Fear Is A Very Bad Life-Coach

My house is quiet. The boy is at Grandma's and the girl is napping and I am eating chocolate chips like it's my job while also pondering the fact that being an introvert and a stay-at-home mom sometimes mix like toothpaste and apple juice. (According to Sam, that's a deadly combo.)

But, moments like these help me survive the chaos and the usual lack of quiet. Well, moments like these and chocolate. And also wine. And sometimes cheese, if we're making a comprehensive list here. And if we're making a comprehensive list, then I should probably add Jesus. And now I'm thinking I should delete all the others things on my list, but I'm trying hard to be authentic here. 

Ethel the Bunny and Mae

Sometimes, after a few weeks of being busy and traveling and hosting and toddler-carrying and preschooler conversationing, I am DONE. I don't realize it until I get to the very last drop of my extroversion and then suddenly, the introvert in me just says, "NO." And, that's my cue to start making space somewhere in my day to be quiet, to reflect, to process something, anything, or else. 

In desperation, I set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. this morning. "I'll read and pray and ponder life and maybe even blog," I said to myself in blissful naivete. And then my phone alarm woke me at that ungodly hour and I didn't even consider getting up for a second. But, despite my total lack of fortitude, God provided this little "space between," if you will, for me to take a breath, eat a handful of chocolate chips in peace, and write some things down.  

This weekend we traveled back in time, or so it felt, to a place we lived for two years when Sam was quite smaller than he is now. We've been gone almost three years and seeing old friends and revisiting familiar haunts was life-giving. Granted, toting two small humans around all weekend whose little schedules were out of order did take it out of us a little. But, it was worth it a thousand times over and I think we both came home with renewed hearts and a brightened, hopeful perspective on friendships and community and the necessity of time required for building those.

Sweet friends on the mountain we visited. Also, that look Mae is giving Elijah.

The best part, besides the "Deb Tucker" cookies we enjoyed in two different friends' homes, was the conversations I got to have with wise friends who know me well enough to speak truth into the little spaces in my heart that needed attention. 

Ethel the Bunny was a bit of a draw.

I talked. A lot. Like until midnight:thirty Friday night. I also paid for that by being in a fog the rest of the weekend. Apparently, being thirty-seven and staying up past midnight don't pair well together. But, regardless, I got to tell the part of the story that we're in right now and it helped to talk (and talk) about it with someone who gets it and who knows me. 

And after all the talking and the sharing and the explaining of all the feelings about babies and adoption and possible job ventures and marriage and friendships, my friend Carli mentioned something that has been swirling around in my brain since Friday night.

She pointed out that fear is a very bad reason to do something, or not do something, for that matter. I suppose it was pretty obvious that in the midst of decisions that need to be made, I am being pinned to the ground by fear lately. Fear of making a mistake or of losing something important to me or regretting a decision once made. Fear of nothing and of everything all at the same time. 

I think I knew that my heart had been reacting out of fear lately, but having a friend gently and graciously point that out was necessary for me to really see what was happening.

And, so I left our weekend with a new awareness of these two things:

Fear is a very bad life-coach and

Friends who speak the truth to me with grace and kindness are on par with oxygen.

I hope I can be brave enough to hear truth from friends and loving enough to offer that back to them. Both may stretch the limits of our friendships, but expanding the boundaries of our relationships with one another enables depth and connection that keeping each other at arms' length never can.

Maybe we can be brave together, speaking truth (with grace) into the hard places, and find our hearts being knit together in ways we could barely even have hoped for. 

All The Terrible/Wonderful Reasons to Have/Not Have a Third Baby

I never really liked children before I had a couple of them. I sort of prided myself on not really being "into" kids, unlike my sweet freshman roommate who only included small children in her wedding party. She was a kid-whisperer while I was afraid to keep the nursery at church once a year. A psychiatrist would probably chalk my issues up to being single until I was 29 and harboring a secret fear that babies were not ever going to be a part of my story.

But, then, someone tall, dark, and handsome swept me off my feet and married me in my parents' front yard almost eight lovely, hard, and full years ago. And the possibility of children suddenly became a real thing and the desire to have them unexpectedly became an overwhelming, heart-rending need that nearly consumed me for about a year and half.

