For Lauren

A Short Theological Exposition on Love

                                              Written for my beautiful wife’s 35^th birthday

Many people, including the infamous DC Talk, have stated that “Love is a Verb”.  This point is made so often that it has almost been accepted as a truism, especially in Christian circles.  While I can appreciate the sentiment—that Love is a choice we make that requires action, this is a dangerously foolish thing to say, especially for a Christian. For, to state that Love is a verb takes the concept of Love solely into the realm of action, distancing it from where it belongs:  in the realm of being.  To say it another way, for Love to be simply an action makes it something that we do, rather than something that is.  Love must be conceptualized, not as an action, but as a thing.  To use a Platonic model, Love has an existence in the spiritual world of the Forms.  And, the love that we express, receive and feel is like a shadow of that perfect form of Love which is above and is cast down onto our existence. 

Christian theology takes it a step further by professing that not only does Love have an existence independent of human action or emotion, but that Love is actually a Person.  St. John explicitly states that “God is Love” (1 John 4:16). Not only does Love exist is a realm higher than that of human action, but that Love is a part of God’s very being.  God is Love.  When the emphasis is placed on the “is”, we see that the truth of the sentence is based on existence, not action. 

Therefore, when we love, we are participating in the Love that God is and the Love which God has for us.  That is what makes Love so powerful:  when we love each other it is a participation in the life of God.  St. John follows his famous “God is Love” statement by showing that when we love, it is a partaking of the Love of God:  “Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”  

This, Lauren, is the only way that I can understand the depth of my love for you.

The Post-Rule of Law Era

I am a mother that lives in a bubble of Sesame Street and Mickey Mouse. I joke with my friends that if a television program has a target audience over the age of 5, I haven't seen it. Even with these restrictions I can't help but notice a change occurring in our country that seems completely new.  As I raise my children, I am very familiar with the idea of rules. Mom makes rules. Dad backs her up on those rules. The children learn to follow the rules and everything rolls along smoothly. Every family knows the most important part of this process comes between the two ruling parties. If Mom or Dad make a rule the other ruling party must be aware and fully embrace the new rule or it will never truly take effect.  As Lincoln reminds us, "a house divided against itself cannot stand." So when parents recognize a change in the family they must have a discussion about what should be done agree on an appropriate response, and then inform the children of the new expectation that comes in the shape of a rule. 

Now, the country runs in a similar way.  When the federal government sees a change it agrees within itself on new rules, then states, counties, cities and towns learn of the change, make adjustments within their own charters and everything falls in line. Citizens have many different rule enforcing agencies to help give reminders when rules are broken, and all of these agencies work toward the same goals, enforcing the law. 

This is how things work. All levels of government back up what has been agreed upon, higher up the ladder of authority and our country rolls forward. It is a no-brainer. 

Today, when I catch glimpses of news, I hear that this understanding no longer exists. I don't know when it happened but as a country we longer follow instruction and no longer enforce rules. I don't know if the states are having a coming of age moment or if this is the beginning of an inevitable divorce proceeding.  

As a woman who works day in and day out to keep good relations within the walls of my home, I definitely recognize a house divided. 

Marajuiana use.  Immigration. Same sex marriage. 

In each of these major issues in our country, there are laws that were written, reviewed, agreed upon and enforced. The federal government made rules. The states reflected these rules within their own frameworks and on down the line it went. 

Now, as in my family, rules can be changed. What is appropriate for my five year old is not appropriate for the one year old. So as the family grows and changes so do the rules of our home. Similarly, the government is set up so that it too may change the rules that govern our people. My thoughts are not about whether or not the rules on these issues should or should not be changed. 

The question is, until the rules have been adjusted, how do we address issues that are forming and changing our country. 

Our country's response at the moment seems to be that we pick and choose which laws we agree with and enforce those while ignoring or even publicly denouncing the others. 

This is difficult for me. A judge is elected to evaluate an action as it comes up against the law. The standard is the law and everything is judged against it. Now, of course there is a higher standard, the constitution. So in some select cases, a judge may hold the law up and judge it by the constitution. Though this occurs, the vast majority of judges have not been given this level of authority or training to make such judgements. 

