Bra Straps and Piddly Problems

Once upon a time there was a happy, healthy, energetic girl inside of me. 
Once upon a time my skin glowed from the sun and my 6 hours of sleep was plenty. 
Once upon a time I'd throw on shorts and tank and walk to the lake with my little boy.
Once upon a time my house was clean and my hair was done nicely.

Once upon a time I didn't pee my pants on a daily basis.
Once upon a time .....

Andy and I had talked about the possibility of another child before my son got too old, we liked a gap but didn't want it too big.  No sooner had we tossed the idea around in a prayer or two when I got the hunch and took a test.  Positive.  I shared my news with Andy in a very carefully-laid out performance and he was overjoyed, as was I.  This is obviously what God wanted! 

Two weeks later Andy left for Las Vegas with a friend while I got hit the night before by the morning sickness truck.  I was tired, sick, and not looking forward to a week alone when I decided to go the doctor and ask for the medicine they'd given me last pregnancy to help retain some of what I ate.  Andy was still on the plane when the doctor ordered an ultrasound to check dates and look into a small concern he'd noticed in my abdominal exam.  The tech was taking her sweet little time telling me what was going on and 20 minutes into my ultrasound I finally asked if she could see my baby and whether or not she could verify my dates for what my due date would be.  She hesitated for about 5 seconds, which was more than enough time for me to think about each and every terrible thing that could be wrong with my little one...twice.  She finally clicked one last click on the keyboard and looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.  I blurted out, "Well can you see my baby?!"  She slowly replied, "Well, honey, do twins run in your family?"  This marked the first of many episodes where I peed my...well...gown in this case.

Since my six week ultrasound I've come to accept a lifestyle I never in a  million gazillion trillion poopillion years expected.  For one, I was popping out of my pants and shirts two weeks later at just 8 little weekers.  My bras started making it nearly impossible to breathe, and it's always fun to walk into a bank with an unsnapped bra up at my chin- I ALWAYS remember to unsnap them in private, but not always to RE-SNAP them.  My poor husband and close friends have gotten real used to this oversight. 

Another big adjustment I've made, and it still surprises me how easily I've desensitized myself to this- I get peed on A LOT.  Let me explain.  Andy just potty trained Charlie and let's just go ahead and call him a dripper.  Without fail,  he pees on me every single time I help put his undies back on after going potty 497 times between getting home from daycare and bedtime.  It doesn't phase me, I wipe it on whatever is closest and move on without flinching.  Then there's me, I pee a little every time I sit down, every time I yawn, every time I sneeze, every time I cough, walk down steps, or slam on the brakes.  It's gotten to where I bring extra pants everywhere I go, which is tough when I only have 3 pair that will embrace my new body. 

Pregnant with multiples, Angelina Jolie has done it and if the tabloids are correct, she's doing it again.  M Carey did it.  They all bounce right back and look so chic while doing it. Not this whale.  No way.

My Husband's Underwear

There are days when things just couldn’t be better.  There are days where the sun shines a little brighter and you sing a pop song in the shower and your hair falls just right.  There are days like say a girl’s wedding day when she has every high hope there is to be had about the future.  There are days when you step on the scale and you’re delightfully surprised and then you get a miscellaneous check in the mail from last year’s tax refund and you just look up at the bluest sky and say a prayer of thanks.  There are days when you randomly feel extra appreciated and life’s unfair moments seem to finally find their balance.

And then . . . . There are days like yesterday.   Oh. My.  Lanta. 

Yesterday was one for the books.  Well let's see, I woke up to my husband’s clenched fist colliding with my ear and jaw while dreaming of chasing a Tyrannosaurus- Rex in a John Deere Gator.  He’s a real active dreamer and for whatever reason he’s usually playing some kind of combination between Indiana Jones and an Ace Ventura role.  The other side of his strange random dream patterns is this little-girl belly giggle he does.  I’ll feel the bed shaking and look to end where his toes are wiggling like he’s being tickled and then the giggle starts and the high pitched gleeful sound is just about enough to make my already irritated mood from waking this way just a little more irritated.   No wonder he’s so giggly, he’s happy- he’s sleeping.  How nice for him.