Literally, the week my OBGyn wrote "infertility" on my chart at her office, we found out Sam was being woven together inside my middle and subsequently in my heart. He's five and a half now and possibly the complete opposite of what I ever imagined a child of mine would be like and also the perfect version of any son I could have ever have conjured up.

About four months after his first birthday, we were pregnant again and a teensy bit overwhelmed by that fact because Sam had about the same amount of energy as a pack of wild monkeys, if monkeys traveled in packs, which according to Wild Kratts, they do not.

That summer we lost that baby to miscarriage (you can read that story here) and the following summer we lost a second baby (you can read about that here.) And, I thought that might be the end of having babies for me, which was more than a little heartbreaking.

But, if you have any connection with me in person, online, through a second-cousin four times removed, then you may have heard that those two summers were not the end of our baby-having. Mae made her sweet way into our family two summers later and I'm not sure if I can ever begin to put into words the deep, deep hope fulfilled that she is. She is a tangible representation to us of God's redemption of suffering and hard things.

Unbelievably to me, it's been almost two years since Mae made her debut, and we are loving this crazy, exhausting, beautiful life with our two sweet babes. And, for the most part, I feel content.
But, there's something stirring in my heart lately that's keeping me awake at nights and distracted during the day. Every baby picture uploaded to Facebook instantly makes my eyes water and the chance to hold a friend's beautiful ten-week-old last Friday almost put me over the baby fever edge.

And yet, there's a lot of fear intertwined with all these happy thoughts of snuggly newborns. I could make you a pretty ominous list of the litany of reasons why I'm scared out of my mind to do the baby thing again. At the top of the list is the fear of losing. Losing a baby, losing my freedom, losing normalcy during the season of pregnancy, losing sweet time with Sam and Mae, and figuratively (or maybe actually) losing my mind.

I should also add to this list the fact that twins run in our family like you would not believe. And I'm 37, which puts me over the cut-off age for having a "normal" pregnancy, according to the medical community (who also used to refer to pregnancy after 35 as "geriatric pregnancy." Let that sink in for a minute.)

However, the thought of a new little one joining our family, adding to the faces at our table, giving Sam and Mae a brother or sister to love, having one more chance to live out a baby story and see our hearts stretched to the limit with love and then stretched a little more, all these are reasons I can't stop wondering if maybe it's time to let my heart unfold a bit and move toward the possibility of another small person in our family.

 To add to the baby frenzy going on in my head, I'm also reading Adopted for Life by Russell Moore right now and have been for, oh, about three months. I finished off a novel in three days this weekend so I'm obviously running a little slow on Russell's beautiful treatise on adoption. But, it's hard, y'all. I love it, but it's pulling on the strings of my mama-heart in ways that feel a little uncomfortable. I'm drawn to his depiction of adoption, both spiritually and practically, but I'm not sure what it would look like to add to our family in that way. I want to more than I have words for, but, I'm afraid. That's a theme here, have you noticed?

So, I'm laying awake at night lately trying to sort all this out and, to be honest, it's beginning to unravel me a bit. The thought of a third child feels like a necessity at times and at other times I wonder if we should just get a dog. Don't be scared. I totally realize this is not the same thing. But, adding a fur baby to the fold feels a lot less daunting than a real baby who could turn out to be the rebellious one who sends me to an early grave over tattoos and body-piercings.

But, the questions still weigh on me. And so does the longing and, maybe even some fragile hoping.

Are we supposed to extend the boundaries of our family and welcome in one more, either the usual way or the adoptive way? OR MAYBE BOTH? For the love (a la Jen Hatmaker), I am all sorts of angsty about this question and Matt keeps calmly reminding me that none of this is up to us. Thank goodness for him or I would be on twelve different kinds of anxiety medication. Instead, I'm just on a regimen of dark chocolate.

I have no way to sum any of this up or come to any helpful conclusions. Only that Jesus knows if we need another person (or two?) in our family. I realize that the issue here is that I need to pray more. (You were planning on writing that in the comments, weren't you.)

And so I wait. We wait. And wonder if we're supposed to be a family of five. Or not.

Waiting is hard.

Dear Wardrobe, Goodbye.

Once upon a time, I loved a skirt.

