Day 20: How Important You Think Education Is

"The More You Know, the More You Grow," isn't that the old saying?
It's true.
I believe education is critical, but not as critical as the delivery of that education. What you teach, and what you learn, is not half as important as HOW you teach, and HOW you learn. This isn't a diatribe on the educational system in our nation; rather, it's one person's thoughts on how teaching has changed.
I was educated in what was essentially a glorified homeschool. Seriously--I've been blessed to get in on the first year of two Christian schools, once as a kindergartner, and once as an eighth-grader. On the plus side, I know that everything starts somewhere. On the negative side, I was ill prepared for even a college as small as the one I chose.
I have had amazing teachers. I have had horrible teachers. I have had generations of teachers from the same family (who, incidentally, made the greatest impact).
My teachers read to us; they made us take notes. They educated us about a loving God, and they taught me things like, "never fall in love with your first draft." They gave us life lessons that I still remember, and they looked at teaching like the ministry that it is.
"How" you teach is more important than "what" you teach.
Do you know what I remember from algebra class? I remember the teacher that tutored me after school at no charge, and gave me a ride home, for an entire semester. Do I remember algebra? Heck, no. But I remember that teacher, and I remember her kindness.
I remember the Gettysburg Address.
But I also remember the teacher that read to us after every lunch period, every day, every year.
Life has taught me more than four years in college. But the things I learned in school provided a foundation that I'm thankful for--they've provided a great resource for me, and I'm glad I went.
Education is important, not necessarily for what you learn, but for the processes by which you learn it...It shapes you, and causes you to really think about why you believe what you say you believe.
I never want to stop learning, even when I'm not in a classroom. 

Day #19: Disrespecting Your Parents

Today's blog topic simply said "Disrespecting Your Parents." It didn't say, "what do you think about ____?" or "what would happen if you were _____?" Nope--just "Disrespecting Your Parents."
So, here's my interpretation:
I try not to disrespect my Mom and Dad.
I have expensive dental work.
I'd like to keep it in place.

