cookie cawthon

Butterfly Wishes

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 18:50:00 +0000

February 2010, SHE Magazine

Summer was under our skin in a bad way. It was the carrot dangling before our noses as we flittered through the last days of school. Regardless of what a busy time the close of the year can be, there is a light anticipation, the cool breeze of freedom blowing against our backs. There were parties and end-of-the year gifts, assessments and awards programs. Carson, completing first grade, brought a gift home from her teacher. It was a disc full of pictures, set to a sampling of music clips. The slideshow of pictures alone would have beckoned big mama tears as I glimpsed moments of her life away from me and noticed her change through the progression of photographs. But the music got me; something about a song can stir my soul.

I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow
And each road leads you where you want to go
And if you're faced with the choice and you have to choose
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you

After totally emptying the contents of her backpack on the kitchen counter: folded papers, notebooks, drawings, lip gloss, pencils and erasers, folders, candy, and candy wrappers, she unearthed the disc and enthusiastically and impatiently begged to watch it immediately on my computer. Fighting the urge to be highly annoyed by the instant mess that had spontaneously erupted before my very eyes, I consented.

And if one door opens to another door closed
I hope you keep on walkin' til you find the window
If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile
But more than anything, more than anything

My wish for you
Is that this life becomes all that you want it to
Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small
You never need to carry more than you can hold

The class movie began, and I felt my breathing quicken. My eyes felt hot and full, then brimming over. I stood transfixed, watching Nicholas reading a book, Savannah on the computer, Brad pledging to the flag, and Olivia doing the limbo at the class luau. And my Carson. Living her life. Doing her thing. Apart from me.

And while you're out there gettin' where you're gettin' to
I hope you know somebody loves you
And wants the same things too
Yeah, this is my wish

Both of my girls thought it total mom weirdness that I was standing there with big tears rolling. We just don’t get her at all sometimes, they were thinking. At their request, we watched three times consecutively. I was completely unable to tear myself away. Over the past six months, I wouldn’t dare to guess how many times we’ve broken out the first grade movie, and I cry without fail.

I hope you never look back but you never forget
All the ones who love you and the place you left
I hope you always forgive and you never regret
And you help somebody every chance you get

Of course, I blame some of that on Rascal Flatts and their song, “My Wish.” Heck, you’re probably bawling right now too. Those lyrics are killer. Just like any respectable country tune should, they get to the heart of the matter. Live. Love. Laugh. Remember. Dream. And press on.

From what I hear, first grade quickly becomes fifth, and sixth grade becomes senior year. The truth in that song has the power to penetrate the everyday annoyances, the tedium of caring for school-age children: sweeping up the same Goldfish crumbs, reminding them to hang up their washcloths, mediating the same sibling arguments day in and day out, and transports me to a vulnerable place as a mother. A place where I have a magnified understanding that I don’t get to keep her forever. She is mine but for a short time; they both are. That makes my mothering mistakes feel heavy and solid.

Oh, you'd find God's grace in every mistake
And always give more than you take

So. That’s my wish for her. And Campbell. And me. That we would live fully – forsaking fear and the mundane to embrace challenge and adventure. That we would love deeply and be loved through and through. That we would often laugh together ‘til we pee our pants, gasp for breath, and clutch our aching tummies.

Father, the task before me is daunting and scary. I am flawed and unworthy to be their mother, so I humbly ask for your help, every day. Your wisdom. Your patience. Your grace and mercy. And theirs.

Sweet Cawthon girls, I love you as big as Texas, and I think you rock like nobody’s business!

...Wait for it...

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 15:01:00 +0000

If you get a chance, check out my guest post at http://www.4hisministries.com.

Thanks, Mark, for the opportunity to share!

What in the world are you doing?

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 04:18:00 +0000

The 410 Bridge has a tee for sale in their store that asks, "What in the world are you doing?" How are you making a difference in the world? What are you doing to rectify the unbalanced equation in your life - the excess of your own versus the insufficiency of another's? A child's.

Okay. I'm gonna shoot straight with you. I am here to beg you to help my friends. I'm not talking about disturbing images on TV that we flip by quickly. I'm not talking about pictures of anonymous faces that show up on WorldVision ads on the sidebar of Facebook. I am talking about kiddos I personally met, Ann and Silvia in Class 4 at Uaso Nyiro Primary School. I read this letter from Jane, the director of BrightPoint for Children, to Mark, a trip participant from my trip to Kenya in November, and I am not too proud to beg you to help them:

Hi Mark,

Hope you had a fantastic Christmas! I still can’t believe 2010 is here.

Just wanted to let you know that the Primary Schools in Kenya started back this past week. Right now there is no money going to Uaso Nyiro Primary School… so the children are not being served lunch yet, nor any of the other upgrades (more teachers, textbooks, desks, etc) can happen until the Star Students are sponsored. What makes it even harder, is that one of the sister schools in Segera, Endana Primary, has been fully sponsored by a church in TX… so the kids are eating lunch each day, have a new library, more teachers, desks, books, Saturday tutoring, assessment tests and more. You probably visited that school when you were there.

So, this is just a reminder that they need help… I am willing to do anything to help you in your role as Point Person… just let me know what that is. If you can set up a “Sponsorship Sunday”, I can come help run it… if you need flyers, etc…. just let me know. A huge e-mail campaign usually works wonders too!! We just sent out an e-mail “pre-releasing” a Cambodia program we are announcing on Jan 19th and 27 kids have been sponsored in the last 24 hours.

Let me know what we can do/how I can help to get this off and running! I love the Uaso Nyiro school… they have so much energy and excitement and faith, I hope to get them sponsored and funded SOON!!
Bless you for your heart for these Segera kids!

Have a VERY blessed 2010,
Jane

I held their hands. I taught their class. I played duck-duck-goose with them. I heard their voices sing and watched them dance. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE consider sponsorship! When you sponsor a child, the entire class and school benefits! Lunch. Books. More teachers. Please...

My family and I are sponsoring Nasipo, the little girl on one knee with other kiddos' hands on her head :-) Ann and Silvia are in the pictures above, and you can sponsor them here:

BrightPoint for Children - Uaso Nyiro Primary School

$39/month.

Please....

And that's about all I have to say about that...

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 19:56:00 +0000

I bought a bookmark in Kenya that I keep in my Bible. On it is written a Kenyan proverb in elegant handwriting - "Traveling teaches men their way." Here's what I think my trip is teaching me...

I am far less afraid since my return. I hope hope hope that this effect has staying power. I have always been a 'fraidy mouse, but I have not felt that or thought those things since I've been back. I faced a whole bunch of personal fears in going, and right now, everything else seems like small potatoes. Thank goodness!

Playing duck-duck-goose in a country known for their fast runners. Really? Not necessarily a good idea :-)

This is definitely a season of refining and shaping.

