I do not socialize.

You read that right: I do not socialize. A year ago, I could have subtitled the blog "a homeschool mom's rant on stupid cultural practices." Now, though, I'm not sure that I qualify as a homeschool mom. I have ten kids. Count 'em: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10. That in and of itself might excuse me from socializing, but I can tell you now, I am no more overwhelmed at the thought of socializing now than I was when I had two children under 15 months. Back to the homeschool thing. Last year, I entered my eldest 4 children into school. So then I only homeschooled 6. Now, my eldest daughter is off at college, and my husband liked the organized education idea so much (as opposed to the completely unorganized and sometimes non-existent education that I was providing) that he entered our next 4 into school 2 days per week.

Let me take this opportunity before you all wag your finger at me in reproach to say that when we started homeschooling, my husband worked from 2:30 pm - 11:00 pm, and every morning he helped me homeschool. I know many women do it, but it's kind of exhausting managing the education of four to eight children while babysitting a 2-yr-old and a newborn. Now, my husband works 2 full-time jobs, one as CEO of his education business and the other as a personal educational consultant and doesn't really have time to teach all our kids. I know, the cobbler's kids have no shoes. All that to say that for the last 5 years I have increased the number of children in my family, diversified the requirements to educate them, and lost the CEO of my house to a competing business. Now, I hemi-school instead of homeschool.

Back to socializing. God did not create me as a social being. Now, I hear some of you screaming, "You are a human. Human's are social beings!" Well, either I am not human - which sometimes I have wondered at - or humanity is not homogeneous. I'll let you decide. But I am not a social creature. From my birth, I spent more time stuck in books and in my imagination than making friends. Some would call me unfeminine (though I would venture to say that having 10 kids proves I'm womanly,) but I don't share many of those distinctly female qualities that provide characterizations in movies or novels. Unlike most women, I don't really need friends, probably because they're too hard to make. I don't take any great pleasure in unburdening myself to other women, and I firmly refuse to gossip, so what would we talk about? I could say that I refrain from social interaction because of the general atmosphere of pettiness and gossip that too often surrounds a gaggle of women, but honestly, I just don't enjoy talking to most people and they don't enjoy talking to me. I don't do awkward pauses well, and since I talk about really weird stuff, I encounter many, many awkward pauses. "So, I was reading Science Daily the other day..." Blank stare. "But did you think of the philosophical ramifications of buying that pair of Juicy sweatpants?" Polite smile before turning to the nearest actual human. I don't shop. Don't like to get my nails done, hair cut, spa, or any other superficial indulgence that will, in my house, last 5 minutes before it gets ruined, destroyed, or disheveled. Not that I judge people who engage in those activities, but with 10 kids, I have to limit my indulgences to things that a. give me the biggest bang for the buck and b. last no more than 15 minutes in duration and can be interrupted and set aside at any moment and for any length of time. So my indulgences lie more along the lines of eating bad (good) food, playing video games, playing the piano, or working on one of my many unpublished novels. (I'm up to 5 complete works that no one is interested in.) Outside of those moments, I'm working.

If I'm going to ignore my children long enough to find nice clothes, put on makeup, make my hair presentable, and then exit my house, it will either be to go on a date with my hubby (my favorite activity when we're not irritated at each other) or go to church. Both of these activities possess the additional charm of being a child-free enterprise, and, yes, church nursery worker, sometimes I take a little longer than is absolutely necessary to pick up my kids just because I got into one of my rare discussions with another non-human who actually likes to talk to me. Indulge me a little - it doesn't happen often.

It's true, I do find the occasional non-human at church who likes to talk to me, but I have discovered that a school environment, despite its supposed emphasis on education, imposes an unacceptable social demand on me, largely in the following forms. 1. A discussion and comparison of all of the above referenced superficial indulgences: nails, hair, clothes, cars, holiday homes, children's private coaches to complement a parent's unhealthy commitment their child's extra-curricular activities, etc. or 2. The above reference pettiness and small talk but with the added element of pettiness and small talk regarding other people's children and their nails, hair, clothes, cars, holiday homes, private coaches to complement a parent's unhealthy commitment their child's extra-curricular activity, etc. Add to that an inordinate number of coffees, sports parents' meetings, academic parents' meetings, after school club parents' meetings, theater (or theatre) parents' meetings - I challenge President Obama to prove he's invited to more meetings in a week than I am.

