Cookie Ministry; The Rice Way

Last summer was a very busy, overwhelming summer.  I never got around to writing this when it happened, but I've been meaning to.  I will do my best to relate the experience as it happened instead of in hind-sight. 

The background:  My husband wanted to start a new ministry at our church.  Short version - we bake cookies as a church, then we deliver plates of cookies to all area businesses.  We thank them for working in our community, and tell them that God loves them.  No obligations, just cookies and God's love.  Cool stuff.  Who doesn't love cookies?

Now, I'll save you the drama of how my summer was so crazy busy before the creation of this ministry, and how my brain was so full that I could not even bear to hear the words "Cookie Ministry" in my house without getting an eye twitch. And how the ONLY open day on my calendar now had "Cookie Ministry" written on it, in red.  It was a great ministry. For my husband to run.  Anyway, I'll save you the drama... 

The actual organizing of the ministry and the making of the cookies went off absolutely perfectly (of course - my husband planned it, he's really good. :) )  The Sunday that we were going to distribute the cookies happened to be a Sunday that we had to be at both services. If you've ever noticed that we are never at both services, you would be correct.  It's not a "plan to win" for the Rices.  But this particular Sunday Jerry and I both had things to do at both services - he was running the cookie table, I was singing in a women's choir.  During the second service while I was singing, I was watching in the back as my one child slid through an entire row of chairs on his back, while two other children were dancing around, and two other children sulked.  I watched with flared nostrils, wide eyes, and clenched teeth. Luckily, right after I sang, I could remove all five and happily head home.

But first... the cookies.  My oldest child was very much looking forward to delivering a plate of cookies and telling them that God loves them.  He is our natural evangelist.  I knew I wasn't getting out of that church without a plate of cookies to deliver.  We chose the Meijer Gas Station as the business we would bless.  If our kids behave for church, we bribe them with slushees.  (Don't judge. There's a reason bribery has been around so long - it's effective.) Normally one of us runs in and gets all of the slushees and distributes them in the van to the *deserving* children.  So, if I take cookies to the Meijer gas station, I can get the slushees WHILE doing ministry.  Two birds, one stone.  Let's overlook the fact that my kids most definitely did not deserve slushees on this particular day. That was a parenting fail I was willing to accept at the time.  

So we pile into my 15-passenger van with a plate of cookies.  I use the 3 minute drive to the gas station to lay out the plan to my children.  We will walk in, deliver the cookies, thank them for working, tell them God loves them, pick out ONE treat, and we are done for the day.  Jerry had to stay late after service, so I was flying solo.  I could do this.  I could do this....

Before we head in, I go over the plan just one more time, so we are all clear of the expectations.  Man, I've got this.  We can do this!

Deep breath. Exhale.

We walk into the gas station.  Ethan won the job of handing the plate of cookies to the cashiers since he was the oldest (and most enthusiastic).  He hands over the plate of cookies.  I hear, "Thank you for working here. God loves you. Here are some homemade cookies."  We did it!!!!!!!!!!!

Then I hear an ear-piercing screech coming from my youngest.

"Faith Elizabeth!!!!  What is the matter?!?!?"

She replies, "I WANTED TO TELL THEM THAT GOD LOVES THEM!!!!!"

"Well, honey, you still can.  Just tell them. They are right there."

Through sobs, "God <sob sob> loves you!!! <sob sob>"

Ok. Some focused breathing, I can do this. That wasn't so bad.  She's little and cute... we're ok.  I give instruction one more time that we can pick out one treat.  And then my children scatter.  This might not be that big of a deal to most, it's a small gas station, relatively empty.  But I was raised on a solid diet of after school specials and am wildly aware of the risk of kidnapping from a public place.

The more you know, you can find out every way possible to be kidnapped!

I take a defensive stance in the center of the gas station, facing the doors.  Feet spread apart, each arm out as if my hands have sensors that can track my children when I can't see them.  I'm looking maniacally back and forth from the candy aisles where my three youngest have disbursed to the back corner where my two oldest are sizing up the slushee machines. 

