First World Problems

When the term "first world problems" became popular I was not in the first world. I was watching on Facebook as people made fun of themselves for being so pampered, while I sweated and scratched at my mosquito bites in hot and sandy Santa Cruz.  I'll admit, I kinda thought you guys were ridiculous, but that's really the point, so did you. I mean seriously, the dude who said this must have known how good he had it, right?

"My car key remote battery died and now I have to put the key in the door and open it like some barbaric caveman."

But today, I sit in my climate-controlled house, albeit only ~60℉ controlled, but it's mosquito-free, and we have blankets and a fireplace.  And now I'm right there with you.  

My first recognition of my own "first world problem" was while Angie and I baked cake pops for her school Valentine's Day party. The kit with the molds and the instructions only came with 20 little plastic sticks, so I had to go to Michael's to pick up some more.  My frustration level that Michael's only had lollypop sticks and not cake pop sticks was the first sign I had a problem, and the problem was with my expectations not my surroundings.

Then there's the ongoing dilemma of whether I need to get dressed to get the mail and take out the garbage, or can I just walk around the yard in my bathrobe. #Workingfromhomeproblem

But the "first world problem" that put me over the edge struck the other day at the mall. I do not go to the mall willingly. Possibly because it's the most "first-world" place you can find, and I'm not quite comfortable with that anymore. Jon goes to shop for presents; Christmas presents, Valentine's presents, etc. I go if someone invites me to lunch in the food court, or if I have to return something, that's about it.  Tuesday, I had to return something; Angie wanted to exchange her Valentine's present Crocs for another color, and I was her chauffeur. 

I'm not a big fan of shopping, but I am a big fan of sales and free stuff, come on who's not?! And, since living in this country where I'm bombarded by beauty whether via magazine covers at the grocery store or the rare occasion when we turn on the television, I've been struggling to accept this aging thing that starts taking its toll in the 30s. So, this is what I left Dillard's with...

Guess how many of those things I bought...2. Yep, just the 2 little boxes in the middle cost me enough to earn all the freebies surrounding them. And somehow when I was checking out I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. The feeling didn't ease later when I told Jon about how I went over our spending limit, on makeup. He was the sweetest thing ever as I divulged all my insecurities about getting older, and he didn't even scold me for being frivolous. 

Maybe because he was so accepting of me, I had the strength to take most of it back yesterday. I realized I'd basically bought crack from the Estee Lauder counter. The first time the "amazing eye creme" comes with all this free stuff, but then you're hooked and you have to spend about a paycheck every year on looking like you're still 29. 

Last night, as our church celebrated the "gods at war" release, I was so relieved I'd come to my senses. For awhile, I couldn't figure out what my personal idol was. I'm not obsessed with my career, success, money, fame, food, or possessions... But when Kyle's questioning landed on "the opinions of others", I became a little sensitive. When he mentioned feeling disrespected, I recognized what a hot button that is in our house with our budding tween and her eye-rolling attitude. I thought of how I'm still relishing the praise from the success of our Real Life Real Impact weekend earlier in the month. And I remembered the breakdown of the night before about fading beauty. 

I'm not sure what the solution is. I don't know how to raise our child to honor her parents, improve in my role with CVM, or try to stay attractive to my husband, without worrying about what others think. But I do know, that I really only have an audience of One, and for today, that's who I'll focus on...

"Do you have the gift of speaking? Then speak as though God himself were speaking through you. Do you have the gift of helping others? Do it with all the strength and energy that God supplies. Then everything you do will bring glory to God through Jesus Christ. All glory and power to him forever and ever! Amen." -1 Peter 4:11 NLT

Mother-Daughter Date

I suppose "Mommy-Daughter Date" lacks the alluring alliteration that "Daddy-Daughter Date" boasts, and in a bit more foundational sense, it leaves something to be desired in the area of modeling for your little girl how she should be treated by men, but my daughter for one, needs some serious mommy time. 

