My Facebook feed is chock full of posts on Charleston today. Listening to talk radio on the way to and from work today, there was little else spoken about. I was greatly relieved to hear this afternoon that a suspect had been caught because I got a little worried about the proximity of South Carolina and Georgia this morning when I heard he was still at large.
I think general consensus is that this was a racially motivated crime. And a heinous act that makes chills go down my spine. A while back, I was about 3 rows behind a man who stood up towards the end of our church service to holler at Andy (our pastor). I attend one of the largest churches in America, so standing up to address the pastor is not a normal part of the worship experience. The terror I felt in that moment of uncertainty before it was clear he wanted nothing more than some attention grabbed with his words was something I vividly remember. I have also been standing in the preschool hallway when there was a bomb threat and seen our head of facilities and our head administrative pastor (both of them not small men) come running down the hall to close the hall to keep our babies safe. I was also in church the day the Twin Towers fell, and the Sunday after when the sound of a plane flying overhead made everyone pause. As a worst case scenario girl, I will freely admit to being keenly aware that one well-placed car bomb or a few shooters in our auditorium on a Sunday morning would make quite a dent in the Christian population in Alpharetta. But NEVER in all my imaginings about the things that could happen to me in that place of worship did I imagine a scenario where the person behind the horror would be doing it because I am white. Christian, yes. Woman, maybe. Wrong place, wrong time, for sure. But white? Nope. I spend very little time thinking about the fact that I'm white.
But I don't need to be black to put myself in the shoes of those terrified church goers in Charleston SC to imagine what they felt. You don't even need to be a Christian to understand. Just imagine being in a place that you love, that may feel like a second home, surrounded by people you know and feel a bond with that's like family. Then imagine someone coming in and opening fire. I think we can all relate to that particular brand of terror.
Here's what I know. Things like this and the plethora of police incidents that have occurred in the last year or so have very clearly highlighted that racial tension is alive and well in the ole US of A. But here's what I also know from raising two children. We are not born racists. The thing that has just fascinated the daylights out of me with regard to this issue is watching how children so gloriously walk the line that us adults struggle terribly with. To my children, skin color, hair color, and any kind of physical disability-from things like wearing glasses to things like being in a wheelchair-are merely descriptive. Those terms hold absolutely no weight with regards to that person's character, worth, intelligence, etc. Jane has red hair. To Harper all that means is that Jane has red hair (and this distinguishes her from the other Jane in the class that has blonde hair). It doesn't mean she's feisty, Irish, or impulsive. It just means her hair is red.
Where do we lose this? When do we start to associate difference with fear, a feeling of superiority over, or a need to separate ourselves from? I don't know the answer. And it is my fervent desire to do everything I possibly can to make sure my kids don't ever cross that line.
Is what happened in Charleston, SC a horrifying example of sin in this world? You bet your bottom dollar. Is it more horrifying or more sinful because the gunman was white and the victims were black? You could certainly make that argument. But I maintain that the horror you should feel from this has very little do with anyone's skin color. And more to do with the fact that a person can do that to other people.
Tonight, I pray for the people of Charleston, the members of Emanuel AME Church, and the families of those poor people who lost their lives yesterday. I pray that somehow God will be glorified through this terrible act. That the Church will get the response to this right. I don't pray tonight because I'm a white woman who feels bad that someone who has the same skin color as me has killed people of a different skin color. I pray tonight because I am a redeemed woman and stand in solidarity with my redeemed brothers and sisters in Charleston.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Monday, June 15, 2015
Hi there
I've been thinking about you, my poor, sad, neglected blog. I've been thinking of things to write on you. I miss our time together. I have some things to process with you. I want to be all motivated and such and commit to blogging on a regular basis-to updating the world with pictures of my kids and our glorious adventures. I have things to tell you. I've learned some things in the 18 months since I've updated you. I can't commit to you just now. I want to, but I'm afraid of leaving you hanging. Let's start off nice and easy.
For tonight, we'll start with a question. It may be a question I have posed on here before. But you know, it's been so long since we've been friends, I don't really remember.
