I have a girlfriend who has the "gift" of gift giving. Her gifts are not the average candle or bottle of lotion type of gift. Her presents are much more than that, they are gifts with meaning. She goes beyond the ordinary to touch the heart of the recipient. Several years ago when I was preparing to participate in a three day breast cancer walk, I returned home the day before the event to find a care package from her. It was filled with things she knew I loved. Not just Tylenol or Band-Aids...it was filled with Brown Sugar Pop Tarts (my favorite indulgence!) and Diet Coke. She'd included my favorite magazines and a beautiful note pledging her support and pride in my accomplishments.
When I began this new blogging/speaking venture she presented me with the most precious business card case and a beautiful journal to record my plans with a special pouch in the back that she was sure to tell me was to be used for my future airline ticket stubs and speaking revenue receipts. She believes in me and her gifts tell the story of that belief. I believe the secret to her gift giving is that she listens to what I ramble on about and she remembers.
My mother-in-law was like that too. She never liked Caesar Salad. In fact, I think it was her least favorite salad there was. She much preferred blue cheese and spicy peppers and onions, however, there was not a time that I went to her house for the 15 years that I knew her that she didn't have an alternative for me that she knew I would be happy with. She listened and watched what I ate and I knew I mattered to her.
With three kids of my own, it's sometimes hard to remember who likes ketchup with their chicken nuggets and who prefers ranch dressing, but I try hard to remember. I know what type of toothpaste they prefer and I work hard to have the snacks they like on hand when they come home from school. I want them to know that I notice, that they matter to me.
As you wrap up this week of holiday prep and welcome guests into your home, will you offer them your best? Will you go to the extra effort to have Mountain Dew on hand,even though you never drink it, but your friends son who is visiting does? Will you give gifts that you scrambled to find last minute at the mall, or will you slow down and really reflect on what the loved one you are giving the gift to would really like?
God gave us the greatest gift we could ever receive and yet sometimes we don't even know how much we need it. He sent His only son to die for us to ensure our eternal life with Him in Heaven. There is no greater gift than that. As you listen to your guests requests and you work hard to meet everyone's needs this week, do not miss the requests of your Heavenly Father. He wants you to notice Him and listen to His dreams for you in the coming year. Don't forget to thank Him for all that He remembered to bless you with.
Merry Christmas!
Purity Is No Compromise ... Exploring God's standards in all areas of our lives.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Hearts breaking open...
The screaming was so loud she wanted to hide. Her hair flew behind her as she raced down the hall and burrowed under the covers on her bed. It didn't stop the noise. All she could think of was how to make it stop and she knew she needed to create a distraction and at eight year's old, her options were limited. She began to cough and she coughed until she forced herself to vomit just to stop the screaming and the repeated use of the word divorce. Finally, as she too began screaming, alerting her parents that she was sick, the voices stopped. The attention shifted and her father came to her side. Amidst the tears and mess she was sitting in, she begged her Dad to put aside talks of divorce. His response left her feeling worse than before, no reassurances, just an indifferent shrug, a non-verbal signal that even an eight-year-old knew meant he'd lost hope for his marriage.
I'm blessed to share a time of prayer with 7 eight-year-old girls each week.
I've been meeting with these girls for 3 months now and I'm used to the typical prayer requests, a neighbor's hamster was attacked by their dog, a cat ran away, even a very sick grandma. The requests are a window into the hearts of these sweet girls who are beginning to experience some tougher life issues.
Each week that we are together tightens our bond and just as I see among my teen girls, they become more willing to let me in. Yesterday the dam broke and a few of them shared the heartache of divorce through a child's eyes.
The stories bubbled to the surface peppered with shaky voices and averted eye contact. Even at their young age, the girls who had experienced divorce were the first to comfort those that revealed their fears. One revealed the pain of a custody arrangement and another loosened her grip on her
anxiety over her parents constant arguing. The girls who had never experienced these issues were oblivious to the hurt the others were revealing, a perfect reflection of their own innocence. Perhaps their parents don't argue, perhaps they live with a single parent already, perhaps they balance other issues that force them to grow up quickly also. We are all faced to maneuver some type of struggle in our lives...some of us earlier than others.
If you are a child of divorce, I'm sorry. It hurts and there is always a struggle to balance the what-ifs with what might have been. If you are considering a divorce and the options seem limited in your life, please don't assume your child is oblivious to what's happening in the other room. Cartoons can't drown out screaming and buying them gifts builds nothing but suspicion. If divorce is inevitable, and all counseling options have been exhausted, talk to your child. Secrecy breeds fear and to a child who is afraid, life's problems seem insurmountable.
Not every marriage is able to be 'happily ever after' but our kids deserve a love of a lifetime from two parents who adore them and put their needs above their own when necessary.
I'm blessed to share a time of prayer with 7 eight-year-old girls each week.
I've been meeting with these girls for 3 months now and I'm used to the typical prayer requests, a neighbor's hamster was attacked by their dog, a cat ran away, even a very sick grandma. The requests are a window into the hearts of these sweet girls who are beginning to experience some tougher life issues.
Each week that we are together tightens our bond and just as I see among my teen girls, they become more willing to let me in. Yesterday the dam broke and a few of them shared the heartache of divorce through a child's eyes.
The stories bubbled to the surface peppered with shaky voices and averted eye contact. Even at their young age, the girls who had experienced divorce were the first to comfort those that revealed their fears. One revealed the pain of a custody arrangement and another loosened her grip on her
anxiety over her parents constant arguing. The girls who had never experienced these issues were oblivious to the hurt the others were revealing, a perfect reflection of their own innocence. Perhaps their parents don't argue, perhaps they live with a single parent already, perhaps they balance other issues that force them to grow up quickly also. We are all faced to maneuver some type of struggle in our lives...some of us earlier than others.
If you are a child of divorce, I'm sorry. It hurts and there is always a struggle to balance the what-ifs with what might have been. If you are considering a divorce and the options seem limited in your life, please don't assume your child is oblivious to what's happening in the other room. Cartoons can't drown out screaming and buying them gifts builds nothing but suspicion. If divorce is inevitable, and all counseling options have been exhausted, talk to your child. Secrecy breeds fear and to a child who is afraid, life's problems seem insurmountable.
