"Give Your Momma Some Sugar"

First of all, it is important to note that I am AT HOME! (insert sigh of relief here) ...coming at you live from the black hole. More in that regard later.

Right now it's all about Trudy. Because if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. That was a common phrase used around the house growing up and I haven't met anyone who doesn't sympathize. I hadn't planned on starting off a tribute to my mother with a story of a non-typical Trudy moment, but I think doing so will prove the validity of that phrase. It's also so you know and I know that my mother is not perfect. But she is mine and I believe with all of my heart that God knew what He was doing when He made it that way. I know Mom believes that, too, which is why when we remember her "off" moments, we can do so with laughter.

After all, she didn't really want to resign from being our mother, she just asked Emily where she might go to do so once, in order to express her deep frustration one day. Okay, she probably wanted to, but she never would. The fact that she proceeded to leave the house and drive away was simply for effect. We little orphans weren't alone for long-- Emily called Dad and said Mom left. Bitty me really thought she was gone, but Emily quickly called her bluff-- "I think she's gone to the river." Sure enough, as Mom recalls, she had gone to have what we like to refer to as a "come to Jesus meeting."

A different time, before I was born, Mom signed up to teach a "Parenting by Grace" seminar at church. A short time after that, the Smith family of four went on a walk. Luke and Emily trailed behind as Mom and Dad talked. My parents kept getting interrupted by Emily's whining because Luke was doing something annoying. They told him to stop and went on talking. Luke did it again. Emily screamed. Parents said stop. Luke did it again. Don't think for a minute Trudy was going to let this become a cycle. She grabbed Luke by the collar and said, I quote, "if you don't stop what you're doing right this second you are going to find yourself face down in this concrete!" And they went on walking. Luke didn't do it again. My parents did, however, go on to teach the Parenting by Grace seminar. Because God has a sense of humor that often borders on ironic, I think. And because nothing says grace like a face in the concrete.

Have I bashed my Mom enough on this, her day? I hope so, because that's really all the "bad" stories I have off the top of my head. And I'm not complaining. The truth is that I feel so blessed to claim her as mine. Whether or not it's as your mother (there's a good chance it's not), to have Trudy Smith in your life is to come away blessed. Not just in a "oh my gosh I'm just so blessed because the sun is shining and I have some chocolate and I just found five dollars" way. In a "she really cares about me and others and has prayed to somehow be a blessing to me today" way. Yeah, chances are, if you know my Mom, you've felt that before. And if you do have the pleasure of having her as a mother (again, not many of you), you know what it's like to come across that on a daily basis (well, seeing as how I'm now living 1,000 miles away, it is a more somewhat daily basis). Of course, if you had her as a mother, you know more about the when momma ain't happy ain't nobody happy side, but with that you're exposed to the extra dose of grace and mercy given to Trudy Smith.

By the way, when I refer to my Mom as "Trudy" it is with utmost respect.... If it weren't, I'd be face down in the concrete right now. ;)

I'm serious when I say Mom has taught (that's probably not good grammar) me a good deal of what I know about mercy. From being a Care Team member and helping men die of AIDS to years of work with Immanuel Baptist Youth to leading women in loving God and growing their families to a good percentage of every day conversations, she is just merciful. Her enthusiasm is contagious, you see, because not only is she merciful, she has been shown Mercy. She knows Him and she loves Him. She seeks His blessing, that she might bless someone else. She sits in her little red chair and prays. By name she intercedes for the needs, the hurts, the worry, the cause of others. By verse she asks God to lead, because she believes in the power of scripture. So she claims it over and over, for herself and for others.

And, lucky for me, for her children. She can get as angry or frustrated or hot or cold as she wants to be, but ultimately, when she fails to exemplify grace, I can rest assured that she wants only good things for me. She wants only God's will for me. If her words ever fail to convey that to me, His Word never does. So she points me to it and to Him, instead of asking that I be or do everything she desires.

