change

You've opened the cylinder, ejected the cases, and unloaded a revolver. Imagine putting it up to your head and feeling the cold metal pressing against your skin. Even though you know there is no chance of it killing you, pulling the trigger can be terrifying.

That's how I feel now. I know God is in control and this change isn't going to kill me, but I didn't think it would be this scary.

My husband lost his job last week. Well, technically, they offered to transfer him to a different branch within the company, but they "let him go" nonetheless. We were given the choice between five different options, none of them perfect and all involving some type of risk.

Want to hear something funny? For the past few months, I've actually wanted this. I was tempted to ask my husband to just quit so we could find something better. It's funny because I always think I know better, but the reality is that I don't. God knows what He's doing. The hard part for me is letting Him do it. I don't like being told what to do, especially when it's something I don't want to do. I also thought that once we got to this point, it would be easy. I couldn't have been more wrong.

I prayed and waited for three long and lonely years to get out of California. We lived in an 800 sq. ft. duplex with really thin walls and really loud neighbors. There was no yard. There was a lot to do and all of it close to home, so, although difficult, life there was a lot of fun at times, too. When we got the opportunity to move to North Carolina, we jumped on it.

We went from a tiny concrete prison to a two bedroom house right outside the city limits on half an acre...for half the price we were paying in California! We visited two churches before we found our home. It was like love at first sight (not that the appearance of the church is what captured our hearts). I remember one evening right after we moved in, driving to the grocery store and seeing the sunset over all the fields and grass and trees and knowing I was going to be very happy here.

It's one thing packing up your lives and saying goodbye when you aren't very happy. It's quite another thing walking away when you're in love. In the past few weeks, I started looking into the possibility of buying a house and settling down. We went from browsing homes to browsing jobs in a matter of days. It's like God saw that I was trying to get comfortable and yanked the rug right out from under my feet without warning. I never saw it coming.

I must say that I am extremely thankful to even have options in as tough of an industry as aviation and in a terrible economy on top of that, but I can't help but be a little resentful that, just as we are building close friendships and establishing a support system, we have to go somewhere new and start all over again.

So, this is where I am. I'm sitting on the front step outside of a home filled with all of my closest friends. The door is closed and the path in front of me has branched out in about ten different directions in the dark. Only a few of the paths are lit, so I know that those are probably the safest options, but I can't see around the bends or over the hills down the paths.

I am just sitting here waiting. Waiting for a sign to tell me which way to go. Waiting for God to come carry me because I can't make the journey alone. I have been tempted to just choose the one that's looks the nicest to me and hope for the best, but I know that's too risky. It would most likely end in one of two ways. I would either choose the wrong path and have to turn back several times to try another after realizing I went the wrong way, or I could fight through all of the obstacles trying to make it work, dragging my family behind me.

I just picture myself going for a walk with my husband and two young daughters. We go down the path that I selfishly chose, throwing caution to the wind because this is what I want. We end up lost, climbing over boulders, trudging through mud pits, getting caught up in thorny vines that cut us with each painful step. We would all be miserable, my family would resent me, and I would feel like an idiot for thinking I knew the way.

In the long run, I think having a little patience and putting my trust in God would save us a lot of heartache. I'm just waiting for my heart to catch up with my head, because I know what I need to do...I just don't want to do it! I will admit, though, it will be a much nicer journey walking down the path holding Jesus's hand and enjoying the scenery than having Him drag me kicking and screaming the whole way.

hot

disclaimer: this is not a rant about my husband. it is simply a collection of thoughts on modesty and creepers.

are all men perverts? is it possible to smile or be friendly with a man, and not have kindness be mistaken for flirting or a proposal to sleep together?

which brings me to another point. it's not always the men's fault. men are designed to be attracted to women. plain and simple. you can't be a thread away from nudity and not expect a man to not have sexual thoughts. (double negatives can be so confusing).

i'll admit that, as a woman, i sometimes feel a bit of a competitive urge when it comes to my clothing and appearance. i want to feel hot when i'm out in public. i am from texas, and i do like the sun, but, by hot, i mean sexy. <--check all="" commas.="" out="" p="" those="">

what many girls/women do not realize and i am having to constantly remind myself of is that, even though their choice in clothing may have gotten the attention of their prime target (aka "mr. right" or, in my case, my husband), it usually also gets the attention of mr. wrong and mr. way wrong, too.

i'm sure you can think back to at least one time in your life, where another girl got more attention because she was wearing less. remember the way it made you feel to have your man look at another woman that way next time you are getting dressed. you may be causing someone's husband, daddy, brother, or son to sin! you are hurting someone's wife, daughter, or sister!

there are certainly things that a mother should just not wear (partly because it just doesn't look as good as it did pre-baby), but also because she is a mother. we need to set examples for our daughters, who are living in a society where they are constantly being bombarded by sex. i want my girls to know that they can be beautiful without being "sexy." and i certainly do not want the boys getting any wild ideas. remember the padded bikinis for girls at abercrombie&fitch last year? never. in. my. life. don't even ask me about some of the stuff i've seen people put on their babies. well, maybe ask a little. two words. high heels. yes, for babies. don't believe me? check it out. need another example? bikinis for babies.

i'm not exactly sure where i'm going with all of this. all i know is that it isn't fair to anyone involved when a woman wears revealing clothing. it's like inviting an alcoholic to a wine-tasting party. it just isn't fair to the few good men out there who actually do try to guard their eyes, and it isn't fair to the women married to the men who don't. remember, you're not just catching the eye of prince charming. there are a lot of fat, old, disgusting perverts, creepers, pedophiles, and rapists watching you and your babies, too.

poopoo poopoo, what do you see? i see a toddler staring at me.

okay. so, i don't know if my kid has just gotten to that age - if this is pretty normal - or if she's just really weird. then i wonder, if it is normal, is it usually a boy thing, or is it all kids? are only potty training children at risk? i can tell your curiosity is beginning to pique.

ever since i showed riley her dirty diaper in an effort to convince her to let me change it, she has had this preoccupation with inspecting poop. her poop ("mommy, i make a brown poopoo" or "riley made a big poopoo!), samantha's poop (to which she proudly exclaims, "mom, it's a yellow poop!"), and daddy's poop. she doesn't inspect mine because we all know mommies don't poop. (my husband would beg to differ). moving along...

we are not allowed to flush or close the diaper before she's had a chance to take a peak. my husband also recently taught her that "c" is for "caca". couldn't we have stuck with something easy like cookie, cat, cow, candy or clown? there are a lot of acceptable alternatives. i understand the need for reinforcing the french language, but we've already got enough poop to deal with. (while we're on the subject, did you know that the french word for boogers literally translates as "nose poop"?) it's probably a really good thing we don't have cats anymore. at least we've gotten over the hurdle of "it's poopoo on it" anytime something is dirty and needs to be wiped clean or washed.

so, is it just my daughter or is this pretty prevalent among the toddler community?