Not every marriage is able to be 'happily ever after' but our kids deserve a love of a lifetime from two parents who adore them and put their needs above their own when necessary.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Spilling open...
I spent the weekend surrounded by teenagers. I spent hours doing nothing with them and they in return poured their hearts out to me and I came away feeling like a millionaire.
It is a privilege to see these teens in their element. I see them excited and laughing and raw and crying. There is very little holding back in the experiences we have and it is an honor to be with them.
I love to observe them and gain insight into their varied and complex emotions in a way that their parents cannot. I watch the innocent flirting unfold, the risky friendships take root and the painful heartaches spill over. I am privy to inside jokes and elaborate tall tales and all the while I feel somewhat like a mole. An underworld spy sent out to gain insight and information on these teens who are dearly loved by their parents, but who are also a bit of a mystery to them.
The emotions they share are real, raw and unreserved. They haven't learned the skill of hiding their emotions that most adults have perfected. When teens feel an emotion they pour it out and I am honored when I can be their splash guard. The safety net solidly in place to catch the messy emotions and tears or the high fives and hugs when the feelings come spilling out.
Their experiences are all so varied, from artists to academics, athletes to techies they all share the desire we all have to be loved and valued. They struggle to keep good grades and strong morals while walking the tightrope of meeting their parents expectations and their personal pursuits.
The greatest gift these teens give me is the chance to be a better mom to my kids. They offer me a glimpse into the future of what awaits me as my 11, 9 and 6 year old get older by the day.
I am a volunteer youth leader, but these amazing youth are leading me.
It is a privilege to see these teens in their element. I see them excited and laughing and raw and crying. There is very little holding back in the experiences we have and it is an honor to be with them.
I love to observe them and gain insight into their varied and complex emotions in a way that their parents cannot. I watch the innocent flirting unfold, the risky friendships take root and the painful heartaches spill over. I am privy to inside jokes and elaborate tall tales and all the while I feel somewhat like a mole. An underworld spy sent out to gain insight and information on these teens who are dearly loved by their parents, but who are also a bit of a mystery to them.
The emotions they share are real, raw and unreserved. They haven't learned the skill of hiding their emotions that most adults have perfected. When teens feel an emotion they pour it out and I am honored when I can be their splash guard. The safety net solidly in place to catch the messy emotions and tears or the high fives and hugs when the feelings come spilling out.
Their experiences are all so varied, from artists to academics, athletes to techies they all share the desire we all have to be loved and valued. They struggle to keep good grades and strong morals while walking the tightrope of meeting their parents expectations and their personal pursuits.
The greatest gift these teens give me is the chance to be a better mom to my kids. They offer me a glimpse into the future of what awaits me as my 11, 9 and 6 year old get older by the day.
I am a volunteer youth leader, but these amazing youth are leading me.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Mirror mirror on the wall, why am I the worst of all...
The voices scream at me. "You are an awful mom, you didn't even tuck Ethan in last night, you just yelled at him to get in bed when he came downstairs for water for the third time." "There are no clean socks for the kids to wear! What kind of mom suggests that they wear dirty socks to school?' 'Why do
you always wait until the last minute to do everything? There are a million better wives, friends, housekeepers, organizers, mothers, etc. than you!"
These bullies attack me when I'm most vulnerable. They wait for me and pounce in the early morning hours when I hit snooze on my alarm. They stalk me as a sprawl out on the couch at the end of a long day. Their attacks are vicious and unrelenting. They pull my hair and scratch my arms leaving me feeling wounded, powerless and unmotivated to press on. They say things that are so nasty and mean; I would never associate with anyone who spoke to me that way. If anyone told me about friends like that I would advise them to run and never look back...but what if the voices are your own? What if the bullies that attack with such viciousness reside within you? Those cruel whispers that begin with a tiny spark and can rage into an inferno if I allow it.
I've had days when I've let the fire roar. The heat and intensity of the flames cripple me and I feel defeated. I sit paralyzed in my self-doubt and failure and I do nothing. The flames lick my cheeks and I close my eyes and the tears flow. I succumb to the pity party and let the fire rage until I'm left sitting in a pile of glowing embers.
God speaks of truth and grace. He longs to extinguish the voices and fight the fire for me. The truth is that I'm not a bad mom. Could I be a better organizer, housekeeper, and laundress, (who knew that was really a word?) of course. Should I have more patience at bedtime and re-establish expectations for last minute water requests, sure. Yet the voices want me to believe that without perfection, nothing is worth it. My measuring stick can't be what my OCD friends can accomplish, I can't parent based on the latest suggestions I've read in a magazine or what I perceive as a better kid/parent relationship I observe in a friend.
When I gaze at my reflection in the rear view mirror from my drivers seat, I must view the true reflection and not allow myself to see a distorted carnival mirror reproduction of what the 'voices' sometimes say I am not.
When I allow the voices to rule my day I cannot do anything. I stand and burn and God weeps. He created us for amazing things. He adores me (and you!) and when I allow the doubt and defeat to sweep me up I cannot pour into others.
God stands ready and waiting with the biggest fire engine I can imagine and he longs to blare the squealing sirens and douse the flames. I only need to ask. I pray that when you and I catch a glimpse of ourselves in a mirror this week, the only thing we see is a beautiful smile reflecting back all that God has gifted us to be...and if that smile is wearing red lipstick, even better.
you always wait until the last minute to do everything? There are a million better wives, friends, housekeepers, organizers, mothers, etc. than you!"
These bullies attack me when I'm most vulnerable. They wait for me and pounce in the early morning hours when I hit snooze on my alarm. They stalk me as a sprawl out on the couch at the end of a long day. Their attacks are vicious and unrelenting. They pull my hair and scratch my arms leaving me feeling wounded, powerless and unmotivated to press on. They say things that are so nasty and mean; I would never associate with anyone who spoke to me that way. If anyone told me about friends like that I would advise them to run and never look back...but what if the voices are your own? What if the bullies that attack with such viciousness reside within you? Those cruel whispers that begin with a tiny spark and can rage into an inferno if I allow it.
I've had days when I've let the fire roar. The heat and intensity of the flames cripple me and I feel defeated. I sit paralyzed in my self-doubt and failure and I do nothing. The flames lick my cheeks and I close my eyes and the tears flow. I succumb to the pity party and let the fire rage until I'm left sitting in a pile of glowing embers.
God speaks of truth and grace. He longs to extinguish the voices and fight the fire for me. The truth is that I'm not a bad mom. Could I be a better organizer, housekeeper, and laundress, (who knew that was really a word?) of course. Should I have more patience at bedtime and re-establish expectations for last minute water requests, sure. Yet the voices want me to believe that without perfection, nothing is worth it. My measuring stick can't be what my OCD friends can accomplish, I can't parent based on the latest suggestions I've read in a magazine or what I perceive as a better kid/parent relationship I observe in a friend.
When I gaze at my reflection in the rear view mirror from my drivers seat, I must view the true reflection and not allow myself to see a distorted carnival mirror reproduction of what the 'voices' sometimes say I am not.
When I allow the voices to rule my day I cannot do anything. I stand and burn and God weeps. He created us for amazing things. He adores me (and you!) and when I allow the doubt and defeat to sweep me up I cannot pour into others.
God stands ready and waiting with the biggest fire engine I can imagine and he longs to blare the squealing sirens and douse the flames. I only need to ask. I pray that when you and I catch a glimpse of ourselves in a mirror this week, the only thing we see is a beautiful smile reflecting back all that God has gifted us to be...and if that smile is wearing red lipstick, even better.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Are relationships even worth it?
I don't mind getting messy. I can function happily when my hands are covered up to my elbows in flour and bread dough. Finger painting used to be one of my favorite activities and there is nothing that makes me smile like getting dirty when I plant my geraniums each summer.
The thing that makes it fun is that I know the outcome. I eagerly await the intoxicating aroma of baking bread and the taste of melting butter spilling over the crusty edges of a fresh warm slice. There is such pride when I watch those tiny plants explode into balls of color by the fourth of July each summer and I have two framed masterpieces from my kids finger painting days.
Relationships are not that easy. I love to go deep with people...fast. I'm not great with staying at the small talk acquaintance level. Perhaps it's a product of my days spent as a college recruiter, perhaps it's a subconscious nod to my realization of my own mortality, but I'm not the kind of friend who is satisfied to skim the surface.
I love to ask questions and I want to connect. I love to go to work events with my husband and compare notes at the end of the night, without exception, I come away with layers of information that he was previously unaware of. I fill him in on his co-workers divorces, children and childhoods. Things surface that he was unaware of, not because he is not caring or compassionate or interested, he just does relationships differently.
Going deep, however, is not always all it's cracked up to be and sometimes I wonder if Scott's approach would be easier. As much I love getting messy in the kitchen and in the yard, I hate getting messy in relationships, and it's impossible to go deep without getting dirty.
If I'm really honest, I don't love getting dirt under my fingernails and getting my shoes muddy. The cleanup of the flour and sugar when I'm baking is not much fun either. It's tiresome and tedious, it causes me to question why I don't just buy bread at Panera or stick to perennials instead of annuals in my pots and flower beds. There is a time and a place for easy and convenient, but the pride that comes from something I invest in is hard to beat.
The same is true in relationships. The acquaintances in my life certainly can be fulfilling. The fellow room mom's and the other parents I sit next to at baseball games sweeten the experience. We are all there for a common cause and I enjoy the camaraderie of supporting our kids. Those relationships are necessary, but more of a quick fix. They serve a purpose but rarely go beyond the event. It's impossible for me to sustain my emotional health on only acquaintances, I'm not wired that way.
God requires me to get messy. Sometimes it's great, like those times when I'm hurting and I have girlfriends to call and carry me through the difficult heartaches and hurts. Times like when my mother-in-law died and I was surrounded by love and kindness. Moments when mothering is so overwhelming I want to submit my resignation and I'm covered with prayer and affirmations or days when I doubt my ability to even write this blog or stand behind a microphone and my friends shower me with more confidence than I can muster.
Those are the days when I welcome messy.
Then come the days when I wonder if it's worth it. Days when I spread myself too thin and disappoint someone with my lack of compassion. Times when I respond with 100% emotion and 0% thoughtfulness. Moments when I succumb to the gossip and choose power over grace and let pride and ego guide me and I refuse to take the blame for my mistakes. Those are the messy days...things feel broken and chaotic and it seems easier to walk away and sometimes I do, but it leaves a tremendous hole in my spirit.
Those are the times when the unpredictable creeps in and my insecurity rises up. Although I know what the outcome of the baking bread will be, I am not always allowed that foresight with my friendships.
There are times when I have messed up and walked away, but there are times that I haven't. When the geraniums are growing strong in the summer sun and one of my kiddos runs through and tramples the plant, it's not dead, it just requires some special care. Many times it must be trimmed back and stabilized, it requires extra nurturing and it's presence can't be taken for granted for a few weeks as it pushes its roots in a bit deeper.
Relationships are hard. If you choose to go deep, it's not easy and it can be very painful, but when you forgive yourself and others, your roots eventually stabilize and you are able to stand stronger together. We are not meant to live this life alone, bring on the scary, unpredictable, ugly, beautiful and yes, even the messy.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Who will your Pallbearers be?
It could have been worse, luckily there was an hour visitation prior to the service, so I had a buffer. I slipped in the pew and looked around the intimate sanctuary at lots of familiar faces from my childhood in this small town church.
In a small church with members who have known each other for 30+ years, it's so comforting to come home. I was instantly greeted by hugs, waves and compliments. This is a group of devoted Christ followers who have prayed me through many of the ups and downs I've had in the wake of my liver diagnosis. They are loving people and they are fiercely devoted to one another.
However, the funeral was being held for a newcomer among them. A true prodigal son of one of their own. He was a man whose ties to the church were there because of his mom. As a 50+ year old man, he had spent the majority of his life as a nomad. His primary mode of transportation through one season of his life was hitchhiking. He had no permanent residence to put on a job application and his meals were never planned out more than a day in advance. He was homeless and went to great lengths to avoid the dangers of cold weather.
Early on in his life he'd followed the traditional path of husband and father, but for reasons unknown to me, he left and forged a life of singularity. After creating a life built on little more than the clothes on his back, his reality took a drastic turn two years ago when he received a diagnosis of cancer.
The analysis was grim and in order to add any days to his life, chemotherapy was a necessity. It is impossible for a homeless man to undergo such rigorous treatment. At a minimum you must have an address and a bed to sleep in at night.
