I can’t even begin to describe the emotions that these photos evoke in me.  So many memories of Saturdays spent on the YMCA soccer fields, miles traveled in a mini-van, and lessons of leadership, teamwork, and humility.

So, here they are, beginning their own journey with this small but significant sphere.  Play on, boys.  You will never be the same.

And you can bet your britches that I will be camping out underneath one of those big-ass, soccer mom umbrellas on the sideline.

I’m your biggest fan.

Title of Show is quickly climbing the list of “Favorite Musicals I Have Never Seen.”  This show is lyrical genius and flat out histerical.  As I have been thinking about who I am and what makes me really feel alive, I came to this song.  It will make you laugh until you cry and then leave you with some of the most potent, profound lines ever written.  Read on…

Word to the wise, these lyrics are FAR from PG.  Read at your own risk.

Susan:
There are some people in the world who say that writing stories,
or composing music or dancing sparkly dances is easy for them.
Nothing interferes with their ability to create.
While I celebrate their creative freedom,
a little part of me just wants to punch those motherfuckers in the teeth.
This song, I sing this song for you guys and for all the rest of us. Help me out y’all
Backup:
We’ll sing backup
Susan:
You have a story to tell, a novel you keep in a drawer.
Backup:
Old sock drawer!
Susan:
You have a painting to paint, but you lazy like an old French whore
Backup:
Je suis whore
Susan:
You have a movie to make, Shrinky Dinks you can bake
but you best grab a stake, cause,
in sweep the vampires, in creep the vampires, knee deep in vampires,
Filling you with doubt. Insecurity, ‘bout what you art should be
in sweep the vampires
All:
Die vampire
Susan:
You sketched that turtle you saw in an ad on late-night cable TV
Backup:
Tippy Turtle!
Susan:
But your fourth grade teacher said
Female Backup:
You can’t draw
Susan:
Aww, those vampires just won’t let you be
Backup:
Fuck you Ms. Johnson, Word!
Susan:
And when they come run like hell, see those bats in your belfry, then call on Van Helsing.
Susan:
In swoosh
Backup:
Ooh, the vampires
Susan:
in a whoosh
Backup:
ooh, the vampires,
Susan:
Babaganoosh
Backup:
ooh, all the vampires
Susan:
Filling you with thoughts of
Backup:
Self consciousness
Susan:
Feelings of
Backup:
Worthlessness
Susan:
They’ll make you
Backup:
Second guess
Die vampire!
There are so many vampires, inside, outside, and nationwide,
it helps to recognize them with this vampire hunting guide!
Listen closely,
a vampire is any person or thought or feeling
that stands between you and your creative self expression,
but they can assume many seductive forms.
Here’s a few of them!
Backup:
Tell us Susan!
Susan:
First up are you pigmy vampires.
They’ll swarm around you head like gnats and say things like:
Male Backup:
Your teeth need whitening
Female Backup:
You went to state school?
Male Backup:
You sound weird
All:
Shakespeare, Sondheim, Sedaris
Susan:
Did it before you and better than you, or they might say that you cannot
sing good enough to be in a musical, or they might say:
Backup:
Ooh, your song’s derivative,
Ooh, your song’s derivative,
Ooh, your song’s derivative,

Susan:
To keep that song from you! Just tell them:
Backup:
Die vampire, die!
Susan:
Brothers and sisters, next up is the air freshener vampire,
she might look like you mama, or your old fat-ass, fat aunt Fanny.
She smells something unpleasant in what you’re creating.
She’ll urge you to:
Backup:
(Spraying sound)
Susan:
It with some pine fresh smell ’em ups.
The air freshener vampire doesn’t want you to write about
Backup:
bad language, blood, or blow jobs
Susan:
She wants you to clean it up and clean it out.
Which will leave your work toothless, gutless, and crotchless
but, you’ll be left with two tight paragraphs,
All kittens that your grandma would be so proud of.
You look at that air freshener vampire in her fat ass, fat old fuckin’ face and you say
All:
(Chanting)
Susan:
The last vampire is the mother of all vampires and that is the vampire of despair.
It’ll wake you up at 4am to say things like:
Backup:
Who do you think you’re kidding?
You look like a fool.
No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be good enough
Susan:
Why is it that if some dude walked up to me on the subway platform
and said these things, I’d think he was a mentally ill asshole,
but if the vampire inside my head says it,
It’s the voice of reason.
Backup:
You have a story to tell, pull your novel out of that sock drawer!
You have a painting to paint, you best paint it and then paint some more!

Susan:
Oh baby, you must escape and grab it by the nape of its neck, by the trachea
fuckin’ break it, go on drive a stake in,
Yeah there’s no mistaking, now you’re shake and bakin’
All:
Die, vampire
I said, “Die, vampire”
I said, “Now die vam-pi-re, die!”
All:
In fly the vampires, oh my the vampires, then die the vampires,
filling you with life, creativity, all that you heart should be, out go the vampires
Die vampire, die vampire, die vampire, die!

Here’s to the artist in all of us…

Do you ever feel like you spend a significant amount of time watching others fly?  You stand at the edge of the field, looking at the sky, marveling at the beauty of spread wings and fearless flight.  You stand with your toes pressed against the line thinking, “I think I could do that.  I really think I could.”  But then your once poised feet relax and you sink back into the comfortable role of spectator.  I have been there many times.  I’m sure you have, as well.  We all have.  But today…

I think I’m tired of watching.

Today…

I would like to fly.

Today…

I would like to risk the out of control, knot in my stomach free fall feeling with hopes of experiencing the crazy beautiful sensation of really soaring.

