As I approach this new year, as I reflect on my parents' relationship, as I evaluate my own marriage, it got me contemplating what or how Love is shown.
For me, Love is...
*riding in a car for 8 hours without getting on one another's nerves.
*loving to talk with the other person, but being equally comfortable in the silence.
*tolerating a radio station you would not choose because the other person enjoys it. (we both did that yesterday!)
*reaching for a hand to hold and knowing it will be there.
*singing along at the top of your lungs without being embarrassed.
*knowing you can sob all over your loved one's shoulder over a major life disappointment without feeling like you should suck it up and get over it.
*getting the other person a glass of water or going to pick up their favorite food without huffing or eye-rolling.
*feeling free to ask the aforementioned favor.
*taking a walk together just because you enjoy one another's company.
*curling up watching TV or sitting beside one another reading. knowing it's not always even about the activity, it's about being together. it's about sharing space and life.
*the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that the other person has chosen YOU to spend their life with.
*the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that you chose them as well. and that, no matter how deep into the journey you are, you still like the other person.
*knowing that your life will never be the same.
*not looking for greener grass, but tending your own together.
*every little, fantastic thing that, by itself may seem insignificant. but when you add them all up, it means love.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Sunday, December 29, 2013
A Godly Marriage
To have a Godly marriage, or even a healthy marriage, is something most people strive towards but often find challenging. It's even harder if you haven't been able to witness it in action on a daily basis. But I have. As has almost anyone who's ever encountered Jim or Mary Davis for more that 2 minutes.
Two things in particular have stuck in my mind since
childhood. They were spoken by my
parents, then acted upon. When I was
twelve, I asked my mother how she knew she still loved Dad. After all, I assumed the romantic butterflies
had faded. She said, “love is a choice
you make every day when you wake up.” I
also remember hearing my dad tell my brother and I, very matter-of-factly (with
no meanness whatsoever) “I love your mother more than I love you.”
For 14,610 days, they have chosen to wake up and love
one another. They have lived a life
putting one another first, over everyone else.
As they should! They have made
tough choices and sacrifices. They have never had brand-name everythings and gigantic paychecks. Yet they both consider themselves blessed beyond measure. They've been able to travel the world together. I love that after 40 years, they are still one another's best friends and favorite traveling companions.
Oh sure, they have had moments of being annoyed by
one another. But I can probably count on
one hand the number of times I ever heard them fight. But I remember one time in particular, cross
words were spoken. Not only did they
make up and the offending party apologized, the offender actually apologized to
my brother and I as well. The apology
was not for fighting in front of us. It
was for acting disrespectfully toward our parent and for not cherishing their
spouse. The fight lasted a matter of
minutes and was instantly followed by the apology. The craziest thing about apologizing to my
brother and I is that we were already adults.
The example these two are of choosing love daily is
mindblowing. The thing I find equally
impressive is how easy they make the choice on the other person! Each would probably credit the other with
making the marriage easy. I’ve never
thought either of them was struggling to love one another. He still thinks she’s the most beautiful
woman in any and every room. She still
thinks he’s the kindest, most generous man she’s ever known. I think they’re both right.
Happy Anniversary.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas. I write this in the 3 am hour because I could not sleep. I don't know why. It's not childlike giddiness. It's annoying, grown-up, I-had-to-pee-two-hours-ago-and-haven't-been-able-to-sleep-again-since-so-I-might-as-well-get-out-of-bed. So here I am, contemplating Christmas and life. Here's what I've come up with...
Christmas is a beautiful time of year, usually. Homes are decorated inside and out. A general good-naturedness kicks in a little more among friends and strangers. People put forth effort in making or buying things for loved ones, at least thinking of and considering them. (Yes, there's drama and commercialism. But we'll save the complaints for another time.) Yet I understand that there can be an ache, a pain that comes with the holiday.
For those who have no family, it can feel very isolating. For those who's table is a little smaller because of a recent death of a loved one, the empty chair is the most glaringly obvious, or sometimes only, thing seen. For a marriage that crumbled, especially with children involved, there is pain, divisiveness, bitterness, anger, and guilt. For the couple struggling with infertility, be it primary or secondary, there can be a difficulty in missing the twinkle of a child's eye or delight in their laughter that might never be heard or seen.
All that to say, Life rarely turns out the way we expect. That's one of my favorite things to say, especially to young people. (Actually, I usually say, "Life rarely turns out the way you expect, but that's usually a good thing." I'll do a whole separate post on this soon.) It got me thinking more. Jesus Christ, maker of Heaven and Earth, all-knowing Creator, experienced this, too.
Life did not turn out the way He designed. He knew, yes. But Life was not what it was intended, aka expected, to be. Creation rebelled. Man fell. So He chose to come. Did His earthly life play out the way He expected? (Not knew, expected...) Did He expect to have to be on the run as an infant in order to survive to adolescence? Probably not. Did He expect His parents or siblings to think He was a bit off His rocker? Nope. Did He want to have His best friends deny or betray Him? I don't believe so. Did He want to suffer the humiliation and physical trauma of crucifixion? Undoubtedly no. He even asked for the cup to pass if there was another way. He knew. But He still did not want.
Life didn't play out the way Jesus would have scripted if He had written scenes and words for actors to play and say. But He lived it so perfectly, so humanly, and so Godly. So, as I reflect on Emmanuel, God With Us, Creator living in His creation, I realize that even He, the Author, had an unexpected Life.
Whether your life is as you intended, as you planned, as you expected, or not, consider this. God gave us every breath. He counted them all. He knew. No matter how beautiful or painful your life is at this moment, your life, because of His, is precious. Your life is as He knew it would be. Your life is as He can handle. Your life is a blessing. Honor Him by living it well. Because no matter what you thought it would be, it is as it is. And it is a gift.
Christmas is a beautiful time of year, usually. Homes are decorated inside and out. A general good-naturedness kicks in a little more among friends and strangers. People put forth effort in making or buying things for loved ones, at least thinking of and considering them. (Yes, there's drama and commercialism. But we'll save the complaints for another time.) Yet I understand that there can be an ache, a pain that comes with the holiday.
For those who have no family, it can feel very isolating. For those who's table is a little smaller because of a recent death of a loved one, the empty chair is the most glaringly obvious, or sometimes only, thing seen. For a marriage that crumbled, especially with children involved, there is pain, divisiveness, bitterness, anger, and guilt. For the couple struggling with infertility, be it primary or secondary, there can be a difficulty in missing the twinkle of a child's eye or delight in their laughter that might never be heard or seen.
All that to say, Life rarely turns out the way we expect. That's one of my favorite things to say, especially to young people. (Actually, I usually say, "Life rarely turns out the way you expect, but that's usually a good thing." I'll do a whole separate post on this soon.) It got me thinking more. Jesus Christ, maker of Heaven and Earth, all-knowing Creator, experienced this, too.
Life did not turn out the way He designed. He knew, yes. But Life was not what it was intended, aka expected, to be. Creation rebelled. Man fell. So He chose to come. Did His earthly life play out the way He expected? (Not knew, expected...) Did He expect to have to be on the run as an infant in order to survive to adolescence? Probably not. Did He expect His parents or siblings to think He was a bit off His rocker? Nope. Did He want to have His best friends deny or betray Him? I don't believe so. Did He want to suffer the humiliation and physical trauma of crucifixion? Undoubtedly no. He even asked for the cup to pass if there was another way. He knew. But He still did not want.
Life didn't play out the way Jesus would have scripted if He had written scenes and words for actors to play and say. But He lived it so perfectly, so humanly, and so Godly. So, as I reflect on Emmanuel, God With Us, Creator living in His creation, I realize that even He, the Author, had an unexpected Life.
Whether your life is as you intended, as you planned, as you expected, or not, consider this. God gave us every breath. He counted them all. He knew. No matter how beautiful or painful your life is at this moment, your life, because of His, is precious. Your life is as He knew it would be. Your life is as He can handle. Your life is a blessing. Honor Him by living it well. Because no matter what you thought it would be, it is as it is. And it is a gift.
Friday, December 20, 2013
My Take on Duck Dynasty
I am saddened for the misinterpretation surrounding Phil Robertson's comments. He never compared homosexuality to bestiality or terrorism, as he's being accused of doing. He was asked, "what, in your mind, is sinful?" Ok, so the interviewer not only asked what is sinful, but phrased it "in your mind?" In your opinion. In your way of thinking. In your interpretation.
He started a list of what he believes sinful behavior is. A list that is in the Bible. Guess what else is on would be on that list, according to the Bible? Lying. Judging. Denying God. He also included sleeping around with lots of women. Most people, particularly Christians and / or married folks, would agree that's not something you should do. Most people would agree that terrorism is not something you should do. Most people would agree that bestiality is not something you should do.
He also went on to say that he was not judging or would ever act unkindly towards someone he disagreed with on spiritual issues. He leaves that to God. Why is it that his remarks are being misinterpreted? And why is it that he is being persecuted suddenly for being a Christian. The family prays at the end of every episode! They are on "I Am Second" billboards. Are people surprised to find out he is a Christian?
Considering the question the interviewer asked, I guess I'm really unclear what anyone expected him to say. Everyone sins. Period. Non-negotiable. Even Phil. Sin is offensive. If we didn't all sin, we wouldn't need God. We wouldn't need Jesus. God wouldn't have sent His Son. We wouldn't be in this season of Christmas.
And why, oh why, oh why can we not disagree with people without being perceived as bigoted, homophobic, or any other negative label? Why is it not believable that we might actually be able to love someone without agreeing with every decision they make on how they live their lives? Why is it not believable that we can make mistakes and sin, acknowledge it as sin, seek forgiveness, and still love ourselves and our God?
Can you hear me say I don't believe sex outside of marriage? Can you forgive me when I fall short of that? Can you believe me when I say I love you unconditionally when you're living with your boyfriend / girlfriend? I may not agree with you, I may not have always lived up to the standard I hold to be true, but I do always love you and still love me.
Sin sucks. Sin offends. God forgives. God loves. Phil loves. I love.
He started a list of what he believes sinful behavior is. A list that is in the Bible. Guess what else is on would be on that list, according to the Bible? Lying. Judging. Denying God. He also included sleeping around with lots of women. Most people, particularly Christians and / or married folks, would agree that's not something you should do. Most people would agree that terrorism is not something you should do. Most people would agree that bestiality is not something you should do.
