National Lampoon Field Trip

So I am back into blogging. I suppose there is a long story, but the short version is that school is winding down, and synapses are freed for creating. So, write I shall. I have some recipes and an absurdly profound observation about weeds that I will post this week, but first, this, because I can't stop laughing about it.

This time of year, I am jonesing for a good field trip. I suppose it is the weather, the appalling number of school days that have to be filled with Something Meaningful, and general wanderlust. So when my husband and our oldest were away on a fishing trip, and my good friend's husband away on a missions trip, the timing was PERFECT. We would trundle a grand total of eight children under the age of ten into a city, trawl around for the day, and drive back home.

What could possibly go wrong?

We'd originally planned to go to the aquarium in Baltimore, but I'd just driven back from Cape May, and the thought of rush hour traffic for the second day in a row with a car full of children asking me to punch straws into their juice boxes was just too much. So we decided to go to Hershey Chocolate World, and then the State Museum in Harrisburg.

So far, so good.

No one got lost. No one cried because we didn't ride the ride again. We even got them to stand still long enough to take the obligatory picture for the portfolio. Everyone stand still. Lili... Lili... stop walking. Keep smiling....Almost.... K is behind me saying "They are smiling  -- take it! Take it!"

So we get burgers to eat in the car, which to these elite members of Big Families on Budgets was a super big treat.

Get into Harrisburg and spend thirty minutes looking for parking. There is no photo of this, because both of the mothers who could have been taking pictures were on their cell phones (illegally within the city of Harrisburg! Surreptitiously!) wirelessly convening between minivans, looking for garages.

(Around this time everyone's bladder has been tanked with the happy meal small soda. Remember this.)

We finally park the cars and navigate the bajillion blocks to the State Museum, holding hands with all the younger ones. Which is pretty much everyone.

Let me explain the Non-City Child visiting the City: She is part wandering kitten, part kamikaze, and it is your job to keep her alive. You must keep her from tripping into the intersection at a red light, running out into traffic in a green light, or climbing into the lap of a homeless person. And we had eight of these.

At this point, the mothers exchanged a brief 'what the blazes were we thinking' meaningful glance, but it was too late to turn back.

We finally made to the block of the capitol building (Up the steps! up, up, up! Come on, W! I don't know why the statues are naked, L! Stop stepping on the back of your brother's sneakers, J!) and rounded the corner to the museum. And our stomachs sank.

There was a fire alarm at the State Museum (Full bladders. Happy meals. Eight children). The grass in front of the museum was littered with school children and backpacks. Their bus drivers stood curbside, smoking and muttering. Fire trucks came wailing down the street.

So here we are, on the grass, having to pee, with no bathroom available for a foreseeable future. And at that point something happened: the legacy of a plucky mother and resourceful father merged in me to create into what K affectionately 'the bulldog complex'. Ahem.

I walked up to the closest charter bus, told him the whole desperate story of the far parking garage, the happy meal drinks, the fire alarm in the museum, waggled the miserable children in front of him, and then asked to let all eight of them use his on-bus bathroom. Yes, I did that. I am not proud. He said yes, and I trotted them all on, and then back off the bus, where they fiddled around until the museum reopened.

So it's all good! Bladders empty, doors open, sun shining! We went into the museum and noticed that not only were the halls strangely quiet, but there was no one at the admissions desk. Strange. When we finally flagged down an employee, she told us that the museum was Closed on Tuesdays. For school trips. It had always been that way, she said. And was afraid she was going to have to Ask Us to Leave.

I would like to think that if she knew a smidgen about our day thus far, she would have just closed her eyes and let the door swing open and let us sneak in. But she didn't, and since I had already lost all pride with the bus-potty debacle, I wasn't going to stop now.

I told her we had come from out of town, wasn't aware of the 'Tuesday is for School Trips" rule, and that we WERE a school trip of our own flavor. A little pleading combined with the reek of desperation and all of our kittens holding hands, and she finally relented.

 In case you are unfamiliar, this is the William-Penn-hug-of-gratitude, since the admissions desk lady didn't really look like she wanted a hug.

OK, guys. Getting a little too friendly with the knickers.


 It took us about an hour to realize that we were the only ones left in the museum. When the fire alarm sounded, most of the school trips just packed up and went home. We were left with our almost-disasterous/near-wonderful field trip (those two events are conjoined twins) all by ourselves.

.... and it was wonderful.

