Mary Bernard

You know all those extra buttons that come with new clothes?

If you’re like me, you’ve saved them relentlessly, obediently. JUST IN CASE … the button pops off and you can put your hands immediately, precisely on THE VERY BUTTON that matches the others on the blouse. And then you’re poised to quickly and decisively remedy the missing button situation right then and there.

Kinda funny then, wouldn’t you say, that many of pants are being held together with safety pins?

Anyhoo… I still keep my stash of buttons in the bathroom drawer … although, I can’t remember using even one of them in a crisis button-missing situation. Not one in the 38 years that I’ve been wearing clothes. Not one.

So you would think that I didn’t have much allegiance to said buttons nor that I would care much at all about their eventual fate, right?

Well, not really. See, the psychology behind these buttons and their intended purpose is really powerful for me. “You must NOT discard the button,” I hear in my head. This mantra is akin to the one that prevents you from clipping tags off mattresses and pillows and the hair dryer cord. “Must not be removed … under penalty of law.” That’s why they give you the button. Just in case.

Last week, I was having some “time” in the bathroom and trying to concentrate intently on reading something. Never mind there was a veritable circus going on beside me. The bathroom door doesn’t really lock, so privacy for me is non-existent. The boys were shuffling through shoes and dirty clothes in the closet. Finally their attention turned to the vanity drawer. I call this “rummaging.” They love to rummage through the toothpaste tubes, deodorant bottles, and dental floss. Oh, yea, and spare buttons. Those dang spare buttons.

(Let me just insert here that I don’t ever remember as a child parking it in the bathroom while Mom and Dad went potty or took a shower or got dressed. I’m sure I did, but I don’t remember doing it. My children, however, are fascinated with this ritual.)

So, anyway, I’m concentrating and going potty and all of a sudden, I hear PLOP!!!

Plop?

“Seth… what was that?”

He managed to hit the angle just right under my magazine and between my legs to drop a beautiful red button into the potty.

“Oh!!! A button! Oh, no! Seth!”

Instinctively, I fished it out. I know. Gross, gross, GROSS!!! But, I couldn’t help it. It was one of those buttons. It was a really nice, red fabric covered button that I know I could never, ever find a matching one if one were to fall off my sweater to which it belonged.

I couldn’t flush it, could I? That would be paramount to … oh, I don’t know … treason or embezzlement or perjury or something equally heinous.

No, I would remain loyal to my button. So, quickly and oh, so gingerly, I fished it out with the tiniest square footage of the tips of my fingers AND it was only in there for less than ten seconds, so it wasn’t completely infected, right?

I then washed it and my hands super-duper well with hot, soapy water.

(Sigh.) No harm, no foul. I was kind of proud, actually. I had done my civic duty and rescued the button.

Except now there was one thing to contend with:

THAT BUTTON HAS BEEN IN THE TOILET. EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!

Finally, logic triumphed over my crazy psychological tendencies: I’ll NEVER need it anyway. I’ve only worn that sweater once, and it doesn’t even fit well.

I threw that horribly gross thing in the trash.

Yes, finally, reason prompted me to do the reasonable thing.

Well, OK, that and my husband’s exclamation: “Yuck! It fell in??? Why didn’t you just throw it away???”

Seth: Knock, knock.
Mom: Who’s there?
Seth: Pineapple.
Mom: Pineapple who?
Seth: JUICE!

HI-LAAARRR-I-USSS!

I have a super-duper intolerance with folks who refuse to make informed decisions. Really. The one thing that ticks me off more than anything is when people form opinions, make declarations, and take stances based on emotion or peer pressure, without research, fact-checking, or prayerful deliberation.

The election is over. I can’t help but think that ON BOTH SIDES of the camp (two major political parties), persons simply made a decision for a candidate because:

I’ve always voted (Democrat or Republican); my mom (or dad or husband or wife) told me to; my Sunday school teacher said Obama is the anti-Christ (yes… I really have heard this one said in all sincerity); Sarah Palin is an idiot; Sarah Palin is a Christian; at least the Republicans are pro-life; at least Obama is a Christian, and so on and so on.

Today I heard an interesting news report from a Christian perspective about how so-called evangelical, pro-life, pro-gun, Christian voters (many of them from the Bob Jones University group) in South Carolina voted for an extremely liberal, pro-abortion, anti-gun candidate because he was the Republican candidate for congress. Yes–the Democratic candidate was the one more closely aligned with their values and concerns. But they checked their brains at the door and voted party-line. The Democratic party even endorsed the Republican candidate (NOT the Democratic candidate). Isn’t it pitiful that “we” US citizens are so gullible, so stupid, so uneducated that we can’t even articulate and defend our so-called preferences and values. We are hard-pressed to live out the things that we SAY are the MOST IMPORTANT and NEAR AND DEAR to our hearts. We really don’t even have a clue.

This evening, I heard another pitiful example on the Glenn Beck radio show. He was taking callers to complete a “trivia quiz.” He asked them things like, “What position is Hillary Clinton being considered for?” “What will Joe Biden do on January 20th when he’s no longer a Senator?” “Can you name one of the rights included in the Bill of Rights?” “Who is the Vice-President-Elect?” NO ONE could answer 100%. On the Bill of Rights question, one person said, “the right to remain silent.” Another said that John McCain was the Vice-President-Elect. The majority of the callers I heard said they voted in the election; all said they voted for Obama. Certainly, I believe that they all have the RIGHT to vote. But, people, with RIGHTS come RESPONSIBILITIES!

