Back at it. {an EYC Update}

This is what the past 3 months has looked like for me... pretty darn cute, huh?  This morning as they laid in our bed while I got dressed (a new concept for me lately. I'm sure the teachers at Aubrey's school were a little shocked!) my sweet little world of mommy-ing and home began to crack open.

Welcome to real life, I thought.  You can do hard things.  I keep reminding myself that the to-do list will get shorter (haha!) and that being without my little man will have joys along with the sting of not having his chubby hand grab for mine all day.  And already, 5 hours in, the joys are appearing.  I am beyond excited for our mission trip in July.  I had breakfast this morning with our high schoolers just because I missed them. Nothing has changed: they are still brutally honest and make me laugh more that I'd like to admit.  I was welcomed back with breakfast from the staff and flowers.  *Yes, that is double breakfast... be jealous*

When I came back to work after having Aubrey I was afraid of how I'd get it all done.  This time I know, I won't.  I can't do all.the.things.  as much as I desperately wish I could.  I'm not the 25 year old youth minister with nothing but time who could go to every everything that ever happened on a campus.  Now I'm the *gulp* almost 30 year old youth minister with two kids, play dates, friends, and a house who can't be everywhere but who can be far more authentic than I was 5 years ago. Who can speak the hard truth and hold up the mirror to show my students their beauty and worth.  The realness of Christ's movement through my ministry... the way that being a mom has taken time away from my students but given me a heart for them that only a parent can have, it has changed the game for me.

I used to want to give our students the joy of the life I had in high school by living withing a strong Christian community.  Now, I want to make sure that each and every one of our students knows that they are worthy.  That nothing they do or say or accomplish can make God love them any more or less.  That the world needs their unique beautiful selves unfiltered (via Instagram or their peers) and by living into THAT they will know true community and perfect love.

You.  Are.  His.  Beloved.  

and so am I.  

A cooler on the porch.

Our sweet church does this amazing thing.  They FEED you when you have a baby.

Like desserts every night.  Already cleaned fruit.  Covered dish.  Full belly.  Feed you.

And they leave your meal in a cooler on your porch.

Thank.  The.  Good.  Lord.

Because while some people struggle with being pregnant or that whole baby transitioning through a ridiculously small opening thing, I struggle with 5pm.  After giving birth to two little humans the worst hardest most scary part is the sun setting.

And sadly, that also collides with the time that people bring you dinner.

On more than one occasion (I would say on MOST occasions) each time some sweet family was creeping up our steps to slip a meal in to our camping cooler I was sitting on the other side of the door on the couch crying.  There was usually one or two other small people crying with me.  All I wanted to do was get to those desserts and feed the feeling of

whatthehellhaveidone
howdoidothis
whenwillieversleepagain

Those are clinical names.

And those signs covering my windows; they were sort of so you couldn't see me breastfeeding but they were mostly so you couldn't see me crying.

With each baby I have found myself googling 'at what point do I see a doctor for psychosis?'  I also find Jay googling 'how do I deal with my wife who just had a baby'

You have to wait two weeks before you even go in for depression, the psychosis diagnosis is FAR later.  I know.  I've called my OB and asked.  Jay has not called my OB but has learned to just keep bringing me brownies.

I am always convinced I'm the only one.  I'm the only one who has such a hard time with feeding this small human.  I'm the only one who cries because this new family member is beautiful and oh-so-freaking-needy!  I'm the only one who is morose because they didn't appreciate that last good night of sleep.

Yet, I know I'm not.  The OB, my friends, and my meal-providers told me!  Loneliness may be the next worst feeling to 5pm because on top of it all you don't want the world to think you just can't handle being a mom so you close the door, put out the cooler, and cover the windows.

God and I are struggling with why such a cruel thing happens-- not only does your whole life turn upside down when having a baby but you are also stripped of having the mental capacity and emotional control to deal with it in a level-headed way.

I've begun to think of it as baby boot camp.  The worst happens at the start so you know as you look back it's only getting better.  Even if your little dude isn't sleeping through the night at least you didn't cry at dinner tonight!  Even if you have to wear yoga pants to every.  gosh.  darn.  outing.  because buttons are the devil you are aware that you have survived the meconium poop so things are looking up.

Those first two weeks are hell, mamas.  You know it.  I know it.  We all know it.  You may love that little baby so much it hurts (or you may hope you do because nothing is for sure in the haze of baby boot camp) but it's a different level of hard.  It's "can I actually do this??" hard.  That kind of hard is scary.  But 5pm passes.  The sun rises again.  The days pass and before you know it boot camp is over and you look back on those weeks with fond memories that must be placed there by God Herself because they are not real but the human race would not survive if we remembered what it was really like.