Here’s to enjoying the view every second of flight…

Here are my two little men…

Reece

Mason

Such lookers they are…

“‘Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?’  Jesus replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all you 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 22:36-40

“And the second is like it…”  The second greatest commandment is like the first.  It supports it, comes along side of it, and, perhaps, even fleshes it out a bit, brings it closer to home.  I have been able to recite these verses from memory for many, many years now.  They were a significant part of my childhood Sunday School curriculum, church camp experiences, undergraduate worship planning, and even seminary education.  I know much about these verses.  I know that these verses stem from the Shema, the Hebrew confession of faith found in Deuteronomy 6:4-9.  I know that Matthew was largely writing to an audience of Jewish Christians who would without doubt recognize these commandments.  I know that Jesus spoke these words after having establish a considerable amount of authority among the people, the type of authority that made demons, disease, and doubt cower in His presence.  I know a lot.  However, only in the past few months have I considered the words, “And the second is like it…”

A huge part of loving God with all of me is to love my neighbor, not only the elderly woman living in the apartment next to me, but the coworker sitting next to me who breathes negativity, the punk-ass kid bagging my groceries, the panhandler standing at the corner of Colorado and I-25, the African children dying from AIDS in Uganda, and my family, both immediate and distant.  I get this part.  I get what loving my neighbor is supposed to look like.  My frustration, however, is usually my failure to do it.  Over and over again, “Why am I such a jerk?  Why don’t I notice them and love them like I should? Why?”  Because I only remember the first half of the second greatest commandment.  If I were to read the entire verse, I would find, “as yourself.”  And that is where my worship breaks down.

You see, in order to love my neighbor, and, ultimately, in order to love my God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, I have to love myself.  I have to wrap my mind and heart around the truth that I was created in the image of God.  I was fashioned and formed with unique characteristics, quirks, talents, and opinions.  I was carefully carved with purpose.  He looked at me with joy and said, “She is good.”  For some reason, I have convinced myself that acting in humility equals not loving myself.  I have surrendered my individual thoughts, emotions, opinions and creative expressions and have become an unidentifiable human chameleon.  Somewhere over the years, I grew weary.  I’m not sure I could pin point any specific day, but at some point, I decided that it was easier to please the person in front of me than to place my feet firmly on the foundation of me, firmly on the foundation of a woman who loves Jesus and loves herself.  And, as I grew weary, I began to forget me.  I have found myself in a vacuum of confidence and calling.  Even as I write this, it is genuinely hard to populate a list that bears this title:

“This is who I am, and I love this about me…”

So, how can I begin to love my neighbor or my God unless I start loving myself?  How can I expect a living God to dwell in a temple that I view as unimportant, damaged, worn out, or even nameless?  Answer: I cannot.  I’m not even sure I’m in a place to declare some radical plan of action in order to correct my distorted perspective.  But, I can say that for the past two weeks this has been the prayer pouring unceasingly from my heart:

“Lord, Jesus, awaken your Holy Spirit in me.”

And I believe that He is.

I am a follower of Jesus Christ, broken and fallen, but saved by grace.  And I’m not giving up.

And that’s what I like about me.

Check out this scene from the latest “brother bath.” Mason steals Reece’s dinosaur, and Reece is utterly confused. Nevertheless, he decides that making faces for the camera is much more important than finding the thief…

Laundry is funny. It may not be funny in every household, but it always produces aching stomachs and joyful tears in my house. In fact, I almost pee my pants every time I do laundry. Several factors contribute to this scene…

1. In the Edwards house, doing laundry means doing 9 or 10 loads in one night. From gathering to folding and putting away, it all gets done in one night. This takes several hours, so the chance of something funny happening increases with every passing minute. Looking at underwear and T-shirts for hours on end coupled with the smell of dryer sheets is bound to produce a state of delirium.
2. Sara and Laura always help me. The three of us together is a recipe for laughter. They are a familiar and constant presence in our home. My boys love them, and Brad and I love them. Life is just more fun when they are around.
3. Reece is exponentially more entertaining when Zaz and Lola (Sara and Laura) are around.

And, so, without further a due, here is a glimpse into laundry night at the Edwards…

I like to call this story: “Reece finds his white trash roots”

First, Reece puts on Mason’s shorts:

**Note: Laughter commences from all parties involved, including Reece.**

Second, Reece puts on Mason’s shirt…

**Note: Laughter grows, and Reece starts rolling around on the floor laughing his “machine gun” laugh.**

Third, Reece puts on Lola’s high heels…

**Note: With every additional phase of this wardrobe change, Reece runs back to our bedroom to show his Dad the new look. Brad gets more and more concerned with every trip.**

Fourth, Reece puts on Zaz’s silver chain necklace. Reece turns to me and says, “Hey, Mom. Like my chain?” Yes, son. All you need is a PBR in your hand to complete the look.

**Note: By this time, we have all nearly wet ourselves and have lost at least two pounds from laughing**

Finally, the main event. Reece decides to dance…

I have a feeling Reece will be entertaining people for the rest of his life.

Here’s to laundry and all that it represents…

Every dad should guard their daughters. These eyes will win them all…

And I’m his mom.

This morning, Reece, Mason and I were in Reece’s room getting him dressed.  I sat Mason on the floor and went out into the hallway to rummage through the halfway folded hamper of clean clothes with hopes of finding something that matched.  After grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt that were at least “close,” I walked back into Reece’s room to find this:

Just as I realized that he was wearing a belt on his head, he looked at me, smiled and began singing the lyrics to the song playing in the background as proud as can be:

“God made me.  God made me.  In my Bible book it says that God made me.”

Yes, Reece.  God did make you, and I’m pretty sure He smiles every time he thinks about your design.

Reece came home from church a couple of weeks ago and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of how Jesus died on the cross?”

What am I supposed to say to that? “Yes, son. Of course I would.”

This is what followed: