Strong or miserable?

You won't believe what my husband did

I am lousy at sending things. Mailing things. Like LOUSY.

I have a ton of people in my life who are amazing at sending me things. Cards, gifts, funny little things they find along the way. Like AMAZING.

So, yesterday morning there was a knock at the door. Our sweet flower delivery woman was standing there, as she has before, delivering flowers to someone in the park. But this time, the card had my name on it: "Christine." FLOWERS! FOR ME! Eeeee!

The card was not signed. It just said, "You're the best!" It was obviously written by one of the women at the flower shop. My mind immediately went to about six different friends who may have sent them. It's the kind of thing they do. Heck, I even have one friend who sent us an anonymous gift card to an adult shop to help us prep for Sexuary. Nothing surprises me anymore. My friends = AWESOME!

Anywho, I'm staring at these flowers and have a slight moment of, "I need to FaceBook this so the random person out there knows I got them and am enjoying them. Also, it's probably going to make my husband feel a little crappy as I swoon over flowers he didn't send me."

I FaceBook it. I enjoy the flowers as I notice them throughout the day.

My husband gets home and says, "So, you like the flowers?"

Alright. Let's get one thing clear. I do pretty well at being therapeutic. I work my arse off for my marriage. But I'm also human and ... well, I'm a woman. Instead of feeling very excited they were from him, I felt completely deflated. I felt like the whole day of enjoying them (and secretly really, really wishing they had been from him) was stolen from me. I then was having a very difficult time being excited. Of course, anytime you have a big feeling you immediately start to get defensive and everything blows out of proportion. I was upset the card was so platonic and vague. If I were going to get flowers from him, I would want and expect a very personal card. Maybe mention Sexuary? Perhaps a private joke? Heck, use my nickname ... or stop by the flower shop and fill the card out yourself so I know it's your handwriting!

Yeah. This really sweet gesture ended up being not quite so much. It was partly his thought process and then fueled and steam rolled by the massive emotions I was having at discovering they actually WERE from him.

In case you ever thought I was anything even an inch above normal, um ... no.

Sooooooo ... this morning I woke up and started getting on about my day. Didn't even notice anything was amiss. Another knock at the door. Same sweet lady, "Well, Christine, I'm back again!"

I had not noticed the flowers were gone from the kitchen. There she stood, holding the exact same arrangement, but this time the card was from his own hand.

He took them back into town, apparently hauled tail across town during his conference period, wrote a very personal card which made my heart swoon and paid them to redeliver the same flowers 11 miles outside of town. Because of the small cost, they would only accept cash. He was a dollar short. Had to go dig change out of his car to make it happen.

The flower delivery lady and I, both, declared him to be a super amazing man who not only knew how to make things right ... but how to make them spectacular.

Get out of your own way

Sixteen years ago, if I hadn't dared to move to a city I didn't know, take a job that made absolutely no sense to me, just to be closer to a man I knew I loved ... I wouldn't still be with that man today. He is my life love. We both make the other want to poke our own eyes out with a stick all. the. time. But we wouldn't want to share that insanity with anyone else. Every single day.

If we hadn't dared to move forward with an adoption, despite the naysayers, we would not be sitting in the family we have today. Good, bad, ugly ... horrific. I still choose my family. I am glad for my family.

If we hadn't dared to pick up our lives that were moving forward in the very typical American-dream sort of way, and buy a dinky RV park out in the middle of the nothingness (which is actually spectacularly beautiful in its nothingness), we wouldn't experience most of the people who now enrich our lives the very most. It was crazy. We share very few details about all it took to do this. CRAZY. And amazing.

If I hadn't dared to let myself get close to my first real adult female friend, despite having lived a life with brothers and not really knowing how to connect with other women on that level, I wouldn't have my gift that is my Lush.

If I hadn't dared to fully and thoroughly question everything I had been taught, and then find truth on my own, I would not have several of my very dearest friends. They have radically altered my state of happiness. I can't believe I functioned as long as I have without them. I didn't even know. I was my own worst roadblock.

If I hadn't dared to fly to another state and spend a weekend with a bunch of moms I had never actually met, I would not have the insanely tight circle of friends who have been a lifeline for me. Had we not all dared to do such a thing, this tiny retreat would not be the massive thing it is now. No, really. It grew 655% in one year.

If I hadn't dared to say "Yes, I'll speak at your conference," to a virtual stranger (after a full day of stalking and vetting him online), I would not have the amazing friendship I do with Billy. I wouldn't have a DVD that is now in post-production. Poor guy is stuck with me ... forEVER.

