A Real Bible, Just Small ~ Jen

“Mom” Gabriel says one day when he comes home from school, “For my birthday, can I have a Boys Backpack Bible?”

“A what?”

“A Boys Backpack Bible. It’s small so it can fit in my backpack.”

“Is it a kids bible? With pictures?”

“No, it’s a real Bible, just small.” This with an eyeroll.

Pretty much, when your eight year old son asks for a Bible for his birthday, you make that happen. Even if the good folks who make the backpack Bible don’t make a Catholic version.

Don’t worry my Catholic friends, Grandma was in charge of getting the Bible and when she was at the Religious Education Congress last week, she let some publishers know they got out maneuvered by the Protestants in the boys backpack Bible market.

The adults in my family, Catholic and non-dom church alike, could not wait to see what this backpack Bible was all about. When Gabriel opened it last weekend, we snatched it out of his hands and passed it around.

I can report that you need to be eight to read the teeny tiny print required to make the Bible backpack sized.

I can also report that there’s an insert called Grossology, with a list of scripture where gnarly things happen. And before you wonder if that’s appropriate, I found Gabe huddled with the Bible looking up those scripture, book, chapter and line. You know, studying.

There’s also a list of Good Guys and a list of bizarre happenings.

I think this is brilliant. Christians believe the Bible is a dynamic, inspired book but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Especially for kids. But here’s this approach—to meet the boys where they are and show them there is something for them in there.

Yes, there’s a girls version, but I haven’t seen it. We could get into the whole gender specific argument but this Christian mom is going to shake it. My eight year old is reading his bible, people. ‘Nough said.

The company who makes this bible is called Zondervan and they have a ton of different and accessible bibles for kids and young adults.

I did some preliminary research and couldn’t find a complete bible in a smaller, light size for Catholic kids. There are lots of kid’s versions here, but they don’t appear to be scripture. I am sure there is something out there that would do and I just didn’t find it.

And even if there’s not, Grandma made sure some people know that needs to change.

The Cream in my Coffee ~ Dana

Jen and I have a confession to make. We love Coffeemate Non-Dairy French Vanilla creamer. I know. We know. We, the lovers of non-chemical cleaners, we, the wearers of all-natural deodorants, we, the bakers of our own bread, we love non-dairy creamer.

Here’s why it’s problematic: non-dairy creamer is bad. It’s a fake food. It’s made up of partially hydrogenated vegetable oils (which have been linked to depression of the thyroid gland as well as decreased energy levels), mono- and digycerides (which are found in foods that contain trans fats), and dipotassium phosphate (a water-soluble salt which prevents coagulation and is “generally regarded as safe” by the FDA).

Here’s another thought: if something uses chemicals to have a shelf life of two years, it probably shouldn’t go into your body. Ew.

Lately I’ve seen lots of make your own coffee creamer on Pinterest, so I decided to try one for myself. And Jen was over with her youngest this morning, so she got to try it, too. Our verdict: it’s good. I’m not going to lie; it wasn’t as great as the fake stuff. Dang it. But I think that I can definitely make the switch. There was no yucky stuff in my coffee!

Here’s the recipe that I used from http://www.aroundmyfamilytable.com

4 8oz jars
Sweetened Condensed Milk
Half and Half
See ingredients below for flavor combinations

Add equal parts sweetened condensed milk and half and half to each jar, leaving about an inch of room at the top of each jar for flavorings and shaking space.

Flavors:
• Maple Almond – 1 tbsp maple syrup and 1 tsp pure almond extract
• Cinnamon Vanilla – 1 tsp cinnamon extract and 1 tsp vanilla bean paste (or vanilla extract)
• Mocha – 2 tbsp cocoa powder and 1 tsp espresso powder
• Coffee – 1/2 tbsp espresso powder

Once the flavors are added, screw on the lids and shake them well before refrigerating. Label jar lid with a sharpie.

Chill for at least one hour, brew some coffee, and enjoy.

Note: If you’re working with powders like cocoa and espresso, shaking won’t be enough to get everything fully incorporated, so you’ll want to use a blender or food processor, mix, and then pour the creamer into your jar. If you prefer a rich creamer, you can substitute heavy cream for half and half.

Mouthy Women

This morning, Dana and I made it to yoga for the first time in two weeks. My kids have been sick, her kids have been sick, and the dang time changed. You know what I’m saying right? One of those weeks.

So what to write about?