A Healthy Dose of Chaos

The kids and I just cleaned the house. The floors are scrubbed, the legos have been plucked out from under the registers and there are new ABC sheets on Peter's bed since the former ones were mysteriously drizzled with Elmer's Glue. Hmmm.

We do this every Thursday – spend a few hours scrubbing, folding, wiping, and throwing out broken HappyMeals toys – but this week the tribe is putting in a bit more effort.

Their two cousins are in an airplane right now, flying 24 hours around the world to land in our feverishly excited arms. Right this very minute. I imagine that by now the two little girls have worked their way through any surprise presents/movies/snacks and my sister Leah is now doing tricks of many kinds to keep them happy.

Our house is clean for them, but it won't be clean for long.

I am glad really. What fun is a clean house? I am basically cleaning it so it can be a staging ground for the next three months of play-doh, recipes involving copious amounts of cheese, bathing chubby babies, and watching ridiculous comedies late at night with the ones I love. Don't get me wrong, I love how it looks right now, how it smells like Pine-Sol and sunshine. The floor on the boys room is free of guinea pig food and legos, and the girls have their pink flipflops in perfect rows.

I love a clean house, but most of my happy memories are of the messy times.

Like eating cake batter with my sisters as a kid. That was not a clean kitchen that day. Or the time our dog Heidi decided to deliver her 10 pups behind 10 different pieces of furniture throughout our house. Great memory. Not the cleanest. This week, I had a friend over for lunch – with her busy little baby, we had ten kids in this house. There were duplos on the floor, half-finished sandwiches on the table, and every one was happy.

I know I am misquoting Nietzsche when he said “You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star,” but when the dancing star is a family, I fully believe we all need a little bit of chaos. That's where the living happens. It's in the middle of baking chocolate chip cookies/soccer practice/late night cereal parties. When there is flour on your floor, a pile of laundry in front of your washing machine and a suspicious smell coming from a certain child's room, I know the urge is to freak out (I know because I do it), but take a minute to look past the chaos and find that dancing star. You will be glad you did. 

Now, let's mess this place up and make some memories. 

The Numbers Game

Today is significant to me. Thirty-six years ago there was a lunch that was interrupted by labor pains; the country doctor largely discounted it on account it was the girl's first birth but by the time she got to his office her baby was almost born. That woman, of course, was my mother, and the baby was round-headed, big-eyed, me. That day was important because it started my story. 

Every August 22 since has been important because it is a chapter marker: another year is gone, a new one comes. 

In my line of work, there are few project completions, assignments, promotions or incentives. One perseveres rather than completes; believes, finds joy, grows bitty things into bigger things. These are good but very hard to 'achieve' or to quantify. I don't want to forget the little things that made the year good -- the things that made me grin, or made my heart hammer against my ribs, or made me laugh until I cried. 

In true list fashion, I have tallied some of those little things -- the gifts that the year gave to me. It is no way conclusive (I limited myself to twelve, after all), and some of the things are a bit silly.

Twelve things I have loved about my life in 2012:

1. Luke climbing into my bed at 4:30 every morning, wakened by Jon's alarm, and falling back asleep in a ball beside me.
2. The absence of pain. I had surgery two days after Christmas in 2010 that culminated two years of doctor's appointments, emergency room visits, CT scans, ultrasounds and many tears. There were days I thought the pain would be my constant companion – the gnawing reminder of the bitterness of this broken world. Thankfully, the reason was finally found (a complication from my c-section with Peter, the second twin) and surgically fixed. I am grateful for this every day.
3. Peter's laugh. Do you know someone who laughs with their whole body – tummy clenched, eyes pinched shut, head thrown back, crazy laugh? I love to laugh, and I love how much he does too.
4. The fantastic quiet of my house at 6 am. I liked to sleep in until I realized the gift of those purple-gray minutes of dawn when my mind is sharp, the quiet is deep, and the coffee is as strong as a sultan's. Mmm.
5. My sisters. I wish everyone had someone(s) who were different enough to offer perspective, mature enough to offer grace, and close enough to understand the unsaid words.
6. NO MORE DIAPERS! What did you say? NO MORE DIAPERS!
7. The smell of baby's hair. Carl Sandberg once said that a baby is God's opinion that the world should go on. Mine are no longer babies, so I smell the golden heads of other babies: Julia, Thaddeus, Alissa, Jake, Jackson, Adilyn. I am waiting for you, Avea, to sniff that little black feather of hair on top of your head.
8. Tarte concealor in light (I warned you I was including silly things). After 20-odd years of buying makeup with the accuracy and discernment of a drunken sailor looking for a date, I have decided to buy better and less. I don't know what took me so long.
9. Rebecca. Every year about this time, I read this line: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again,” and I plummet headlong into the world of the unnamed narrator and her Maxim. It never grows old.
10. The leather bag of all good things: sanitizer lip gloss kleenex checkbook library books clean size4 underwear lollypops wallet notebook and pen ipad bandaids rescue salve keys happy meal toys. The ephemera of a blessed life of five crazy children and their mother. The roadtrips. The memories. I am treasuring the moments and carting them around in my big old bag. 
11. Autumn. This coming season is my favorite time of year. Oh, the cider, sweaters, leaves, school books, crisp apples crunching!
12. Twelve years with a man who both understands me and loves me. Those two are not always compatible – familiarity breeds contempt and all that. But this one knows the way and loves it all the more. It is a gift, that like good wine, gets better with age, deeper, less bite; full and lasting. 

Chocolate Covered Cherry Granola

Chocolate Covered Cherry Granola

I love breakfast and I love oatmeal, but granola has never been my thing. For one, it always seemed a little greasy and secondly, I do not like dried peaches and apricots. So when my sister posted this recipe for chocolate granola with bitty dark chocolate chips and dried cherries, I did a jig. Well, did a jig and then promptly made it. This is low sugar and chock full of stuff like antioxidants, energy boosters and vitamins. And it is so chocolatey, you might skip the cookie for this crazy good stuff. There are a few modifications, but the heart of this recipe is all my lovely sister Hannah's.

* Note that this recipe can easily be made gluten-free – another plus!

Chocolate Covered Cherry Granola

1 Cup of Coconut Oil

1 C honey

1/2 c. raw sugar

1/2 c. water

2 tsp salt

3 tsp Vanilla

1 c. cocoa

Warm on low-med heat in a sauce pan, stirring until mixed.

Mix and pour over below dry ingredients

12 Cups Rolled Oats (Use Gluten Free Oats if Needed)

2 Cups of Wheat Germ or Ground Flax Seeds (Wheat Germ is high in fiber and B vitamins, but we use freshly ground Flax seeds, which are high in vitamins as well as fiber and Omega 3s!)

3 Cups of Nuts of your choice (My favorite is 2 c. almonds and 1 c. raw pumpkin seeds)

1 c. unsweetened coconut (opt)

Stir wet and dry ingredients together.

Spoon onto pans, mixture should be about 1" thick. 

Bake in oven, stirring every 5-10 min. Bake until slightly golden~about 30 min. * Note – this will be several pans baking at once. Rotate the pans that are on the bottom rack onto the top rack every time you stir.

Remove from oven, allow to cool fully in pans.

Pour into large bowl and add 2-3 cups of chopped dried cherries and mini semisweet chocolate chips. (you can switch this for any combination – peanut butter chips and white grapes, etc.)

Stir ingredients and store in a glass container. Plastic will make it taste iffy and add chemicals. Big glass containers are $6-$8 at Wal-mart and probably available elsewhere cheaply too.

Makes approx 18 Cups of Granola

Enjoy!

Pesto

The garden and I are not usually on the best of terms. It is so needy, frequently messy and needs attention during the hottest times of the year. But today, the garden's peace offering to me was basil. Ok, garden, you and I are at peace today. Because today I am making pesto.

Pesto is EASY to make and yummy.

You can:

• toss it with penne pasta, some diced tomatoes and chicken for an easy pasta dish
• mix it with a can of tomatoes to make homemade marinara
• spread it on french bread, top with mozzarella and put under the broiler
• use it as a pizza topping with sliced tomatoes and bacon
• use it as spread in a grilled sandwich

If you are a measure-it-all, play-by-the rules cook (good for you! Will you teach me?), here is the recipe. However, this is not how I cook – I do the 'eyeball method' of making pesto – no measuring required. If you want to do it that way, read on past the recipe.

4 c. basil leaves;

3/4 c. olive oil;

2 t. salt;

4 T or more lemon juice;

2 cloves garlic;

5 oz container shredded parmasan;

1 c. nuts like pine nuts, pecans or walnuts.

