Peace in Fear

1 decade.

That's how long its been.

10 years since every American's life was changed immensely and forever.

240 months ago, we all woke up with the given that any day could be our last, but there were a couple of other "givens" we had originally woken up with:

• America is generally a safe country.  Wars occur in places like Iraq- we only see those kinds of riots after the Lakers lose... or win.
• Planes don't crash into buildings.  In fact, if you were to ask anyone, they'd tell you that flying is safer than driving.

But on the morning of September 11, 2001, all of our "givens"- every ignorant assumption we'd held near and dear- were tossed aside.  Suddenly, our world was never going to be the same.  Our kids and future kids would never know a world where flying didn't include the possible threat of terrorism; where they didn't know at least one person who was heading off to war or had just come back; where there was a 'Twin Towers'.

My oldest was 1 and 1/2 at the time, and I'll never forget holding him, thinking "What a horrible accident!" and then watching as the second plane slammed into the second tower.  I'll never forget wondering what kind of life he had ahead of him.

I'll never forget church that Sunday.  It was packed to the brim with people hoping for answers- looking for hope itself.  Flags were bought by the dozen and flown in every doorway.  Candles were lit for the fallen.  People sang songs of unity and tolerance and spoke of how we needed to come together, throwing around the phrase "God Bless America".

760 weeks later, most of those thoughts have faded.  Flags might still fly, but candles are no longer lit.  Many who fled to church right after the attack, soon gave God a nice pat on the back with a "Thanks for being there when I freaked- see you at Christmas."  Unity and tolerance were nice ideas until you fit a certain profile or pissed someone off; and "God Bless America" soon became the "Have a nice day" of this generation- which strikes me as odd since "under God" in the pledge of allegiance still offends some people.

In the end, the only REAL thing that has stuck around all these years later is fear.  It happened once, could it happen again?  Where's Bin Laden and what's he planning?  Now we're at war- what now?  Oh, now we've found Bin Laden and he's dead... wait, what about zealots for his cause?

So, with so much fear in abundance, what does God's word have to say about it?

"So, do not fear, for I am with you." Isaiah 41:16
"In God, whose word I praise- in God I trust and am not afraid.  What can mere mortals do to me?" Psalm 56:4
"For in the day of trouble, he will keep me safe in his dwelling." Psalm 27:5

When we're afraid, he doesn't turn his back- he opens his arms.  He reminds us that -as it was stated so eloquently in Veggietales- "God is bigger than the boogie man."  God gave man free will, so there's never going to be World Peace- mankind is prone to sin- but when things go bad, God gives us himself.  No matter what we've faced, are facing, or will face, God is always true to his word and he's said that he's with us.  He's been there everyday for the last 5320 days- whether we've noticed or not- listening for when we call on him, and he'll continue to be there everyday, waiting on that 1 day when we're afraid and need him.

God is bigger than the boogie man.

So, what's to fear?

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And I made this choice 3 TIMES...

I want the instruction manual that was supposed to come with my kids.


I also want to know why I was never allowed to register my kids to receive a longer warranty.

Ya know, you bring home this soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle and you think "Wow, he's all mine." And that first night you start looking around for the missing manual.

Its nowhere to be found.

Still, you think "I can do this", so you stick it out. Little do you know that he's prepping his lungs because- like any other muscle- he knows that if you don't use it, you lose it.

You tell yourself "At least he's healthy" and then its "Wow, do his lungs really inflate THAT MUCH?".
Then after awhile you find yourself sleep deprived muttering useless things like "Now, now. There are coyotes in 3rd world countries that don't have lungs as strong as his".

Doesn't make much sense, huh?

Did I mention "sleep deprived"?

As you continue to rock this child (secretly starting to wish that you could rocket him into orbit) it hits you that you'll never be able to give him back.

You think about calling the hospital and asking about the return policy, but you remember how they gave a nervous chuckle when you joked about taking one of them home to help out, and you think better of it.

You console yourself with the fact that he won't always be this age- needing you so much. Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Suddenly you're looking at this CHILD who isn't a BABY anymore and you find yourself thinking "He's not a baby anymore. He doesn't need me at all."

From somewhere in the distance you hear a subtle ticking.

As it gets louder and louder, the logical side of your brain tells you "Run!!! Run while you have the chance and don't look back!!!"

Yet you reminisce about the soft, sweet smelling, adorable little bundle you brought home from the hospital.

You don't stop to think about why hospitals have decidedly short stay times for new moms.

Baby with colic?

No problem- he'll be going home in 1 DAY!!

As the ticking becomes the only sound you hear, the logical side becomes less of a yell and more of a pitiful whimper in anticipation of what's to come.

For months you hear nothing but joyful thoughts of cribs and play pens.

And then it happens.

Your blessed first born starts to realize that he isn't going to be the only one, and the acting out begins.

Suddenly, the logical side of your brain wakes up from the self-induced coma and starts to wail- too late.

Now you're back at the beginning, and its not so bad.

The labor wasn't THAT difficult- now that its over.

And he's just this tiny, little, helpless thing.

So soft.

So cuddly.

A sweet scent of baby powder.

Oh, poor baby... he's crying...

Take 3

When I was in high school, I had a specific view of what my life would look like:  somehow I would be both a stay at home mom and yet have a very successful career in some chosen profession (it all depended on how I felt that particular day); I'd be married to the man of my dreams; we'd have a little white house with a little white picket fence; there would be a big oak tree in the yard and on it would be a tire swing; sitting on the front porch would be our lazy family dog; and playing out in the back yard were our 2 kids- a boy (oldest) and girl.  Sometimes there would be a third child in this dream, but its gender never really mattered.

I've now been out of high school for 12 years, and my reality is just a tad different from my dream.

I went to college to get my "very successful career", but after graduating, I realized it wasn't quite the field for me.  I also realized that I was pregnant and my boyfriend and I weren't married.  After running up some credit card bills, our credit took a nosedive, so the possibility of getting the "little white house with the little white picket fence" wasn't in the cards, and there aren't many apartment complexes with big oak trees right out your front door, so there went that picture, along with the tire swing; and since most apartment complexes either don't allow pets or else they're too small for them, we ended up with a lazy cat instead.  And the kids?  I now have 3 boys- all male.

In fact, the only part of my dream that came true was marrying the man of my dreams.  I know- its a mushy statement.  Well, I'm a girl- I'm allowed to be mushy.  Heck, in a household full of males (our cat is a boy- even our fishes have boy names!), its my God given right- no RESPONSIBILITY- to be as girly as possible.

You'd think that I'd be disappointed that not all of my dreams came true, but God never promised me that life would be like Disneyland- where all your dreams come true.  And, honestly, I wouldn't change a thing.

Well- right now.  Ask me if I would toward the end of the day when I'm watching the clock, waiting for the boys' bedtime,  and wishing I could have a glass of wine.

So, why 'Take 3'?  Well, for an obvious reason- my youngest was born on Dec. 30th.  3rd child.  3rd. boy.  3rd chance to get the 'Mommy of the Year' award...  You'd think that wouldn't be so hard, but apparently they have really high standards for the definition of 'Mommy of the Year'.  I've heard they frown on some of the things I do as a mom, but I'm still crossing my fingers.

This is also my 3rd chance to get back the body I had in high school.  Of course, there's the very real possibility that the only way that'll happen is through extensive plastic surgery, but I always was a sucker for lost causes.  I think, though, that if I put it out there into the ether that I'm on a mission to shed the "baby weight", that maybe I'll become a MILTSDAHCW ('Mom I'd like to sit down and have coffee with'- what?  You've never heard of that one?) by Christmas.  We'll see.