Once a treatment plan had been established, he moved to my hometown to live close to his mom. He began to assemble a household brimming with donated furniture and rummage sale finds and he claimed an address in a tiny low income apartment complex on the far side of town.
Chemo was grueling and he got weaker before he would get stronger. He relied on his mom for rides and some meals. Friendships grew slowly for him among his neighbors, but time was not a luxury he could afford. Perhaps if he had been familiar with relationship building or had even experienced the camaraderie of co-workers when starting a new job, it would have been easier, but life as a hitchhiker doesn't teach you to develop friends....it forces you only to be friendly in situations that can benefit you the most. Like me, he was running late. He arrived at the apartment too late to find friendships that could be based on anything other than pity and compassion.
The cancer grew quickly and it was brutal. It was ruthless and he died in the hands of his mom and a few of his out of town siblings after his two year battle. Throughout the two years, there had been several weeks that he had felt well enough to go to church and he was a friendly face among the members of the tiny church. He was friendly, but perhaps not a friend.
The casket was decorated with one spray of flowers, and beneath it was a patchwork of ties that were among his favorites to wear for Sunday morning church. As a man of very little means, ties were a luxury. He looked forward to dressing up and accessorizing, perhaps an opportunity to dream of what his life could have been for a few hours each week.
I must admit I've never been at a funeral without a garden of flowers surrounding the casket. I have also never been at a funeral where there were not enough pall bearers to carry the casket. Pallbearers are the people, traditionally men, who carry the casket out of the church and into the hearse and again from the hearse to the graveside. A casket cannot be carried by any less than 4 individuals. It requires equal weight distribution on all four corners. The individuals must be strong and able to bear the weight without dropping it. This man did not have time to develop friends he could have called on as Pallbearers. His were men from the audience, they were not men who had 'carried' him through life. There was no childhood friend weeping as he was eulogized. This man simply never made it to the right place at the right time to develop those friends.
Who would bear the weight of your casket if your funeral was tomorrow? Would the individuals be picked at random to carry you or would you have taken the time to invest in relationships while you were living that would support you through life and would you make it a mutual investment? Start today.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
It smelled like sex...
Our conversation about pretty dresses and cute photo op's got real very quickly. The dresses were too short and the necklines were too low. The music was loud and the heat was stifling, the images flashing on the DJ installed video screens were trashy and the grinding on the dance floor was embarrassing. There were thongs showing (not flip flops!) and guys undressing like Chippendale Dancers.
But the comment that kept ringing in my ears was that 'It smelled like sex.'
Ugh...these comments were not made by attendees at an over 21 nightclub, these were snippets of real conversations I had with teens following their experiences at several different homecoming dances.
If you haven't talked in-depth to a teen about their recent homecoming experience, you're missing a wide open door into the life of your teen. I had lulled myself into the comatose cloud of remembering a high school dance as a fun chance to get dressed up, take pictures and sway with my husband (we were high school sweethearts) to 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams. Those images were not what I visualized when the girls began talking.
The common link that I kept replaying in my head days after our conversations, was that they were all laced with an attitude of defeat. These girls knew that the music was not good, they were embarrassed by the risque grinding on the dance floor and they were grossed out by the sexual energy pulsing through the gym, but they felt powerless to change it. No one was willing to give up the memory of a milestone dance or dress shopping or fun with friends despite the awkward "junk" they knew was part of the dance.
Please don't think that i am suggesting that teens should boycott these dances or avoid secular music, however, I am suggesting that parents must be clear with their teens about what their boundaries should be. I've talked before about my very vocal approach to defining what your "lines" will be in a dating relationship. Parents must also have discussions of "lines" with exposure to media, technology, relationships and general communication with their kids.
These discussions cannot begin in the dressing room surrounded by 15 cocktail dresses. They must begin in the tween years. Just as the high school girls accepted the behavior at the dances with a quiet attitude of defeat, many parents are adopting that same attitude long before high school begins. The constant tension and forced conversations about sassy comebacks and disrespect with tweens are exhausting. Who wants to fight with their kid everyday with little perceived results? It seems impossible to break through and your only desire becomes to keep the peace.
Yet staying silent and allowing behavior that you know is unacceptable does not keep the peace long-term. Apathy about how to approach these issues is perceived by our kids as acceptance. Why do we go to such great lengths to install car seats, find the best diaper rash cream and advanced preschools for our toddlers, but when they really begin resisting our involvement in the tween years we give up the fight in search of peace? Are we tired? If that's the case, we better rest up because our generation will be raising our grandkkids in less 5 years.
Now is not the time to rest. Begin talking and listening. Listen to their tone of voice, listen when they want to share something you perceive as insignificant, it's a test to see if they can trust you with something bigger. The majority of conversations our teens have are via text and Facebook. With less talking, parents must become more diligent than ever to actively listen to their spoken tones and inflections.
Teens are spending far more time sculpting their images via social media than they are face to face with their peer groups. If they are not holding back on what they post on their profiles or what they view on their "friends" pages, how can we expect them to hold back on how they present themselves in person? As their virtual image surpasses the value that any fashion accessory might bring to their appearance, the stakes are higher than ever. Just as the homecoming dance generated a smell of sex and promiscuity, have you had conversations with your teen about the "smell" of their electronic profile or the scent of their lack of modesty?
Whether you are holding back talking about "lines" to your teens due to awkwardness or out of fear that you will expose them to something they may not already have heard about, you are taking on the role of a spectator when you need to be coaching on the field. My daughter went round and round with me this week begging me to tell her why I "have to care so much." If that's her rational complaint about our restrictions, game on.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
I fell out of a hammock...
I had one goal in mind and I was headed directly for it. I approached gingerly and carefully spread out the netting with my fingers while casually testing its weight limits...then it was time to hop aboard the hammock I'd spotted 4 hours prior. There were a few 'Three's Company' mental flashbacks I had to fight off of John Ritter flipping out the rope swing that I was easing into, but I forged ahead and eased onto the thin green net.
Once I was there it was perfect. My twisting and adjusting had caused enough of a stir to leave me smoothly swaying from side to side for several minutes. So relaxing and so comfortable. In my euphoria I began to believe I should adopt a new form of stress relief and hang these hammocks in every room of our house. Perhaps we should donate all of our beds to Goodwill and sleep in green mesh nets strung from the ceilings?