Creation. DANG! Creation. I want to notice Him more, enjoy Him more in what He has created.

Turns out, I can live without Diet Pepsi. Who knew?

Okay, this one doesn't fit nicely into a bullet point. Back to that Anthropology class point from the last post - the notion that it's judgemental to label one culture as more advanced than another. I hear you. I do. We do vaccinate our children; we can communicate with people anywhere in the world within an instant, and we have way more food, clothes, and shelter than we need. Okay. I'll give you that. We're healthier, busier, better resourced, wealthier, and have more "knowledge" and gadgets. That's not an eternally valuable list; those aren't things that we aspire to as we desire to be more like Christ. The people of Segera are poor; they know their need for God in a way that I never will. It sounds like the rumble of hunger in their children's bellies, and it feels like the weight of the water bucket she carries every day. It looks like dirty feet eaten away by filth, and it sounds like a prayer to grow that tiny dark cloud in the sky to a life-giving shower. Joy and gratitude are radiant on their dusty faces. Those are circumstances and attributes dear to His own heart. The Bible is clear that Jesus is The Advocate for the oppressed, poor, and humble, and He is near to those who realize their need for Him.

We have done exceedingly well at using our wealth to cushion ourselves against our need for God. My children have never known their need for Him; that is scary to me as a parent. We are too busy, too selfish, too rich, too proud, and too stressed for Him. Our comforts come at a great spiritual cost. God, in His mercy, still loves us, is still moving in this place, changing and saving lives. But we will never need Him like they do.

So, I hesitate to call us more advanced.

That has been the hardest part of coming back for me. How do I cling to my need for Him here? How will I live differently because I have been there? How do I even begin to simplify my life? How do I parent?

So, it was really hard to come back to the busyness and materialism of Christmas in America. This was a more serious Christmas for me, but not really in a bad way. I think I was much more focused on Christ than I usually am but also less enamored by the bells and whistles of the commercial aspect. I was far less stressed than normal during the holidays but less silly and giddy as well. I definitely think this is the toughest time of year to come back from this kind of trip.

This concludes our journey to Segera together. Thought you might enjoy another look...

If you have any interest in donating to the communities of Kenya through The 410 Bridge, please check this out.

Or if you would like to sponsor a child in the Segera area through BrightPoint for Children, you can click here. You can actually sponsor some of the exact same kiddos I met, and if you look closely enough at some of my pictures you might recognize their faces. COOL, COOL STUFF!

Yep. My tongue turned black in Africa.

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 14:44:00 +0000

Randomness from the other side of the planet

On Wednesday morning, I woke up and my tongue was black. Yes, of course, I freaked out! I thought, "Oh, snap! I'm in Africa, and my tongue is black. That can't be good!" Jennifer, my roommate, kinda gasped when I told her; she thought that was pretty not good too. Heather said she thought it might be from the medicines I was taking (sleep meds, malaria meds, a regimen of stomach meds) or that I was turning into a giraffe (they have black tongues too :-). I texted Chris, "My tongue is black. Please look that up." So, I thought I might die at any minute the rest of the day. It went away when I brushed my teeth, and I kept checking all day to see if it grew black again. It did not. About twelve hours later I did speak with Chris on the phone, and he confirmed that it had just been a reaction/interaction of the medicines I was taking.

Though the kids thought my name was fun to say (they pronounced it more like kooky with a stretched out oo), they didn't actually know what a cookie is. Their word for cookie in English is biscuit, which is why they would often call to the bus as we were driving in, "Give me biscuit" or "Give me chock-a-late" in little raspy voices. It was the first time in my life that I met new people and they didn't think my name was funny.

Though the Kenyan children were very physically affectionate, they don't hug. That's just not something they do. The first few times I tried to hug a child, they didn't really seem to know how to respond. They found it awkward and perhaps even a little inappropriate. They were very comfortable holding hands, shaking hands, rubbing our arms, playing with our hair. They would say, "You have very smot (smart) hair."

I kept flashing back to my Anthropology class in college where we studied (and I do believe) that no culture is better than another. It's even judgemental to think of one culture as more advanced than another. There are just groups of people who do things differently, and it's pretty cool to study the hows and the whys of various groups. I'll come back to that point in my next post, but one of the differences we noticed in the classroom was though "thank you" is a huge concept; "please" is not. It caught a few of us off guard when a student would ask for something in class, and it came off sounding like a demand - though his face or disposition didn't communicate that. Their "Give me yellow" was equivalent to our "Please pass me the yellow colored pencil." It's just not part of the way they communicate. Though they are such gentle and polite people.

On some days there were passion fruits in our lunchboxes. After a little coaxing from one of our trip leaders, we agreed that when in Africa, you eat your passion fruit. Just because it's a passion fruit in Africa. You cut the top off and suck out the contents. It does have a fruity taste, but the consistency is that of an oyster full of sunflower seeds.

I did learn that if you totally pack each nostril with tissue all the way to the bridge of your nose, you cannot smell a thing. That was useful the one time I used the outdoor facilities.

Other Fun-ness from the week

On Wednesday afternoon, some of the Maasai came to the mission to sell their beaded wares: bracelets, earrings, key chains, tribal necklaces, beaded sticks and canes, etc... I bought a tribal necklace and then stored it in a gallon-size Ziplock bag to bring it home. When I opened the bag here, I was surprised. I received a smoky whiff - the scent of the hut my necklace was strung in. I inhaled big and left the necklace in the bag, resealing it quickly to keep the smell.

After shopping, a contingent of us had to walk across a narrow river to reach two of the buses on the other side. The red bus was stuck in the mud, and the white bus had driven over to help free it. It would have taken too too long for the buses to drive back around to where we were, so we walked through the river to the buses. That was a fun adventure and was the only time we actually just walked through the bush.

There were many many transportation fails during the trip. One bus had a flat tire shortly after we left the airport. Another broke down completely at lunch on that same day. The red bus was impounded and stuck in the mud, and I feel like I'm missing others as well. Good times... Seriously!

On Thursday, we attended a dedication of the Black Tank water project. My hubs, Chris, worked on this water project during his trip in June. In November, during our trip, the project was given to the community - for them to continue to work on and maintain. I had the cool opportunity to speak at that dedication service.

Then we headed to Sweetwaters Tented Camp. Amazing, amazing, amazing! We saw lots and lots of super cool animals (my pics didn't turn out too hot) and everyone had the option of going on a night safari. Cool stuff!

Planning to wrap it up tomorrow...

Meet Sara

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 23:37:00 +0000

Isn't she beautiful? Heather and I met Sara in a village called Jerusalem. Our group finished our work in the schools on Wednesday morning and went to visit homes in Jerusalem that afternoon. Faith, an employee at the Segera Mission, took us as a group and introduced us to many of the families - many of whom participate in Bible study and the feeding program at the Mission. As usual, children flocked to the bus as we drove up and parked. This late in the game we were pretty accustomed to and comfortable with the quick connection that would happen soon after we disembarked. Each of us would initiate conversation with the children outside of the bus; two or three would attach themselves to each of us, and they would accompany us during our time there. They were so open to us.