But seriously!!!
There are a few things in this world that I am proud of myself for. One, is the fact that I've never smoked. Anything. Not a thing. Ever.
Secondly, is the fact that I lived with my parents, and for the most part, kept it respectful, until I was 27 years old--when I got married.
My mom and dad are loud, funny, bold people with strong opinions. I am also a loud person with a strong opinion. This leads to heated discussions and a lot of frustration--I barely survived college (it's hard to watch your kid be an idiot!). But I love them, and I knew the rules: You live under my roof, you obey my rules, period.
Dad is Italian; Mom is adopted, and raised in Indiana. [Note: If you don't know this already, when I say "Dad," I'm referring to the guy that is technically my step-father. But "Dad-"hood is earned...and my biological father hasn't put in the effort, quite frankly, so my step-father is my Dad. Bio-Dad is referred to as such, or by his name (Fred) in this blog. That's not out of anger; my stepDad deserves the respect. My father keeps his distance by his choice.]
Dad chose us--he met and married my Momma when I was 8 years old, and my sister was 12. He had no idea what he was in for, but he has stayed, and for that, I am grateful. It hasn't been an easy road for him; the years have been rough, and he's had his struggles. But even though I question a lot, I do know that my Dad loves me. That goes deeper than blood.
Dad has dried my tears after bad concert performances; laughed at my jokes that weren't funny; fixed plumbing that I destroyed; and walked me down the aisle. I have beautiful memories with my dad, and I am eternally grateful that God put him in our lives.
As for Mom...I can't say enough. I can't say anything--there are no words. That's the relationship that almost never was, but let me tell you: There is no one on this earth that loves me like that woman. The further I go on my own journey of motherhood, the greater and greater my respect and admiration for her grows. I had no idea what she went through, until now, and I'm just starting to catch a glimpse. She's made of iron, that's for sure, and like iron sharpening iron, we have struggled with each other...and we have helped each other grow in many ways. She has been the single biggest factor in helping me become the person I am today, and in shaping the person I hope to be.
I hope to someday have her work ethic--her tireless, obsessed-with-excellence work ethic. She works with integrity-she IS a Proverbs 31 tough-as-nails kind of woman, even though it doesn't get recognized as often as it should. She is faithful, ferocious, sassy, crazy, and awesome. She's a force to be reckoned with, and that's an understatement.
There is no one on this planet like my mom, and if you don't know her, it's your loss. She's incredible. I've been around her more this year, than I have in a long time, because she watches my son for a little bit during the week. It's a big sacrifice for her, but I love seeing him with her...it makes me think of my own grandma, and how much I loved her.
I want JD to grow up loving my mom like I loved my Grandma M....who was also a force to be reckoned with!
I'm human. I get mad at my parents...I get mad at my dad's choices; I loathe his motorcycle. I get frustrated at the occasional miscommunication with my mom, and how things we say can get so misunderstood and misinterpreted. Anger is one thing, but disrespect is another, and that is one thing I do not do.
My parents are not on some kind of super-pedastal. No one knows your good side/bad side like your kids, and that's something I'm preparing for (can you ever prepare yourself for that?!?). I'm not delusional, and I'm not candy-coating them to make them sound like something they're not.
They really are incredible.
I didn't grow up like The Bradys. My parents loved Jesus, swore a lot, spanked our butts a little too often, made us do chores and homework, drug us to church, and bought our clothes on sale. They'd get mad and say terrible things, but they'd also teach us what the Bible said. They made sure we had a good education--I will never forget the times my dad tried to teach me algebra (sorry, Dad--lost cause!). Mom taught us to love music and dancing; my first dance was with my dad.
Our house was full of life and vibrance, strength through trials, perseverance and sacrifice. We have lived through a lot as a family, and we are bonded even more because of it.
I will never call my mother my "old lady," or my dad my "old man." I have said some dumb things to them, but never that. I feel like I have been a pretty respectful kid, in all honesty, and all things considered, I'm kinda proud of that fact.
Exodus 20:12 says "Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." I believe that.  In 2006, I went into congestive heart failure. My left ventricle pretty much stopped working, and my oxygen levels plummeted. There is no earthly reason I should have survived. I should have died, or at the very least, had a stroke.
I lived.
I was thinking about this verse one day, when it hit me: Maybe that's why I lived? Maybe my respect for my parents, the fact that I was obedient, is why God decided to let me live?
I don't know if that's true, or if that's arrogant to think....I have no idea. But it certainly put it into perspective, and it's something I'm going to teach my son!  
Disrespecting the people who have given so much to bring you into this world, shows just how much of an unappreciative, unworthy jerk someone is. Our parents (even bio-dad) are deserving of respect for their lives, for their experience, and for the love they give us...God gave us to them (and most of our parents have dedicated us back to Him), so if He respects them that much, shouldn't we?
I love my mom and dad. 
They're pretty freakin' cool. :)

Day 1: Accepting the Challenge

The 30 Day Challenge…

Nah, it’s not a diet (like I’d go public about if it was! Sure, let me just post that, and then you can all watch me FAIL MISERABLY!!).   It’s a kinda-cheesy little blog challenge that a friend of mine posted. I’ve discovered that I have all of these ideas in my head, and I keep forgetting to just sit down and write it out. My hope is that a little challenge like this will help me get my head back in the game. After all—isn’t writing what I REALLY want to do? (Yeah…it is….along with speaking/singing/teaching/painting…and I wanna be an astronaut and a farmer and a President and a…….Oh, wait, you mean I AM a grown-up?!?!? Bummer).

So, this little challenge will hopefully get me in the right mindset of the bigger blog challenges that come with promoting increased readership. That’s what I’d love to see happen—more readers, and maybe a mini-career out of this writing stuff that I’ve loved for so long. It’s a small start, but here we go….here’s to sticking to it!

Day 1:  Your current relationship; if single, discuss how single life is

Seriously? That’s the first question?!? Sigh. Not very original…but I did say it was cheesy!

I’m married. I’m married to a man whose name means “Beloved,” and it’s engraved on his wedding band. He is my beloved, and I am his, and we are a combination of happy circumstances that were ordained by God. I’m married to a man who chases God, who constantly reads, researches, studies, and seeks to understand the very heart of the Lord. I’m married to a man who has pushed me to my ultimate limits, who has broken my heart into a thousand pieces, who has held me together and kept me off of ledges, and who has the strongest shoulders I have ever seen…I am married to a man who likes me a little bit crazy, but who can handle me when I’m off of the deep end. I am married to a man who has an insane love of furniture and home décor…who has a palette that rivals Gordon Ramsay, and who missed his calling to be an Executive Chef of Southern Home Cooking.

