The Idolatry of Self and How Kanye is a God

Kanye's public antics and seemingly inflated sense of self have long been a subject of mirth and incredulity for me. I've followed his career off and on since he emerged on the scene as a producer for Rock-A-Fella records. I have a love of hip-hop that dates back to the nineties and Kanye is a part of that. No doubt Kanye has contributed an incredible amount to hip hop and rap. He has produced music for some of the greatest.  Jay-Z and Alicia Keyes to name two.

Kanye West is considered one of the greatest rappers of all time. He has won 27 Grammy's, sold millions of albums, yet I woke up this morning to see him begging for money on Twitter. I was left wondering how he got to this point. There's no denying Kanye's contribution to the music industry. But his career and personal life are clouded with controversy. His declaration of himself as a god has long brought him criticism by some and applause by others. 

This morning as I read his many tweets asking anyone and everyone to support his dreams because he's in debt to the tune of $53 million dollars, I wondered at first how it happened. He answered the "how" himself in later tweets. I find it hard sometimes to not be incredibly critical and even condemning of Kanye. How dare he call himself a god or say he's Jesus?

But the truth is we are all guilty of the idolatry of self. I want to be critical of Kanye. I even typed out a sarcastic tweet about him and his begging for more millions, but first I must get the plank out of my own eye before I condemn another.

No, Kanye and I aren't really that different. I don't declare I'm a god---not aloud anyway. But in my heart I feel the tension, I fight the battle daily, sometimes hourly to put away the idol of self. This struggle is evident every time I feel entitled to this or that, I spend more than minutes with wounded feelings over some slight, I put my own plans before the plans my Creator has for me. How often do I think, "I can't do that for God, I'd have to give up this or that?" How often do I feel jealousy when someone else's article is liked more than mine, or worse, when my article gets lots of praise and I think, "I know, I'm a great writer."

The idolatry of self is blinding. We need only look at the life of someone like Kanye who has achieved so much and has contributed even more, yet it has not been enough. I dare say the same is true of me. I may think if I get so many likes or achieve so many things, I'll arrive at some place of contentment or happiness, but the truth is I need only remove the idol of myself and instead focus on the one, true God. Then, I can be content no matter the circumstance, no matter the unrealized dream, or the difficult task. 

Happy Gotcha Day, James Melaku Thurman!

February 13, 2013---The day we got to pick James up from the orphanage. This is his "gotcha" moment. In this moment, he is ours forever. Where we go, he will go. Where we stay, he will stay. He is no longer under the care of the orphanage, even though we are standing in the orphanage. He is no longer under the rule of the Ethiopian government because he belongs to us.

Adoption is not without great loss, great pain.  For me to be this child's mother, a woman is without her son. A father, a grandmother, an aunt, perhaps a sibling. I can never think of this day without thinking of "them". I don't know why they chose to give him up. I will most likely never know, but I do know that God ordained that James Melaku would be our son. Of all the little boys in that orphanage, God chose James' paperwork to the paperwork that was completed, allowing him to be adoptable. God writes our stories. His the author of all life. He does not stop authoring our stories at birth. He continues to write them and He wrote this boy's story.

This is one of the nannies who took care of James while he was at the Tikuret orphanage. He loved her very much; he was greatly attached to her and would cry for her while we were at the orphanage.

He has no memory of her now. I show him these pictures and he understands that it is a picture of him, but she is a stranger to him now.

. 

The Tikuret orphanage where James lived while in Addis Ababa.

Saying good-bye to the orphanage and his nanny.
If you were to measure the time since we left the orphanage in days, 1, 095 days have past since that day. Three years today.

1,095 days of being a little brother, the best helper, the youngest Thurman boy, the baby SOT, a Son of Thunder, a friend to many, loved by so many.

To know him is to know energy, joy, big eyes and an even bigger smile. Three years ago, God chose Melaku and we are forever grateful.
Happy Third Gotcha Day!

