I’m turning 40 this year, and I’ve been having a hard time with this reality.

I think I’m scared that my life is “over.” That somehow I’ve missed my “greater purpose.” That I’ve made my rut and now I’m doomed to tread it with bills and groceries and the carpool line.

And so, to the Lost series finale, I brought my pity party.

Loss and pain have been all around me.

What I found surprising as I watched the finale, though, was the way that God brought it to me as a deeply personal experience. God gave me useful insight into my own dealings with suffering and insufficiency. He gave me tools to deal with my own searching and trepidation.

Because of its treatment of life and death, pain and comfort, purpose and journey, I discovered some things about myself. While I acknowledge the show was not theologically sound, it was nonetheless effective in drawing me nearer to the heart of God. The artistry of the storytelling broke through some of my own questions and quandaries.

In the next post, I’ll talk more about my take on the theological nuances and symbolism of Lost.

I think I’m really having some writer’s paralysis lately—not just writer’s block.

Some of it is busyness and end-of-year happenings. Some of it is still trying to play catch-up from flood-related stuff and having some survivor’s guilt (for some reason, I feel that our family really “dodged a bullet” and I’m not sure why I feel that way?) and feeling so overwhelmed at the pain around me, that I don’t know what to write about. Serious post ideas seem to only brush over the surface of the gravity of the situation; funny post ideas (can we find humor in this situation?) seem offensive. I have one blogger friend who has encouraged us writers that “now” is our time; time to give voice to this tragedy. I agree. Only I can’t get my voice together enough to type it out.

I think I’m also kind of wondering what in the world I have to say that anyone would care about anyway. In light of this tragedy, so much seems trivial and unnecessary. That’s all the more true as I think about my getting older and the glitz of worldly possessions and pursuits seems to fade and tarnish with each passing year.

As I think on these things, I am compelled to dig more deeply into the meaning of my life, your life, this life, our lives. But that requires work. And thought. And analysis.

I know it’s work I’ve got to do, but it’s just going to take a little while. So, stay tuned, if you’re curious to read more.

And so, as I’m fighting heavy eyelids tonight with a “to-do” list longer than my arm, I’m fantasizing about having only one superhero power.

I would love the ability to stay awake (and feel NORMAL) for about three consecutive days. During this time, I would like to get caught up on every chore, project, and “to-do” list item.

I want to do this once a month. A standing catch-up session appointment.

I’m pretty sure this superhero power would solve all my problems.

At least, my blog would thrive.

(This photo was taken on Monday, May 3, 2010. It’s Old Harding Pike, between Morton Mill RD and Poplar Creek RD. The golf course is behind the trees on the right; the red sign belongs to the Active Learning Center on the left. Our house is within walking distance but at a higher elevation.)

I’ve been quiet for a week or so now. My Internet has been down because my phone line was down because the Nashville flood shut down our city for a few days.

We didn’t receive any damage to our home. Other than a ruined digital camera (that got some water damage when taken in the rain to capture some flood photos), our belongings and lives were left untouched.

So grateful. So. Grateful.

And honestly, I’m still processing all that I’ve seen around me during the last week.

Devastation and tears. Generosity and love.

But there’s so much to say. I’m sure I’ll be posting on this in bits and pieces for months, as the thoughts come. As the words form.

A few points I’ve been pondering:

• God is huge. Creator God—who formed the river and the hills and valleys—allowed peril and turmoil and material devastation, in just a few hours. Still, all that we have witnessed and endured is to be subservient to our salvation (see Heidelberg Catechism Question and Answer #1).

I’m so very glad that I worship, love, know, and am known by this God, rather than the opposite. His power is mighty. His ways are mysterious. His grace washes over us, just as the flood waters did a week ago.

• God is so concerned with the detail of our lives that it simply astounds me. I’ve been listening and reading to all of the important considerations about mold and mildew removal. It can be deadly! I had no idea. But God did.

In Leviticus, he gives explicit instruction for mold, mildew, and disease removal from homes. How many times have I read that passage, glassy-eyed and yawning, thinking, Yea, yea, yea. Whatever? Yet hearing these news reports (and apparently how easy it is to not remove mold properly), I am impressed more and more at the tender compassion of God, that he would not want his children to get sick or die from disease caused by mold.

