Ordinary Days

With three hours remaining in this year, I decided to stop and ponder.  I write a lot about what I am experiencing in the moment but don’t do just a whole lot of pondering.  And what better time is there than when a large measurement of time gives way to the next?

This year has been bittersweet.  There have been extraordinary highs like getting to move to middle Tennessee and buying our (my) dream house, a family vacation to the Smokies, seeing my son thrive in school.  And there have been really difficult lows.

 

But what I am most mindful of at this year-changing junction is the in-betweenies.  All those little moments, those fleeting conversations, stolen glances, cast-aside phrases, and sweet little kisses that make up the bulk of life.  If I were to weigh my year out into positive little moments or negative little moments, I must be a very happy girl indeed.  Yes, I had tiffs, arguments, and probably even fights with my husband, my son, or others dear to me.  I was wrong more times than I care to admit.  I did or said stupid things.  But I heard, said, felt, gave, got…so many more positive things.  It’s the random, “I love you, mom” from my sweet son’s mouth.  It’s the unexpected phone call just to say hi or getting a REALLY good kiss at a red light just because from my honey.  It’s visiting with a friend without an occasion or reason.  It’s getting to see my family or watch my son play with his cousins or grandparents on a Tuesday.  It’s awesome conversations with and learning more about my husband’s family. 

All these LITTLE things make up the past 365 days more so than the few days of vacation, of moving, of crying over heartaches.  I want to appreciate, to CLING to, these little details.  For if I spend my life focusing on the lowlights and highlights, I’ll miss out on so much of the beauty of the ordinary.

And so, my wish, my hope for 2015 is for ordinary days and plenty of them!

Faith in Action

Don't you just love it when you wake up way too early and can't shut off your brain?  Yeah, me too.  Needless to say, that happened to me today.  Turns out, when God REALLY wants my attention, my undivided attention, it's early.  Sometimes it's one or two am, but He lets me go back to sleep.  Today it was 6 o'clock in the morning and there was no going back to bed.  But at least it was near time to get up.  Anyways, He woke me up with a challenge.  (Let me clarify, unlike others, I do not audibly hear God.  I get impressions and ideas in my mind that I know don't originate from me because they are not usually the easy thing to do.)

God challenged me to put my money where my mouth is.  I have long professed faith in the Almighty.  And I do believe.  But giving feet to my faith has never felt like it cost me much.  This morning, it did.  And it was hard.  It was a lot harder than I expected it to be.  But it reminded me of a story...Moses.

Moses was a reluctant mouth piece for God.  He saw the burning bush.  He saw miracle after miracle in the exposition before Pharoah.  The Red Sea was parted by God.  When they were thirsty, God said to strike a rock.  Moses obeyed and water sprang forth.  But the next time, God said speak to the rock.  How, after all that Moses had seen and experienced, did he not trust God to continue to be faithful?  Moses didn't speak, he struck. God still gave them water.  But, much like modern day parents and children, there was a consequence to Moses' action.  The only thing God asked was for Moses' trust, his faith.  God had already proven Himself trustworthy and faithful repeatedly.  He gave His children good things.  Yet trust was still hard.  And it cost Moses dearly.  It cost him a dream and a promise.

I'm glad this story is in the Bible.  I'm glad most of them are.  Most so-called "heroes of faith" are a bunch of screw-ups like us.  But God is always faithful.  Always.  Take it to the bank, He never fails.  I don't want to be a hero of faith.  I don't want that many bad things occurring in my life as seem to be required for heroes of faith, be they of ancient or modern eras!  I want my simple, comfortable, ordinary life.  But it is through extraordinary circumstances that God gets to reveal Himself.

And so, I thought of Moses.  I cried.  I prayed.  Then I decided that my faith was indeed in God.  My faith was not in myself, in money, in modern technology or conveniences.  I would trust God in what I believed He was calling me to do.  I would walk the talk that I tell my son and my husband I believe.  I would do what would be difficult.  I would be honest.  I would face the uncertainty and risk my hopes and dreams in this.