With a pounding headache I got out of bed and stumbled from the bedroom only to step directly on Charlie’s John Deere tractor model, you know . . . the kind with extra sharp exhaust pipes coming out the top.  So to recap: it’s now 7:03, exactly three minutes after waking oh so abruptly and I’m already cursing my throbbing face and the bright green farm supply company I typically proudly support- this is how I know it’s going to be an excellent day.  

My luck continued as I walked out of my house and it was pouring rain on my roofing material I left exposed in the bed of my truck- the one time I don’t put my cover up.   I drove my wet tools to the gas station where I had barely opened the door before I had an experience unlike any experience I’d ever had.  All in one beat, a senile older gentleman clapped his hands loudly maybe a half inch from my nose and yelled while spit flew out of his mouth, “Who do you think you are?! . . .Eleanor Roosevelt?!” 

Um . . . what?

I decided instantly against staying and making the purchase I was planning to, so I turned on my heel and walked through the still open door back to the safety of my truck.  I got to the Convention Center where the trade show for my business was being held and I began inviting people to play the game my exhibit had on the display table. I said nicely with a smile, “Pick a duck!  Would you like to play Pluck a Duck?  Just pick a duck!”  The very first person I encountered at the show was a nice looking elderly woman pushing a walker and when I asked her if she wanted to pick a duck, she looked me dead in the eye and with all the spite her 80 years of life had piled on her tiny frame she said slowly and deliberately,“YOU pick a duck and see how YOU like it!”     

Alright then.

I finally got my run in and then picked my son from daycare.  We went straight to the local grocery where he got his little “Customer in Training” cart from the dispenser and preceded to smack multiple shoppers in the face with the long plastic flag that stuck up out of the corner on it.  I walked behind him, apologizing as I went, and I started noticing that I was getting the most interesting stares from a couple men my age. They weren’t the “Mmm mm” type stares, oh no.  They were the, "What is wrong with her?  Quick- look away” type of stares.  I thought maybe I had something on my face or legs so I checked.  Twice.  The second time I checked I shuddered as it all clicked.  

 I was wearing my husband’s underwear.  In public.  Oh good grief.

I often wore Andy's black Adidas boxer/briefs to work-out in my home as they don’t ride up, they’re just long enough to be comfortable, and they breathe real nice.  Go figure.  I can’t imagine what these guys were thinking, seeing me wearing what they probably had in their top drawer at home right here in the grocery store.  If that wasn’t bad enough, my husband clued me in later that they were also slightly transparent.  He called it karma fo rstealing his underwear in the first place. I called it another small miracle adding to an already epic failure of a day.  I’m going to try and fall asleep thinking about a Tyrannosaurus-Rex this evening and maybe he’ll learn just what karma is all about.

Here’s to tomorrow!

Thank You

Let me start by saying thank you mom for passing down my insomnia.  It was thanks to this insomnia that I thought of all of these wonderful things I'm thankful for.