He also went on to say that he was not judging or would ever act unkindly towards someone he disagreed with on spiritual issues. He leaves that to God. Why is it that his remarks are being misinterpreted? And why is it that he is being persecuted suddenly for being a Christian. The family prays at the end of every episode! They are on "I Am Second" billboards. Are people surprised to find out he is a Christian?
Considering the question the interviewer asked, I guess I'm really unclear what anyone expected him to say. Everyone sins. Period. Non-negotiable. Even Phil. Sin is offensive. If we didn't all sin, we wouldn't need God. We wouldn't need Jesus. God wouldn't have sent His Son. We wouldn't be in this season of Christmas.
And why, oh why, oh why can we not disagree with people without being perceived as bigoted, homophobic, or any other negative label? Why is it not believable that we might actually be able to love someone without agreeing with every decision they make on how they live their lives? Why is it not believable that we can make mistakes and sin, acknowledge it as sin, seek forgiveness, and still love ourselves and our God?
Can you hear me say I don't believe sex outside of marriage? Can you forgive me when I fall short of that? Can you believe me when I say I love you unconditionally when you're living with your boyfriend / girlfriend? I may not agree with you, I may not have always lived up to the standard I hold to be true, but I do always love you and still love me.
Sin sucks. Sin offends. God forgives. God loves. Phil loves. I love.
Friday, November 22, 2013
Weathering the Storm
As you know, this past Sunday tornadic weather hit Illinois and other parts of the Midwest. The Bears game had an almost two-hour delay. Some people lost everything they owned. Some people lost their lives. While we did not hear the sirens in our neighborhood, we were under tornado warnings for an hour or two. My prayers go out to those who were hit by this storm.
I do not write this to sound at all trite about the magnitude of the storm or downplay what anyone has experienced. Rather, I write this from my perspective - trying to protect my son from both weather and fear. I made his lunch and sent him downstairs, where Lino was working and listening to music. I made my lunch and followed them. (We rarely, if ever, eat in our basement.) We tried to have fun and keep the mood light, particularly for Jackson's sake. But I also had flashes back to when Lino and I were early dating. We would sit at the table, just listening to music and playlists on the computer, talking, singing, and sharing our favorite songs. On a few rare occasions, we would dance in the kitchen. After the storms passed, I realized what a precious and rare experience we had that afternoon in our basement. It also made me think of how much storms can reflect life, in general. Out came a poem. I share it hesitantly, as writing blogs doesn't intimidate me, but sharing poetry and the likes (paintings, etc.) makes me nervous and shy and scared. (Putting myself out there artistically is very intimidating for me!) But here it is, none the less...
I do not write this to sound at all trite about the magnitude of the storm or downplay what anyone has experienced. Rather, I write this from my perspective - trying to protect my son from both weather and fear. I made his lunch and sent him downstairs, where Lino was working and listening to music. I made my lunch and followed them. (We rarely, if ever, eat in our basement.) We tried to have fun and keep the mood light, particularly for Jackson's sake. But I also had flashes back to when Lino and I were early dating. We would sit at the table, just listening to music and playlists on the computer, talking, singing, and sharing our favorite songs. On a few rare occasions, we would dance in the kitchen. After the storms passed, I realized what a precious and rare experience we had that afternoon in our basement. It also made me think of how much storms can reflect life, in general. Out came a poem. I share it hesitantly, as writing blogs doesn't intimidate me, but sharing poetry and the likes (paintings, etc.) makes me nervous and shy and scared. (Putting myself out there artistically is very intimidating for me!) But here it is, none the less...
Tornado Dance
Windows wide for the
warm fresh air
A November day
without a care
Supper was made as
the skies grew dark
Wind roared over the
song of the lark
Music blaring and
laughter abound
Drowning the outside
wicked sound
Offer up a strange
new chance
And we chose to do
our tornado dance.
Down to the basement
for safe keeping
Too much danger for
upstairs sleeping
Smiles on our faces
as we’re all together
Safe and sound,
whatever the weather
Music blaring and
laughter abound
Drowning out the
wicked sound
Offer up a strange
new chance
And we chose to do
our tornado dance.
Who knows what comes
Today or tomorrow?
We can live in fear
and sorrow
Or take refuge in a
tiny room
And even though the
threats may loom
We chose to do our
tornado dance.
Pains unknown, left
alone too soon
Or angered, hurt,
battered and bruised
Both were broken, but
both took a chance
And we chose to do
our tornado dance
Music blaring and
laughter abound
Drowning out the
wicked sound
Offer up a strange
new chance
And we chose to do our
tornado dance.
God, a family, music
and a chance
And every day we
choose to tornado dance.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Misogynists are not "real" men
I write a lot when I'm inspired. I go through droughts, then my brain starts percolating. So beware, I may post a bunch over the next few days. I'm inspired by the people I love, by pain I see in others, by weather and tragedy and beauty in nature, and the sad, misguided foolishness I see in others.
I recently discovered a blog dedicated to "reclaiming masculinity." My first thought was, "Cool! I love my manly man and hope to raise a boy to be masculine in the most Godly sense of the word." Boy, was I disappointed! These men were not claiming Christian views of manhood, but even without the religious aspect, they are so far off-base, it's borderline silly...
Where do I begin? Well, I will limit my rants to their issues with me... For starters, women should be ashamed if they have shortly cropped hair. To sum them up, "why would anyone remove their primary symbol of feminine fertility..." Uh, well, because PERSONALLY my femininity is not reduced to the length of my hair and my fertility is completely unrelated to my scalp. I had long hair for a very long time. Some of my Chicago friends hardly recognized in pictures with longer hair. I enjoyed having long hair, for a while. I felt pretty with it, sometimes. But when I cut my hair off, I felt more feminine, beautiful, alive, confident, and well, ME than I ever did with long hair. I don't pull it back in a ponytail. I cannot hide behind it in uncomfortable circumstances. So I've almost been forced to have more confidence.
Speaking of which, they don't think a woman should be confident. Rather, she should be "fragile and vulnerable." Do these men want a china doll they can shatter if she doesn't bend to their every whim? My man LIKES having a confident woman who knows her own mind, has opinions, doesn't need to be told what to do, when to do it, what to wear, or how to think. He likes that he is not responsible for entertaining me or bossing me around. He likes that I have friends and interests I developed independently. He doesn't want someone overly clingy or needy and that requires confidence. That confidence attracted him to me initially. He knows I absolutely adore him and love being with him. But he also loves that I don't twiddle my thumbs waiting for him to come home and my life to resume.
These so-called "men" also declared that a woman's value is primarily determined by her fertility and beauty. Oh. My. Stars. I don't know if any of these males have found lifelong spouses or consider children trophies or what ideas they're rooting into a new generation. But who determines beauty? Oh yeah, it's in the eye of the beholder. Obviously, with my short hair (and I'm sure other equally undesirable physical qualities I must possess) I would not be beautiful in their eyes. But I am to my husband. And I've been told by others who have no obligation to me whatsoever that I'm not unpleasant to behold. I've seen some women who the world holds up and says, "This is beauty." Sometimes I agree. Sometimes, I think to myself, "Eh...not so much." That doesn't mean these misogynists would agree with my perspective.
As for fertility... I cannot even begin to express how much this sentiment angers me! I don't owe anyone an explanation, much less an apology, for how many children I do or do not have. I don't owe anyone information as to how many I want, why I have one, or why the Duggars have 19, (God bless them!) A woman's fertility, ability, or choice of birthing children is not what makes one a "real" or "feminine" woman. A woman's loveliness is not in the length of her hair. A woman's beauty is in her heart. I pity any man who cannot see that, for they are missing deep and remarkable treasures. Their lives are empty for lack of the warmth and wealth of a woman's tenderness and kindness and spunk and love. (I do not say that to imply life with marriage is hollow; but life without relationships (platonic or otherwise) is less rich.)
Their last little issue with me that I will address in this particular post was that "being a stay at home mother should be shamed, not celebrated. Why should she go shopping every day, spending his money while he slaves away in a cubicle?" Uh, sure. Obviously, these people have never met or held a conversation with a SAHM. My husband is the first to tell you that my job is much harder than his; that he would rather go to work than be with the boy, do the dishes, the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking, the errands all day every day. And, oh yeah, shopping with a toddler? Not all it's cracked up to be! If I go "fun" shopping, I don't take the kid. That's either "me" time or girlfriend time and that means hubby is home and wanting time with the boy. And I don't go "fun" shopping all that often. (But even when I do, I rarely buy stuff...) Have you ever tried to go grocery shopping with a three-year-old who refuses to sit in the cart, wants to "help" and grabs the wrong things, wants to hug and high-five EVERY PERSON HE ENCOUNTERS, then tries to "help" bag the groceries? Yep, that's my idea of a good time! Really?
Needless to say, these cavemen are not about recapturing masculinity. They are not promoting "real" manhood as opposed to brow-beaten, whipped, or feminized versions of manhood. I am all for "real" manhood. I am all for my husband being strong, but that does not mean I must be weak. I love that my husband takes care of the yard, but that doesn't mean I am incapable. I love that he's the head of our family, but that doesn't make me a doormat under his feet. I am his partner. He is mine. We complement one another. We go together. We fit. His willingness to let me be his partner, to want me for his mate, to treat me as the equally intelligent and contributing member of our marriage that I am exemplify his masculinity in a million ways these foolish men will never experience.
I recently discovered a blog dedicated to "reclaiming masculinity." My first thought was, "Cool! I love my manly man and hope to raise a boy to be masculine in the most Godly sense of the word." Boy, was I disappointed! These men were not claiming Christian views of manhood, but even without the religious aspect, they are so far off-base, it's borderline silly...
Where do I begin? Well, I will limit my rants to their issues with me... For starters, women should be ashamed if they have shortly cropped hair. To sum them up, "why would anyone remove their primary symbol of feminine fertility..." Uh, well, because PERSONALLY my femininity is not reduced to the length of my hair and my fertility is completely unrelated to my scalp. I had long hair for a very long time. Some of my Chicago friends hardly recognized in pictures with longer hair. I enjoyed having long hair, for a while. I felt pretty with it, sometimes. But when I cut my hair off, I felt more feminine, beautiful, alive, confident, and well, ME than I ever did with long hair. I don't pull it back in a ponytail. I cannot hide behind it in uncomfortable circumstances. So I've almost been forced to have more confidence.