I am married to a man who has shown me what I already knew: He is an incredible father. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who a.) loves God and b.) loves his child. David and his mini-me are my favorite guys on this planet . The Journey to JD (our son) was a long, arduous, insane path, and David stayed on it with me. I don’t understand his thought processes any more than he understands mine, but I do know this: He has stayed.  He has stayed, and he will stay (God-willing), and he will raise our son to be a faithful, kind, loving man, just like he is.

I am married to a man who is far from perfect. I find socks in the recliner, T-shirts on the floor, and toothpaste in the sink; he is known for volcano-like eruptions at stoplights.  He forgets to tell me I’m pretty, he expects praise for the mundane (yes, honey, you’re great—you did the dishes. Which I have done, in anonymity, for days. Would you like a parade? You would? Okay..but you’re cleaning up the confetti.), and he drinks the last of the coffee creamer without telling me. He also steals Nutella, which is a cardinal sin.

I am a wife who flies off of the handle. I am emotional, possibly slightly bipolar, and I have struggled with depression for years. I can be a complete know-it-all; I am messy, boorish, obstinate, and disobedient. I fight with what it truly means to be submissive. I am high-maintenance, and my health issues have caused us no end of financial and marital stress. I can be very unstable, predictable in my unpredictability, and I constantly struggle with filtering what comes out of my mouth. I struggle with my faith, with reading the Bible over reading a good book, and I do not use my talents for the things that I’m sure God would like for me to use them on. 

I am a mother, and I’ve been one for 7 years. I am a mother, and I’ve been one for 6 months. I am confused as to various parts of my identity as a woman, as a Christian, as a church member. I feel useless but overused; ignored, but too loud. I am fiercely protective, and if you harm my child or flirt with my husband, I will end you. That’s a promise.

I can be a cutthroat B if you cross me, and I find myself constantly fighting against that tendency. I lose more than I’d like, at least, mentally. I’m incredibly thankful for grace. I am faithful…I am expressive…I am an individual who is not often understood, but David gets me (most of the time). If he were writing this blog, I’m not sure how he’d describe me (Spender? Undisciplined? Spoiled? Drama Queen? Micromanaging psycho?), but I hope he’d remember that I’m still that blonde in high heels that agreed to go on that second date…

Without my husband, I am still me…but I am not a happy me. I am not a fulfilled me. I miss my other half, when he’s not around; I feel exposed and vulnerable. As time goes on, I feel more and more naked when he’s not around, and I don’t like it. He’s become my covering, which is as it should be. We may forget to say certain niceties to each other, but at the end of the day, I think we both find the bed feels warmer with both of us in it. Our little family felt complete before, during, after, before, and during children, and dog, and everything else…but as time goes by, it feels more complete than ever.

When we got married, we looked at the broken homes that we came from, and we made a promise to each other: We would not go down that path. The “D” word is not spoken in our house. We recently had a major disagreement that was loaded with hurt and pain—we’ve been through a lot lately. The question of single parenthood came up, and was immediately shot down—the thought is worse than a horror film. We do not stop. We do not back down. We stay together, through hell, high water, hurt, and happiness. We are welded together in steel, and we ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya’ here? We made a vow before God, and we meant it.

I mean it, every single day.

I love that man. I’d lay down my life for that man. He makes me crazy (and that's MUTUAL!), but he makes me happy. Where he goes, I go; where he stays, I stay. His God is my God, and his people are my people, and that’s all there is to it.

We are a combination of our best and of our worst, and of our everything in-between. I can’t say enough about how much I love being married, or about how many times I’ve wondered if we both have lost our minds. I can’t describe to you, the peace I feel when he takes my hand (even if it’s just to keep me from wandering into traffic). I’ve blogged about marriage before, and maybe in my head, I have a crazy, romantic notion of it that might be different from how it is when I walk in the door after a long day…But if that’s true, then it’s a delusion I’ve held for almost 9 years, and I’ll keep it.

I married a lover of God.

I married a lover of me.

Through fire and fury, we’re bonded together in grace, laughter, pain, and hope…

And we belong to Jesus first,

Each other second,

To our children, third….

And to the dog, of course….