She's not asking me to be more assertive or naturally organized. She's telling me that I am gifted to be more passive and chillax. She also makes sure that I realize the potential dangers of those attributes-- that I do need to make an effort to be attentive and aware of where things go. And since she is the antithesis of me when it comes to assertion and organization, I am constantly reminded to consider other people's personalities before I get offended or work up an attitude or even speak up. She is my best example of how to do this because when raising me, Trudy considered my personality, not the personality she wanted me to have. She and dad worked tirelessly to show me who I am and how I was made-- to help me fine tune that personality. I'm not at "fine-tuned" status yet, but they have enstilled in me the desire to keep trying. She never fooled me into believing I am perfect, but she also never made me feel like a lost cause-- absolutes I'm glad I was never confronted with. She encourages my passions with a healthy amount of realism. When I present her with some sort of conflict in my life, she is the first to make sure I'm considering all sides. She may be my antithesis, but that makes her a fabulous complement.

She's Tutu.

She loves the tur-quoise water.

Who am I kidding, she just loves tur-quoise.

She's Cruvy.

She's fro-no-mo.

She's... a dog lover? who knew?

She swears (even though she normally doesn't) by Bluebell IceCream

She believes that liquor is quicker (for pain relief, you know)

She's Ms. Trudy.

She's Mrs. Chris Smith

She loves a good shoe.

She loves a good cry.

Oh, does she love a baby.

She loves her some Jesus.

She praises her some God.

She's queen of after-school snacks and playing shark at the park.

She's hostess with the mostess.

She's an awesome "friend-girl"

She often just wants to "feel the love."

More often than that she's the one giving the love.

She's my Mom. And this is her day.

But you go'on ahead and give your momma some sugar...

Measuring Up

You know, they say be careful what you wish for. I don't know who "they" is, but they're right. At least this time. How is May measuring up to my expectations this year?

I said I didn't want a break from life this time around. I did not want to check out. Trust me, I've been checked right in. Both literally and metaphorically.

See, I'm lying here in a king size bed in one of the nicest hotels I've ever been in. One of the comfiest beds I've slept in for a while (that really isn't a huge accomplishment, given the hot dog bun I've gotten used to this year-- in this analogy, I am the weiner, with the bed completely engulfing me... you get the point). One of the coolest cities in the United States. On vacation with about the best dad I could have dreamed up.

But my heart is also heavy. Because in big cities there are a lot of people. And where there are more people, there is a greater chance that some will not be the same as you. Not the same color, not the same class. Some not here for just a vacation. Some dishonest, some genuine. Some with, some without. Some lazy, some tired. Some hurting, some jubilant. A lot not like me.

A lot basically just like me.

Some have more, some have less. But at their core-- people. Sinning, hurting, doubting people.

And in this city with more people, there is more sin, hurt, and doubt. I guess I should have seen it coming, you know. But I am just perplexed. Because I just can't seem to reconcile the fact that I have so much while I can actually hear people outside with not a lot walking about. I hear sirens and voices and horns-- the city. I also hear Tenth Avenue North's "Love is Here" blasting in my headphones. Love is here. Love is supposedly in me.

Love is me. Or it's supposed to be.

Somehow I just don't feel like I'm measuring up.

Last night as Dad and I walked back from seeing Wolverine and dining at Ruth's Chris (Ruths Chris? Ruth Chris? Ruth Chris's? ... Ruth's Chris sounds like Ruth possesses Chris. Which is creepy. But I think that's what it really is. A simple google search could have saved you from this tangent. My apologies) we were stopped by a man who didn't take a breath while giving us a five minute explanation for his exasperation. His car was towed early afternoon, the tow truck company is apparently closed until Monday morning, the police would not help, he had no way to get home except for some guy at McDonald's who agreed to drive him home to Virginia for 30 dollars worth of gas, which this man did not have on him. So he needed 30 dollars from us, which he promised to mail back to us once he got home to his wife and kids and had his checkbook on him. He repeatedly assured us he was no beggar and he hated that he was having to ask for money on the streets, but that no one since he started his quest for financial help at 4 would pay him attention. Much less the 30 dollars.