Speaking of which, they don't think a woman should be confident. Rather, she should be "fragile and vulnerable." Do these men want a china doll they can shatter if she doesn't bend to their every whim? My man LIKES having a confident woman who knows her own mind, has opinions, doesn't need to be told what to do, when to do it, what to wear, or how to think. He likes that he is not responsible for entertaining me or bossing me around. He likes that I have friends and interests I developed independently. He doesn't want someone overly clingy or needy and that requires confidence. That confidence attracted him to me initially. He knows I absolutely adore him and love being with him. But he also loves that I don't twiddle my thumbs waiting for him to come home and my life to resume.
These so-called "men" also declared that a woman's value is primarily determined by her fertility and beauty. Oh. My. Stars. I don't know if any of these males have found lifelong spouses or consider children trophies or what ideas they're rooting into a new generation. But who determines beauty? Oh yeah, it's in the eye of the beholder. Obviously, with my short hair (and I'm sure other equally undesirable physical qualities I must possess) I would not be beautiful in their eyes. But I am to my husband. And I've been told by others who have no obligation to me whatsoever that I'm not unpleasant to behold. I've seen some women who the world holds up and says, "This is beauty." Sometimes I agree. Sometimes, I think to myself, "Eh...not so much." That doesn't mean these misogynists would agree with my perspective.
As for fertility... I cannot even begin to express how much this sentiment angers me! I don't owe anyone an explanation, much less an apology, for how many children I do or do not have. I don't owe anyone information as to how many I want, why I have one, or why the Duggars have 19, (God bless them!) A woman's fertility, ability, or choice of birthing children is not what makes one a "real" or "feminine" woman. A woman's loveliness is not in the length of her hair. A woman's beauty is in her heart. I pity any man who cannot see that, for they are missing deep and remarkable treasures. Their lives are empty for lack of the warmth and wealth of a woman's tenderness and kindness and spunk and love. (I do not say that to imply life with marriage is hollow; but life without relationships (platonic or otherwise) is less rich.)
Their last little issue with me that I will address in this particular post was that "being a stay at home mother should be shamed, not celebrated. Why should she go shopping every day, spending his money while he slaves away in a cubicle?" Uh, sure. Obviously, these people have never met or held a conversation with a SAHM. My husband is the first to tell you that my job is much harder than his; that he would rather go to work than be with the boy, do the dishes, the laundry, the cleaning, the cooking, the errands all day every day. And, oh yeah, shopping with a toddler? Not all it's cracked up to be! If I go "fun" shopping, I don't take the kid. That's either "me" time or girlfriend time and that means hubby is home and wanting time with the boy. And I don't go "fun" shopping all that often. (But even when I do, I rarely buy stuff...) Have you ever tried to go grocery shopping with a three-year-old who refuses to sit in the cart, wants to "help" and grabs the wrong things, wants to hug and high-five EVERY PERSON HE ENCOUNTERS, then tries to "help" bag the groceries? Yep, that's my idea of a good time! Really?
Needless to say, these cavemen are not about recapturing masculinity. They are not promoting "real" manhood as opposed to brow-beaten, whipped, or feminized versions of manhood. I am all for "real" manhood. I am all for my husband being strong, but that does not mean I must be weak. I love that my husband takes care of the yard, but that doesn't mean I am incapable. I love that he's the head of our family, but that doesn't make me a doormat under his feet. I am his partner. He is mine. We complement one another. We go together. We fit. His willingness to let me be his partner, to want me for his mate, to treat me as the equally intelligent and contributing member of our marriage that I am exemplify his masculinity in a million ways these foolish men will never experience.
Monday, September 30, 2013
A Special Kind of Stupid
It amazes me how what feels like faith to one person looks like a special kind of stupid to another.
Noah spent years building a "boat" before rain ever fell on the earth. Why would anyone need a floating structure? And where are all these animals coming from and why? Faith or Dumb?
Abraham packed up his family and lit out for the supposed "promised land." He didn't know where it was. He didn't know how long it would take him to get there. He didn't have a GPS. He just had faith in a God who usually did not choose to reveal Himself in audible or visual form. Crazy or unwaivering faith?
Mary tried to explain to her boyfriend, with whom she'd remained pure, that she was pregnant but hadn't cheated. And oh yeah, it's the Son of God, the Messiah written about for these past thousands of years. Yet Joseph didn't want to humiliate her. So he chose to trust God; he chose to believe an angel. And he chose to raise this little boy as his own, to the best of his feeble earthly abilities? Liars or faithful followers?
Peter saw many miracles performed at the hands of Jesus. But to step out and attempt to walk on water in the middle of a storm in REALLY deep water? Yes, he waivered when his humanity took hold. But he STEPPED OUT OF THE BOAT! Man of little faith? Or man of crazy-brave-trusting faith?
When it comes my turn, am I willing to wander into the desert? Am I willing to step out of the boat? Am I willing to look bat-crap crazy to the world, much less my friends and family? Am I willing to be a special kind of stupid for the sake of faith in a God unseen and unheard but most assuredly known?
I hope so. I hope I look foolish to the world when I trust God's plan and path. I hope I don't have a good, common-sense reason to give anyone when they ask why. That way, when God's plan is revealed, when it is shown that His way was higher and good and holy and right, I can't take any credit. I get to point to God and explain His perfect will that doesn't make a bit of sense to me. I get to say that, while the decision or journey was far from easy, it was right and worth it!
Noah spent years building a "boat" before rain ever fell on the earth. Why would anyone need a floating structure? And where are all these animals coming from and why? Faith or Dumb?
Abraham packed up his family and lit out for the supposed "promised land." He didn't know where it was. He didn't know how long it would take him to get there. He didn't have a GPS. He just had faith in a God who usually did not choose to reveal Himself in audible or visual form. Crazy or unwaivering faith?
Mary tried to explain to her boyfriend, with whom she'd remained pure, that she was pregnant but hadn't cheated. And oh yeah, it's the Son of God, the Messiah written about for these past thousands of years. Yet Joseph didn't want to humiliate her. So he chose to trust God; he chose to believe an angel. And he chose to raise this little boy as his own, to the best of his feeble earthly abilities? Liars or faithful followers?
Peter saw many miracles performed at the hands of Jesus. But to step out and attempt to walk on water in the middle of a storm in REALLY deep water? Yes, he waivered when his humanity took hold. But he STEPPED OUT OF THE BOAT! Man of little faith? Or man of crazy-brave-trusting faith?
When it comes my turn, am I willing to wander into the desert? Am I willing to step out of the boat? Am I willing to look bat-crap crazy to the world, much less my friends and family? Am I willing to be a special kind of stupid for the sake of faith in a God unseen and unheard but most assuredly known?
I hope so. I hope I look foolish to the world when I trust God's plan and path. I hope I don't have a good, common-sense reason to give anyone when they ask why. That way, when God's plan is revealed, when it is shown that His way was higher and good and holy and right, I can't take any credit. I get to point to God and explain His perfect will that doesn't make a bit of sense to me. I get to say that, while the decision or journey was far from easy, it was right and worth it!
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Making Memories
I am not crafty mom. I am not creative mom. I am not even "let him play with play-doh every time he asks" mom. I am not structured without flexibility mom. I probably let him watch more television than he should (although, in my defense, the kid loves "Andy and Barney.") I am not perfect. And I'll not claim to be.
But I have to admit, the days when the television is off longer, I enjoy more. I'll put on music and we dance and act silly. Or I'll turn it off entirely and go take my shower. When I come out, he's using his imagination and creatively playing with his toys or singing and drumming on whatever he can find.
Today, we acted silly together like super heroes. (Jackson started it by draping a blanket on his shoulders and saying, "I super!") So I grabbed my fuzzy pink bathrobe, Lino grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa, and we tied those, as well as Jackson's blanket, around all three of our necks. (That way, our capes wouldn't fall as we "flew.") We ran around with capes flowing behind us. We proclaimed our super-ness. Then after dinner, we played with a few puzzles. (I'm always impressed at how much more our son knows than I realize.) Then we read a few books. And I'm always amazed that he has memorized some of the books and wants to take his turn "reading" to us. Then we sang a few songs and just generally enjoyed being together as a family.
And it got me thinking. I don't know at what age memories and moments become imprinted on children. I don't know if he'll remember any of these things. I don't know if he'll recall playing superheroes when he's a teenager or father or granddad. I'm not sure if these moments matter in the grand scheme of his life. But they sure matter in the grand scheme of mine. And so, if these memories are made only for me, they are beautiful, worthwhile moments I know I'll carry with me the rest of my life. These times make me so grateful for the child I have, the husband I have, the job I have, and the life I have. I know the days I want to pull my hair out, these small memories will soothe me and remind me how very blessed I am.
So I'll make memories. Hopefully, I'll realize how much I enjoy these days and be more deliberate to make them wonderful more often. I'll keep these memories. I'll understand what the Bible said when it was written, "She treasured these things and pondered them in her heart." I'll lock away these memories as treasures of the wonderous grace and mercy God gave me in this little family.
But I have to admit, the days when the television is off longer, I enjoy more. I'll put on music and we dance and act silly. Or I'll turn it off entirely and go take my shower. When I come out, he's using his imagination and creatively playing with his toys or singing and drumming on whatever he can find.
Today, we acted silly together like super heroes. (Jackson started it by draping a blanket on his shoulders and saying, "I super!") So I grabbed my fuzzy pink bathrobe, Lino grabbed the throw from the back of the sofa, and we tied those, as well as Jackson's blanket, around all three of our necks. (That way, our capes wouldn't fall as we "flew.") We ran around with capes flowing behind us. We proclaimed our super-ness. Then after dinner, we played with a few puzzles. (I'm always impressed at how much more our son knows than I realize.) Then we read a few books. And I'm always amazed that he has memorized some of the books and wants to take his turn "reading" to us. Then we sang a few songs and just generally enjoyed being together as a family.