Put in food processor until smooth

The Eyeball Method

You will need

a bottle of lemon juice

a jar of chopped garlic

1-3 5 oz. containers of shredded Parmesan

salt

bag of walnuts (I stopped using pine nuts when I realized the taste difference was negligible and the cost was nearly triple for pine nuts. So walnuts it is.)

• pick basil. I am sure everyone has their own method, but I try to leave the basil plants looking like this so they will regrow throughout the summer until frost.
  
  
  
• Wash basil and remove stems
  
  
  
• loosely pack leaves into food processor
  
  
  
• put in 1/2 container of shredded parmasan
  
  
  
• pour a bit of lemon juice (approx 1-2 second pour, like you are adding cream to coffee)
  
  
  
• olive oil – if using one with a pour spout, count to 9 while pouring
  
  
  
• add a heavy dash of salt
  
  
  
• add a spoon full of chopped garlic
  
  
  
• dump in some nuts (about a cup)
  
  
  
• blend until smooth and creamy
  
  
  
• Repeat if you have more basil! If you are doing several batches, combine them for continuity of flavor.
  
  
  
• Use within a week or freeze. Today's cheapy cheap freezing – because I didn't feel like going to the store – was using the Parmesan cheese containers, and then putting the rest in greased mini cupcake tins that I will freeze, pop out and put in ziplock bags to keep in the freezer.   
  
  There it is -- recipes for the left brained and right brained! If you make it, I want to hear how it turned out and your favorite way to eat it! 

Love Songs of the Home School Proselyte

“Don't you love New York in the fall? 

It makes me wanna buy school supplies.

 I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils

 if I knew your name and address.” 

– Joe Fox, You've Got Mail

How does it happen, this school-time magic? Just a few weeks ago, we were feverishly counting the days until it would all be OVER, and now the air is filled the smell of new backpacks, sharpened pencils and scotch tape. It may be a little bit of the learning-geek in me, or just the beckoning of the books that are already unpacked and waiting on the shelves, but I am getting pretty excited about this coming school year.  

Because we home-school, and this is our story.

Before I start, I feel compelled to say that this is not an anti-public school post in any way. I don't have anything against public school or private school. Well, let me take that back. I have lots of opinions about lots (and lots and lots) of things, including some excessive baggage about insular homeschooling, but I am not a gentle ranter, so I am not even going to venture into that territory. For a well-balanced view on the other side of the public school/homeschool decision, see this great post by my smart and beautiful friend.

How we got started:

(this is long-ish – if you want to skip to the 'now' in the story, scrollllll down)

In 2007, I had a 5-year-old, a 4-year-old, a 1-year-old, had just quit my job and found out that I was (surprise!) pregnant. The pregnancy, as most of you know, had its own surprise waiting, but I didn't know that yet. So picture that woman with me: three little ones, finally able to quit her job to stay at home with her littles, idealistic, hopeful, and scared of doing the 'wrong thing'. 


(I have since found that the fear of doing the 'wrong thing' is often camouflage for lack of courage for doing the hard thing.)


 Since I had just quit my job in order to stay home, we didn't have the money to send Ellie to private school without me going back to work, and putting the younger ones in daycare. I didn't want to do it, so now the options were down to homeschooling and public school. I was filling out Ellie's public school paperwork when two things transpired: I found out that our little, bitty Mayberry-esque elementary school was too full and she would be shipped to the bigger school farther away, riding with middle school students (young mom says ACK!); and Will, who had just turned four, was reading and writing fluently, and wanted to start kindergarten. I was overcome with the decision. Paranoid, paralyzed with inadequacy, pickled in selfishness (what about Me?) and not sure I wanted to venture into the world of homeschooling that I inaccurately saw as being awash with rigidity, white tube socks and denim jumpers (refer to copious amounts of baggage above). I had been homeschooled and loved it, but I am bit of an loner – when I was in high school, I did much of my studies myself, reading 300+ books a year, taking classes at Penn State in the evenings and going to the nursing home to sit in the room of a World War II nurse while she told me racy stories about her wartime adventures. Was homeschooling for everyone, or just strange-child Me? I wasn't sure.

Around that time, I found out about Sonlight curriculum. The first thing I saw on their site was a list of reasons not to buy their curriculum. (I already had a hefty list of my own things I wanted to avoid: America-centrism; too much busywork v. actual learning; memorization v. critical thinking; legalism masquerading as discipleship. But I read on cautiously.)

