The Flag

I was born and raised in the South, and proud of it.  I am equally proud of my Czech, Scottish, Irish, and Welsh heritage.  I am proud of the legacy left to me by my grandparents, from Texas, Oklahoma, and Alabama.  My husband, born and raised in California, is proud of his Mexican heritage.  But at the end of the day, we are AMERICANS, first and quite frankly, only.

 

The truth of the matter is, whether you think it’s fair or not, PERCEPTION IS REALITY.  If people perceive a Confederate Battle flag as hurtful, then it hurts.  If that flag has been perverted by some outspoken racist bigots and fools to represent hate, then it represents hate.  Why, oh why, would we intentionally try to hurt and show hatred towards our fellow humans when we know that is how they perceive it?  This country is full of history of lots of people, some of it wonderful and brave and courageous and strong.  Some of it, we shake our heads with shame and wonder.  But while it is good and wise to understand and learn from our mutual history, why would we show disrespect to our brothers and sisters by flying and displaying things that cause pain and division?  Is there not enough divisiveness already?

 

I am Southern and always will be.  This does not make me racist.  A region does not define a person’s love or hate.  The level of melanin in your complexion doesn’t make you better or worse.  It’s good to be proud of your ancestry and the area where you grew up.  But you can have pride and still have kindness and character. 

 

Now, I understand fully that a flag such as our (ALL our!) national flag, The Star Spangled Banner, carries a lot of pride and power and symbolizes so much that soldiers are willing to lay down their lives for it, and have been for centuries.  But… is a piece of fabric the sole way to define the pride of your heritage and ancestry?  Is a piece of fabric worth causing pain and division among citizens that share this amazing country?  I wholly believe the only flags that should be flown at governmental buildings are that of the country and the state.  I don’t think the Mexican flag should be flown on governmental properties in California or Texas or Arizona.  I don’t believe a Confederate flag should be flown in South Carolina or any other state of the union at a governmental building.

 

We have museums.  We remember and honor and cringe at our mutual history, as we should.   We are Americans.  Let’s be Americans who show respect to one another.  Let’s be Americans who have pride without hate.  Let’s be Americans who show love and forgiveness. 

My idea of Angels

I am no theologian and will never pretend to be.  However, ask anyone who has known me as at any age in my life and they will tell you I am imaginative, to say the least.  So I let my imagination run a little rampant today.  I started imagining angels. 

 

Personally, I have never much bought into the dress-wearing, harp-playing, kind-faced winged human.  But today, I really thought about what I envision them to be.  I don’t think the Bible supports a genteel version, for the sole fact that every time an angel is visible to a human, the very first thing they always have to say is, “Don’t be scared!”  Then they go on their merry way with their message of joy or hope or wrath or warning or celebration or whatever God sent them down to convey.  If I saw someone with a harp and a dress, even if they appeared out of nowhere, I probably wouldn’t be freaked-out afraid.  But every time…  “Fear Not!” Okay.  Deep, calming breath. 

 

As I said, I’m not a theologian.  I don’t pretend to know the Bible backwards and forwards.  But I do know the Bible mentions principalities and warfare in the heavenlies.  I remember the guardians of Eden after The Fall held swords.  But not just any swords – flaming swords!  So, there are angels warring on our behalf in the heavenlies.  They are messengers.  And at least some creatures of Heaven bear flaming swords.

 

I think angels still exist and are still active in our lives, our daily activities.  I don’t know why bad things happen to some and others are spared in unthinkable ways.  I don’t know the rules of heavenly warfare or to what extent angels and principalities of darkness are permitted to intervene in earthly matters.  But I do know the angels in my mind look like this:

 

They are dirty.  Not like a kid playing in mud but of a man coming out of a battle zone.  Gunpowder, sweat, grime, and blood stain their skin.  They are muscular and physical and determined.  Their eyes are locked on to their target, their jaws fiercely set for the task at hand.  They persist and fight until the battle is done.  I imagine someone appearing more like a Roman Gladiator than a fairy godmother.  Their toughness exudes from their every motion.

 

They catch a child falling from a balcony.  They hover around a vehicle to deflect the blow from hitting the person directly.  They make your mail fall out of your purse so you have to go back, delaying you those life-saving seconds.  They hold off the hands that seek to do harm for God’s kingdom to be further advanced, whether by hours or years.  They hold the person, alone in the dark, whether a child buried in rubble in Nepal, an employee trapped in an exploding tower, or a mother learning the child in her womb has died.

 

These fierce warriors with compassionate hands and hearts are what I believe we are repeatedly told to “Fear Not.”  And Fear them I would, if I saw them suddenly appear.  But whether I see them or not, they are very real and very active.  And I thank God for His protection, for sending His Son to die, for His overwhelming and unending love,  for the revelations through the Holy Spirit, and for the invisible band of warriors around us each and every day.