And it got me thinking. I don't know at what age memories and moments become imprinted on children. I don't know if he'll remember any of these things. I don't know if he'll recall playing superheroes when he's a teenager or father or granddad. I'm not sure if these moments matter in the grand scheme of his life. But they sure matter in the grand scheme of mine. And so, if these memories are made only for me, they are beautiful, worthwhile moments I know I'll carry with me the rest of my life. These times make me so grateful for the child I have, the husband I have, the job I have, and the life I have. I know the days I want to pull my hair out, these small memories will soothe me and remind me how very blessed I am.
So I'll make memories. Hopefully, I'll realize how much I enjoy these days and be more deliberate to make them wonderful more often. I'll keep these memories. I'll understand what the Bible said when it was written, "She treasured these things and pondered them in her heart." I'll lock away these memories as treasures of the wonderous grace and mercy God gave me in this little family.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Choosing God on this side of Eternity
I've thought a lot lately about one of the misconceptions about people who choose to believe in and love and trust in God. I think a lot of people, believers, agnostics, and atheists, are under the impression that belief in the Almighty is simply a free pass from suffering in the afterlife. How sad and misguided! People fail to remember that life on this planet was meant to be permanent and perfect and lovely. When WE chose to reject the perfection He offered us, another plan was set into motion.
But believing in Christ and accepting his offer of salvation and eternal life isn't the only gifts He gives. Rather, the Giver of Life wants us to experience a full and satisfying life on THIS side of Eternity, as well as the other side. Choosing Christ is not a promise to have no problems or trials or sufferings on Earth. (Actually, He kind of said the exact opposite.) But what we do have in the midst of those trials and sufferings is amazing. And, in my opinion, something a relationship with a false deity or no belief in the Higher Power, can offer.
What we have on Earth is Peace and Joy. God gives us peace in the most horrific of circumstances, even when we don't understand it. While we cry, He weeps with us. He holds us in His arms. But then He does something incredible. He turns our mourning into JOY. His timing for that transition is unique in every situation. And we must let Him. It is usually subtle. It sneaks up on us. But He puts a glimmer of a smile where we never thought we'd find one again.
He gives us Trust. He allows us to trust Him and our fellow human beings. I think we're a suspicious breed by nature because we know the sin and deceit of which we're capable. But through Him, through the trust that He's gained by proving Himself faithful and true throughout the ages, we trust one another. And we become people who can be trusted.
He pours out Blessings. He desperately wants to spoil us with His love. And He's so creative in how He does it! Maybe our salary isn't as big as we think it out to be. But maybe our money stretches further because He allows our car not to break down. Or He provides a mechanic who cuts us a break. Or milk and bread are on sale when payday's a week away. Maybe He gives us blessings in the form of the lives He allows us to intersect. Maybe He puts your new lifelong bestie in your path in the most obscure and unlikely of ways.
And most of all, He gives us Grace and Mercy. For me, I cannot consider one of these attributes by itself. Grace is getting what we don't deserve. Mercy is not getting what we do deserve. How humbling both of those thoughts are! In a culture that preaches entitlement, it's an honor to know that our life is not steered by what we do or don't deserve. Our lives are guided by His richness in Glory. The Grace that I've received time and again is almost unfathomable. And the Mercy. Oh the Mercy. So often I continue to pray, "Please don't give me what I deserve!" And I have so much more than I could ask for or imagine. And the best part of all? His Mercies are new every morning. His faithfulness never ceases, even on this side of Heaven.
Don't get me wrong. The idea of spending an Eternity with the Creator greatly excites me. I believe in Heaven. But I don't think I'm supposed to rush to get there. God has given me so much here on Earth. I want to treasure and cherish every person, every blessing, every possible moment while I'm allowed. God is truly a God of Eternity. He stretches from Age to Age, Beginning to End. His love doesn't begin with our Death. So why should we limit His blessings and riches of LIFE to solely the afterlife?
But believing in Christ and accepting his offer of salvation and eternal life isn't the only gifts He gives. Rather, the Giver of Life wants us to experience a full and satisfying life on THIS side of Eternity, as well as the other side. Choosing Christ is not a promise to have no problems or trials or sufferings on Earth. (Actually, He kind of said the exact opposite.) But what we do have in the midst of those trials and sufferings is amazing. And, in my opinion, something a relationship with a false deity or no belief in the Higher Power, can offer.
What we have on Earth is Peace and Joy. God gives us peace in the most horrific of circumstances, even when we don't understand it. While we cry, He weeps with us. He holds us in His arms. But then He does something incredible. He turns our mourning into JOY. His timing for that transition is unique in every situation. And we must let Him. It is usually subtle. It sneaks up on us. But He puts a glimmer of a smile where we never thought we'd find one again.
He gives us Trust. He allows us to trust Him and our fellow human beings. I think we're a suspicious breed by nature because we know the sin and deceit of which we're capable. But through Him, through the trust that He's gained by proving Himself faithful and true throughout the ages, we trust one another. And we become people who can be trusted.
He pours out Blessings. He desperately wants to spoil us with His love. And He's so creative in how He does it! Maybe our salary isn't as big as we think it out to be. But maybe our money stretches further because He allows our car not to break down. Or He provides a mechanic who cuts us a break. Or milk and bread are on sale when payday's a week away. Maybe He gives us blessings in the form of the lives He allows us to intersect. Maybe He puts your new lifelong bestie in your path in the most obscure and unlikely of ways.
And most of all, He gives us Grace and Mercy. For me, I cannot consider one of these attributes by itself. Grace is getting what we don't deserve. Mercy is not getting what we do deserve. How humbling both of those thoughts are! In a culture that preaches entitlement, it's an honor to know that our life is not steered by what we do or don't deserve. Our lives are guided by His richness in Glory. The Grace that I've received time and again is almost unfathomable. And the Mercy. Oh the Mercy. So often I continue to pray, "Please don't give me what I deserve!" And I have so much more than I could ask for or imagine. And the best part of all? His Mercies are new every morning. His faithfulness never ceases, even on this side of Heaven.
Don't get me wrong. The idea of spending an Eternity with the Creator greatly excites me. I believe in Heaven. But I don't think I'm supposed to rush to get there. God has given me so much here on Earth. I want to treasure and cherish every person, every blessing, every possible moment while I'm allowed. God is truly a God of Eternity. He stretches from Age to Age, Beginning to End. His love doesn't begin with our Death. So why should we limit His blessings and riches of LIFE to solely the afterlife?
Monday, July 15, 2013
My Infinitely Wise Perspective of Potty Training
Like so many other parents (of one child,) I am the quintessential expert on potty training and everyone should do everything exactly as I have because my child is perfect.
Yeah, I couldn't keep a straight face when I wrote that, either... But here's my reality. I read lots of books. I read lots of blogs. I listened to mommy-friends and mommies I either don't know or don't care for giving me both solicited and unsolicited advice. I read books that told me to let him run around naked. I heard people tell me to plan to not go anywhere for a week or better. I had people tell me he needs to be forced to do it when he's 2. I've heard that I shouldn't give up if it doesn't seem to be working because then the child will feel like he's "winning" and I'll never be the person in charge again.
I tried potty-training several months ago. I tried the methods in the book and the methods (that made sense) from moms I know, trust, respect, and admire. I tried letting him run around in just his underwear. I tried forcing him to drink constantly and making him pee every 15 minutes. I tried putting training toilets on towels in the living room and the bathroom. I tried, I tried, I tried. But after a while, Jackson just flat out laid down on the floor screaming, "I don't want the potty!" I offered him a choice of wearing big boy underwear or a baby diaper. He looked at me matter-of-factly and said, "Baby diaper."
So, I backed off. I put him back in diapers. I'd offer the option of the potty every so often, but I never pushed the issue. My philosophy became as follows (with wise insight from two fabulous moms): 1) If I turn this into a battle of wills, he may become too stubborn and actually do damage to his body (i.e. UTI or constipation) by refusing to toilet. 2) Nobody ever started kindergarten wearing diapers. 3) Regardless of how much I push, he won't be potty trained one day earlier than he chooses to. The only difference is how long we both spend being frustrated.
A couple of weeks ago, out of the clear blue sky (not having talked about it lately) I was about to put a diaper on him. "I want big boy underwear, Momma," he said. "Ok. But that means you have to go pee-pee in the potty, not in the pants," I explained. (Duh! Of course I told him he could wear underwear!) Early on, he had a few accidents. He'd refuse to use the toilet only to have an accident. He's still not great about telling me (I have to tell, not ask, him.) But he's agreeing to it now and slowly getting better. He's learning to say "I don't need to go," instead of "I don't like the potty!" He's even gotten to the point where he'll come find me and tell me he needs to "pook." (His word, not mine.)
He's been accident-free for probably 5 days or better. This includes going to the gym, dance and tumbling class, the park, long drives, and other people's homes. He's getting to the point where he's waking up from naps and even in the morning bone-dry. (Not every time, but more often than I'd expect.) All that to say, I'm all for being the parent. I'm all for being the person responsible for his well-being and see that he develops on track, eats healthily(ish), has manners, and generally turns out (hopefully) to be a kind and responsible adult in a couple of decades. But in this particular circumstance, for this particular parent and child pair, it has definitely been the right decision to have this be a child-initiated event.
So, as I said previously, do everything exactly as I say. Because (this second time around,) potty training is pretty darn easy, laid back, relatively unfrustrating, and ridiculously rewarding. BE LIKE ME!
Yeah, I couldn't keep a straight face when I wrote that, either... But here's my reality. I read lots of books. I read lots of blogs. I listened to mommy-friends and mommies I either don't know or don't care for giving me both solicited and unsolicited advice. I read books that told me to let him run around naked. I heard people tell me to plan to not go anywhere for a week or better. I had people tell me he needs to be forced to do it when he's 2. I've heard that I shouldn't give up if it doesn't seem to be working because then the child will feel like he's "winning" and I'll never be the person in charge again.
I tried potty-training several months ago. I tried the methods in the book and the methods (that made sense) from moms I know, trust, respect, and admire. I tried letting him run around in just his underwear. I tried forcing him to drink constantly and making him pee every 15 minutes. I tried putting training toilets on towels in the living room and the bathroom. I tried, I tried, I tried. But after a while, Jackson just flat out laid down on the floor screaming, "I don't want the potty!" I offered him a choice of wearing big boy underwear or a baby diaper. He looked at me matter-of-factly and said, "Baby diaper."
