What is in a name...

Once upon a time, a rather cute, red headed nurse met a rather cute cop in the ER of White Plains Hospital Center (WPHC) on a hot July morning. That cop stalked that nurse until he got to ask her out on a date. She said yes and off they went.
For the life of her, she could not remember his last name, she just knew she could not pronounce it. At the end of that first date, she asked him his last name again...
"Schlusser"
"Say again?"
"Schlusser"
"Oh." she said...
"Okay." she thought, "well, it doesn't matter. It's not like I am going to marry him anyway."
She thought..."First of all, he is a cop, second of all, I can't say his name. Nope, not gonna marry a guy who's name I can't pronounce."

A few months later, while we stood at city hall filling out our marriage licence, "NAME" appeared in front of me...would I take it, would I not take it. Come on...
Who in the right mind would take "SCHLUSSER" if they could stay "BRENNAN" for crying out loud?
It wasn't like I cried in the office or anything, I just hesitated for a moment. As un~liberated as I may be in terms of feminism, I was still raised in a post~feminist revolution world. I stood still with the pen poised for just an instant and filled in the form...but the memory of the moment sticks with me even now. It was as if time stood still as I contemplated being woman and doing the whole roar thing.
What strikes me as so time telling is that what was once an automatic was now a decision. Only a generation and a half earlier, Ellen Durkin became Ellen Brennan with out a thought about it except perhaps to practice her new name. The same holds true for Cecilia Smith who became Brennan and Margaret Fedo who became Peggy Durkin...While they may not have liked the new name they didn't have any choice. I was the first generation in my family that did have that choice.
So what is the big deal? And why do I feel compelled to write about it? After all, I took the name didn't I?
Because somewhere between the burning of the bras and my marriage license a shift occurred in the conscience of we woman. No longer were we lemmings, we were individuals and that is not a bad thing after all. Kind of like sex, our generation made a decision if we were going to have it or not...no longer did society dictate the definition of good girl vs. bad girl. We made the decision for ourselves.
All good right? I don't know about that. Yes, in many ways, it is way more honest, but in the course of history, how many times has the quest for knowledge out smarted, at least for a while, wisdom?
We are told in the Word of God to seek after Wisdom and God will give it freely. But in terms of knowledge, once we have it, we are responsible for it. There are things that our God never intended for us to know. And once we know it, we can't unknow it.
Am I suggesting that it is bad to have a choice in names after marriage? Yeah, maybe a little. Before you start contacting Gloria whats her name, who eventually got married and now we don't hear from her anymore by the way....hear me out.
John gave me a really good ring when he proposed. I mean it is way, way, way good. A couple Karats that include both mine and Mom's diamonds. It is a RING! My mother-in-law told him he had to get me a really good ring so that when I was shaking the poop off the diapers one day, I might catch a glimmer on that diamond and remember why I married him in the first place! What a good woman she was!
But let me tell you, that ring, while still a contract, is an asset. More then once I have thought that I could sell it when things got real rough. I learned to wait on the Lord in those moments and I have to admit, I pretty darn glad it is still on my finger...but if in our nation, when things are so bad, there is ever a time I need to sell that really, really good ring for my family, I will. If it is a choice between food and ring or home and ring...off goes the ring into the shop.

The name I get to keep. John gave me his name. Think about it ladies, he gave me his name, and his name was pretty good until I started to wear it. I am no longer Maryellen Margaret Brennan, I am Maryellen Schlusser...Mrs. Schlusser to my kids freinds and teachers and I love when they trip over trying to say it. If I really don't like someone, I wait patiently until they say it properly or just smile as they call me Ma'am.

I did nothing to earn John's name. He gave it freely. His name is the only gift he can never take back. Even in court, a judge would have to decide that for him. He gave it to me for all of my life. Even in death, I still think on my mom as Ellen Brennan, not Ellen Durkin...There are certain gifts that are forever gifts. John Schlusser gave me his name.