I was skeptical. But I did feel bad for the man. Dad had been standing a little behind me and I heard his voice speak up. Something along the lines of "we're sorry but we aren't going to be able to help, thank you for sharing with us, good luck, good night." I instictively turned to follow dad as we walked that last few feet to our hotel. Almost immediately he asked me what I would have done. I shrugged my shoulders and really didn't have the words.

In my silence, as he opened the main door to the hotel, Dad told me that years ago while he and mom were in D.C. a polished man came up and said he needed some money for the metro and a cab to get home, so Dad gave him 20 dollars. He then watched as the man took it over to a group of homeless men in the corner and looked back at Dad like "I got you." And since then Dad's been afraid to be cheated. He said that he knew it probably wasn't right and that he would have to answer for it one day. Then he asked me an even harder question than "what would you have done." It was "did I just hurt Jesus' heart by not giving to that man?"

Followed, of course, by "and if so, what would you have done?" I retreated into logic, of course. Which is funny because most times I don't automatically just start thinking logistically. Shocker, I'm sure. My answer was "I don't have 30 dollars to give him." It is a true story. And it was a great attempt to take the guilt and shame off of my shoulders. So then Dad asked what I would do if he gave me 30 dollars right then. Would I run down and give it to the man?

I'll probably always regret that I didn't. And I'm a person who hates to have regrets. They make me feel like I'm not measuring up.

I again layed it all out nice and logistically. "Even if you gave me that money, it would be a gift to me. Free of any labor on my part. Free of pressures like a house payment or car payments or a family to feed. For me there are hardly any outside factors (other than, say, how many People magazines I could buy) to keep me from giving that money away." For Dad there are. And I didn't want to insult him by implying that I was the better person and that I would have absolutely given the man the money. In that moment, I wasn't absolutely sure I would have. The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt about the whole situation, so I settled the issue with a big sigh and an "I don't know." I don't know how things turned out with the man. I hate that, because I could know. I could have ended his problem (at least the one he said he had) right then. Upon reflection, I am absolutely sure I'm sorry I didn't.

He could have been lying. He could have taken my money and shared it with his other homeless friends. And they could be homeless because they've been lazy and haven't worked hard enough to get a job. They could be alcoholics. They may be going to buy drugs. Or, they might just need a meal. My "benefit of the doubt" nature kicks in here and tends to believe in the latter. Either way, I'd rather give to a person and be cheated than not give to a person who really is in need. To me it doesn't really matter why they're in need, it's just that they are. And I don't think Jesus put conditions on the situation when he said straight up "give to the poor."

For a day now I've been thinking about my response to Dad. The "it would be a gift" response where I said the money wouldn't be as valuable to me as it is to him. I'm thinking I may have been on to something there, but certainly not in my defense. It's in the man's defense, and it hurts a little pride.

I see little six year old me. I'm talking to Dr. John about becoming a Christian, what it means to have Him in my heart, what sin is, why Jesus died for me. We're discussing why exactly a person needs Jesus. In short, the answer is because without Him my life is nothing. But that through Jesus, God offers eternal life and significance on Earth. It sounded so logical then, and I believe it now. But somehow, logistics has taken me away from that simple truth.

My life is a gift.

I told Dad that if I had the 30 dollars given to me, yes I would be more likely to go down and help that man. I would be less attached to the money than Dad because I have less responsibilities and my labor hasn't gone into it. That is the point, Sadie!

This life I have, it is not mine. Because without God, my life is nothing. Anything that I do have is from God and it is a gift. And I should be way less attached to my life and the stuff in it than I currently am. Because since it was free to me, I should be freely giving it away. Sometimes I wish God hadn't extended salvation, His free gift, to me. Give it to someone else who'll use it more wisely. Like Angie Smith or Jennifer MckMillen or Mark Evans. I mean, the free gift is great and all, but why don't You hold on to the responsibility that comes with it, God. Or at least hand it off to someone more equipped to handle it. That'd be great. K thanks.