Last week, my twins turned five years old.

There was a period of time when I absolutely, positively did not think we would all survive the night, much less the next five years.

But, we made it.

Without a doubt the most fascinating thing about being the mother of twins is to look at each of them and “see” the same person but know the intricacies and preferences of each personality. I only hope and pray I adequately nurture and encourage expression of those personalities.

Nothing about parenting twins has been easy. Nothing. I would gladly and willingly throw myself in front of train to rescue my children, but good gravy, those little boogers drive me to the brink of insanity most everyday. In their super-cute and so-adorable-you-could-gobble-them-up ways, of course.

They are funny and smart and love their mother fiercely. They are addicted to chocolate and ketchup (not together, but I know they’d try it if I suggested it).

Most of my memories of the first two years of their lives revolve around Prevacid and acid reflux and carrying a baby in each arm and crying.

Lots and lots of crying. Them and me.

Mostly me. 

I don’t remember first steps or first words. I sort of remember first teeth. I vividly remember first days at Mother’s Day Out. (Thank you, Lord, for Mother’s Day Out.)

The highlight of their first year for me (as was with Susanna) was their baptism. The most special act of God’s marking them as members of his family was—and is to this day—incredibly precious to me. I’m so glad I remember the events of that day.

The last three years’ memories are muddy, also. But potty training success in one week (by God’s grace) tops the list. (Thank you, Lord, for quick potty training success.)

Sometimes I will grab their little “lovies”—smooched and rubbed stuffed animals—and just cuddle them. The lovies in those really hard early days were great sources of comfort for them. For me, the lovies still serve that role: a constant, abiding, and unchanging presence, even though the boys are more and more frequently becoming less attached to their lovies.

I am simultaneously heartbroken and ecstatic about that.

Next year they go to kindergarten. While it’s a bittersweet milestone, I’m not terribly sad (at least not yet). I’ve always said I’m not really a “baby mom.” I’m excited to see my little babies grow into rugged boys and responsible young men. Call me crazy, but I think I’m looking forward to the next few years.

Happy birthday, boys. So glad we’ve made it.

Way back in 2001, I and a dear friend and awesome writer worked together on a dream of mine. We created a Christian women’s magazine.

I can’t remember exactly, but I think we wrote and edited five or six issues then put the magazine away. It turns out that writing, editing, laying out, designing, copying, distributing, and promoting a women’s magazine is really hard. Especially for one woman who had a full-time job outside the home (me) and the other who had a full-time job as mom at home (Jen).

It was also really expensive to do all of that on paper, so our church picked up printing and copying costs. But it eventually became cost-prohibitive and time-consuming. Jennifer had some more babies, and I became pregnant and had one kid and then three. And you know the rest of the story.

So, anyway, sometimes I sit around and think about “what could have been” had I heeded the suggestions of some who said, “You should do this online” or “You should send it out by email.” Hmmm. To think where the readership might be today—eight or nine years later—if we had carried on online.

I am reinspired, however, to pick up where we left off, in a sense. I am eager to give this “newsletter/magazine” format another go.

See that box to the right that says, Get My Newsletter! ? Well, go over there and sign up.

I promise not to bombard you with garbage. My goal is to give you fresh, relevant, and insightful articles no more than once a week, delivered to your email inbox. I’ll be honest: this is a bit of an experimentation on my part at this point, but I’ve got to start somewhere, right?

I would love it if you’d sign up for this little experiment and give me your feedback as it gets going. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Will you support me in this new endeavor and tell any interested friends, too?

Thanks!

image: Morgue File

I try super-hard to feed my family healthy food the majority of the time. Despite my best efforts, we occasionally slide off the wagon and wallow in the chicken nuggets and french fry soup a little longer than I’d like.

But I do know the problems. And I am trying to address them.

I just don’t have the time—nor the affinity—to make homemade yogurt, churn my own butter, or grind my own wheat. I applaud the women who do. And at one point in my life, I measured my own worth as a mother and homemaker by those women.

But I have been released from those chains of comparison because God had a little talk with me and told me that that’s not me. At least not now. Not here.

And I’m OK with that.

I think. 

Anyway.