Take Care of Yourself - It's the Law!

We put fuel in our vehicles.  We do regular maintenance, including oil changes, tire rotations, and tune ups.  We keep them clean and work hard to keep them in good running order.  And when they have problems, we fix them.  We take care of our inanimate objects, in large part because they do something for us and we don’t want the expense of replacing them.

We work multiple jobs, say yes to every request, clean the house, chauffer the kids, cook the food, volunteer for anything, tend to our spouses…then we break.  We become frazzled and frustrated.  We burn out and shut down or become angry.

Why do we take better care of THINGS than of this irreplaceable body God has given us?  I am going to give you something most people need but will never give themselves.  I give you PERMISSION.

I give you permission to say no.  I give you permission to have a date night.  I give you permission to need help and not be superman or superwoman.  I give you permission to take a nap.  I give you permission to go to bed before midnight.  I give you permission to exercise.  I give you permission to sit down with a good book for a few minutes, even if other things “need” to be done.

Most people have flown.  On every flight, there are preliminary instructions given.  One of them is “If you are traveling with a small child or someone needing assistance, put on your own oxygen mask first, then help them.” Every. Single. Flight. And yet, we do not take care of our mental and physical needs on a day to day basis.  I’m not saying neglect or shirk your responsibilities.

But what I am saying is this…figure out what matters and why.  Does your job matter because you couldn’t otherwise eat? Fine.  Do it well.  Does your job matter because you find personal fulfillment? Fine, commit wholly to it.  Does your job matter because someone told you it should but you hate it and the income doesn’t actually justify the strain it puts on you and your family? Walk away from it.   Instead of saying yes to every PTA committee and opportunity, say yes to the one that means something to you, that you feel you have something really great to offer.   Kid driving you crazy?  Okay, you can’t necessarily walk away from that.  But you can take a short break.  Find a drop-in daycare, friend, family member, spouse to give you an hour or three of a break.  Forget why you married your spouse? Don’t walk away…Remember.  Rekindle.  Kids sleep at some point.  Even if you’re broke…you can curl up for a couple of hours and listen to the radio or tell each other your favorite childhood movie.  Reconnect.

Prioritize.  And know that it is okay to take care of yourself.  Not only is it okay, it’s a Federal Regulation (when you’re flying, at least…)  So take a deep breath, remember that no one is an island, no one is invincible, and no one can be all things to all people.  Nor should they be.  Hey, even Superman had needs and struggles and weaknesses.  So fall on grace, even from yourself.  And remember – you are worth more than your car so take better care of yourself than your vehicle.

What to say and what not to say in times of trials.

Bookmark this page.  Refer to it often.  Before you say anything or write anything in response to what someone is going through, pause and think.  I don’t say this to boast but rather to caution.  If you know someone who has recently lost a parent, spouse, or child…  If someone has recently been diagnosed with a devastating condition or has a child, spouse, or parent diagnosed, the following are things I would strongly encourage you to not say.  I write from experience as someone whose husband was diagnosed as terminal, walked the journey with him, and lived beyond his passing.  But this is not just a chiding or a list of don’ts.  I am also providing humbly suggested alternatives of things that are helpful.

DON’T

Don’t post or write about someone you know or someone you saw advertised with a similar condition who survived.  Every patient is unique and different.  Each circumstance is unique.  What you feel is an attempt to offer hope may be perceived as, “Why did they get better and I won’t?” It can cause more doubts, more questions, and sometimes even anger.

DO

Do offer your support and your prayers.  Prayers for comfort, mercy, peace, and healing are welcomed and felt.

DON’T

Don’t say, “I know exactly how you feel / what you are going through.”  No. You don’t.  And that’s okay.  Each person, each relationship, is special and beautiful and one-of-a-kind.  Your experience was YOURS.  This is theirs.  Their emotions, their feelings, their relationship, and how they choose to walk this out is theirs and theirs alone.  This is their journey, not yours.  And please, PLEASE do not insert your pain into their path.  Don’t regale them with your own story and force them to comfort you.  Especially if your story has not been asked.

DO

Offer your sympathy and empathy.  Say, “This must be really hard for you.  I’m sorry you have to walk this.”  And MAYBE… “I have faced similar circumstances if you ever want to talk about it or cry on my shoulder.”

DON’T

Have you tried…oils, vitamins, massages, acupuncture, etc?  Guess what?  If you’ve thought it, they have probably either tried it or researched it or asked their specially trained physician about it.  If you are not trained in the medical sciences, don’t offer medical advice, ESPECIALLY unsolicited.  That can make a person feel like you think they are stupid, are incapable, that they have picked the wrong treating team, or are not trying hard enough.  It can, again, result in resentment and anger.

