T.C. Slonaker's Blog, page 6

"Put Your Baby In the Food Dish..."

You know what a manger is, right? First from Greek, then from the French word "manger," (pronounced "mon- ZHAY") which means "to eat," it's a food tough for animals. Not just your cute little pet puppy, but the animals who live outside. 

People in those days were dirty enough. It's said that the lowest servant was the one assigned to wash a person's feet when they entered a house. No one wanted to smell a person's feet! Can you imagine how dirty and smelly the barn animals were?

Most of us aren't farmers - but if you are, go take a look at your pigs' feeding trough. If you are not, and you have a pet, go take a look at their food dish. I'm not a farmer. I have indoor cats. What I see in their food dish is crumbs of slopped up food and tracks of slobber. This is after the dish had been washed (and used again).

Yuck. I don't even want to put my finger in it, let alone a brand new baby. You see, I was spoiled. I had three babies. All three were born in a fantastic hospital. Each baby was delivered by doctors and nurses who were wrapped and covered in clean scrubs and latex gloves and used completely sterile instruments. Each baby was taken, after a few moments with me, and washed head to toe. Each baby was monitored there in that clean hospital over the next two days to make sure no terrible germs had invaded their little bodies.

What if the nurse would have put one of my newborn babies on the floor instead of the bassinet lined with starched white sheets? She'd probably have been fired. I mean, do you know what could be on those floors? All the dirt and, um, everything ELSE that people track in on the bottoms of their shoes! THAT could have gotten on the skin of my precious baby.

So, Mary gave birth to her first-born child - stop right there and remember how much more we wash our hands before holding someone's FIRST child - and where did the God of the universe decide was the best place put Him down? In the feeding trough.

That's right. When our infinite God squished himself into the finite body of a baby human, dependent on other finite humans to understand His needs, He was perfectly fine to lay his head in the place where the unclean mouths of the cows and donkeys left their saliva.

What does this say? So many things, but here are a few.

1. God's way is not our way. It probably isn't generally a good idea for babies to be laid in a food dish. Neither is it preferred to beat and crucify innocent men for just proclaiming the truth. Sometimes God had other plans when it came to saving us from our sins.

2. Jesus was given to a race of people who did not know how to take care of Him. But that's okay. We aren't supposed to take care of him. He came to take care of us.

3. He is the Bread of Life. I don't think it was an accident that Jesus was laid in a manger. Though it's doubtful anyone realized it at the time, Jesus would spend His whole life giving every piece of Himself for us. And He is meant to be taken internally, straight to the heart, to give us complete health.

4. Mary trusted God. When I was pregnant with my first baby, I was terrified that not everything would go right. My biggest fear was that I wouldn't make it to the hospital in time. Mary was a new mom just the same as I was. (OK, she was a little different.) But she trusted that if God said it would be okay to let the baby sleep in a pile of hay, it would be okay. 

Do we trust God like that? If God said put your baby on a dirty hospital floor, or in a food dish hoping that wild animals don't come and eat him, would you? Maybe the task He gave you is even harder than that. If God told you to go somewhere where the floors are a little dirtier than you are used to or eat food that isn't as clean as you would like, would you?

We are sheep. We have been given something to sustain us forever. Are we going to accept it? Will we take Him in? We are hungry. He knows how to take care of us. He will feed us. 

Am I patient? Or just lazy?

Lately, my kids have taken to doing extra chores to earn money for Christmas shopping.

The floor is "vacuumed," the bathrooms are "cleaned," the laundry is "folded,"... the quotation marks should give you some idea of the quality of the work being done by kids who are just eager to get the nasty stuff over with.

But I'm a perfectionist, especially in some areas of cleaning. So, messes on the floor, even after the work is done drive me crazy. But do I do anything about it? 

No.

My supporters, fans and loved ones cheer me on, with fists in the air shouting, "She's such a great mom! Look how patient she is while training her children how to survive in life!"

The critical ones whisper behind their hands to one another, "Really. She's so lazy, she'll live in filth and let her children think they are just fine."

The truth? Can you handle it?

The truth is... I'm just tired.

Again, the critics will find their cause to complain. "Tired? Tired from what? Sitting around on the computer all day?"

While the supporters will sympathize, "Oh poor thing. Of course she's tired. Look at all she does!"

The bottom line is this. People are going to think what they want to think. We can't do anything about them. But we CAN do something about ourselves and the way we think.

You don't need to be a supporter (if it means you are being an enabler) or a critic. Just see things how they are. Too often we assign motives to others when in actuality, that motive may never have even crossed the person's mind.

It happens a lot in children. "Look at that person smoking. He must have such an awful life that he wants to kill all of us."

I'm not a proponent of smoking, but I can bet that at least 99% of smokers don't do it to get revenge on the world with second hand smoke.

Of course, we as adults don't make such assumptions. Or do we? Has this ever been you...?

"Look at her get in the express line with more than 10 items. Who does she think she is that she doesn't have to wait like the rest of us?"

When in actuality, said person probably just didn't notice it was an express line. (Come on now, haven't you been that person too?)

But it can go the other way too. We can lift people up for their deeds, when again, the person never gave it a second thought.

"What a saint. She goes to church every week."

Admittedly, the latter seems much less dangerous. Except in the Christian world, where we will give man credit in God's place. 

"See how the people in that church are feeding the hungry?"

The people are? Or God has made a way?

And then there is blind admission.

"I know my friend likes to shop. And her husband has trouble making enough money to pay the bills. But she's a smart cookie. She won't spend more than she has. One cup of coffee won't hurt."

That last example might have a touch of laziness or selfishness added to it as well, but probably a good amount of our enabling stems from believing the best out of mankind. Problem there is that man wasn't built to live up to expectations 100% of the time. Only God can do that.

Where does that leave us? In silence? Don't say anything to anyone, because you will be wrong, right?

No, here is what I am saying. Before you make a judgment about a person's motives, see if you have been there before. Sometimes there just aren't any motives!

Sometimes the glass is half empty, and sometimes is it half full. But most of the time, it just has some water in it that a thirsty person wants to drink.