So thinking of other law enforcement agencies, police officers. Again, their job is to know the laws of their borders and to enforce those laws. It is not for the police officer to question the validity of the law, s/he have only been given the authority to enforce the laws of the land. 

There are clear and longstanding roles laid out throughout our country. Everyone plays a part no one controls all the power. 

In today's news Mayors are announcing that laws are not necessary and the police department from here forth will act if such laws didn't exist. Judges, who have not been given the authority or training, are stating that laws are not appropriate and from henceforth their court will disregard such laws and in fact endorse the opposite. Even the federal government will decide not to enforce its own laws and in fact fine local law enforcement agencies for trying to enforce the law as it stands.  

When states begin defying the federal government it seems it will only be a matter of time before cities defy states. 

Lincoln recognize the danger that comes from division within a land. Perhaps in this age of divorce, the people of our nation are unable to remain loyal to laws, guidelines or vows. Though each of us have pledged allegiance to the protection of one nation, when that nation cannot give the freedom I want  and give it to me right now, I will simply turn my back on what has made my country what it is. 

America is still young, but it is coming of age. If we choose to continue down this path of turning our back on the constitution that has brought us this far, what will define us in this post-rule of law era?

Hermanutic of Trust

I recently saw an article posted to FB that said that a scientific study had shown that children raised in religious homes were "less likely to be able to distinguish between fact and fiction."  I will probably try to post a link to the article here soon, so you don't have to take my word for it, but that will require additional effort (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/24995520).  Anyway, the study was conducted by telling different kids some of the more fantastic Bible stories, then told them some stories about magic and stuff, then told the kids reality-based stories.  And, surprise!, the kids that went to church or Christian schools were a) more likely to believe the Bible stories and b) more likely to believe the "fictional" stories than the non-churched children (try saying "non-churched children" 5 times fast for bonus points).  And from this study, the "scientists" (surely without bias or malice or any agenda of any kind) extrapolated that religious children have a harder time distinguishing between reality and fantasy.  But, I feel compelled to point out that these are children who are being told stories.  How dare these "scientists" imply that it is undesirable for a child to believe a story that is told.  I personally would rather cultivate a "hermeneutic of trust" in my children than a "hermeneutic of suspicion".  I want my kids to believe in magic, Santa, the Easter bunny, fairy tales, princess in castles, buried treasures in the back yard and ships that can sail to the moon as long as possible.  After all, they will grow up and have no problem telling the difference between reality and fantasy after they have had a chance to experience reality for themselves.  But, as children, isn't imagination, trust, and a willingness to believe that there is more out there than what we readily see and experience far more important than the ability to say whether a story is fact or fiction based?  Couldn't this study have been titled "Religious Children Shown to Have Better Imaginations Than Kids Raised in Non-Religious Homes" just as accurately? 

C.E.D. Huffmaster

Ten Blissful Years

The ten year anniversary.  The first big milestone. 

 When you have been married for 3 years you start thinking and planning.  What great adventure will we use to embark upon to mark this great milestone?  Our first cruise, a time to relax and eat, eat, eat?  A trip to Hawaii where we will climb volcanos and swim in warm waters and embrace our adventurous side? A beautiful bed and breakfast in Napa, luxury at its finest?  Or possibly, the trip most fun to plan, a trip I can study and learn and explore a trip abroad!  But where?  Istanbul? Or maybe Meteora with time spent on some Greek Isles?  

Oh the possibilities.  Our love celebrated. The world at our fingertips.  What a blissful time.  Our bodies still young and strong and looking better than ever. 

 Everyone will be jealous. 
Year four:  a baby arrives.

  One girl, two years later another and then like clockwork a third. 
During the first year with a newborn the sleepless nights drag on, but the year is so full of poop and mashed bananas that the months fly by.  And with so many kids packed into a small amount of time, no additional thoughts are given to the blissful milestone that seemed so emminent 6 short years ago.
Year nine: the window for planning the, now much needed retreat is here.  

