Presbyterians typically baptize infants while Baptists certainly do not. So while can you can commune as brethren in Christ together, you are likely to end up in different churches. (But not always as I have been a member of each, although I am a Baptist on this subject.) Another one might be Calvinism vs. Arminianism. Some might say those two camps can’t drink from the same well, but John Wesley and George Whitefield would disagree. And I have been in churches where both worship side by side.

3)  Give-or-take – these are things in a church you treasure but are not things you would die for and may be things you can “bend” on. Children’s ministries, maybe, or elder rule versus a pastoral staff. A big one is probably music. That’s one I struggle with, although I’ve come to ask myself is the music for mere feel-good entertainment or truly a mode of worshipping God?

A disclaimer on these three points: godly people disagree on where some topics might fall. Some people would never step foot in a Calvinist church so their Arminianism would fall under number one for them. Others can give and take on millennial views but some are “hard core” and I even know one church where you have to agree to their view to be a member. So these points are not all inclusive, but they certainly have helped us think through our process.

When my family moved to Indiana in 2009, we visited THIRTEEN different churches. And then, literally, settled. For nearly eight years. But we’re not church hoppers (moving every two years aside), so I think my parents now feel eight years overstayed their welcome, especially since no one at that church bothered to ask why they finally left. Now they attend a church they can never join because there is a distinction they don’t agree with. It doesn’t curtail fellowship, but it does curtail membership. Which, I think, is why we decided not to attend there.

My sisters attend another church in town. Ed has actually never visited there, but I went several times last summer. For Indiana, it’s a mega-church. It’s certainly one you can get lost in, which is one of those give-and-take things I don’t like. I also feel the music tends more towards entertainment. However, I do think that church has some amazing gospel-reaching ministries. But I simply couldn’t attend there.

We visited four different churches upon moving here. One was an absolute no. The music was certainly for entertainment purposes and the slew of youth sitting behind us with no parental supervision passing around their Facebook and Instagram feeds on their phones during the entire service was beyond distracting. One simply didn’t “fit” even though the sermon and music were great. One we really liked and went twice, but the distance (which we had done in Pittsburgh) was not something we really wanted to repeat. So, exhausted already, we visited one last one in town that the pastor of the one we liked suggested. Surprisingly, we liked it.

I had actually visited that church when my family moved to Indiana in 2009, but I don’t really remember it and ten years later the leadership as well as the leadership structure (they are now elder rule) has completely changed. The music isn’t exactly what I would like, but it is worshipful. The preaching is good, the teaching is good. It’s a bit larger than we would like, but not so big as to get lost. The people are welcoming, the distinctions are exactly what we’re looking for (not as “hard core” as our church in Pittsburgh, but there is distinct grace) and we feel our children are safe. (They have a very lengthy child protection policy and check-in system for ALL children, even teenagers. Our church in Pittsburgh has a smaller but just as careful policy – a sad reality in the world in which we live.) It’s a church we can grow in, serve in and find a family in. And while no church is perfect, we are all sinners saved and living by grace. So, on Sunday we officially became members.

So, this lengthy blog is to tell you there are no “Ten Simple Steps to Finding Your Perfect Church” as much as I wish there were. But perhaps that’s as it should be. After all, there is no “perfect” church. And if finding a church was easy, I think I would have to question if my faith is easy – something the Bible says is simply not so. Faith is hard. Christ is triumphant.

My Little Troublemakers

So many people told me before Emry turned three that “three is the new two”. And while Emry certainly seemed more difficult at three than two, I’m not totally convinced. Because Ethan is certainly two…and then some!

I don’t know if it’s just being a boy. I don’t know if it’s because Emry’s response to his annoying her is to push. Or maybe it’s just a stage. But whatever it is, my little guy has suddenly become the playground bully.

I take some comfort in the fact that Ethan does not appear to suffer from “little man syndrome”. Although now over two-years old, he is the size of an 18-month old. Plus he’s just very slight in build. But it doesn’t seem to bother him. For no reason at all at the play area on Monday, he came up behind a girl his size but probably at least six months younger and simply shoved her. So, he had to apologize and we had to have a talk about not pushing – especially girls! Apparently this little chat went in one ear and out the other two days later he did it again at the Chick-fil-a play area. But that wasn’t even the worse of it. Five minutes later, he pushed a boy probably his age but a good head taller right to the ground. For playing with what he wanted to play with. The little boy didn’t seem bothered by it, but I was. Stubborn in his opinion that he had a right to that play thing, it took me several minutes to get an apology out of Ethan. And several more to scold him more than once over his behavior. 