Then my daydream was interrupted by a cramp developing in my lower leg. Hmm...the hammock vs. bed idea was losing footing and I was just 13 minutes into the ride. I tried to concentrate on the beautiful view of the river in the distance and the rustle of the Fall leaves all around me. It was working, sort of, until I knew I needed to go to the bathroom soon. I fought it off as long as I could and finally crawled out of the hammock and found the facilities.
I was attending a leadership conference I had been invited to be part of last summer by a speaker who presented at our teen girls purity retreat at Springbrook Community Church last year. It was an honor to be invited and the focus was on renewing leaders and offering them a time of rest and reflection. I had been looking forward to the weekend for months and although I knew very little about the agenda for the day in advance, I was euphoric when I heard the afternoon was unstructured time meant for personal rest. (This should explain my excitement about the hammock!)
After a few hours of back and forth time in the hammock, it was time for me to attend my previously scheduled private prayer appointment I must be honest that when I saw that I had been assigned a prayer time and a prayer partner for 45 minutes late in the afternoon, I was resistant. The idea of prayer with a stranger felt weird and I was really enjoying my time in the hammock, the thought of climbing out of my cocoon again to talk about my private stuff felt anything but relaxing and renewing. The rule breaker side of my personality was screaming in my head to ignore the appointment and claim I didn't need prayer (the rule breaker is pretty arrogant, I know!) but the people pleasing side of my personality won out and I dutifully climbed down and showed up in time for my appointment.
I thought I knew what I needed. I was tired and I needed to rest, not to drag out a bunch of prayer requests and dump them on some unsuspecting volunteer. I wanted to stay safe and unflustered and clean of the messy emotions that prayer could stir up. I didn't know what I needed, but God did. As I knocked gently on the door, a beautiful blonde woman opened the door and welcomed me in. She explained that the next 45 minutes were mine to use as I wanted, no hidden agenda, no specific requirements that had to be checked off, it was a gift and she told me she was blessed to offer it to me. Hmmm....that rule breaker persona, I'm glad I didn't let her take the lead.
My prayer partner sat down and I spilled my guts. I let loose of those issues I'd been balancing in my mind and heart all week. I talked about hurts and frustrations and joys and fears. I talked about you, my new readers, and my deepest desire to lift you up and leave you refreshed and thinking about your journey through different lenses. I shared about "my" teen girls, those I have met and those I am yet to meet, and how I can pour into them about how valuable they are and how deeply they are loved by their creator. As I let my faucet of toughts and feelings flow, the urgency of my words ebbed and flowed, much like adjusting the settings on my watering hose. It went from a fine mist when I let out the "safe" subjects to a heavy spray when I let out the deepest desires of my heart. Through it all, my prayer partner listened and she prayed. As we wrapped up, she gave me a "charge" a scripture to ponder and to propel my ministry. It was a familiar one, and at first I was a little frustrated by her lack of originality (arrogant rule breaker personality alert!), but as I've assessed and reassessed this week, I realized I was given the scripture to view through different lenses also.
She prayed Jeremiah 29:11 over me, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." This verse is a favorite among teens. It's on most every graduation card and we use it frequently to build one another up in times of stress. However, when I heard it again being prayed over 40-year-old me who is feeling really old these days, it seemed out of place. Then I let it sink in and I heard something I'd never paid attention to before. I listened to the pronouns, it doesn't say that a plan has been prepared for me, it says that "I know the plans I have for you." Wow, talk about personalized. I used to love a red monogrammed sweater I wore in the 80's, because it was specific to me. It had my initials on it, no one else's. That is what Jeremiah 29:11 is to me, an assurance of a personal monogram.
God has my plan already created. He knows what it is and He holds it. Last weekend my plan wasn't to get out of that hammock and allow a dear woman to pray for me. I kicked and screamed and tried to resist, but He knew better. I wanted to choose what was easy over what was messy and emotional, but He had already created another plan for me. My job is to be obedient.
Once I was there it was perfect. My twisting and adjusting had caused enough of a stir to leave me smoothly swaying from side to side for several minutes. So relaxing and so comfortable. In my euphoria I began to believe I should adopt a new form of stress relief and hang these hammocks in every room of our house. Perhaps we should donate all of our beds to Goodwill and sleep in green mesh nets strung from the ceilings?
Then my daydream was interrupted by a cramp developing in my lower leg. Hmm...the hammock vs. bed idea was losing footing and I was just 13 minutes into the ride. I tried to concentrate on the beautiful view of the river in the distance and the rustle of the Fall leaves all around me. It was working, sort of, until I knew I needed to go to the bathroom soon. I fought it off as long as I could and finally crawled out of the hammock and found the facilities.
I was attending a leadership conference I had been invited to be part of last summer by a speaker who presented at our teen girls purity retreat at Springbrook Community Church last year. It was an honor to be invited and the focus was on renewing leaders and offering them a time of rest and reflection. I had been looking forward to the weekend for months and although I knew very little about the agenda for the day in advance, I was euphoric when I heard the afternoon was unstructured time meant for personal rest. (This should explain my excitement about the hammock!)
After a few hours of back and forth time in the hammock, it was time for me to attend my previously scheduled private prayer appointment I must be honest that when I saw that I had been assigned a prayer time and a prayer partner for 45 minutes late in the afternoon, I was resistant. The idea of prayer with a stranger felt weird and I was really enjoying my time in the hammock, the thought of climbing out of my cocoon again to talk about my private stuff felt anything but relaxing and renewing. The rule breaker side of my personality was screaming in my head to ignore the appointment and claim I didn't need prayer (the rule breaker is pretty arrogant, I know!) but the people pleasing side of my personality won out and I dutifully climbed down and showed up in time for my appointment.
I thought I knew what I needed. I was tired and I needed to rest, not to drag out a bunch of prayer requests and dump them on some unsuspecting volunteer. I wanted to stay safe and unflustered and clean of the messy emotions that prayer could stir up. I didn't know what I needed, but God did. As I knocked gently on the door, a beautiful blonde woman opened the door and welcomed me in. She explained that the next 45 minutes were mine to use as I wanted, no hidden agenda, no specific requirements that had to be checked off, it was a gift and she told me she was blessed to offer it to me. Hmmm....that rule breaker persona, I'm glad I didn't let her take the lead.