There’s another thing standing in my way of total embrace of the natural and healthy lifestyle.

That would be my little addiction to Diet Mt. Dew.

I love the stuff. And I know it’s bad for me. And I won’t touch aspartame in any other food product because yes, I really do believe it’s a scary chemical.

But I’m still struggling with my Diet Mt. Dew.

So, Saturday, I had my cold Diet Mt. Dew in the car. Susanna and I were running errands in Green Hills. We were in Macy’s—almost to the door—when she said she was thirsty. We went back through the mobs of shoppers to the nearest restroom sign, but there was no water fountain there. I didn’t feel like going all the way back to the 3rd floor, so I told her she could finish off the Diet Mt. Dew in the car.

I felt guilty for a smidge of a second but concluded it was only a small amount. We got to the car and she started sipping.

Now, because I am the trying-to-be-healthier mom that I am, I decided we would also stop at Trader Joe’s for a few of my favorites from there. We hopped out of the car. Susanna had the Diet Mt. Dew in hand. We were headed in when I stopped.

“Susanna. Why don’t you finish that drink before we go in?”

I couldn’t let all those yogurt-making, mill-grinding, butter-churning, Trader Joe’s-shopping moms know that I had—on occasion—allowed my daughter to consume both caffeine and aspartame, now could I?

They just wouldn’t understand; I don’t care how far away that municipally contaminated water fountain was from the door.

If you’ve visited here with much regularity, you’ve probably noticed that flashy sidebar thingey to the right over there that advertises The Savvy Source. If you’d like to go visit there now, go ahead. I’ll be here when you get back.

Oh, hi. You’re back.

So, anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m going to be relying on this website A LOT this summer. I’m starting to get that kind of quesy feeling in my stomach that is the beginning of a panic attack when I think of my long summer days ahead with THE KIDS.

Many of my friends have their kids enrolled in 9 million camps, have three vacations planned, and send the kids to each set of grandparents for two weeks at a time.

Not the Bernards. We have $0, so the most we can do in the summer is a couple of days of preschool for the boys and swim lessons.

The rest of the time is directed by yours truly.

It’s funny to me how God turns inside out has all the assumptions I had about myself and motherhood. Turns out I’m not nearly as crafty as I thought and don’t really enjoy spending hours in the boiling sun playing Duck, Duck, Goose.

Who knew, right?

So, thank goodness for The Savvy Source. And guess what? The Nashville Savvy City Guide is Nashville-specific and written by my friend Rebecca! I’m so excited for her new job at The Savvy Source. I know Rebecca will be my go-to girl this summer to find new adventures for the kids and creative ways to spend our time.

If you’re wondering about what’s going on in Nashville or you have other parenting needs, look no further than The Savvy Source and The Nashville Savvy City Guide.

photo: Morgue File

I’m addicted to the two shows now featuring the hoarding disorder: Hoarders on A&E and Hoarding: Buried Alive on TLC.

I grew up with two parents who are borderline hoarders rather extreme pack rats, and so, I’ve been battling this “demon” for most of my adult life. My parents—to this day—have magazines from the 80s on their shelves, canceled checks from my deceased uncle’s account (he died in 2002) in the desk, and random keys, screws, and thing-a-ma-jigs scattered about the kitchen counter.

When Chris and I first married, we battled this tendency of mine frequently. I remember getting behind on my newspaper reading, allowing past issues to pile in the corner. I had every intention of going through all 20 or so papers, page by page. But, it didn’t happen. Chris was ready to recycle them; I protested. We finally decided that to avoid these arguments, the best thing to do was cancel the newspaper subscription.

See, I firmly believed that those papers contained valuable information that I was missing. Books, papers, and magazines have always represented knowledge to me. And knowledge is one of my greatest pursuits. I really have to “limit” myself to certain amounts of paper or it will overtake me.

The other night, the woman on the show walked into a scrapbook store and bought a few items for her scrapbooks: stickers, papers, and so on. She mentioned that she had been “scrapbooking” for about eight years and had only done one page—BUT she had mountains and mountains of supplies. She said that she enjoyed the acquisition of the items and the possibilities that they represent.

Her words smacked me in the forehead: the acquired items represent possibilities. Most often for me the possibilities are much more exciting than the reality.

