Game Review: The Game Room & Dixit

old drawing of the GAME ROOM 

Of all of the rooms in my "I wish for . . . mansion" the one I think that I would most like to have is a game room.  My grandparents started us early on games. I have many fond memories of them helping us learn to spell playing scrabble, of chess matches with Grandpa, and of all the times Grandma and Grandpa battled it out in a game of Hearts - yes, Grandpa won most of the time, but when Grandma won it was so worth the reaction. 

Happy times those. And it left games in my blood.

So I have this dream room in my mansion. The first part of it is like an indoor amphitheater - in fact I guess it could double as a home theater. A very large screen with multiple game consoles in a built-in under neath. Shelving off to both sides to store remotes, games, maybe a few DVDs & CDs, deep concentric steps about 2 -3 feet deep with giant bean bags thrown about - hey lets make them leather bean bags - because if you are going to dream this big - you might as well go all the way. Plus leather wipes off easy - and I imagine this area will be popular with teens and pre-teens and kiddoes with sticky fingers. There's a snack bar and kitchenette, 'cause snacks and games go together, making the need for easy-wipe surfaces doubled.

Yet for me this tech heaven of electronic games is not the most exciting part of this structure that only exists in my imagination (though I love the idea of hosting youth group there and dimming the lights for movies). In every dream home I've ever imagined there are secret doors.

One of those shelves packed with digital paraphernalia swings on a hidden catch and beyond there is a small foyer opening up into my sanctuary. An octagonal room with a large round table, the center of which is a digital screen that can be linked to a laptop to project maps and game boards, animations and video clips. Three walls have deep shelving units and are packed with games of almost every variety. The wall opposite the foyer has french doors heading out to a patio and terraced garden (that I admire so very much, because I cannot seem to keep green things alive - so my imaginary mansion must have an imaginary gardener). The remaining walls have windows that let in tons of natural light and views of the garden. Those views feel peaceful and serene - I could enjoy this room - Christened "the keyhole" because of it's shape. The ceiling has a one of a kind galaxy light fixture that is equipped with color changing LEDs and dimming switches - a useful piece of art that effectively sets the mood for the entire room. At night it is magical.

This room has a much more intimate feeling. It demands social interaction, whether playing RPG's with adult friends, Pandemic with teens, or Mousetrap with a child. While technology has it's role in this room - from putting a battlemap on the table to changing the lighting to express how close Forbidden Island is to sinking, it's role is an assist to human interactions rather than a player on it's own right. For me that feels right somehow - though I have been trying to get over those feelings - so please note I am not slamming video games (I have devoted a lot of space to them here in this imaginary dwelling. . . ).

Yeah, I build stuff in my imagination.

I don't have a game room, but the reality is, it really isn't that important. I do have shelves overflowing with games, a kitchen table that is only half cluttered, and people who want to play games to sit there. Some of whom are my children, my husband, dear friends, and now my children's friends. I have the really necessary things. The rest I can afford to leave in my imagination - though I do mentally toy with trying to learn enough about electricity to create that galaxy light - it could add a lot of class if installed over my kitchen table. . . .

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So yes, we play a lot of games here. And I thought that if I could review one from time to time - well, it might prove interesting for the 4 people who read my blog heh. Actually, I write for me, not for readers - and tonight the truth is that I am procrastinating - and any excuse will do not to have to clean out my craft closet.

So in the way that procrastination heads, I sat down and played a new game with my kids. One by the name of Dixit. And I loved it. Here's why.

The game plays like a visual Apples to Apples. Each player has a set of cards with different images on them. The active player comes up with a verbal clue that has something to do with one of her cards.

The other players cannot see the card - they only have the clue. They then try to pick one of their cards that could also illustrate the clue. All of the cards are given to the active player who arranges them randomly in numbered spaces. The rest of the players then vote on which they think the original card is.

Here's where it gets fun - in the scoring. The active player only gets points if one or more players chose their card and one or more players didn't choose their card. Meaning, that you want to try and come up with somewhat ambiguous clues, because if everyone guesses your card - you don't get any points. If you can reach this happy medium, the active player receives 3 points and players guessing the card correctly get 3 points plus 1 point for each person guessing their card as the original. The guessing players get 2 points each if everyone guesses the correct card, active player gets 0 points. If no one guesses the active players card, the other players each receive 2 points plus one point for each vote their card received, active player gets 0 points.