So, I backed off. I put him back in diapers. I'd offer the option of the potty every so often, but I never pushed the issue. My philosophy became as follows (with wise insight from two fabulous moms): 1) If I turn this into a battle of wills, he may become too stubborn and actually do damage to his body (i.e. UTI or constipation) by refusing to toilet. 2) Nobody ever started kindergarten wearing diapers. 3) Regardless of how much I push, he won't be potty trained one day earlier than he chooses to. The only difference is how long we both spend being frustrated.
A couple of weeks ago, out of the clear blue sky (not having talked about it lately) I was about to put a diaper on him. "I want big boy underwear, Momma," he said. "Ok. But that means you have to go pee-pee in the potty, not in the pants," I explained. (Duh! Of course I told him he could wear underwear!) Early on, he had a few accidents. He'd refuse to use the toilet only to have an accident. He's still not great about telling me (I have to tell, not ask, him.) But he's agreeing to it now and slowly getting better. He's learning to say "I don't need to go," instead of "I don't like the potty!" He's even gotten to the point where he'll come find me and tell me he needs to "pook." (His word, not mine.)
He's been accident-free for probably 5 days or better. This includes going to the gym, dance and tumbling class, the park, long drives, and other people's homes. He's getting to the point where he's waking up from naps and even in the morning bone-dry. (Not every time, but more often than I'd expect.) All that to say, I'm all for being the parent. I'm all for being the person responsible for his well-being and see that he develops on track, eats healthily(ish), has manners, and generally turns out (hopefully) to be a kind and responsible adult in a couple of decades. But in this particular circumstance, for this particular parent and child pair, it has definitely been the right decision to have this be a child-initiated event.
So, as I said previously, do everything exactly as I say. Because (this second time around,) potty training is pretty darn easy, laid back, relatively unfrustrating, and ridiculously rewarding. BE LIKE ME!
Friday, June 7, 2013
Robbed.
On Sunday, our apartment was broken into. They took some video games, gaming systems, and accessories. They took my husband's work laptop. And they took our personal laptop. (They even had the audacity to use our own trash bags to carry their "loot" out!) And no, we did not have our laptop backed up. Foolish, I know. It will never happen again. Yes, we had renter's insurance. But let me tell you what we were REALLY robbed of...
Photos. They took every picture and video of our son and of our life together. Yes, some of them are on facebook and/or youtube. With a great deal of time, effort, and energy, we will be able to recover at least some of them. But it still just sucks. And it still hurts.
On my laptop was the book that I've been writing over the past couple of years. The one I was over 2/3rds done with. The one I had every intention of finishing by December of this year. The one I thought I had emailed to myself so it would be in "the cloud" in case catastrophe ever struck (but which I cannot currently find in any email account, either inbox or sent items...) On my laptop was other writings (songs, poems, letters, musings.) It absolutely breaks my heart to lose all my writings. I'm going to try my best to recreate them, if for no other reason than to not let the thieves win.
Peace of mind and safety. The small things I took for granted, like showering while my son napped, I'm now afraid to do. My heart rate increases slightly every time I put the key in the door to walk in. Will it catch or will I find it to be unlocked again? Even just being at home alone with my small son makes me nervous for the first time.
And when I say "robbed," I mean that, in a small way, I feel like I've lost small pieces of Nathan again. Pictures of him. Writings about him. Writings of his. Things that weren't on facebook or any other online resource. Things that remind me of him. Just a sense of his being that was digitally captured.
But what they cannot take, what they will never change, is my sense of self. I am not now, and have never been, and will never be a victim. I refuse to allow this circumstance redefine me. I was widowed. I was robbed. But I am NOT a victim. I have had to remind myself over the past week of lessons learned during Nathan's illness and after his passing. I am who I am because of, not in spite of, what I've been through and who I've known and loved. I am always first and foremost a daughter of the most high God. I am daughter to wonderful parents, wife to wonderful men, and mother to a wonderful child. I have amazing siblings, extended family members, and friends. I get through tough situations because I have Christ and support of kind people.
So, while this situation, hurts, and sucks, and makes me uncomfortable and want to cry, I know that the tears will dry. I know the fears will subside. I know the pain will dull. I may recover my data. I probably will not. But no matter what the outcome, I know who I am, I know who I'm not, and I know that, in the end, I'll come out stronger. And they don't get to win...
Photos. They took every picture and video of our son and of our life together. Yes, some of them are on facebook and/or youtube. With a great deal of time, effort, and energy, we will be able to recover at least some of them. But it still just sucks. And it still hurts.
On my laptop was the book that I've been writing over the past couple of years. The one I was over 2/3rds done with. The one I had every intention of finishing by December of this year. The one I thought I had emailed to myself so it would be in "the cloud" in case catastrophe ever struck (but which I cannot currently find in any email account, either inbox or sent items...) On my laptop was other writings (songs, poems, letters, musings.) It absolutely breaks my heart to lose all my writings. I'm going to try my best to recreate them, if for no other reason than to not let the thieves win.
Peace of mind and safety. The small things I took for granted, like showering while my son napped, I'm now afraid to do. My heart rate increases slightly every time I put the key in the door to walk in. Will it catch or will I find it to be unlocked again? Even just being at home alone with my small son makes me nervous for the first time.
And when I say "robbed," I mean that, in a small way, I feel like I've lost small pieces of Nathan again. Pictures of him. Writings about him. Writings of his. Things that weren't on facebook or any other online resource. Things that remind me of him. Just a sense of his being that was digitally captured.
But what they cannot take, what they will never change, is my sense of self. I am not now, and have never been, and will never be a victim. I refuse to allow this circumstance redefine me. I was widowed. I was robbed. But I am NOT a victim. I have had to remind myself over the past week of lessons learned during Nathan's illness and after his passing. I am who I am because of, not in spite of, what I've been through and who I've known and loved. I am always first and foremost a daughter of the most high God. I am daughter to wonderful parents, wife to wonderful men, and mother to a wonderful child. I have amazing siblings, extended family members, and friends. I get through tough situations because I have Christ and support of kind people.
So, while this situation, hurts, and sucks, and makes me uncomfortable and want to cry, I know that the tears will dry. I know the fears will subside. I know the pain will dull. I may recover my data. I probably will not. But no matter what the outcome, I know who I am, I know who I'm not, and I know that, in the end, I'll come out stronger. And they don't get to win...
Friday, May 3, 2013
Best Words Ever
Some days, being a play-at-home parent is mentally and emotionally (much less physically!) exhausting. Some days, I feel like all I do is fuss and fight and punish my child. Some days, I REALLY miss having an office to go to or wish someone else would spend the day with my child (knowing full well he would behave like a little angel for anyone but me.)
Today, though, I LOVED being my little boy's mommy. Lately, I guess, would be more accurate. He's still getting up WAAAAYYYY too early in the morning. (I recently bought a stay-in-bed clock on ebay that should arrive tomorrow. Will post more on that another time.) But other than that nasty little habit, his behavior seems better and his temper more even-keeled. But today was epically fun!
It started off with him coming to lay on his dad's side of the bed while his father was in the shower. We snuggled for a few minutes. Then he reaches over, strokes my cheek, and calls me "Sweetheart" in his inarticulate, sing-song, three-year-old voice. So precious! We go to the gym, come home, eat lunch, he naps, yadda-yadda. I asked him what he wanted to play after he had his milk and he said "Basketball." So we go play basketball in his closet (which is large enough to double as his playroom. Seriously.) I love that every time he makes a shot, he falls into me for a giant hug and giggles uncontrollably. (Although I do hope he outgrows that particular habit by the time he's in competitive sports in school, for his own sake!) He missed several shots in a row at one point, and I could see him getting frustrated. I told him to slow down and keep trying. Three shots later, he finally makes another goal. He was so excited and proud of himself! You could see that he had determined not to quit until he made another shot. He sank onto my lap for a cuddle and declared he was done with basketball for the time being.
So we played kitchen. Still in his closet. After he was done "cooking" whatever concoction he was making this time, he decided to pull EVERYTHING out of the play kitchen. I didn't mind as long as it was picked up eventually. Once he was done, he wanted to play with his millions of blankets. I reminded him we have to clean up one thing before starting another. He actually sang the "Clean Up" song by himself! And he actually cleaned up (which was even more impressive than the song.) I know it seems silly and trite, but I'm so impressed when he's actually happily obedient and agreeable to "chore" type activities. I guess maybe him being three isn't the worst thing in the world. He then decided to pile all the blankets on me (as I'm stretched out facedown on the floor) and sit on my back. Then he decides I'm a horse. So he starts bouncing up and down on me saying, "Yee-haw!" I don't know where he got the Yee-haw from, but I couldn't stop laughing! He then puts away most of his bedding, save one blanket which he decided to drape across his shoulders and declare, "I'm super!" (This was also a new one to me; never done or said that before.) I asked him, "Are you Super-Jack?" "Yeah!" he said delightedly. Then he went to get another blanket back off the bed, threw it across my back and said, "Super-Mom!" BEST. WORDS. EVER!
I can't even remember what we did or played after that. All I knew was that, no matter how rotten the bad days are; no matter how often I want to string him up by his toenails; no matter how crazy or angry or sleepy he makes me; I am honored and blessed to be his mommy. And I am beyond privileged to get to have these small middle-of-the-day moments with him. Yep. I love my job!
Today, though, I LOVED being my little boy's mommy. Lately, I guess, would be more accurate. He's still getting up WAAAAYYYY too early in the morning. (I recently bought a stay-in-bed clock on ebay that should arrive tomorrow. Will post more on that another time.) But other than that nasty little habit, his behavior seems better and his temper more even-keeled. But today was epically fun!
It started off with him coming to lay on his dad's side of the bed while his father was in the shower. We snuggled for a few minutes. Then he reaches over, strokes my cheek, and calls me "Sweetheart" in his inarticulate, sing-song, three-year-old voice. So precious! We go to the gym, come home, eat lunch, he naps, yadda-yadda. I asked him what he wanted to play after he had his milk and he said "Basketball." So we go play basketball in his closet (which is large enough to double as his playroom. Seriously.) I love that every time he makes a shot, he falls into me for a giant hug and giggles uncontrollably. (Although I do hope he outgrows that particular habit by the time he's in competitive sports in school, for his own sake!) He missed several shots in a row at one point, and I could see him getting frustrated. I told him to slow down and keep trying. Three shots later, he finally makes another goal. He was so excited and proud of himself! You could see that he had determined not to quit until he made another shot. He sank onto my lap for a cuddle and declared he was done with basketball for the time being.