I was wrong to suggest Dad had more responsibilities, which make it harder for him to give up the money than for me. Because, you see, the moment the money is given to me, the responsibility is on me. Sure, it's not in the form of rent or gas or a balance at the grocery store. All of those weights are lifted once it becomes a gift. But what I do with the gift becomes my responsibility. The main responsibility, as far as I see it, is to stop being so dang attached to my stuff...

...and to start giving in the name of the salvation I have been offered. Because if I'm not, I'm just singing along to some fluffy, irrelevant lyrics. I'm not love. And to other people, there is no evidence that Love is in me.

Seems like a waste of a free gift to me. Mostly it makes me feel like I'm not measuring up to what I've been given. And that stings a little tonight.

"Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also... From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked."

--Luke 12:32-34, 48

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our borthers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth"

-I John 3:16-18

La Fin

... the end! Barring any outrageous malfunction of the printer circa 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, I am officially finished with sophomore year!

I have to say, I was not sure this day would come. Or was I?

Thing is, this time last year I made May 1st out to be the promised land. Like if I could just get finished with school my life would be fabulous again. And it was good. I went to see Made of Honor with Emily and stayed up all night watching Grey's Anatomy with Katie until it was time to take Luke and Steph to the airport at some ungodly hour and got some rest. Plus, Luke proposed and Emily graduated. There were all sorts of happy things going on this time last year in the Smith family.

Still, May 2008 failed to live up to the high spiritual expectations I set. Everything didn't just feel "right" when the craziness of school ended. Because all the time there is something that is going to become a distraction. Some distractions are more fun than others, but busy is busy. And if last Summer was anything, it was busy.

I wanted to overflow with joy, but my heart just felt dry. I was spent. The energy I put into telling myself that all would be well come May was well wasted as I struggled to find a way to be meaningful that summer.

This year I've tried to take my expectations for the end of school down a notch. Life isn't about to get better because I don't have a bio test or a literature paper to write. If I'm being honest my life here recently has not been lacking the good. It was good yesterday, it'll be good tomorrow. Am I THRILLED that the finals are over? Absolutely. But my joy has not ever been in the presence or absence of school work. Why?

Because He was good yesterday, He'll be good tomorrow.

Tonight marks the end of a chapter in my life. There is some bitter in that, there is a lot of sweet. Mostly there is so much comfort in the assurance that He knows the next page. Can I stick with the lame book analogy for a minute? Last year when I finished up the chapter that was Freshman year, I tossed the book aside. I was ready to check out for a little while.

Tonight, I eagerly turn the page and I cannot wait for what is next. Oh yes, I knew this day would come. But I am not done. Because May 1 is not the end all. And I am once again out on a quest to make this summer meaningful.

"If I Stand" has been the unofficial anthem of finals week for me this year. Check it out.

There's a loyalty that's deeper than mere sentiments
And a music higher than the songs that I can sing
Stuff of Earth competes for the allegiance
I owe only to the Giver of all good things

So if I stand let me stand on the promise that you will pull me through
And if I can't, let me fall on the grace that first brought me to you
So if I sing let me sing for the joy that has born in me these songs
And if I weep let it be as a man who is longing for his home

I would expound on that but a.) it's pretty much all there and b.) it's 1:30 a.m. on the last night of finals week and I'm pretty sure none of my words are currently making sense

The Post That Would Be Entitled "I Couldn't Sleep"

... you know, if I had tried to go to sleep before I sat to write this.

"I couldn't sleep" just feels like the best excuse for still being awake at 2 a.m. and blogging to tell about it.

It's the eve of my last sit down final and I would just like to say PTL* (mainly because I'm trying to bring that acronym back into my daily conversations because that is how much I miss my friend Sarah E.)

I would also like to make a comparison for you (and no, this comparison is not one of the SEVENTY the follow question asks me to make, so deal with it).

This is an essay question:

How did the civil rights movement change from the early 1960's to the end of the decade?