So this puts a different twist on the creation of the clue. For those with tactical or verbal minds - this part of the game is intriguing. But for me the real charm of this game is the visuals. The artwork on the cards is amazing, evocative and open to a "zillion" interpretations, making this game a stroke of visual genius.

After each round we talked about why we had chosen the cards we had, and I learned a lot about my children, what they think, and what they feel. Every once in a while the explanation was " I couldn't find a good card" but for the most part my 11 & 14 year olds had reasoning that fit. It also made the game an even playing field for adults and children/teens.

This is a quality game, with sturdy playing pieces, a stunning visual representations, and thought put into the design. For instance, the box has space set aside already for future expansions, which we will probably obtain.

The box suggests 8 years or older, which I would concur with. The thinking that goes into the game might be difficult for younger players, and a few cards might be scary or sad (for instance, a man made of leaves blowing away in the wind) - though given the typical TV viewing habits of children these days, only the extremely sheltered should take issue. It is for 3-6 players. We played our first game using the special rules for a 3 player game and enjoyed it a lot - looking forward to playing it with more.

So yes, a game I loved - good for families. I can highly recommend it!

Whether or not you have a game room.

because it's not happily ever after. . . freedom to struggle

It's been a while since I've written anything here. But today I am driven here by life to help me process things.

My own job hangs on a thread with  political agendas and budget cuts.

My brother in law has been forced from his position as a teacher (something he had remarkable skill at) because an administrator just didn't like him.

Our youth pastor has been asked to leave a thriving ministry that is very much a reflection of his heartbeat, because of personality differences with the governing body of the church.

Of all of these, it is the last that seems to sting most. And I know why. Because the church, the body of believers is supposed to be better than that. We are supposed to be able to work through personality differences. Firings like this should be because of moral failure, not - "We find it difficult to work with you." Especially when there are so many families involved. So many many teens whose lives have been impacted, a wife who has impacted just as many. Four young children, too young too understand.

But then I don't understand either.

There is going to be grieving here.

But it won't turn to railing against the church, as much as I am tempted. Because there is this thing in the Bible, a theme of sorts - and paraphrased it goes like this.

Just 'cause you are a Christian doesn't mean you are good.

Even the redeemed are broken.

We don't focus on this in the church. Maybe because we are all pursuing peace and happiness and joy, and to be sure, that is there, but there are equal measures of broken nastiness, the mire that we just can't seem to escape.

I've never heard a sermon on how David - the one who would be king, who would be given important promises from God, whose bloodline would lead to Jesus. Yup that David, "The man after God's own heart, David" how the end of his life was miserable.He made disastrous choices, and his family life was a wreck. His kids were evil and the end of David's life is simply heartbreaking. We don't hear sermons like that, and if we do it is all about a warning - "don't make those choices, raise your families right."

But what if there is more than a warning. What if the story has more to it. What if it follows the same theme that held true in the lives of the patriarchs in Genesis, or the apostles in the New Testament, or Paul the missionary. What if it isn't a warning, but a statement. "Even when you believe in God, life will be a struggle."

There is no "smooth sailing after salvation" clause. Nor is there an agreement that we are going to make right choices, react in godly ways. In fact there is very little empirical evidence that Christians will live much differently than those who do not believe the Bible.

And for me there is a comfort in the fact that the Bible reflects this. It talks about real broken people. Paul who argued with Barnabas - a difference of opinion that became "we cannot work together". The letters to the churches - sheesh! guess what, those churches had issues, and we still do. The leaders and array of humanity listed in scripture have an overriding theme -
busted up,
broken,
sinful,
not good,
evil.

So where does that leave us.

It gives us freedom to flail, to struggle, to realize that we are broken.
It gives us freedom to accept that life is a struggle and that "happily ever after" might not happen, but that is OK - because there is something deeper than that in the journey.
It lets us cherish peace and joy when they are there in the middle of the struggle - because that is one of those inexplicable treasures that God gives us.
It allows for grief over our own brokenness and over it in the lives that touch us.

And those are good things. That is where we want to be.
Because think of stopping to struggle - that is death. And we can long for the end of that struggle and look forward to it, but if we stop trying to fight while we are still alive we become nothing more than a zombie. (Yes, our youth pastor has had a mark - I just used the word "zombie".)

And if we stop grieving over brokenness we are a no longer what we should be. No longer humans in God's image, but something less.

So today I will grieve.

Today I will struggle.

And I will find comfort in that.

Lessons Learned. . . . when the 40 year old signs up to chaperon the Middle School all nighter

• It's really OK to sign up and see what keeps those 6th - 8th graders going all night. Even if you are old enough to be their mom (or even if a few of them call you mom).

• What keeps them going is 40% cool activities, 20% "I'd die if anyone takes a picture of me sleeping", and 40% large amounts of caffeine, last weeks Halloween candy, and cold pizza.

• You can gain a new appreciation for the abilities and insights of their 20 year old leaders. Stood stunned as a a very young leader stood in front of the locker rooms and loudly directed youth to the right side based on gender, because some of them think it's funny to head the wrong way, and others are already out of it enough that they are just following the person ahead of them, regardless what the picture on the door says. Old dogs can learn new tricks. Even ones who've been around the block.

• With a little wisdom and energy conservation you can keep up with the 20 year olds. Let them go up and down all the stairs to ride water slides with the kids - you stay at the bottom and help pull extra tubes out of the lazy river, or hang out with the girls on the lounge chairs who don't want to mess up their hair by getting wet. You'll learn a lot even by doing that.

• You do not need to change into a bathing suit. 6th - 8th grade girls (and boys too) are painfully body conscious. So are 40 year old women with spare tires. Difference is the water fun does not have to entice you the same amount.

• Remember to bring a camera next year, so that you look like you are doing something profitable after the extra inner-tubes in the lazy river have all been co-opted, and you are wandering around in jeans and a T.

The best lines in the leader manual came under the instructions for the waterpark:

• Do not let students fall asleep in the lazy river.
• Do not fall asleep in the lazy river. 

• Also during training, when the 20 year old leading this says that they do not want any kids getting decapitated, control your imagination. Do not let these pep talks unnerve you - remember that you'll probably only need a band aid out of the med kit - or the bodily fluids clean up kit for the kid who ate too much pizza - at most. You can handle that, and if you can't, you get to find the same 20 year old who led training to do it.

• Take a turn in the back of the bus. You know, the spot where all of the leaders are avoiding because the kids are acting like the reputation that middle school students have. But don't take every turn there, unless you connect with some of that crowd. Allow yourself the joy of sitting with a sweet sixth grader whose goal for the night is to stay up the whole time and who will talk about favorite movies, books, and games to not nod off. And it's really super cool if they like Legos, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars just like you do.

• When that one kid is missing, again, from their turn in the bowling line-up, it is OK to sub for them. It is also OK to roll gutter balls and have totally-awkward-rusty-I-haven't-done-this-in-20-years form. It is OK to laugh at yourself, knowing you have given some very green 6th graders hope that they aren't the worst in the room. It is not OK to re-injure the rotator cuff - choose the 6 lb pink bowling ball that the little girl who weighs 60 lbs is using - It really is the smart choice, it's going in the gutter no matter how much it weighs so do yourself a favor on this one. 

• Be thankful for youth who are learning, even the hard way, to use spending money. Be extra thankful for vendors and cashiers who are putting up with 300+ youth who are learning to do this at 2:30 in the morning.

• Watch for the coolness of a majority of those kids minding their Ps & Qs. Nothing is cooler than polite middle school students - especially if you are the cashier who ended up drawing the short straw on this event.

• Remember to bring your camera next year. And pat yourself on the back for having a few tricks up your sleeves too. That kid who was deciding to channel Miley Cyrus at 3am on the table at the bowling alley - well he listened when you said you were digging for your camera, so that you could send his mom a video. You might not know his mom, but the advantage of being 40 - is that you look like you might.

• While we are at it - other things to bring next year as a chaperon - 
• a watch (yup, long story how you ended up out the door without one, but they do come in handy - especially because every 10 minutes a 6th grader will ask you what time it is), 
• a pair of safety scissors. The "no weapons" rule undoes the use of the handy dandy pocket knife, but a pair of safety scissors is wonderful at trimming wristbands, opening water flats, and making snowflakes out of the game print out with that bored but craft minded young lady you had in 5th grade Sunday School class last year. 
• home-made cookies, half price Halloween candy, or cans of Pringles - do not under estimate the power of a pod leader who has snacks for their kids (or how light your wallet could get if you look at the cost of buying for a group at a venue).
• face paint! The kids like to match their bus color - and the bowling alley has UV - time to test out those neat rave paints that I have in the kit!!
• a pen, because you need to write down the names of the kids in your group, your memory isn't what the 20-year olds is and it helps to refer back to that list - unfortunately if all you could grab was a highlighter lying on the floor- the only place you will be able to read said list is in the UV light at the bowling alley.

• Activities such as this, where 350 students, 50 leaders, snacks, and clipboards have to arrive in a timely fashion at various locations throughout the night on eight different school buses. . . . well it is a great opportunity to appreciate the incredible thought, effort, and magic put forward by the unseen gurus of all things organizational and color coded - Katee you rock!

• Cool parents tell their own offspring which bus they will be on, not so their kids can ride with them, but so their kids can choose to not ride with them.

• However, when you've stood in line for almost an hour to ride the go-carts, get to the top of the line to discover that you've lost your wristband and cannot do go-carts, laser-tag, skills maze, or bumper cars for the remainder of your time at the arcade - a hug from you mom is actually OK. especially if she buys you donuts to soften the blow.

• Middle school students, even the good kids, are not  prone to cleaning up the bus at 5am - this is part of your job description - you're a mom and very used to this - so help out the 20 year old bus captain who really needs a break after his turn in the back of the bus.

• Remember to bring your camera, this all purpose tool comes in handy to capture the joy of being able to sleep under a table or in the hallway after having made it through the breakfast line.

• Hold onto those really cool things. Sam's grandpa - I want to be like you when I grow up. While I stand here at 40 - you're here a generation ahead of me - and you were riding the waterslides like a pro and showing the kids how to play pinball at the arcade. You definitely have the "coolest chaperon" award in my book.

• Tired 20 year old chaperons will stay an extra 30 minutes to watch the end of Monsters University, even after the kids have all gone home.  Why? 
• well they might not have seen it, because they don't have kids, and Avengers was probably higher on their to see list,
• but they are young enough to connect with the original Monsters Inc. movie,
• they are tired, 
• and it's cool having done something like this and
• you can just enjoy hanging out with your friends for the last quiet little bit.  A very wise program director let everyone have this moment, even though I am sure that he'd seen the movie with his children and equally as sure that he wanted to get out of there. But there was something magic about the moment -  
• and it IS a great movie.

• It is OK when you get home and reach for a glass of milk, if you accidentally pour out the whole milk instead of the skim. You probably more than made up for those calories.

• For all the details we are in control of - there is nothing like spending the night with a bunch of middle school students to help you realize how much is infinitely out of our control, and it gives you a certain sense that the world is not swallowed up in that out of control chaos, but that God is working all the lines together and weaving a tapestry out of which kids make it onto which bus, which kids you connect with, which kids connect with each other, and what random events happen over the course of a single night.

Bye bye blue and other stories from the land of lost minds

This last Saturday I danced through the living room gleefully singing "I'm not crazy, so not crazy, not going crazy today!" in a continuous loop at the top of my singing volume (which let's be honest, isn't too terribly loud, because I've never been confident in musical matters.) It caused every one of my children to look at me like I had indeed lost my mind, and perhaps it was because the tune was from "There is a song that makes you crazy" or it could be that they have never seen me sing and dance my way through the living room. Ever. Because my dancing skills are even worse than my singing, and I probably treat life more like a sci-fi movie than a musical - just personality that's all.

But I had genuine cause for celebration, because the week had been one of mental stress on a few points. Enough stress that I had at one point thought I was mentally loosing it. To understand my journey this week you need to understand that my thought processes are very rooted in what I see visually. I am driven by color and texture, and have that "knack" for designing things. Perhaps it's my art minor kicking in, I don't know but it plays a hefty role in the events to follow.

On Tuesday I bought a car load of pool noodles for a youth event. 30 to be exact, 10 in each color. I know this because I drove to three different stores to find each color. (Let's be honest, pool noodles are not the typical mid-September find, the school supplies are being placed on the clearance racks, Halloween is appearing in full force. Pool noodles? Pool noodles were so June. So I considered my three store trip a huge success story.) The back of my mini van was happily filled with orange aqua and bright blue noodles.