About Those Good Deeds...

Right now, there is music blaring from my neighbor's house. Not so much the music, but the beat. It has been going since 7:00 this morning. Since I don't get up until 7:30, it was not a welcome noise.

This neighbor is not someone who gets along with anyone. He does not like kids or dogs, and we all wonder why he chose to move into a neighborhood filled with both.

But I can guess what's going on. I am guessing he has gone away for a few days and his adult son is staying to watch the house for him. I remember when the son lived here, that he enjoyed loud music.

In the past, this neighbor has called the police on other neighbors when their dog barked for too long. He doesn't like noise. I'll tell you what, I don't care much for this noise myself. After listening to it for almost 8 hours now, it is really getting to me. I've knocked on the door, but with the music so loud, of course, no one came to answer.

Now it's MY turn to call the police, isn't it? Time to get that neighbor back for the way he has treated others, right?

But I'm not going to.

This son has had trouble with the police in the past. We don't talk much, but I'm pretty sure my neighbor isn't thrilled about that. So, what would it solve to involve the police in his life again? 

It would get him back for always being mean, wouldn't it? Yeah! 

But, like I said, I'm not going to. And that's my good deed today.

Good deeds can go unnoticed, and even be things that you DON'T do, like not calling the police when no real harm is being done, even if you can.

Sometimes what you do will be unearned. Like when you DON'T yell at customer service, even when they give you an attitude.

Sometimes the good deed that you do for a day never gets a thank you. You might even get yelled at. For example, the poor teacher who gave a a student a poor grade for not studying and decided it would be best to discuss this with the parent. Of course, the parent yells back at the teacher for having unreasonable expectations. The teacher absorbs to anger but doesn't yell back. Because somewhere down the line, a valuable lesson could be learned.

Sometimes your good deed will seem pointless. Like returning a shopping cart someone left out in the parking lot, far away from the corral. On a cold and windy day, that's one less cart the grocery store staff has to go running out after.

Sometimes, you see an easy way to get ahead, but you don't. You may have just saved an insurance company some money, making rates more affordable for those who struggle.

Sometimes, you DON'T honk your horn at the person who pulled in front of you a little too close, and you may have just saved everyone on the highway from an incident of road rage or resulting traffic accident.

What are other people giving thanks for today? Maybe it's you. Maybe their Facebook post today read something like this: "I had a really awful day. I couldn't get anything right at the register. But I am thankful for the customer who was patient with me while I figured it out."

Often you do a good deed and never see who it might benefit- or if anyone does at all. And when you do these things without even thinking about it, that's when you have earned respectable character. And that's when everyone benefits.

My Husband's Gonna Love This Post

Which means it is about one of two things... and sorry to disappoint you, but it's about cycling.

Lately, in my rebellion against running, and my desire to keep up the metabolism, I have taken to riding my bike. It's a lot easier on my body than running, so I can stay at it longer (keeping the benefits of the run). And it just so happens that I married a man who knows a lot about cycling. (For example, those who ride the 2-wheeled machines without motors are "cyclists," not bikers.)

I call him "Coach" because he can be a different guy when he talks about riding. But I'm starting to get it. He laughs at me when I complain about motorists not following the laws. 

He's been trying to teach me other things too, about how to get the most out of a ride. The outcome of your ride can depend greatly on the gear in which you ride. Until recently, I never switched gears. (Shh. Don't tell Jeremy.)

Another factor, though, that affects your ride is the weather. This one is interesting, because you have no control over it. You can only react to it. The biggest factor when riding? 

The wind.

When you ride your bike, your 1** lb. body is suspended on a machine that probably weighs less than one-tenth your own body weight. And the only parts of that machine that are touching the ground are on either side of you, not directly under you. There's a lot of room for the wind to play around in.

Switching gears back to gear switching. (he he!) I have noticed there are two kinds of riders. I call them the pushers and the spinners: 

1. Pushers ride with a smaller gear. It requires more effort - you need to add more work to go, but you get a stronger output, and therefore, go faster.  I like that. I'm a pusher.

2. Spinners use a bigger gear and let the bike do most of the work. You don't have to do much, and the bike will still go. But since the bike doesn't have the muscles you do, you don't go as fast. My husband encourages me to "spin" more, because it's a better aerobic workout. But I don't like doing work that gets me nowhere.

Now, combine what we just talked about - gears and wind. Although I try to avoid riding on windy days, one day the other week, I had no choice. I picked the LEAST windy day of the week, but still had to deal with about 11 mph wind and gusts. Pushing into the wind is hard, and there are times that it feels like the wind might push you backwards. And since it is already hard to push on a small gear, you might be tempted to switch to a bigger, easier gear to make  it easier to pedal.

But, if you try to go up to an easier gear, you are more susceptible to the forces around you. The bike isn't heavy enough to fight the wind for you. The more reliance you put on your bike (in that easy gear), the more the bike will decide to go with the wind, the less control you have. You are really going to wind up being tossed in the direction the wind puts you.

Your life is the bike. The wind is the forces around you. Like it or not, it's a windy day. You have thrown yourself into the forces around you, which are other people. You have a choice. You can put yourself in an easy gear and go with the flow of the people around you, letting them decide where you should go and what your path will be, or you can fight it in a smaller gear. You can take control and go where you choose to go. It's hard. But the more you do it, the more muscle you build and the easier it will come.

We have no control over the wind or the windbags. But when we put the effort into it, we can choose what's right for us.

A Parent and a Teacher

I don't homeschool, but I must say I hold absolutely nothing against my friends who do. (Because I know my friends are doing it the right way, and not just drifting through life on a whim.)

I decided I couldn't homeschool my kids. (And I do mean "I" here and not "we." My husband very much wanted me to homeschool. But after spending all those preschool years alone with my daughter, I knew she would learn nothing from me. After reasoning with my husband, he agreed.)

Now all three of my kids are in a public school. Suburban public schools have a lot to offer kids, and our district, especially, has phenomenal teachers. They are often more idealistic than realistic, but that is the charm of teachers fresh out of school. I was there once myself.