The year was 2003 and I was still a newbie in the work-a-day world. I had just been hired at a concert booking agency just outside of Nashville and the girl whose position I was filling had a fantastic sense of style. The time I spent with her being trained for the job was also something of a week-long fashion show because that girl knew how to dress. And, sadly, I did not.

One of her outfits that week included a long, ivory skirt with a minimal black plaid design in light wool. It was somewhat fitted from the waist to the knee and then just barely skimmed the floor, with a kick pleat in the back that reminded me of something a woman might have worn a hundred years ago, which obviously made me love it that much more. Normally, I would semi-frown on the idea of buying an item of clothing exactly like someone else's, because that's, well, awkward. But, if there is such a thing as a dream skirt, this one was it. The questionable journey of my wardrobe's life found its destiny in that skirt and so, I did what was necessary. I purchased it for full price, which I'm pretty sure was around $85 (big money for my 24-year-old self). And, let it be known that I have never regretted that purchase for a single minute. Even when I seriously wore that skirt to the office while the girl who owned the original one was still there. That skirt managed to epitomize the way I had always wanted to dress but was never able to because I grew up in the fashion wasteland that was the 90s.

But, I digress.

That purchase was a major anomaly in my history of buying clothes. I typically don't fall in love with articles of clothing AND I almost never buy clothes at full price.

To be clear, I like pretty clothes. In fact, I had literal (though tiny) tears in my eyes when I walked into Anthropologie recently, because, well, it's beautiful, and it's basically where my closet wants to go when it dies. But, the price tag situation at Anthropologie is somewhat dream-dashing and all I can think about when I see a pair of jeans for $198 is that I could support five missionaries in India for that amount. Seriously.

So, is it even possible that the desire to have lovely clothes doesn't have to be completely in conflict with also valuing being frugal?

Oh, but it is.

Once T.J. Maxx and I began our beautiful and somewhat dangerous relationship, shopping at the mall for me became as obsolete as renting a movie at Blockbuster. I can only imagine the sense of failure I would feel if I bought a $100 dress at the mall only to discover one almost exactly like it for $25 at T.J. Maxx. Or, better yet, on Amazon with two-day free shipping.

I cleaned out my closet a few weeks ago after reading a motivating blog post called Why I Got Rid of My Wardrobe, which made me realize that my dependency on yoga pants as a wardrobe staple had to end. After years of buying cheap t-shirts, shorts and "athletic wear" at Old Navy and Target, I had a closet full of junk clothes. And at 37, wearing a faded t-shirt with Harvard stamped on it and a pair of drawstring shorts from Old Navy is just a little bit sad. Two babies and the obvious realities of aging have necessitated that I step it up a bit. And so, out went the too-short shorts, the raggedy t-shirts, the slightly flared jeans (that I secretly hope will show back up in the fashion "do" list eventually), the strapless dresses, and anything else that had been worn before I turned 30. It felt like therapy tossing all that stuff into a big garbage bag, all ready for it's new life at Goodwill.

Now, here's the part where I explain one way in which frugal and fancy can bump right up against each other. I found a company online called Twice that buys and sells gently used clothing, purses, and shoes. A few of the things I had decided to cull from my closet were nice brands and still in great shape, so I figured I'd give Twice a try.

I mailed around fifteen items to Twice and about two weeks later got an offer for my clothes, a cash offer and an in-store credit offer. I took the in-store credit offer of around $60, added a 40 percent off "new customer" coupon, and bought myself the first fancy purse I've ever owned. The day it came I laid it on the bed in our room and found myself wandering in every little bit just to gaze at it and feel the fabulously soft leather. AND, despite it's $100 price tag on Twice ($195 originally), I paid $0.

So, the moral of the story is, even cheap-ish shoppers like moi who love pretty things but don't want to overspend can find practical ways for fancy and frugal to meet.

Honestly, it's a bit out of the ordinary for me to talk about skirts or a purse or shopping. I'd much rather be talking about the book I'm reading (Bread and Wine) or what my kids are doing (Mae's counting to twenty. What?) or what's for dinner (burgers, chips and salsa, and homemade ice cream). But, despite the somewhat shallow topic of skirts and purses, I'm going to file this post under "practical-ish." Get rid of your old stuff, buy pretty new stuff for cheap, save money, and support missionaries.

Win, win, win and also, win.