On Wednesday I went to a friends house with a bag full of X-acto knives, rolls of duct tape, and electrical tape with the full intent of creating 30 noodle lightsabers. You know, one of those charming Pinterest ideas that you think would be totally cool to do. And it was cool. Fun, easy, a great way to spend time talking and planning with a friend. Only one thing bugged me. We only had the orange and aqua noodles. The blue ones weren't in the van anymore.

I wracked my mind trying to think where I had put them. I hadn't thought I had taken any out of the van. After all I knew I'd have to put them right back in. Could it be possible that someone stole them out of my van? But why take noodles and not the GPS, or the case of DVDs? And why just the blue ones? Nothing made sense, and so I figured that I must've taken an armload out of the van thinking I'd come back and get the rest later. I went home and combed my house for any space large enough to contain 10 blue pool noodles. Then I combed through it again. It bugged me, and I had a hard time letting it go (maybe because I also knew I couldn't replace them, until next June since I'd bought the last of them.Or maybe because the money wasn't mine but money from the youth group. Either way I searched my house a lot with no positive results.)

On Thursday, I visited my husbands work for a special meal that they were having. It's one of those places where you sign in and they give you a name badge that proudly marks you as a VISITOR in bright red letters on a white adhesive backdrop. Or at least I thought that until I went to the washroom later and caught sight of the badge in the mirror. The red letters were still present, but the badge was a brilliant cobalt blue. I shook my head, I was sure it had been white. I  just kept going forward - though I briefly thought about tearing the badge to bits and jumping up and down on it's remains for causing me such anxiety. Then I remembered that I was at my husbands work and such antics would not  reflect well. Thankfully my social filter was on.

In reality they were very small things. Dollar store pool noodles and a name badge that was a different color than I thought I saw. But those small things now had me on a mental edge. What else was I going to loose or see as different than it was. Unnerving.

Then my first break came. One of my husbands co-workers came by and in the course of small-talk said "I see you've been outside." then at my confused look "You're badge, it's blue - they are sensitive to the light - they turn blue if you've been outside." "Oh, oh yes! I've been outside." I am positively sure that my suddenly chesire cat grin of relief was not the polite reaction that should have come from such a conversation. I am also sure that I definitely hit "socially awkward". But I didn't care. I had seen the badge right. Both times. I no longer wanted to tear my badge up and jump up and down on it. No I just wanted to do that to whatever team of scientists, PR, and security that thought that color changing badges was a good thing. I mean come on - what weighs more, the security of your complex or the mental stability of one visually oriented housewife. Sigh.

The second break came Saturday morning when we were dividing up the pool noodles (and thus counting them) into two separate groups. 10 orange and 20 aqua. Yup that pretty much started the song and dance routine. I'm assuming the heat in my car, or the light in my car, or the aliens that took my van for a joy ride on Tuesday night, changed the color of the blue noodles to aqua. So why hadn't I counted them before? Good question and I honestly don't have an answer. I would have saved me a great deal of mental stress.

I am sure that there is some takeaway here. Something profound about angels rejoicing over what was lost being found again. Or learning to live in a world that is not colorfast. Or, patience with those who are battling dementia. Or a little tiny bite of what loosing your mental abilities does start to feel like - like how little things make you feel so out of control so quickly. Or how to learn to let go of little things (I clearly need work there.) But for today I am content to laugh. The singing and dancing has passed, much to my children's vast relief, and I can laugh at myself. Perhaps because I'm blogging you can laugh too. A good laugh goes a long way. And I'll hit the analyze button on another day.

This Is The Stuff  Francesca Battistelli

Because I needed a friend. . . .

My compartmentalized life has started to fray a bit in this season of "back to school" transition. The to do list has spilled over into several different areas, and the frenetic excitement of change and "new" has in some areas started to wear thin.

There's the ministry compartment which is buzzing with activity, nerves, and excitement as Todd and I set out to host a junior high home group this year with the girls. A recent training retreat was everything we could have imagined and so much more - energizing and challenging us.

There's the home front which is still getting re-booted after a nasty virus hit the kids ( and now me). Doctor visits, check, dentist, check, ortho - well after this week, check, play dates, check, birthday parties, check, squeezing what we can into the very end of summer vacation.

