Jesus Doesn't Have a Snooze Button

The other morning I woke up at 7:27am. I had to leave for work at 7:30. With a gasp, a wrinkly shirt, and sweaters on my teeth I rushed out the door to make it to work on time. This has happened before, but I usually remember my forgetfulness in the middle of the night. And when I do my instinct is to thank Jesus for the nudge of punctuality. This particular morning on my sleepy eyed drive I started thinking about the 3 minutes I had to get ready, and how it was just enough time. How “just enough” is often the case in God’s economy. My needs are met, I am clothed and fed and loved, and how often I forget this is sufficient. This is just what I need. It is in the surplus that I lean on my own understanding. It is there that I neglect the One who meets my needs.

For many years in our marriage we felt the pinch of a very small bank account. It seemed anytime extra would come in, the car would need repaired, or taxes were owed, etc. I remember the frustration of never feeling like we could get ahead. I also remember that I never had to skip a meal, never had to find a place to sleep, but in that pinch I found it hard to be thankful for this. It was easy to feel entitled to, even deserving of more. Just 9 more minutes, that’s all I wanted. And before I knew it I had wasted what I had in front of me and given myself over to worries of not attaining more.

A tangible reminder to be thankful in the needs met, not longing for what I want and don’t have, came a few days after this rushed morning. The boy we sponsor in Honduras (through Compassion International) sent a letter thanking us for the birthday money we had sent. (The amount barely being enough to buy a cheeseburger here.) Included was a picture of Carlos with a pair of shoes and socks. In his letter he said he enjoyed having something new. It chokes me up to think of this little boy, all of 9 years old, being so appreciative of basic needs like shoes and socks. How to him it was an added bonus that they were new. His picture is on my fridge to help me remember, next time I reach for the snooze button, that I have more than enough.

I'll Take One Husband for $14,000, Please

How much did you pay for your spouse? Mine was roughly $14,000 plus interest. And I’m still paying for him. I guess technically he’s paying for himself too. Herein lies the story of how Justin and I came to be.

I graduated high school in May 2001. That summer was my last year at Round Lake Christian Assembly, the camp I went to each summer starting around 8^th grade. This same summer followed Justin’s first year at college. He and a group from school travelled around doing the music for different camps. Twice they ended up at Round Lake. The first time he met Don Hooper who invited him to OSU to lead worship at Student Christian Fellowship. The second time he met me. The last night of camp, as they did a sort of “concert,” the thought passed through my head, “maybe he’ll be my husband.” I quickly brushed it off of course. Silly girl. Partly due to not actually having talked to him yet. Partly due to the fact that his ex was going to be my dorm mom (until she went home sick). I’m actually not sure if I knew this at the time, but what a small world we live in at times. I approached him and asked for his email address since we would both be starting at OSU in the winter. He doesn’t remember this but I have the email address to prove it. After attaining said address and thinking he was cute, I sent him an email. If read aloud I’m sure it would sound high pitched and have a lots of “ums,” hoping he would remember who I was. I never heard anything back. Story of my life. Moving on.

That fall I worked and “saved” up for college. I think most of my paychecks went to buying makeup at Wal-Mart. I didn’t get into OSU until winter quarter so I had to use the guise of saving to sound responsible. January 2002 my mom drove me through the snow to Ohio State. She dropped me off to two roommates who could have cared less that I was moving in. Through tears we hugged goodbye, probably both wondering what I was doing there. Little did we know that God’s providence was at work.

I moved in on a Sunday. On Monday I received an email back from Justin. Let me remind you this is January. I sent the email the previous summer. Like me, he lived at home during the fall. Not having email at home, he never read my charming attempt to stand out among the other girls writing him after camp telling him how dreamy he was. The subject of my email was “Ohio State,” which caught Justin’s eye and so, he read and responded. The following night I went to SCF where he was leading worship (a guitar player, how dreamy). Then the truth came out as he mentioned that night about how he enjoyed hunting. My first thought was “oh crap. That’s gross.”

If I knew then what I know now…I would still flirt. Deer season is only 5 months of the year. Ha! Only? Something is always in season, and if it’s not, then it’s time to prepare for it. Still, he had a nice face, so I overlooked this hunting he spoke of and hoped he didn’t take half a year to write me another email.