When we first introduced daddy-daughter dates to Angie a few months ago, she asked, "Why can't Mommy come?" And she refused to spend one-on-one time with Jon. Her rejection of the father I'd chosen for her did not endear me to her, nor convince me to give her the mommy-daughter time she craved and feared she was losing. From my perspective, we'd had a year and a half of alone time together, and we were still constantly riding in the car, working on her homework, speaking our secret code language, aka Spanish, it was time for her to start bonding with her new father. But Angie's number one love language is "play" so in her eyes, my efforts were worthless. If we're not tickling, wrestling, or giggling, we may as well be in different rooms as far as she's concerned. 

Today, was not intended to be Mommy-daughter time. We'd been planning Angie's first ski trip for over a month. We decided a day at the semi-local semi-mountain, Perfect North, would be a good introduction to balancing on snow before we spend a few days in Colorado visiting family for her spring break next month. But Jon's sinus infection this week has barely left him with strength to brush his teeth let alone traipse around on skis all day. So, very disappointedly, Angie and I left him and made our way to Indiana to meet up with a good friend Andrea and a beautiful day for learning to ski.

The day was not without its challenges. Angie must have said, "I cannot!" at least 50 times, but each time with coaxing and instruction she proved herself wrong, and the result was pretty impressive. She's not slaloming like a pro just yet, but her last run was a long winding blue without a single fall, and even more importantly, she didn't want to leave the park, even to end the day with an hour of tubing. I'll count that as a Win; we're both looking forward to hitting the real slopes out West, she's a bit more prepared for the real snow, and we had some real bonding time.

On the way home I said to Angie, "That was like a Mommy-Daughter Date."

She replied, "And it was a perfect one!"

As a memento of our special time, I put together a little video keepsake for her.  Check out Angie taking on a mountain for the very first time!

Real Impact

If you're keeping up with the blog, more than likely you understand what I do when I'm not helping Angie with homework or snuggling with Jon, but as frequently as I'm getting asked, "So, are you practicing at a clinic again?" and similar questions, I thought it was worth clearing up. I remember when I was just a normal vet, years ago (it's been a long time since I was normal), that I appreciated how simple it was to tell people what I did.  "I'm a veterinarian," was about all you had to say as a job description and everyone understood. Now, I'm a veterinarian, but it's a little more complicated than that.  As CVM's Southeast Regional Representative, I'm not kissing on puppies and kitties so much as networking with people. Last weekend, was the culmination of a lot of my work for the past couple months since returning to the States, and a confirmation for me that I really LOVE my new role!

Every year, CVM puts on about six Real Life/Real Impact Conferences, one for each region of the U.S. It's a weekend for vet students to come from the area and hear from speakers and other students about using their profession as ministry. This year, we used Auburn University to host students, vets, and spouses, from nine vet schools as far away as Virginia and Iowa. And, from what I hear, it doesn't sound like any of those participants regret a single hour of their long drive, or lost study time.  

Dr. Kim Carney is a great friend and future Bolivia CVM fieldworker, who came down to join us for RLRI.

From Friday afternoon till late Saturday night, about 185 of us laughed, listened, and worshipped. We had nearly 20 speakers, with talk titles such as "I Married a Veterinarian... and So Did my Wife." "Are you a Mature Watermelon?" and my own, "Is that God Speaking, or Just Indigestion?" We enjoyed hearing from past long-term fieldworkers, experts on short-term missions, and counselors on how to transition out of school into practice, or how to balance your faith, family, and career. My only regret is that we didn't get all of the sessions recorded so we could continue to benefit from so many good ideas.

Jessica, Kelly, and Christan, volunteered like crazy to make the conference run like a well-oiled machine.

As inspiring as the speakers were, even more refreshing for the students may have been

the meal and prayer times, where the students and vets had the chance for more 

interaction. One student said, "I have been really religiously malnourished recently, more so emaciated. I loved getting to be here and soak up Christ and my Christian friends."

Nearly 200 people letting loose after 2 days of intense fun, fellowship, and learning.

So, that's what I do now.  Facilitate ministry through veterinary medicine to students and vets in the Southeast U.S.  As you can see from the picture above, it's not boring!  

Susan and Tom tie the knot!

In other big news, at the same time I was trying to basically herd cats, by coordinating so many free-thinkers, my mother in-law was getting married right up the street from Auburn, in Atlanta. I missed the wedding, but I got to visit with her on Thursday at her Bridal Shower, and I heard that everything was beautiful.  More pictures of both big weekend events on Facebook and in my next CVM prayer letter.