1.  I'm thankful first and foremost for a God whose mercy knows no limit.
2.  I'm thankful for Aasics running shoes, they're the only trainer that doesn't kill my broken L5 vertebra.
3.  I'm thankful for all the little space heaters in my life that get me through a cold Minnesota winter.
4.  I'm thankful for Netflix for letting a budget-conscious family still enjoy TV time.
5.  I'm thankful to my truck for listening to my random 'Carrie Underwood and Steven Curtis Chapman reluctantly featuring Emma Kay' concerts on a daily basis...sometimes more.
6.  I'm thankful for bathroom acoustics.
7.  I'm thankful for God's amazing artistry when it comes to the contrast of bright green birch tree leaves and the bluest morning sky.
8.  I'm thankful for Charlie's little dimple on the left side of his smile, the one and only physical trait he inherited from me.
9.  I'm thankful for my childhood friends Charlie and Jenna and our siblings for making growing up an adventure in the woods speaking made up native languages and naming cricks and ponds by combining all of our last names.
10. I'm thankful to the United States of America's Armed forces for bringing my parents together and making a little government baby.
11. I'm thankful for the Green Bay Packers, the legacy of Brett Favre until 2011, and the legacy of Michael Jordan until his hall of fame induction speech.
12.  I'm also thankful for the book Lance Armstrong wrote that got me through my high school hospital visits with my heart condition and being benched most of my basketball season junior year.
13.  I'm thankful to Oprah for then calling that lying son of a biscuit out so he doesn't keep leading injured high school juniors to believe you can be as amazing as he was without performance enhancing blood transfusions.
14.  I'm thankful for my husband's dry sense of humor and that he has finally stopped resisting to my asking for his advice on my bathroom concertos. (music, not the other type of bathroom concerto)
15.  I'm thankful to Wells Fargo for firing me so I could go on to do something I love and stop manipulating 18 year olds into destroying their credit before they had it all so I could feed my family.
16.  I'm thankful for Zofran- the amazing little pill that helped me gain weight during my pregnancy ensuring that my already premature son would one day fill his wrinkly skin with cellulite like his mommy.  Just kidding, he doesn't have cellulite.  But I did.  Don't look for that on this list.
17.  I'm thankful for Natalie Grant's rendition of 'How Great Thou Art' two years ago at the Xcel Energy Center.
18.  I'm thankful to my Mama for raising me to dream and be confident and comfortable as a daughter of the King.
19.  I'm thankful to my Daddy for his consistency and his understanding.
20.  I'm thankful to my college friend Becki for helping me grow up and letting me take out my issues on her for so long.
21.  I'm thankful to Hannah for her God-given wisdom- and her back massages.
22.  I'm thankful for Boomtown, Missouri for being the place my cousins and I would stop to load up on firecrackers for the farm in Mississippi- I think snappers are still floating to the surface under Pappa's dock.
23. I'm thankful to Matt, Abby, and Bass Lake Camp for the rock-solid foundation in Christ, teaching me to play three guitar chords for worship, and bringing my then-rebellious teenager husband and I together.
24. I'm thankful to whoever has preserved the First Century Synagogue in Capernaum, Israel. 