Let me wrap up by saying that I do not judge people. I am not here talking about people. What I said at the beginning of this post is that I do not socialize. I am talking about a society. Not the American society at large, but the middle-upper middle class world of way-too-uptight moms who have left behind the days of their stuck-at-home with babies struggles and need something to do with their time. I have never fit into this category. At the age of 22, I had my first child, and I have had a child in diapers all but six months of the past 18 years. I just dropped my daughter off at college a few weeks ago, and I had to take my 11-month-old with me because I was still nursing. I do not need anything else to fill my time. I do not need your society or have time to figure out the games and maneuverings necessary to thrive in it. If it means that my school-involved children will suffer because I don't volunteer to head the theater moms' committee, then my child will adapt. I will feel ridiculously guilty, but a lot less guilty than I would if I left my baby at home for hours without me or dragged her up to a play practice where she bothered everyone else when she offered the inevitable cry. Or even less guilty than if I yelled at my older kids for some innocuous offense because the wear and tear of all of my committees and meetings and volunteering left me irritable and exhausted.

At  the outset of my motherhood, I did not intend to so, but I have temporarily created my own society. It is all I can do to navigate the complexities of managing hormone filled teenagers, adventurous children, and utterly dependent babies while making sure my husband and I still like each other when we're through. I think that after this, I will be prepared to be dictator of a small country - it can't be that much more difficult. If you meet me on the street, therefore, you will probably receive a smile and a friendly inquiry after your condition in life. If I receive a blank stare, I will most likely make up an excuse and make my exit ASAP. It's not that I don't care about you; it's just that I don't know how to small talk, and you don't want me in the deep waters of your life or you would invite me in. And if you ask me to volunteer for a committee or attend a meeting, I will probably try to mimic the blank stare I so often receive from others. It always makes me go away so maybe it'll work on you. In the meantime, I will just mimic the human mannerisms that I see so that I can fit in long enough to get my kids raised. Then you may committee me to your heart's extent. Unless I decide to focus on my grandkids...

Injustice

So, let's talk about injustice.  I am a very noble person, I'll have you know.  I decided ages ago that Jesus did not want me to stand up for myself, so I would willingly and easily throw myself on the pyre of self-sacrifice in order to assure that none were turned away from Christ by my sinfulness.  You think that I jest, or am in some way snarky or resentful.  You would think wrongly.  I actually did make this decision, minus the nobility, and I stand by it.  Not, as the atheist, agnostic, or feminist out there would infer, because Christianity whips its subjects into submission.  No, I found that I am one of the most proud creatures on the planet, and in order to subvert my self-promoting desires, I have subjected by desires to constant discretion.  If I can't rationally support my desire, specifically from Scripture, then I tend to deny it.  This only comes into play with my pet sins, the ones I know are there and can't control easily: pride, for example.
I know; I'm digging myself a hole with the atheists, making myself sound like a self-deprecating self-hater.  You're wrong, of course, and most people struggle with varying degrees of this dichotomy.  Love myself/love others.  I admit it, because I start with the premise that all men are sinful.  You don't, because you start with the premise that all men are either neutral or good.  Fine.  We disagree.
Let's get back to the subject at hand.
It's all well and good to talk about suffering injustice for myself, but let me ask you: is it right and good to let another suffer injustice?  What if it's your job to teach that person about real life?  What if you know that life will bring injustice, because the world is sinful and human beings are in charge?  Do you just tell them to bend over and take it up the tailpipe?  Because, sometimes it feels like that.
Of course, I tell myself that God provides solace for us when we don't receive justice on earth, and I have seen it happen first hand.  I believe that God will provide solace and justice for those around me, though justice may take way longer than we want to wait.
So, I guess the reality is, I don't know when it's ever right to stand up for the weak.  If I do, am I taking the place of God in His role as bringer of justice and comfort?  Am I teaching those who look to me for wisdom that they must look to man for what only God can bring?  Am I really just standing up for them selfishly because of the pain I feel at their treatment?
Life is tough for everyone.  Life as a Christian is in some ways way tougher.  Fortunately, when the mean people say ugly things to us, we have the best Daddy in the world in whose arms we can always find refuge.  If I flub everything else, I hope I can at least teach them this truth.