I keep thinking, please hurry... just choose something... please hurry.... Instead, it's like my children have never seen candy before.  'Reeses?  What is this? Chocoloate? Peanut butter?  I don't get it...'  please hurry... please hurry....

I walked over to the candy aisle to try to speed up the decision process.  After looking at every single candy bar sold in that store, Naomi decides on CheezIts.  Faith grabs a pack of gum.  Josh chooses the biggest king-size candy bar I have ever seen.  Whatever. Good choices. Let me just get the boys their slushees and we'll be ready to ......

I turn around and see Ethan walking toward the checkout counter.  He is unsuccessfully trying to squeeze a lid onto a slushee that he has clearly over filled.  Red frozen sugar is pouring out onto the floor as he walks and squishes the lid more and more.  My eyes pop open, jaw drops. In my *calmest* mom-in-public-I-want-to-yell voice, I whisper yell, "Ethan. You are pouring slushee all over the floor.  Stop moving." 

He looks up and says, "What.  I didn't know."

Of course you didn't know, because you AREN'T ALLOWED TO POUR YOUR OWN SLUSHEE. Ever. Never have you ever been allowed to do that.  Ever.

I started looking for napkins to clean up the mess, while simultaneously capping the guilty slushee and setting it on the counter so it can't puke any more red dye onto the floor.  When I turn around, one of the cashiers is cleaning up the mess.  Mortified, I whispered to Ethan, "The lady that you just thanked for working here and blessed with cookies is cleaning up your mess."  I walked back to her, apologizing for the mess, apologizing for my kids, apologizing for this whole hot mess that I brought in, and finished cleaning up the spills.

Meanwhile, having been distracted by cleaning up Ethan's slushee mess, Josh has decided to pour himself a slushee.  My four year old. The one who already chose the gigantic candy bar.  Of course his slushee is pouring all over, but by now I already have napkins in hand and clean it up before causing another "Clean up in aisle 5."  I glance over and notice that Noah has also poured himself a slushee. I guess it's get your own slushee day - I wish I had known. Luckily he didn't spill his, so I tried to spare my annoyance, I needed to save my energy. Besides, this means we are finally ready to pay and leave while I still can maybe show my face in Meijer again.

I notice that Josh still has his life-size candy bar in his hand.  Knowing I am so close to the freedom of leaving, I kneel down and calmly say, "Josh, I need you to go put your candy bar back.  You chose a slushee and you know we are only getting one treat each."

Not surprisingly, he didn't take this news well.  He went face first into the floor, screaming and crying. I put his now unwanted slushee on the counter, took a deep cleansing breath, and was ready to check out.  This needed to end.  I needed to end this.  Please let me pay and leave....

The second cashier looks over the counter with a sad, concerned face and says, "Oh no! Is he ok?"

I smiled, somehow I managed to smile, and I said, "He wanted the candy bar, then poured himself a slushee. Sometimes we make poor choices... How much do I owe you?" 

I paid.  I picked up my screaming child from the floor.  I directed my remaining four children that they needed to get to the van, now.  I looked past the line forming behind us, focused on getting back to the safety of my van.  On my way out, carrying my now flailing and screaming child, a woman held the door open for me.  She smiled at me and nodded.  It wasn't a condescending smile.  It was an "I've been there" smile.  I nodded back and smiled.  High five, lady.  We've got this.

If I were to look in hind sight, I would have never taken my children into that gas station at that time.  I would have gotten them home, fed them, given them time to unwind, then head back at a time that would have been more successful for everyone.  But parenting doesn't happen in hindsight.  Parenting happens in a string of on-the-spot bad decisions.  Because sometimes we make poor choices....

One thing I know for certain, those women will never forget the day that the Rice family brought them cookies to show them that God loves them.  At least, I never will.