Because this was late in the week, we had at least encountered many of these children at a school or worship service earlier in the trip. I recognized some faces but didn't know any of them well. Before we turned the bend into the village, Sara grabbed mine and Heather's hands. She held on until we left. She was a quiet one which caused me to question whether she knew English. The younger kiddos definitely spoke varying levels of English. She stayed with us and held our hands - insisting on having us both.

At the nicest hut I visited during our trip, Heather and I began to wonder about a separate enclosure to the right of the hut. We were guessing quietly what it might be when Sara, in a soft voice explained, "Kitchen. That's the kitchen." Before that, she had only spoken to tell us her name, so it was so cutie for her to understand our whispers and very matter of factly answer our question. From then on we peppered her with questions; she was sharp and understand and spoke English well. She pointed out enclosures for the hens, one for the chicks, and even the fact that one of the mothers was building a new hut beside her old one.

Sara became most excited when our group moved to her very own home. Her mother was standing outside; Sara quietly yet proudly shared that this was her home and her mother and her siblings. If I am remembering correctly, her mother had ten children, one of whom had died. In their culture, a woman who has a lot of children is considered to be blessed.

Sara's mother did not speak English but gestured to us that Sara was her daughter. She seemed equally proud to be Sara's mother and communicated to us that Sara knew English (which we had already discovered :-). Sara translated for us, allowing us to talk with her mom a little. We had Sara ask her mom if she'd like a family photo with those close by (not all of the kids were present at the hut at the time). Sara's sister on the far right closed her eyes in one of the first pictures we took, which troubled her greatly. That's why she's making such big eyes in the picture. She was determined not to close her eyes again :-)

This was the first village where I noticed locks on the doors. Many of the huts had small padlocks on the stick doors, and they would wear the keys on a necklace or ring.

After a loop through the village, we met to pray with the people of the community. They sang and danced for us (which happened every single place we went, which was complete awesomeness) and this time they grabbed two of our peeps to dance with them. The pastor/leader of the village spoke to us via Faith, and two guys from our group spoke to them. Good times. Then it was time for goodbye. Here Sara says, "Goodbye, Cookie :-)"...

Class 2 - You're gonna love 'em...

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Sun, 13 Dec 2009 00:29:00 +0000

So, two and a half days of our trip were spent in three different schools (nursery, primary, and older) - the morning at one, the afternoon at another - allowing us the opportunity to return to work with the same students and classes on two different days.

After recess that first day at the primary school, the students went in to their classes and we held a brief planning meeting. After having spent an hour or so with the kids, it had become clear that these students didn't know English super well (not the case with the students at the older school). They knew the basics for introductory conversation, but that seemed to be the extent of it. There were 60-70 kiddos in each class; the plan was that 3-4 of us would go in to each class and lead/teach for an hour and a half. AN HOUR AND A HALF WITH SCORES OF STUDENTS WHO BARELY SPOKE ENGLISH! Are you sensing that the teacher in me began to secretly hyperventilate?

But.

It was amazing! The teachers stayed in with us to help translate when we needed it, and the kids did seem to understand more than I initially thought. We had two activities planned (God keeps His promises - Noah and the rainbow (they see lots o' rainbows), and God is my sun and my shield - Psalm 84:11) and we had plenty to do.

Felix, the teacher of Class 2, was a great teacher, and I don't throw that compliment around lightly. It was sooooo apparent that he loves his 60-70 charges, and they respect him. There were no behavior problems. Like none. Zilch. I honestly never saw any kids out of line the entire trip, but if Class 2 got a little too excited about what we were doing, Felix could bring them back instantly.

When James came in the room at the end of our time, Felix quietly asked if we would be returning. When James informed him that we would be back the next day and he shared that with the kids, they stood and clapped and cheered wildly. They taught us to say "See you tomorrow" in Swahili (Tuoanane kesho) and repeated it over and over as we made our way to the bus (which is the closest I will ever come to feeling like a rockstar. Each time we left a school, there were ten or so little people walking with each of us, holding our hands, shaking our hands, holding our arms and others popping over quickly to say goodbye or thank you. We literally had to make our way through the crowd of school children. I loved it!).

Felix told us that his kids had never had so much fun, and one of the teachers told James that they didn't have words to express how thankful they were. Gratitude. Humbling gratitude. Almost seems counterintuitive that a people with so little could be so grateful. "Thank you" was definitely one of the most common phrases I heard while there (right up there with "Look! There's a lion!" :-).

Unfortunately, our plans changed for the following day and we did not return to Class 2 until Wednesday. Upon our return, Felix told us that his kids stared out of the window all day the day before - wondering why we had not come. That hurts my heart just to remember. They again cheered at our entrance and waved calling "Tuoanane kesho" at our departure. We yelled and waved goodbye like crazy, knowing we couldn't promise another tomorrow...

While in Class 2, we met a sweet fella named Hassan. Hassan is a small gent and was always more bundled up than his classmates - wearing a toboggan and a jacket at all times. Hassan has AIDS and will probably not live to be older than nine. His parents abandoned him, and he is in the care of his grandfather. Felix told us that he misses a lot of school when his health is poor, but he was well during our visit. They try to love on him good and are believing that God is going to give him new life. Will you ask God for that on behalf of this sweet little friend? He is in the blue jacket and red hat...

At all three of the schools, the students would spontaneously burst into song and dance while they worked. There was always a song leader who would open the song and EVERY ONE of the others would join in as they continued to color, write, etc... I would just stand in front of the classroom, frozen by delight - falling head over heels over and over again with every refrain. Thinking, "Take this in. Allow this moment to so penetrate you that you can relive it over and over again. You are in Africa, teaching, and they are singing just out of the overflow of their joy. Soak it up!"

This video (1 min) is actually from the older school, but it so accurately captures what I'm trying to describe:

Adonai, I love you so so much too!

Jambo Again! Part III

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Thu, 10 Dec 2009 14:53:00 +0000

Jambo means "Hello" in Swahili.

As we drove in every day - in addition to savoring the amazing beauty of the landscape - we encountered handsome people out in the bush - mostly shepherds (boys and men) tending and feeding their livestock. I'm guessing that three big buses full of white peeps rolling down the long dusty road isn't a super common sight because the kids would start barreling towards the road, waving - many times with both hands. We would lean and wave and smile big toothy smiles and yell "Jambo!" in return. It was so fun...