Lessons Hard Learned

What is God trying to teach me that I still haven't gotten after 12 years?  For twelve years, almost every night, I kiss my kids goodnight, I hug them, trying to leave them with pleasant thoughts for their sleep, and for 12 years, they always find some excuse to come back downstairs and interrupt my nighttime routine.

What deep philosophical question can they ask me that will take twenty minutes to an hour to answer?
How can they annoy each other to the point that one hurts the other and they need my arbitration?
What can they break, forget, or remember that will require another hour of my time so that I might finally get to bed by one o'clock in the morning?

Can't they ever have these issues in the morning?

So, again I ask, what is it that God wants to teach me that I haven't learned 12 years later?  I wish he would just write it down for me so I could master it and move on to the next lesson.

See, one thing I know about myself is that I'm a really quick learner.  That was great in school, because I could rush through a lesson and then get on with my own agenda.  Even when I ran into a concept that I didn't understand, I did my best to fake it until the subject was over, and I could move on to something that I understood.  I was always really good at doing this.

In this case, though, I guess God isn't letting me fake this one, and if I had to guess, I would imagine that I could pinpoint at least part of this lesson.  First, this lesson has something to do with learning that it's not all about me, and I may never get to go to bed at a decent hour.  Who knew?  I might have to sacrifice my personal comfort as a Christian.

And secondly, I guess this lesson could also have something to do with gratitude; gratitude that says I would rather be kept up at night because I had too many kids who needed me than to go to sleep undisturbed every night because I had none.

Not everyone has kids, but everyone has a blessing that brings with it its own headaches.  What ease would I trade for my blessings?  Not one.

Realizing this, I just have to remember.

God is good, and He loves me.  And for now, that's the best lesson I can learn.

Random thoughts

Romans 14:12 So then each one of us will give an account of himself to God.¹³Therefore let us not judge one another anymore, but rather determine this--not to put an obstacle or a stumbling block in a brother's way.


So, I went to a gambling party last night, something I've never done.  I had a blast.  As usual, though, I found myself in a position of judging people for judging people.

See, I have this personal weakness. (No, it's not gambling!)  I am an extremely tolerant person.  When someone approaches me and she or he has a personal struggle, there is very little that will shock or disgust me. Sure, I may hear something that surprises me or challenges my paradigms, but I have a very large capacity for absorbing what might on a visceral level disgust me and turning it into just another learning experience.

I like people.  I also recognize that the human heart is depraved, even mine, and we have a vast ability to create or incorporate novel methods of experiencing evil.  I also recognize that most people either don't recognize their actions as evil and therefore need my love and compassion or wish to escape an evil that has enslaved them and therefore need my love and compassion.

I get it.  People struggle, and we all need a lot of grace.

Being human and sinful, however, I have an end to my compassion, unlike God.

It ends when other people are judgmental.  So, does it make me the biggest hypocrite in the world that I feel an intense vitriol toward judgmentalism as a philosophy?  And that I feel a sort of disgust toward those who are judgmental?

If I were to explain my reasonings for this prejudice, they might make sense.  I, as a Christian, see regularly a world that flees from judgmental Christians.  When Christians look down their noses at people who sin, Christians give Christ a bad name.  Especially because Christians are sinners, too, and as my husband so aptly put it to me, everyone is a hypocrite.  So, when someone stands in judgment, that person is the ultimate hypocrite.

Case in point, when I judge other's judgmentalism, I'm being a hypocrite!  I think my head is spinning.