Actual cookies baked at our church for the Cookie Ministry

The More Dangerous Game

I realize the most dangerous game involves hunting humans.  This is a slightly less dangerous game we've been living - busyness to the point of burnout.

For three years now, our lives were in overdrive.  By nature, Jerry and I both tend to "over-volunteer."  You know, when you are in a meeting and the leader asks if someone would like to take the lead on a project, and you sit there with the crickets praying someone will volunteer?  We are the answered prayer.  I'll do it.  Not out of guilt (most of the time), not for fame, not for fortune.  Just because we both like to organize, and plan, and we are pretty good at it. 

But these past three years has taught us a very valuable lesson.  There is a such thing as too much. 

There is a such thing as too much.

About two and a half years into our over-committed, running on survival mode, when will this end experience, we knew it was way too much.  We were ready to be done.  D.O.N.E.  Oh, how I longed for the days when my only responsibility was housekeeping and homeschooling my five kids.  It was right about this time that a friend shared a blog about busyness.  In this blog, the author explained that she held her busyness like a badge of honor.  People would ask how she was, and she would answer "busy" - as though that was a pleasing answer, a status symbol, a show of importance.  And how she learned that the busyness was causing stress, and disappointment.  (Maybe I'll find that blog... and when I do, I'll insert that link right here.)

Reading that came at such the perfect time for me.  I was already ready to trade in being busy for just being mom.  But I still harbored a lot of self-inflicted guilt over it.  When you are wired to be overly-involved, stepping back feels unnatural and scary.  What am I going to do with myself if I actually have time to be?  But I read that blog, and it made me realize that being busy was NOT fun for us anymore.  Being busy in college, or as newlyweds, or as DINKS - totally rocked that.  Over-scheduled with five kids?  Not so much fun. It was affecting us as a family, and as a couple.  No bueno.

When you are overwhelmed, everything is overwhelming.  I have said this to others to help them through situations they were facing.  It's very true, albeit hard to recognize when you are in the midst of it yourself.  It took a while to not only identify it in myself, but also to own it.  Pride was sitting there with a big, fat smile, daring me to admit I couldn't do it anymore. 

Luckily, most of my commitments were wrapping up.  I was grateful to not have to step down, but to survive through the end. 

So that's where I am now.  My children have finished schooling for the year, a full month earlier than previous years.  I am on zero committees.  I am not a leader of any group.  I am nothing.  (Ok, ok - I'll stop the melodrama.)  And I'm going to be honest - it IS unnatural and scary.  I feel like I need some type of rehab to get acclimated to the free life.  Someone to guide me through how to function when you actually have brain capacity to plan a day, a week, heck maybe even a month ahead of time for your family. 

I wish I could say that everything is back on track, my house is clean, my projects are done, my kids are playing lovingly without conflict.... Sorry, I just blacked out there for a minute.  What was I saying? 

An artist rendition of what my brain looks like.  Just kidding - it's my basement

I have a friend that says "Later never happens."  Well, later does happen.  Later is now.  And that's what it looks like.  I found it! I found later, and it's ugly. My brain honestly feels like what is shown in this picture.  A few years of  "I can't deal with that now, I'll set it here.... for later."  I remind myself that it took a long time for my house to fall apart, it will take some time to get it back together.  But as I am cleaning and organizing (and purging!!!!!), it really is bringing a sense of peace.  My life of chaos is slowly melting away with each room I clean.

I am confident that just as I will somehow make my way through that overwhelming heap of insanity in my basement, I will somehow make my way through the overwhelming heap of insanity that took residence in my brain. 

And I hope that once I take a few loads of mental garbage out to the curb, I'll be able to write again.

I'm not going to wear busy as a badge of honor any more.  I am retiring that title. I am trusting that I will be able to change my response to "How are you?" to something more meaningful.  Like wonderful, blessed, at peace, joyful, happy, loving life.... but, you know, no pressure.