This is a doctoral thesis introduction:

The civil rights movement of the late 1960's looked quite different than the movement that opened the decade (*editors note* good start, right?! buckle your seatbelt...). How did the civil rights movement change from the early 1960s to the end of the decade? What were the goals of the movement in the early part of the decade and then at the end of the sixties? Were there regional differences in the movement? In analyzing the similarities and differences across the 1960's, be sure to examine two (2) primary documents that represent the early 1960s and two (2) that typify the emergence and politics of nationalism and Black Power after 1965. Lastly (*oh great, there is a lastly...), how did Black Power impact the emergence of activism in other communities of color in the 1960's? Be sure (... hold up didn't he say LASTLY?!) to cite at least two (2) specific examples of how civil rights and Black Power shaped movements by people of color outside African American communities. (now he really is done)

... and yet this is exactly the question (well one of five of them) on my final exam review sheet.

I would like to clarify that where you see the (2) after the "two", that was the professor, not me. Isn't it ironic how he wants me to answer this question by memorizing six (6... that was me) sources and yet at the same time proceeds to insult my intelligence because I might not know what "two" means, he should probably type the number 2?

Also, I'm supposed to answer this question within the front and back of a blue book page. For fun I decided to write out that question on a blue book page and it fills up my allotted space! It is worth mentioning that a blue book page is literally the size of my hand.

and lastly (and I do mean lastly, unlike a certain Dr. Rigelhaupt who perhaps should spend less time clarifying numbers and more time looking up the meaning of "lastly") I have to respond to 3 of these essay questions. Thats eighteen (18) sources to analyze in three (3) blue book pages. It takes that much room to list said sources.

Pay no attention to this post, I'm just cranky because my mouth is dry from the millions (1,000,000's) of peanut butter crackers I've ingested in the past couple of days.

*PTL= Praise the Lord

Awed

...a little intimidated. But mostly awed.

It has been a week of work. Good, committed work.

The work that makes you feel anti-social because you have your headphones in, music turned up, door locked to give the most of yourself possible over to diligence. The kind of work that you really hope your friends aren't taking offense to because you really need to do your tasks well. The kind that makes you a little quiet, a little short, and makes you feel not quite yourself. The kind of work that is getting done. The kind you pray pays off.

It has been a week of play. Good, giggly play.

The kind of play that makes you feel drunk (I don't really know how that feels-- although I did have kahlua ice cream last night...). The kind that makes you feel bad that you aren't working hard, but you don't care because you love these friends more than you have time or energy to let them know. The kind of play you know you'll miss when all the work is finished (and it will be finished). Play that involves television and chinese food and cameras and potato rolls and sprained ankles and packing and helicopter laughs. The kind you wish you had more of but you know you have work to do. The kind you thank God for when it does come along.

Now I'm in Trinkle, studying french (ou, J'etudie francais) thinking towards another week of both of these things. Not really stressed. A little intimidated. But mostly awed.

Awed because I know how much I have to learn. Not just for this week, but about life. And it can be scary when I'm staring down a test. But it is awe-inspiring when I look around me. When I look at my bio notes on a developing embryo. When I read the words of scholars and have to interpret what they mean for my very own paper. When it's 80 degrees outside and green everywhere. When it's 60 degrees and there is a torrential downpour. When my friends sign a lease. When Nana makes this enormous and delicious oreo pie something or another that I get to share in great company and that I almost lose as per the laughter. When I end up unpacking memories as I stuff boxes to be put away for summer. When I realize how much stuff I have and how blessed I am merely in the physical sense, much less by all those things mastercard has yet to put a price on. Oh, I have some play to do this week. And boy do I have some work. But it is not to intimidate me. It is to awe.

I have so much to learn. He has so much to teach. And not just in this week. He doesn't want me stressed, He wants me focused. And when I do focus, I am awed.

You are beautiful beyond description

Too marvelous for words

Too wonderful of comprehension

Like nothing ever seen or heard

Who can grasp you infinite wisdom

Who can fathom the depth of your love

You are beautiful beyond description

Majesty enthroned above

And I stand, I stand in awe of you

I stand, I stand in awe of you

Holy God to whom all praise is due

I stand in awe of you.