We just got back from the beach (where I took exactly 6 pictures, so get excited) and several times as we were on the road, I noticed something. I have noticed this before and I just have so many questions. What I noticed was people who have memorials to people on their cars. Like a sticker that says "We love you Carl, Rest in Peace 1984-2014" Usually with a cross or some other icon-type thing in the middle. Now, don't get me wrong. It's clearly sad that Carl died at 30. But I just don't understand the need to memorialize Carl on your car. What do you do when you sell the car? Scrape it off? That seems horrible. How long do you keep it? Was the car decal handed out at his funeral and his mom asked everyone to put it on there and so you did, but now 1 year later, are you wishing you could take it off? What is the purpose of this? Does it help you remember Carl? I don't spend a great deal of time looking at the back of my car, so is this a cautionary tale to the rest of us (who didn't know Carl, but can add) and know to live each moment as though it's precious because we don't know when our time is up?
I know this is possibly coming off as terribly disrespectful. Grief takes all forms and if having a sticker on your car helps you process, then by all means, sticker away. I just never know what to do with that. It always makes me a little sad for these folks. And confused.
Thoughts? Is this a classic Aruss over-think?
For tonight, we'll start with a question. It may be a question I have posed on here before. But you know, it's been so long since we've been friends, I don't really remember.
We just got back from the beach (where I took exactly 6 pictures, so get excited) and several times as we were on the road, I noticed something. I have noticed this before and I just have so many questions. What I noticed was people who have memorials to people on their cars. Like a sticker that says "We love you Carl, Rest in Peace 1984-2014" Usually with a cross or some other icon-type thing in the middle. Now, don't get me wrong. It's clearly sad that Carl died at 30. But I just don't understand the need to memorialize Carl on your car. What do you do when you sell the car? Scrape it off? That seems horrible. How long do you keep it? Was the car decal handed out at his funeral and his mom asked everyone to put it on there and so you did, but now 1 year later, are you wishing you could take it off? What is the purpose of this? Does it help you remember Carl? I don't spend a great deal of time looking at the back of my car, so is this a cautionary tale to the rest of us (who didn't know Carl, but can add) and know to live each moment as though it's precious because we don't know when our time is up?
I know this is possibly coming off as terribly disrespectful. Grief takes all forms and if having a sticker on your car helps you process, then by all means, sticker away. I just never know what to do with that. It always makes me a little sad for these folks. And confused.
Thoughts? Is this a classic Aruss over-think?
Monday, January 27, 2014
Too much...and not enough
*Just know going in to this post that it may be another 6 months before I post again. I would love to blog more often, but in this season, it's not possible. But I had this thought today and needed to process it out here.
I spend most, if not all of my day, every day feeling like I'm too much of some stuff and not enough of others. My prevailing thought through most of every day is that I'm too fat. At least once an hour, but that's really probably underestimating. I feel like I think about my weight like men supposedly think about sex. All.the.time.
If I'm not thinking about being fat, I'm thinking about how incompetent I am. I spend most of my waking hours at a job that I utterly adore, but that I feel almost completely incompetent at. Now, you must know that absolutely no one at my job reflects this to me; it is entirely self-inflicted. I'm actually quite good at my job–clearly, or I wouldn't still have it. But I don't feel good at my job.
Then I come home. To my beautiful house in a great neighborhood in a wonderful area of town. But then I think that my house isn't enough. Not decorated enough, not clean enough, not big enough, not updated enough, not organized enough.
And don't get me started on my kids. I am not good enough to be their mom. I let them watch too much TV and play too many video games. I don't monitor their food for trans-fat, gluten, HFCS, monounsaturated fat, tri-something, and partially-hydrogenated something else. I don't grind my own wheat, or shop at Harry's, or buy exclusively organic, or non-GMO (whatever the hell that is). I didn't make my own baby food. We have fast food. We have processed food. My kids don't eat dinner some nights. We eat in front of the TV. We don't pray with them every night (gasp!) or have family devotions (double gasp!). They don't even bathe every night. Neither one of them wear clothes that match on a consistent basis.