Here were a few of the reasons people should not to buy Sonlight (complete list here)

-They don't want to do a lot of reading

-They prefer classroom-style study with lots of quizzes, tests and grades.

-They want to guard their children from anything offensive—at all costs. Rather than exploring and learning what you believe – avoid conflict!

- They want most school years to focus primarily on U.S. history and culture.

-They want to present all content and history as absolute truth, without question or doubt.

Oh my goodness, my jaded heart cracked open. A curriculum that loved education, explored conflict, eschewed America-centrism and promoted Christ-following through loving God with all your heart, soul and MIND? Sign me up! I was hooked. Now I just had to fit myself and my two little learners into the equation. And that was the hard part. I ordered the kindergarten package, and when it came in the mail, I was sick in my stomach.

The first day of school, I met with a few moms for breakfast. They were teary-eyed that they had just put their babies on the school bus; I was tear-eyed that I had not. Was it going to work? More importantly, was it worth it? Every choice we make has a benefit and a sacrifice. I already knew the sacrifice as I cut up cinnamon buns and cleaned spilled milk off the floor of the diner while retirees asked my kids why they weren't in school. But how measurable was the benefit? I did the first day, and the second, and the third. I made a secret vow that if I didn't like it, I wouldn't do it the next year. And, as an escape hatch, I also promised that once the youngest was in school, I was going back to work and putting the whole tribe into school. So there.

Today

That was in 2007. This, the 2012-13 school year is (what!?) my sixth year of teaching. I remembered this year about my whispered pledge of sending them all away to school while I sat in some mythical office in new clothes, typing on a shiny computer. When I told the kids of my escape-hatch pledge I had made so long ago, Ellie said, “Mom, are you serious?” 


No, I don't think I am anymore. Thankfully, the time since then has sanded me down a little, making this version of me a bit more laid-back, more journey-loving. I still don't know what next year holds, or high school, but who really does?

Since I am a list-maker, let me tell you what I have grown to love about learning this way:

• Being able to find each child's learning style and use it to help them master learning.
• one-on-one coaching with each child in the subjects or areas in which they struggle
• cultivating the gift of independent learning – something they will use all their lives.
• seeing everything – vacations, field trips (heck, even Kung Fu Panda 2) – as learning opportunities
• deep friendships with peers who share their interests, sports, and activities. We have been blessed with some incredible homeschooling friends who are invaluable to my crew.
• helping them to learn to THINK – not memorize, regurgitate viewpoints, pass tests, consume, but actually THINK, debate, understand.
• Being able to have 'mid-course corrections'. A spelling program isn't working? Try another one. And another.
• Incredible education through classic literature and history – education that is not reliant on school boards, lack of funding, etc.
• Individually-paced learning.
• Keeping the childhood passion for learning and exploring alive and thriving.
• the 'colorblind'ness of my kids. I don't just mean with color, although that is true. They are 'ageblind', 'shapeblind', 'cliqueblind'. I joke that it is because they are so happy to see someone other than their family, but the truth of it is that they haven't learned the intricasies of recognizing 'not cool' people. Having spent my elementary school time as one of those 'not cool' kids, it is something I love to see.
• FIELD TRIPS! I love to road-trip, and I budget them relentlessly. This past year, we went to Pittsburgh, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Erie, Washington DC, New York City and Hershey Chocolate World. The kids say: “I can't wait to see where we are going next.” Yeah, guys, me neither.
• The adventure of learning that we are doing together as a family. I know this isn't exclusive to homeschooling. But I love it. Our curriculum walks through ancient civilizations in 1^st grade through modern history in 4^th grade. Do you know how many incredible books that is? Museums? Foods? Luke is starting 1^st grade this year, and I am excited to start it again.
• The flexibility! Ellie can take horseback riding lessons in the middle of the day; Will can focus on animation and piano, all while keeping up their schoolwork. They can work ahead in their studies, take more time to master something, research a tangent topic. Ellie took her books with her while she went fishing in Cape May for a week this spring.
• We can sleep in! There is no reason on this green earth why we need to get up at six when it takes ten minutes to eat and walk to the school room.
• I love to read with my kids. Exploring the world together. Watching their minds come to life when they learn something new.

Don't get me wrong – there is another list that grows by the end of the year with things like “They never leave! They are always HEEEEERE!”. But that list is shorter, and by this time of the year, it is crumbled up and thrown away and replaced with the new school boxes filled with scotch tape and sharpened pencils.

Here's to the learning that never stops, no matter how old we are. 