That is all for now, until insomnia strikes again

Adventures of a Reluctant Minnesota Toddler

Good morning yall!  After my ranting on the Saylorville situation I figured I probably spoke a little too harshly and it's time for a lighter topic- Charles, who else?!
So here's what we're up to these days, Charlie is two and a half and up to no good.  For one, Charlie HATES snow.  Every day he wakes up and looks out his window he sinks a little deeper into his winter depression.  He's very clear about the fact that he does NOT want to wear mittens, he does NOT want a single flake to touch his face, and the look on his face asks what kind of maniac intentionally rolls around in the stuff.  I tell Andy that Charlie has my blood and we simply don't belong north of Kansas and that is that, but he's not buying it.  We've been watching Duck Dynasty and Andy has quickly adopted the term coined by Si, "yuppie" into his regular vocabulary.  I think I hate this as much as he did "weather alert," but I could be wrong.   My poor son and I are constantly being nagged at for our winter blues.  Charlie will only shuffle his boots in the snow, he won't actually pick his foot up off the ground for fear of slipping, so as you can imagine, it takes some time to get from the door to the truck.  Sometimes I'll be inside and I'll hear Andy outisde saying, "come on you little yuppie... it's snow, not lava."
Andy begged the Lord for a son, and now against my manly husband's constant prodding, my little boy has taken up none other than professional shopping.  As I finish getting ready in the bathroom upstairs in the morning, I'll hear him crack open his bedroom door and after checking if I'm indeed up he steps out, blankie in hand, and says, "Oh! Hiiiii mom."  The inflection in his voice suggests he's perfectly shocked that of all people I  happen to be at this mall today too and it's a crazy coincidence to see me here so very early.  Of course he hasn't gotten any pants on (he insists on removing anything touching his diaper when he sleeps- he likes to chat with 'mickey mouf ' on the front of his diaper in the middle of the night, and when we switched up the brand and Winnie the Pooh graced the front of his diaper he started talking with "weenie and poohs"...........so we donated the rest of that diaper pack to daycare and switched back)  After greeting his mother he marches his blankie and bare legs down the stairs and places one of three of his stuffed companions in his shopping cart, legs through the front holes.  When he can't get their legs through the holes he gets frustrated and says, "No no baby, HEP ME HERE!" which I recognized as my same frustrated reaction when he doesn't help me put his legs through the shopping cart holes at the local grocery.  Scary how they watch so closely.  His three favorite tagalongs at the moment are good ol' Baby the Brazilian Aardvark, Elmo, or an African American Cabbage Patch doll we've named Becki, as we had an African American Friend in college and that was her name.  Becki was a gift from one of my cousins,  I stinkin love watching Charlie shop with Becki.  Charles then starts strolling the aisles of our townhome for all the latest deals and big buys- hips sashaying back and forth all the way.  I'm not positive but I think my dear hubby loses sleep over this.
Charlie does the tractor thing and will ask perfect strangers on our couch to roll up their pant legs so he can drive his hot-wheel cars around their knees, but nothing quite compares to a day of filling and emptying his cart with the same old crap as yesterday.
We had Charlie at the doctor the other day, just for a routine checkup, and she said he is growing very nicely- he's very tall.  The one thing she mentioned is that she'd like him to really work on pronunciation and letter recognition, which I think is jumping the gun, but what do I know, I run a construction company.  After she mentioned this though, things started coming to mind that might very well back-up what she was saying.  For example, we've started attending a new church in Lakeville and we were pleasantly suprised by how much Charlie loved "Chuch!"  He is in his first Sunday School class and the mother in me was warmed every time my little man asks me if he can go to church.  Every time we'd get in the truck, Charlie would ask, "Mama chuch or Tishas?"  Tisha is his version of Tricia, his daycare lady.  After about a month of this, one of the couples we'd gotten to know a little at church invited us out to their farm for dinner.  Andy and I were nervous about Charles being shy at first when we got there as we hadn't done much visiting since we relocated to the cities.  We walked in the house and Mr. Carlberg opened the door and took Charlie's coat.  Charlie got a glimpse of his face to which he lit up and put his chubby little fingers out for  a handshake, (we truly don't make him do this) and to my demise, he yelled, "Oh!  Hiiiiiiiiiii  Chuch!" 
Shoot. 
So this was 'chuch.'  His Sunday School teacher.  Misunderstandings are normal in a house with a small person just learning to speak, but I was bummed.  All night long Charlie would speak to and refer to Paul as Chuch.  "Scoose me Chuch."  "Tank you Chuch"  We all got a good laugh, but maybe I do need to work with the little one on his pronunciation and comprehension, all in good time.
Anyway, every stage is fun for all new reasons and we thoroughly enjoy watching our little prince grow every day, I'll try to be better on posting his adventures.  Have a great weekend yall!

Confessions of a Driveaholoc

As yall know I commute to my offices in Lakeville and Duluth from my home in Sartell, Minnesota.  It's approximately 75 miles (2-2.5 hrs in traffic) to Lakeville and 150 miles (3-3.5 hrs in construction) to Duluth.  I'm past due for my 2nd oil change in the last 3 weeks  and my 2012 Chevy Silverado purchased at the end of June has 18955 miles on it to date------------point being, I drive a lot.  A lot of my driving is between 4 am and 7 am and the rest is in rush hour or after in the evening.  Thanks to Mr. President and his generous 'travel restoration' fund and the fact that the state of Minnesota knows it has exactly two and a half minutes between snow storms to get every single road fixed- I deal with a lot of summer construction and detours WILL most likely be the death of me. 

On the bright side- here are some helpful tidbits I'd like to share about being a driveaholic.

1.  Construction work takes a long time, and no one ever tells you what they're doing.  Two years of one-lane reroutes and not a single explanation.  The only thing they will go out of their way to explain is a "BUMP,"  which is almost always a rediculously small crack in the pavement that you will brace for but never actually experience, meanwhile there's not an orange marker to be found for the pothole that just caused you to spill a full hot cup of coffee on your khakis.  Here's an idea Minnesota: Skip the $600 sign you put up to mark the bump.  Skip the $600 wage you gave the guy in the reflective vest to go install the sign.  Use that $1200 and FIX THE DANG BUMP.

2.  A balloon with a hat on it will suffice for a second person so that you can use the carpool lane, or so the Wisconsin drivers believe.  I will run you over Wisonsin drivers.

3.  Speaking of out-of-staters: to all of you wonderful South Dakotans, I will say this.  Your license plate is very pretty, but if I see it going 68 in the fast lane for 50 miles straight I will sit on your pretty little bumper and give you the evil eye as long as I need to... so I would just go ahead an adjust your rear-view mirror if you don't like the evil eye.  Seriously- move over.  Some of us have places to be.