I did end up hearing from him shortly, and a month later we were kissing and calling ourselves a couple. Throughout our courtship I was a student at OSU, but sadly I didn’t make it to class too often. For the classes I did make it to I didn’t really know why I was there and they held no interest to me. I made it through winter and spring quarter, lived at home for the summer, and then moved back to Columbus fall of 2002. I pictured myself being a mom, and the student loans were adding up fast. That’s when I withdrew (ok- dropped out) of school. I started nannying, thinking it was the best thing I could do to prepare for having kids. We were engaged just over a year after we started dating, and thanks to our generous friends and family, were able to get married 5 ½ months after that. August 23, 2003 we became The Dills. Sure it cost us 2 quarters of classes and dorm living all via student loans to get there. Sure Key Bank is still taking payments from us each month. But in the end I got the pretty guitar player to email me back.

Aaaaand Boom Goes the Dynamite

My fuse is short. Inconveniences and annoyances don’t tend to be taken in stride. My fear of confrontation would seem to contradict this, but ask Justin. He bears the brunt of my impatience. I hate that I am this person. I envy the hippy that is full of peace and love. Or maybe it’s pot. I want to be slower to anger. I want to let things roll off my back. Especially those little things that don’t matter in five minutes but make me want to punch a wall (or slow driver) when they happen.

Que segway into road rage rant. I’m not the type to let the birds fly, but I sure do think about it. I tend to be a passive aggressive angry driver. You better not hover around the speed limit while driving in front of me. Yet if you honk at me for going too slow be prepared for me to decelerate as I watch you in my rear view mirror waving your hands about in frustration.

The other week Justin and I had a pretty big fight. Like most fights, in the middle of it I wasn’t even sure what I was fighting for, other than the last word. At one point I threw a plate on the counter then went for a walk around our neighborhood to cool down. (One my new plates from Christmas, what was I thinking?) In all honesty it wasn’t really to cool down, it was to be dramatic and storm out the front door, although a little space from the “discussion” usually does me well. Thank goodness it was dark. I’m pretty sure I was talking to myself and my new neighbors may have question who had moved in next to them. (Though I’m sure the dead deer in our backyard had already caused them to wonder.) I wouldn’t say we came to a conclusion once I was home, but the fight ended and we fell asleep. The next morning, as I waited for my car to warm up, I opened a devotional book and what I read cut me to the core, to the soul, and I was convicted. It was a writing on choosing the Fruit of the Spirit, and here is the part that stuck out to me in lieu of the previous night.

“I choose gentleness... Nothing is won by force. I choose to be gentle. If I raise my voice may it be only in praise. If I clench my fist, may it be only in prayer. If I make a demand, may it be only of myself.”

Two things really struck me. First was that my voice was raised more than once while talking with this man I love so much, this man I vowed the rest of my life to. Now, while the heat of the fight easily finds victory in being loud, taking a moment to remember how much yelling has accomplished in the past (nothing) might help me to remain calm, and thereby respect where I would normally hurt.

The second punch in the gut came in the word “choose.”  My instinct, my flesh, wants to yell and be mean in a fight. That’s what I feel like doing. But I can choose to go against what I feel. I can be nice when I want to be mean. I can be calm when I want to yell. I could probably even stop messing with those pesky tailgaters. I liken these types of choices to working out a muscle. Not easy, a little painful at first, but the more I practice the more this kind of mind set and behavior becomes my default.

Going Once, Going Twice, Sold! One Car for the Price of Two.

In November 2004 we were introduced to others “borrowing” the CD’s and anything of value from our car. We later learned this was something to get used to while living in our apartment. I did not handle financial stress well at this time in my life. And while this didn’t set us back any more than replacing a window, it left me feeling defeated and under spiritual attack. Feeling like the enemy of my God was trying to tear me down in order to hurt Him. I remember journaling that “Satan can have all of my stuff, but he can’t have me.” This statement was put to the test.

Move ahead to December 19. Justin and I were driving in front of Easton when we met the rear end of a Jetta. Well, I say we, but I’ve never actually been the cause of an accident. You do the math. Right before our cars kissed Justin looked over at me and said, “I’m gonna hit them.” I said, “OK,” as if I saying, “I’d rather not” would have made a difference. I wish I could have seen us having that quick conversation. It makes me laugh to picture the scene. This brought the life of our lovely Chevrolet Cavalier to an end. The air bags deployed which ended up totaling the car. Let the car shopping begin…but not so fast. We had no money to put down, and ended up with a few months of car payments after insurance paid us for what the Cavalier was worth. Flub. After borrowing a friend’s car, and using my Christmas bonus towards what was left on our payments, we let the car shopping begin, again.