Also.  Dessert with your coffee in the morning will give you something to live for.

Oh… and this face!

I'm growing a human.

The universe is doing a really good job of throwing my own stuff in my face.

A dear friend who taught me how to radically accept myself at age 18 and 250 pounds is spending a month reflecting on her body not being an apology.  I wake each morning eager to read about what battle she is targeting today.  Rubbing thighs, back fat, she is singing my song as I silently read her words wishing for her bravery.

The woman who just started working out at my gym this month is just a few weeks ahead of me in her pregnancy.  She climbs walls and really squats (with her butt below her knees!) and I was secretly wishing it was her first pregnancy and she was going to balloon.  Then we spoke.  She has 4 children.  This is her 5th.

My OB-GYN has told me 10 pounds. This entire growing a human things should look like a max of ten pounds on my body.  Ten pounds came and went 2 weeks ago.

These rules about what this body is supposed to do and look like and how it's allowed to grow and how it should really shrink are once again becoming the loudest noises in my life.

They've always been loud.  On my best days I tell them to shove it and listen to the music that is this beautiful life I am in.  On my worst days I repeat the lies.  I own them.  I believe them.

I have been sorry for my body since the 2nd grade.  I have fought it, blamed it, and hated it.  A friend once told me that she was afraid of not loosing the weight and someday getting pregnant because no one would be able to tell she was pregnant.

That fear has rooted in my own heart.  Make sure they know you're pregnant and not just gaining weight.

Because, obviously, the worst thing in the world I could be is fat.

I will most likely not grow another human again.  This is my last experience doing one of the raddest things my body can do.  Some women know how often the baby kicks and exactly where they are stretching and what hurts.  I am too worried about what the scale will say tomorrow, how much dinner I've eaten, and if I look fat and not pregnant to enjoy the rad stuff.

I'm pretty freaking fed up with myself.

This body birthed an awesome little girl.  She isn't worried about what she looks like when people are taking pictures at swim class, but I can't seem to make eye contact with anything while in a swim suit.

Does she notice?  Is she picking up on it?  Of course she is.  I'm lying to myself when I think she isn't absorbing my body issues.

I have an OB appointment tomorrow and we find our the gender of this little human inside of me.

Stoked.  That's what I should be.

You know what I am?  Scared.  I don't want to hear the lecture about weight gain that I may or may not get and because of that I am already at the point of tears today.  I am worried about something that may or may not happen depending on the mood that some doctor is in when they see me.

Seriously?  If you were me saying this to me I would give you the sit down.  I'd feed you a piece of cake, tell you that our bodies are AMAZING and that they will do what they will do and inform you it's time to get amped about your ultrasound tomorrow.  You are growing a human.  That is amazing.  You have friends that would kill to grow a human inside of them and would gain 100 pounds if it meant getting this gift.

When what we believe about others doesn't apply to ourselves there is some real reconciliation that needs to happen.

I would say I need to get it together for AG but really, I need to get it together for myself.  I deserve more than a life where the loudest voice in my head is concerned with a number on a scale.

I am growing a human here.

What Humble Is.

I have a deep deep rooted fear that I will raise my kid wrong.

Just plain wrong.

She only says the number 2, she farts and blames other people, and there are days she eats only things that come from Trader Joe's that include nothing green.  Oh, and I don't ever shop at Whole Foods but I like people to think I do so they think I buy meat that won't give my kid some health problems but we really buy what's on sale at the grocery store.

Jay tries to remind me that she will end up fine.

He reminds me that we decided our number one goal as parents was to raise a humble kid. (Is farting and blaming it on someone else humble?  I don't know what category that falls under!)

Humble is what we came from.

Humble is what our culture taught us.

In our home, humble and loving is what matter.

But outside those walls is feeling mighty scary lately.  I live my life through the lens of teenagers.  I know what is ahead for her.

Then today I got the wake up call I needed.  It started with a grand idea for our trip back home, a joint birthday party for myself (okay, real humble Em) and my cousin Becky.  We've been doing it since I was pre-pubescent.  Is started remembering the parties we've had.  Becky is 7 years (-7 days) older than I am.

We had a pool party with root beer in bottles.

We had a party when she was in college where I got cool teenage stuff and she had just moved into her first place and got dishes (she was totes pissed about getting practical gifts and it was hilarious).

And then I just started to cry.

What 20 year old wants to have a birthday party with a 13 year old?