But one thing is getting missed, it seems. The kids' school day is being prolonged into home time as well.

Kids are given homework, but not like they were in the old days. When I was growing up in elementary school, homework was usually a worksheet and maybe copying down our spelling words.

Now, worksheets are of the devil, and homework is rarely considered an individual event. Kids are asked to complete it WITH parents. Not, parents check over the work or sign off on the end. But rather have your mom or dad do this activity too.

I'm sure I sound horrible. Why can't you just give a little time to your kids when they have been in school for 6 hours?

It's because I'm still parenting. A lot of what I do to give my kids a healthy upbringing doesn't always involve me interacting with them. And it can't all be done while they are in school. I can't do homework with 2 kids while I am making dinner and making sure that everything is together for soccer practice.

Once, a teacher asked one of my children where her priorities were, with soccer or with school. I don't like that. She concentrates on school during school time, and needs to have a physical release more than she needs a few hours of homework.

Oh, I haven't told you my theory on homework yet. This, you need to know to see where I am coming from. 

When I taught, the rule of thumb was 10 minutes of homework per grade level per night. 
I only gave what was necessary - to the point that I looked at each and every math problem before I assigned it to see if I thought the kids needed that strategy reinforced, and if there had been enough of those already assigned. Homework was STRICTLY for reinforcing what I had already taught, and never to introduce a new concept. Because, if I had every student learning from their parents, they would come in with 27 different ways to solve the problem. Some could have been right, but... 

I never gave homework on the weekend (except long term projects). My thought was that there would be 2 groups of students- 1: those who would do the work Friday after school. Backing up to the idea of reinforcing, that would be great, but the material would lost on them by Monday. What's the point? Then there are the kids in group 2: those who would wait until Sunday night. By that point, they HAD already forgotten. Forgotten the directions, the assignment... the point.

I do know my family and my kids. And I know they aren't extraordinarily abnormal. As a matter of fact, grotesque amounts of homework seem to be plaguing my circle. Homework is keeping kids from doing sports, playing instruments, and even going to church. 

I have a first grader, who loves to do homework, so getting her started on it, isn't a problem, but after an hour or so, she does get tired. (We try to get homework done before dinner, because evening are often busy with other activities.) The fourth grader does homework reluctantly, because he can't get it all done before dinner. And then there's the sixth grader. I really don't know how all her work gets done. 

In our house, it's coming down to either getting homework done before bedtime or getting a shower. I'm not sure people sitting next to my kids would agree with the choice we make some days.

(And to those teachers who give all the homework at the beginning of the week, due at the end- THANK YOU! It's nice to not be rushed on the days that are rush days.)

It's hard to blame teachers. They, themselves, are getting more than their fair share of homework. Beyond correcting and evaluating the students' work, they also are required (at least in Pennsylvania) to attend 180 hours of continuing education AND attend training on Core Curriculum. 

But here's the deal. I have work to do too. 

And I WANT to be a good mom. But my parents were good parents, and I don't ever remember them "helping me" with my homework. Never. I don't remember ever asking. 

(That's a lie. I did ask my dad one time to help with math, but he showed me to do it in a way that was different than the way the teacher had taught us. So I realized he would not be the best person to help anymore.)

As for the "buddy up with your mom or dad" homework? If that were given when I was a kid, that homework would not be done. It was hard enough to get an assignment book signed or obtain lunch money. I can't picture my mom getting home from work and hopping on one foot with me as we count by fives or helping me to come up with a journal entry after buddy reading an article with me. I would never have asked her to do it anyway. For goodness sake, I knew she worked all day!

Sometimes, I want to believe that being a good mom means making dinner while the kids are doing their homework. Maybe being a good mom is getting a child to practice or to church every time. Maybe my job is to make sure they get a shower. And then, if there is time, I want to go for a walk with them or play a game.

Our kids are kids. I want so much to let them just be kids for a little while instead of pushed toward constant escalating success.

And parents need time to be parents, too. There are other things we want to teach our kids other than what has already been taught in school. I know it will be reinforced with the next concept anyway. And we want our kids to see what we do - and how sometimes it involves things other than the kids.

It's not that I don't care about school. We talk about school at dinner and when they first get home. I review the papers that they bring home. And heck, I'm in their classrooms at every opportunity. They know me at the school. I think that says something.

So, teachers, when you  need to give homework, please remember I did all of mine years ago. I did pretty well on it then, but something tells me you might not grade it the same today.



*Although I know it gives me no bonus credit, I say this so you know I'm not just ranting, I have a reason for my distress. I did teach in public school, and I have a Bachelor's and a Master's in Elementary Education. Granted, those degrees are now eleven years displaced, and I will be the first to tell you that I do not know everything about the education system. Especially today.

A God Lesson from My Cat

I'm aware that this idea only appeals to a very select audience, but for the 4 of you who read the title and went, "Oooo...," this is for you.

She was quite scraggly when we decided to take her. Allergic to fleas, and covered in their bites, it was definitely a blessing for this cat to be rescued from the outdoors. She's a cross between a tortoise shell and a calico - beautiful colors splashed all over her. Her original "owner" had named her Funny Face. But I know that this soft-spirited kitty did not appreciate it.

I was actually the hold out. I didn't want that cat because she wasn't all that soft, and certainly less approachable than the others. But, there were three cats in the lot, and who were we to break up the "family"? 

We re-named her Reeses due to the chocolate/peanut butter colors spread over her. (OK, so you have to really use your imagination to see it.) And she was the last cat to "come out of her shell," so to speak.

As a matter of fact, the kids are still waiting.

Reeses is my cat. She chose me. She will go to no other person; let no one else pick her up or even touch her. When the kids enter the room, she runs like the dickens. Which is weird, because the kids are the ones who feed her. We have had Reeses for 5 years now, and no child has ever been able to pet her a full stroke.

But once every child has gone to bed, she immediately comes out from hiding and finds me on the couch. It doesn't matter if I have room for her on my lap or not, purring, she will find a space. Heaven forbid, however, if my husband, on the other side of the couch should cross his legs, speak, breath, or in any other way make his presence known. Because that will give me about a 15-minute break from Reeses on my lap.