So while my own girls will have to decide on moral issues even now and name issues someday, unlike their grandmothers and great grandmothers, I pray they accept the name of the man who becomes their husband. I hope someday, I have a daughter-in-law, who accepts our name, SCHLUSSER....

This morning, I am going to a wake. A woman in our church buried her daughter about four months ago. Today she is burying her husband...so much pain in one sisters life. I won't pretend to have answers to all that God is doing in her life...nothing I could say right now matters. We truly rest in the Lord's providence in seasons of suffering.

It just struck me as I wrote this, that today, she does not have to give back her husband's name. Even in death, she gets to keep it. She is still a "Mrs." and does not revert back to being a "Miss" and his name is her own. Maybe that is why our husbands are the priest of our homes and why we accept their name. This widow is still known by the name of the man she has loved all these years.
**********Remind me about why I hate the term "Ms." for another post someday, okay? Oh, how I hate that term!**************************

I am blessed to be given a name and to be taken as John's own in marriage. It was a gift freely given. Yes, dear feminists, I belong to John. He is my husband and I am his wife. John gave me the name of Schlusser to own as my mine. In Glory, I get to stand on the name my God has given me: Child of the King. God made me royalty and by his grace I am a Schlusser dirt side and beyond.

“The Lord our God has secrets known to no one. We are not accountable for them, but we and our children are accountable forever for all that he has revealed to us.” Deuteronomy 29:29

Bacon and Heaven and my mom....

I had a whole plan for today's post.

I had been planning it since yesterday afternoon.

I HAD A PLAN!

And then Liz met me in the kitchen this morning with my mom's charm bracelet...and she started asking questions about her grandmother. Now my heart is all tender and I my plans are dashed yet again.

To make matters all the more tender, I looked at my friend, Missy's pictures from her beautiful daughter Ciara's confirmation. Missy's dad was Ciara's sponsor...and he looks so much like my own dad, that again, I got all tender hearted in missing my folks.

Missy knows what it feels like. She lost her mom way to young like me. I know there was a moment as she helped her young lady get ready for her big moment, that Missy thought, "Mom would have been so proud." or "Mom would have been wild about you, Ciara." or maybe even, "Mom would have made me crazy today!" No matter the thought, I know her mom's memory visited the special day...

But just as odd is how it can creep up on you, on a seemingly un-eventful Friday morning. Every once in a while it smacks at you: How could my own children and dear friends not know Ed and Ellen, my parents? I mean honestly how could that be? That charm bracelet that Liz wears, my dad bought mom because he was a crazy romantic and bought her gifts as he wined and dined her. Sigh...

The thing is, our children know more of the legacy of our folks then we realize. My girls know Mom in the way I make chicken cutlets a little too dry, 'cause "better dry chicken then salmonella!" as she use to say. They know her as they see my relentless pursuit to know our God...Mom was THE CCD teacher to every confirmation candidate in Christ the King parish in the late '70's and early '80's. She loved the Lord with all her heart, soul and mind...I pray my kids can say the same of me.

Dad was a big part of our lives until his death in 2005...only Maggie has but a glimpse of his memory. The rest of them have wonderful stories of the love he showed them. And they will always know when the "spirit of Ed" is upon me, because chances are I am tickling them, tearing down a wall or saying something to embarrass them. I declared church an "Ed free zone" at some point in my teens. I refused to sit with him any longer...the things he would say in a not so hushed whisper were enough to send any child into complete dis~ownership of the man!

Where are they? I have the assurance of Heaven for those who accept Christ. I hope that means that they are smelling bacon right now...

Ah-ha! I found a way to marry my tender heart to what I planned!

Yes, Heaven smells like bacon. There now you know for sure. Because I told you so and I have the biblical proof to stand on....

Leviticus 11 warns on clean vs. unclean meats for the Hebrew people...they were forbidden to eat pork. Still true today for those who live by a kosher diet. We even have good scientific reason for avoiding it like trichinosis. I've even read a few studies about how we just can't digest pork properly.

