worked

I’d never seen Judas (the one who betrayed Jesus for money) contrasted with Mary, (Martha’s sister.  The one who hung out with Jesus instead of stressing out about dinner.)  But there they are, right in the same passage (John 12 1-8).  In Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, author Joanna Weaver lists the differences:

“Consider the… differences between the hearts of Mary and Judas.  Which kind of heart do you have?  Is it extravagant with gratitude or tightfisted with greed?

Mary came with abandon.  Judas came with an agenda.  Mary heard what Jesus was saying– and she responded.  Judas heard but didn’t understand.  Mary held nothing back.  Judas gave nothing up.

Instead of being shamed by Mary’s extravagance, Judas became critical of what she gave.  His greed warped his perception.  ‘If we find ourselves becoming critical of other people,’ [William] Barclay says, ‘we should stop examining them, and start examining ourselves.’”

I added the italics because that was the kicker for me.  The part where the wind kind of got knocked out of me, since I’d just realized I am awfully prone to a Judas heart, but it didn’t stop there.  Because also, I get embarrassed for Mary and her vulnerable, messy kind of love for Christ.

I was quite relieved to hear, talking about this with friends, that I’m not alone in my feelings.  But I don’t want to seek relief from the weight of conviction.  I mean, I want to, but really, the goal is surrender.  What is my “alabaster flask?”  What is of value to me, fit to be poured out at the feet of Jesus?

babylove

i was going to say, “It’s not every day you walk into a room and see someone’s whole face light up with joy at the simple fact you are there.” But then i realized that does happen every day, because i have a baby. (Who is somehow 11 months old already.) And a baby is one person who does seem to appreciate what he’s got in a mom.

Now, that will break down pretty quickly, and by two it’s spotty at best. Oliver, for example, will tackle me and jump on my back, which is pretty sweet since his primary love language is wrestling. But then two seconds later he’s cussing me out, not with actual swear words, but his own version. (His current fave is “shut up.” He’ll try to be sneaky and abbreviate with “S’up,” which is not, in that tone of voice, a greeting, but a swear. He does not get away with this.) And Stella will savor some mommy moments, but then suddenly she’s way too cool for me. Yeah, already. And the demands; the mom-as-my-personal-vending machine type thing: “more water, mom! No, i meant water with ice! With iiiiiiice!” there’s no end. And don’t talk to me about teenagers.

But a baby. That’s one guy who appreciates mom. I walk in the room and his eyes light up, and he reaches for me. If he’s on the ground, he’ll crawl over any obstacle. If someone else is holding him, he nearly swims through the air to find my arms.

Before nap time, he looks at me and grabs my nose and lips with wonder, pats my arm and beams with pride at this trick, then rests his head on my shoulder and hums along while i sing, and every note sounds like a love song.

still unpacking

It’s not even that I’ve done it all that much, but it sure feels like it. We moved kinda quickly; it went like this: Move day was set for Thursday. Saturday before, Brian went to the new house to spray for bugs, and came home saying, “I’m so ready to move.” Now when my husband says something like that, he really really means it.

I, of course, had been putting off the monstrous task of packing, since the thought of it alone was so daunting that I just wanted to just sit on the couch and eat cookies instead. And maybe did.

So by Sunday afternoon, he’s arranged for his burly little brother to help move “just one load” after dinner. We went to the beach, had a nice dinner with family at PT’s, and then moved half the furniture out of the house. I packed a couple boxes during the kids’ naptime Monday, but mostly focused on getting whatever was immediately needed; we moved beds, breakfasts, soap, towels, clothes and toys after work Monday night, and spent the night.

Awesomely enough, the very first night, everyone felt right at home and slept like normal people. I decided not to bother the kids with the moving process, and only worked on move-ish stuff when they were asleep, so we just did regular stuff during the day. So i wasn’t really faced with the actual packing until the next day, when i returned to the ‘old house’ to grab a few boxes (that is: to sort through, and pack, and then grab them), and immediately wanted to throw everything we own away. Eventually I came to grips with the fact that yes, we probably do want our winter wardrobes and Important Papers and kitchen gadgets and stuff, and started packing.

Now, having fetched all that back here (to the ‘new house,’) it looks worse than ever, having marred the previously nice-and-tidy place we had started out so well in. And then we traveled to charlotte this weekend for a wedding, which was great all the way around, and now we’re back. And on top of the boxes and bins of stuff, we have bags to unpack as well. Maybe it will all get assimilated and cleaned up and beautiful in the next few days, but at the very least, i’m not just going to sit on the couch with the cookies this time.

Just when we were feeling the most hopeless about our house-hunt, feeling like every option that might work was so forced: houses needing more work than we hoped, houses costing more than we hoped. We sat down that night, wanting just to give up on the house-hunt, and about an hour later, we got a phone call. Someone had heard we might be looking for a place, and happened to have a house for rent. Would we be interested? We went to look the next day.

“I know it’s not the most beautiful place,” he said, “I won’t be offended if you don’t like it.” It looks like a mountain house from the 70s, which is not necessarily a bad thing. But it’s surprisingly close to the beach. And it has two screened porches. “We love it!” we told him, and we’re moving in in about a week and a half.

Last week we were on vacation with my family. It was awesome. But as soon as we got back, i began to realize that on top of all the regular demands of our life, packing and preparing to move had to happen some time, too.

So, i’ve spent two days this week painting the new place, trying to make the most change for the least effort. I may have underestimated the amount of difficulty of painting bedrooms nearly devoid of right angles, (the roof line slopes in in those rooms) but I did my best to practice diligence and Thank God, it does look great.

We are excited about everything but the actual packing part, and so, so thankful. And covered in splotches of paint. Oh, wait, that’s just me.