Now we're back to the fat thing. I don't workout. We gave up on the gym. My family doesn't go on runs or bike rides. I don't even own a bike. We're not training for a marathon or a kids first triathalon or even a 5K. This brings me to my husband. I'm a terrible wife. I'm not sexy enough (remember, the fat thing). I don't listen carefully enough to the troubles of his day at work. I'm not supportive enough or encouraging enough. I don't create a relaxing home environment. I don't freshen up my make up before he gets home. Some days I barely look at him when he gets home. I wear shorts and T shirt to bed. Sometimes I even wear pants. With snow flakes on them. FYI, the shorts and the T shirt don't even match. I also have a bite guard. Because I stress myself out so much that at night I clench my teeth so hard that some enamel came off my teeth. Because I'm not enough. Or I'm too much.
I don't get enough done in my day every day. I feel guilty for taking any free time. I do it, but I feel guilty the whole time. So guilty that most time I give up on relaxing or just sitting and go cross one more thing off my list. All in an attempt to be enough. Like getting one or two more things done in my day will fix everything. Or make up for my short falls in all these areas. And there's more. There's always more. The list of my failures is long. So long it doesn't even matter the paltry few things I actually get right-it'll never even out.
Pretty bleak picture, right? After reading my particular brand of crazy, you're likely to think that my world is full of awful, abusive people who make me feel this way. Here's for the really crazy thing...not one single person in my life has ever done or said anything that would lead a rational person to think any of the things I've listed out. I have a great husband, fantastic kids, incredible friends, an awesome work environment. I've done all this to myself. Who am I trying to impress? What's my measuring stick?
I'm challenging myself this week to just stop it. To be a little more forgiving of myself. To quit thinking such awful things about myself. To stop over-analyzing and over-thinking. To extend myself just a little bit of the grace that I so willingly extend to others. To see myself through my Creator's eyes. Or heck, just to see myself through my children's eyes. They seem to be rather fond of me. In all my imperfect, squishy, too much, and not enough glory. But to them, I am just right. Now I just have to convince myself of that.
I spend most, if not all of my day, every day feeling like I'm too much of some stuff and not enough of others. My prevailing thought through most of every day is that I'm too fat. At least once an hour, but that's really probably underestimating. I feel like I think about my weight like men supposedly think about sex. All.the.time.
If I'm not thinking about being fat, I'm thinking about how incompetent I am. I spend most of my waking hours at a job that I utterly adore, but that I feel almost completely incompetent at. Now, you must know that absolutely no one at my job reflects this to me; it is entirely self-inflicted. I'm actually quite good at my job–clearly, or I wouldn't still have it. But I don't feel good at my job.
Then I come home. To my beautiful house in a great neighborhood in a wonderful area of town. But then I think that my house isn't enough. Not decorated enough, not clean enough, not big enough, not updated enough, not organized enough.
And don't get me started on my kids. I am not good enough to be their mom. I let them watch too much TV and play too many video games. I don't monitor their food for trans-fat, gluten, HFCS, monounsaturated fat, tri-something, and partially-hydrogenated something else. I don't grind my own wheat, or shop at Harry's, or buy exclusively organic, or non-GMO (whatever the hell that is). I didn't make my own baby food. We have fast food. We have processed food. My kids don't eat dinner some nights. We eat in front of the TV. We don't pray with them every night (gasp!) or have family devotions (double gasp!). They don't even bathe every night. Neither one of them wear clothes that match on a consistent basis.
Now we're back to the fat thing. I don't workout. We gave up on the gym. My family doesn't go on runs or bike rides. I don't even own a bike. We're not training for a marathon or a kids first triathalon or even a 5K. This brings me to my husband. I'm a terrible wife. I'm not sexy enough (remember, the fat thing). I don't listen carefully enough to the troubles of his day at work. I'm not supportive enough or encouraging enough. I don't create a relaxing home environment. I don't freshen up my make up before he gets home. Some days I barely look at him when he gets home. I wear shorts and T shirt to bed. Sometimes I even wear pants. With snow flakes on them. FYI, the shorts and the T shirt don't even match. I also have a bite guard. Because I stress myself out so much that at night I clench my teeth so hard that some enamel came off my teeth. Because I'm not enough. Or I'm too much.