I guess it all boils down to the fact that all things are permissible but not all things are beneficial, just like Paul tells us.

But I think there may be another reason God was saving the pork...He was simply saving the bacon for Heaven.

Now I am not trying to add a word to God's Word. We are not allowed to do that. But I do think that some things are evident by implication.

Think about it, are you going to tell me that when Sara came out of that tent, you know the one Abraham sent her into as a concubine 'cause he was all a~scared of the king...you go ahead and tell me that when she came out that she DIDN'T call him a jerk. Tell me that you can't just let your holy imagination go and almost hear her laying him out on the camel hair carpet for all that nonsense.

But again, that is another post for another day. Today it is the implication of bacon. You see, it is okay for we gentiles to eat bacon because we are a Heavenly people...we are covered under the new covenant and therefore we get a "taste" of Heaven because we get a taste of the bacon.

No one can convince me otherwise...Heaven smells like bacon.

Be blessed all. If you have your folks, call 'em or give 'em a hug. Maybe make them a BLT...between us, we'll know all that the bacon implies.

Trust me, you will miss them when they are gone. Gotta run. Oscar Myer bacon is on sale this week at the Shoprite, gotta' get my fill here, dirt side!

In the cross hairs of the enemy...

Yeah, that's us.
In the last few months we have made some major changes in our lives. We gave up using credit cards, started to tithe, John decided to retire, got interviewing and jobs...since then we have had every upper respiratory infection known to man. Brennan even got pneumonia. Remember my post about poison ivy...yeah, poor Bren gets it just like her mom and no, I did not put her on prednisone. Jack developed seavers OC...in essence his growth plate flaps when he runs, nice. Yeah, we live in a fallen world. Okay. All of these medical thingies have mostly been inconveniences and co-pays. The thorn and the thistle.

But then it got personal.

First my electric griddle died. Have you ever tried to make pancakes for 7 with out a griddle? Takes a long time. But we prevailed.

Then it was the microwave...thank God for my thrifty friend Jennifer and her garage~sale~hounding husband. Because of them I have a fantastic $5.00 microwave that works perfectly on my counter...I have enough clocks in the kitchen telling me what time it is, I don't mind that the one on the micro blinks at all.

Last week when I was down with shingles of all things, I knew for sure, we are under attack. We knew for sure that we had become a very real threat to the kingdom of darkness. Spiritual though it may have been, it was D-day here. The enemy of our souls knows no mercy and he will attack the weakest link in our armor.

Yes, dear ones, he did just that.

The coffee maker died or rather, I believe was killed.

That's it, declared my darling husband! This has gone too far!
After several days of wonderful stove perked coffee that takes too long to make, we bit the bullet and bought a new coffee maker.

It lasted one pot and died. OR rather, it was done it. Yes, of course I threw out the receipt and the box...after all, it was going to last more then one dang pot!

After a morning of teenage angst, and middle school wardrobe malfunctions, not to mention a kindergartner hell bent on making me lose my crayons/brain cells, I am preparing for my time before the Lord.

While I would prefer the full armor of God to include the perfect shade of lipstick (the name of which I can now read since I have my glasses) as well as a fabulous pair of pumps and a matching in fabulousness bag...I am aware that this is full out thermonuclear spiritual war.

I am armed and ready to do battle on my knees dressed to kill with the sword of truth wielding at the get go. I have plead the precious blood of Jesus over every member of my family and myself. I just need one more cup of perked coffee to get going.

Ephesians 6:10-18

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints. "


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6LosvWMeew

Vanity vs. Coveting...

