I threw a temper tantrum in my driveway this evening. I am not proud of it. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed, and my neighbors are probably a wee bit concerned about that crazy, frazzled mother of five boys who can’t manage to crank a lawnmower.

I mean, seriously! It’s a brand-stinkin’-new mower. I bought it just a month or two ago; it’s been used maybe five hours, tops. It’s a simple, no frills mower. You push the bubble three times, hold the handle tight and pull the cord. Vroom, that’s it. Not tonight. No – tonight, it cranked and immediately died. Then, when I pulled the cord again (b/c you aren’t supposed to push the bubble again), it just sputtered.

Did I mention that I loathe yardwork? Oh, yes – even more than dusting. Ok, perhaps equal to dusting. I would rather clean the bathroom than mow the yard. The only reason why I bought a new mower is b/c I didn’t want to continue paying someone to do it, the fact that it’s good exercise and my oldest son is nearly old enough to do it for me.

Finally, after several tries and even pushing the bubble a couple of more times, I threw up my hands and growled. We’re talking Jacob Black-esque growl. I shook my fists and yanked on the pull cord unnecessarily hard (to no avail, of course). As immature as that was, that’s not even the worst of it. What I’m most ashamed of is that I called my yard stupid. “I just want to mow the stupid yard!” I hollered at the inanimate machine.

I’ll pay for my outburst when my shoulder is stiff and painful in the morning, but I already feel bad about it. It’s just a lawnmower, Angela – get a grip. How could you call the gorgeous yard in front of this never-believed-I’d-live-in-a-place-this-nice house that you should be thanking God for with every breath instead of being so prideful stupid?

My sense of gratitude got an attitude check tonight. At least I have a yard to mow and my folks close enough to borrow their mower, if need be. My stepdad even came over to try to help, and he thinks that the fuel line is clogged or the fuel pump is busted. So, here’s the next conundrum: I don’t know where I put the receipt. I’m going to call the customer service number tomorrow for the mower manufacturer and see if there’s some trick they can walk me through to fix the problem; otherwise, I’m going to need to either take it back or have it repaired. I don’t want to have to pay more to fix it. I should keep up with important things like receipts; I have no excuse.

Tonight was not my shining moment as a mature, responsible adult.

“Pride only breeds quarrels, but wisdom is found in those who take advice.” – Proverbs 13:10 (NIV)

Our church has become very active in a public housing community in our city, and although I’m aware of the great stuff they’ve been doing, for some reason or another, tonight was the first time that we’ve gone to help out. I wasn’t sure how much “help” I would be with four out of five monkey boys in tow (the oldest is at camp), but we went, anyway.

The guys had a fun time, and I think they made some friends with the neighborhood kids. This suburbanite was a bit nervous about the community, b/c it’s a bad part of town, but I know that shouldn’t keep us from reaching out to the families there. The church hosted games and served dinner to 50 or so kids (and a few parents).

As much as the monkey boys drive me bonkers sometimes, our experience tonight made me appreciate a few key things:

• They sometimes need to be reminded of their manners, but more often than not, they do say “thank you” and “yes, ma’am.”
• They don’t always listen the first time I tell them to do something, but they do not have the nerve to roll their eyes at me.
• They don’t always like everything they are served at dinner, but they know that they have to try it, and it is never ok to say that what I have worked hard to prepare for them is “yuck.”

I understand that being a positive adult role model is a big part of our efforts in that community. I guess I just wasn’t mentally prepared for a few of the kids’ attitudes. Two kids actually mouthed off in line for dinner, “I don’t want spaghetti,” or “Do I have to have spaghetti?” and it made my eyes bug out in amazement. It’s a free meal, for crying out loud.

I was pleased that the boys didn’t whine too much about not being able to eat there. I told them in the car on the way over that we would eat on the way back home, but the meal we were serving was for our new friends and not for us. I had to remind them when they saw everyone else getting in line – I know they were hungry, and it was much later than we normally eat dinner – but when I reminded them quietly that we would eat on the way home, they backed off and didn’t fuss about it too much.

All in all, it was a good experience, and we’re planning to go back on Tuesday evenings throughout the summer for games and backyard Bible club type of activities followed by dinner for the neighborhood kids. Please pray for the “C4” ministry (that’s the nickname).

Who knew that we could find life lessons in an Aerosmith song?