On Monday, we split into our service groups. Some treated the feet and hands of those affected by jiggers (condition where a small black flea embeds itself in dusty, dry skin, lays eggs, and feeds on the flesh and blood of its host; this is a monumental issue because many of the kids don't have shoes. at. all. Affliction with jiggers can lead to the loss of fingers and toes, paralysis, and social ostracism - a modern leprosy, so to speak). Another group worked to roof a water tank that is going to radically change how people live and feed their families once water is gravity-fed to many villages who currently walk great distances to the nearest water source. I was a part of the group who worked in the schools with the children. We were allowed to play with them, make crafts with them, shower them with affection and attention, and teach 'em straight Jesus, which was so fun...

When our big white bus pulled in to the school yard at Uasonyiro Primary School, all of the children were outside drinking their porridge (there is currently a government-subsidized feeding program in the schools because the area has been in drought for an extended length of time; enrollment is up because food is provided. The government plans to end the program soon, and the reality is that fewer kids will have the luxury of attending school when food is no longer distributed). There were around three hundred and fifty or so of them, and they quickly encircled the bus. We stayed put while James, one of our trip leaders, went to discuss plans with the teachers. The children stood around, looking up with interest and curiosity - giggling, laughing, and waving shyly. After a couple of minutes of us watching and smiling at them and them watching and smiling at us, a guy on our team yelled a hearty "JAMBO!" from the back of the bus, and the entire group of them yelled "JAMBO!" back in unison :-) It was on after that...

We all began conversations from the bus with small groups of kids standing closest. "What's your name? What's in your bowl? How old are you? How are you?" Their striking faces and their British accents could melt butter. They would reply and question as well. "My name is Susan; what is your name? This is porridge. I am fine, thank you."

James returned to share the plan for the morning, and then we prepared to join them on the ground below. When the first person from our bus descended the steps, they corporately and spontaneously erupted into a cheer of excitement and approval.

The older school - up the road a bit - walked over to join us all. Five hundred sweet African school children. My heart be still. It was definitely a bit overwhelming because they all wanted to see us, touch us, feel our hair, hear us speak, (lick one of our team members; she smelled tasty :-), etc... Eighteen of us to five hundred of them. Some of us had lotion and fingernail polish, and they went nuts. I know that I didn't make it ten steps from the bus for a good hour. "Cutex!" they called as we painted (which you probably know is a brand of nail products - great commercial that would have been!). They would stand in line (boys and girls) to be polished; then they would go scratch off that color before it dried well and get in line again for a new color from a different nail technician. Very funny.

After painting just about everybody a few times, we put the polish away to play. The guys had taken out jump ropes and soccer and volleyballs, which were an ENORMOUS hit! I looked over the playyard to see a game of duck-duck-goose over here, singing practice/performance over there with teacher Helen, ballgames and races in different patches here and there. Again, I was pretty stationary as I was receiving an education in the discipline of partner hand clapping/slapping games to great fun songs that I couldn't understand the words to. I loved it and would sing the sounds I heard but had no clue what I was saying. They were patient with my learning and would practice with me over and over and over and over again at my request. I was determined to master what they had to teach, even though they laughed at my goofy flubs...

PS - Jenn, I'm headed towards your question about how this is affecting my Christmas, and I did want to add that I am borrowing pics from many of my teammates (thanks, guys!).

How do you say Part II in Swahili?

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 09 Dec 2009 17:48:00 +0000

So I got eight hours of zzzzz's the first night in Africa (sleep meds were my friend), and it was a new day on the continent. I woke up on Sunday and fell in love. Hard. With. Segera. And. Its. People.

We stayed in a hotel in Nanyuki, a 45-minute bus ride from the community we served. We drove in and out every day in open-air buses and just feasted on the raw, unmanipulated beauty of Creation: zebras, camels, cattle, goats, impalas, gazelles, monkeys, and the daily lion sighting (which was usually not a lion at all - though we did see about five over the course of the whole trip) set in the never-ending bush with massive Mount Kenya monopolizing the horizon.

I am not outdoors girl, by any stretch, but I have peeked through the blinds a couple of mornings this week to check out His brushstrokes at dawn. And I've been hungry just to be outside, not wanting to miss His presence in what I would usually deem "ordinary." He is crazy creative and imaginative.

We attended church services (at Faith Chapel and an open-air service in a small village).

During the open air event in the village of San Maria, I amassed a group of little people. They were quiet and respectful during the service, but as we made eye contact they would make their way over to stand with me, to hold my hand or arm. I so vividly remember the feel of having my arms around the five of them, their little bodies warm against my legs, as a cool wind blew and songs of praise were belted out. One of many fave memories.

After the service, I was swept into the mix of many of the tribal ladies of the village who did not speak English. They wanted their pictures taken (they all loved seeing themselves in the display screens of our digital cameras) and then they wanted me in the pictures. After a few photos, one of the ladies grabbed my hand and began to lead me away from the group - away from our group as well. Honestly, I was a little apprehensive, but I followed.

She led me into her hut, and that was the most afraid I was during the whole trip. Because it was pitch black dark inside. I had to lean over to enter, and I could not see anything. I was alone and we could not understand each other. There were other people inside - which made me more uncomfortable but I quickly determined they were children. The smell was the thick, heavy smell of a fire, and I wondered if I might step in it. My hostess was so gracious and sweet and realized my fumbling. She rattled off something in her native tongue and a small child scampered to pull what looked like a feed sack out of a hole in the wall to allow sunshine to pour in. She wanted me to be her guest; she wanted to show me her home.

In their culture, the women construct the homes out of sticks, mud, and animal waste. They walk great distances to collect wood, and it takes about a month to build. A hut may last about a year and a half before it will begin to collapse in on itself. As you can imagine, when it rains outside; it also rains inside.

After some time with Jennifer (it tripped me out that many of them have such common English names - but Kenya was a British colony which is why most Kenyans speak English in addition to Swahili), another guy from our team and a local guy entered the hut. The local fella began to translate for us, and Jennifer wanted us to ask questions about her home, to take pictures of her home, and to show us different items in her home. Communication was quite awkward, but she was so proud to have us. In fact, she had us taking picture after picture with various household objects as we began to hear the team calling all back to the bus. Pictures with the milk gourd. Pictures with the beaded stick. Me with the milk gourd. Mike with the milk gourd. Jennifer and Mike with the milk gourd. You get the idea. It was way cute and funny and strange in the end.

A day of worship on the far side of the world. Definitely something to write home about... Thank you for indulging me, and Tuoanane kesho (See ya tomorrow in Swahili)...

I definitely needed Africa more than Africa needed me.

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Tue, 08 Dec 2009 21:14:00 +0000

Okay, I stole that title from this blog, but it is right on the money for me.

Remember me? Hi! My name is Cookie, and I am an intermittent blogger. Sorry about that. I really am, but I have to submit to constant monitoring or I will allow my expectations of myself to grow large and woolly and mammoth with big, sharp teeth.

