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About Charlotte Getz

Charlotte Getz is a stay-at-home/work-from-home mom. She is the Editor-in-Chief at Rooted Ministry and an un-trained but making-it-work mother to Ford (3) and Margot (1). She and her sweet family currently reside in Seal Beach, CA via Auburn, AL via Savannah, GA via Birmingham, AL. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @charlottebgetz

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Author Archive
    
    Autoimmunity and the Heart Curved Inward

    Autoimmunity and the Heart Curved Inward

    I am sick. That’s pretty much all I can tell you about it with any real confidence. For two years, a harvest of strange and debilitating medical maladies have continued to hurl wrenches into the functioning of my poor and puzzled body (I’ve detailed some of that elegant saga here and here). In my time not writing about being sick on Mockingbird, I slug from one doctor to the next, submit myself to pokes, prods, needles, and indelicate personal questions. Everyone agrees things aren’t right. Yet I am still without a clear diagnosis. There have been rabbit-hole-suspicions by many-a-medical professional,…

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    How to be a Cow in the “Lowly Cattle Shed”

    How to be a Cow in the “Lowly Cattle Shed”

    “The time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in clothes and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7).

    Ever since our August move to Southern California, the Getz family has been taking names. We’ve made great friends, my husband has crushed at his job, and I have balanced part-time work and parenthood like a damn Huggies commercial. Then, in the weeks before Thanksgiving, we hit a stumbling block that completely threw us out of the rat race. Without…

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    The Creation of Man by Michelangelo Sistine Chapel

    Violent Ends in the Season 1 Finale of Westworld

    Spoilers abound.

    In the opening episode of HBO’s Westworld, Dolores Abernathy (played by Evan Rachel Wood), in a state of robotic semi-unconsciousness, says this: “Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world, the disarray. I choose to see the beauty, to believe there is an order to our days, a purpose…the newcomers are just looking for the same thing we are…a place to be free.”

    Dolores (Spanish for “sorrows”) is a humanoid robot, and this is her script.

    David Peterson wrote a wonderful article for Mockingbird last month reviewing the initial episodes of Westworld. As he noted, the show is loosely…

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    To Step Off the Turntable

    To Step Off the Turntable

    One chilly fall day when I was in the fourth grade, I decided to run laps around the driveway. I had obsessed about it all the way home from the rear-facing bench-seat of Mrs. Miller’s Volvo station wagon. It was penance. I had eaten a really unhealthy lunch involving bacon cheeseburgers and deviled eggs. Even in the fourth grade, I knew I couldn’t eat like that without paying the piper one way or another.

    It was a crisp, deep-yellow late afternoon. The brown-orange leaves crunch-crunch-crunched under the frantic and determined steps of my dirty white Keds. I hadn’t changed out of…

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    Welcome to My House, Where Every Day is Demo-Day

    Welcome to My House, Where Every Day is Demo-Day

    On a recent Sunday as my family returned home from church, my three-year-old son began to sing part of a song he’d evidently learned in Sunday School that morning: “And the rains came down and the floods came up.” He sang it over and over. Only problem? He couldn’t remember any more of the lyrics than those. At first it was cute, because what mother’s heart doesn’t turn into a swirl of pink cotton candy when their children first start to sing all the Jesus songs? But after about five minutes of “The rains came down and the floods came…

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    Motherhood and the Maris Crane in Me

    Motherhood and the Maris Crane in Me

    I love being a mom. Motherhood, however, has also savagely birthed a hideous new version of my self into the world.

    For example: Parenting has become the most tedious competitive sport since Scotland invented golf in 1457, and yet I frequently run to win it. I’ve even come to view preschool drop-off as a performance opportunity.

    SCENE: I tenderly pull my kids from their car seats and immediately transform into the cheeriest, most in-control yet carefree version of “mom” since Carol Brady. I don my overly-priced active wear (the official jersey of mothers everywhere). I offer excessive hugs and kisses, the likes…

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    Inspirational Memes and The Real Big Magic

    Inspirational Memes and The Real Big Magic

    While sipping my morning coffee today, I scrolled past the following inspirational memes on Instagram (sandwiched between hundreds of baby photos and recipes from the paleo/primal nutsos I follow):

    At first, I felt totally exhilarated: I was inspired, empowered, on top of the world. I’m going to take this day by the freaking saddle! Forget that my husband just started a new job and he’s working approximately 100 hours a week. Forget that I have my own work to do – time stolen in the small moments between the blessed mess of raising two very young and “spirited” children. THIS IS GOING…

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    Grace in the Unladylike Event of Pooping Your Pants: An Ode to God and Granny Panties

    Grace in the Unladylike Event of Pooping Your Pants: An Ode to God and Granny Panties

    Everyone poops. But not everyone always poops in a toilet. For now, I am sometimes one of those people. My wonderful, sassy, proper and Southern mother would literally come at me with a shiv of her finest china if she knew I was writing this article. Talking about soiling your pants (to the public, no less) is about as unladylike as eating your entrée with a salad fork, or slouching in a chair with your knees spread-eagle (maybe even worse…). But I can no longer stay silent about this issue.

    Believe it or not, there is a weird kind of grace…

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    The Lonely Island of Waiting to be Healed

    The Lonely Island of Waiting to be Healed

    I have an MFA in Photography. I tell you this because, obviously, it’s really very impressive. But also to prove my know-how in the metaphor I’m about to illustrate: Waiting is a lot like standing in front of the developing tray in a darkroom. From the Christian’s perspective – that before God formed us in the womb, He knew us – the film has already been exposed, developed, transferred to paper, and then set apart as a piece of incomparable and beloved craftsmanship. But as the photographer stands alone in the dark, gently rocking the tray of the developing bath,…

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    Don’t Let Me, Don’t Let Me, Don’t Let Me Down

    Don’t Let Me, Don’t Let Me, Don’t Let Me Down

    Last weekend, I went on a mini-staycation with some of my dear girlfriends from young adulthood. Between the group of us, we’ve suffered (either directly or indirectly) illness, addiction, money issues, mental health woes, parenting struggles, job uncertainties, and marital difficulties – in a nutshell: life. We spent the day at the pool catching up, and then stayed up late into the night (okay, 9:30 or 10 tops) discussing politics and grooming habits and all manner of subject-matter generally considered taboo at the dinner table. We did what all women do when two or more are gathered and rosé is…

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    Conceptual keyboard - Find Love (pink key)

    You Have No New Matches: Reviewing Season 1 of Casual

    Several nights ago on a break from his thesis work, my husband peeked his head into the den and casually noted, “The shows you watch have a lot of sex in them.”

    This was worrisome and, once I thought about it, also true.

    Most recently, I stumbled upon Hulu’s Casual (Season 2 aired Tuesday) out of boredom and indifference. I’d just finished Six Feet Under, a wonderful but weighty series, and needed a lighter story to balance out my troughed dopamine levels. From what I could tell by the title and cast photo, Casual seemed to fit the bill – a casual (wink)…

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    Dark Side of the (Honey) Moon

    Dark Side of the (Honey) Moon

    Four long years ago my husband and I spent our honeymoon in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania (I know, I know, why is everyone honeymooning in Jim Thorpe these days? NOTE: SARCASM. You’ve never heard of this town). Our honeymoon goals were simple: go somewhere chilly, relax in our bathrobes by a crackling fire, and watch Christmas movies. We ultimately selected our destination due to lack of finances, met by very poor advice from a local newspaper article celebrating small towns in America. The article called Jim Thorpe “The Switzerland of America.”

    All the mojo of Europe but without the bill? BINGO!

    The town,…

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