Today I’m kicking off a series over at All Done Monkey called Parenting & Faith; a series I am SO excited about! I have read Leanna’s blog for some time now and can’t wait to see the rest of this series unfold. There are so many things I want Daniela to take away from her childhood, but faith — a belief in something bigger than herself, is vitally important to me. Start reading my guest post below then follow the link for the rest!

>>>>>>>>>>>

A Christmas Eve service excluded, my family and I haven’t been to church in a year. I don’t know if I’ve given up on church exactly, but I know that I wasn’t getting what I needed — and neither was Daniela, my 10 year old daughter.

Faith has always been the foundation of my life. Faith and dreadfully boring church services. From the time I was a small babe until I quit my Christian college, I went to church three times a week, at least. I know every Bible story by heart and can still recite most of the Proverbs. I learned the Golden Rule, but I also learned that God is angry and punishes unbelievers with an eternity in a fiery hell. When I compare that concept with the Christ I met in the New Testament, it just doesn’t add up. I can’t reconcile a loving, merciful, patient father-like God with this being that says “I give you one human lifetime to figure it out or I’ll throw you in the fire FOREVER” (Cue evil villain laugh). Click here to keep reading on All Done Monkey! 

I fancy myself a gluten free connoisseur. Though it certainly wasn’t a lifestyle change I accepted heartily or even civilly, it is one that proved to be a godsend for my migraines. I may have entered the diet kicking and screaming, but over the last 3 years I’ve come to accept it and embrace it. It’s such a part of who I am now that I very rarely think about it.

Then there’s nights like tonight. Good lord have mercy. I stalk the kitchen cabinets for food and glare at my husband like he is purposely hiding my stuff. I open the refrigerator and sigh. I open the freezer and sigh. I contemplate scrambled eggs. I throw up a little in my mouth. My sweet husband offers me steak and I turn my nose up at it like it’s crawling with maggots. I slam cupboards and whine like a child. I pace. I stare longingly at the specialty linguini and alfredo sauce (I’m also dairy free) only to throw myself on the nearest chair and pout. 5 minutes later I find myself in the bathroom angrily swiping at stupid tears that make me feel utterly ridiculous and childish. I give myself a “grow up” pep talk and decide that I’m going to the store to buy my insanely expensive lunchmeat and make a sandwich. My beautifully patient husband, however, tells me to grab my book and relax. He’s going to go get it for me. Bless his heart. 10 minutes later I get this: 

#1 He knows me well

#2 The thoughtfulness of this gesture sends me into another round of tears (that may be slightly hormonal…)

#3 Tonight I am moved by a small act of kindness. Marco could have returned my moodiness with irritation (and rightfully so). Instead he acted with love and kindness, completely changing my evening.

#4 I can learn so much from him

I laughed my butt off at this video! I mean seriously, I had to re-vamp my caller id’s when Daniela learned to read ;)

It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah. 

You know the song, right? If not, take listen here. haunting and beautiful, as cliche as that sounds.

I found myself  inwardly chanting this several times today. At odd times too. I woke up in the middle of the night with the phrase running through my head. Then again when I got up this morning (at 4:30am!!! ungodly hour!!) Later,  I found myself whispering it to God.

again. and again.

it’s been one of those days. Involving a dead hedgehog. Don’t ask.

Broken hallelujah seems to be my battle cry as of late. Today, specifically. I’ve started this post 4 times now and keep getting interrupted. I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m finally sitting down to write. But, whenever I feel Wild Eyed Mama start to peek out of my calm and nurturing self I whisper it. It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.

Then I inhale.

And exhale.

iiiiiiiin and ouuuuuut. iiiiiiiiin and ooooooout. Very good. ooooooommmmmmm.

It keeps me sane in those moments of mind numbing frustration (and I have a sneaking suspicion that my lung capacity has more than doubled in recent months…) The deep breaths serve a greater purpose though. They get me to the point where I can reasonably consider what had me so frustrated to begin with and ya know what? Most of the time it’s just me. FREAKING ME!  Me reacting to something that was never intended the way I took it. Shocking, i know.