In January 2005 Ebay brought us to a deal that was too good to be true. So like any responsible 22 year olds, we went for it. Looking back there were so many red flags it’s embarrassing. But we didn’t know about these sorts of scams and so, borrowed $8000 from a friend. We went the friend route rather than the bank route because of said “good deal,” thinking we would sell the car, make money, pay back our friend and come out ahead. Oh how wrong we were. The listing was all forged, the links were fake and the money wired was never held in Ebay Square Trade, but rather went right into the hands of one fine individual whom we yet have had the privilege to meet. This left us $8000 in debt to our friend, in need of a car, and still with no cash for a down payment. We ended up buying the Corolla we just recently laid to rest. We set up a payment plan with our more than gracious friend. And we were given the opportunity to stand up under the test of having our stuff taken, yet not giving ourselves over to the enemy in self-despair.

Through this, and a friend of ours, we found out about Dave Ramsey and the idea of becoming debt free. Though we crawled through the beginning of his baby steps, 6 years later we were able to buy our “new to us” car with cash. It may be old, and have some miles on it, but it is 100% ours. I don’t say this to make us sound better than. I say this because we started with nothing. And if with nothing we could make 3 car payments for 2 cars, drag ourselves (almost) out of debt (not including the mortgage), and manage to save, anyone can. Dave Ramsey’s Total Money Makeover clearly and encouragingly lays out the common sense plan for getting out of debt, and finally telling your money (no matter how much you have) what to do. In a world of excess and instant gratification, this hard work strategy is refreshing, and always pays off. You have my guarantee, or your time back for reading this blog.

Married Without Children

This past August marked 7 years of marriage sans children. It’s not that I don’t want kids. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I’ve always felt a calling to be a stay at home mom, just not yet. I understand that I will never feel completely ready or financially stable for this endeavor, but I do think we are called to a certain level of responsibility when making this choice of when. Think about how much planning goes into other choices…buying a car, buying a house, changing jobs. None of these are to be taken lightly. We research. Read reviews. Pray. Yet all of these can be undone. We can sell the car, the house, find another job, but as far as I know kids are non-returnable. Yet people are made to feel pressured to have them because they’ve been married a couple years, made to feel like something is wrong with them if they choose not to.

 I remember a sermon I heard awhile back. The pastor was talking about the thought some have that using birth control is a way of saying we don’t trust God. His response to that, “I trust that if I don’t use a form of birth control there is a good chance I will get pregnant.” Babies are from God. Wisdom and discernment are from God. And if I can’t pay my bills (which was most definitely the case when we were first married) I call it responsibility to use a form of birth control, not mistrust. But you know what, even if I just plain don’t want kids yet, that should be OK.

For the time being we are trying to soak up the freedoms we have. I like sleeping in. I like showering and eating in peace. And while living with my husband often smells like a diaper pail, I don’t have to wipe anyone else’s butt. I look forward to knowing the love of and for my own children, but until that day I choose not to feel guilty over taking the turtle’s pace towards parenthood. For the time being, my friends’ and families’ kids will have to be a sufficient snack of delicious cheeks. And for my friends and family reading this, don’t worry, it won’t be another 7 years until we have our own.

Did I remember to shave my legs?

I like to hideout in the back of the gym when I work out. It’s the closest I can get to becoming the fly on the wall. I hate it when the only treadmill left is the one right by the desk/front door. At least in the back, if I fall off the treadmill fewer people will see me (you think I joke, but this almost happened my first time there alone. My water bottle and I almost got treadmill flung into the wall of windows behind us).

Clearly I’m not very comfortable in the gym. More like a fart in church. I feel like everyone is staring at me. I probably feel like this because I’m staring at everyone else. I try not to. Try to focus on the closed captioning on the lame TV shows, or watch my calories tick away (evening out the chips I had at lunch). But my workout ADD kicks in and I stare at the sweaty folk around me.

Working out is something that has never been a part of my routine. Ever. I played tennis in high school, but there was never any real “conditioning” involved. Usually just a couple laps around the court then it was game on. When I quit the tennis team is when I started falling out of shape. That was over 10 years ago. I’m now attempting to undo the potato shaped dent in my couch. Emphasis on attempting. I’m a novice. I feel accomplished if I get to the gym a couple days a week. OK, one day a week. And I won’t venture onto anything that’s not a treadmill or elliptical. I finally remembered to throw some deodorant into my gym bag. (And by gym bag I mean reusable grocery bag). Yesterday I forgot to put some on in the morning, and I’m pretty sure everyone around me started craving fair food. Today my iPod died with 10 minutes to go…I made it 5. The soundtrack of grunting weight lifters didn’t inspire me. The point of all of this? I’m not really sure. I guess an attempt to use humor to mask my insecurities in making the underside of this leaf the top. I have huge respect for all of you who make exercise a regular way of life. Here’s hoping I get to join that club one day. Just don’t expect me to leave the back row.