Love has blossomed two young people into a family.  A love that so many people never experience.  Love that has matured and changed with the times. Love that has not weakened since you first met.
During your ninth year, living in a home with three children, your thoughts are full.  The only moments of the day that still belong to you are those just after waking or just before going to bed-- both of which occur with your head on your pillow. And in these times your thoughts slip between reality and the dreams of days gone by and you return to the beautiful thoughts of celebration.

  Thoughts of luxurious pillows and wine and beer and lovely food and smells of eucalyptus.  All of the dream vacations get rolled into one and you dream that when you sit up in bed today you will find yourself with a tray of gourmet food and mimosas and café next to you.  There are birds singing out your window and your true love sleeping next to you.  He will remain asleep long enough for you to eat the best looking parts of the breakfast that has been delivered. 
The minute you sit up your day begins to overflow like sippy cups, so you begin to fight your mind and push your head deeper into the pillow.  Using your nails, you claw into the surreal parts of the vision. The sun shining across glistening white linen sheets that carry the scent of honey and orange blossoms. There is a song somewhere. Then you roll over and realize there can't be linen sheets because you feel the frayed ends of your 10 year old sheets. But no! I will believe in the muddled lines of truth and focus instead on the breakfast tray. I take in every morsel of the breakfast with my eyes as I ponder how my emotions would reel were I able to eat such a meal in bed.  The music grows. 

Then the music is all I hear, but not music, the sound of the baby crying. Immediately my dream crumbles and where breakfast delicacies once were, I am left with the morsels of goldfish crumbs stuck to my arm. I told the kids not to eat in my bed!

Year 9.5. . . .

P.S. Motivate a Mom

From a young age, we are evaluated.  Parents give overwhelming words of approval to young children as they make their first attempt of peeing in the toilet.  A child's work of art is hung on the fridge. In Kindergarten every effort is given a sticker. As you move forward there are grades, scholarships, pay raises, bonuses, and on and on.
Then you choose to give up the career to be at home with your children for a period of time.  Being a mother is the most difficult thing one can do. If you missed the commercial from Mother's Day 2014 check it out at: www.youtube.com/watch?v=HB3xM93rXbY, and this is just the beginning.  No pay.  No vacations. A long term commitment, like forever!  It requires your every waking moment (and much of your sleeping as well).  Yet despite the fact that you give it your all, everyday, there is no feedback.  There is only the child who complains about not getting to watch TV, whining to eat treats 15 times a day or pitching a fit because she doesn't need sleep.  So a mom works a long day of cooking, cleaning, cleaning poop.  At the end of these long days the mom wonders if the decisions she made today were the right ones.  Should she be more strict?  Should she have held them more?  Should she have made the meals more balanced?  Should they have been surrounded with friends?  Should she answer their every request or pull back?
There is no rubric, no evaluation process. 
For this reason, women look to other women.  What COULD I be doing with my kids? When SHOULD I train her to dress herself?  How SHOULD I punish her when she talks back?
The problem with this comparative evaluation, is though the job title "mother" remains the same across the world, the job description changes from child to child.  No child is the same so no mother should look the same either.
As for evaluations, I guess moms' will have to wait.  Like any good investment, only time will tell. 