So my advice for both you and me is: lay off of other people.  We have plenty of sin in ourselves to focus on without wasting time feeling superior to others.  In fact, according to what Paul said in 1 Corinthians 4, we're not even supposed to waste too much time judging ourselves.

1 Corinthians 4:3 But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself. 4 For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me. 5 Therefore do not pronounce judgment before the time, before the Lord comes, who will bring to light the things now hidden in darkness and will disclose the purposes of the heart. Then each one will receive his commendation from God.

If we have the gall to judge someone else, then chances are, we've forgotten how incredibly grateful we should be to the God who has forgiven us so many sins that their number and type would shock the world if posted on the net for all to see.

So, remember gratitude to God.  And please don't judge me for judging you.  I'm working on it; I promise.

confession is good for the soul

Okay, so I have been working unsuccessfully for the past 3 hours on trying to associate my blog with the website I bought six months ago, and now I finally have mooremom.com redirected to my blog. See, the original name of my blog was "mooremom," but I changed it to "smalltalkisoptional."  Why, you ask?

Well, I've been having a dilemma the last few weeks that has been driving me crazy.

I found out that yet ANOTHER of my friends is in the process of filing for a divorce. Now, believe me, I can understand why a woman would get fed up with her husband. Every human who must interact with another human will run into some serious disagreements; they will even run into willful sinfulness. So, I get it. We each have our personal struggle. BUT THIS SHOULD NOT BE ENDEMIC IN THE CHURCH!

That being said, the surest way to make people clam up is to point the finger of shame. Let me assure you, I am not in any way judging those who make this decision. Rather, I would like to point out that there is a better solution if you are willing to listen to it. Speaking of willful sin, sometimes I know we don't want to listen to it.

What does this have to do with my name change?

I am sick of surface conversations. In my own class, people show up week after week to Bible study, and years down the road they stop coming, only to announce their impending divorce. I want to do what the Bible says in James 5:10 "Confess your sins one to another and pray for each other so that you may be healed."

Are you going to go into the Bible study class dressed up in your fancy clothes, with your righteousness worn on your sleeve, and start pouring out your sins? No, nor should you. But shouldn't there be some place where it's safe to admit that you're struggling? Some place where, instead of listening to each other criticize and complain about our husbands, we can learn to forgive our husbands for not being God?

I am done with the status quo, so I have two choices. One is the choice my best friend and her husband made: leave the unhealthy place and go find some place new. This is a viable option. However, I am not yet ready to do that. In leaving, I would also be abandoning very real people that I love to very painful problems that have a simple, though not easy, solution. God commands me to feed His sheep, and for the time being, I will feed the flock in the field where I live.

For twenty years, I have lamented the absence of discipleship and personal accountability. I think people will be surprised, considering my rant, to find out that I am notorious for letting people off the hook. If you come to me and confess your sins, I will have compassion because God has had and still has much compassion for me. We will pray together and consider together how to escape from the sins that enslave you. I hope you'll do the same for me.

God loves to forgive people. That's why He died on a cross for that very purpose. We need to give grace, and we need to receive it.

Come one, come all, women of God, and you will find the love of Christ. Ephesians 5

way of life

Who needs a journal?

For the past 15 years, I have foregone any sort of personal writing because, to be honest, it's been too painful. I have innumerable responsibilities, and for me, writing is an indulgence, not therapy. However, in order to write, I must dig deeply into the wells of my emotional center.

Why is this a problem?

I don't have time for that kind of emotion. I have nine amazing kids who need me, and if I am going to be functional enough to serve them, I can't spend my time wallowing in melancholy reflections. I feed my emotional center in other ways: I play piano, I read, I (gasp) play computer games, I study random information that I find on the internet. In other words, I do things that I can leave at the drop of the hat and attend to a child's demands.

Writing involves a level of mental commitment that I have had to sacrifice to be a decent mom. For a long time, I think I resented that. I won't deny that in weak moments I still sometimes harbor some ill feeling when I have to sacrifice what I want for a child's selfish and unimportant demand.

An amazing thing has taken place, however. Like a butterfly that emerges from the ugly cocoon, the depth of thought that has emerged from all these years of self-denial and sparsity have bloomed greater and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.