Date Night, I'll try not to make you jealous

Jon says I'm not supposed to tell everyone that on Friday nights my parents get their first, and only, granddaughter for a sleepover, and Mommy and Daddy get to go out, or stay in, just the two of us.  I'm not supposed to tell you because my parents won't be able to handle the influx of free babysitting gigs that come their way when word gets out of what a suh-weeeet deal they're offering.  Or maybe it's just so that you don't all keel over with envy. 

It's such a lovely setup that when Jon and I ever throw around the idea of relocating, it's always the first thing that cuts off the conversation, but "the Bulos are in Louisville..." "The Bulos" is what Angie calls my parents, an accidentally shortened version of abuelos, Spanish for grandparents. And it isn't just my parents that help out, Tia Beth and sometimes even Tio Byron, also enjoy movie night with Angie while Jon and I get some alone time.

 

I've yet to understand couponing (generics always seem cheaper), but these two items' coupons were "Free" no strings attached, so it made for a great surprise brunch date at Jon's office.

If we were keeping score, I'd want to make clear that we are really still trying to catch up with normal couples. Because of our unique extenuating romantic circumstances, Jon and I probably went on about five dates before we got engaged and only maybe two of those were before we had a nine year-old sitting between us every other time we were together. And I'll admit, sometimes when it's just the two of us, and it's so quiet and peaceful, we think about what it would have been like to be just newlyweds and not parents, and sometimes we are envious of many of you.

Dinner and a movie, cozy at home by the fire.

But that is exactly why God tells us not to compare ourselves with others. If Jon and I can shut out the tranquil silence of moments like those, we remember that God never asked us to choose the easiest most comfortable path. He never called us to a life of snuggling on the couch, living for our own pleasure, or seeking our own happiness. He called us to sacrifice. As we were reminded of so beautifully by Winter Jam and Dave Stone this weekend, we're to live recklessly abandoned, sold-out to Jesus, lives of love. If sacrifice is an act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy, then giving up a little serenity, and often sanity, is a sacrifice we'll accept. After all, date night wouldn't be nearly so special if it were every night.  

"...Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind He will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship Him." - Romans 12:1

Germs

Angie got the flu.  She's never been sick in the two years she's been with me, but this new cold, dry winter combined with all the bugs she's never been exposed to in her petri dish of a classroom got the better of her, and from what her teacher tells me, much of her class.  She's not been enjoying fifth grade in the U.S. much.  When she skipped a semester of 3rd grade the teacher told us what she had taught and we worked hard for three weeks to catch her up. In December, we moved to the States in the middle of her 4th grade year, and they said, "She's ten, she belongs in the 5th grade." So, she missed two semester's worth of material and this time she's feeling it.  

All this to say, when she said her head hurt and she was dizzy on Friday morning, I wasn't at all sure it wasn't just an attempt to lounge on the couch and watch TV. I wasn't sure that is, until Jon got home from work and told me we had a thermometer, which we promptly used to find out she had a fever of 102.7°. She's very sensitive in general, and I tend to believe she's overreacting about most ailments, but a temperature of + or - 103 for 4 days, is hard to call "crying wolf."

So, she didn't leave the house for five days, except to go to the doctor to get tested positive for the flu and an ear infection. You other moms with sick kiddos always seem to be raving about how sweet and cuddly your munchkins are when they're sick, but aren't you worried about them sharing their germs if they're all snuggly?  What we enjoyed more was her docile compliance.  Who is this child and how can we keep her? I felt like the pet-owners who more often than not ask if we can give them something to maintain their puppy's sedated state after surgery, "She's so calm," they say, "it's nice..."

I learned that the nursing side of mothering is one of the few that comes kind of naturally to me. I woke up in the middle of the night to check on her, medicate her, humidify her room, and wet the washcloth for her forehead. The first days, I had to rack my brain for ideas of how to comfort her when she was even too sick to watch TV, and I remembered in The Princess Bride when Colombo reads to Fred Savage. So between Jon, my mom and I, we read hours and hours of Little Women. Yesterday, my dad came over and tutored her on adding fractions for a heroic six hours.  And finally she is "well."