My prayer partner sat down and I spilled my guts. I let loose of those issues I'd been balancing in my mind and heart all week. I talked about hurts and frustrations and joys and fears. I talked about you, my new readers, and my deepest desire to lift you up and leave you refreshed and thinking about your journey through different lenses. I shared about "my" teen girls, those I have met and those I am yet to meet, and how I can pour into them about how valuable they are and how deeply they are loved by their creator. As I let my faucet of toughts and feelings flow, the urgency of my words ebbed and flowed, much like adjusting the settings on my watering hose. It went from a fine mist when I let out the "safe" subjects to a heavy spray when I let out the deepest desires of my heart. Through it all, my prayer partner listened and she prayed. As we wrapped up, she gave me a "charge" a scripture to ponder and to propel my ministry. It was a familiar one, and at first I was a little frustrated by her lack of originality (arrogant rule breaker personality alert!), but as I've assessed and reassessed this week, I realized I was given the scripture to view through different lenses also.
She prayed Jeremiah 29:11 over me, "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." This verse is a favorite among teens. It's on most every graduation card and we use it frequently to build one another up in times of stress. However, when I heard it again being prayed over 40-year-old me who is feeling really old these days, it seemed out of place. Then I let it sink in and I heard something I'd never paid attention to before. I listened to the pronouns, it doesn't say that a plan has been prepared for me, it says that "I know the plans I have for you." Wow, talk about personalized. I used to love a red monogrammed sweater I wore in the 80's, because it was specific to me. It had my initials on it, no one else's. That is what Jeremiah 29:11 is to me, an assurance of a personal monogram.
God has my plan already created. He knows what it is and He holds it. Last weekend my plan wasn't to get out of that hammock and allow a dear woman to pray for me. I kicked and screamed and tried to resist, but He knew better. I wanted to choose what was easy over what was messy and emotional, but He had already created another plan for me. My job is to be obedient.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
I came UNGLUED!
The tire blew out and I was headed for the guard rail. I was taking the corner at 120mph and despite my effort to over correct my steering, I was doomed. I saw the ocean waves crashing below and felt the steering wheel shake uncontrollably and the impact of the car exploding...then the familiar three octave alarm and the GAME OVER alert flashed across the screen. Whew...what an adrenaline rush. Maybe that's the draw of video games, 100% risk in a 100% risk-free environment.
Yesterday was one of those "cantilevered over a precipice" days for me. I remember 11 years ago when we bought home our first born child, we were so in love and so overwhelmed all wrapped up in one. I would pull crazy sleep shifts trying to stay on top of her feedings and diaper changes. It was physically draining and a day when I would sleep through the night seemed like a fantasy. To have those days back knowing what I know now, would be a dream. Never did I anticipate that entering the tween/teen years would leave me longing for formula canisters and the diaper genie. (hmmm...ok, maybe not the hassle of changing the diaper genie...)
Social media, the Internet, technology, secular music, pop stars...they all have such appeal for our kids. My oldest is enamored by all things media related. She's taking risks and making sneaky decisions that terrify me. That word seems to be one I use regularly in conversations that involve her. The term World Wide Web conjures up a vision of a giant spider web with tons of insects wrapped beyond recognition in its shimmering strands.
This week I was given the chance to start unravelling it's hold on her. But what happens when we are wrapped in anything too tight for too long, is that we lose feeling in our body. Our feet fall asleep when our shoes are tied too tight and our fingers lose sensation when we apply a band aid too tight. We lose feeling and become numb after a while and we sometimes forget what it feels like to have feeling in those areas leaving us oblivious to our own restriction.
My kiddo was bound too tightly to a social media account and I had no idea. I knew she was drifting a bit from the family and she was spending lots of time in her room with the door closed, but every time I would open the door or ask her to do something she got more and more annoyed. I wrote some of it off as her changing hormones, and felt good about the filters I had put on the family laptop and our decision to not get her a phone. I, however, had not taken precautions with my electronic tablet or with her girlfriends phone and she slipped into the web under my radar.
I made the discovery when she failed to properly delete her history on my Kindle Fire and being the night owl that I am, I uncovered it about 1am. How ironic that I was once again pulling an all-nighter, but this time I was not caring for my infants physical needs, I was pouring over every aspect of my tweens emotional, spiritual and mental needs. After scrutinizing and ramping up every area of our home Wi-Fi network accessibility, each of our devices and every post, email and website she had visited over the past two months, at 6am her Dad and I were ready to confront her. We pressed on through her initial denial, and finally she came clean. Her tears flowed like a broken dam and I saw my sweet daughter begin to imerge again. I felt my heart connect with hers and I assured her that our love for her has no conditions, but did come accompanied with some severe punishments. We prayed with her and listened, and as I dropped each of my kids at school a few hours later, I was drained. I had nothing left to give.
Enter my Wednesday afternoon small group. Is God's timing perfect every time, or what? He blows me away. I am blessed to facilitate...not lead....they lead me...a group of ladies each week who brighten my life. We recently began a new study entitled "Unglued" by Lysa Terkeurst. It challenges us to identify why we come "unglued" in moments of everyday stress and how to work towards an attitude of Christ by seeking His face before losing it...it's a process of imperfect progress. Well after the overnight I had just been through, there was no example I could offer on how to remain "GLUED" together. Remember the out of control race car? That was me, but I held it together and did my best to stay present.
Finally when we began to talk about being "chiseled" I couldn't stand it another minute. I let it all out. I spilled my heart like an avalanche on this group of dear ladies. I cried and talked and cried and talked and they didn't run away, they didn't judge me, and I didn't for a second worry that what I was saying would be fodder for them to gossip about my parenting or my kiddo or my perceived parenting failures. Some of them even cried with me! They offered me love and reassurance and they gave me courage when I didn't have any left. Then they did the most beautiful thing, I get teary thinking about it, they put me in the center of a circle and they all put their hands on my shoulders or my arms or my back and they prayed for me. They prayed that I not be discouraged, that I press on to bond even deeper with my daughter, they prayed for my mental health, for my physical health and for my influence with her and her peers.