Hope you get the same satisfaction I did cleaning out your closet and maybe even finding your own fancy purse (or dress, or jacket, or shirt...) at Twice.

Now, go clean out that closet! (she said in her most encouraging, non-bossy way).

Family Faves: Five Recipes I'm Wearing Out Right Now

I didn't learn to make edible food until about three months into marriage. I was 29. Before that, I ate a lot of Kraft macaroni and cheese, cereal and Wheat Thins. Matt told me I pretty much ate like a fifth grader when he met me. Sad and also true.

Fast forward 8 years and I'm slowly coming into my own in the the kitchen. I still burn bread beautifully and sometimes the exciting new recipes I try turn out to be The Worst and I may or may not serve hot dogs almost once a week. BUT, I'm also having some success here and there, which makes being in the kitchen 45 percent of my life less of a chore and more of a, dare I say, joy?

This blog doesn't have any delusions about growing up to become a food blog, but, there are a few recipes that I keep coming back to lately that I thought I'd share with you:

Giada de Laurentiis's Marinara Sauce: A friend of mine introduced me to this recipe for marinara when she brought her family over to share supper with ours on the deck one evening last fall. The men grilled chicken on skewers and we had a big bowl of pasta and crusty bread, which was life-changing when dipped in the warm marinara. This recipe is super easy and totally kid-friendly. Bonus: It's a great way to sneak vegetables onto your kids' (and your own) plate. Win Win.

Steamy Kitchen's No Knead Bread: This bread is easier than it should be. All you need are a few basic ingredients, a big pot, and some good butter. Yum.

Lisa Leake's Pumpkin Muffins: This recipe is from Lisa Leake's 100 Days of Real Food cookbook, which is semi-changing my life right now. I make a big batch at the beginning of the week and serve them up for the kiddos' breakfast every morning along with a side of bacon and apple slices. Note: I use whole wheat flour rather than the spelt flour, mainly because I'm not sure where to even buy spelt flour in my small town.

Jami Nato's DIY Tacos: If you're looking for a basic meal that your kids (and your husband) will want to hug you for, this might be it. All it requires is good ground beef, some spices, tortillas and toppings. Perfect week-night meal.

The Best Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies: Obviously, you need a dessert recipe because what's the point of living if there isn't a little dessert after dinner? These are simple and yummy and decidedly not fat-free, so, pace yourself. (I speak from experience.)

OK, I realize three out of five on my list of recipes are baked goods. Vegetables and I are in a complicated relationship right now, but I think we're working things out. In other words, I'm trying to introduce a few more vegetables into our rotation before we all come down with scurvy (insert scared face emoticon). Just kidding. Sort of.

How about you? Do you have family favorites that you keep coming back to?

Dear Husband, This Is Why I Spent $100 at Target Yesterday

Maybe I've mentioned this before, but I'm a stay at home mom, which means I spend roughly 90% of my existence chasing small people around the same few rooms all the livelong day. And while I'm keeping my eyes on said small people, making sure they don't go swimming in the toilet or eat tubes of lipstick, I find myself constantly taking stock of the little world we live in. And by that I mean, I imagine all the many projects I could possibly start around the house and subsequently drag Matt into after I get in over my head.

Here's an abbreviated version of my current to-do list (which is an ever-changing rolodex of semi-creative "genius"):

~ The little table behind the couch, which I'm dreaming about painting yellow.
~ The dining room chairs which need re-upholstering due to excessive crayon and Play-Doh abuse.
~ The ten-year-old desk from Target in the guest room that's begging to be painted a distressed white.
~ The blank wall above the desk which would be perfect for the floating shelves I've got tucked away in the closet. (I just need someone tall and handy with tools to hang them for me...)

Essentially, I have a running to-do list that would make Matt's hair stand on end if he could actually get his hands on a typed-out version.

And then there are those innocent little trips to Tar-jay and T.J. Maxx where I find myself wandering through the home decor section as I mentally redecorate my house with all the things on the sale end-cap. I've learned the hard way that I am physically incapable of leaving Target without $100 disappearing from our checking account. Every. Single. Time. (I'm starting to suspect dark marketing subterfuge in the board rooms of Target's headquarters and I'm pretty sure Dateline needs to get on that expose' pronto.) This situation is also why my family should always live at least twenty-five minutes away from a Target, minimum. Then there's T.J. Maxx, which is another dysfunctional love story that deserves its own, very lengthy, somewhat emotional blog post. 