So, two really major things have happened in my life this fall, and I would love to catch you up in small doses, if that's okay. Back in October I led a women's study on Five Lies of the Devil, and it was soooo soooo fun to do my teachin' thang again. AND now I am fresh off the plane from Kenya (and glad to have both feet planted firmly on the ground again, thank you very much!), and I can barely talk or think about anything else. I have exhausted all of the peeps in my fam and circle with my endless, "In Kenya..." comments; I have forced a slideshow and presentation on Carson's second grade class, and I've worn down my Facebook friends with pics and video, so I turn to you as a new venue :-)

Obviously, we'll tackle Kenya first and come back to Five Lies.

For those of you who aren't NewSpringers, my church has partnered with The 410 Bridge (you should watch the video on their site) to invest in the people and community of Segera in Kenya - a partnership that will send teams and resources to the same area over at least a three year time frame. We have sent three teams already and have five trips planned for 2010.

My Chris went in June and came back insistent that I go. I wasn't opposed to going, but it was never a matter of feeling like it was something I had to do. It became something I really, really, really wanted to do. And I knew it would require me to face a whole bunch of fears (not the least of which was flying) and get way far removed from the comforts of my cute lil' life.

I didn't go thinkin' I was gonna be any great help to anybody while I was there. I certainly went to love, love, love some beautiful kiddos and mamas, to serve them in absolutely any way I could, and to share Jesus if I had the opportunity, but all along I knew that God planned to change me more than He planned to use me.

It took two days to fly there, and the instruction began immediately. After bad weather, a flat nose tire on an airplane, a missed flight to Paris, an unexpected 13-hour overnight flight to Dubai, a middle of the night flight to Nairobi, no shower or bed for two days, very limited access to Diet Pepsi, and then a four-hour bus ride, I had been beaten into submission upon arrival.

In my life, I am a planner, and I like to stick to the plan. I am pretty much in control of how my day goes. I generally do what I want to do and don't do what I don't want to do. I give a lot of thought to what is safe, what makes me feel secure, what I am comfortable with, and what allows me the greatest degree of control over my circumstances. I quickly got the message that this trip would happen on His terms, not mine. The first two days were a butt whoopin' for sure, and I was allowed to see with supreme clarity the issues that comfort, security, safety, and control are in my life - golden calves gleaming brightly before me in the African sunrise on day two.

At that point I would've quit if I could have. I wanted to go into the airplane bathroom and cry my head off but I didn't think I would be able to stop if I started. Ever feel that way?

Stay tuned...

PS - Thank you, Kristin, for the awesome pic!

A quickie :-)

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 21:37:00 +0000

Whassup, blog buddies?

I have not forgotten you! A couple of you have asked for some scoop on the women's study, and I sooooooooo want to fill you in. I am buried right now but have definite plans to post notes and highlights (WITHOUT video or audio :-); unfortunately, it may be after the study is done.

We have had thirty-five ladies both nights, and this group is tooo fun! Can't wait to share more, so please be patient. Would so appreciate your prayers for our group! I don't pretend to know His purposes for us; I am just praying that He accomplishes them and that we (especially me) stay out of His way!

"Come and listen, all you who fear God; let me tell you what he has done for me..." - Psalm 66:16

Five Lies of the Devil: Update on the Update

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 23:05:00 +0000

Location, location, location!

Five Lies of the Devil: For Women Only will be meeting at the Russell House (1502 West Palmetto Street) on the corner of Palmetto and Seneca (directly across the street from the Sundae House and Visible Changes salon).

We crank up this coming Tuesday evening, September 8, at 7:00, and I am over-the-moon excited about it!

At present, there are about twenty-five of us, with a few "maybes" hanging in the balance and new gals signing up every day. If you are still interested in joining us, just shoot me an email (secawthon@yahoo.com) with your name, email address, and mailing address. For more of the details, you can check out this post and this post.

I cannot wait to dive in!

PS - Casual and comfy attire required. Don't you dare get duded up to come...

5 Lies of the Devil - Update

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Whassup, peeps?

I just dig you guys the most!! I just wanted to offer a little update on the study. I have had about twenty ladies express interest in participating, and I am out of my gourd with excitement! You guys have been asking some great questions too that I'll address here for everyone's benefit:

How much homework will there be? None :-) That goes against every teacher instinct in me, just so you know!

Is there a book or other materials to purchase? No :-) The Bible will be our text. We'll have a lesson and discuss as time allows. That's kinda the format we'll follow...

What if I cannot come to all of the sessions? That's not a problem at all! Each evening's lesson will be independent of the others. Please come even if you cannot come to all five.

Has a location been determined yet? No. Many of you have made GENEROUS offers of space (THANK YOU!), and I am not even ready to choose a place yet. If I had already secured a space for 10-15 people, I would be worried about it being too small at this point. My plan is to ride it out a little longer to get a fairly decent estimate. I am trusting God to bring every lady He wants and then trusting Him to provide the right space for His purposes. If you have emailed me your information, I will make sure you know where we will meet in plenty of time (which may be a very relative promise ;-) Please continue to send space ideas and offers. They are greatly appreciated!

How do I sign up? Just email me (secawthon@yahoo.com) your name, email address, and mailing address. I need that info from each lady planning to participate.

Is there a cut-off date for signing up? No, but. As soon as you know that you would like to be involved, please shoot me your info - purely to allow us to choose an appropriate space! Having said that, if you find out about the study two weeks after it has started and you want to come, please email me and for the love of Pete come on. Nothing would tickle me more!

I have always wanted to do an FAQ post. How exciting (and dorky)! I am souped-up hyper about this chance to pursue Him with you! Keep the questions coming, and TTFN...

MOVE THAT BUS!

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 19:55:00 +0000

Okay, have I annoyed you enough on FB and Twitter this week? Well, that's over and without further adieu - the big reveal :-)

I am tickled......I am beside myself......I am spazzing in a very big way! If you have been around these parts before, you may know that I love to teach. I am especially passionate about teaching women. Especially about what God has done for me.

So, there's no time like the present for grabbing the bull by the horns, right? I am going to be teaching/leading a 5-week study. Details are listed below:

FOR WOMEN ONLY!

All women. Every woman. Any women. Crazy female hormones preferred :-)

Tuesday nights @ 7:00-8:30

Sept. 8 - Oct. 6

Location: To Be Announced

(looking to partner with a business or restaurant with

a meeting space suited for the size of the group)

Lies We'll Dismantle:

1) God will not put more on you than you can handle.

2) Follow your heart and you'll find happiness.

3) You've got plenty of time.

4) Your faith is a private issue.

5) Sex - it's not that big of a deal.

So, how do you sign up? Anyone interested in participating should email me (secawthon@yahoo.com) her name, email address, and mailing address.

That's it!

I would greatly appreciate you helping me spread the word, and I am souped up hyper to see what God has in store...