Boxes of school supplies sit in the doorway to be carted to various open houses - there isn't a night this week that isn't booked solid with some meeting or activity.

And I'm exhausted.

I know that some of it is just being sick. (Why is it that mom always gets it last?)

But I also know that there is another cause lurking in the shadows. It's the one I don't talk about.

A leader in our church that I respect a lot chats with me on our way down the hallway. "How are you doing?" he asks "I'm great!" I fire back with a conviction that has no roots in reality.

I talk with other folks and we converse about how it can be draining to be an introvert. It's an easy topic. It has elements of truth to it and I can blame my exhaustion on it. But the real truth is that I'm more than tired, more than sick.

There is a piece of my soul that is raw.
So simple a problem.

In this back to school season, I am not going back to school.

At the beginning of the summer I agonized over my digital  resume, splitting hairs over word choices and nuances. Then the applications went out, the essays were written,  the online questions answered, the Gallup surveys taken, and the waiting started.

Waiting for one call. Just one. An interview offered, a chance, an attempt to show that I would be a good fit for the need presented. It would just take one call, one e-mail. Just one - if it was the right one. Just one.

 I studied for that one interview. Made flashcards so that I could remember the many steps in an IEP, what IEE stands for, the types of RTI, and tables of CBMs.

The phone never rang. No e-mails came. With a week to school I have slowly watched every position fill, holding out hope for the very last one which has remained open for applications - until yesterday. When I found out that one was no longer available.

So I am not going back to school. At least not this year. Not yet. Not now.

My brain totally gets that God is in control, he can see the future I can't. He has plans that are good for me. My brain knows that.

But my emotions are raw with a feeling of rejection, raw with the sharp edges of a broken dream. A box labeled "hope" opened and found empty. Yeah, my brain has it right and eventually it will prevail. But tonight I was hurting. Behind every smile and assurance that my summer has been a good one, was a mess - a busted up sense of my own self worth.

I met new people tonight and we talked about stuff. But you can't tell someone new about the holes inside you. You can't tell a lot of people that you would give a broad general label of "friends". I needed a friend that was more than someone whose facebook photos I hit the like button on. Just one. Just one real friend. That was all I needed. Just one.

God didn't send me a phone call, he didn't send me an interview, but he did send me that friend.

Someone who knows right now what raw feels like; but who could set it aside for a hug - yeah that's right a hug. I don't touch people and I don't generally like to be touched. But I am learning that sometimes I need it, and this is one person that I can let do that. Because they get it. She understands that my head is in the right place and that I want to put all my emotions in a hole and go where my head is at. Yet while I can compartmentalize school and church and board meetings and projects, I cannot seem to get out of the same hole that I want to stow my feelings in. She gets it.

It makes me breathe easier. It helps remind me that there are hopes that are unseen that fit into the box I thought was empty. A simple hug. Just one. Just one true friend. Thank you God, because tonight I needed a friend. Just one.

Freedom

I am working on several themed duct tape book satchels today. My most challenging one is for Exploint No More and is supposed to be on the topic of freedom.

The term freedom in this case means freedom from human trafficking, sexual exploitation, and on a deeper level, spiritual freedom from those dark places.

It's hard to find an image that I want to use. I can immediately bypass the images of the American flag, Lady Liberty, bald eagles - even one of an upended M-16 with a soldiers helmet reminding me of the cost that we pay. But this is a different cost and a different war.

I can't seem to bond with images of birds or butterflies being set free, while some are very beautiful - I feel they speak to the animals freedom and today I don't feel very much like a bird. Though I would love the freedom of flight. Broken shackles and chains reminds me of different types of prison, and I realize that today I am locked into a very literal mood on a concept that can't be so literally defined.

There are themes - humans jumping for joy - arms outstretched with abandon. Jumping into the surf, jumping in a field of flowers, jumping off cliffs. . . .  that last one chimes.

Why this one? After all jumping off a cliff has a good chance of a messy ending. Casts, traction, years of therapy, metal implants, and coffins are decidedly not images of freedom. From someone who at one point contemplated suicide as a form of freedom - I guess I could see it from that angle. But I don't think that these images are speaking to the dark thoughts I had in that stage of my life.