So we played kitchen. Still in his closet. After he was done "cooking" whatever concoction he was making this time, he decided to pull EVERYTHING out of the play kitchen. I didn't mind as long as it was picked up eventually. Once he was done, he wanted to play with his millions of blankets. I reminded him we have to clean up one thing before starting another. He actually sang the "Clean Up" song by himself! And he actually cleaned up (which was even more impressive than the song.) I know it seems silly and trite, but I'm so impressed when he's actually happily obedient and agreeable to "chore" type activities. I guess maybe him being three isn't the worst thing in the world. He then decided to pile all the blankets on me (as I'm stretched out facedown on the floor) and sit on my back. Then he decides I'm a horse. So he starts bouncing up and down on me saying, "Yee-haw!" I don't know where he got the Yee-haw from, but I couldn't stop laughing! He then puts away most of his bedding, save one blanket which he decided to drape across his shoulders and declare, "I'm super!" (This was also a new one to me; never done or said that before.) I asked him, "Are you Super-Jack?" "Yeah!" he said delightedly. Then he went to get another blanket back off the bed, threw it across my back and said, "Super-Mom!" BEST. WORDS. EVER!
I can't even remember what we did or played after that. All I knew was that, no matter how rotten the bad days are; no matter how often I want to string him up by his toenails; no matter how crazy or angry or sleepy he makes me; I am honored and blessed to be his mommy. And I am beyond privileged to get to have these small middle-of-the-day moments with him. Yep. I love my job!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Be the Help
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I hate seeing the horrific images. I hate ignoring them. I hate feeling
uninformed. I hate reading about it. I hate that this happened. Again.
I hate living in a world where people shoot children, fly planes into
buildings, and blow up runners and spectators.
I hate not knowing how to handle it or how to respond. I hate feeling so completely and utterly
useless. I hate not knowing how to walk
through this as a mommy. I don’t want to
expose my son to horrors, nor do I want him to not understand the world around
him. (Not that I think this is
comprehendible for any age.) I want to
shield and protect him from all evil.
But that’s not realistic either.
How do I raise him to know what's happening but not be afraid? What’s the appropriate response? What do I say when he asks why Mommy is crying?
I don’t know much.
But I have repeatedly seen on Facebook a quote attributed to Fred “Mr.”
Rogers - "Look for the helpers." I like that.
I like the thought of looking to see who’s running towards a catastrophe instead
of just away from it. That inspires me to take
it a step further. BE the helpers. Maybe there isn’t a disaster in my town
today.
But maybe today I can pack an
extra apple and banana for the person I’ll inevitably see at the interstate
exit. Maybe I can take time to have a
conversation and make eye contact with the person who seems lonely or has a
hard time functioning socially. Maybe I can
give a warm hug or touch the hand of someone who might not get a lot of physical
contact. They may seem like small
trivial things. But if I can help show
kindness and humanity to one other person; if I can be an example of goodness
in a world gone mad for my son; if I can reach another person in love for my
own sake, then in that moment, good still wins.
I am the helper. We are all the
helpers. We have the power to show that
love, even love for strangers, triumphs over evil every time. And if, God forbid, I ever face terror close-up, I hope I am a helper.
We cannot bring back
the lives or limbs lost yesterday. We
cannot restore children and teachers back to their now incomplete
families. We cannot undo how the world
changed 11 ½ years ago. But we can be
helpers. We can show one another, and
our children, how to love. We can be
more than survivors, more than victims.
We can show compassion. We can
restore hope and humanity to everyday life. Be the help in your world.When my son reads in his history books the events of 9/11, the acts of terror, the atrocities that befall our modern world, I hope he asks me where I was, what I thought, what I felt, and what I did. I will tell him - I was scared; I was saddened; I was angry; I was heartbroken; I was determined; and I decided to change the world for the better. I chose to be the help.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Worst day at work since I started this job!
Almost three years ago, I switched jobs. I left the corporate world for the home world. I used to have a paycheck, bosses, coworkers, a cafeteria, and a timeclock to punch in and out. Now, I have a son, no pay, no one to cook for me, and no clocking out. Today was the hardest day I've had since I took this job. I don't regret the job. I don't even regret the decision to leave Corporate America. But boy, oh boy!
It started with breakfast. He ate a few good bites of the bowl of cereal we always share. On the fourth bite, he decided to spit it out. For no (understandably good) reason. Then he asked for a slice of cheese. I gave it to him. He took a tiny nibble, pulled at it until it began to crumble all over the carpet, then wadded it up and threw it in the sink. Frustrating? You betcha! But I didn't force the issue of him eating. If he gets hungry enough, he'll eat.
So we went to the gym, as usual. He was fine with going to the gym. About 20-30 minutes into my workout, they come get me to tell me he has a dirty diaper. (They don't change diapers, which is fine.) I was surprised, since he never has a dirty diaper at the gym (and he'd already made one this morning.) But I went to get him & change him. Everything seemed fine. And then it wasn't. He started (aggressively) telling me he wanted to go swimming. I told him we couldn't today. I didn't bring our swim stuff. Maybe tomorrow. He starts crying and screaming in the locker room. I'm trying to calm him down. I'm trying to reason with him. I'm doing everything I've read in the "how to raise your kid" books. I'm asking him to stop crying and try to use his words to tell me what's wrong. He doesn't. I give him choices so he has control in his life. I offer him to go back and play or go home. I tell him either decision is fine. Neither is a punishment. He's not in trouble. What does he want to do. "I WANT TO SWIM!" And the tantrum escalates.
I again offer him choices. I tell him if he does not want to play, we'll go home and that's ok. He finally decides to go back and play. Until we get halfway there. Then he throws himself down on the floor in the middle of the corridor and starts crying again. To say I was embarrassed would be a gross understatement. I know most of the people were probably feeling bad for me instead of judging me as a failed parent. But I was so frustrated! So we head back to the locker room to get my things to go home. Then we go over to the play section so I can get his coat & our cards. Again, he flings himself on the floor in a tantrum. I walk away (still keeping both eyes on him,) thinking if I take away all attention (positive or negative) that he might snap himself out of his tantrum without an audience. Instead, he lies there for another moment, then gets himself up, walks to where I am, and proceeds to get back on the floor and continue the fit!
I was ready to string him up by his toenails! I get his coat on (while he's crying,) take his hand, and lead him outside to the car. All the while, he's racked with uncontrollable sobs (allegedly.) I put him in his carseat, he immediately stops crying, wipes his face, and yells, "I want milk, Momma!" Now, he knows how to use please and thank-you and generally does an excellent job with them. So this kind of demanding attitude is not typical. Nor was it acceptable. By this time, I was furious with him! We get home and he acts like everything is perfectly fine. I get him fed. I get him down for a nap. The whole time he's asleep, I'm trying really hard to get un-pissed at my two-year-old. But I didn't know how!
I managed to be relatively calm with him post-nap. And somehow, I managed to not spank him. (I believe in spankings when necessary. And I think today would have been very necessary. But I have also promised myself, him, and my husband that I would try really hard to never spank in anger. I would have spanked in anger today...) The afternoon did not do much to improve his demanding, jerky, or bratty behavior. But luckily, my husband came home. (I thought he was going to have to work late.) About ten minutes after he got home, my sweet husband said, "Why don't you go to a coffeehouse for a little while and take some time for yourself?" I didn't argue. I think I was out the door with a book within two minutes of the offer. When I came home, my hubby said our darling boy continued his contrary behavior but went to bed easily and early.
I can only hope there was some unseen reason for his crummy behavior that will not repeat tomorrow. I rest in knowing that a good night's sleep can (potentially) refresh both my son and me. And even if it doesn't, I took a job I can't quit. So I'll find a way to suck it up. But today was truly the lousiest, least-enjoyable day of motherhood thus far...
But I still wouldn't give it up...
It started with breakfast. He ate a few good bites of the bowl of cereal we always share. On the fourth bite, he decided to spit it out. For no (understandably good) reason. Then he asked for a slice of cheese. I gave it to him. He took a tiny nibble, pulled at it until it began to crumble all over the carpet, then wadded it up and threw it in the sink. Frustrating? You betcha! But I didn't force the issue of him eating. If he gets hungry enough, he'll eat.
So we went to the gym, as usual. He was fine with going to the gym. About 20-30 minutes into my workout, they come get me to tell me he has a dirty diaper. (They don't change diapers, which is fine.) I was surprised, since he never has a dirty diaper at the gym (and he'd already made one this morning.) But I went to get him & change him. Everything seemed fine. And then it wasn't. He started (aggressively) telling me he wanted to go swimming. I told him we couldn't today. I didn't bring our swim stuff. Maybe tomorrow. He starts crying and screaming in the locker room. I'm trying to calm him down. I'm trying to reason with him. I'm doing everything I've read in the "how to raise your kid" books. I'm asking him to stop crying and try to use his words to tell me what's wrong. He doesn't. I give him choices so he has control in his life. I offer him to go back and play or go home. I tell him either decision is fine. Neither is a punishment. He's not in trouble. What does he want to do. "I WANT TO SWIM!" And the tantrum escalates.
I again offer him choices. I tell him if he does not want to play, we'll go home and that's ok. He finally decides to go back and play. Until we get halfway there. Then he throws himself down on the floor in the middle of the corridor and starts crying again. To say I was embarrassed would be a gross understatement. I know most of the people were probably feeling bad for me instead of judging me as a failed parent. But I was so frustrated! So we head back to the locker room to get my things to go home. Then we go over to the play section so I can get his coat & our cards. Again, he flings himself on the floor in a tantrum. I walk away (still keeping both eyes on him,) thinking if I take away all attention (positive or negative) that he might snap himself out of his tantrum without an audience. Instead, he lies there for another moment, then gets himself up, walks to where I am, and proceeds to get back on the floor and continue the fit!
I was ready to string him up by his toenails! I get his coat on (while he's crying,) take his hand, and lead him outside to the car. All the while, he's racked with uncontrollable sobs (allegedly.) I put him in his carseat, he immediately stops crying, wipes his face, and yells, "I want milk, Momma!" Now, he knows how to use please and thank-you and generally does an excellent job with them. So this kind of demanding attitude is not typical. Nor was it acceptable. By this time, I was furious with him! We get home and he acts like everything is perfectly fine. I get him fed. I get him down for a nap. The whole time he's asleep, I'm trying really hard to get un-pissed at my two-year-old. But I didn't know how!