It was a risk to spill my heart to them, but the benefit of having ladies in my life who know me is so much greater. To have ladies who would rather pray with you than talk about you is so uplifting. I am so blessed by these women. Our study about why we come "unglued" is going to leave us all glued together in ways we never could have anticipated. I pray you have women in your life today who are sticking by your side, they are treasures. I love you UNGLUED girls!
Monday, September 24, 2012
Is your FAKE ID for sale?
This time of year always makes me reminiscent of my college days. I went to Murray State University...a beautiful campus sent in Western Kentucky just 20 minutes north of the Tennessee state line. That geographic explanation is crucial to understanding the culture of the campus...the "dry" alcohol free campus.
Murray was smack dab in the center of a dry county and that meant no seedy bars, no liquor sales at the corner Shell gas station and no beer in the coolers at Wal-Mart. Alcohol was not sold and not available at any restaurant in the county. When I moved onto campus and begin meeting girls in the all freshmen dorm, I kept getting the same question from new dorm mates..."what county are you from?"
This was the typical way of identifying where your hometown was in an area that was peppered with consolidated schools and tiny towns, but it was new to me. In my hometown in Southern Illinois we rarely heard about counties, unless we were under a tornado watch and our eyes were glued to the ticker on the bottom of the TV screen!
I was also completely taken off guard by the concept of a "dry county". I had never heard of this and really didn't get why my parents thought this was such a great concept for their only daughter's new home-away-from-home. However, after going through sorority rush and attending my first fraternity party as a freshmen, it all began to make sense to me.
Any facade that my parents may have bought into about the "alcohol-free utopia" was a joke. When it came to fraternity parties, Murray was the "wettest" dry county around and the only boundary the alcohol free restrictions enforced was that students had to plan ahead for parties, allowing a 45 minute round trip drive "south" to gather supplies. It was a ritual that usually began for students on Thursday after class, driving to the Tennessee line to bring back cases of Milwaukee's Best to start an evening of revelry.
Who was being fooled by this "dry county" business? Did the locals not see the cars heading out of town at the end of the week and weren't they suspicious when the same line cars paraded back through town 30 minutes later? It was as though the whole county had a giant FAKE ID; a desire to present itself as something that it wasn't by restricting the sale of liquor.
Now before we get sidetracked and begin condemning a body of municipal leaders for their rules and regulations, let's examine our own reflection. What are you presenting yourself as that might not be accurate? Are you wearing clothing that would allow others to assume you are available for a tumble in the backseat of the nearest car? Are your conversations filled with judgement about others and a critical spirit, but in your mind you just long to find friends who will like you? Are you watching movies and listening to music with lyrics that you would never verbalize if they weren't set to a tune, but you know in your heart God is leading you in a different direction?
God longs to buy your FAKE ID! He wants you to leave those facades with Him. If you are working harder to memorize the stats on your fake ID card than you are walking in the truth of who you were created to be, you will never find happiness.
Nearly 20 years after I graduated from MSU, (REALLY?) the laws have changed. Packaged liquor is not readily available, but they do sell alcohol by the drink at restaurants. I have no idea whether those shacks across the Tennessee line are still selling cases of beer, but I have no doubt that as parents of incoming freshmen dropped off their students for the Fall semester, they were not lulled into a false sense of security by believing that a "dry campus" was something that it was not. Are you still carrying a FAKE ID?
Murray was smack dab in the center of a dry county and that meant no seedy bars, no liquor sales at the corner Shell gas station and no beer in the coolers at Wal-Mart. Alcohol was not sold and not available at any restaurant in the county. When I moved onto campus and begin meeting girls in the all freshmen dorm, I kept getting the same question from new dorm mates..."what county are you from?"
This was the typical way of identifying where your hometown was in an area that was peppered with consolidated schools and tiny towns, but it was new to me. In my hometown in Southern Illinois we rarely heard about counties, unless we were under a tornado watch and our eyes were glued to the ticker on the bottom of the TV screen!
I was also completely taken off guard by the concept of a "dry county". I had never heard of this and really didn't get why my parents thought this was such a great concept for their only daughter's new home-away-from-home. However, after going through sorority rush and attending my first fraternity party as a freshmen, it all began to make sense to me.
Any facade that my parents may have bought into about the "alcohol-free utopia" was a joke. When it came to fraternity parties, Murray was the "wettest" dry county around and the only boundary the alcohol free restrictions enforced was that students had to plan ahead for parties, allowing a 45 minute round trip drive "south" to gather supplies. It was a ritual that usually began for students on Thursday after class, driving to the Tennessee line to bring back cases of Milwaukee's Best to start an evening of revelry.
Who was being fooled by this "dry county" business? Did the locals not see the cars heading out of town at the end of the week and weren't they suspicious when the same line cars paraded back through town 30 minutes later? It was as though the whole county had a giant FAKE ID; a desire to present itself as something that it wasn't by restricting the sale of liquor.
Now before we get sidetracked and begin condemning a body of municipal leaders for their rules and regulations, let's examine our own reflection. What are you presenting yourself as that might not be accurate? Are you wearing clothing that would allow others to assume you are available for a tumble in the backseat of the nearest car? Are your conversations filled with judgement about others and a critical spirit, but in your mind you just long to find friends who will like you? Are you watching movies and listening to music with lyrics that you would never verbalize if they weren't set to a tune, but you know in your heart God is leading you in a different direction?
God longs to buy your FAKE ID! He wants you to leave those facades with Him. If you are working harder to memorize the stats on your fake ID card than you are walking in the truth of who you were created to be, you will never find happiness.
Nearly 20 years after I graduated from MSU, (REALLY?) the laws have changed. Packaged liquor is not readily available, but they do sell alcohol by the drink at restaurants. I have no idea whether those shacks across the Tennessee line are still selling cases of beer, but I have no doubt that as parents of incoming freshmen dropped off their students for the Fall semester, they were not lulled into a false sense of security by believing that a "dry campus" was something that it was not. Are you still carrying a FAKE ID?
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Walk the line...
Isn't it fitting that I found this quote on the bottom of a shoe? The symbolism strikes me as extremely hopeful. Is it easier to walk alongside popular opinion or is it more difficult? Is it possible to step out in faith and set your own course while still embracing the current fads and trends of the world? Why do we even desire the world's approval?