We just passed the one year anniversary of Full of Graces….Almost 500 honest to goodness readers…we just had our first comment criticism and throw down, which made us very excited because you must be doing something right if you can’t keep everyone happy…it’s women’s history month, you know we have things to say about that…and it’s Lent, a very holy and sacred time of the year.

Too many choices, too many choices! So today we’re going to punt, to ourselves and a post that originally appeared on Hallelujah Highway in 2012.

Do you know Glennon, from Momastery?

She’s been talking lately about a woman named Brene Brown, a research professor from Texas who has spent ten years researching shame and courage. She posted a pic of a page of Brown’s new book Daring Greatly. This page talked about the social rules women are expected to follow, summed up here: “Basically, we are expected to stay as small, sweet and quiet as possible”.

Glennon was almost smothered by these rules. So many women can relate to that feeling. Trying to stuff themselves into some mold and feeling inadequate when they don’t quite make it.

But her post made me think about other women, the ones who never followed the rules, or at least knew the rules were crap from the beginning. They never stayed small, sweet and quiet. They opened their mouths and said what they felt, thought and meant. Or, they looked small and sweet, but opened their mouths and roared like lions.

I have always been a mouthy woman.

Maybe because I was six feet tall since I was twelve, I did not feel constrained by the rules. The small and quiet ship sailed fairly early in my life, and I was not on it.

It could also be that in my family, children were seen and heard. We were encouraged to talk and the adults listened to us. I knew my opinion was important very early in my life. I saw my dad honor my mom’s opinion, and my grandfathers honor my grandmothers’. Not once in my life have I ever struggled to voice my opinion. More often, my struggle is to discern when my opinion should be voiced, or how to express it appropriately.

Maybe it was sports. My success was not tied to how I looked or dressed, but how hard I played. And I controlled that. In college, boys flocked to us, drawn by our strength, health, intelligence. They were the men who didn’t need us to be quiet or small. Most of us married men like this—men who are delighted at our “take on the world” approach to life.

But they are the exception. Most people are extremely uncomfortable with the Mouthy Woman. Some men don’t like her because she seems threatening, like she’s reaching out of her province and into theirs. See how male politicians expressed Cave Man opinions in this last election. See women at the highest levels of politics in this country and how they are treated. See that we have not had a female president. Yet.

More distressing to me, though, is how women turn on the Mouthy Woman. Why is that? Why do women eat their own? Why do we poke those who do the very thing we all say we wish we were strong enough to do?

Just recently, a friend of mine told me that my very presence demands honesty. It took me a minute to see the whole truth of this statement: it’s a compliment for sure; but also a question, a “How can you be so sure that you are right?”; and a request to go easy—honesty seems like a hard standard to meet.

I do hold myself to a standard of truth. I believe in truth. Lies are unpredictable and messy. Truth is simple. Truth is a survival skill.

Glennon would agree. She is with those of you who are still struggling to find your truth, to silence your shame, to open your mouths. I know you can do it. You can find and live your truth. I don’t know any secrets. I just made a choice. You can make it, too. Start by telling yourself the truth. Then tell others the truth. Make a commitment to never lie. This doesn’t mean you have to speak all your truths all the time. Sometimes it’s enough that you know the truth. But never speak a lie. Not to yourself, not to your partner, not to your kids, not to your friends. Make truth a habit.

To my mouthy sisters, to the ones who were never concerned with being small and quiet in the first place, or have learned to speak the truth: Keep talking. Talk for your daughters and grand-daughters, so they will know that truth is safe. Talk for your sons, so they will know the value of an honest woman. Talk for those less fortunate, talk for those who cannot talk.

And listen to them all. Show them the respect of being heard. Grow a future that believes in itself and the honesty of what it knows. Grow a future built on a mighty mountain of truth.

The Names We Call Ourselves ~ Jen

For a long time I have thought about a tattoo to commemorate that I am a cancer survivor. But for four years, I haven’t done it. The hesitation came from something I read in an illness recovery book, that we have to be careful about the way we visualize our illness and our struggle against it. It makes so much sense not to use images of violence, domination, anger, loss. A sick person does not need to bring these energies into their life.

I didn’t battle my cancer. I told it to leave. And then I shut the door against its return. I guard the door carefully, with all the things that reduce my stress and keep me peaceful: food, exercise, God, family, friends and creating.

This is not new age-y philosophy. This is ancient wisdom, reflected in the scripture of Proverbs 17:22: A joyful heart is good medicine, But a broken spirit dries up the bones.