I managed to be relatively calm with him post-nap. And somehow, I managed to not spank him. (I believe in spankings when necessary. And I think today would have been very necessary. But I have also promised myself, him, and my husband that I would try really hard to never spank in anger. I would have spanked in anger today...) The afternoon did not do much to improve his demanding, jerky, or bratty behavior. But luckily, my husband came home. (I thought he was going to have to work late.) About ten minutes after he got home, my sweet husband said, "Why don't you go to a coffeehouse for a little while and take some time for yourself?" I didn't argue. I think I was out the door with a book within two minutes of the offer. When I came home, my hubby said our darling boy continued his contrary behavior but went to bed easily and early.
I can only hope there was some unseen reason for his crummy behavior that will not repeat tomorrow. I rest in knowing that a good night's sleep can (potentially) refresh both my son and me. And even if it doesn't, I took a job I can't quit. So I'll find a way to suck it up. But today was truly the lousiest, least-enjoyable day of motherhood thus far...
But I still wouldn't give it up...
Friday, March 8, 2013
A young woman passed away a week or two after suffering severe complications from childbirth. She slipped into a coma shortly after giving birth to a healthy daughter who bears her name. Last night or early today, she slipped away to heaven. Her husband and five daughters are left to carry on without her. Yet still he praises God. My heart breaks for all six of them.
With the passing of the friend of friends at way too young of an age, I am flooded with memories, emotion, pain, and insight. This entry is to try and focus on the insight (although I cannot promise pain or memories will not freckle the landscape of this article.)
I hate that I had to say good-bye to a husband at such a young age. But I am grateful we had the opportunity to say everything that needed to be said. I knew what he wanted done with his remains. I knew what kind of service he wanted. I even knew his hopes and dreams for my future without him. We spoke at length about everything, good, bad, easy, hard, and most definitely ugly! But what about this sweet young family who faced an unexpected good-bye? I know she had no expectation of slipping into a wordless coma when she started laboring with her precious daughter.
And so, tonight, I took the opportunity to talk to my sweet husband God gave me. I told him, "If, Heaven forbid, anything ever happens to me, I'm not mad at God. I do not blame him. If I am ever taken from you, be angry at the devil. I love God and know He is never the cause of bad things happening. I love you with all my heart. I always will, no matter what. But I will never blame God, so please don't either. And tell our son not to blame God."
Yes, maybe I'm borrowing trouble. I think we're all colored with our experiences. And experiencing the loss of a spouse makes us feel very deeply when someone else does, too. So, at the risk of not having the opportunity to say everything that I would want to say in those last months, weeks, days, or hours, I will say them tonight. I will say them when I am safe and healthy. I will pray those words never have to echo in his ears or heart. But at the risk of borrowing trouble, I will leave nothing unsaid in this relationship, either.
With the passing of the friend of friends at way too young of an age, I am flooded with memories, emotion, pain, and insight. This entry is to try and focus on the insight (although I cannot promise pain or memories will not freckle the landscape of this article.)
I hate that I had to say good-bye to a husband at such a young age. But I am grateful we had the opportunity to say everything that needed to be said. I knew what he wanted done with his remains. I knew what kind of service he wanted. I even knew his hopes and dreams for my future without him. We spoke at length about everything, good, bad, easy, hard, and most definitely ugly! But what about this sweet young family who faced an unexpected good-bye? I know she had no expectation of slipping into a wordless coma when she started laboring with her precious daughter.
And so, tonight, I took the opportunity to talk to my sweet husband God gave me. I told him, "If, Heaven forbid, anything ever happens to me, I'm not mad at God. I do not blame him. If I am ever taken from you, be angry at the devil. I love God and know He is never the cause of bad things happening. I love you with all my heart. I always will, no matter what. But I will never blame God, so please don't either. And tell our son not to blame God."
Yes, maybe I'm borrowing trouble. I think we're all colored with our experiences. And experiencing the loss of a spouse makes us feel very deeply when someone else does, too. So, at the risk of not having the opportunity to say everything that I would want to say in those last months, weeks, days, or hours, I will say them tonight. I will say them when I am safe and healthy. I will pray those words never have to echo in his ears or heart. But at the risk of borrowing trouble, I will leave nothing unsaid in this relationship, either.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Haiti
I cannot believe it, but it has been more than a quarter of a century since I visited Haiti. My brother and I had the honor to go there at the tender ages of 10 (him) and 8 (me) when my parents were chaperoning a high school youth group mission trip. My life has never been the same. I don't know why, but I feel a distinct tug on my heart to write about Haiti tonight. I haven't been back since, though I've thought of it often. I'd love to go again, but not because it is beautiful or fun or enriching in a traditional sense.
We went to work on building the second story for a school at a mission. The first impression I had of Haiti, though I doubt I could have articulated it at the time, was that it felt oppressive. Not the heat or the stench. But spiritually, it felt heavy. If my heart could suddenly be wrapped in weighted belts, that was Haiti. I remember seeing a 5-year-old little girl taking care of her younger brother, who was naked with a swollen belly. I recall seeing the exuberant joy on the faces of children, ages 2 -16, when they received small tokens and toys, like jacks, jumpropes, and balls with which to play. These trinkets cost paltry amounts of money for Americans but were treated like prized possessions there, which they likely were.
I remember the poverty, the tattered clothes, the dirt everywhere. Dirt outside (not grass.) Dirt roads. Dirt floors. It just was brown. We worked hard there. It was hot and sticky and dusty. (I actually came back so tanned, someone asked me if I was black or white!) I remember seeing men cut the grass (what little there was) with machetes, bent over in backbreaking work, because the mower was broken. I remember walking through a very crowded, loud, and intimidating open-air market one day. People were shouting, vying for our attention and American money. I wanted a doll as a souvenir. There were lots of stalls selling them, but my mother kept saying no, I couldn't have one of those dolls, but we'd find one. The dolls she kept telling me no to were, in fact, voodoo dolls. (We did eventually find a beautiful, non-voodoo doll, that I believe we still have.)
One of the things that sticks out heavily in my mind was the very powerful, very real, presence of voodoo. It isn't just mumbo-jumbo made up in a movie for a plot twist. The belief and faith in this dark practice was palpable. One of my clearest memories is from the nights there in Haiti. We'd lie in our beds at the mission and, almost every night, drumming would start. It wasn't partying. It was voodoo drums, their rhythms flowing down the mountain, subtly filling the air. They weren't loud. I never heard chanting. But unmistakable drumming. I love music and percussions. But this drumming chilled me to the bone in a very not-good way.
I was so impacted by the spiritual magnitude of this place that I asked my dad for a very big thing. I was originally slated to be baptized with two of my cousins later that summer. I asked my dad to baptize me there, in Haiti. We had a good discussion of what baptism meant and why I wanted it then and there. The day we went to the beach, I was baptized by my father in the Caribbean.
When you're in a place like Haiti, there is no longer a question of "is there good and evil?" It is obvious! So much spiritual darkness hangs like a heavy veil over that small country. Yet those who have been told about and accepted Christ have such joy! Their lives were not instantly changed in manners of wealth, health, or freedom from a corrupt government. But their outlooks, their peace, their pursuit of holiness did change their lives. I felt so honored that my spiritual life would, in a small way, be tied to that country and to other believers who might get baptized along the beach.
I guess I would sum up my experience like this. If you wonder, if you question, if you doubt, go to Haiti. It isn't a bad place. The people are not unkind. But the weight of Haiti, the "feel" of Haiti is almost proof that there is evil. That there is a Hell. And that there is a devil. But there's redemption to that oppressive feeling. For if there is evil, there must be pure love. If there is a Hell, there must be a Heaven. And if there's a devil, there must be a God.
I can see God in a flower, a rainstorm, a waterfall. But for those who cannot, go to Haiti. Then tell me there isn't a God.
We went to work on building the second story for a school at a mission. The first impression I had of Haiti, though I doubt I could have articulated it at the time, was that it felt oppressive. Not the heat or the stench. But spiritually, it felt heavy. If my heart could suddenly be wrapped in weighted belts, that was Haiti. I remember seeing a 5-year-old little girl taking care of her younger brother, who was naked with a swollen belly. I recall seeing the exuberant joy on the faces of children, ages 2 -16, when they received small tokens and toys, like jacks, jumpropes, and balls with which to play. These trinkets cost paltry amounts of money for Americans but were treated like prized possessions there, which they likely were.
I remember the poverty, the tattered clothes, the dirt everywhere. Dirt outside (not grass.) Dirt roads. Dirt floors. It just was brown. We worked hard there. It was hot and sticky and dusty. (I actually came back so tanned, someone asked me if I was black or white!) I remember seeing men cut the grass (what little there was) with machetes, bent over in backbreaking work, because the mower was broken. I remember walking through a very crowded, loud, and intimidating open-air market one day. People were shouting, vying for our attention and American money. I wanted a doll as a souvenir. There were lots of stalls selling them, but my mother kept saying no, I couldn't have one of those dolls, but we'd find one. The dolls she kept telling me no to were, in fact, voodoo dolls. (We did eventually find a beautiful, non-voodoo doll, that I believe we still have.)
One of the things that sticks out heavily in my mind was the very powerful, very real, presence of voodoo. It isn't just mumbo-jumbo made up in a movie for a plot twist. The belief and faith in this dark practice was palpable. One of my clearest memories is from the nights there in Haiti. We'd lie in our beds at the mission and, almost every night, drumming would start. It wasn't partying. It was voodoo drums, their rhythms flowing down the mountain, subtly filling the air. They weren't loud. I never heard chanting. But unmistakable drumming. I love music and percussions. But this drumming chilled me to the bone in a very not-good way.
I was so impacted by the spiritual magnitude of this place that I asked my dad for a very big thing. I was originally slated to be baptized with two of my cousins later that summer. I asked my dad to baptize me there, in Haiti. We had a good discussion of what baptism meant and why I wanted it then and there. The day we went to the beach, I was baptized by my father in the Caribbean.