And what do you know?  God was faithful.  He asked me to trust Him in something I could not see how a provision could be made.  He made it.  I trusted Him and He showed me His faithfulness.  I know one thing for certain, no matter what happens with my dream, I will never wonder if my faithless heart or lack of trust was a block I placed in God's way.  I will know He provides in ways I can't predict.  He definitely proved Himself to me today.  I hope I never forget this lesson, this moment of faith.  As for my dream? Maybe God would still have fulfilled my dream without my obedience.  Maybe, in the long run, this choice won't matter.  Maybe it won't change the outcome of my dreams.  Maybe God won't fulfill this dream, even with my trust. 

But maybe He will. 

Another Job Description of God

Throughout the Bible, God is given many names describing His many attributes.  God the Provider, the Healer, the Deliverer, the Father, and on it goes.  But not only are His attributes described, He is also given job titles so that we can better relate and understand Him.  God the Creator, the Potter, the Refiner.  By describing him in terms of jobs we already comprehend, it gives us a glimpse of His love for us and His work in our lives, even unnoticed or unacknowledged.

I'd like to add another job description of God's that He has repeatedly done in my own life: Fine Arts Restorer.  Yes, God is indeed the Artist.  And yes, we...you, me, all of us from Adam to the last human that will be all are fine arts.  We are beautifully, wonderfully, fearfully, and uniquely made by one singular  Master.  He knows our every flaw and feature.  He knows our insides and outsides better than anyone because He designed and made us.  No doctor, no parent, no spouse will ever know us more completely than He.  But the Artist also knows that these fragile lives, hearts, spirits, bodies, and minds can be...WILL be...broken.  But He has no fear.  He remembers how each of us was made, how we function best, the lovely and quirky personalities He gave us.

And He knows how to fix us.  He knows how to take a heart that has been shattered into pieces too numerous to be counted and make it beat again.  He can take complete and utter brokenness and make it whole again.  He can take a spirit filled with deep and unrelenting pain and restore that spirit to feel and share love and light and hope from a place of total darkness.  Best of all, He makes the Art...us...me, better than before.  The thing about God's art restoration is that while it is complete and total and perfect, scars may still be visible.  He knows that.  He's okay with that.  He still sees His masterpiece.  He ALLOWS the scars to be seen, that His art may point back to the Artist and say, "Yes, I was destroyed.  But see how I am beautiful again? He is why." 

For you see, I have known too many people I looked at as flawless.  I thought they could never understand my circumstance, my pain, my broken places.  But then I listened.  I spoke with them.  I found out the gorgeous person with the beautiful figure and long flowing hair has diabetes.  I also found out that, as pretty as she was, her spirit, her strength, and her personality were far more beautiful.  I almost missed out on a dear friend because I was intimidated by her.  I found out the uber-mom who homeschools and sings and plays guitar and seems to have unending patience miscarried twice before birthing her four awesome kiddos.  How many times have we discovered the ones we hold in such esteem, whether we know them or gaze at them from afar, that they have been utterly lost and crushed? 

On and on and on it goes.  The flaws, the broken places repaired in the Hands of the Master, those are all okay.  More than okay, they are beautiful.  The Artist never intended suffering, death, loss to be a part of our story.  But He found a way to work His beauty from our ashes, His joy for our mourning, His masterpiece from our sorrowful rags.  I have felt so covered in ash, in rags, in sorrow twice in my life.  Deeply and profoundly sad and without direction.  I have felt unfixable.  I have felt so adrift that I was unrecoverable.  I have felt that surely God's mission changed from search and rescue to search and recover.  But He never did.  He has always still steered.  He has always still fixed.  And He has always, always, ALWAYS still found me.  I don't know how.  I don't even always know why.  I certainly don't understand the pain or the circumstances and truly never will. 