Let me delve a little deeper here. Every single person is a divine and inspired human being put in place by God out of love. Every. Single. One. These divine humans, however, are not always pretty. In fact, most of the time they (we) are just stumbling through this thing called life and trying our damnest to keep our heads above water. Especially parents. Oh, parents. But see, God doesn’t expect us to get everything perfect on this journey we are collectively taking. He has grace, and patience, and He fixes broken hallelujahs for  us. He makes our hallelujah sweet again, all the while knowing that we will most assuredly break it AGAIN. And he does this because of his profound and amazing love. Love that our human hearts just can’t quite wrap themselves around.

Don’t be afraid or ashamed of those broken hallelujahs. Those moments when you want to duct tape your kids to the wall (or kick them out of the house entirely) or when you find yourself praying that your partner will step on a lego in the middle of the night (I heard that, Leah)… just remember that there is a God who wants to fix those hallelujah moments because He loves you personally and individually. Then you breathe. deeply.

I heard a phrase the other day that made me think…I’m not real sure where I heard it. To be honest, it may have been the Bible. It may have also been a wine bottle…or one of those cute little fortune cookies at Pei Wei (I ran out of time to make dinner…because I was on pinterest…no judging) “If you can be comfortable not knowing something, then you are ready to learn anything”. That really resonated with me and I thought about it all that day. I promptly forgot it the following day when Daniela came home from her mom’s house. Kid’s are funny like that. They tend to make you forget the very things you strive to remember.

That’s true in so many areas of life. I am HUGELY self conscious about not knowing something. Super Mom at the park says “Oh, I NEVER cook meat over blah blah degrees” I respond “Oh of course not! how awful!” and nonchalantly wonder off to the swings to google it on my phone. (Yes, I was keeping an eye on Daniela too.) Instead of saying oh really, why? and gaining her knowledge and insight, (and possibly a new friend) I have to act like I already know her valuable nugget of information. That is not helpful for anyone. (Is that what my Dad meant all those years about me being un-teachable?) please pause for this moment of self truth and revelation. thank you.

I am — if you haven’t figured it out — not Daniela’s “real” mom. Gasp. I know. it stunned me too, but Im learning to cope with it.  I am a stepmom. StepMom. Step Mom. step Mom. Bonus! Mom. Some people are really picky with how the word stepmom is written. I’m not one of those people. I also rarely refer to her as my stepdaughter. She’s my daughter. period. Anyway,  not being comfortable with not knowing something totally  takes over mission control when it comes to being a stepmommy. I just have to know exactly how to properly do EVERYTHING. We eat only organic food. She takes her lunch in all glass containers. She drinks out of only glass or stainless steel. We use “un-paper” towels. She has a ridiculously strict bedtime (though that is more for me and her dad…wink wink) but Mama Christi knows it all!!!!! yeah…not so much…but I get that reaction a lot when talking to moms and even Daniela’s friends. Im not so sure that’s a good thing. The number of moms who ask how I keep it all so put together boggles my mind. I don’t feel put together.  If anything, I’m grasping for the feeling of having it so put together while concealing the desperation, exhaustion, and mindlessness with a cute pair of shoes ;)  But if Im so busy trying to prove to the other “real” moms around me that I’ve got it all together, how can I be real and genuine with them? And a fake life takes you know where baby. trust me, i’ve seen the fruit of that particular labor and it’s not pretty. Besides, the friends I am real with I like a lot better, so being real must lead to better relationships. Lightbulb!

I’m a stepmom, and I’m not perfect , but I’ve decided to try my damnedest to always be real with those around me. I want people who interact with me to always walk away  feeling better about (and more accepting of) themselves and their mommy quirks. Even if I have to push aside my pride and admit to silly (and potentially embarrassing) things along the way. This is my journey, born of a love for the written word and a desire to connect with people on more than just a superficial level.

And by the way, I made my dinner tonight at a reasonable temperature thereby avoiding the carcinogens and heterocyclicamines. boo-ya Super Mom at the park.