Sigh. No mother wants the playground bully for a child.

Meanwhile, Emry quite alarmed me the other night while we were in the store. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier that evening when she was twirling in the mirror of the fitting room in her new Minnie Mouse swimsuit, but the light wasn’t great in that store. At the next store, I came around the corner of an aisle and saw her at a different angle – with a black eye!

Now Emry does bruise easily, but a wound like that would have brought her to tears. I searched my mind for a recent tumble that would cause the side of left eye to bruise up and over onto the eyelid. I could come up with only one, but I couldn’t figure out how she had hit her eye in that particular tumble. Worse, why I had I not noticed it before? But then I wondered…and asked.

“Emry, have you been in my eye make up?”

She looked confused, shook her head and then said, “Maybe Ethan spilled it on me.”

That made no sense. Even though Ethan is usually the culprit in 95% of Emry’s escapades. Besides, I was still trying to figure out where she would have hurt herself, and how I could have missed it, and did it hurt? Plus I was trying to check out in the store. By the time we got home, though, I was pretty sure I knew the answer. So, I grabbed a wet cloth, wiped and…sure enough, off came the black eye! Emry had been in my mascara.

Emry does always want to put on makeup with me the one day a week I put it on (Sundays). She loves sparkling things, and being pretty, and stuff for her hair, and now – at not even four – she is preparing for a career as a makeup artist. 

But hopefully I made it clear she’s not to train for her future with my makeup.

My future chess masters.

Mastering a New Art

Please forgive me for having not blogged in a week. I did think of things to blog about, but I was almost too busy to sleep, let alone blog. I guess that’s what earned from my trip to Pittsburgh: more work. I worked in the airport, I’ve worked all weekend…and it hasn’t helped that Emry and Ethan decided to share their cold. I am very nearly wiped out.

Perhaps part of my problem is that I believe a job should always have learning curves. If it doesn’t, what joy is there in doing the same thing over and over again by rote? Plus, I was getting a bit lean project wise as far as work goes. Plus, the designers and landscape architects I work with are swamped and I like to be helpful. All that equals more work.

So, several weeks ago I asked if it would be helpful for me to learn a software system called Adobe InDesign. Those of you who might be graphic artists know all about it. I have played around in it once a few years ago, frustrated that I wasn’t sure what all the buttons meant even though I got the editing work done. The idea that I could learn this software has been tossed about but never really pursued. This time around, my boss jumped on it and sent me a link to a series of webinars that gave me a thorough crash course. That accomplished, I dabbled with updating the office resumes. And then jumped right into a full-blow proposal. Which (unfortunately?) went well.

For those of you who are quite a bit like me and don’t deal with graphic art, InDesign can create amazing things: colorful, intuitive, pretty awesome and very professional banners, postcards, posters, brochures and even pages and pages or a proposal or comprehensive plan. To some extent, your imagination is your limit. Which is why I am very limited. Because while I can admire colorful, intuitive and pretty awesome I don’t view things in that way. I see very much like a spreadsheet (without colored charts). So, it’s as blessing that I’m not creating anything from scratch. There’s always a preceding proposal to copy and then cut, piece add into as needed.

I was really nervous about this proposal and, not being proficient in InDesign, spent HOURS on it. And while it turned out great as far as turning it into a PDF and printing it, I’ve warned several people not to use it as a template. Because I didn’t do quite a few things the “right” way but more the “logical” way. So, it’s a bit like a patchwork quilt that has crooked seams. It looks okay at a distance, but don’t get too close.

But even crooked seams are a huge help when everyone is super busy and it turns out looking nicely. In fact, it’s such a huge help I have since edited another and now have one on my plate that is really making me nervous. Because the title of my blog is a bit misleading. I have by no means mastered InDesign. In fact, I feel like I know just enough to keep myself really busy and make myself a bit dangerous. 

Still, I’m kind of proud at learning something new and so different to me. And keep my fingers crossed that we’ll win the contracts for those proposals. Then, at least, I’ll feel a bit better about my crooked seams.