So, if I had a choice of sin between vanity and coveting, I have decided to pick vanity. Of course, sin is sin so this goes nowhere but if I had to choose, of course vanity would be the one.
All of this comes from my toe nails. Toe nails? Yes, dear, toe nails.
You see I have very ugly ones. Now when I was young and cute, having ugly toe nails is no big deal. I had so much more going on that no one would notice...but now I have a wee bit less going on, bi-foculs on the way and some darn ugly toes!
I would find myself in an elevator with some adorable little thing and of course the only polite thing to do in an elevator is to look down: smack at her pretty, painted toes. Her shoes didn't matter, it was all about those pretty toes. Sigh. I would curl up my toes in my tennis shoes. I would try to find solice in being a devoted mother to five beautiful children. Then I would convince myself that I must be somewhat better then she, after all, I am a RN! I am married to a great guy! And I have the best hair! I would all but leave the elevator after two floors with a "HMPH"!
None of this was helped by the fact that my dear friend Amy sends out a "time-to-get-that-summer-time-pedicure-in" email every year, or at least use to... It was just a painful reminder that people are indeed looking at my ugly toes! Even my own daughter, Liz, bought me a box of glue on toe nails for my birthday. Nothing says "I love you mom, but you got some ugly toes", like a box of Lee Press ons!
But alas, my God knew my pain. He did. One hot summer night last July my fabulous friend, Miss Tracy, was at my home. I was busy coveting her perfect french manicured toes when I told her how much I loved them. I will never forget the words of wisdom that came forth from her mouth as long as I live.
"Girl, they are all FAKE! You've just got to glue them on real careful because sometimes when you go to hug somebody, one will fly off. You just pretend you didn't notice and go glue on a new one in the ladies room. You can even get them done, but the ones at Walgreen's are just as good."

Well that crazy birthday gift from my very bestest daughter, Liz, was cracked open the minute Miss Tracy and her girls left! I filed a little, I glued a lot and went on to paint all ten bad boys, fire engine RED! I swear I stood taller then I have since I lost that 3/4 inch in height over the last several child-bearing-years! I am all but convinced that no one will notice the 20 pounds I have gained because they are so busy looking at my ten fabulous toes!

So where does all of this vanity leave me? Well, you know the darn thing is that come winter, those perfect toe nails don't stay on so well in socks and boots. I found myself constantly having to stop to pull a nail out from under my toe, stuck in my boots, during a snow storm. So I went all natural for the winter where only my own family could see the real me toes. Of course for our Christmas party I sent Liz to Walgreen's to pick up a set for me to wear with my open toe'd shoes, but once the guests left, I pealed them off and went back to my bear toes...

Isn't that just so much truth. How often do I peal myself off and let all of my ugliness show to my children and to my husband. How often as Beth Moore put it, do I let my insecurity about something stupid steal my dignity? How many outfits have I tried on when I am feeling fat and PMS and made us late for a party or even worse, church, while my family waited for the queen to emerge from her quarters? How many times, have I behaved more like the gestapo then a mom, getting the kids to clean the house before someone, who makes me feel uncomfortable comes over? How much is my own vanity really just coveting in disguise?

How precious our God is to know us girls so well. When the Proverbs 31 lady showed up in scripture it wasn't just to make us see how poorly we are doing! It was to remind us that beauty really does fade, that charm really is deceitful and that a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

I can take great fun poking at myself as I enter the middle age years. Believe me, I have plenty of ammunition here! But I have every intention of living to a great old age. I will spend more time as an old woman then I did as a young woman. Let's say that I am exactly middle aged right now. That means that I would get to Glory at around the age of 84...no one will be carrying on about how pretty I am at that point! No one will be admiring my smooth skin or silky red hair (dyed hair at 84 would look silly, I want the white stuff then) and no one will be carrying on about my fantastic figure...not at 84! There is a chance that there won't be anyone around to remember what a hottie I was 24 anyway. No, I will only be considered and called beautiful if I allow Christ to remake me into His image. Only if the beauty of Christ shines through me, will anyone be attracted to me. Sounds like that is what needs to be worked on, not what WILL waste/waist away.

But I do plan to have pretty toes right up to the end!



"She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come." Proverbs 31:25