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Defining marriage

I. Can’t. Help. It. 

I’ve seen one FB sticker too many. 
First – I fully support the right of individuals to have an opinion on both sides of the marriage equality debate. Many of my friends support a change in legislation to allow all people, regardless of sexual orientation, the legal right to marry. I fully support their right to express their beliefs. 
I have a handful of friends who support the definition of marriage as one man and one woman. Again, I respect their right to such an opinion. 
Push me the wrong way and I can argue either side equally passionately. Not because I believe both sides with equal passion, but because I’m smart  and flighty like that and should have went to law school. But I digress. 
What I cannot support: tossing around the word “Biblical” as a means to defend either* side. 
If we want to use “Biblical” as the marriage standard, then lets go back to a few instances in Genesis. Like Jacob. Oh, Jacob. He bought his wife – exchanged 7 years of manual labor – and when the new Father-in-Law pulled a switcheroo, he slept with the wrong sister. Well, the rule of the day was: you shake her, you take her. So though the deal was for Rachel, Jacob got Leah as wife #1 and had to work another 7 years for Rachel. 
A few things to point out from this little example about the “biblical” definition of marriage:
  • Though it was a social custom, it held many economic components in order to be legit. Lots of gifts and payments to make it all happen. Love played a role – “Jacob served seven years for Rachel and they seemed to him but a few days because of his love for her” (Gen 29:20). But he wouldn’t get the girl with a simple handshake for Laban. 
  • The passage that discusses the wedding? Then Jacob said to Laban, “Give me my wife, for my time is completed, that I may go in to her.” Laban gathered all the men of the place and made a feast. Now in the evening he took his daughter Leah and brought her to him; and Jacob went in to her. (Gen 20:21-23). *Sorry, I should’ve given this post a PG13 rating at the beginning. 
  • Marriage and sex went hand-in-hand. Thanks to a recent round of research on Persian bridal economics, I’ve learned that most sexual encounters resulted in either marriage or a concubine arrangement (step above slave, step below marriage). (Or prostitution, which seems like choosing a payment plan that’s simply more pay-as-you-go rather than buying cash, as Dave Ramsey would advocate). 
Hardly the engagement process or bridal experience of nowadays, eh? The Bible is full of info on marriage customs, but we don’t seem to adhere to all of them. For instance, Part of Mosaic law includes a clause that mandates a man who rapes a woman to marry her – not as punishment for the woman, but for her care and protection. She would be deemed unmarryable by the society and possibly left destitute.  Praise be to Jesus that we don’t enforce this in our society – and that the status and role of women has been elevated to the extent that she’s not deemed tarnished goods after falling victim to a heinous crime (and subsequently forced to live with the offender). 
Does such “Biblical” evidence prove marriage is only between man and woman? Does it allow for same-sex marriage? Are there verses everywhere that can be used to “prove” the argument for either side? 
Absolutely. 
But what we don’t get is a picture of my wedding day that replicates the experience of marriage in the Bible. (Which is too bad. I had a beautiful wedding day!). 
We simply must acknowledge that we’ve imported a few of our experiences into the texts. Not facetiously  mind you. It’s simply what we know. It’s what we’ve experienced, so when we read that “Jacob loved Rachel” we automatically assume she was wearing Maggie Sottero and served a vanilla cake with raspberry creme filling. 
The writer of the book of Hebrews reminds us that the “Word of God is sharper than a double-edged sword.” But it’s one that’s often used offensively as much as defensively. One that hurts people, cuts to the deep. 
Friends, people shouldn’t leave our presence maimed by the Scriptures. We have no authority to slice and dice.  Convicting and convincing is more the work of the Holy Spirit than Holy Helpers. Instead we have a responsibility to love others. All of them. The ones we agree with, the ones we don’t. 
So please, continue worthwhile and thoughtful discussion. Ask questions that matter, not ones that prove your point. Show some humility and let others see that you don’t know all the answers. But please, leave the “Biblical definitions” out of it. 
We don’t get many definitions in the Bible. Those came more with the age of reason, eons after such a beautiful and helpful and true Book was composed. But what we do get are pages and pages of examples, stories of truth involving faithful people trying – succeeding and failing – to walk with God. Much like many of us are attempting today. 
*Admittedly, most offenders if the “biblical defense” attempts  fall on one side more often than the other. Again  this post isn’t for or against either side, but rather the poor use of evidence to defend a position. 

When I’m not the perfect Mom

I can’t – or won’t – begin to count my #momfail indiscretions today. This week. I feel like our household has been on a constant cycle of my frustrations, followed by the kids not listening, followed by my short patience, followed by their insistence on pushing the buttons to see what, exactly, could make me snap. Then as I offer what pithy apology I can muster for being frustrated or not using my words or whatever the infraction, we begin the process again. Sprinkle in a sick kid and a dash of medical profession frustrations while you’re at it. Just for giggles. 