Our Posture is Our Response: Why Women Must Speak Up About Women Being Drafted

Our Posture Is Our Response:Why Women Must Speak Up About Women Being Drafted

One Destination Is Reached By Leaving Another

We have not arrived at this new destination by accident or happenstance.  We began this journey many decades ago when women bought the idea that they were being oppressed. In reality, they were being oppressed in many ways. They did not have the right to vote or own property. They were thought of as not as intelligent or not as valuable---all ideas and realities that still exist for many women in other parts of the world today. But two wrongs never make a right. The response was a swinging of the pendulum so far to the extreme that we are now left with the over-sexualization of women, the systemic killing of female babies, the transformation of the woman into a feminine version of a man and now, the proposed threat of our daughters and grand-daughters being drafted into military service.

Perhaps somewhere, we, as women, began to believe that we were being mistreated or belittled or held back. Perhaps we felt the desire to be as good if not better than our counterparts rise up inside of us and we gave in to it instead of resisting it. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, we've allowed what it means to be a Godly woman get distorted and muddled and I think we have. We've allowed an ever-changing culture define who we are instead of the Word of God.

In The Beginning...

In the beginning, God created man and then He created woman. His creation of our lives was not haphazard and without design. David writes in Psalm 139:13-16 of the intricate ways in which God formed him. If we apply this idea to all of creation, and I do, then each of us was created in a unique and intricate way. The creation of woman was not an afterthought on God's part. When God finished His creation, He found it all to be good, and He found man and woman to be very good. Somewhere along the way we've allowed the lie that this secondary creation somehow means women are less important or of less value, as if we've fought all these years to prove that we are what we are already seen as in the eyes of our Father---very good.

But our first error is finding what God sees as very good lacking or not good at all. When God created man and woman, He created them with purpose, a unique purpose. His design is best. Since the first sin in the Garden of Eden and the subsequent curse of woman desiring her husband's place, we have warred against the created order established by the Creator, God. We began from this destination and arrived at the first wave of feminism in the nineteenth century with the second wave hot on its heels.

Many things have transpired since the first rumblings of feminism in this country. Many wars have been fought in this country and the woman's place in the U.S. military has evolved until we have arrived at this place, this destination. But where we go from here is of the utmost importance, most especially to women.

Our Posture Is Our Response

Our posture cannot be one of apathy or disregard. Our posture cannot be one of focusing on a single issue that is at the forefront presently. We cannot just fight against women being drafted, we must fight against women being so transformed and morphed that they no longer resemble God's original design. We, this generation of women, must have a posture of submission to God's created order. 

We must know the truth and understand that we are created of equal value but for different roles. Each role is of great value and seen as very good to our Creator. 

Our posture must be one of submission to God recognizing that being what God created us to be is not a blanket statement saying we aren't as good, we aren't as strong, we aren't as smart. There are jobs that I can do better than a man, that perhaps I'm better qualified for, but does that job help me fulfill my created role is a questions I must always ask. There are jobs that aren't ours for the doing and there are roles that aren't ours for the taking. God's design is always best. And our primary purpose is to glorify Him and enjoy Him forever. We glorify Him when we are obedient to His Word and we enjoy Him when we embrace who He created us to be instead of railing against it.

I am most fulfilled when I am most satisfied with my Creator, with my Lord. I am most dissatisfied when that relationship is out of kilter. We will always battle the desire inside of us to rule over our husbands, to be the boss, but we must take up the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God and we must fight and fight hard. We must fight for ourselves. We must fight for our sons to be allowed to fulfill the role they were created to fulfill. We must fight for our daughters to be who God created them to be in the roles that best help them do that. We must fight, armed with the truth of God's Word and we must so do daily by embracing who we are in Christ. We must fight to arrive at a different destination than the one our culture is propelling us toward. 

Homework, Oh Homework

One "full" week of pre-school is in the books! What a great week! And JO had his first homework assignment, which really means I had homework. The assignment: Bring in a picture of your pet.

Easy enough, right? Big 'ole fat Wrong! We have two dogs---both black labs. June and Coal. I had one picture of June and that's it and this one picture was on the Cloud---you know, the ambiguous, mysterious Cloud. JO insisted on taking a picture of both June and Coal, though I tried to persuade him that it wouldn't really matter because they are basically the same dog, so it would be redundant to take two pictures of basically the same dog. 

PIcture One: Coal

Picture Two: June.

Basically the same picture with the exception of my shadow. 

I made the grave mistake of waiting until close to seven pm to head over to The Wal-Mart to print the two pictures of basically the same dog. If you've ever had the thought, I can wait until later to do that because I'll be able to do it at Wal-Mart, you need to smack yourself on the mouth and say you're sorry. Big 'ole mistake.