Motivations of a Mom

Moms can agree on one thing.  Deep in their heart of hearts each mother believes she lives in an alternate universe where time goes significantly faster inside her home than outside her doors.  Now of course, she can't prove this.  But she searches everyday to prove her point.  She logs onto Facebook and observes what other families can accomplish when given a 24 hour period that does not exist in the time warp.  She searches for endless hours on Pinterest to see what other mothers can create for their children with the time that God intended a mother to posses.  She observes families as she walks in her neighborhood and imagines beds made, playrooms with clean floors, little girls with finely scrubbed nails and neatly brushed hair pulled back into bouncy curls with large pink bows on top.  She returns home, walks in the door and breathes a deep sigh.  Perhaps if she had chosen the house down the road with the azaleas in the yard, maybe that house would not have existed in the time warp.  Alas, it is too late, and so this mother will face the challenges of this home with the time she has. 
Mothers are notorious for comparing themselves to other moms.  It motivates some but demoralizes most.  It is a chronic issue on which you can find books or attend conferences where you are sure to hear stories about other moms who do amazing things to free themselves from such judgments.  When you are done with said book or return home from your 3 day conference you will definitely remember one thing.  Other moms can free their house of clutter AND free their minds of judgment.   Then you will open the door to your home, see the dirty dishes and piles of laundry and take comfort in the fact that you  live in time warp and so it isn't your fault.
These days you don't even have to go for a walk to find families to compare yourself to.  The power of a mother's desire to know what a normal family looks like (or a disaster family looks like) can be found at any hour of the day on reality TV.  So when you are feeling pretty good about yourself and all you have accomplished today, simply choose the station showing you the perfect family with five to nine children and BOOM you pick yourself up and are motivated to do more.  Or on the day when the children have formed an alliance to send you to your grave early, BOOM, turn on the TV to find the disaster of a family showing you things could always be worse. (Just don't let your children watch the program with you or they may walk away with some ideas to take their alliance of terror to the next level).  Those who are in the TV business may not know much about families, but they know what motivates people and for the moms (or I suspect all females) of America, motivation number one is the idea a WonderMom.  She can handle anything thrown her way with perfection, her hair is always perfect and abs always tight.
So, speaking of abs, the number two thing all moms can agree on is a mantra each woman has tattooed in that secret place where no one ever looks: If I hadn't born three children I would have a perfect body with rock hard abs.    This other great motivator is held in the minds of moms and, is also held in the forefront of understood TV.
And so the typical mom heads out and YouTubes the "10 Minutes to Tight Abs!" video.  She puts on her workout clothes, throws her hair in a messy ponytail, laces her sneaker and gives it all she has.  Ten minutes of the greatest focus she can muster.  Ten minutes of amazing enthusiasm and stamina.  Ten minutes to sweat away all of those late night snacks.  Ten minutes, then she walks to the full length mirror and as she lifts her shirt she holds her breath as she reveals the results.  The video promised flat abs in 10 minutes but as the mom observes herself she notes a lot more flab than flat.  Though you might think the mother would be sorely disappointed, instead she feels a little relief.   If she had the nerve to take a before and after shot of her bare belly she would have unwavering evidence that her home truly exists in a time warp, for 10 minutes in this home made no noticeable change to her abs. 
Since the 10 minutes to perfection didn't work the mom must take on the challenge of reclaiming her perfect body another way.
Step One: Low Carbs
If you are a woman there is something that fills your dreams, the smells, the flavors, the satisfaction of life: carbs. Whether your carb of choice is a buttery crescent that is soft and warm and flaky.  It sits on a white plate with a dark chocolate spread and a small knife.  Just the picture of it in your mind takes you to a beautiful hotel in Paris where out of your window you see a gorgeous but forgotten cathedral with buttresses that reflect the curves of this perfect crescent you are about to eat.