Sometimes, I just want to stop. Beyond that, sometimes I want my  kids to know my limit. Here is where I stop. Here is where I fall to pieces. Here is where I feel I can give no more.  But in my heart of hearts, I know that knowledge doesn’t serve the kids best. It only adds a notch of self-righteousness to my belt of savior complex. 
But can I tell you what such days does for me? It gives me an ounce of grace for God, especially on weeks like this – Holy Week. 
I know, I know – theologically-speaking, God doesn’t “need” grace. He’s the giver, the creator of grace, not the recipient. But in his gift of parenthood, he allows our eyes to be opened to this beautiful parent-child relationship of which I shadow with my littles, and though it’s imperfect, I still gain perspective. Sometimes I wonder if I get a taste of what God feels. 
So maybe, on the week we remember God giving over his only son, experiencing the grief and anguish any parent would sell their soul to avoid, I can find a place to give God a break. To stop asking “why?” and simply appreciate that He would go to such lengths to redeem a world and a person He loves. Maybe I can give up being frustrated with the many ways in which we don’t experience the fullness of the resurrection right now and realize that perhaps if I can just be patient God will, indeed, show us his finished work – in myself and in the world. 
Or maybe it’s an opportunity to see that God has done everything necessary to make the Kingdom possible. Dinner is served, I just can’t seem to to stop picking around the mushrooms and complaining that “it’s too hot, please blow on it.” 
At the end of the day, frustration and tears included, I still love my kids. We sometimes end the day celebrating the mercy of bedtimes and start the next day with a new dose of patience. But in realizing how much it takes to continually offer that grace to my kids, I’ve come to a new appreciation of God’s willingness to start afresh with me. 
God may have an edge with his nature of perfection and all. He probably doesn’t end up in tears on the living room floor after we – again – don’t pick up the toys as requested. I doubt he kicks doors or slams computers shut or tosses around hurtful words carelessly. And the fact he hasn’t had it up to here shows me the depths of his patience, the distance of his grace, the hugeness of his love for me. When I reach my limits, it’s hard for me to fathom his limitlessness, but my appreciation for it grows nonetheless. 

Saved by the [dinner] bell

For all intents and purposes, today was a fail. Clarification: #momfail. The kids acted (mostly) just fine, but I lost my ability to remain calm and patient. I yelled. I got frustrated. I wagged my finger. I was late picking them up from a friend who kept them all morning (I know – all that failure stuff just in the time to get out the door. Super, eh?). 

Then, there was dinner. And I was dreading it. 
We had a good chunk of leftover beef brisket from the weekend that had been slow cookered with a sauce (store bought), of which no one raved. Then we had a flank steak from Pinterest that again drew few comments. So here I am with a bag of meat (*wince face, looking sideways*) that simply must be eaten or I’ll have an economic heart attack. I also had 2 heads of broccoli that my meal plan rearrangement left orphaned. So, Mongolian Beef & Broccoli it was. 
Backstory: my husband looooooves “Chinese” food. (I use the quotes because I’ve yet to visit China but I have a sneaking suspicion that the food I would eat would not taste like our take out). And every attempt I’ve ever made, short of the MSG-laden envelopes, failed miserably. Even something as simple as fried rice (and yes, I cooked it the day before and then fried). So my enthusiasm for tonight dinner lagged just a tad. 
Alas, the hour of whining was upon me, so I began the preparations. And I must say, the results – based on a poll of child eaters and myself, as JJ comes home late tonight – were astounding. “It’s delicious!” came out more than once per child. Baby C inhaled the broccoli. H Boy raved about the meat and ate 2 bowls of everything  Miss M even finished her bowl. Top that off with the fact I didn’t obliterate the rice for once and you’ve got one happy mama. 
So, here’s the recipe. I solemnly vow never to use up leftover roast or tough beef in any other way again. I’m also detailing exactly what I did because I was using leftovers. We’ll pretend it’s because I want you to have the same glorious experience. Really, I just need to log this down exactly what order I did everything because to say I “strayed” from my guiding recipe is an understatement. 
Mongolian Beef & Broccoli :: Leftover Resuscitator
Mix together in a glass measuring cup:
1/2 cup soy sauce (I only buy the gluten free now, not just because of the gluten thing but because the taste is far superior. Totally worth the extra $0.40 for a purchase you make every 3 months at most)
1/2 cup water
1/4ish tsp red pepper flakes (definitely more if you like heat – this recipe is a zero on that scale, fine by me)
Several good shakes of ground ginger (I have no idea the fresh-to-dried ratios to follow, but JJ believes ginger to be the miracle seasoning, so I wasn’t shy. I’d guess 1/4-1/2 tsp)
1/4 cup brown sugar
In your biggest frying pan over low heat: 
Chop 1 carrot small and saute in a few tablespoons of sesame seed oil until mostly soft
Add 3 cloves garlic and cook 1-2 minutes (if you’re using fresh ginger, add it now. How much fresh ginger? You’d have to ask a fresh ginger user. Not me.) 
Add sauce and bring to a simmer, cook 3-4 minutes. It doesn’t really get much thicker. 
Toss in: 
2 heads broccoli, chopped (no stems for us)
1 onion, in long thin pieces (julienne? I’m so not a food blogger)
1 can water chestnuts
1 huge back of leftover meat, sliced. I swear there was at least a pound, probably a pound and a half. 
Cover and let simmer on medium low heat for a little while, stirring somewhat often as it’s a very full pan and you want the sauce to cover well. 
Serve over rice, if you can cook it. There’s a 40% chance in this house, but tonight it was a win. 
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