But, somehow, in the midst of all the semi-impulse buying (which I'm exaggerating slightly) and project-starting, there is something important happening.

I, dear reader, am home-making.

I'll give you a minute to roll your eyes (if you're my husband) and possibly even smirk over how I'm about to draw a connection between impulse Target-buying and the beautiful and crucial art of creating a home for my family.

Making a case for chalk paint, crafting felt and Target end-caps sales being significant parts of home-making might be a bit of a stretch, but the value of making a home beautiful and the indispensable role of the person who makes that happen is inestimable (says the homemaker humbly).

Do you know who's responsible for turning our house into a living, breathing home? Moi. Matt's a little preoccupied with excessive amounts of yard work and taking the trash out and other household chores that I'd rather not do. And in his free time, he's more interested in rough-housing with our little people and maybe getting in a little Sports Illustrated reading than re-arranging furniture and distressing picture frames. And, that's good with me. I'm happy to assume the role of picture-hanger, knick knack arranger, organizer of shelf decor, painter of old furniture, and basically the CEO of all the pretty stuff and the places it should go.

I realize we could make do without my puttering around looking for just the right place for an old eggplant-colored pitcher that was a wedding present to my grandparents sixty-five years ago. But, that pitcher will play a small part in the bigger picture that is the home I'm creating, which is only made more beautiful by pieces with stories to tell.

Friends, I promise I'm not advocating that you blow your household budget at Home Goods or that you obsess over your house to the point where no one feels comfortable sitting down on your perfectly fluffed couch pillows. But, what I am saying is that the art of making a home is worthwhile. You might not think it matters to your husband and those little people you made together, and they might not even realize it matters to them, but the effort you put in to giving them a home that feels beautifully and intentionally created will offer them that proverbial, and somewhat indefinable, sense of feeling at home.

I do a lot of other things to keep my household working (i.e., cleaning bathrooms, cooking dinner, LAUNDRY, keeping the grocery list on budget most of the time, etc.), but the small moments when I work to make our home a lovely respite, a place for rest and comfort and sanctuary from the outside world, that time is just as valuable as the practical tasks that are always and forever on my to-do list.

At this moment, there are blue chalk handprints on the pantry door, someone's (shout out to Mae) pumpkin muffin crumbs are scattered on the den rug, and nobody's bed is made right now, so we're not living in a perfect house by any stretch of the imagination. Also, I'm not the craftiest or the most skilled at decorating and my budget for anything extra for the house is rather small (Matt would say non-existent).

But, here's the thing, there is redemption even in the simple act of home-making, of making your family's house into a home that is lovely and welcoming. Restoring, creating, making things new: these are ways that I can reflect a redeeming, creative, restoring God. There is real beauty in that which gives this imperfect, Target-loving, home-making mama some hope on an allergy-full, kid-crazed, it's-almost-summer-and-I'm-freaking-out-a-little kind of Thursday. 

Here are a few places I go sometimes for a homey idea or two:

Why my bed hasn't been made yet.

http://therusticboxwood.com/
http://www.younghouselove.com/
http://www.thenatos.com/
http://www.thenester.com/




 

Happy Nerds

Every now and then the stars align and I find myself in the car all by my lonesome. The unfamiliar glory of freedom goes to my head and I consider driving to Montana for the day. I opt for the grocery store instead, which was the plan in the first place, but the sudden ability to have real, actual thoughts (!!) is almost as good as that dreamy road trip to the Midwest. Anyhoo, during these little rides by myself I sometimes turn on talk radio or NPR to see if I can learn something.

This week, I learned a few things that technically I already knew, but suddenly hit me in a different way now that I have two small cheddar-bunny-eating people in my charge. News reports on the total insanity known as Spring Break, which happened a few weeks ago in Florida, caught my attention. And it occurred to me as I listened to the description of what was taking place on the sandy beaches of our bordering state, that, as a parent, I would really, really, really like to shut that stuff down. Way down. I realize that I am at risk of sounding rather old and out-of-touch right now. Prepare yourself, because I'm also probably going to use the phrase "young people these days" any minute.