Last night, she looked up as she hugged me goodnight and said, 

"Thank you." 

"For what?" I asked.  

"For everything while I was sick." 

I tried to remember her sweet and sincere gratitude in that moment, when the time came to drag her out of bed this morning to return to school, and she was back to her old, very strong-willed, self. Maybe if we could just find a way to maintain her temperature at ~101°, a perfect balance between feisty and subdued......

An Accidental Funeral

I went to a funeral this week, kind of by accident. My mom and I arrived at the visitation as everyone was heading into the service, so I just figured it was easier to stay. You know how some people vomit when they see others vomit, and everyone yawns when someone else yawns? Turns out it happens with crying too. I’d never met this person, but I found myself pulling tissues out of my purse with the best of them. The funeral was for a daughter of a friend, a tortured young soul of 22 who had overdosed after struggling with drugs for some time. During the really thoughtful and beautiful ceremony I wondered how difficult it must be to put together a message for the funeral of someone who’s not a Christian...

“If you died tomorrow...” You’ve all heard the subsequent question, “where would you go?” But I thought of the alternate ending, “If you die tomorrow, where have you been? What have you done?” Are we doing what we would be doing if the end were near?  Are we spending ourselves on things of value?

"Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you have been called by God." -Ephesians 4:1 (NLT)

Are we living worthy of the call?

The pastor closed with a touching challenge, that went something like this;  

We have all made mistakes, we’ve all been confused. And now, it would be a terrible mistake on our parts to remember this girl by a bad choice she made or a time she was confused, instead of the life she lived and the person she was.

"A person isn't who they are during the last conversation you had with them, they're who they've been throughout your whole relationship." -Rainer Maria Rilke

"I've never met anyone that was all bad. Mostly bad, yes, but never all bad. Everyone once was a child, and that gives me hope for people. They just end up bringing to the table what they have and they do what they do for a reason, even if they don't know themselves what it is. Takes time to find it sometimes, but there is always a reason." -Crossroads, by WM. Paul Young.

All of this is a gentle reminder to me, and maybe you, to see the sweet child God created in each person we come across, even though sometimes that child is deeply hidden, and to live each moment with a purpose.

I Think I'll Let Him

This time last year, I was in Bolivia watching my Cards lose to their arch rival Cats and being consoled by my soon-to-be UK-fan fiancé. Oh what a difference a year makes.  This time I consoled my Wildcat husband in the comforts of our own den in Kentucky by the fireplace as the Cardinals took back the Bluegrass basketball title.  This year, instead of passing the holidays in the blistering heat with friends and the kids from the children's homes in Santa Cruz, we celebrated with family and snow and all the traditions I grew up with.  Both were beautiful ways to honor Christ's birth, but the UL win is always preferable.

We were visited and we were visitors.  We introduced Angie to The Grinch and snow and the 12 Days of Christmas. We exchanged gifts, hugs, baked goods and stories. And we cherished every moment of a week with at least double the family any of us had last year.

After feasting, gaming, vegging, and sledding with the Charleses, Spearses, Scotts, and assorted friends, Jon and I made the snowy drive home from Iowa alone as my parents kept Angie one more day to sled and swim with everyone in Ottumwa. 

I'm not a big goal-setter. I don't like to tell God what I'm going to do with my time or my money, I usually just wait for Him to make suggestions.  But with eight hours alone in the car together, the most peaceful, uninterrupted eight we've had since the honeymoon, Jon and I made some plans. We planned our giving, our saving, and our spending for 2013.  We chose a Bible reading plan for the year.  We worked out our ideas for our new young married couples' small group. We talked about what 2014 and beyond might look like. And we were very content.

We may have made some plans and set some goals, but we know that we can't make any of it happen on our own. We can't have peace and harmony in our home by our own efforts. We can't finalize the adoption alone. I can't be the wife and mother I'd like to be. But we know who to look to for help. Yesterday at church I heard the motto I think I'll use for 2013:

I can't.

He can.

I think I'll let Him.

Who are you going to let lead you in the New Year?