DO

Do tell them you are praying not only for the person and their loved ones, but also for the doctors.  Pray for wisdom for all of them.  These decisions are not faced lightly.  And I know one thing for certain from experience…DOCTORS ARE FIXERS AND THEY HATE TO FEEL UNABLE TO FIX.  When Nathan fell ill and was receiving his diagnosis and prognosis, the doctor couldn’t even hardly choke out the words “stage IV” and “terminal.”  He kept using vague terms that didn’t give us information until we continued to press for details.  And he was an excellent physician.  But it pained him so deeply to feel unable to solve this issue.  So, I promise you, if it will help, cure, provide relief, or extend life, doctors will recommend or try it.  Scout’s honor!

DON’T

Don’t tell someone what you would do in their situation.  If the words, “Well, if it were me…” begin to come out of your mouth, just stop.  It isn’t you.  And you. Don’t. Know.  You don’t know what you will do until you are in the trenches.  Illnesses are kind of like parenting… everyone’s an expert until they have one.  All the theories and plans in the world fly out the window when you are literally talking about life and death, life or  death, and life beyond death.

DO

Pray. Pray. Pray.  Pray for wisdom and direction.  Pray for peace once decisions are made.  These are not easy choices that are being made.  And sometimes choices are made that go against our very nature.  And sometimes there is no choice to be made.  Walk beside them, but don’t ever judge or second-guess their decisions.  This is hard enough without that hanging over their heads.

DON’T

This last one may seem odd… but here it is anyways.  Please don’t say, “What can I do to help?”  They know what you mean and what you are trying to do.  But they are so befuddled, confused, and overwhelmed, they barely can recall their names or the last time they ate.  Now, on top of all the decisions they are making and coming to terms with, they have to come up with things for you to do?  Nope, sorry, not gonna happen.

DO

If you want to help, BE SPECIFIC. Offer to organize a meal train or bring a meal.  Offer to clean the house or walk the dog.  Offer to take the kids to or from school or activities to allow a small semblance of normal routine.  Wash and fold the laundry. Mow the lawn if you see it’s getting tall.  Whatever you have to give, wherever your talent lies, offer it specifically.  It is SO hard to ask for, much less accept help.  But when the chips are down, it is such a relief to not have to worry about all the little things that fill time and life.  Be specific in what you have the time and ability to do.  Then follow through on your commitment.  That is such a blessing and a tangible expression of love.

DON’T

Don’t beat yourself up if you have done any of the previously mentioned things.  Just be mindful in the future.  If you’ve rubbed someone the wrong way, apologize and make amends.  Don’t take it personally.  They are so far beyond stretched and stressed, they may not yet know how to respond or react.  Just show love, have patience, and be gracious.

Life Is Not Fair

Let me start this with complete and transparent honesty: I am writing this from a place of pain.  There.  Now that that’s out of the way…Life Is Not Fair.

I said it.   I meant it.  Life isn’t fair.  That phrase is as old as the day is long.  Anyone who has existed on this planet for more than 2.2 seconds knows that life isn’t fair.  But maybe that’s a good thing.

I mean, we always complain about the unfairness of life.  But that assumes that if life WERE fair, we would all live in mansions, have millions of dollars in the bank, not have to work, have perfect health, and nothing bad or sad would ever happen.  But what if life being fair meant that we were all broke, jobless, sick, homeless, hungry, and that nothing good would ever happen?  I mean, that’s fair, too, right?  As long as everything is the same status for everyone all the time, it’s fair.

Maybe the fact that life isn’t fair gives us hope.  I could give you a million reasons on my bad days why life isn’t fair.  I could whine and complain and moan with the best of them.  But life isn’t fair, which means maybe tomorrow will be better.  Maybe my pain won’t be so pronounced.  The unfairness of life gives me hope that my circumstance has the possibility of changing.  Maybe the circumstance will never get better or be different.  But I have hope.  Not because I know the future.  Not because I can change it on my own.  But because the unfairness of life, by its very nature, gives hope that as things are is not how they will remain.

And so, while I don’t know what the future holds, be it tomorrow, next year, or a decade down the road, I will work and I will hope.  I will work to hold on to all that is good and beautiful.  I will work to show love and respect and nurture the relationships that surround and uphold me.  I will work to better myself physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.  I will work to raise my son to be kind and compassionate, free and giving, loving and spirited.  And I will hope that all the places that are beyond my control, those things that feel low and sad and unfixable and unfair will give way to inexplicable joy.  And maybe they won’t.  But maybe they will.  And that is enough for today…

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.

Love Is...

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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...

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.

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.

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!