PS - If you have any questions, you can leave them as comments, and I'll answer them for everyone. Or you can shoot me an email :-)

Final Clue: FOUR!

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 01:20:00 +0000

Full disclosure on Sunday :-)

Tres

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 02:31:00 +0000

You guys are super fabulous, and you are definitely on the right track!

Now to put to rest the FAQ of the week. The football player featured in Clue #1 is Jonathan Meeks, a freshman who will be playing for our beloved Clemson Tigers. And, you guessed it, he'll be wearing the #5 jersey for the team this season. That contribution came from the hubs, who can hardly wait until football begins.

On with the fun, Clue #3...

The Devil Went Down to Georgia - The Charlie Daniels Band

Clue #2

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 17:38:00 +0000

No, those jeans don't make your butt look big.

Momma, I didn't do it.

No, officer, I wasn't speeding.

Honey, I don't think she's attractive at all.

That ole' thing? I've had it in the closet for years. Don't you remember, sweetie?

This is just something I threw together really quickly. It was nothing.

What? I didn't go to Target this morning; that must have been someone with a truck just like mine.

Of course, I remember that today is our anniversary!

I'm fine.

Wow! You haven't changed a bit.

I was just kidding.

The check's in the mail.

She's just a friend.

This is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you.

A Lil' Somethin' Up My Sleeve: Clue #1

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 00:12:00 +0000

I got a lil' somethin' up my sleeve. Here's clue #1; stay tuned for more throughout the week and full disclosure on Sunday :-) I can hardly stand the suspense...

Who's That Girl?

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Sun, 16 Aug 2009 02:22:00 +0000

Stress reliever #37 before the start of school: A 12-inch haircut.

Four ponytail elastics: free

My Sunshine's new do: $20

That smile. You guessed it - priceless!

She cracked me up when we were walking in FOR A BASIC TRIM!

"Momma, if my hair is long enough today to cut, can I get a do?"

"A do?"

"Yeah, you know. Grammie has a do."

Well, I do believe Fancy got herself a do now, huh?

Poll in the Wall

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 15:22:00 +0000

PLEASE HELP! I am doing a lil' research and would love some blogland assistance. Will you take a moment to visit my sidebar and vote in the poll question.

Just curious about something...

I hope to share soon.

Sundry

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 00:56:00 +0000

Right about now. At this stage of summer. I feel like I am in the movie Groundhog's Day.

I have been studying the Psalms this past month or so, and I have actually been fairly consistent in doing that. I am studying a chapter until I sense that the Lord is done with it before I move on. I am on Psalm 8 and will probably be in the Psalms until I outlive my teeth, but, hey, it's not a bad place to be! Here are some of my fave verses:

Psalm 4:4- ..., when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent.// I love to snuggle down in prayer, and I so treasure when I choose to be silent and He speaks.
Psalm 4:6- ..., Let the light of your face shine upon us, O LORD.// What a prayer!
Psalm 6:3- ..., How long, O LORD, how long?// How many of us can ask Him that right this minute? And our queries would cover a multitude of issues. His masterpiece is alive because He can speak to me and you with that one verse and be addressing two totally different waits. Love that!

I really dug in on Psalm 5. Oh, my goodness. "Give ear to my words, O LORD, consider my sighing." When do we sigh? Frustrated. Tired. At wit's end. Exasperated. Don't know what to do next. He is even attentive to our sighs. Love that! And "[i]n the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation." Certainly this is the verse that challenges me to shake off slumber to start my day with Him, and then I love the picture of waiting in expectation. That could be a definition of faith. To wait in expectation. I want to wait with great expectation! I want to be more reverent (v. 7) and for Him to lead me in His righteousness (v. 8). The imagery of His Word allows us to see Him act on our behalf; I have been praying recently that the Lord would spread His protection over my family and that He would surround us with His favor as with a shield (v. 11-12).

I am loving my new tee (beauty from ashes); you can check it out and preview the new kids' tees at http://www.wildolivetees.com/. Thank you to my dear friend Erika for introducing me!

Sacrifice = giving up something good for something better. Following Christ has a cost. He tells us that. If we are not sacrificing anything, we aren't getting God's best. And not even just sacrificing something to serve Him but rather sacrificing something to know Him. To love Him more. To just be more obedient. More submitted. What is He asking you to sacrifice to know Him more intimately? Do you believe that your sacrifice will make room for His best in your life?

NewSpring Church has moved to the Florence Civic Center. Sunday mornings @ 9:15 and 11:15. Would love to see your smiling face walking through the doors...

How I became me

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 01:27:00 +0000

She Magazine: June 2009

Once upon a time, there was me. And I felt forgotten by God. Overlooked. Neglected. Abandoned by Him. And I didn’t think warm, fuzzy things about Him. As a little girl I experienced some deep hurt and some super negative church experiences at the hands of some harsh and cold church people. I was a little person with no use for God, and you don’t undo that very easily…

And so it was as a thirteen year-old that I first heard that God loved me at Centrifuge youth camp at North Greenville College. I went for the boys. I went because of my friends. I went for a week away from home, but I left having made a new Acquaintance (and snagged a new boyfriend from Dothan, Alabama).

But the ten years after that were rocky for me and Him. In fact, I am the picture in the Illustrated Bible for Matthew 13:5-6. In my case, the Seed fell on the rocky places; "it sprang up quickly because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root." My claim to Christ was not rooted in faith. There was a lot of heart stuff going on (emotions) and a lot of head stuff going on (I began to attend discipleship classes), but there was no root. So when life as a teen and a college student got wild, so did I. I had enough of Jesus to keep me out of hell, but that was absolutely it...

And so knowing that Jesus loved me was cute and all, like the song, but that in and of itself meant very little in the day-to-day living of my life. The knowledge of it was kinda like applying a band-aid to an amputation; it didn't do much to heal the gash that was in my soul. I did believe that He loved me, but I wondered why He had not loved me before I was thirteen. My adolescent understanding deduced that He started loving me because I bought what He was selling. First, you drink the Kool-Aid then you get the goods: His affection, His protection, His forgiveness, etc... I bought it, but it didn't all jive with me. I remember sitting in a youth retreat in Garden City, and we were anonymously turning in questions to our youth pastor to discuss as a group. My question was - Why do bad things happen to good people? I was deeply disturbed by who I thought God might be. In my brain He was punitive and selfish and partial and powerful, and to me that was a pretty scary combination. His love was manifest when He withheld punishment that I deserved, which is true but it isn't the only manifestation of His love. I had a super-limited understanding of God's character and that tripped me up for years.

There was an absolute disconnect between what I wrestled with in my spirit and in my heart about God and how I lived. In fact, I honestly remember praying for forgiveness in advance of going out to drink way too much (by the way I do now understand that isn't how forgiveness works). I showed my fanny for a good eight years before college graduation saved me from myself by removing me from the environment that promoted my destructive behaviors.