These jumps are about letting go - for me - of fears that hold  back. I am deeply acrophobic, and a slew of other unreasonable fears have started to creep in at various points in my life. Try explaining "fear of waterparks" to your teenager. I detest social conflict so much that I become unsociable. Solitude suits me well, even though I know it is unhealthy. I would love to jump away from these fears, and maybe even away from the boundaries of the "common sense" logic that often drives my decision making.

I would love to jump away from unspoken social rules that dictate who I am and what I can do, housework, squabbling kids, mommy guilt, the need to decide what is for supper.

And with that statement I realize if I take that jump I will find rocks at the bottom of my cliff. Somethings we do need to try and escape - we should be looking for ways to end injustice and suffering. And God doesn't want his children bound by fear. There are things we should desire freedom from.

Other times, while a break from the "mom job" might be quite healthy, dropping the role altogether isn't real freedom. Freedom from social interaction is another one of those areas, though I have less success in stating reasons why - call it a gut instinct. Maybe it is the fact that we need to be cautious about desiring a freedom from responsibility - in any of it's forms. Whether that is deciding on tonight's menu or recognizing that human trafficking is right outside my door and that I need to do what I can to help.

So my mind circles this morning, picking at the concept of freedom. Time to stop mulling it over and get out my duct tape.

Confidence

I  did something last week that a few years ago I never would have thought possible. I stepped in as a last minute driver for a youth group work team. Doesn't sound so big, but for me it was. I grew up in a tiny town with one stop light. As a teen driver I drove blocks out of my way to avoid the light on Main and Center, and that pattern continued into adult life. As a young married, I walked everywhere I could trying to avoid driving. Finally as a young mom, I got used to a minivan, but only on roads and paths that I knew. Google Maps made a cross country vacation an option. You would laugh to see the printed out collection of maps and the time I spent on "street view" methodically making sure I knew how to get from the highway exit to the hotel parking lot. But even with Google, I wouldn't have tackled last weeks driving opportunity.

Rush hour traffic, downtown congestion, parallel parking, one way streets, road construction. . . . combined with a van full of junior high students and destinations that I was totally unfamiliar with. Yet it happened. In large due to GPS. Probably the best $100 investment we have made in the last few years. It satisfies my visual nature giving me a nice pink line to follow. Even more important, if I miss a turn, run into construction, or veer off the path it calculates a route to the destination based on my new coordinates. I don't have to worry about getting lost, or navigating a map. Instead I can concentrate on traffic and driving. And that is just enough to make me a much more confident driver.

I've been mulling over this concept of confidence a lot the last week or two. I'm not a highly confident person. I'm riddled with insecurity and self doubt. I feel socially inept, prone to saying the wrong thing and wondering when, if ever, I will have the confidence to tackle this squirelly moving entity called "life."

I think one of my biggest problems is that I have been looking for that confidence to come from within. And to be honest chances of that happening are slimmer than me being able to get through a metro area in a bus full of preschoolers. cats, and frogs without electronic navigation.

Because I am so broken.
I am self-centered, selfish even when I appear to be giving. Motives are so often focused inwards.
I carry my emotional baggage around hoping someone will notice how much I'm struggling, and get upset when there isn't any comfort. Then I get mad at myself for my inability to let go of that tattered baggage. I add a brand new set of luggage and bury myself in busyness. Trying to anesthetize my sense of brokeness. And then I try to do what many in the church have done, and I try to rejoice in my brokeness.

It's a catch phrase to be certain. But think about it. When was the last time you saw a child thrilled that a favorite toy was broken? No, being broken isn't a cause for rejoicing, but grieving. So I am going to allow my self some space for grief. And then I am going to move on and look for a source of confidence outside of myself.

But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. Romans 5:8 NLT

But you, LORD, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high. Psalm 3:3 NIV

I've come to the easy conclusion that my GPS is not an internal part of me. I don't have a satellite up-link in my brain (thank goodness and cue Dr. Who). Yet I've gained considerable confidence in having it sitting on the dash of my car.

And now I need to focus on a God who loves me, even a broken me. I can gain confidence in that external source. I need a little practice, because focusing on God has gotten rusty as I've turned most of my thinking inwards. We are taught to be reflective, and at times I could say that is a strength. Yet I'm finding that constant internal evaluation can also be a symptom of self-absorption. And yeah, I've been walking that dusty road far too much lately.

Time to lift up my head.
No, scratch that. . .
Time to look at God and let him do the lifting.