4.  Semis that drive the same speed side by side blocking traffic should just go ahead and remove the 'how am i driving' 1-800 number from the back of their trucks because I will call and answer that question.

5.  If you have a bumper sticker that says, "I race to win," don't drive a 96 dodge neon with your knees.  Please and thank you.

6.  Listen up guys, because this is very important.  I don't care about any previous success you've had with this in the past- YOU WILL NOT, I REPEAT NOT, GET ME ON A DATE WITH YOU BY HITTING ON ME IN TRAFFIC.  You won't get one anyway because I'm married, but what in the world happened to you this morning to make you think that when you got out of bed and put your seatbelt on in your car you were going to walk away from your commute with a girl?!  There are just too many things wrong with this.
A- You don't know me.  I could be a serial killer.  I could be married with 15 kids.  I could be from a different country.
B- Any self-respecting woman would be completely unimpressed with a guy that thinks a girl that knows absolutely nothing about him (except that he picks girls up in traffic) would go out on a date with him based on solely a pick up line and what he drives.  So if that's the kind of girl you want- be my guest hot-rod.
C-  You have ABSOLUTELY NOT A CLUE IN THE WORLD how big my butt is.  What if the lower half of my body has severe elephantitis and you've gone and asked me out based on my left arm and haircut?  Bad idea.
D-  "Hey baby you're hott do you want to meet me somewhere later" is a terrible pick-up line.  Terrible.

moving on...

7.  The middle finger seems to be the one and only response to being cut off, so be prepared to be flipped off often if you drive a lot.

8.  "I was just trying to escape my need for perfection and have a moment of rebellion" will not get you out of a ticket for not wearing your seat belt, even in a Cub Foods parking lot.

9.  Honking rarely scares white-tail deer, it mostly puts them into shock so they freeze while you're still going 77 mph straight at them.  I suggest swerving or flashing your brights.

It's all I got but hopefully it helps!  Drive safe yall!

The Brazilian Aardvark

I was talking to an old friend and a fellow blogger last night about some of the things that have been happening in the Helmer household and he urged me to keep writing so that I don't forget.  As for why I haven't been writing- I'm working five 16-hour days a week and basically spending my weekends recovering enough to bathe my lifeless body before Monday...I've fallen asleep in the shower twice in the last two weeks.  We are wrapping up our busy season and I moved into ownership in June so it has been insanely insane- but I am thankful to have a good job in this shifty economy.  Speaking of economy, I haven't taken much time to learn the campaigns this election year and yet I woke up this morning with one question in my mind-- Did Obama name Obamacare after himself or was it an aftershock from the republicans?  My ignorance in this campaign is wretched I know but I feel that knowing the answer to this question would say a lot about good ol' hope and change.  I should probably study up.

On to the State of the Helmer Address!  Here's what all yall you need to know------ Charlie Bryan sings NONSTOP and it is HILARIOUS.  I don't know where he learned to sing like he does but he gets this really high-pitched voice going and he takes himself very seriously.  He's committed to learning every action to every Blue's Clues tune and he sounds out most of the melody and echoes as he goes.  When he can't say the word- he goes into lip-sincing, which is equally adorable because the shapes he makes out with his mouth don't at all match little Steve Burns and his jazz hands...my little man is plain cut out for Japanese television.  If you don't know who Steve Burns is . . . you need to take a little walk outside, get yourself a frappacino with java chips, and throw your arms in the air and thank the Lord for this blessing.  I DO NOT LIKE STEVE BURNS.  First of all, Steve is not teaching children... he is depending on them to find his girl dog that looks like a boy.  Secondly, aside from his complete lack of self respect, he has some clinically serious hearing issues.  For example, when the little children yell, "The mail is here!"  and the purple mailbox pops out with his cute little Boston accent, Steve sings his mail song right on Que----HOWEVER--when the children yell, "There's a clue! There's a clue!" (which is the whole stinkin point of the show) Steve goes into a state of complete hearing loss.  "What's that?  My name is Sue?"  "No! A clue a clue!"  "A cow goes Moo??!"  "No!  A clue a clue!"  If I was one of those children I would kick him in the shins, walk off the set, and never look back.  When Charlie turns three- we are done with Blue's Clues...I'm afraid his intelligence will start regressing. 