The Heart of Life is Good

I just need a moment. A quiet one. A solitary one. One when everything I don't know about the subjects my papers are on isn't spinning in my head. A moment to take a breath. A moment to realize that this work isn't everything, but it is important.

And I do have to put forth my best effort. I can't not. Because it has been killing me to realize that I should have been much more diligent much earlier. That realization hit me like a brick wall and literally knocked the wind out of me. Going to bed last night I had a moment of utter self-loathing for how hard it has been to work myself up to these papers and major doubt that I can even get them done well now. I hate thinking that because to me if it isn't going to be done well, there is little incentive to do it at all.

There is time to do it well, though. And I'm taking up some of it by being here, but I'm telling you, I just need a moment. A moment to gather myself. Or really to be gathered.

I can't even take the time to tell you about my day yesterday. It wasn't bad. I don't know that I'd want to do it over again any time soon, but it wasn't horrible. Just, apparently, I had some things to learn about patience and trust. I was fine in my own strength pretty much all day. But lying in the bed last night, the frustration and the doubt rushed over me. My heart was racing and I was scared. Nothing was wrong around me, but for a moment it felt like everything was wrong. I was terrified. I sat there and felt my pulse quicken. Over nothing. Over everything.

All of the sudden the patience I kept up all day by myself vanished. And I was angry. Just mad. And terrified. Because I felt like I'm not doing well. That I'm not doing my best. I'm afraid of disappointing people and I felt like I had disappointed myself. But mainly I was disappointed in the day and disappointed that I had no control over it. I was so anxious about the fact that the only thing I could do was go to bed that I couldn't go to sleep. And I tried to cry but I couldn't do that. I just broke down.

I couldn't handle the silence, so I turned on my iPod and fell asleep to Selah's "His Eye is On the Sparrow."

Now I'm here, needing a moment. A moment to figure out what I'm doing here and now. A moment to summon the courage to do my best from here out. It's not about what I have or have not done up to this point. It's not about broken down cars or missed baseball games. It's not about previous anxiety attacks or bad attitudes. Being worried about those things only serves to discourage. It's about an attitude adjustment. An attitude that isn't worried about people or situations or ineptitude. An attitude that acknowledges shortcomings but asks for help and knows that Help is near. I'm adjusting myself here, or at least I'm praying to be adjusted, to be glad about the help and not so paralyzed by the shortcomings. Or entangled by the sin.

"Moreover, when God gives any man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy in his work-- this is a gift of God. He (that's me) seldom reflects on the days of his life, because God keeps him occupied with gladness of heart."

I'm not terrified anymore (for now). I'm not angry about wasted time or impossible circumstances. I just want to be happy in my work and occupied by gladness. Glad because I'm not working for professors or for my parents. Or even for me.

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men."

-Colossians 3:23

The work isn't trivial. It's hard, but it is not without purpose. Sometimes it feels stupid to get so focused on work that friends and other things fall by the wayside. And if I were working for men, for a fleeting grade, it would be stupid. But the focus, the attention that I put into assignments, it's not about people pleasing. It's about glorifying God. And it's about being glad all the while. It's not running out the door stressed and complaining about the library. It's politely excusing myself because I've got some glory to go be giving up.

Yesterday as we drove home I turned on John Mayer's "Heart of Life." Mainly because I like the melody. At that point I was still smiling on my own accord. Because I was okay, I could do it, I could manage. I felt the breeze and I sung along and life was good. Then I had an anxiety attack.

Now I'm having my moment, post-realization that I'm not likely to just be okay throughout this week. I can't manage it on my own. It's why God gave me professors and friends and nature. Sometimes, though, in the business there really isn't time for those, blessings as they may be. And in those moments (surely to be many in this coming week) I have to be reminded that it's why God gave me Christ. First and foremost. He gave me Love.

Pain throws your heart to the ground

Love turns the whole thing around

No it won't all go the way it should

But i know the heart of life is good

Thank you, John Mayer. But really, thank you, God.

A Confession

"I can't understand rap."

Sincerely, Peterso

*edited for clarification* she does understand Christian rap with the lyrics on youtube... a good start, I suppose