When the family has gone to work and school, she will often wait for me on "my chair." Usually, she doesn't get up when I try to sit down, so I will actually have to lift her and put her on my lap. And if I stayed in my chair for the whole day, she would stay with me until the first child home from school opens the door. After that, I would see her again around 8:30 pm.

She chose me.

I did nothing to be picked. I didn't even want her in the beginning. Don't think the kids aren't reminding me of this all the time, either. 

I don't know why she picked me. I can brag to everyone about how much she loves me and wants to be with me, but I can't brag about how I deserve it. All I know is that something about being the one who gets her makes me feel pretty special. I'm the one who knows how soft she is. I could swear that cat smiles when she looks at me. 

And she's just a cat.

Imagine how special it feels to be chosen by the God of the universe.


*In case anyone is concerned that I have become some kind of Egyptian cat-worshiper, please let me remind you that this story is just an allegory. I do not think my cat or any other animal is a god. No matter what they themselves think.

I'm Crazy.* There. I said it.

So last week was officially Mental Health Awareness Week. Which means I am late, and I hate that. So, let's just look at this post as getting a jump on Mental Health Awareness Month, which is in May. Crazy, isn't it?

Oops. I said it. "Crazy." A word that's becoming more taboo than slang. Because it's real.

Crazy. A word meaning "mentally unstable." Though, it can mean a slew of other things too. 
"Let's go crazy."
"That dinner was crazy bad." 
"These kids are driving me crazy!"

Okay, that last one was a little closer to the truth. Here's my story.

A few months after my third child was born, I was diagnosed with postpartum depression (PPD). Not the "baby blues." I wasn't just sad; I was overcome. The time before I was diagnosed gave me a good look at how helpless a person is when she has depression that goes untreated.

Why was it so bad? What happens to me when things are bad? 

1. The voice. It's my own voice, but it is not controlled by me. This is the worst and hardest part of my depression, and also how I know when it's getting worse. It starts with one sentence - a question -"So, what do you think?" That may seem innocuous enough, but it's a question without an answer. I can't think any other thoughts. There's no space to give an answer. This is immobilizing because when I realize the record is playing, skipping, I become anxious in my inability to think any other thought. I can do the reflexive motions of blinking and breathing, but I couldn't tell myself to blink or breathe. I'll find myself wandering from room to room, because my brain can't give a direction to do something. The stress of this is exhausting.

Sometimes, the question changes. But it's always in the 2nd person, which I find unnerving.

2. Negative thoughts. Sure I know they aren't true, and I do everything I can to keep them to myself so others won't yell at me for thinking them, but they flow through my brain like water in a stream. In my untreated condition, I hear about how ugly, fat, or dumb I am. For some reason every awkward or humiliating moment in my life seems to float to the surface. And again, it's always in the 2nd person - "How can you be so stupid?" "Why on earth would you do such a thing?" "You can't wear that. People might see you!" "You're too fat to go out like that." 

"I hate you."

Either these thoughts are blinding, or depression truly affects your vision. I "see" myself as overweight. (Though I would NEVER say this out loud - I am completely conscious of young ears around me. I can't really even believe I'm blogging it.)  Thankfully, I had a friend in college tell me, "Nobody who wears a size 6 can call herself fat." I know my weight, BMI, and cholesterol. I am aware I am not overweight. But I can't see that. I can only "know" it. 

Even more than that, I'm bothered that my appearance means that much to me in the first place. (In my untreated condition.)

3. Anger and intolerance. If I can't see myself doing things right while in my untreated condition, neither can my family. My angry outbursts at my children was my number one reason for talking to my doctor. I never beat them, and really, they laugh at my spankings, but I yelled myself hoarse. I hope they don't remember that Mommy too clearly.

4. Tears at the ready. This goes along with #3. Inevitably, I would see how I yelled or believe the voices. It really isn't how I want to be, and remorseful tears would begin. 

Then I started medication. Amazingly, everything went back to the way it was supposed to be. (Notice I didn't say "normal.") That was my first clue that the medicine was filling a gap of something missing in my brain. 

My brain lacks the proper balance of chemicals. If they aren't righted, my brain/body doesn't function as it should. Just like if a diabetic doesn't have the right balance in his body of insulin, bad things could happen to his body too. Sure, he could pray for God to make the insulin in his body work, and I don't doubt He could do it. But maybe, God's answer is the medicine created to help get those chemicals in line. The same goes for depression.

Another point to make in my situation is that I have a small tumor on my pituitary gland (located: in the brain. function: control the release of hormones to the rest of the body.) This may or may not have any effect on the other chemicals released by my brain. It could be this way for many other women as well. Twenty-five percent of American women have such a tumor, and very few know it. (Mine was found after an MRI scan of my brain looking for a source of seizure problems.)
In case you missed it, yes, I said it. I take medicine for depression. Hopefully, you would never have guessed it, because I am good about taking my medicine. I take the lowest dose possible of venlafaxine. But on a day that I forget to take it, I can certainly tell.

Why am I so nervous about revealing to the world that I am on medication? Because some of you don't think I need it. Some of you are of the ilk that medicine is a drug, (okay, it is) and that drugs are bad. Sometimes yes. But not always. 

After a few months on the medication, my doctor and I decided to discontinue it. I firmly believe when medicine can help, it should be used, and when it is no longer needed, it should be stopped. (Logical, right?)

You see, I tried going off a few times. Each time has been the same. Right back to the same voices and behaviors I experienced in in my untreated condition before. I tried to get used to it, to see if maybe it was some kind of withdrawal, but with symptoms increasing over the next few weeks, my doctor and I decided I needed to go back on.

To note: I've done the same thing with my cholesterol medication. My cholesterol skyrockets when I am not on meds.

Back to the issue of my faith. Tracy, Why don't you just ask God to help you through your difficult moments?

Although I see the VALUE of prayer, and I KNOW that God could bring me out of this pit if I ask, when the neurons are misfiring and causing the broken record to play, I can't find the room in my brain for any other thought, valuable as it may be. I literally cannot pray.