I don't get enough done in my day every day. I feel guilty for taking any free time. I do it, but I feel guilty the whole time. So guilty that most time I give up on relaxing or just sitting and go cross one more thing off my list. All in an attempt to be enough. Like getting one or two more things done in my day will fix everything. Or make up for my short falls in all these areas. And there's more. There's always more. The list of my failures is long. So long it doesn't even matter the paltry few things I actually get right-it'll never even out.
Pretty bleak picture, right? After reading my particular brand of crazy, you're likely to think that my world is full of awful, abusive people who make me feel this way. Here's for the really crazy thing...not one single person in my life has ever done or said anything that would lead a rational person to think any of the things I've listed out. I have a great husband, fantastic kids, incredible friends, an awesome work environment. I've done all this to myself. Who am I trying to impress? What's my measuring stick?
I'm challenging myself this week to just stop it. To be a little more forgiving of myself. To quit thinking such awful things about myself. To stop over-analyzing and over-thinking. To extend myself just a little bit of the grace that I so willingly extend to others. To see myself through my Creator's eyes. Or heck, just to see myself through my children's eyes. They seem to be rather fond of me. In all my imperfect, squishy, too much, and not enough glory. But to them, I am just right. Now I just have to convince myself of that.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Little moments
I must start this list with a disclaimer. I cannot stress enough how little my desire is for another baby or how I have absolutely no desire to revisit those preschool years. That bring said...
Today I was folding laundry on my bed, like I have done every week in some form or fashion since I was 12 (that's when mom started making me do my own laundry). Over the years the amount of laundry and the types of clothes have changed, but folding it and putting it away has been a constant part of my life. By the way, anyone warn you how hard it would be to fold maternity clothes?
I was folding a pair of Garret's pants and then a pair of Harper's and it struck me how BIG their clothes are now. I so distinctly remember folding that first load of baby clothes before the baby was even born. I remember realizing I didn't really need to fold it because it basically folded into nothing. Then once the baby was born, there was no folding because I was taking things out of the laundry basket (clean, of course) to put them right back on him.Now I have to be creative on folding Garrett's pants to get them all in the drawer because they're so long.
So this morning, as I was folding, I had this flash of what it would be like if I did one of those time lapse videos of me doing laundry. You know, where me standing there folding stays the same but everything around me changes. It reminded me of that saying I've seen on social media several times. "Enjoy the small things because you will soon look back and realize they were the big things."
I try to remind myself of that when I'm doing any of the "grind" chores. As mind-numbing as most of the things I do to keep my family running are, I know I will be back to folding just Jason's and I's clothes, grocery shopping for the 2 of us, NOT packing lunches, not signing agendas, not cleaning teeth and retainers, and on and on, before I know it. And I will have a little flash of nostalgia like I did this morning because the pants I folded used to be no longer than my forearm and are now almost as long as my leg.
I am living in the good days. These are the days I will look back as the happiest and most of content of my life. Laundry and all. And I just wanted to pause to remember that this morning.
But now I must go fold another load!
Today I was folding laundry on my bed, like I have done every week in some form or fashion since I was 12 (that's when mom started making me do my own laundry). Over the years the amount of laundry and the types of clothes have changed, but folding it and putting it away has been a constant part of my life. By the way, anyone warn you how hard it would be to fold maternity clothes?
I was folding a pair of Garret's pants and then a pair of Harper's and it struck me how BIG their clothes are now. I so distinctly remember folding that first load of baby clothes before the baby was even born. I remember realizing I didn't really need to fold it because it basically folded into nothing. Then once the baby was born, there was no folding because I was taking things out of the laundry basket (clean, of course) to put them right back on him.Now I have to be creative on folding Garrett's pants to get them all in the drawer because they're so long.