Anyway—it scared me to identify so closely with her sentiment, especially given my background, and because I have no idea how to get around the way I look at the world and things.

The only thing I do know is that I don’t want to be featured on Hoarders in a few years.

Ideas, anyone? 

photo: Morgue File

So, it’s been another week without a blog post.

They are there. In my head. But not here.

I’m busy with birthdays and Easter and family dinners. I cleaned my house ALL DAY on Friday. It had been since Thanksgiving a few weeks that I had really cleaned. And my bathroom floor was actually clean for about 4 hours before one boy “missed” and peed on the floor.

That was a really satisfying, exciting four hours in my day. 

Once upon a time, I remember a friend saying that when her child turned five, a “breath of fresh air” blew through the house.

Yep. Waiting on that breeze to come on through. 

I really think parenting is getting harder. The boys have two modes: fighting or needing attention. No such thing as playing happily together or playing quietly independently. And I hear one million times a day, “MOM!!! Help me wipe my bottom. I want juice. I’m hungry.”

Plus, as they get older, they get bigger. There’s just more surface area. There’s more food to make and more dirty dishes to clean. There’s bigger clothes to wash, dry, and fold.

I guess I’m trying to say that even though I’ve cut out much of my “extra” stuff, I’m still busy. I suppose I couldn’t have picked a better time to cut back, with my bigger, demanding almost 5 year-olds.

I’m tired.

So, I guess I’m on a break. Not sure when you’ll hear from me again.

Maybe when that refreshing gust blows through my house.

I had an appointment with Dunkin’ Donuts at 9. I was determined to make it on time, showered and with makeup applied.

Today is Susanna’s birthday. She requested doughnuts for her class treat during morning snack time. Morning snack time began at 9:30.

I am not a morning person—never have been, doubt I ever will be. So, it may not surprise you to learn that most mornings, I’m rolling out of bed a little late just in time to get breakfast made, children ready, and lunches packed.

In my world, there’s no such thing as looking beautiful in the car-rider line and at preschool drop-off.

But, today, dear friends; today was different.

I’d like to think it was partially due to my new stream-lined schedule with minimal distractions. I don’t want to start taking all the credit for something only God can do (change me), but I have to say it is rewarding to see the fruit of new actions and good decisions.

So, believe it or not, I was showered and made-up and got to Dunkin’ Donuts by 9:15ish and my daughter’s school by 9:30, in time for snack time. (OK—so my hair was gross and pulled back because I was headed for a much-needed, overdue hair appointment, but I made it!)

I did it, people.

It really felt great to be on time and properly dressed and looking presentable. At one point, I actually shouted out in the van, “I’m doing it! I’ve got it together!” (Seriously, this was a big deal.)

And then I found it totally odd and a little bit sad that I considered basic grooming AND keeping appointments mutually exclusive.

And then I found it totally odd and a little bit sad that excitement I had previously saved for job promotions, scholastic achievements,  and the like now characterizes those rare occasions that I can string together bathing, teeth brushing, and mascara application within a half-hour time frame.

Gah! What’s wrong with me? And who am I? I wondered as I scarfed down all five one of the leftover doughnuts.

After school, I was picking up the table where the boys had strewn the contents of their Easter eggs from the preschool Easter egg hunt. I picked up the wrapper of the Oh-So-Cute-You-Could-Die Easter GIFT from one of the kids to one of my sons. I instantly knew who had given the adorable cellophane wrapped baggie full of treats and perfectly matted Easter grass (Go ahead and add insult to injury with the tuft of Easter grass, why don’t you? As if the mound of jelly beans were not enough … ).

I knew because this same kid’s mom had given the Oh-So-Cute-You-Could-Die Halloween buckets and Christmas stockings and Valentine hearts. And as I read the kid’s name in the “from” section on the tag, my heart sank a bit as I envisioned The Kid’s Mom packing the Oh-So-Cute-You-Could-Die Easter bags for every kid in the class.

In full makeup. With painted nails. Smelling sweetly from having freshly showered.

And once again, I felt totally odd and a little bit sad that jelly beans, Easter grass, and nail polish were making me crazy.

Image: Morgue File