Five Minute Friday ~ Mess

I'm gonna let you in on a secret...

"Teenage daughters" and "mess?" 

They're secret synonyms.

Teenage sons can be stinky and sweaty and just plain gross at times. And you can be convinced that entering their rooms wearing anything less than a Hazmat suit is definitely dangerous to your health and well being, but they are, for the most part, predictable and often have things at least somewhat put away even if the grime in the bathroom is an inch thick.

Teenage daughters, on the other hand?

I've never seen anyone take a perfectly tidy and clean space and turn it into a disaster like a teenage girl rampaging through her closet trying to find something to wear - particularly if it is on one of her "fat clothes" days. I just learned that term from one of said teenage daughters this past week. I never had "fat clothes" days as a teen - I just always smelled like a swimming pool from multiple hours swimming laps every day. But I diverse...

Multiply said scenario above by 3.5 (our tween is well on her way to joining her sisters)... Actually, after subsequent thought, raising it exponentially might be more accurate... and it gives you a glimpse of what these girls' bedrooms can look like right after they flee the house to go anywhere.

And don't get me started on the bathroom with hairbrushes, towels, shampoos, conditioners, deodorants, razors, etc., etc., etc.

 According to the dictionary, a mess is:

• "an untidy state of things or of a place"
• "a thing or collection of things causing an untidy state"

Yep!

But teenage girls aren't just a mess in that sense of the word. Mess can also be defined as:

• a situation or state of affairs that is confused or full of difficulties
• a person whose life or affairs are confused or troubled

Doesn't that perfectly describe those teenage times, full of hormonal swings, striving for independence from Mom and Dad, wanting to be beautiful and liked, exhausted but always wanting to be involved in more just so they can hang out with their friends or because they are afraid to say "No" and miss out on something...???

When they all start to chatter about what's going on with their friends, at school, in the youth group, or even what just happened with their little sisters in the basement - the cacophony tumbles across my eardrums, a jumbled mess.

Oh yes, and don't forget the drama that goes right along with all the rest of this chaotic messiness. I don't know anyone else who can go from frenzied giggling to hysterical sobbing in the space of .2 seconds... dodging any physical contact or touch as you pass each other only to tackle you from behind for an impromptu hug when you least expect it. 

  

disarray

muddle 

untidiness

shambles

disorder

chaos

clutter

jumble

Yep!

Teenage daughters = mess

Most days 

- or should I say most nights because they really start to bloom after 11:00 p.m. -

(which, for the record, is a sleep destroyer when you've still got littles around)

I'm loving most moments.

I'm thankful for all of them - even if sometimes it is in hindsight.

I've also learned -

Being a mess? It's contagious!

At least I keep catching it and it drives my perfectionist side batty.

PS Thanks to Nadia and Anna for leaving such fun photos on my phone, 

giving me excellent fodder to work with on this post!

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Linking up with Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday. Would love for you to join us. Be sure and let me know if you do!

Helping Hand... or Not?

Places like this freak you out. You hate the smell -- urine and antiseptic. You hate the feeling of sadness that settles over you the minute you walk through the door. But you love your grandfather, and that's why you're here. To see him -- possibly for hte last time -- before you go off for months to another country. 

You feel a little guilty, as you pass by room after room, trying not to glance through open doorways at the men and women lying there, mouths open, TVs droning in competition with one another. Your grandfather loved to travel more than just about anything. Now his travels are behind him while yours stretch ahead. You tell yourself he's happy for you and admires what you're doing. You just hope you can make him proud. 

He lies propped on the bed. His face is the color of ash and though he still has his pot belly, his arms and legs look thinner to you, depleted. He smiles when he sees you, though it only registers on one side of his face. When he takes your hand, though, his grip is strong. 

His lips are always chapped now, probably because he can't easily sip water on his own. You stopped on the way for a tube of lip balm, which you take out, remove the cap and hand to him. He can't speak, but you can see he's grateful.

He raises the tube to his lips, his hands trembling, but he can't quite get it to work. The lip balm hovers an inch above his face. He puckers his lips and tries again. Still, he can't control his hand well enough to do it. 

You feel stuck in place, numb. You want to reach out and help him, take the tube from his hands and apply the ointment to his parched lips. Its a simple thing, but you're frozen. All of your life he's been strong and independent. You don't want to take that from him. But you don't want him to suffer, either. 

You stand there, watching him struggle. You feel awkward, unable to bridge that small distance. 