Will I ever get better? I have no idea. I'll keep trying to find out. It would be great to give up the medicine, and I am perfectly willing. But I'm not willing to live without all the proper chemicals my brain needs. If my brain will manufacture them on their own, great! If it needs some outside help, I'm okay with that too.

Why was it so important to tell you all this?  Because to this day I am waiting to hear that someone else has gone through what I have. Hopefully the person who has was looking for me too and maybe now realizes that it's time to talk to a doctor. Every brain is different. Some just need a little more help adjusting in life.

*Note- This is based on my personal experience.
** Please visit the site below for more information and complete list of symptoms.
http://www.nimh.nih.gov/index.shtml

Dear Jane,

I do remember your real name, but I also understand how much privacy you want regarding this matter. So, even though your name is something else, I'm addressing you as "Jane," a name I find so beautiful, I gave it to my own daughter. 

Jane- a name attached to a person. Not "young lady," as adults tend to address you when they are bothered by your attitude. Not "little girl," because you aren't, though I wish someone else would understand that you are still someone's little girl. You are a teen - that awful time in your life when some will treat you like a kid when you want to be looked at as an adult. And others will unfortunately see you as more mature than you could possibly be.

I haven't heard back from you since the first time you sought my advice on one of those social websites. I like to go on there to stay in touch with the audience I write for, but I think I may have another calling for it as well. You see, I never intended to be a teen leader, but God hasn't let me stray from it since my husband and I started teaching youth group. Now, my heart is bonded to the fate of the teens I know, like it or not.

But this isn't about me, it's about you. 

I'm so glad it came up on the chat thread about how wrong pedophilia is, because I had no idea how many kids just didn't know about it. And I'm not sorry about the rant I went on about the evil hearts of men. Too many victims are taking the blame on themselves.

Only a couple of girls took me up on my offer for more advice on the matter, and since you were one of them, I will tell you as a representative of them how brave you are to have taken the first step. I don't think most girls can bring themselves forth to talk about such a sensitive issue as sexual assault. Especially when you are barely old enough to even know what that is.

But you do. And it breaks my heart that you do. Someone took it upon himself to teach you in his own way. I hate that he has ruined you for your future happiness.

When I say ruined, I hope you understand that this is not your permanent state. As a matter of fact, that's why I wanted to write you this letter. And I'm putting it on my blog for those other girls who have not yet mustered up the courage to say anything to anyone about what has happened to them. To those girls, I would still say, please, please tell someone. You could save many others from what you are going through, and start your own healing quicker. But even if you don't, there are a few things I want EVERYONE of you to know.

1. YOU ARE NOT ALONE!
(That's not in all caps to shout at you, but so that if you see nothing else on this page, you see that.)  Approximately 1 out of every 3 girls is sexually assaulted before they turn 18. It's probably more than that, because those are only reported cases. Imagine how many girls have not told anyone? So, yes, you probably KNOW someone who is suffering with the same secret.

2. You are NOT in TROUBLE!
One main reason girls often don't want to tell is because they are afraid of getting the man in trouble. (As many as 95% of girls know their perpetrator.) That's usually not an accident. 
Men always know that molesting a girl is wrong. But often they try to make the girl think that she has some of the responsibility too. YOU DON'T! Look at it this way, were you the one who suggested anything immodest to this man? No, you didn't. How do I know? Because I know you are uncomfortable with even the thought of it. (I was a teen girl once.) So, no matter what that man says, you are not the one who will be in trouble. He is breaking the law, not you. 

I do use the word "man." I am talking about anyone over the age of 18, even though an 18-year-old- might not always seem like a man.

3. You are not permanently DAMAGED!
If something has happened to you once, you might feel like it's all over. Your virtue is gone. You're now one of "those" girls. A lot of girls feel that way and then think they need to act that way. (You don't, but something tells me I don't need to tell you that.) And what's even worse is if a man continues assaulting you, you might not see a way out of it. You've given up. (I'm not sure which of those cases is yours, since you didn't disclose it to me, so you can pick whichever fits.)

If the latter is true, I encourage you again to please tell someone so that you CAN get out of this situation. If you don't think your parents will listen or believe you, tell a teacher or youth group leader. (They will tell your parents, but they are also obligated to tell authorities too. And the authorities must take you seriously.) Someone can get this to stop for you! Since we talked about these steps before, I pray you went ahead and told someone.
Once the abuse has stopped, healing can begin. There are people trained in this kind of thing who can talk to you about it. Most likely, you can find one of these people at your school. A normal life can be ahead of you.

4. YOU ARE NOT ABANDONED!
First, you need to know that people close to you care about you. I don't know your life, but I know someone, somewhere cares about you. It might not be someone in your family, or it might be. Someone, somewhere wants to see you grow up happy. Chances are, there are plenty of people who do. Heck, I don't even know you, and I hurt for you. I hate what has happened to you. I want you to be freed from the pain you are enduring.

Because of the things that have happened to you, it's normal for you to feel alone or like no one cares. Don't believe that lie. Don't let depression win! Make a list of people who care about you (Put me on the list. That's Tracy with no "e"), so you can bring yourself to a better place for them, if not just for you.

Those are the practical things you need to do. Now, I need to remind you of the bottom line truth. 

You aren't going to feel like you have the energy to go through solving this problem. He did that to you. He's making it seem difficult. 

But you can. Not on your own. God will give you what you need to take the next step. He has put someone in your life to help you through it, so you don't have to go through it alone. He is telling you plainly that you can overcome this, no matter how hard it seems. The Bible tells us in Philippians 4:13 that we can do all things through Christ, who gives us strength.

And let 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 be verses to bring life back to your spirit:
"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

Come back to those verses as often as you need to so you can be strengthened.

What happened to you is a part of your life, Jane. And on behalf of all the adults in your life, I want to say I am so very sorry that it has happened to you. So truly sorry. But I want you to be courageous and overcome it. I want you to know that I am praying for you every day (by your real name). I pray that God will take you as His own child to bring you comfort and healing, to restore your life and and turn your sorrow into something beautiful instead.