The boys always ask to listen to Dream On in the car (along with Safety Dance, also on the “Glee” soundtrack). They divvy up parts, usually 2nd row vs. 3rd row, to mimic Matthew Morrison & Neil Patrick Harris’ duet on the show.

Because we have rules in the car about singing songs aloud (ie, the local rock station is ok to play air guitar but usually not to sing along), they wanted to know if they could sing Dream On. That prompted a conversation about the lyrics …

We talked about the “lines on my face getting clearer” and how that refers to him getting wrinkles and growing older, so he’s thinking about his life. “The past is gone” means that you can’t have a do-over in life. “Dusk to dawn” is how quickly it seems that his life is going by.

We also talked about the phrase, “the good Lord will take you away” and how it refers to dying. The 9yo piped up: “Wow, that’s a pretty sad song then.” I agreed and said that it could be a sad song, but then why is he telling us to “dream on”? The song says to dream until your dreams come true and to sing together, even if it’s just for a day.

We decided that the song means to make the most of each day, because we don’t know how long we have to live. We all want to grow old and live a long life, but it doesn’t always happen that way, so let’s dream big and enjoy the life that God has given us.

So, there you have it: a sermonette from Aerosmith.

The boys have been wanting to put on a “concert” for their grandparents, so I suggested making a video to share. They jumped at the chance to be on camera, and despite the sound/video quality of my cheap equipment, I think the final product is pretty hilarious. I just hope Steven Tyler has a good sense of humor. 😉

As a journalism major, we used to talk a lot about making stories connect with readers. Lucky for me [that’s tongue-in-cheek, in case you couldn’t tell], my big break into the newspaper industry had me beat reporting for city council, police and agriculture. I learned more than anyone ever wanted to know about boll weevils!

City council and police were pretty interesting sometimes, though it was difficult to make a personal connection with something as cut-and-dried as a DWI arrest, and carrying a police scanner to church on Sundays when I was on call (this was pre-Smartphone days) was for the birds. I still remember one day when a lady called the office and griped me out thoroughly for failing to list obituaries in that morning’s paper. My response: “Uh, Ma’am? No one died.”

Now that I’m on the receiving side of the news rather than the reporting side, it’s easy to get settled into my little comfort zone and forget that there is a big, dark world out there. Wildfires, earthquakes, serial killings … we want to think of those things as being far, far away. It’s hard to stay in my naive bubble, however, when I hear stories too close to home  – stories with “pastor” and “murder” in the same sentence, or allegations involving teachers and students.

My heart breaks and desires the truth above all else.

“Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.” Psalm 25: 5-6 (NIV)

I mentioned a while back that I’d been thinking about seasons in our lives and how God uses us in ministry at different stages of life. I kept meaning to come back to that topic and delve into it thoroughly, but time got away from me.

Today I had to say goodbye to someone very special to me. We’ve known each other for six years, and if I didn’t know her well enough to be able to vouch for her “humanness,” I would tell you that she was an angel sent by God to minister to me all this time. *darn tears – I can’t see the monitor to type!

I’m not trying to say that she’s perfect (thus, the “human” reference) – she’s actually extremely humble and grounded. Her testimony of God’s grace and deliverance is book-worthy. What I mean is that God brought us together at a time in our lives when we both desperately needed a girlfriend close to home – a sister in Christ, a confidante. She has walked alongside and prayed me through the highest highs and the lowest lows.

What’s funny is that every time we get together to talk (albeit, usually too briefly), she always tells me how much I inspire her and what a model I am, blah, blah … she has NO idea – and I lack the words to convey it fully – that she has been all that and so much more to me. Her praise of me just makes me feel all the more humble, because it is I who look up to her.

I’ve had to say bye to friends before, but thankfully, I’m blessed to have a couple with whom I’ve remained close for 20+ years, despite the distances, and I’ve reconnected with a few others on Facebook, etc. This just feels different, somehow, and I can’t explain why. Sure, we can stay in touch online and whatnot, but it’s not the same as being able to have Dr Pepper Hour together.

Having her go away is like having to switch from a plug to battery power. She’s been a ground wire for me, and I am eternally grateful for our season of ministry to each other in this place. I trust that God has tremendous things in store for her precious family. The best part is that prayer knows no distance, so we can still connect in the ways that matter most.