Man, it was extremely, stinking hard to get here, and I haven't even arrived yet.

The inspiration for this post came from my morning's events.

I am writing a book and had been extremely excited about it until yesterday. Yesterday, my plot fizzled like a cheap firecracker. As a result, I have spent the last 18 hours or so in a personal funk. It would be nice if that did not spill over into my family life, but alas, that is the very reason I didn't embark on this writing journey sooner. I'm a grouchy writer.

All morning, my head has hurt, I felt sick and depressed, all because I can't get Liset Cortes to France in a satisfactory manner.

Now, it's Labor Day, and my husband is home. All day I've felt slightly irritated at his presence, knowing that I can't hide in my closet and try to fix Liset's problems when he is witnessing my problems outside with the crying children. Ugh. Plus, our house is a wreck and I know that bothers him which bothers me both because he's bothered and because it actually does bother me. Everybody clear now?

Well, he calls the kids all downstairs, lines them up like the Von Trapp family, and proceeds to inform them that they have 5 minutes to clean the downstairs. I secretly cringe, anticipating the scoldings that are sure to follow when the children fail. I hide in my room.

Five minutes later, I hear the timer beep, and my husband calls me to survey the work.

I am aghast.

In five minutes, my children have taken a 2500 square foot pile of junk and turned it into near museum quality. Without my permission, tears well up in the corners of my eyes, but I control them.

Then my husband who doesn't always catch my subtle emotional signals turns and notices the tears. He proceeds to accurately explain to the kids the inner workings of my mind, telling them that I am so sad because of the hours of stress and frustration it costs me to accomplish what they did in five minutes. True. He even hugs me.

What's the point?

I have waited patiently - well, not really very patiently - for the time when I can once again brave the depths of my mind and heart and express them in written form. I think maybe, just maybe, I have reached that point. The point where my world is safe enough to expose the raw edges of my soul to more than just the unsearchable knowledge of God.

I hope so.

And even better if it can help you, too.

Reluctant

So, I have reluctantly entered the world of blogging at last.

I say "reluctantly" for several reasons.

Number 1, I feel rather egotistical thinking that anyone would really want to read what I have written. While part of me enjoys the thought, the larger part of me feels a visceral aversion to the voyeuristic tendencies of our culture. Not to get on a soapbox.

Number 2, I gave up journaling about the time I got married. When an idealistic youth, the beauty of my own thoughts often inspired me to write lengthy journal entries. (BTW, I often use sarcasm in my writing in case you don't catch it.) But as the darkness of real life overtook the shining brilliance of my childhood dreams, I often did not like my thoughts. My thoughts about God, my husband, my children, myself. Somehow writing down those thoughts meant I had actually had them, and for an idealistic person such as myself, having such uninspirational thoughts was unacceptable.

Number 3, I despise rough drafts. Almost every paper I ever wrote in school was a first edition. This oftentimes resulted in my getting abysmal grades on the editing portion of my paper while receiving glowing exhortations from my teachers about a "well-written, compelling paper." I just had trouble caring about "passive voice" and such. So I know I am doomed to have a slew of grammarians reading my thoughts thinking, "Oh, look how inaccurately she used the subjunctive mood in that sentence!" I extend my apologies now so I can get it over with.

And number 4, who in his right mind would welcome the scrutiny of telling all of his or her thoughts to a monstrous beast who would then shout them to the world? I personally don't want people to look that closely at me. I promise you, between sins, vices, and imperfections, there will be so much to complain about with me that there will probably be little room left to praise me.

But I guess that's okay. Because to tell you the truth, the reason I overcame my reluctance is that my only purpose for even existing is to show you and everyone else how great God is. And if you're too busy praising me, then there will be no time left for you to praise God.

Beyond my ego, my aversion, my laziness, and my fear, there is a perfect God who makes it all work anyway. So, here I am, blogging. Bring it on. Someday I have a feeling I'll look back and say I regret saying that. But someday after that, I'll look back again and say, "God got His, and He's got me. And that's all that matters."