Or if your carb of choice is the perfect chocolate chip cookie.  The kind that is crisp on the outside bus soft and chewy once bitten into.  The cookie that has different sizes of chocolate morsels and varying depths of cocoa.  This experience of eating this cookie makes you feel as if you have returned home, expect it is not the home you grew up in that feels small and slightly disappointing when you return their as an adult.  Instead it is a home that has all of the warmth of that childhood place, expect it is new and exceeds the expectations of the adult.  It is a place you wish to return to again and again, and so you do with every bite.
Or if your perfect carb contains no chocolate (heaven forbid) but is instead a warm crispy perfect loaf of Tuscan bread.  When you see it on the table with a bottle of olive oil, a pepper grinder and an expensive balsamic vinegar you think of how one day you will enjoy a perfect evening in a vineyard with a group of close friends.  How you will have a beautiful rustic table set, with lights strung overheard.  You will wear a beautiful flowing summer dress and hold a glass of deep red wine.  You will lean against your mate and as the evening wanes there will still be laughter and spontaneous burst of song.
The food that dreams are made of, and they ask you to give it all of for the sake of flat abs?  Wow, what nerve!
So as you head into the world of low carbs for the sake of the 15 pounds that must be lost, you work hard to find recipes.  Pinterest; you search for low carb meals and yes, you get distracted for short moments of weakness to salivate over the beautiful desserts that you will no longer be eating. 
But a healthy meal is prepared for dinner.  A meat, two vegetables and one small but highly coveted carb.  The family gathers, a prayer is sung, and the children consumer the small serving of carbs in 3 seconds and before you have picked up your fork they are asking for more.  You made no more.  Leftovers only turn into midnight temptations.  So you hand over the beautiful carbs on your plate in fear that those children who destroyed your perfectly flat abs in the first place, might starve.  You eat the meat and veggies, clean up and realize you are starving.  Your body doesn't know how to digest other substances unless carbs are mixed in there somewhere.  You have no choice, a perfect cookie for dessert or you too might starve tonight. 
Step Two: Cardio
As you sit at work and talk with other moms, you hear that they spend time at the gym on a regular basis.  Hmm, I told my husband the house with the azaleas was better, I could sense there was no time warp there.  The gym, well that isn't going to happen.  So to Pinterest you go to find workout routines to do at home.  Plank, burpees, Supermans and jumping jacks. 
Pinterest says plank for 60 seconds, how hard can that be?  You assume the position.  About 10 seconds in, when your legs start shaking.  The baby realizes you are down on her level and proceeds to crawl your way.  At 17 seconds she has reached you, the shaking has moved toward your core.  She crawls aboard.  You hold the position for 5 more seconds with a baby on your back.  You decide 35 seconds with a baby on your back was probably WAY harder than 60 seconds without the babe.  You claim it as a success.  So next on the list burpees, those look complicated, so you will try them later.  Supermans, no problem.  you can have a baby on your back for those.  You complete the set and move forward.  Jumping jacks, of course you did those as a child.  You begin with a goal of 60.  At about 25 I realize you must have a bad memory because you don't remember these being so hard!  At 40 you have lost control of your landing and worry you will fall on your daughter who is playing at your feet.  You call it quits and move to the last, the burpee.  You study the diagram.  You follow the steps in slow motion.  You realize this is going to be a very difficult and extremely sweaty process and decide to skip it. 
The last step of any mom's workout is to take a mental note, to ensure you mention to your coworkers know how sore you are from the workout.
Step Three: Lifting Weights
No problem: vacuums, 5 year old who refuse to walk one step further, laundry baskets up and down the stairs, lawn mowers, bikes that are too hard for your three year old to ride after you are a mile from the house, the 11 month old AND 3 year old on your hips at once.   Lifting weights is a daily routine in the life of a mom, so much so, you probably need to take today off to let your muscles recover. 
So you have successfully completed day one of the three steps to weight loss.  In reflection, lifting weights was not necessary, cardio was not practical and giving up carbs, well you would rather lock yourself in prison where at least you get a crust of bread everyday.