The same one who took me to the beach every Sunday after church in my awkward fat kid one piece while she was adorable and cute and her bikini and introduced me to all her friends (even the cute lifeguard) and was never ever ashamed of me.

The girl who let me meet her smokin' hot new boyfriend (who she ended up marrying and making cute babies with) to make sure I liked him before he met our family.

That's how I became a well-adjusted (mostly) adult.
It was not organic produce
or a fancy preschool
or baby sign language

it was the people God decided needed to be in my life.

I don't remember a lot of crap I learned in college.

I don't remember ANYTHING I learned in preschool but I do remember outside play including sitting on a big block of ice to make it melt so I feel like I'm pretty on track with AG's education.

I do remember the lessons that people taught me, like how Becky always made me feel worthy and important and honored no matter my age.  Also, how our family indulged us in having so many birthday parties with gifts when we were probably far too old for such things.

So chances are I am going to totally screw up my kid.
We are saving for therapy and not college because we feel like the therapy will come first anyway
But...
I hope there are lots of Beckys.

To know how to be truly humble you have to watch someone be it for you first.  To lay aside all that the world says is the right order and choose a different order that allows another to feel unconditional love.

I have received that a million times over and still never grocery shopped at Whole Foods so there is hope for my offspring.

When Jesus sneaks up...

I'm pausing.
Right now.
Because I have absolutely no time to do it so I am fairly sure I should.

May in ministry feels like an endless string of ends and beginnings that don't fit together.
Graduations and welcome letters.
End of the year breakfasts and next year's calendar.

It always makes me feel like I am living in two separate worlds and I often struggle to be present in the moment we live in anyway so, needless to say, Facebook tweaking and reality TV watching has overtaken quality Sabbath time and meditation.  As I slowly begin to awaken from my media-numbing coma I'm left with June.

Aubrey Grace will be baptized on Sunday.
We leave for the mission trip the following Saturday.

And it's time I check in and get present... stat.

These are sitting on my desk right now.

Devotions for each night of the mission trip.  Carefully typed, copied, color coded, and to be highlighted.  I know what they will look like in a few short days, scribbled with reflections on Jesus and service and 14 young people's dive into the lives of His people in Arkansas.

I pray over each one, as I highlight and wonder what meaning these words will have.  God always seems to reveal himself in them in a deep, meaningful, personal, ALIVE way each year.  I know this year will be the same.

I am ready to be amazed.

I have put so much of my heart and prayer-time and energy into preparing for this year's mission trip, the details that matter and those that just make life easier, that I have done what I promised I wouldn't do.

I've let my daughter fall into second place.  

Last Sunday I had a fleeting moment of 'we should just POSTPONE the baptism'

Jay told me I was crazy.  

He was right.

I said 'I'm just not prepared'.

I hadn't bought the perfect dress (for either of us).

I had not planned anything meaningful or unique or special for my daughter.

I hadn't really given it a second thought.

I even dropped the ball on asking her Godparents to be her Godparents.  That's something someone really likes to hear last minute!

I had created detailed car assignments for 14 teenagers and 3 leaders but had not taken 10 minutes to pray about my own child's BAPTISM.

Mother's guilt is real people.  And it's living at the Rutledge house right now.  

And and as much as I would love to believe in the miraculous power of my type-A personality I know that my organization does not make the Holy Spirit move.

My color-coded devotionals do not move a teenager to accept Jesus Christ.

My carefully selected (or not) toddler dress does not make AG's Baptism powerful and Holy and real.

So...

I'm pausing.
Right now.
Because I have absolutely no time to do it so I am fairly sure I should.

Why I call myself a Christian.

I was born an Episcopalian.
Crossing myself right out the womb.
I was never re-born or had to find Jesus.
I was lucky to be given Him from the start, in a little beach church, with lots of different kinds of people, all trying to love as well as possible and do good stuff in a hard world.

I never planned on becoming a youth minister, I was supposed to be a teacher.  I was supposed to get summers off.  Life just doesn't work out the way we plan it.

I also didn't plan to surround myself with a bunch of Jesus loving liberals.  But sometimes God is REALLY good.

My Facebook went red today with this.

It was proof of all those liberals I love.

Sometimes I did a double take at who put it up and nodded and smiled.

But then there was 'that post'.
The one that was probably meant for us.
Written about us.  
Written for me.  
Asking how someone can call themselves a Christian if they pick and choose the parts of the Bible they want to follow and leave the rest.

The Bible.
Written by humans.
Full of history and letters and poetry and laws and stories and tales and metaphors.
It seems like people really like the laws.