As you know, Charlie loves animals...LOVES them.  He's had this little spaniel-looking dog since his first birthday and "Doggy" has been part of the family ever since.  About six months ago, I took Charlie garage-saling and his eye caught a playdoh-covered stuffed golden retriever.  "Puppy" has been part of the family ever since.  He's very creative when he names his dearest dogs.  These two sleep tucked in by his head every night, but that's not the end of it.  About a month ago, Andy and I decided we would take him to the Como Zoo in the twin cities thinking that since Charles loves animals he would enjoy seeing some big ones.  Wrong again.  We sat there trying our hardest to get him interested in the monkeys and giraffes and zebras and Charlie couldn't give two hoots or a holler.  We were feeling down about wasting the day when we cut through the gift shop on our way out.  The gift shop was like any other zoo shop- filled with adorable stuffed adorables from the great animal kingdom.  There were fluffy pandas, sweet little seals, soft lambs and we pulled a cute little koala for Charlie to hold, but Charlie wasn't interested in the Koala.  He ran fast as I've ever seen him move and dug out an animal from behind the dolphins.  When he pulled it out, I had to look away.  Andy looked at me and smiled.  After a second of smiling and staring at me he said, "Em.  We can't bring that home."  I just kept looking away.  When I was brave enough I looked back at my darling boy only to see him holding this animal like it was his brand new child.  He set it down on the ground on it's paws oh so gently and then picked it back up on his chest and patted its back.  I could hear him whispering, "Dis Baby, dis Chahyees Baby."  He was completely in love, and this admiration brought "love is blind" to another level of utter blindness. 
This animal was hideous.  I couldn't tell what it was, but it was partially striped, and it was mostly carrot-poop orange and normal-poop brown.  It had a pointy nose and short fat legs with wiry little claws. 
I'm here to tell you that after an extensive google search we have learned that "Baby" is none other than a true Brazilian Aardvark and "Baby" is now just as important as Doggy and Puppy in this family.  He is Charlie's baby and he protects him as I suppose the mommy Brazilian Aardvark would.  He took him gently to daycare one day where he tried to share his bundle of joy with Bradley, a three year old.  Bradley preceded to take Baby by the neck and shake him angrily like one of the alcoholic fathers from Friday Night Lights.  Bradley then dropped Baby to the ground and gave his best kick- Baby went flying across the room.  My poor Charlie dropped to his little knees, mouth gaping and tears flowing freely down his cheeks.  He sat there in shock until he could gather his strength enough to go check on Baby.  He picked him up, kissed his nose, and brought him back to me.  He placed Baby safely in my care and said with a lump in his throat, "Mommy, dis Baby.  Baby home." Then he turned slowly and walked away. 
My heart broke and I too felt deep sadness for what both my baby as well as Charlie's Baby had just experienced.  Baby is resting comfortably at home and the doctors have labeled him stable.  We hope for a clean bill of health by the end of the week.  Charlie hasn't left his side.
My boy's a lover, what can I say?

A Thunderous God with a Still Small Voice

Let me tell You!  This week I have been ridiculously busy.  We had hail hit in three different cities in my state which means I spent more time on a roof than I did in my bed.  Charlie has been acting like he's stinkin Paris Hilton- how DARE I place his juice cup on the cork coaster instead of the ceramic one!  And on top of this, my husband left town to be with some friends in Iowa for five days (which he never does so I'm happy for him.......really....I am :) . So you see God, this is why I didn't get to my devotions every day this week!  Sometimes, I find that I get too comfy with the Almighty Creator of the universe.     I dangerously mistake his new mercies every morning for a man in the sky with selective Alzheimer's.  I treat him like I treat my boss, like He doesn't really know what's going on or that I'm screening His calls.  I think to myself, Jesus is loving, He is kind and understanding, He is such an intimate Friend that sometimes, a lot of times, I forget how BIG God is.