All three instant print photo machines were broken at The Wal-Mart, so I did the next best thing and used the One-Hour Photo machine and then made my way to the Photo center where only Doyle was working. Thirty minutes later Doyle couldn't find my pictures or even any sign that I'd placed an order. Why? Doyle said it was because so many people worked in the photo department. I said, "What people? I only see us, Doyle!"

If I'd stopped at that moment and taken a selfie, this is what my face would have looked like. Well, my face would have been white and freckeled, but you get the idea.

As I was contemplating what to do next because Doyle didn't have any clue how to help me, I heard Pink Floyd crooning "We don't need no education!" I may have considered just abadonning my children's education altogether, but sanity kicked in. I re-placed the order on the machine and Doyle was successfully able to retrieve my two photos of basically the same dog.

And I got the order for free--a whopping 58 cents! Go Doyle! I'll save it for when I have enough to buy a pack of gum.

And I got a happy pre-schooler!

I did consider going all Slingblade on The Wal-Mart for letting me down, pulling out my inner trashiness, but I managed to keep it inside and only let a few deep sighs and a couple of eye rolls go. It may or may not have looked like I was seizing.

Glad we left the chainsaw in the car 'cause this guy can really saw some logs with it! 

Back to educating my boys and looking for The Wal-Mart alternative and working on my patience. It's a virtue, right? (wink, wink)

Bottomless PIts and 'Merica

What? Your children don't hold American Flags out of the window while you're driving down the road? Mine do. Maybe they're really Patriotic or Proud to be an American and all that Lee Greenwood jazz. Or maybe it's just fun to hold things out of the window and let's be honest...I'd rather they hold an object that's NOT attached to their body than lose a hand or arm to some passing vehicle/wall/pole. I may be the only person who worries that my small children with equally small appendages are at risk of having them knocked off by some passing car or truck while we're driving down the road. They are probably more likely to be eaten by zombies, but while I don't admonish them for riding on top of their toy cars or for riding their toys down the driveway at mach nine speeds, I draw the line at holding your arms and hands out of the window! Even if fully extended their arms barey reach past the window.

You can just make him out back there celebratin' 'Merica. He may or may not be channeling his inner Bruce Springsteen---"Born in the USA." That woud be ironic!

This guy is loving school. It's a full-on "Is today a school day, when am I going to school, I can't wait to go to school, oh I'm going to school tomorrow why of course I'll go to bed early with no fuss" type of love affair and, well, I'm kind of digging it. It's funny how much joy a person can find in another person's joy. I really, really like how much he likes it and that he has so much fun and those feelings overshadow my feelings of angst that he's growing up so fast. 

And this guy is now a teenager. Just like that! Lounging on the couch with his blanket, laid back with his mind on his chew stick and his chew stick in his mouth! Plus a little Mickey Mouse! All he needs to do now is sit around in his underwear and burb the alphabet!

Both of my boys are currently starving. Like literally starving. If you ask them, they will say they are starving and we need to call Feed the Children, Feed America or any other benevolent agency and get them some food!

This was a snack before their dinner which was minutes away from being ready and by minutes, I really mean twenty to thirty, but they COULD NOT wait!

I immediately channelled my inner Wilford Brimley and began lecturing about the many, many children and people in the world who REALLY are starving and have no food for many days to which they replied, "Can I have a snack?"

I guess I'll be looking for a part-time job to help support the grocery bill for these two cats!

In the meantime, we're busy getting schooled and learning to hang with mommy. John Owen's birthday is in August---the end of August and he's been marking down the days the big day! The two circles on the calendar are "Yays" for the days he goes to school. I dig his eye for the abstract! In the meantime, you'll probably catch us rolling down the street flying flags out our windows! 

Time Is Not on My Side Mr. Mick Jagger.