You don't need to write back. I know you've heard everything I can give you. And I'm going to believe that God will finish His work in you. Thanks for reaching out to me.

With Christ's love, 
Tracy

Is God a "Type A" Personality or "Type B"?

Just my asking that question has put you in a "camp." And if you haven't made a decision, it might be because you aren't totally clear about what it means to have one or another of those personalities.

So, for those who might need it, here is a brief summary of each:

Type A: organized, punctual, pro-active, high-achieving, sometimes seen as aggressive or competitive.

Type B: relaxed, caring, emotional, flexible, slow to anger, sometimes seen as lazy.
Now, I'm sure you probably thought of people in the extremes of both of those personalities. Maybe you are one of the extremes yourself. Most likely, you, as most people, are a combination. If there was a scale from -10 to +10 with -10 being all Type A, no Type B and +10 being all Type B, no Type A, most of us would be on the scale in the middle somewhere.     Type A/-10_-9_-8_-7_-6_-5_-4_-3_-2_-1_0_+1_+2_+3_+4_+5_+6_+7_+8_+9_+10 /Type B
So where would God be?
Some of you immediately thought, "Of course, God is Type A."
1 Corinthians 14:33 "For God is not a God of disorder but of peace—as in all the congregations of the Lord’s people."

Ecclesiastes 3:1 "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens"

Others of you can only know your God as a Type B.
Psalm 86:15 "But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness."

And then of course there are those of you on that last camp - those who are just mad at me for proposing the question. Those who think I'm trying to ascribe a human character to the God of the universe. He is neither. How dare I put God in a box? 

So why am I? And why do I need to know?

Here's why. I am made in God's likeness. So I have a feeling that something in this personality theory can tie me closer to Him. I can have a better understanding of who He is when I can see Him evaluated next to something I know. (Of course, I know that comparing God to anything is ridiculous, but doesn't that just make Him all the more awesome?)
He has also told me to be holy, as He is holy. In other words, it should be my goal to conduct my behavior as much like He would as I can. Can I ever attain His character? Can I ever be holy? No. But I am still told to make the effort.
God has told me about His love. Not just me, but everyone. And He has commissioned us to tell the world about it. We all have different ways of distributing this good news.

1 Corinthians 12:4 "There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. 5 There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. 6 There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work."

For me, I write. I have taken the beautiful story of Christ's salvation and made an allegory of it to reach young people who like to read fantastic fiction ("fantastic" here, referring to the genre of fantasy, not trying to pump up the quality of the writing.) It is not God's Word, but a story inspired by God's Word.
Normally, I am a Type A, competitive kind of person. However, I get nervous when it comes to my books.  It's one thing to proclaim the truth of God's love when it is written plainly in God's Word, but it is another thing to hope they see it buried in my own words. I feel prideful promoting my work.

Should I? 

Yes, if it is me I'm promoting. But if I have God's message, I have to get more Type A. He says in Matthew, "Go!" He doesn't say, "Sit back and wait for the nations to ask about Me."

Going back to that old cliché - What Would Jesus Do? - we wonder. Did Jesus wait for people to ask Him how to get to heaven? 

Wait a second. Yes, usually He did. I can't think of any record of Jesus running up to anyone, shaking them by the shoulders saying, "Don't you see? I am the Son of God!" He was told to wait. 
But we weren't.
John 7:6 Therefore Jesus told them, “My time is not yet here; for you any time will do."
So now you see why I am going to start getting pushy about my books. I want the word to get out, in hopes of others seeing Jesus through God coming near. (To this, my husband says, "Finally!")
Back to the idea of which personality type DOES encapsulate God? This verse sums it up perfectly: Romans 5:6 
"You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly."
He is everything good about both A and B - and then even more that we can't even understand.Type A people are organized. God created the entire order of the universe, when before it, there was nothing. Type A people are punctual ("at just the right time.")Type B people are compassionate. ("CHrisType B people are patient. God put up with sin for about 4000 years before sending The Last Sacrifice, and He waits even today for every sinner's confession.

What does that mean to you? What should you be with the method of spreading His Word that He has given you? I think it means you need to be Type A about getting out there to tell others about Him, but Type B while waiting for them to respond. 
We can be a little of both. And God can be the fullest extent of both.

I think that makes God, ABBA.

Asher of the Angelmen - Chapter 1: The Stranger

As promised, here is Chapter 1 of Asher of the Angelmen. Coming SOON, so give yourself a reminder to add it to your to-read list!

Chapter 1 The Stranger

Girls at Hanover High School all fell into one of two camps.

The first camp was his fan club, those who swooned at the sight of the tall, fair-skinned, handsome track star. A teenage girl was helpless in the presence of Asher Andrews.

The second camp comprised those who had already been pulled in by Asher's charms and realized that no girl was ever going to climb the ladder in his mind above himself and the sports he dominated. They'd been burned by themselves, each thinking she would be the one at whose feet he would fall, when really, Asher never fell.

There was no in between – no one who hadn't heard of Asher Andrews, and no one indifferent. He was a title-holder. In track, he was a state champion and had been since his freshman year. He brought glory home every spring, and television crews put the small town of Hanover, New York, on the local radar. His speed was what would give him a career in football, which was the sport in which he now made headlines.

Although there was always at least one girl in his presence, rarely did one find any male companions. Asher's attitude was a huge turn-off to other guys, so he had no one close to him. Even the other team members saw him as untouchable. Asher preferred to concentrate on his game, not sharing secrets with others. He didn't seek out the company of other guys, and they pretty much left him alone too.

#

Ouch!

The slap across Asher's face actually hurt his pride more than his skin, but then again, something that huge was an easy target.

“Hey, now, what was that for, pretty lady?” It took a lot to bother the popular athlete, and the smile he gave annoyed his accuser even more than his action.

“What's my name, Jerk?”

“Excuse me?” he asked, reaching for her shoulder.

“It isn't 'pretty lady.' It isn't 'pussy cat.' And it surely isn't Devin, as you called me in your last text, you know.”

Ooh, oops. Asher was terrible at names. He just didn't take the time to remember them. He loved the spotlight and enjoyed being in the company of just about every person in the school. They were all glad to be in his good graces, or so he thought. He was the closest thing that school had to a star, and they all couldn't wait to see which college would put his stardom on the national scene.

He used that to his advantage to make sure he wasn't alone any weekend night. The big flirt in him loved the attention the girls gave him.

It could hurt sometimes when they found out that he wasn't serious, though.

“I'm waiting.” A very displeased, but serious dark-haired girl stood at his locker staring daggers at him.

Asher avoided her stare, as he rarely looked anyone in the eyes, even when proclaiming phony feelings and making empty promises. With his head in his locker for safety, he said, “Darcy?”

“It's Sara. Not even close.” She slammed the locker door onto his head, and the corner caught his chin. “You know, Asher Andrews, I don't know if this is a game to you. You might think you can have any girl come and kneel at your feet, but it's never going to work for you. No one cares what time you can run a mile in. Once the race is over, you will still be alone. All alone.”

“Actually, I do the shorter sprints, and hurdles are my specialty. My time on the mile is irrelevant because it isn't what I focus on. In track, we don't even do a mile.”

His ignorance of the point infuriated the little brunette. She stomped away with a couple of girlfriends at her side, nose in the air.

Asher reached his hand to feel the long scratch across his chin, care of Sara. Sara, yes, he wouldn't forget that now, even though it wouldn't be of any concern to him again.

She turned back before parading off with the girlfriends to kindly inform him by yelling down the hall for the benefit of other students, “You're not cute, Asher!”

After she was gone, he was still looking in her direction, and said to no one who was listening, as if she had simply overlooked something obvious, “Yes I am. I'm adorable.”

He wasn't down in the slightest, though. She was wrong. He would always have someone. Loneliness wasn't in his future, as far as he could see. Looking back at the mirror in his locker, he gave a winning smile.

Yup, there would be someone new in his life by lunch time. Time to go check out the prospects.

#

Lunch came and went, but Asher hadn't come across any new company. A lot of the girls were busy with pep club work, decorating the school for the big football game coming up over the weekend against South High. Apparently no one noticed that Sara was no longer his companion and left a vacancy by his side. Asher wasn't bothered. Maybe it was time to switch focus for the time being. South was a big game, one of Hanover's biggest rivalries, and he needed to concentrate on learning the newer plays. As the team's fastest running back, Asher had to make sure he had the plays down before he got into formation, showing any college scouts in the stands that he knew what he was doing. This weekend would be a good one to be alone. He knew his dad would be grateful for that.

Practice came and went. Asher nailed down a few of the newer plays the team had been working on, after some basic drills. He loved the basics. The faster he could move, the better the chance he would avoid contact, a goal well worth its effort.

An hour and a half of pushing his body and mind to its max felt great when he was rewarded at the end with a long, hot shower. He headed back to his locker and took his time dressing. Since practice was over, he could go back to thinking about his social life. He began to wonder why his relationships were getting shorter and shorter.

“Don't worry about it. She's not the one for you.”

“Yeah, I know. To be honest, I don't even know if there's just one. Ha, ha.” Asher suddenly realized he had no clue with whom he was conversing or how the other knew his thoughts.

Asher was always the last one out of the locker room after practice. He took his time in the shower, letting the hot water relieve his well-worked muscles. No one waited for him. He didn't need the company after a work out. He preferred to roll his performance over in his mind as the water rolled down his sun-soaked skin. The reflection usually was a way to congratulate himself, but sometimes, he came away with ideas to improve his performance even more. Today's workout was fine, though, so his mind headed in a different direction, betraying him by hinting at the idea that he didn't really enjoy being so alone.

“You did great out there today,” came the voice of the other.

Asher brought his mind back to where he was. He quickly looked at the person next to him, still unable to figure out who the other guy was. He could have been wrong about not knowing him. He didn't get a good look; that wasn’t done in the locker room. Maybe he just never paid attention to the new person. He decided not to be rude. Asher generally was a friendly person.

“Thanks. Were you there? I mean, are you new on the team?” came Asher's unsure reply.

Upon second glance, the stranger was obviously too old to be a high school student, though his appearance was too vague for Asher to determine his real age. As such, he saw no reason for this man to be in a high school boys’ locker room. Panic rose, but he tried to squelch it with his macho I can handle it attitude.

The other answered him. “Yes and no.”

The man took a step closer, and Asher quickly and nervously backed up to the locker behind him. The stranger was taller than he was, and since Asher was six-foot-two, that said something. It was hard not to be intimidated, even when you thought you were the best athlete in the school.

“Who are you?” Asher demanded, knowing he wasn't commanding much in the way of intimidation, backed up against the wall as he was.

The other was unflinching. He was not exactly comforting nor was he threatening. He didn't move forward but his stare kept Asher frozen against the lockers. “My name is Jeremiah.”

That presented no useful information to Asher, but time the stranger took to make a greeting afforded him an escape. His eyes betrayed him as he glanced behind Jeremiah to an exit route. A champion hurdler, Asher thought he should be able to make it past this guy with no problem.

While Jeremiah's expression didn't change, the locker room door suddenly clicked and locked, as if he'd read Asher's mind. Taking things a step further, the lights in the locker room went out, leaving the pair in the dark, so that any other escape plans were thwarted.

Asher, usually the picture of calm, panicked like a stranded puppy and had no idea what to do next. He couldn't even think of anything to say. Never in his life had he had to deal with a dangerous situation.

Then, Jeremiah’s form illuminated the darkness. His calm voice told Asher, “Be at peace, Asher Andrews. You have been chosen. I will guide you. Now, let's talk.”

Something compelled Asher to stay and listen, but his body took over his mind. At the very word “peace,” his soul began to relax, but his body did not accept it. In a time like this he remembered why he hated being alone, and how nice it would have been to have some big, football-playing friends around to help tackle Jeremiah.

Asher was going to have to throw him off somehow, but that didn't look easy. Jeremiah appeared intensely focused, and Asher wondered what on earth this guy could want with him. Chosen for what? How'd he get in here anyway?

Asher surveyed the locker room, dimly lit and empty of any other human presence. What stood between him and the door, other than the stranger, was a long bench and a block of tall red lockers. Somehow, he would have to get past the man and around the lockers to run out the door.

Jeremiah didn't move. He still awaited a reply from his nervous, unknowing protégé. Though he wasn't moving, his presence appeared to be coming closer to Asher.

“Okay, okay. We'll talk,” Asher assured the non-assailing assailant. “But not in the same place—”

With that, Asher slammed a muscular leg onto the long wooden bench in the locker cubicle. The might of the placement propelled Asher up and over Jeremiah's non-turning head. Way over. Asher had hoped to clear the man, but wouldn't have been terribly upset if he accidentally kicked the guy in the process. He expected to land on the ground behind him so he could scurry around the lockers and out the door.

Instead, he jumped so high, he cleared the top of the lockers. In what felt like slow motion, he torqued his body, rolling in the air over the lockers, and landed in a crouched position on two feet and a hand, right in front of the locker room door. Thrilled to be safely separated from the stranger, Asher quickly unlocked and fell through the door. He then pushed himself back against it to keep it closed, so Jeremiah couldn't attempt to escape and come after him, while he caught his breath.

He knew he was an incredible athlete, but honestly, he had no idea he had that power in him.

#

Remarkably shaken from the event that just transpired in the locker room, Asher could hardly stop trembling as he exited the gym area. More distracted than he had ever been, he jumped when he heard a voice.

“Must have been a really good workout,” she said, somewhat shyly.

The voice belonged to the pretty little sophomore from the girls’ cross-country team. Asher was enamored with her, and she seemed to be the one girl in the whole world to whom he had trouble working up the courage to actually speak. Normally, he even blushed at the sight of her, but he was already flushed. He enjoyed watching her run when he was between his own runs and plays during practice. She was a distance runner, which Asher admired.

This was the first time she had ever spoken to him.

Mr. Dashing lost his cool. “Huh?”

She laughed, but it was a kind laugh. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw that you were still shaking and thought you must have had a really good workout.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Wow, really? He couldn't come up with anything better to say? Brother.

“I'm Jessica.” She transferred all her belongings to one hand and stuck out the other for him to shake.

“I'm Asher.” He clumsily shook her hand, not transferring any of his things.

She laughed again. “No kidding! Of course I know who you are.”

That made Asher smile. He had almost forgotten his fame around school.

A car quickly pulled up outside the building and beeped once. Jessica seemed to know the cue. “Okay, well, I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She hurried off. Before she got in the car, however, she mouthed strange words to Asher, and he could only seem to translate them as, “Protect the Cause.”

“Yeah,” he said with a wave that she didn't see. That was weird thing to say, he thought. He wasn't a great lip-reader, so maybe he just got it wrong.

Hmm. Huh, Yeah, I'm Asher, and Yeah. Great conversationalist. Oh, well, he needed to be kept humble.

#

“That must have been some workout, dear.” Asher's tiny, but spunky mom got up on her tip toes to give her son a kiss on the head. He was used to the drill, so he leaned down to let her adore her son. He had an apple in his mouth, as he usually polished one off on the way home from practice.

“I sure hope the coach kept you late to go over what you were doing right. Because we have been waiting for you for dinner, and I’m hungry, sir,” claimed his father, setting down a magazine, and making a beeline for the table.

“Um, you guys go ahead with dinner. I'm not sure I'm all that hungry.” He lost his appetite from the quaking that hadn't been resolved in his stomach after meeting Jeremiah.

His mother would have none of that. “Asher James, that's boloney. You're a growing boy, and you need your nourishment. Now sit.”

“Mom, I'm not a growing boy any more.” Despite his own pleas, a compulsively obedient Asher sat down at the table.

His dad had already begun eating, but loved an opportunity for a joke. “Yes, please Ellen, if he grows anymore, there won't be any dinner left for his old man.”

“No, I mean, I'm not a boy. I'm eighteen now. I'm a man. I'll be gone next year, so I really don't think I need my mom telling me when I need to eat.”

“Aw, Honey, you know you are just always going to be my baby boy.” She stood behind him to rub down his shoulders for him.

Asher lifted his fork and ate some meat, dissatisfying as it was, to please his mother. She loved still being able to take care of him and hated the reference to his near departure.

Asher was the only son in the Andrews family, the only child at all. All the family's eggs were in his basket.

“Okay, so let's have a run down. This weekend you guys are up against South. What did Coach have to say about your coverage?”

Asher's father had never grown up. He had been in a similar position as Asher when he was a teenager. Where Asher's main sport was track, and he used his running skills on the football field, Bruce Andrews was all football. He had been his team's quarterback and brought championships home three years, so having his only child be a boy he could mold into a superstar was a dream come true. He could continue the football dream after all.

While his wife was concerned about her boy going off to college – most likely out of state – Bruce relished the fact that he still had four more years, and even after that there was the possibility of the pros. It was just another sticking point between him and his wife.

The phone rang.

“I'll get it.” Asher went to the receiver, thinking there was a possibility it could be Jessica. He hoped so. He needed an opportunity to provide a little better conversation and prove he wasn't just some dumb jock.

“No,” commanded his father. “No distractions for you tonight. Ellen?”

Asher's mother went for the phone, but Asher kept his ears open to hear who was on the line. He didn't often take phone calls during the week. His father was careful about keeping his social life at a minimum.

Asher tuned his mother’s conversation out after he realized the call wasn't for him.

“Do you have homework?” Bruce was also intent on making sure Asher's grades stayed high enough for eligibility. He didn't have much to worry about. Asher could hold his own in the classroom. His mother often wondered what his grades would be like if he weren't an athlete.

“Yeah, Dad. I think I'll go work on it now.” Asher wasn't completely honest. He did have some homework, but mostly, he just wanted to go be alone. He needed to work through his encounter with Jeremiah.