So this morning, as I was folding, I had this flash of what it would be like if I did one of those time lapse videos of me doing laundry. You know, where me standing there folding stays the same but everything around me changes. It reminded me of that saying I've seen on social media several times. "Enjoy the small things because you will soon look back and realize they were the big things."
I try to remind myself of that when I'm doing any of the "grind" chores. As mind-numbing as most of the things I do to keep my family running are, I know I will be back to folding just Jason's and I's clothes, grocery shopping for the 2 of us, NOT packing lunches, not signing agendas, not cleaning teeth and retainers, and on and on, before I know it. And I will have a little flash of nostalgia like I did this morning because the pants I folded used to be no longer than my forearm and are now almost as long as my leg.
I am living in the good days. These are the days I will look back as the happiest and most of content of my life. Laundry and all. And I just wanted to pause to remember that this morning.
But now I must go fold another load!
Monday, September 16, 2013
Girl time
I had the absolute pleasure of spending the weekend with Jason's mother, sister and one of his aunts. We went to Lake Norman, NC and stayed in a lakefront condo. It was so nice there. The weather was just perfect–couldn't have scripted it better. The ONLY thing that was bad about it was that we did not have enough time. We ate, we shopped, we played games (Jason's family is serious about their games), we talked, we laughed. Then it was time to eat again. It was just such a great time to connect and relax a bit.
I went home from there straight to Candy's house. Jason (and Garrett) helped Josh over the weekend to lay new flooring downstairs. They were still there when Harper and I rolled into town, so we went over and joined in the madness. Our big boys were working while the little boys and girls tore around the backyard, getting dirty and sweaty.
I left Candy's (leaving my husband and children there–because that's the kind of best friend I am. Doing a home project? I'm sure you want to babysit my children too!) and headed home to change clothes for my much-anticipated dinner with my childhood best friend. Have known this woman since the second grade. Haven't seen her in 10 years. It was surprisingly difficult to come up with an outfit for this. So I ended up texting her asking her what she was wearing because I was having a hard time coming up with a "haven't seen childhood friend in 10 years" outfit. Her response is likely why we were such good friends then and can just pick back up and carry on like no time has passed now. "Oh my gosh, I would see you in pjs with a headband in! I have on jeans and a cardigan sweater [side note: exact outfit I was leaning towards]!! I seriously would be happy to see you in pjs. LOL. Flips flops and no makeup."
See why I like her so much? That's my kind of girl.
While I was at dinner (that lasted SIX hours–and we were just getting started), I got a text from a dear sweet friend who doesn't live in Georgia anymore. She was my first friend that didn't know my maiden name. She and her husband were a part of the very first small group we did with North Point. Her text was to announce that they are expecting their second child. It was a picture of their first child with a "Big Sis" t-shirt on. Too exciting. Always a pleasure to know another life is on its way.
On my way home from dinner with Erin, it dawned on me that this weekend was all about the women in my life. It was such a great little sampling of how many fabulous women I get to do life with. And how important time with them is to my sanity.
From the women who I am lucky enough to call family now, to the woman who has stood beside me my entire adult life, to the woman who stood beside me my whole childhood, to the woman who intersected my life at a very fun time (ah the newlywed days) and still does the work to stay connected across several state lines, I am one incredibly blessed woman.
Don't get me wrong. Time with my husband is still one of my most favorite things on this Earth. But time with a girlfriend? Ain't nothin' like it nowhere.
I went home from there straight to Candy's house. Jason (and Garrett) helped Josh over the weekend to lay new flooring downstairs. They were still there when Harper and I rolled into town, so we went over and joined in the madness. Our big boys were working while the little boys and girls tore around the backyard, getting dirty and sweaty.
I left Candy's (leaving my husband and children there–because that's the kind of best friend I am. Doing a home project? I'm sure you want to babysit my children too!) and headed home to change clothes for my much-anticipated dinner with my childhood best friend. Have known this woman since the second grade. Haven't seen her in 10 years. It was surprisingly difficult to come up with an outfit for this. So I ended up texting her asking her what she was wearing because I was having a hard time coming up with a "haven't seen childhood friend in 10 years" outfit. Her response is likely why we were such good friends then and can just pick back up and carry on like no time has passed now. "Oh my gosh, I would see you in pjs with a headband in! I have on jeans and a cardigan sweater [side note: exact outfit I was leaning towards]!! I seriously would be happy to see you in pjs. LOL. Flips flops and no makeup."
See why I like her so much? That's my kind of girl.
While I was at dinner (that lasted SIX hours–and we were just getting started), I got a text from a dear sweet friend who doesn't live in Georgia anymore. She was my first friend that didn't know my maiden name. She and her husband were a part of the very first small group we did with North Point. Her text was to announce that they are expecting their second child. It was a picture of their first child with a "Big Sis" t-shirt on. Too exciting. Always a pleasure to know another life is on its way.
On my way home from dinner with Erin, it dawned on me that this weekend was all about the women in my life. It was such a great little sampling of how many fabulous women I get to do life with. And how important time with them is to my sanity.
From the women who I am lucky enough to call family now, to the woman who has stood beside me my entire adult life, to the woman who stood beside me my whole childhood, to the woman who intersected my life at a very fun time (ah the newlywed days) and still does the work to stay connected across several state lines, I am one incredibly blessed woman.
Don't get me wrong. Time with my husband is still one of my most favorite things on this Earth. But time with a girlfriend? Ain't nothin' like it nowhere.
Monday, July 22, 2013
The rest of the DC pics
The kids are gone again to Augusta for two weeks, so I'm going to do my best to get caught up on here. We had an exciting spring and summer and I want to document it on here. Since you've waited so patiently since April, here are the rest of the DC pictures. :)
We drug our kids all over DC for 12 hours on Thursday. And they did amazing. We walked over a mile in Arlington alone, so our best guess is that we walked about 5 miles that day.
They were such good little travelers. It helped that they had just learned about most of what we saw in school, so they were so excited. When we were walking up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial Harper was saying "It's happening! We're actually doing it!" Adorable.
All in all, I wish the weather had been a little nicer, but it didn't rain, so that's something. But we did everything we wanted to do and navigated the city well, I thought. It was a great first trip to our nation's capital.
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| If you don't know what this is, I'm going to need you to ask to revoke your American citizenship |
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| This picture is to give you a sense of scale |
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| Seriously? Aren't they the cutest? |
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| Hatching a scheme to give me a heart attack |
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| Dad said I had to let him experience a little danger |
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| Luckily, he's cautious like me |
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| My heart |
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| WWII memorial–the solemnity was a bit lost on the 5 year old |
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| This is about as good a smile as I could get from this one |
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| This one, however, is all about striking a pose |
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| Again, this should need no explanation |
They were such good little travelers. It helped that they had just learned about most of what we saw in school, so they were so excited. When we were walking up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial Harper was saying "It's happening! We're actually doing it!" Adorable.
All in all, I wish the weather had been a little nicer, but it didn't rain, so that's something. But we did everything we wanted to do and navigated the city well, I thought. It was a great first trip to our nation's capital.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Catching up
In case you haven't noticed, I've completely fallen off the "blogging every day" wagon. And, I gotta be honest, I don't see myself getting back on the bandwagon anytime soon. Life here in the Russell house moves at a pretty steady clip and most days I'm doing good to keep my head above water.
I have every intention of posting the rest of our Spring Break pictures. I also intend to post a picture of Harper's "super cute" (her words) new haircut. I'm just not sure when that's going to be.
Don't give up on me though. I'm not giving it up completely. At this point, this is the only record I have of my children's upbringing. :)
I have every intention of posting the rest of our Spring Break pictures. I also intend to post a picture of Harper's "super cute" (her words) new haircut. I'm just not sure when that's going to be.
Don't give up on me though. I'm not giving it up completely. At this point, this is the only record I have of my children's upbringing. :)
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