Time is not on my side, not it's not, no sir. I fought it hard. I landed a few punches, even surprised it with my left-handed ability. I masquerade as a "righty", but really I'm both! I'm a little bruised from this fight, a little worn down. What did Time do to me, you ask? Well, time is a sneaky, dirty dog. You know the kind. They slink around waiting for the right opportunity to steal food off your plate. They seem all docile and friendly because they're hunched down and meek-looking, but they've got shifty eyes and they're always watching. And waiting...

waiting to snatch away toddler-hood and replace it with boyhood. That's manhood looking over his shoulder there waiting to teach him about love and hate and loss and the world. Do you see it? I did this morning as I watched this guy walk into school for his first day of Pre-K4. 

In a few short weeks he'll be five, so he's the older guy in his class and that's how I surprised time. That was my sneaker left punch---a late August birthday that let me keep him home one more year.

And now it's time for the "next" thing and the "next" thing is good and right.

He was all abuzz with the happenings of his half-day at school. The three friends he's made, none of which he learned their name. Not an important detail when you're playing cops and sheriffs. The "next" thing was really good and he can't wait to go back. I can't wait for him either, not because I won't miss him or don't enjoy him, but because I see his joy, the pride in his step, the new sense of purpose and I'm excited for him even if I'm sad for me.

And then there's always this guy...

who can make anyone smile---even the scroogiest Scrooges! He's my bud, my fella, my trying so hard to be a big boy dude. His "next" thing is learning to use the toilet. Potty training is my favorite thing in raising children. I kid, I kid. I hate it and I'm sure my feelings translate somehow in some weird way like how people say animals can sense when you're afraid of them and then attack you. I think my boys know how much I dislike potty training and somehow it becomes much more difficult. 

James has successfully pooped and peed in the toilet on separate occasions and multiple times, but for every one time he's used the toilet, he's used his diaper ten times and usually right after he's gotten off the toilet.

I can safely say that changing a poop diaper is up on the list of things I really, really, really hate doing. For one, I don't do it well. I'm in a hurry and use way too many wipes, yet I still manage to soil my hands.

And let's be honest, when you soil your hands with someone else's waste, your only option is to cut your hand off. "If your right hand offends you, cut it off." (That's a loose paraphrase.) I walk around all day feeling as if at any moment I'm going to fall sick with E. Coli or some other awful infection that will cause me to vomit, which is equally detestable to me. I'd rather crawl through a pit of spiders and snakes than get a stomach virus. 

But I've evaded both E. Coli and the stomach virus, so I'll continue persevering in the potty training and doing the "next" thing.

A Thunderous Week

I've officially taken up a new profession. Good-bye English Education degree. So long Bachelor of Arts degree that was really just a lot of reading and reading and writing and writing---good thing I love doing both of those things. You're looking at a bona fide, certified, real deal...Referee! Give me a whistle and some polyester black and white striped shirts and call it a day!

That's right! I've been giving out red cards, ejecting thunderous sons from the game and exacting hefty fines on these two cats.

The Sons of Thunder have been in full fighting mode this week. No mercy, no grace. All "He touched me", "He's got my (insert any item in our house)", "He's being loud". Lots of lessons have been learned this week about the good 'ole things...sharing, loving, showing grace, being nice and my favorite..."Sounds like a personal problem. Work it out." I like to think that's teaching my boys, my boisterous little men how to think through situations, how to work on relationships without an intervention.

There has been some fun this week. When my boys play together it usually involves taking a normal activity and making it an extreme one. For example: Cozy Coupe Extreme.

Fred and Barney here like to take turns riding this car from the top. They can entertain themselves for a long time doing this. And then...

This happened. If there's a limit to push, they will push it. When they're doing this little stunt, they are moving that little car as fast as their Flintstone feet will allow them. I'm not a prophet, but I forsee some visits to the ER in our future.

J.O. is warning James to "Hold on tight!" It did all end well with no broken bones, but then they got mad and started fighting again.

My conflict resolution for this situation...take a picture! 

We've all survived this week of WWE RAW. I'm sure there will be more episodes and I'll be able to hone my refereeing skills. It was a tough week---I'm fully convinced that whining and fussing are forms of torture---some country's government is using them somewhere, surely. Cassette tapes---yes cassettes---filled with hours of children whining and saying "mama" over and over until your head explodes and you begin to see dragons and rainbows.

But then there's a break in the storm and this happens...

Spooning of their own volition. This isn't some form of discipline to deter them from fighting. They just got over "it" and are friends now---no, brothers...The Sons of Thunder.

And it's always good to be their mom. Always.