If I hadn't dared to put myself out there and live out confidence in what I have to give, I wouldn't have a coaching practice. That was intimidating. I felt like I shouldn't be offering help because I didn't have a bunch of letters behind my name. Vulnerability has been my BFF in this new venture.

If I hadn't dared over and over and over again, to meet people I had only "known" online ... put myself out there ... took the risk of it not always being some magical, lifelong connection ... I wouldn't have all that I do now.

Get out there.

Take a risk.

Get hurt.

Try again.

Make it happen.

Because nothing ever happens if you stay in your room.
Nothing ever happens if you leave the party too soon.
Nothing ever happens if you don't get hurt.
Nothing ever happens if you never get dirty.

Make a little space, and get out of your own way.

Even if you're scared.

Especially if you're scared.

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

"This mom and twins were visiting our clinic when she allowed us to take
this photo."

(photo from my sweet friend, Lori, I still have never actually met)




*you can submit your own Magical Milk Pic to magicalmilkpics@hotmail.com*

Death to the Sexperiment

It has come to my attention that Ed Young, Jr. has reclaimed his "Sexperiment" from years ago. He wrote a book. He's pimping the heck out of it. So, to call February the "Sexperiment" may lead people to believe that I'm aligning myself with he and his products (and by "products," I mean books and Bible studies, not lube and toys).

I kept the name as a gentle mockery of the fact that Michael and I totally out-bumped-uglies against the Youngs that first year. That was the fun of it for me. Now ... not so much.

We are going to rename it. It belongs to all of us. We're taking it back. Lube talk and all!

I began a little discussion on FaceBook about some possibilities. Missy Salyers had us all with "Sexruary."

I'm going to shorten it to "Sexuary," just so no one actually tries to throw in the "r" - not to mention, it sounds like a full combination of "February," "sex," and "sanctuary."

Yes, please!

I'm currently accepting submissions for artwork. If you love to design, and would like to have your work emblazoned on my nasty, sex-it-up month for 2012, this is right up your alley. Each time it is used, I will give you credit and link to your website.

Shoot your submissions to christinemoers@hotmail.com. I will choose my favorite and unveil it by February 1st. And then ... off to the races bedrooms!

Live from Albuquerque

The Fiesta Project had the kids make hula hoops
while I was busy lovin' on their parents.


This weekend I had the privilege of speaking to some really amazing parents. My visit was sponsored by The Fiesta Project. If you are in New Mexico, and you are an adoptive parent, you would be crazy NOT to connect with them. They provide resources for all homes built through adoption (domestic, foster care, international). I was blown away to see something like this exist. The parents who attended my training and Q&A came free of charge. And there was childcare free of charge. New Mexico is leading the way. If you're there and not taking advantage, well ... you've lost your ever-lovin' mind. :)

I had a fantastic time. Wanted to take a minute to promote what they're doing and also send out a big hello to each of them. Thank you all so much for laughing and crying with me and making me feel so loved and welcome.

In the airport today, TSA frisked my dreads. That was a first, and still has me chuckling. All I could think was, "This would never fly in Texas ... checking all 'big hair.' Security would be backed up for days!"

So funny ... and weird. I shut my eyes and tried to enjoy the brief massage.

Free FAST Wifi at the airport, though. I'll give them that. None of the Boingo Expensive-o crap.

Just had a major panic attack. My laptop is not synced up with the time change and I had a flash that I might actually be at the wrong gate and/or missed my plane. Brain reengaged with reality. Crisis averted.

The theater of the absurd?

There is power in words. All emphasis below is my own.

A new catch phrase caught fire before the holidays among Conservatives. After a Macy's employee refused a transgender woman access to their women's dressing room, the media storm fueled the following:

"The LGBT agenda has become the theater of the absurd.”

Scott Ross wrote: "Over the past three years, we have witnessed a dramatic rise in pro-homosexual activism resulting in misguided policies that cater to a small minority of people while creating unnecessary threats to a vast majority of others."

In a brochure from the Family Research Council: "Discrimination occurs when someone is unjustly denied some benefit or opportunity. But it must first be demonstrated that such persons deserve to be treated equally."

Last week a 14-year-old Girl Scout called for a boycott of cookie sales, in protest of Girl Scout chapters allowing transgender girls to participate as members of the organization. Again, the power of words. In her YouTube video she said GSA "cares more about promoting the desires of a small handful of people than it does my safety and the safety of my friends and sister Girl Scouts."

The video was originally posted on a website called "Honest Girl Scouts." They state that their aim is to educate, enlighten, uncover facts and insist on a return to the traditional values listed in the Girl Scouts of USA Congressional Charter that includes the words: "...qualities of truth,... purity..."

