MomminginMinistry

Have you ever gotten so focused on a particular task that you forgot exactly why you started it in the first place?  My dad used to have a reputation for being a little obsessive compulsive with cleaning. I do not have this same reputation. Before Daniel's second birthday party, over twelve years ago, he came over a few hours before our guests arrived to help me get ready, since cleaning with a two year old under foot feels a lot like shoveling in a snowstorm.  My dad was amazing. Down on his knees scrubbing grout, restoring the sink handles to their original shine. But I was getting nervous as I watched the timer tick. I began setting up chairs, and putting out table clothes while he started worrying about fan blades. With almost exactly twenty minutes to go, dad pulled our the stepladder that I stored in the tiny space between my refrigerator and the wall, exposing a forgotten layer of dust, and hard to reach toys and magnets.  My dad's eyes grew wide. "Do you think we ...

There's this improv game that we play with the kids in children's church sometimes, when we have a little extra time to kill at the end of a lesson. Its called hitchhiker. Basically, there are four chairs, set up like a car filled with one driver, two passengers, and an empty seat. Someone in the audience enters the car and sits in the empty seat, in the role of the hitchhiker. The hitchhiker's role is to set the tone. They're the backseat driver. Prior to them entering, the car could be booming out "Sweet Caroline!" but if the hitchhiker gets in, puts in their headphones,  slouches down in their seat, and stares out the window, every other person in the car also becomes a sullen teenager. A few minutes later, the driver bails, everyone slides over, and a new hitchhiker gets in. Maybe they're yelling like a maniac, or have an incurable case of the giggles. Everyone else follows suit. You get the picture. We may be in the driver's seat in that we are in...

  I woke up in a funk Friday. It's a condition I could call the "2020's".  Disillusionment over relationships too easily damaged. Concern for the people who I love most, who happen to be among those most negatively impacted physically, emotionally, and some even financially by COVID19 and all that has brought with it. Disappointment that even the tragedies we've witnessed haven't softened hearts and made us more aware of others' suffering. Hurt over the way people who share the most essential of values can call each other heretics, idiots, and sheep. Grief after witnessing the death of decency on live television last Tuesday night. Disbelief over the strange plot twist given to the world via Twitter early Friday morning. And an overwhelming sense of dread for what the inevitable ripple effects might be.  This sounds like a drug commercial. If you have these symptoms.... My drug of choice? I chose to grab the Dutch Brothers gift card I had waiting for such ...

If you did not see the dumpster fire that erupted Tuesday night, perhaps you have caught the social media recap. I have my own personal thoughts on what types of psychological games and manipulations were being played. What strategic moves were made to mess with our minds. But that discussion could easily dissipate into a childish argument of who interrupted who more. That's what "they" want. Out of love for my wide-variety of friends, I will turn off comments or remove my post before I allow that. Those discussions are not what this post is about, and running a country isn't for children. So...back to the dumpster fire...Wednesday morning one of my friends reposted the words of Shauna Niequest, an author I also follow and respect. In the post Shauna says that at one point she asked her children to leave the room. Here is my response, which I decided I'd turn into a blog post. (My apologies to the friend who got a full blog entry response as a comment on post! I c...