But I do know this.  He fixed my brokenness once.  He gave me joy again once.  He restored my shattered heart into beating and functional and full and blessed and yes, even happy, once before.  Why, oh why, would an Artist spend so much time painstakingly creating, then restoring a masterpiece to throw it all away when it shattered again?  He wouldn't.  He isn't.  Every tear that pours from my eyes is testimony that I am still here and the heart within my still feels.  Every morning I wake up is another day God is restoring and repairing me.  Every hug, every kiss, every kindness to and from me is another piece put back with loving care.  I don't know how it all plays out in the end.  But I know that I can never break so big that the Artist cannot find and hold and restore all the pieces.

My son is my guide

I have been going through a REALLY rough time lately.  What I want, hope for, expect, pray for, etc. are not lining up with my current reality.  And it's been going on for a while.  Feeling betrayed by my own body, questioning why things are the way the are, wondering if I should just give up.  I am trying to keep a positive outlook and attitude.  But some days, it's easier said than done.

Lately, my son has not been wanting to read the Bible at night before bed, as our usual routine used to be.  Tonight, he acquiesced. And tonight, the passage from his children's Bible was exactly what I needed to hear.  It's always been one of my favorite reminders from God.  But I guess I've forgotten it as of late.  "Consider the lilies..."  Oh yeah.  If God takes care of, provides for, feeds them...and not only provides but makes this fleeting thing more beautiful than Solomon's robes...how much more will He care for, provide for, feed...me.  And how blessed does He want my life to be?  He wants to give me beauty for ashes.  He wants to give me joy instead of mourning.

Then...oh, the waterworks!  Most nights, when my son prays, it's a very rushed, habitual prayer of the same words that are only distinguishable because of habit.  "Dear-God-please-bless-mommy-daddy-and-me-in-Jesus-name-Amen."  Like...all. one. word!  But tonight...tonight he prayed from his heart.  I don't know what it is, but the sincere prayers of a little heart are so full of hope and life and expectation!  There is no fumbling with trying to sound worthy or meek.  The prayer was bold and precious and yet gentle.  And you know what?  He will ask me tomorrow morning if God said yes to his prayer yet.  Because he believes!  Oh to have faith like my child! 

I want to remember...the promises of God are Yes and Amen!  I want to try to have faith like MY child.  I want to expect and boldly ask.  I want to not be so jaded and broken that I quit asking or daring to hope.  I want to quit rationalizing that, since the answer has been no up to this point, that it will probably always be no.  I want to believe again. 

I know I am blessed.  I have never doubted that.  I know not to ask "why me" because the truth is, "why not me?"  I am not so special as to be given a free pass from pain or suffering.  Especially when that is where God's glory is best and most revealed.  I know I am so blessed, so why shouldn't I be attacked by the enemy at my heart's most tender points?  I am not Job.  Heaven knows I am not holy enough to be Job.  Nor have I suffered as he and I will not pretend to have.

Job continued to believe.  My son continues to believe.  Why shouldn't I? 

Considering lilies...

Don't Break the Wild

I don't know why, exactly, but the other day, I found myself thinking of horses.  When they come of age and are old enough to be ridden, we "break" them.  We tame them into being controlled.  We take away the wildness.  That's not a bad thing with horses.  Heck, I love to ride horses but would never attempt an unbroken one.

But with people, we talk about "sowing wild oats," being the "wild child," and other analogies to express irresponsible behavior.  We "get it out of our systems" before we (ugh!) "settle down."  I don't want a "settled" man!  I want the wildness that God instilled in him to remain wild!  I want him to take me on an adventure!  I want to explore and share the insanity of life at his side.

Yes, life can get monotonous.  We can get stuck in ruts in marriage.  But we can also be silly and goofy and crazy and wild in our little family.  When I see that wildness in my husband, I remember exactly why I fell in love with him in the first place.  But wildness does not have to mean recklessness. 