I've also tuned in to a few radio shows lately discussing the rampant assaults, hazing and generally disturbing behavior that happens on college campuses and I'm starting to think that home-school college should be a thing. I had a fantastic, drug-free, drunk-free, bad-boyfriend-free, crazy-free college experience, but that's been a ninth-grader's life span ago and things have changed a bit since I moved my tassel over. I'm pretty sure iPhones, social media, tweets, Snapchat, Instagram, etc. have absolutely changed the game since I had exactly 100 minutes on my "car" phone (which also came with it's own handy zip-up bag.)

In light of all the information out there on what the "young people" are getting into these days, I have come to something of a conclusion. I think the key to modern parenting just might be summed up by two words: happy nerds.

What's a happy nerd? Essentially, I'd define a happy nerd as a kid who doesn't care too much about what other kids think about them, who likes to learn stuff, who feels pretty confident about who they are, and who isn't spending 3/4 of their lives developing carpal tunnel due to excessive texting. A happy nerd is interested in exploring a new idea or solving a problem or creating something unique rather than spending the afternoon taking questionable selfies of themselves and then dumping all that jazz on to Twitter or Snapchat for other similarly-minded teenagers to comment on.

A happy nerd would rather be spending his or her time discovering something about the world or engaging someone in actual conversation or reading a book that stimulates their imagination or expands their understanding on some interesting topic rather than hanging out at the mall and not shopping.

Do happy nerds have friends? Yes. Just not the kind that invite them to parties in their parents' basement and then ply them with cheap alcohol so they can video them jumping off the roof into a pool. Do happy nerds fall in love? Yes. But, they get to know one another by spending quality (key word) time together and conversation, rather than just texting TMZ-worthy pictures of themselves to each other late at night.

Am I being a tad bit dramatic/unrealistic/naive? Yes. Do I want my son to grow up to be a semi-introverted inventor/engineer? Sort of. Do I hope that my daughter chooses to be a librarian when she graduates homeschool college? Absolutely. Are either of these things going to happen? Probably not.

BUT, I still stand by my happy nerd theory. At the end of the day, I want to raise children who value the things that matter and recognize and avoid the stuff that will resurface on Facebook twenty years from now and keep them from getting a real job. I'm having a moment where I'm realizing my little people won't be little forever and it's making me feel the tiniest bit nervous about who and what they will become. And I absolutely get that, at some point, their choices will be their own and I won't be able to take responsibility for them.

I know that I can't control what paths my children take, but it is HARD for this mama-heart to not want to navigate every step they take and make wise choices for them and absorb all the inevitable heartaches they'll weather. This parenting thing is such a high-wire balance of truth and love, control and freedom, holding on and letting go, acting and waiting, fearfulness and trust. Whoever said motherhood was not for the faint of heart was the Captain Of Obvious Statements.

Red socks go with everything.

Regardless of all my hopes and wishes and plans for who they grow up to be, in the end I just want them to know Jesus. It's as simple and as complicated as that.

And, so I slip into their rooms at night, long after they've drifted into dreamland and I whisper prayers over their sweet little selves. I'm hoping  that they can simply trust and obey and avoid having to learn things the hard way. But, whether they have to fall and get up a thousand times or they turn out to be miraculously obedient, I have to keep reminding myself that they belong to Jesus.

And He doesn't let anything or anyone that belongs to Him slip out of His sight or His hand.

Jesus loves me this I know, 
for the Bible tells me so. 
Little ones to Him belong. 
They are weak, but He is strong. 






  

In Defense of the Romantic Movie: Why You Should See Cinderella

I left my little people's bedtime duties to my gracious husband a few weeks ago and, somewhat on a whim, went to see the new movie version of Cinderella with a girlfriend. Turns out, movies for children without the children are rather nice. And seeing a movie like Cinderella without the children turns into a chance to spend two hours being completely immersed in child-like wonder and remembering what it felt like to lose myself in a magical story outside of time, which doesn't happen very often now that I'm a boring grown-up.

(courtesy of Disney Pictures)

A friend, whom I adore for so many reasons, recently wrote an articulate article for US Catholic about her experience watching the new version of Cinderella with her 5 1/2 year-old son. Her opinion of the film was that this new version of the familiar story was too full of glitter and sparkles for her taste and was missing that tinge of darkness that, one might argue, gives a fairytale the very slightest tangency to reality. And I get that. But, for me, that ubiquitous element of evil is such a given for every single movie that Hollywood puts out that the lack of it felt genuinely surprising (in a good way) and even something of a relief (for the overly sensitive ones of us out there).