So even though the symbol of thyroid cancer is a butterfly–and what could be more peaceful than a butterfly–I wasn’t sure this was good medicine.

Then last week I read this*:

If we stay survivors only without moving to thriving, we limit ourselves and we cut our energy to ourselves and our power in the world to less than half…once the threat is past, there is a potential trap in calling ourselves by names taken on during the most terrible times of our lives…it is not good to base the soul identity solely on the feats and losses and victories of the bad times”.

That’s it.

For a long time, every time I said out loud that I was a cancer survivor, a voice in my head yelled “GOOD LORD! I HAD CANCER! I COULD HAVE DIED A YOUNG WIFE AND LEFT BEHIND MY KIDS WHO WOULD HAVE NEVER REMEMBERED ME!!!!”

Every time, it was like hitting a wall. Or any other metaphor that describes the moment in a perfectly wonderful normal day when something makes you remember: I have been hurt. I have been abused. I have lost. I could have died.

It took me a long time to get past that place. It took a lot of work, prayer, reading and support. That time in my life is still framed in fear and anger and doubt, but those emotions are no longer with me on a daily basis.

If I marked my body with a symbol of that time, then those emotions would permanently be present. And for the love of all that is good, why would I do that to myself?

Whatever we have survived—cancer, sexual assault, violence, addiction, loss, our parent’s ugly divorce, our own ugly divorce—it’s part of us, but not who we are. It’s a piece of our story, but not the whole story. The story isn’t over yet and we have to choose carefully which emotions and energies we are going to carry forward.

Not just for our mental and emotional health, but for our physical health as well. Because how we feel, and what’s inside of us deep, deep down will manifest itself physically. It will make us pay attention.

If you are in the midst of surviving, in the midst of the battle for your life and your heart, soldier on. Don’t be scared of the scars you are earning. Scars heal stronger than what was there before. I’m proud of my scars.

But if you are past the battle, like I am, then we have to consider the truth in the words: There is danger in calling ourselves by names we earn in the hardest times in our lives. We can get stuck there, in the pain, fear, anger, grief, bitterness, abandonment, addiction. Or worse, bring these things forward into our future where they will constantly demand our attention and make us sick in body and spirit.

I don’t want to manifest anger, fear, illness. I want to manifest joy and health. So no butterfly.

But that doesn’t mean no ink. It just means I am waiting for the right inspiration.

For you make me glad by your deeds, Lord; I sing for joy at what your hands have done. How great are your works, Lord, how profound your thoughts!– Psalm 92:4-5

*From Women Who Run With the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Scouring the Sink ~ Dana

Well, for those of you who are hoping that title is a metaphor, you are sadly mistaken. It’s time for another recipe for our Footloose and Chemical Free page. I have been in a stalemate with adding new cleaning and beauty products to my cabinets, but I am reinvigorated and renewed and finding lots of new great cleaning products!

I’ve always used scouring agents in my kitchen sink and in my bathrooms. But last week, when I dropped the Comet in the bathtub and inhaled a nice green dust cloud, I knew it was time to start looking around for an all-natural alternative. I came across this recipe at bloom-doula.com, which is quickly becoming a great resource that I turn to for information on essential oils.

I already had all of the ingredients on hand for my other all-natural cleaners (like laundry detergent, all purpose cleaner, and hand sanitizer), so it was no problem to measure them out and mix them together in a mason jar. No more green dust. No more harsh chemicals.

Powdered Sink Cleaner

½ cup Borax

½ cup super washing soda

½ cup baking soda (set aside 1 Tbsp if you will be using essential oils)

½ cup salt

15 drops essential oil (I used lime for my first batch, but lavender, lemon, or grapefruit would also work)

Directions:

1. Combine Borax, washing soda, baking soda, and salt in a (preferably glass) container with 2 cup capacity. If using essential oils, keep 1 Tbsp baking soda aside.

2. To add the essential oils, mix 1 Tbsp baking soda and 15 drops essential oils together with a mortar and pestle for several seconds until well combined. Then add to the other ingredients.

3. Cover container and shake well to thoroughly combine all ingredients.

4. Use as you would any store-bought abrasive cleaner like Ajax or Comet. Sprinkle a small amount over desired surface and scrub with a damp cloth or sponge. Rinse well.

I’ve also started using that AWESOME hand-crocheted dishcloth, pictured above, that my mom’s cousin, Reenie, made. Homemade, sustainable, wonderful! In case you are interested in making your own, I found this tutorial online. You’re welcome.

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