Pittsburgh

Okay, I am going to confess. Maybe it was the time change on Saturday/Sunday which was compounded because Ethan was sick that same night with a fever that thankfully broke in the morning (praise God!) and then increased by waking up at 3 Monday morning to catch a flight that allowed me to arrive in Pittsburgh by ten this morning. But as the plane flew right over where I work, banking along the Allegheny so I could see Heinz Stadium, PNC Park and the David Lawrence Convention Center as well a the Point and all the many skyscrapers I still can’t name (because they’re all called by various names depending on if you’re a native or recent transplant) it was all so….familiar. And almost like coming home.

Now I will cut myself short right here and declare that Pittsburgh is not a place I consider home. Not in the full sense of the word. Not in the sense that I would ever move back here. But from the plane, I recognized neighborhoods, and buildings, and roads, and areas we wiled away many hours as a family. And I the idea that I actually know this place that well made me feel very strange. I would have never guessed that in it’s own way Pittsburgh got under my skin. And thinking about it, why not? I was married here. I did give birth to two kids here. I lived here. Long enough to secretly laugh at the clerk at the hotel who said the shuttle would take me any place in the city I wanted to see as if I was a visitor and not someone who has seen quite a bit of city more times than I can count.

But it also didn’t take me long to remember why I don’t miss Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh is only airport I’ve been in where, while waiting for the train to take you from the main concourse to the terminal where security, baggage, drop-offs, pick-ups and all that stuff is, a recording repeats itself and over again about how wonderful Pittsburgh is and all the great things this city has contributed to society. Things like ketchup, Big Macs and banana splits. Or the first World Series (a real irony when you consider the owners of the Pirates today have little-to-no desire of making them a half-decent team) and winner to two sets of back-to-back Stanley Cups. Obviously, our pilot from Chicago has never heard of all these wonderful things for he wished us all a happy work day when we landed, joking that none of us looked like we were on vacation, an obvious jab that no one comes to Pittsburgh to vacation. Per normal, Pittsburgh thinks more highly of itself than most.

I certainly don’t miss the gas prices that are anywhere from thirty to forty cents higher than Indiana. Or the traffic in the Liberty Tunnel. Or the very odd accent, displayed in all its glory today when a man came into the office asking if he could see our security tapes in hopes of finding the guy who hit his truck nine nights ago when it was parked it front of our office while he went to a boxing match and caused $3,000 in damage. At least I think that’s what he said. I confess there were a few words I didn’t understand.

In so many ways, it’s like I never left. After all, I do spend every afternoon thinking about Pittsburgh, talking to people in Pittsburgh, doing work for Pittsburgh as if I live here and don’t sit in front of a laptop in Indiana. And now I’m back….until tomorrow…when I’ll be happy to leave again.

Traveling

For some people, marriage opens up a whole new world of adventure, travel and experience. The experience part is absolutely true. Adventure? Sure, if I looked at it in that way. Travel? Don’t make me laugh.

To my regret, I have never been a world traveler. (I really could have used all those 34 single years much more wisely at times…) But I did get on a plane three or four times a year and go somewhere other than the place I was currently living. The last time I was on a plane, however, was almost exactly five years ago when I flew from Minnesota to Indiana to spend about a week working on wedding plans with my mom and sisters. Then I got married. And haven’t stepped on a plane since.

Yeah…not much adventure here.

So, when work asked if I would come to Pittsburgh for a couple of days (all expenses paid) for a big meeting, I was surprised. Truly, I never thought I would step foot back in Pittsburgh until maybe this summer on a visit with Ed and the kids. Naturally, Ed’s first response was, “What do you mean you get to go back to Pittsburgh before I do?” But he was okay with it (if not a bit envious) and since my mom could watch the kids…I booked flights for myself for the first time in five years.

And then realized I’ve more or less forgotten how to travel.

I don’t own a single liquid item under three ounces. My small suitcase has had a broken wheel for years and I’ve never bothered to replace it because I don’t travel. And I have spent way more time packing than anyone should for a not-quite-48-hour trip. But I’m afraid I’m going to forget something.

But I’m kind of excited. I know airports aren’t much fun. Traveling wedged up against perfect strangers is no one’s idea of a great way to spend several hours. And there’s always the mental stress of passing through security as if it’s a test you’ve studied for for weeks but are pretty sure you’re going to fail. But I miss traveling. It’s as simple as that.