I play piano and sing for the worship team at church and we had our weekly practice the other night- the songs were great, but I found myself going through the motions and praying that our ending prayer would finish quicker than it was.  Sue, my dear friend and fellow worship leader, was praying for the other leader and for my week.  Sue's gift is compassion, unfortunately mine is not.  But I really do want to work on that....really....I do.
Anyway, I come home and decided to try and nail down a few tricky parts on one of the songs with more accidentals than normal notes and I come up with a beautiful melody line that I think would make a great new song.  Normally when I get distracted like this, it's at least worth it as I can write very quickly and the lyrics come to me as the melody does.  The lyrics started coming, but the hypocrisy tasted like blueberries dipped in horseradish coming out of my mouth.  "All that I am, All that I want to be, is to know you more Jesus, to live so the world will see."  I couldn't put my finger on the problem, so I wrote it off as bad creativity and called it a night.

That night I'm comfortably sound asleep, the kind of asleep where the house burns around you and you go peacefully and warmly into heaven, when all the sudden the loudest noise I've ever heard shot me out of my bed and landed me beside it on my knees completely terrified.  My first thought was that the cement factory across the frontage road had somehow exploded and the mushroom cloud (from cement??? I was apparently very tired) would come barreling through the windows at any moment.  Once my thoughts collected, I realized it was thunder.  I did not know thunder could be this loud, and the stranger thing was that there was no lightning flashes or rain I could hear after the crash.  My second thought, following the impending mushroom cloud, was that someone needed my attention.  Here I was on my knees, in sheer terror of simply a sound, a sound in the sky made by my God.  How BIG this God was!  He could wake an entire county with one collision of clouds like it was nothing!  We Stearns County folks can barely get our tornado sirens to go off when there's a twister...I know this because with the last round of storms I ran from wide open window to wide open window begging my husband to turn down his comedy so I could hear the siren I thought I was hearing over the wind.  The radio broadcaster had said we needed to be "weather alert," which was a phrase I VERY quickly adopted into my panicked vocabulary for the evening (one of the great lakes deterred any twisters where I grew up, so naturally every time there's a warning, Charlie and I go on lockdown)..  "Um, Andy, I'd love to stir the taters, buuuut I can't dear; I'm trying to be 'weather alert!'"  "Charlie get away from the porch, that's not very 'weather alert!'" "Andy, you be 'weather alert' at the front door and I'll go upstairs and be 'weather alert' by our bedroom window."  Charlie couldn't resist his new window knocking habit so he found himself in 'weather alert' timeout in the safe room.  Needless to say by the storm's passing, my collected husband made me swear on the burnt taters that I would never use those two words again.   Back to the other night, I started thinking about how although God sometimes talks to us when we're willing to hear with a still small voice, or with subtle convictions through His Spirit, that does not make Him any smaller than He is.  He is still our creator, He is still the Just Judge sitting on His throne loving us little screw-ups simply because that's who He is.  I turned in my Bible, still hovering on my floor, to Job 37. "At this also my heart trembles and leaps out of its place.  Keep listening to the thunder of his voice and the rumbling that comes from his mouth.  Under the whole heaven He lets it go, and His lightning to the corners of the earth.  After it His voice roars; He thunders with His majestic voice, and He does not restrain the lightnings when His voice is heard.  God thunders wondrously with His voice; He does great things that we cannot comprehend. He loads the thick cloud with moisture; the clouds scatter His lightning.  They turn around and around by His guidance, to accomplish all that He commands them on the face of the habitable world.  Whether for correction or for His land or for love, He causes it to happen.  Hear this, O Job; stop and consider the wondrous works of God.  God is clothed with awesome majesty.  The Almighty- we cannot find Him; He is great in power; justice and abundant righteousness He will not violate.  Therefore men fear Him; He does not regard any who are wise in their own heart."  Wow.  For God to be God, He is as Just and Righteous as He is Loving and Merciful.  "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge."  

I have been profoundly convicted by this, and yet I'm comforted at the same time.  My Savior is the kind of Savior that will answer my 'help- me- find- my- keys- prayer' twice a week, and He is also a God that hates my sin as much as he hated the sin of the man who dared try and catch the ark of the covenant when he knew he wasn't to touch it.   I'm now praying that I never forget how Big He is, and that I remember to keep reverence and fear a priority lest I be woken again with thunder or worse.