And I do pick and choose which ones I follow because
I still cut my hair Don't cut your hair nor shave. Leviticus 19:27
and today I am wearing a cotton-poly blend Don't wear clothes made of more than one fabric Leviticus 19:19
and don't get my started on the period ones... I break those suckers left and right.

BUT... I do choose to follow the ones that Jesus (our main man... who created this community I have given my life to) underlined, italicized, and bolded for us.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ 

This is the first and greatest commandment. 

And the second is like it: 

‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ 

All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Matthew 22:37-40

I work super hard to love the people around me.
Sometimes that is some exhausting work.
Today it meant loving the lady with the nasty Facebook post directed towards me.  And I do, I love her, she is a woman who desires an authentic relationship with Christ and I respect that.  I do not love her belief about homosexuality or her way of condemning my beliefs in a backhanded manner.

When I first started this gig as youth minister I thought I needed to keep my beliefs about equality to myself.  I was scared to ruffle feathers or offend.  But this journey in ministry has given me a deep rooted foundation based on the life that Christ lived on Earth and the way I want to live it as well.  He was outspoken.  He called out the hypocrites.  He loved the ones that everyone else pointed at. He told us that when we choose to condemn another we are usually ignoring the condemn-able in ourselves. He wrote LOVE WINS on the heart of his people when he died on the cross.

That is why I am a Christian.

I'm a Christian who breaks Old Testament laws and sings the praises of Christ's radical love from mountain tops. I'm a Christian that believes in communion and reconciliation for all and that none need it because of their sexual orientation. I am a Christian that believes in a Living God and Living Word that must be interpreted and analyzed and lived out in a broken world.

And on a final note... I am an Episcopalian because of this...

The NO Phase.

Today has been one of those days when humanity is exhausting.

And AG has entered the 'NO' phase.

The combination of these things led me to letting AG play in the dog bowl for 20 minutes because I just didn't have the energy to re-direct her and she was quietly entertained and  amamajustneedsaminute sometimes.

And if you were wondering if my child ever wears clothes in our house... the answer is no.  It's our little way of keeping some Hawaii in this mainland girl.

As I watched this sweet difficult human find her voice (which now only consists of NO and DOGGIE) while playing in dirty water, I thought of today's battle with humanity.  

Today's battle: not everyone is as open, loving, and accepting as the people that I've been lucky enough to be surrounded by my entire life.

I am pushing up against situations that I have never experienced before, situations where all I want to say is:

NO (while pointing my finger) 

and YOU ARE STUPID (because I'm not very eloquent when people make me mad)

and START LOVING LIKE JESUS OR GOD IS GOING TO SMITE YOU (because sometimes I want the Old Testament God to enforce New Testament rules like loving EVERYONE)

note:  I realizing hoping for smiting is unChristian... I'm working on it.

I have been trying to reach back and find a situation in my life where someone else was unable to show inclusive love in a difficult situation.  Truth be told, I can't.  My entire life I have been immersed in communities that said:

YES

YOU ARE WORTHY

YOU ARE ONE OF US

YOUR DIFFERENCE IS BEAUTIFUL

and 

WE BELONG TO EACH OTHER

Where the hell did I grow up and go to school and work?  Points for my mom because although life has been hard, and scary, and brutal, I have never lived in a world without unconditional love.  

As an extremely overweight teenager I had friends who celebrated my gifts and supported me as I grappled with unhealthy habits.

As a daughter I was told that I was enough; grades, accomplishments, and honors were not icing on the cake, they were THINGS that did not define me. If I got them, great, if I didn't, great.  

As a wife I have been shown worth, and care, and compassion and that no matter how hard I try... Jay isn't going anywhere (divorced kid problems!)

And now, at 28 years old, I am facing situations which make me feel like a 18 month old, just learning how to be.  It's a foreign universe to me, this place where judgement is cast without considering compassion.  

Maybe I'm glad I'm being stretched.  Maybe I'm not.  I can't quite decide.

A friend told me today, "not everyone lives in the bubble of love that we do"

Well that stinks... because this bubble is pretty rad.  

So as I watched the puddle grow bigger and bigger on our kitchen floor (remember, I was thinking all this during my minute when AG was making a complete mess) I realized that smiting would never be allowed in our love bubble.  

But... more people are totally allowed.  

Those people who I'm pointing my finger at and saying NO to.  They are welcome.  They need to be shown with compassion how transformative life is when you choose love.  And that, my friends, is my challenge.  It's my call to joyfully clean up the  mess before me.  If only I could look as cute as this kid does when doing it.