Power in words.

I would like to start with full disclosure. At one time in my life I said many of the very same things. I'm not proud of it. In fact, I'm mortified that I ever believed or thought such things. So, I have a great deal of understanding and actual empathy for those who do. At the time, I truly believed I was right. I had a great deal of fear over "doing the right thing" and really wanting to please God. I believed that one day I would stand in front of the maker of the universe and would have to justify my actions and words. I wanted to get it right. With that very positive motive, I was also getting it dead wrong. In my effort to avoid judgement and condemnation, I was actually creating it in the world around me.

I have since forgiven myself. Just writing it, though, breaks my heart again.

I say that to say this ... again: there is power in words.

All that I emphasized above is implying that those who are LGBT are wildly unreasonable, inappropriate, illogical, dangerous, menacing, risky, dishonest, liars and immoral. Giant, suffocating blanket statements about entire groups of people.

Horrible vicious words.

Wrong.

Wrong words.

Awful words.

Shame on me for having ever allowed myself to hear and believe such a thing.

Shame on me for not standing against this sooner.

Shame on me for assuming and not connecting with and knowing ... actual people. Beautiful, amazing people who do not want special treatment. They simply want to be accepted and have the same rights as every other human.

Pretty harsh to shame myself. Absolutely. SHAME ON ME. I took part in treating others as less than myself. SHAME ON ME. I believed there should be distinctions between my rights and theirs. SHAME ON ME. Even when I had my doubts and things just weren't lining up in my heart and my head and my Bible, I just listened and regurgitated what talk radio and James Dobson fed me. SHAME ON ME.

For as long as scouting has existed, there have been gay boys camping in tents and lesbian girls sharing camp bathrooms. There have been boys who know and believe they were born girls and girls who know and believe they were born boys ... selling cookies, tying knots, having sleepovers, and earning merit badges. I don't recall reading about these children making sexual advances on other kids and creating chaos.

I haven't read this because LGBT youth have been busy creating other things: fun, joy, friendship, beauty and love. They have always been there and I didn't know it and you didn't know it because ... they're just kids.

The LGBT agenda is not the theater of the absurd.

I declare today that it is the theater of the beautiful. Theater of the awesome. Theater of the equal. Theater of the lovely. Theater of the accepting.

The LGBT agenda is the theater of love.

Magical Milk Pic-o-the-Week

"With our last son, Ezra, (born in May) we were told by every OB practice we could reach that we could not have a natural birth due to have 3 c-sections prior. Finally we consented to attending a practice but we ducked out of the hullabaloo of surgical prep appointments during the last 6 weeks of pregnancy. We did a ton of research, prayer and just getting an understanding for the remarkableness of a woman's body and her ability to birth a child.

I labored slowly and naturally for a week with the crescendo of his birth ending up on the very day they had wanted me to come in for an unnecesarean. Just my husband, children and I were present as my miracle 9 1/2 pound baby boy was born into our own arms in our bedroom at home. No waiting 5 hours to nurse my precious little one! No tubes down his throat or needles and pressure checks. He was perfect from the start and nursed within 5 minutes of being born. I wanted to share this photo with you because every where I turned I was told that it cannot be done. And yet it was! An Unassisted Birth Miracle!"

(photo by Shauna, used with permission)



You can submit your own Magical Milk Pic to magicalmilkpics@hotmail.com

Life is like a pudding

Source: google.com via Simone on Pinterest

"... life is like a pudding: it takes both the salt and the sugar to make a really good one."

- A Gathering of Days by Joan W. Blos

That's not yer daddy's BBQ

This is a favorite in our house. It's super easy, and it gets gobbled.

Gluten-Free Vegan BBQ Tofu

2 pkgs firm tofu, pressed/drained and diced
2 bottles gf BBQ sauce
1 large can of black beans (or 2 14.5 oz size) drained and rinsed
1 package of gf cornbread mix


Turn on your oven's broiler and scatter the tofu all over a big oiled glass casserole dish (11x13). Put the tofu in the oven while mixing up a double batch of gf cornbread.

Occasionally check on the tofu, and stir it around with a spatula. As the water starts to collect, lift the pan to drain it to one end, and absorb it with a napkin.

When the cornbread goes into the oven, take out the tofu and put the oven on whatever temp is required for your cornbread mix. Add the beans to the pan and pour both bottles of BBQ sauce over the top. Stir it a few times and then pop into the oven. When the cornbread is done, take everything out and serve!