The worst part of parenting.

After much deliberation I have come to a conclusion.  The worst part of parenting is: socks.  No, really.  I consider myself a thrifty woman so, in my mind, the average cost of a child's pair of socks is $1. The average number of times a child wears a pair of socks is 2.5 times. So as I carry a load of laundry up the stairs I know I will have 4 unmatching socks, equaling $4.  I will then place the four unmatching socks in the blue bag of lost socks to be held until the appropriate sock is located. 
This blue bag of missing socks would be worth approximately $374 should every sock could be found.  It's value is  growing at impressive rate of 4 socks per day or $28 a week.  That is a weekly increase of 7%, if only it was positive interest I would invest my life savings and be rich before the year is out.
For now, I carry my laundry basket up the stairs and as I fold clothes I find stray socks.  Today I have found the magical lost sock that I recognize and know where to find it's mate.  I hold that sock in wonder.  Where has it been?  In its absence, did it travel to exotic locations? Why didn't it just choose to stay in that remote place? Has it returned to bring us new wisdom?
I turn to find the ever growing blue bag of lost socks.  I find its perfect match.  I place them together and fold them so they will never be separated again.
Then, I look at the two socks.  
 In Neverland, lost boys go and never have to grow up, time stands still for them.  The blue bag of lost socks is quite the antithesis of Neverland.  In the Blue Bag of Lost Socks, time rushes forward.  As I look at the two socks, together at last, never to be parted again, I realize that those two socks will not fit on the foot of any of my children.  These socks have either shrunk or my children have grown since these were worn.  My heart sinks.  I have waited months, maybe years to find these two, to put them together, there is no way I am going to take this perfect pair and throw them in the trash! So my mind washes with choices.  Give them away?  No one wants used socks, and now that I look at them they are stained from playing in mud puddles, and if I look closely enough I might acknowledge that one is a bit smaller than the other.  Maybe the socks are different sizes, too.  Hmmm, lets call it a victory for mom, pull out a baby doll, tell the kids I got them new clothes for the baby and move on.
Now in the off chance that I find the perfect pair that will still squeeze on a daughter's foot, I will relocate these lucky two into a girl's room.  Placing the two in a drawer I will think fondly on how, in the early morning to come, I will be able to excitedly find them and help my daughter place them on her feet.  So in the rush of the morning, I have immense patience with my daughter as she refuses to wear approximately 3-7 outfits presented to her, because I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that once she is clothed I have socks for her feet!  There will be no last minute rushing around, digging through couches or under mattresses, not today.  There is a lucky pair, simply waiting in the darkness of the drawer for me to reach in and be in need of them.  Once my daughter is finally dressed in the first outfit I presented her almost 25 minutes ago, I turn, reach in, feel the rush of accomplishment sweep over me, pull out the beautiful socks and present them to my daughter.  With all of this satisfaction in my heart I turn to my daughter who simply glances at the two and states, "Those socks are itchy, I don't like them." 
Now the broken heart of moms, due to this diabolical sock scenario, is a widespread issue.  Moms don't talk about it because their hearts are raw with loss and rejection. 
The makers of  "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" got it right: spray on shoes.  Seriously if someone invents this and charges $1000 per foot for each baby, moms would go wild.  In two years I believe I would be breaking even.  On top of that think of all of the time that will be saved searching for lost shoes, tripping over shoe piles, and digging through lost sock mountain.  The possibilities of what could be done in all of that saved time is overwhelming.  There is no doubt world peace would come to be if only the moms of the world were not searching for socks.  I know my home would be more peaceful.
Now according to CNN the calculated cost of raising a child over 18 years is about $250,000.  In my mind 1/3 of that money goes to food, the majority of which gets thrown to the dog because it was too hot, too cold or too spicy.  Another third goes to buying plastic toys that also get thrown in the trash within 57 minutes of being purchased.  And the last third goes, of course, to buying socks. 
I am a mom of low ideals.  A bath once a week is completely sufficient.  Cleaning the house is completely optional, unless company is coming over, then you rush around and convince yourself that with an hour of cleaning before they walk through the door and enough sprays of Fabreeze, no one will ever suspect you hadn't thought of cleaning since the last time they stopped by.  So in my mind the answer to the sock ordeal is simple, on Sunday morning find a pair of socks and place them on your child's feet.  The next Saturday night (just before their bath) take the pair off and throw them away.  There is no use washing the socks because if you do you will simply return to the cycle of losing socks.  In this scenario at least the child wore the socks for 7 days, increasing the average of the life of the sock 280%.  Everyone wins.
The complication with this is teachers.  In preschool, teachers are very attentive, too attentive really.  If a mom were to send in her child wearing the same socks for 7 days, everyone would know!  Forget all the confidentiality crap, because you and I both know that every parent in that school would be hearing horror stories of the mom who sent her daughter to school with the same socks for 7 days.  Within the year, the story would increase to include a lack of bathing, ripped and soiled clothes AND unchanged socks that the child must have been wearing since birth.  All of the details would get embellished but no doubt the name of the family would be carried along with the urban legend for as long as the story circulated; HUFFMASTER would become synonymous with stinky and those poor younger children would be scarred for life.
So of course, to keep my younger children from being scarred for life, I invest (according to CNN) approximately $83,000 in socks.