I am scared and dismayed and sad and mad at all these people and their abdication of initiative, education, and involvement.

What WOULD our country look like, feel like, function like, love like if our people–regardless of the votes they cast–staked a claim in their citizenship and simply participated wholeheartedly in the process? Will we ever recover from our apathy or simply drown in it as we choke on our self-imposed ignorance?

Seth: Mom, you’re missing the point! (Often said completely randomly and out of context.)
—
Mom: You are … (trails off because I get distracted or who knows why I forget what I’m saying mid-sentence)
Spencer: driving me nuts!
—
Last week, Susanna had a substitute teacher. Her description of the sub:
“She was from Mexico. Or Atlanta. Not sure which one.”
—

For whatever reason, I feel like I’ve trudged through molasses today. It was long. It was rainy. It was boring. It was sleepy. Nothing particularly bad. Nothing particularly exciting, either.

Anyway, all this slow moving gave me the space and time to make a few observations—completely unrelated and in no particular order:

1. I’ve never rung the bell for the Salvation Army at Christmas, but I bet those bell-ringers’ arms get really tired after a few minutes. You know how your arm and hand cramp when you’ve been painting for awhile.

2. I really like ironing. Of all the tasks, I like ironing, which most people hate. But I never do iron anything unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY because it’s incredibly time-consuming and our clothes generally look fine without the ironing. Maybe that’s why I like ironing—because I never do it. I hate mopping and dusting.

3. It never takes me as long to sew on a button as I think it will.

4. I’m stunned that in this INSANELY sluggish economy, our country is sending astronauts on a space mission. And this time, we’re sending a bigger group with an extra bedroom and a brand-new bathroom with some type of recycled water system. Anyhoo… I don’t know what a space shuttle mission costs, but I’m kinda thinking that it would be cool if the NASA people said, “Hey. We’ll take a break and give all this money to other aspects of our economy.” I mean (and I acknowledge I know very little about the US space exploration program), astronauts in space have virtually no impact on my daily life. While we’re at it… couldn’t we put professional sports and big budget blockbuster films on hold? Use that money to help our economic concerns.

5. Pop-Tarts now includes one serving of whole wheat in two flavors. Finally! I can feel OK about giving my kids crap for breakfast, right?

6. I can’t decide who to be more disgusted with: Hugh Hefner or those three shameless women who prostitute themselves for him in his house.

7. My heart TOTALLY goes out to single moms.

8. The Heidelberg Catechism Question and Answer #1 gives me great hope:

Question: What is thy only comfort in life and death?
Answer: That I with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ; who, with his precious blood, has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father, not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, and therefore, by his Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me sincerely willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

One Sunday afternoon, Susanna was quiet in her room and I peeked in. She was having a tea party with her friends. Note: Alphie the Lion and the Barbie make-up head doll were her guests. You can also see the various snacks served: pizza, cake, ketchup, french fries, and pie. And, of course, she filled the teapot with “tea” (water), which eventually soaked the ottoman.

Today, on the eve of my 38th birthday, I realized that I am …
1. Slow and
2. Tired.

You see, a control-freak, perfectionist such as I really wants to be …
1. Quick and
2. Energetic.

But, alas, I AM NOT.

Perhaps it’s my age. Or my kids. Or all those all-nighters I pulled in college the night before the test/the essay was due/the speech was to be made. Maybe it was the 14-days-in-a-row (12-hour) shifts I’d work in TV news and I’m burned out.

I think it’s also just a healthy dose of Genes or The Way God Made Me.

I’ve always been a procrastinator. But as I’ve gotten older and The Basic Necessities of Life tend to take so much time on such a regular basis, I’ve also become Tired.

Slow and Tired don’t mix very well.

But as with most every other quirky aspect of my life, if I really try to uncover a Deeper Meaning or a Lesson to be Learned, I can.

You see, when I’m Slow and Tired, I have very little of Me left to rely on. In a Slow and Tired fit, I wonder how in the world I’ll get it all done? I constantly look around me at all the Quick and Energetic and deride myself for my slowness and tiredness. I lose sight of the blessings of being Slow and Tired: Deliberateness, Thoughtfulness, Caution, Ability to Rest.

Once again, God is trying to teach me those same ole lessons. Stop the comparisons to others. God’s approval–not man’s approval–is the only one that matters. God made me me and gave me my life, my personality, my abilities, my responsibilities for many different reasons, chief of which is to glorify God. Relying on my own strength–whether I’m Slow and Tired or Quick and Energetic–is always a plan for failure.

God says that his strength is made perfect in my weakness. When I am Slow, God is always Timely. When I am Tired, God never ceases to uphold the universe.

I read a prayer from someone a few days ago that asked God to make the writer’s home a “showcase of God’s glory.”

I also pray for a showcase of God’s glory, grace, love, and strength.

What better way for him to do accomplish that than with a Slow and Tired mom like me?

Playing on Papa’s “tractor.” Seth on the left and Spencer on the right. I think they really look alike in this picture.