When you're in a place like Haiti, there is no longer a question of "is there good and evil?" It is obvious! So much spiritual darkness hangs like a heavy veil over that small country. Yet those who have been told about and accepted Christ have such joy! Their lives were not instantly changed in manners of wealth, health, or freedom from a corrupt government. But their outlooks, their peace, their pursuit of holiness did change their lives. I felt so honored that my spiritual life would, in a small way, be tied to that country and to other believers who might get baptized along the beach.
I guess I would sum up my experience like this. If you wonder, if you question, if you doubt, go to Haiti. It isn't a bad place. The people are not unkind. But the weight of Haiti, the "feel" of Haiti is almost proof that there is evil. That there is a Hell. And that there is a devil. But there's redemption to that oppressive feeling. For if there is evil, there must be pure love. If there is a Hell, there must be a Heaven. And if there's a devil, there must be a God.
I can see God in a flower, a rainstorm, a waterfall. But for those who cannot, go to Haiti. Then tell me there isn't a God.
Monday, January 28, 2013
God, Christians, and Inspiration
Today, I feel compelled to write about something very dear to my heart - faith. Specifically, faith in One True God, people who profess it, and people who judge it. This is not a tear anyone down rant. So don't necessarily quit reading for fear of that. Rather, it's a challenge to us all, churched or unchurched...
I believe in a sovereign God. That means - He Is It! There's only one Him and He's the Him. I do not subscribe to the "many paths to enlightenment and joy and peace and whatever-you-believe-for-you-is-fine-just-don't-impose-it-on-me" mentality. I am a Christian and most people know that very shortly after meeting me. I make no apologies about my faith. Ever. And if someone asks me why I believe the way I do, I'm happy to discuss. But I try really hard to let my life speak without having to beat anyone over the head to "prove" that I'm a Christian or try to convert them. I'd rather they see the peace and joy I experience BECAUSE OF GOD (not because of me!) and ask questions.
I don't think I've ever told anyone they were going to hell. I don't feel that's my job. God sees hearts. I do not. I may think "Oh, you poor, misguided soul." But I hope my words are "I love Him enough that I will speak about the wonderful things God has done in my life. I love you enough that I will pray for you and freely discuss anything you'd like without backing down. I love you enough that I disagree with you; I love you enough that I cannot support your decision; I love you enough that I do not condone that behavior. But I will always love YOU." I've had very, ahem, lively discussions with people in the past. I expect that I will have more intense conversations in the future. And I'm okay with that.
But the ultimate truth is - God is God and I am not. So I will not judge you. Likewise, please don't judge me. Do not assume that because my conversion was not a "road to Damascus" experience that my testimony is less valid or valuable. I have never been drunk. I have never done drugs. I have loving, Godly parents and an amazing family. That doesn't mean I haven't walked through valleys or am too blinded by mountaintop views to appreciate sorrow and heartache. I do not believe you have to hit rock bottom before you can be saved. I think God's arm is long enough to reach us in the lowest pit of despair. But I think His desire is that His arms be used to wrap us up in bear hugs of delight, whether life has always or never been rosy.
I also think that whenever someone sets out to "inspire," they usually wind up setting themselves up for the fall. Christ said that he will make high the humble and make low the proud. I'm not saying you shouldn't live a life to the glory of God. But let it be just that - for the glory of GOD, not the glory of you. No one goes around looking for bad experiences to endure. But sometimes difficult things befall us. It is walking those trials in sincerity and meekness that inspires, not "ooh, I'm gonna look good on the other side of this!" I think people are inspired by watching a person prevail where the onlookers fear they might fail. It's that victory that's lived in sincerity that inspires. It gives us that "if they can get through THAT, maybe I will be all right, too..." feeling. and I believe that we endure tragedy well only through the grace and mercy of God. Thus, it's God that's inspiring.
I have been told numerous times over the past several years that I inspire or encourage others. That blesses me so much. But it humbles me. Because I know I've done NOTHING to inspire or encourage. I write what I think. I seek God. I make up life as I go, for I know no other way. I am so thrilled that God uses me in a tiny, miniscule way to touch the heart of another. But I know it's HIM. Most people who I consider a personal inspiration would not consider themselves thusly. Most people I admire would probably start talking in "why, um, but, and huhs?" if I told them how much I really think of them. But that's probably why I do. They're genuine. They're not after the praises and accolades of men. They're just honestly in love with God and it is reflected in all they do.
So, if you want to have a life full of peace that defies explanation, believe in God. If you want to inspire someone, love, serve, and seek God. If you want to judge someone, evaluate yourself. And if you want a lively conversation (about God or anything else), let me know! I promise I won't be mean...
I believe in a sovereign God. That means - He Is It! There's only one Him and He's the Him. I do not subscribe to the "many paths to enlightenment and joy and peace and whatever-you-believe-for-you-is-fine-just-don't-impose-it-on-me" mentality. I am a Christian and most people know that very shortly after meeting me. I make no apologies about my faith. Ever. And if someone asks me why I believe the way I do, I'm happy to discuss. But I try really hard to let my life speak without having to beat anyone over the head to "prove" that I'm a Christian or try to convert them. I'd rather they see the peace and joy I experience BECAUSE OF GOD (not because of me!) and ask questions.
I don't think I've ever told anyone they were going to hell. I don't feel that's my job. God sees hearts. I do not. I may think "Oh, you poor, misguided soul." But I hope my words are "I love Him enough that I will speak about the wonderful things God has done in my life. I love you enough that I will pray for you and freely discuss anything you'd like without backing down. I love you enough that I disagree with you; I love you enough that I cannot support your decision; I love you enough that I do not condone that behavior. But I will always love YOU." I've had very, ahem, lively discussions with people in the past. I expect that I will have more intense conversations in the future. And I'm okay with that.
But the ultimate truth is - God is God and I am not. So I will not judge you. Likewise, please don't judge me. Do not assume that because my conversion was not a "road to Damascus" experience that my testimony is less valid or valuable. I have never been drunk. I have never done drugs. I have loving, Godly parents and an amazing family. That doesn't mean I haven't walked through valleys or am too blinded by mountaintop views to appreciate sorrow and heartache. I do not believe you have to hit rock bottom before you can be saved. I think God's arm is long enough to reach us in the lowest pit of despair. But I think His desire is that His arms be used to wrap us up in bear hugs of delight, whether life has always or never been rosy.
I also think that whenever someone sets out to "inspire," they usually wind up setting themselves up for the fall. Christ said that he will make high the humble and make low the proud. I'm not saying you shouldn't live a life to the glory of God. But let it be just that - for the glory of GOD, not the glory of you. No one goes around looking for bad experiences to endure. But sometimes difficult things befall us. It is walking those trials in sincerity and meekness that inspires, not "ooh, I'm gonna look good on the other side of this!" I think people are inspired by watching a person prevail where the onlookers fear they might fail. It's that victory that's lived in sincerity that inspires. It gives us that "if they can get through THAT, maybe I will be all right, too..." feeling. and I believe that we endure tragedy well only through the grace and mercy of God. Thus, it's God that's inspiring.
I have been told numerous times over the past several years that I inspire or encourage others. That blesses me so much. But it humbles me. Because I know I've done NOTHING to inspire or encourage. I write what I think. I seek God. I make up life as I go, for I know no other way. I am so thrilled that God uses me in a tiny, miniscule way to touch the heart of another. But I know it's HIM. Most people who I consider a personal inspiration would not consider themselves thusly. Most people I admire would probably start talking in "why, um, but, and huhs?" if I told them how much I really think of them. But that's probably why I do. They're genuine. They're not after the praises and accolades of men. They're just honestly in love with God and it is reflected in all they do.
So, if you want to have a life full of peace that defies explanation, believe in God. If you want to inspire someone, love, serve, and seek God. If you want to judge someone, evaluate yourself. And if you want a lively conversation (about God or anything else), let me know! I promise I won't be mean...
Friday, January 11, 2013
No motivation
I sit here this morning, thinking of the clean laundry that needs to be folded and put away, the dirty clothes still to be washed, the dishwasher, run but not emptied, and the freshly soiled breakfast dishes. I think of the vacuuming that ought to be done and how the bathrooms need to be cleaned. And I want to do exactly none of it! (I get credit for at least contemplating it, though, right?)
It's an unseasonably warm and slightly rainy day here in Chicagoland. And all I can think about is how I want to go wander around, exploring with my son. Then tuck him in for an unrealistically long nap and read my newly acquired book that has sucked me in more than time permits.
I want to blow off responsibility. I want to ignore financially sound decisions. I want to play. I'd like it more if I had another adult to come along. But my boy makes for pretty good company most of the time. I want to disregard acting "proper" or grown-up. (Having a child tends to make that somewhat more socially acceptable.) But I want to just skip in the rain, play ring-around-the-rosy, and generally run around like an idiot. I want to eat breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner out without caring what it costs, even though there's perfectly acceptable food in the fridge and cabinets
I want to drive around in January with all the windows rolled down and music blaring. And no red lights or stop signs.
I know very little, if any, of those things will actually occur today. I'll at least get a load of laundry started. And the condition of the cupboards will dictate that the dishwasher will get unloaded. And the desire to eventually eat will mean that dishes eventually will get washed. But, if you will allow me one extremely indulgement whine...
I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's an unseasonably warm and slightly rainy day here in Chicagoland. And all I can think about is how I want to go wander around, exploring with my son. Then tuck him in for an unrealistically long nap and read my newly acquired book that has sucked me in more than time permits.
I want to blow off responsibility. I want to ignore financially sound decisions. I want to play. I'd like it more if I had another adult to come along. But my boy makes for pretty good company most of the time. I want to disregard acting "proper" or grown-up. (Having a child tends to make that somewhat more socially acceptable.) But I want to just skip in the rain, play ring-around-the-rosy, and generally run around like an idiot. I want to eat breakfast, lunch, snacks, and dinner out without caring what it costs, even though there's perfectly acceptable food in the fridge and cabinets
I want to drive around in January with all the windows rolled down and music blaring. And no red lights or stop signs.
I know very little, if any, of those things will actually occur today. I'll at least get a load of laundry started. And the condition of the cupboards will dictate that the dishwasher will get unloaded. And the desire to eventually eat will mean that dishes eventually will get washed. But, if you will allow me one extremely indulgement whine...
I DON'T WANNA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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