Chris - who was not a believer at the time - suggested that we (as a new couple) start attending church regularly because that's what respectable people did; it was a great way to meet people, and it was the right way to start a work week. God took full advantage of having us for an hour a week and began to till the soil of our hearts for future planting; give that Fella an inch and He'll take a mile every time.

We added Sunday School to our repertoire when we moved to Flotown, and God just kept drawing us in ever so slightly and slowly - almost imperceptibly. And we were willing to be drawn. In large part because God had surrounded us by people who were like us but who loved Him. They were willing to say, "I need Jesus because I totally screw it up on my own!" and we could identify with that. Chris made a new Acquaintance, and we became inchworms for Christ - inching closer and closer to Him, in very small increments, mind you.

I quit teaching after Carson was born and attended my first women's Bible study, after all what in the world was I going to do all day? I was born to be a student; I love to be a student. It's why I became a teacher (because no one would pay me to be a forever student, and teaching was as close as I could get. I still got to be in the classroom, smell books, and use newly sharpened pencils). So, I took seriously my role as a Bible student. If the teacher challenged us to pray in the middle of the night in a headstand (which she did not), that's what I did. I totally think God was humored by my desire to obey and please.

It was in those Beth Moore Bible studies that she gave me permission to be honest with God; she began to press on my gash and whispered to my soul that He was big enough to handle it. And the truth bubbled to the surface. I was angry with God. I was a twenty-eight year-old mom who was angry. With. God. So I put on my big girl panties, and gritted my teeth, and pointed my finger in the air, and began asking the hard questions – Where were you when I was a little girl? Why didn’t I enjoy your protection? How can I trust you? What kind of God overlooks a precious little girl?

And it was there - in that place of brokenness - that the fullness of our relationship began.

And it was as if He said in perfect tenderness, "Thank you for asking; I've been wanting to talk to you about this for a long time."

This conversation occurred in the midst of a study entitled Believing God, and part of the homework was to create a timeline of my life. By answering a host of probing questions, I was to revisit every stage of my life and document how God had been present all along. I fully expected to find no evidence of Him in my early years, but one of the dearest things He has ever done for me was allow me to literally see His fingerprints all over my childhood - mostly in the amazing people He strategically placed around me. He gave me favor with some of the kindest people I have ever encountered, and He loved me through them since I was not in a healthy church situation nor was I in the company of compassionate believers that much at all. The older couple who kept me while my mom worked (sometimes until 9:30 at night); I was their favorite. The family who owned the rental house my mom and I lived in was so good to us. My third grade teacher; I was her pet. Two older ladies who cared for me in Marion. My Nana and Poppa (my new grandparents). He used their arms to hug me; their hearts to love me; their voices to affirm me. He gave me two parents who thought I hung the moon; in retrospect I am allowed to see that there was no shortage of love and there was no absence of God.

With regards to the pain of those years; He assured me that He was as angry and as saddened as I was. He reminded me of His justice. He had not chosen that pain for me, but He had allowed it for this very day - that I might share His faithfulness in the face of life's ugliness. Through my study of His Word, He promised to heal me, to make me healthy, and to use it all for my good and His purposes. If I would allow Him to...

I have.

I was blown away to discover that I had been wrong about Him all along. This life-changing experience piqued my interest to know Him, to know His character, to know His heart. I got real with Him and stopped trying to pray the right things because that's what I thought He wanted to hear; as if He didn't know what a liar I was. It's hard to get really real, even with your own self, but He is safe. He is gentle, compassionate, slow to anger, ever present, abounding in love, all knowing, attentive and involved, patient, perfectly good, perfectly faithful. He has never not kept His Word, and there is no darkness in Him. The Bible is full of His promises of love and hope and peace and joy and comfort, and He has never dropped the ball on a single one.

About the time all of this wildness was going on inside me, a most bizarre thing happened. I never saw it coming. I was really starting to love Jesus and enjoyed learning more and more and more. One Sunday morning the Sunday School teacher called Chris, who was the SS director for our class, and announced that he was sick and was unable to teach in forty-five minutes. That meant that Chris would have to step up; I volunteered to do it because I had been a teacher by vocation. I could barely swallow past the lump in my throat, and I thought I really might throw up. I was the terribly quiet one in class each week who got really nervous about even making a comment (I know that is too far-out there to even believe). I taught that day - with great trepidation and stammering- and burst into flames right before the class (not literally although that's a pretty cool image). I discovered my life purpose in that cinder block room. I am most alive in this world when I am speaking or teaching or writing about His goodness and His faithfulness. I love it like nothing else.

I can tell you that He has healed my marriage of past sin and past hurts. He has taken every hurt in my life and used it for good. He has allowed me to pray some of the biggest prayers my tiny brain could conceive of and then answered them a gajillion times bigger than I dared dream. He has blessed me with people in my life who push me to be more like Him. He has permitted me to see Him change people's lives, and He has blessed me with a passion that my skin can barely contain! I just may burst...

And that is not to say that I don't get discouraged, distracted, angry, impatient, disinterested, self-absorbed, apathetic, etc, etc, etc... I am still flawed, weak Cookie who screws it up regularly. Now I'm just well connected. To. Him.

Tidbits

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 13:30:00 +0000

I have a new favorite verse, and I'm claiming it as my life verse forever and ever and ever: Psalm 66:16- "Come and listen all you who fear God; let me tell you what HE has done for me."

I'm going to Kenya for Thanksgiving!

I am just recognizing that I have a god-complex where my children are concerned. In error, I believe that I am completely responsible for their happiness, their safety, and their health (spiritual, mental, emotional, and physical). That's dangerous bidness right there, 'cause that faulty belief system will leave me carrying a mountain of guilt for any unpleasantness in their lives. That's gonna be a hard one to give up, though, 'cause I feel like I should bear the weight of that responsibility. Repeat after me if you are feelin' me at all on this one, "We do not need to be the gods of our children's lives. He is perfectly able to do that Himself. We want them to know that He loves them more than we ever can. He's got this thing. I do not!"

I don't really dig having the body chemistry that attracts every biting insect known to man. I am a sight these days! Kenya Fear #74: MALARIA! Though I will be taking malaria meds before, during, and after we go.

How in the tarnation have I forgotten how much I love 10, 000 Maniacs, Otis Redding, James Taylor, Annie Lennox, Tracy Chapman, Rod Stewart, and George Strait? Shame on me!

I always carry a Ziploc bag of Sweet'N Low in my purse.

I recently learned a brilliant piece of information. Absolutely astonishing! If you sprinkle baby powder on your arms and legs after playing on the beach, the sand will easily brush off. COMPLETELY! This is one of those tidbits that just makes me happy, and I've already tried it at the beach. It's the stuff!