He drops his hand, and the tube of lip balm rolls onto the blanket in front of him. All you have to do is pick it up, touch it to his lips. Pick it up and help him. 

What do you do? (pp 59-60)

These words are from a devotional-type book, an adaptation of an earlier book by the same author, written specifically for teen boys by Eric Greitens I guess technically, you'd call the book "inspirational"  Frankly, it is not the typical type of book I'd ever read. But it caught my eye and so I picked it up. After the fact, I'm so glad I did.

Let me start off by saying this. It ISN'T a "biblical" devotional type book. In fact, I'm pretty sure the guy who wrote would not consider himself a born again follower of Jesus - although he readily admits to praying and belief in God. But he's got some good things to say and a challenging perspective to offer - one that I would think worthwhile for most young men of today.

He shares about how the motivation behind his choice and commitment to serve in the military grew out of firsthand knowledge and experience with people who were experiencing the kindness and help from the United States... but wondering where those who had had a reputation for protecting the weak in those first moments of crisis had been during their first moments of need. At one point, speaking of the needs of displaced and refugee children (and others) in Croatia as a result of Serbian genocide, he says: "We can certainly donate money and clothing, and we can volunteer in the refugee camps. But in the end, these acts of kindness come after the fact. After people have been killed, their homes burned, their lives destroyed. Yes, the clothing, the bread, the school -- all of it helps and is very much appreciated. But I suppose we have to behave the way we would if any person -- our kids, our sisters, brothers, parents -- were threatened. If we really care about these people, we have to be willing to protect them from harm." (p. 81)

Now, I'm not an anti-military pacifist - but as of late, I've been wondering if, as a country, our military actions have been the best choice we could have made. Afghanistan... Iraq... have we actually helped or have we made things worse or does the status quo remain - those are all questions I ask and I can see the validity in arguments for all of the above. So, frankly, I really don't know. I certainly wonder if the motivations given for military action actually match up with the hidden and just as real motivations that no one will talk about.

I think that was one of the things I most loved about this book. I loved how this man chose to be a soldier, chose to place himself between and become the protector - for not just lofty ideals he believed in, but also of real people living in desperate situations during drastic times. At the end of the day, right or wrong, his courageous actions were motivated by a heart compelled towards compassionate action.

THAT is a lesson any young man... every person... needs to not only learn but to live.

If that were you, standing there next to your grandpa in the scene quoted above, how could you act with both courage and compassion?

I wonder how our world might change if we spent some time pondering that question in many, if not all, of the decisions we face on a regular basis...

But I'll let him speak for himself. Here's his conclusion:

"On the frontlines - in humanitarian crises, in wars overseas, and around some kitchen tables here at home - I'd seen that peace is more than the absence of war and that a good life entails more than the absence of suffering. A good peace, a solid peace, a peace in which communities can flourish, can only be built when we ask ourselves and each other to be more than just good, and better than just strong. And a good life, a meaningful life, a life in which we can enjoy the world and live with purpose, can only be built if we do more than live for ourselves." (p. 247)

Yikes! She's FIFTEEN as of last weekend!

And thanks to a frigid Tuesday and lots of recovering-from-being-sick teachers at the kids' school, she and I were able to sneak off together for some mama-daughter time this morning. We'd tried over the weekend, but we spent too long at Barnes and Noble and the coffee shop had already closed by the time we pulled into the parking lot.

It was a delight! Listening to her talk and share without having to filter out other chatterers, stop for interruptions or keep an eye on the clock! Those moments don't happen to often. And she's got the best sense of humor. As a young'un, she was always the extrovert and life of the party. But she's growing up to become a quiet, reflective friend who enjoys people but doesn't often draw attention to herself. She's really quite perceptive and a people watcher/listener!

And the conclusion?

I really, really like this FIFTEEN year old!

"I just don't feel like you love me!"

That statement, flung at me by one of my daughters, was first prefaced with the claim that she and I must speak different love languages and was in the context of an angry, grumpy, exhausted day where said daughter felt she was entitled to something (that was hers) the very moment she demanded it.

It reminded me of all that volcanic activity that we saw while we were out in Yellowstone last summer.

Her comment angered me and frankly, my first "reactive" thoughts ran along the lines of, "Fine then. Why don't I just give you a very tangible taste of what it would really 'feel' like if I didn't love you."

Which infuriated me. Not just my daughter's angry and hurtful words. My initial response, I mean.