Full disclosure: I love sentimental, romantic movies. (Clarification: Not the ridiculously overdone, impossible-to-relate-to sort. Current culture's definition of a romantic movie usually includes either an over-sexualized, possibly twisted version of romantic love that tends to end with someone dying in a somewhat implausible way (e.g., One Day) OR it's a silly romp with an outlandish story that everyone who sees it hopes will never, ever happen to them (e.g., Knight and Day). And, isn't hoping "it could happen to you" part of the loveliness of a romantic story?

In case you're wondering, when I say the words "romantic movie," I have in mind something like Pride and Prejudice, An Affair to Remember, The Sound of Music, Life is Beautiful, The Young Victoria, Jane Eyre, Shadowlands, Out of Africa, etc. I might even include less classic movies like About Time, Sleepless in Seattle, The Notebook, You've Got Mail, and Notting Hill.

But, as you've probably  noticed, Hollywood doesn't seem to make actual romantic movies anymore. It makes Bridesmaids and Sex Tape in lieu of romantic comedies and weaves weirdly dark stories like Atonement and The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby as substitutes for romantic dramas.

And as a person who loves a genuinely beautiful love story and is happy to spend a little time captivated by a romantic tale that transcends the current moment and suspends reality for a couple hours, the new definition of romance in Hollywood film is more than a little disheartening.

And so here we come to the part where I talk about how you should grab up your people (the ones who are old enough to sit still for approximately 105 minutes), fill your pockets with M&M's and Smarties and run to the theater while Cinderella is still playing on the proverbial big screen.

I absolutely won't be able to come close to summarizing the beauty and magic of Kenneth Branaugh's version of Cinderella for you, but I can note a few reasons that this new telling of an old fairytale is thoroughly mesmerizing and worth your time (and a $12 ticket).

For starters, the actress who plays Cinderella is lovely and childlike and believably good, without feeling overly sweet. The affectionate relationship that she and her parents share is portrayed beautifully and evokes a sense of true affection and total trust that is rare in movies. Similarly, the father/son relationship between the prince and the king is warm and kind and sincere. I so want my children to see relationships like these portrayed in the movies they watch and the stories they read, rather than the unbalanced, frenetic family relationships of the characters in most movies and tv sitcoms.

The romance between Cinderella and Prince Charming is simple and innocent in the best ways without the pruriency or overt sexuality normally played out in romantic movies today. Cinderella is demure and wholesome and the prince is respectful but determined in his pursuit of her. It's a lovely picture of an honorable man pursuing a pure-hearted woman as a treasure rather than a trophy.

The last element of this movie that I'll mention is Cinderella's lack of hatefulness or desire for revenge toward her absurdly cruel stepmother and silly, selfish stepsisters. Despite their absolute lack of kindness or love for her, Cinderella forgives them, unprompted and without irony. (And on that note, this is your reminder to bring a pocketful of kleenexes to this movie.)

Instead of a psuedo-romantic story that repeats the same tawdry tale of love replaced by lust and beauty sullied by waste and disillusionment, this movie offers a brave heroine whose goodness and hopeful heart withstand significant losses. If you're hoping for a story that is a slight glimpse into what purity of heart, genuine affection, sincere forgiveness, and a simple picture of redemption can look like, then this film will not disappoint.

I can't help but add a Frederick Buechner quote that I read this past week which, I think, somewhat sums up the story of this girl named Cinderella, and perhaps any good story that has a hint of the gospel in it (which is, in fact, every redemptive story).

"This is the world. Beautiful and Terrible things will happen. Do not be afraid." 

Life is full of lost loved ones, cruel stepmothers, disappointed hopes, and thankless work. But, the truth is that everything is being redeemed, often long before we can see it happening. In the end, all of the cruel and terrible things will be undone and will be replaced with what is good and true and beautiful. Like Cinderella, redemption is at the end of our story, too. And, so, like Buechner said, we need not be afraid.

"Every true story borrows its power from the gospel."  Cinderella is one of those stories.