Besides, I can’t deny it. Despite the hours it will take me to get the Pittsburgh and the many hours of work waiting for me when I arrive, it is a “working vacation”. Time to spend some hours by myself with a brilliant mystery. Time to go out to grab a sandwich without two kids to juggle. Time to sleep without one ear cocked towards the baby monitor waiting for Emry or Ethan to stir. It’s going to be nice. And when I get back, it will be even nicer because I’ll have missed them so much I’ll love them even more.

Mortal Fear: A Bus?

It’s one of the many phrases we use that we don’t usually mean. “I have a mortal fear of caffeine!” someone exclaims. And since you are exceptionally unlikely to die from ingesting caffeine, this is a highly exaggerated statement.

On the other hand, if you hear someone state, “I have a mortal fear of snakes,” that could be taken as truth. If the someone is speaking of a rattlesnake. Which can kill. But a garter snake…well, while I would take off at a run in the complete opposite direction of said garter snake, a meeting with it would probably not result in anything closely resembling the lack or mortality.

Last week I was considering some travel options and stopped short of declaring I have a mortal fear of the Pittsburgh Bus System. The fact that it entails a Pittsburgh government entity aside (and therefore highly susceptible), the idea that I really am scared of the bus system made me stop short. I spent the entire four and half years of living in Pittsburgh avoiding a system that is used by most of the population for the simple fact that it took me the entire four and a half years of living in Pittsburgh to know where half the names blinking on the buses were even loosely located. But it’s not like figuring out a strange city is scary to me. The subway systems of New York, Boston or D.C have never once terrified me and in at least two of those cities, I knew nothing about my destination except markings on a map. So, I had to ask myself, why do I have a mortal fear of a bus when I view a subway system as a navigational challenge to be overcome?

I quickly dismissed the idea that, to use another turn of phrase, “I want you to know where my life insurance policy is held in case I get hit by a bus.” If I was to weigh it all in balance, I fear getting hit by an SUV more than a bus and I never even consider that when looking both ways to cross a street. And, again, I would fear an accident in my own vehicle much more than one on a bus. So, why do I really dislike the idea of taking a bus, not only in Pittsburgh but just about anywhere? It seems exceptionally silly.

And, truth be told, I don’t really have an answer to the question I asked myself. Some psychologist might be able to dig up something that happened to me way before any memories of my childhood actually take form. Because, if I’m honest, my deep seated fear of a bus starts way back when I was five…and I have a very clear memory of it. And, in actuality, it was not the bus itself I feared. It was the destination…or, rather, the journey…and the idea that I would get off at the wrong place.

In my memory, my first bus ride was to school. On the first day of Kindergarten, some warm August day in 1985 as I stood at the bottom of the driveway in Lewisburg, TN with my mom (and probably sister Katey), rainbow backpack slung over my back and favorite Strawberry Shortcake dress comforting my first-day-of-school nerves. Although I can’t say I was very nervous about school as a whole, or my new teacher, or making new friends. My “mortal fear” that morning was that I would get on that bus, it would stop at another school that looked very much like Marshall County Elementary and I would get off there by accident, lost is a sea of kids much bigger than myself. To say I was terrified would probably be close to accurate. After all, I can still remember that fear 34 years later!

Yes, yes, yes. It was a silly idea. The bus driver would never have let a little Kindergartener get off the bus with a bunch of high schoolers. But I couldn’t even read yet, let alone work through a problem logically. Interestingly enough, getting off at the wrong school didn’t ended up being a relevant fear. What really happened that morning was that Mr. Black forgot he had a new kid on his route and didn’t even stop to pick me up! I have a feeling my mom stood there wondering what in the world she was going to have to do to not only get me to school that day but also ensure the bus dropped me off later or picked me up the next day. But another driver stopped to get me. This driver had already been to Marshall County that morning, but she drove her last stop to Connelly (the middle school) and then drove little me all the way to my school and let me off at the door of the place I recognized where I quickly walked to my classroom and started my school career. (And if you think this is luxury service, well, when you’re Betty Ann Ogilvie’s granddaughter….nothing in Lewisburg is considered too luxurious!)

After that auspicious start, I can’t remember ever fearing a bus ride again. And yet there remains some inset fear of getting on a bus and getting off at the wrong place – a thing 95% more likely to happen in Pittsburgh than anywhere else on earth I know of. And, so, I am happy to report that someone is picking me up. Yea! No bus! Yea! No getting lost on this trip!