I so totally despise that feeling of infuriating myself... It usually means that in my thought life (if not actually acted out in real time), I'm acting no differently or better than a child... my child.

The temptation is always there. I want to walk through life, assuming a landscape of entitlement, insisting that things go just the way I think they should with self at the center of all. That might be because I think I've worked hard enough and I deserve it... or because things have been so bad and hard lately I should get a break... or because I am important (for this or that reason) and people around me should recognize that and value me... or because my contribution is a little more vital and they'd really miss me if I stopped [contributing] so they'd better not tick me off... or because...

I could keep on going, couldn't I.

The problem with living that way is that I'm just like a volcanic landscape.

Sometimes those feelings bubble and boiling to the surface, little poofs of steam sometimes shoot up, all hinting and giving glimpses of the ugly underneath when too much life pressure builds up. That odor permeating the area? It's distinct - not overpowering but always noticeable. Kinda sulfery. Most would be hard-pressed to describe it sweet, mild, pleasant - or a place to hang out for a significant time.

Other times, there's not noticeable fuming or exploding. But clearly? Something unhealthy is going on underneath, for the visible landscape it missing something. I has a desolate air to it: things once growing and vibrant have died and signs of new life are nonexistent. People who tread that landscape always do so hesitantly, scared of what all that energy just below the obvious surface might do to them should it be unleashed. Who wants to stick it out long term when that sort of blackmail threat is always buried, just out of sight, but still palpable?

Then there are always those who begin to rumble and grumble and then just spew heat and hate and anger and entitlement... sometimes predictably, sometimes only every so often and clearly not when expected, sometimes large and wide, sometimes narrow and high with deadly force and precision.

I don't imagine many would say, "I want people to think of a geologic nightmare, intriguing and fascinating though it may be, like the landscape of Yellowstone... when they think of me." Personally, Yellowstone was the kind of place that was nice to visit. But it wasn't one of the places we saw on our travels where I said, "I could just plant myself here and never leave..." It was too volatile- it sometimes felt (and I don't know if this would make any sense to anyone else) voyeuristic, not to mention overstimulating and just plain exhausting.

As I've thought back many times at first, but just recently once again, to my daughter's furious fuming that began this whole mind-and-heart-meander, I had one final light bulb ping.

I make similar statements to God time and time again. Just like Job did. Until he realized. 

What was Job's response?

"I know that You can do all things, And that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted. 'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?' Therefore I have declared that which I did not understand, Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know. Hear, now, and I will speak; I will ask You, and You instruct me. I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear; But now my eye sees You; Therefore I retract, And I repent in dust and ashes." (NASB, from Job 42)

 Or phrased another way...

“I’m convinced: You can do anything and everything. Nothing and no one can upset your plans. You asked, ‘Who is this muddying the water, ignorantly confusing the issue, second-guessing my purposes?’ I admit it. I was the one. I babbled on about things far beyond me, made small talk about wonders way over my head. You told me, ‘Listen, and let me do the talking. Let me ask the questions. You give the answers.’ I admit I once lived by rumors of you; now I have it all firsthand—from my own eyes and ears! I’m sorry—forgive me. I’ll never do that again, I promise! I’ll never again live on crusts of hearsay, crumbs of rumor.” (The Message, from Job 42)

Thanks to Anna for her photos of Old Faithful.

Waves and Fun and thankfully NO Sharks

Andi's wedding was over.

It was the last evening with cousins - and we still had to pack.

We'd been in California for 5 days and we still hadn't seen the beach.

We had to fix that!

Off to Huntington Beach we went.

We didn't take swimsuits... It wasn't a particularly sunny day - in fact it was on the cooler side - and the surf was pretty wild... so the plan was to wade and play in the shallow water without getting too wet.

So much for "the plan..."

Not even the knowledge of this (which happened on June 4 and this was only 26 days later)...

...put a damper on their enthusiasm.

It wan't until the littles started getting cold

...as in shivering uncontrollably cold

&

we realized we hadn't brought any towels (remember, we weren't planning on going in beyond knee deep - with the waves...

...that we finally convinced them to come out of the water, traipse across the sand and beach volleyball courts, clamber back to the vehicles -where we blasted the heaters and stopped at McDs for some hot drinks, to head back to the cousins' house.

We had to mop the van out the next morning before we could load it to begin the our trek back to Michigan.

It was so worth it!