PS: If you are interested in the curriculum we use, here it is. Using this link will earn points for my account, and maybe even add a free book or two this year. Thanks! 

Sweet Hot Lobster Love

Picture a lobster. No, not in that slimy tank at Red Lobster, rubber-banded and sulking as they wait to be overcooked. Picture the boat and the sunburned fisherman and jumble of slick, speckled, scissor-clawed beasts lifted high above the water in a dripping net. Before they are boiled to turn the color of my skin after a day at the pool, those lobster ladies are one beautiful, fighting, swaggering piece of work.

But when it comes time to mate, they are even more impressive. First, the girl approaches a male's lair and sends in some pheromones (through, ahem, a liquid. Yup, she is peeing him to love. But let's focus here). The guy goes crazy, fanning his tail so the scent permeates his whole lair. He wants to be permeated by her. He pursues her, big and strong and splendid, and she decides – contemplates – mulls the choice. Because of the gravity of what she will have to do. Because if she decides to mate, she will need to shed her shell and be utterly defenseless. To leave would be far easier, so sometimes that is what she does. Shell-on, she takes off.

But. If she decides to take the plunge, she tells this to him by resting her mighty claws on his head. I could hurt you, but I won't, she says in her lobstery way. Don't hurt me. And she molts her final defense, that beautiful silvery speckled shell. He could eat her if he wanted – ruin the vulnerability of true HER, but he doesn't. He cradles her, protects her tearable flesh. In his crustacean way, he loves her. He completes her.

Now, I am going on a limb here, but I am seeing some striking parallels. I, too, am speckled, walk a little bandy-legged, and rely all too much on my prickly shell and on what I alone can do. And while this relates almost wholesale into how I see marriage and true love – real molted-shell love that involves standing so stripped down that the other could destroy you if they wanted, but they complete you instead – but that is not what made me think about lobster love today. It was the story of Abraham and Isaac.

We are on vacation, and Vacation Sundays are “Home Church Sundays” even though we are not at home at all. Sitting on camp chairs, smelling of wood smoke and sunscreen, me braiding Ellies's hair, Will retold the story of God asking Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. To recap – Isaac was born when Abraham and Sarah were one hundred and ninety, respectively. It was fairly evident in their decrepitude that Isaac was a gift directly from God. And when he had been celebrated, coddled, rocked to sleep and kissed for several years, God asked Abraham to sacrifice him. 

At this point, Luke says, “This story is about how much Abraham loves Isaac.” Mother-me thinks, yes, yes, yes. I could never do it. Don't ask me to do it. Why would you put him to such an awful test. 

Ellie shakes her head. “No, it isn't.” she says. “God is asking Abraham how much he trusts Him.” GodFollower-Me, Woman-me, Crustacean-me thinks, Wow.

Because God is leading Abraham through a fairly simple exercise:

God: What are you relying on? Where is your confidence?

A: My confidence is in my legacy – have you seen my son? He's gorgeous. So muscled, that curly hair. He's perfect.

God: Where did you get this son?

A: Um. You.

God: Do you trust me enough to give up what I've given you? Do you trust that when you've been stripped of what gives you courage, I will be enough for you? That I will complete you?

A: <deep breath> Yes.

God: Let's see.

God asked me to give up something recently. If I tell you, it will sound silly, so you can let your imagination run riot. Let me just say – my word, it was starting to DEFINE me. It was starting to put shapes around me that were different than the shape I usually am: pizza-baker, gardener, teacher, band-aid applier.

Things started going crooked, and God said: What are you relying on? Where is your confidence?

Lobster Girl: This THING! I love how it makes me feel! I love doing it!

God: Where did you get this thing?

Lobster Girl: Um.

God: Do you trust me enough to take off the shell of talent and connections and ideas and how you define yourself? Will you give yourself to me, stripped of how you define YOU? Will I be enough for you?

Lobster Girl: What about Abraham? You gave his dream back to him. Will you give my dream back to me?

God: That's was his story. Don't you want to see how your own story will turn out?

There are a lot of words for this act that look at it from different angles.

Surrender.

Sacrifice.

Submission.

Worship.

Right now I prefer molting. Because that is how I picture myself right now: shimmying out of my sculptural, glossy, hard-as-nails shell and standing vulnerable/waiting/open/loveable/open-handed/teachable before my Story Writer. And I finally reply:

Yes. I want to see how my story turns out. Show me.