I get spastically excited about buying school supplies - definintely brings out the nerd in me!

Heavy Mettle

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 14:09:00 +0000

I am staring in the face of a hair appointment tomorrow - and I may have to bring the girls with me (YIKES!) Made me remember that I never posted my Mother's Day article for SHE.

I knew better. I KNEW BETTER. But I did it anyway.

Chris was out of town, and I was feeling ambitious. I committed the unthinkable. I committed myself to an afternoon of appointments and errands with my six and three year-old daughters. I knew better. I realize that to some of you that’s no biggie, but to me it was a ghastly adventure.

I ran over people at Carson’s school to snatch her up and dash to a hair appointment across town at 2:30. Thanks to my turn on two wheels into carline, we were actually a few minutes early for our first appointment. Both girls sat angelically to have their locks shorn, and that, my friends, was the high point of the afternoon. After a potty visit and some quick check writing, we barreled to another section of town for a 3:00 visit with our dentist – where Carson and I were having our teeth cleaned and checked.

In my own utopia I had imagined that Carson would go into her own exam room, and we would be cleaned and examined simultaneously. Of course, Campbell would perch still and silent and watch with grave interest as I was the patient. Okay, so that didn’t happen. Carson was called before I was, so she finished just as I was getting started. She joined her sister in the room with me, and to say that there were way too many Cawthon girls in one exam room would be a gross understatement. I lay back, stretched my mouth open as wide as I could, my dental hygienist (if you are reading, I plead for your forgiveness! I learned my lesson, I promise!) began inserting her instruments into my mouth, and the melee began. I started to sweat and pray for a speedy cleaning. Campbell began beating on the foot of the dental chair, causing my head at the opposite end to bounce a little. Carson began to totally unpack my purse while wearing the requisite attitude that accompanies my obnoxiously large sunglasses. Then they began to fight, push, and argue over my personal belongings. My dear hygienist tried to ignore the fray, and I tried my hardest to teleport to another continent. No such luck, so I halted the cleaning, sat up, and informed both of my precious ones that certain punishment awaited them in their very near future. They were at least tolerable for the remainder of the visit.

So I slunk out of the office wearing mortification like a weighty backpack and loaded my offspring. Acknowledging that I was at least partly to blame for attempting such an asinine afternoon, I refused to sink even lower in my own estimation by picking up fast food for dinner. We proceeded to the grocery store. Okay, I’m not completely an idiot; I issued the standard lecture in the car before we disembarked. I reminded them of their looming consequences – which proved to be a tactical error – and off we went. Somewhere half way through our shopping, they threw all caution to the wind and embraced the certainty of their punishment. We were a sight! Without an ounce of brain power or dignity left, I grabbed only the bare essentials for our dinner and breakfast. All else would have to wait. I pulled into a checkout line and exhaled, knowing the end was near. If I can just get home I’ll be okay, I thought. At about which time, Campbell, who is seated in the spacious part of the cart, leans over and puts her hand on the cart in front of us and bellows quite loudly, “MOVE IT, LADY!” Oh no she didn’t.

Oh yes she did.

The lady turns around and replies, “I would if I could.”

“CAMPBELL CAWTHON, YOU APOLOGIZE TO HER RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” I declared with my head shaking in fury and shame; it threatened to make a few complete revolutions as my ire intensified.

“Oh, she’s fine. I have grandchildren their ages, and you just need to enjoy this time while they’re young.” Sometimes, easier said than done, sweet friend (if you are reading, I plead for your forgiveness! You are an angel, and I so appreciated your gracious response and your sense of humor!).

Somehow I made it through the next couple of hours and finally settled them into bed. Spent in every way, I flopped onto the couch and sat numb in the silence. What was that? I finally asked myself.

That, in all honesty, is how some days go for me as a mother.

At the end of some days, I feel like I did a pretty good job. At the end of others, I think I was just adequate, and then at the end of a few, I cry.

It’s hard.

When we trade in that high-dollar purse for a big, bulky though highly functional diaper bag, we need room to carry a lot more than diapers and wipes and bottles and pacies. We need room to shoulder the universal guilt of being a mom. We feel guilty if we work and are away from our children most of the day. We feel guilty if we stay at home and find it difficult, tedious, and sometimes even unfulfilling. We might also need to haul our exhaustion, our caffeine addiction, the extra weight we’ve gained from running ragged, our tears (happy and not-so-much), our embarrassment, our impossible expectations for ourselves, and sadly sometimes even our own judgment of each other. What a load!

But that’s not all. We also need room for all of the awkwardly spelled love notes and the brightly colored pictures. We need a separate compartment for the tears we dry, the boo-boos we kiss, and the snapshots we cherish of them sleeping, smiling, or performing when they don’t know we’re watching. We need to tuck their wet dog smell in a side pocket to help us remember spring afternoons spent running in the sun; we want to capture their tight squeezes around the neck in a zippered pouch, and there needs to be a special canister in the side that can be filled with their laughter.

I absolutely love being a mommy, and I wouldn’t trade a solitary second of my time spent with my girls. But it also often feels like a Herculean task. I find balance between the difficult and delightful in the reality that motherhood is meant to change me as much as it is meant to change my children. I find beauty in that.

The Spiritual Benefits of Tom and Jerry

noreply@blogger.com (Cookie Cawthon) — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 03:02:00 +0000

The past few summers have provided the same quandary each year. When my routine changes, my spiritual discipline is quite disrupted. Well, this week I decided to return to one of my favorite books of the Bible - Psalms. So, while my girls' brains turn to mush on a regular diet of Tom and Jerry and Penelope Pitstop in the mornings, I am trying to ingest something more nourishing. I am taking a day or two or three and chewing on one psalm and journaling questions, thoughts, other related verses, etc... I'm less than a week in, but I have been quickly reminded how much I love His Word! Makes me ask the question that so many of us come back to time and time again - Why do I choose junk over sustenance, distraction over transformation, and sloth over growth?

So, I may come on over every now and then and share some of my thoughts, questions, etc..., and I would love for you to join the conversation. Nothing structured here. No expectations. I'm not committing to anything here :-) (most of you know all of this noncommittal mumbo-jumbo is for my own benefit; otherwise I'll freak out like a wet cat).

Psalm 1

Heavenly Father,

May I truly and genuinely and really delight in your law and meditate on it day and night. I want to be a tree planted by streams of water who bears fruit in its season and whose leaf does not wither. I want whatever I do to prosper because I am so immersed in Your will that You can bless every thought, action, word, and deed as it brings you immense glory. May I not forfeit knowing You and serving You and pleasing You by walking in the counsel of the wicked, or standing in the way of sinners, or sitting in the seat of mockers. Your Word is powerful and You are glorious! Please allow all distractions to fall away that I might live with a singular focus - YOU! Please watch over my way and strengthen me as a warrior princess for YOU!