I find the older I get, the wilder I get.  And by that, I mean that I care less about the opinions of strangers.  I get braver.  I find myself free to be nutso with my son.  I don't worry my husband will love me less if I'm singing at the top of my lungs and dancing like a maniac.  I literally was walking down the streets of downtown Chicago, holding my son's hand, and singing "Love is an Open Door" (from "Frozen") loud enough to be heard.  We got a couple of looks from strangers.  But they were smiles.  And the way I figured it, they were strangers.  I'll never see them again in my life.  I refuse to be concerned with their thoughts.  My son, on the other hand, will remember that his mom loved him enough that, when he said, "Can I say something crazy?" that I replied, "I love crazy!"  (the first line from that song.  He'll always keep with him that he mattered more than the strangers.  He'll know that he's worth my pride, worth risking embarrassment.  And hopefully, he'll see that he makes me braver.  I hope he always stays a little wild, a little uninhibited.

I love that the three of us bring out the wildness in one another.  I hope I never break the wild, but instead fully embrace and participate in it.  I want to take the "everydayness" out of the everyday.  And whether it's singing, dancing to the symphony rehearsal in public, or running through a torrential downpour with my son and my awesome aunt, I want to be wild!

Thank You Seems So Insufficient...

There are a few circumstances in life that can radically change you.  One of those is becoming a member of the U.S. Armed Forces.  My grandfather, Ray Carter Davis, did it by choice.  My great-uncle, Carroll Anthony, did it by choice.   Many men of my father's generation had the choice made for them.  Regardless of whether military service was volunteered for or not, it truly alters you forever.

For my grandfather, it cost him an eardrum and other physical issues for the rest of his life.  I cannot fathom the experiences he endured.  I cannot because he never spoke of it.  It cost my great-uncle his life.  It cost my grandfather his brother and, as a result of that loss, pain and guilt the rest of his life.

Yes, some people lose their lives.  Some lose body parts or body functions.  Some bear invisible wounds, such as brain injuries and PTSD.  Some come away physically and psychologically unscathed.  But no one, NO. ONE. comes away unchanged.

Military service, whether in a war zone or on peacekeeping missions, whether at home or abroad, whether active or reserve, changes you.  Maybe it gives you discipline you lacked as a youth.  Maybe it makes you stronger or more confident in ways you could never imagine.  Maybe it makes you jaded and skeptical.  Maybe it instills a pride in humanity.  Maybe it makes you confused or angry.  But it irreversibly alters you.  That doesn't have to be a negative thing.

To every person who has served and still has breath, THANK YOU.  You have my unending gratitude and unwavering support.  I do not take for granted what you have offered, given, or lost.  For every person who has lost their life in service of this nation, of me and my family, THANK YOU. 

And to all the family members, thank you for all that you sacrifice as well.

The Handwriting is on the...truck?

As I was riding in the car with my husband and son today on the way home from Milwaukee, we saw a tractor trailer with "Ps 46:10" written by finger in the grime of the trailer.  My husband actually was the one who noticed it and asked me what the scripture was that had been referenced.  Not being a biblical scholar and knowing book, chapter, and verses, I told him I was unsure.  (My guess was something about washing or cleaning, you know, in the "Wash Me" sense that is usually on dirty vehicles.)  I was wrong.

Funny thing is, we've been talking a lot in our little family lately about faith and believing in God.  My husband has doubts and questions.  I do not in any way blame or fault or not accept and love him because of these questions.  I actually love his deliberateness in wanting to be certain of something as big as faith instead of giving lip service to it.  How can you believe in something you cannot physically see or feel?  How do you know?  I want proof, evidence.  I want God to show Himself.  And of course, there's the ever-present, "I've done really well in my life without God.  I just don't see the need for Him."  We've also talked a lot about voids that seem to go unreconciled, regardless of success in career, wonderful family, or sufficient funds.  That empty place that *could* be deep calling unto deep?  That part of discontent that nothing material or earthly can fill because maybe, just maybe, we as humans really are made to be in a very real communion and relationship with God.

I looked up the scripture tonight.  I know it's a common one.  But based on our recent conversations, I feel like God was using the old "handwriting on the wall" method again.  Except this time, it wasn't impending doom.  It wasn't "you have been measured and found wanting."  It was an answer to the question.  It was God showing Himself and making the move.  It was physical proof to a human asking for a specific sign of evidence.  It said, "Be still and know that I am God." 

Two instructions.  Be still.  Know.   Whether or not this penetrates or changes a heart is between one human and an almighty God.  Maybe this is another seed or drop of water nourishing already planted seeds.  Maybe it's enough.  Maybe it's not. Yet.  But God answered a prayer and a question.  "How do I know?"  "Why won't He prove and show Himself?" 

Today, He did.  On the back of a dirty semi.

To whomever God used to write that message, thank you for your obedience.  It made a difference to me.

My Take on "Conscious Uncoupling"

When I first heard this new-fangled term, I assumed it was just a hoity-toity way for a Hollywood elitist to make herself feel unique and special and better about getting a divorce than the rest of the divorcing public, whether famous or not.  And I think, in a way, I'm right.  Then I read the "explanation." 

Wow.

Basically, a couple of people decided that since we're living longer than we used to, it's not reasonable for people to promise "until death" or "forever" because it'll last a lot longer.  In their minds, it's unreasonable and unrealistic for people to choose to stay together more than 10 or 15 years.  And since humans' life expectancies has increased exponentially over the past 100 years, marriage vows can realistically be expected to last a decade or so, then cycle through to the next relationship.  Nowadays, we ought to have an average of 3 or so marriages because no one can commit to just one person for 50 years!  So...after we go through the honeymoon phase and realize our spouse isn't perfect, we stew and brew and get irritated for  few years until we decide we're better off apart and we "consciously uncouple" but still make nice for the kiddos.

What a bunch of bologna!  (No offense to bologna...)  I don't care what generation you're in or how old you are or how old you are when you get married.  Love is a choice.  Marriage is a choice.  It is a lifetime commitment that we are quite capable of keeping should we choose to put forth the effort.  It isn't always easy or pretty.  It doesn't always work.  Some marriages should never be entered into; some cannot be saved.  Some divorces are not wanted by both parties.  But marriage CAN last. 

I think its a very lazy cop-out to claim life expectancy should change commitments.  Marriage is more than a piece of paper.  It's more than an "I love you today, so I'll stay."  It's "I love you.  I will choose to always love you.  I'll choose to always stay.  I'll choose to change and grow with you, not apart from you.  I'll love whomever you become and expect the same from you for me.  I'll choose to stay when the feeling isn't easily found, bubbling up on the surface.  I'll choose to wake up and love you even when I don't like you." But it's also "I cannot believe how much I love you and love the life we've made for ourselves.  I cannot believe how happy I am in daily and simple things.  I can't believe how much I laugh with you and how blessed I am that we choose each other.  I cannot believe how rich my life is because you are in it and we have chosen to stay together, even through the challenges." Love is a choice.  Marriage is a choice.  It should not be entered into lightly.  It shouldn't be entered into with an "until-I-change-my-mind" mentality. 

I have said "'til death." Twice.  I meant it.  And you know what?  As hard as it was to take it so seriously that my husband actually died, I loved again so deeply that I said it again, knowing what I was risking.  Knowing what I might go through.  Knowing that, until Lino or I are called from this life, I commit to being his wife. 

My brother is an awesome guy, for a lot of reasons.  One of the things I love most deeply about him is his willingness to ask or say things that probably other people think but no one would have the gumption to voice.  And maybe that's because we're siblings.  If so, I have a precious gift in him that no one else gets.  And I am blessed.  Either way, I remember after marrying Lino, my brother asking, "Was it hard or weird when you got to 'til death do us part?'"   Yes, Matt.  It was weird.  It can't help but bring back of flood of emotions and memories.  And yes, it was hard.  Recalling mine and Nathan's last journey is never easy.  But I never regret going through it or thinking of it.  But it was also a very easy promise to make again.  It was easy because my worst fears have already been realized and I know that, no matter what, God is still God.  And I am still here.  And as long as God keeps me here, He has good things to give me and work for me to do on His behalf. 

So I will live my life filled with love and hope and life and joy.  I will say "Til Death!"  And I will mean it.  There will be no "conscious uncoupling."  Rather, we will not go gentle into that good night.  This family, this marriage will be CONSCIOUSLY tended and cared for and worked on and joy-filled until death separates us.