My favorite night of the week is Thursday. I am beginning my 5th school year as a small group leader in our senior high youth program at church. I love those girls. The ninety minutes I spend listening to them and encouraging them is one of the highlights of my week. When I began serving with the senior high students five years ago, I questioned God's selection. I feared I was not "cool" enough or "trendy" enough or "non-judgemental" enough to gain their trust or respect. My desire to be popular among them plagued me like blister on my heel that rubbed in my shoe each time I stepped into the youth room. It nagged me and worried me. I questioned my potential advice and wondered if I was kidding myself to try to connect with girls who were much older than my own children.
The weeks began to flow into months and despite my insecurities, I kept showing up week after week. I sat with the girls and they began to reveal snippets of their lives. Stories surfaced of loneliness and friends who chose boyfriends over childhood friends. Tales of physical temptation and academic frustration poured out. Tears came and laughter bubbled over and my insecurities about being cool enough or popular enough or wise enough vanished.
As we throw back the kickstand and climb on for a wild ride into the fall season in my household, I am again dodging the potholes of my desire to be popular. I frequently question my teen girls on what their boundaries are in relation to their physical promiscuity. We talk about what their "lines" are...is it their neckline or their bra line or (hopefully not!) their panty line? What are their predetermined "u-turn only" lines? It is no accident that God has been requiring me to specify my "lines" as well.
With three kids in our house the opportunities for extracurricular involvement are overflowing. The offerings are many and the temptation to be involved in everything is great. Why can't each of my kids be involved in multiple sports and musical classes? They are all great aspirations and all promise to offer my kids fun or self-discipline or lasting friendships or academic advancement or increased physical coordination; all great things and my kids would love to do them all and I would love to be the most popular mom in town by saying yes to them, but I can't. What is my line?
As popular as all of the worlds offerings are and as tempted as I feel to keep up with other families in their quest for the most "over-scheduled" kids in town, I must reassess my boundaries. Isaiah 53:6a tells us "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned his own way." My husband and I are not popular with our son when we tell him he will have to miss Wednesday night football practices to attend AWANA. The world screams in my head..."what if he's not able to play at the Sunday games because he missed a practice?" When other first grade mom's cringe and tell stories of tired classmates who don't go to bed until after 9pm, I struggle with mom-guilt and resist the temptation to pull my kiddo out of religious education knowing she doesn't get tucked in until well after 9pm every Wednesday.
What is my line? Unless I choose to be unpopular and make hard choices for my kids future, who will? If my kids have the busiest schedule around and are the most skilled athletically, academically and musically but fail to have a foundation of faith, why will popularity matter? Walking away from the crowd may be the first step in crossing our children's threshold of faith, a line that I can only conciously cross when I am seeking a relationship with God and not popularity among my peers or my kids.
My favorite night of the week is Thursday. I am beginning my 5th school year as a small group leader in our senior high youth program at church. I love those girls. The ninety minutes I spend listening to them and encouraging them is one of the highlights of my week. When I began serving with the senior high students five years ago, I questioned God's selection. I feared I was not "cool" enough or "trendy" enough or "non-judgemental" enough to gain their trust or respect. My desire to be popular among them plagued me like blister on my heel that rubbed in my shoe each time I stepped into the youth room. It nagged me and worried me. I questioned my potential advice and wondered if I was kidding myself to try to connect with girls who were much older than my own children.
The weeks began to flow into months and despite my insecurities, I kept showing up week after week. I sat with the girls and they began to reveal snippets of their lives. Stories surfaced of loneliness and friends who chose boyfriends over childhood friends. Tales of physical temptation and academic frustration poured out. Tears came and laughter bubbled over and my insecurities about being cool enough or popular enough or wise enough vanished.
As we throw back the kickstand and climb on for a wild ride into the fall season in my household, I am again dodging the potholes of my desire to be popular. I frequently question my teen girls on what their boundaries are in relation to their physical promiscuity. We talk about what their "lines" are...is it their neckline or their bra line or (hopefully not!) their panty line? What are their predetermined "u-turn only" lines? It is no accident that God has been requiring me to specify my "lines" as well.
With three kids in our house the opportunities for extracurricular involvement are overflowing. The offerings are many and the temptation to be involved in everything is great. Why can't each of my kids be involved in multiple sports and musical classes? They are all great aspirations and all promise to offer my kids fun or self-discipline or lasting friendships or academic advancement or increased physical coordination; all great things and my kids would love to do them all and I would love to be the most popular mom in town by saying yes to them, but I can't. What is my line?
As popular as all of the worlds offerings are and as tempted as I feel to keep up with other families in their quest for the most "over-scheduled" kids in town, I must reassess my boundaries. Isaiah 53:6a tells us "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned his own way." My husband and I are not popular with our son when we tell him he will have to miss Wednesday night football practices to attend AWANA. The world screams in my head..."what if he's not able to play at the Sunday games because he missed a practice?" When other first grade mom's cringe and tell stories of tired classmates who don't go to bed until after 9pm, I struggle with mom-guilt and resist the temptation to pull my kiddo out of religious education knowing she doesn't get tucked in until well after 9pm every Wednesday.
What is my line? Unless I choose to be unpopular and make hard choices for my kids future, who will? If my kids have the busiest schedule around and are the most skilled athletically, academically and musically but fail to have a foundation of faith, why will popularity matter? Walking away from the crowd may be the first step in crossing our children's threshold of faith, a line that I can only conciously cross when I am seeking a relationship with God and not popularity among my peers or my kids.
Monday, September 10, 2012
The week time stood still...
Life was good and we were enjoying our recent relocation to the East Coast. As born and bred Midwesterner's, life in the Northeast was full of new experiences. We had to adjust to curving parkways and hidden sunsets. Scott and I had just moved from Central Illinois where the cornfields stretch out like ribbon unwinding from a spool and the end of the days are marked with sunsets that flood the sky.
Living halfway between New York City and Boston allowed us the opportunity to explore two cities we had only heard about on TV and in the movies. When family and friends came to visit, one of the "must see" trips was to the Twin Towers in NYC. That trip was a must for a special visitor who came to stay in August of 2001.
Scott had become a Big Brother through Big Brother's Big Sisters just two years before we were transferred to Connecticut. It didn't take us long to build a strong bond with our "little brother," Philip. We couldn't wait for him to arrive for a visit a few months after we had moved. He flew out solo and we anxiously picked him up from the airport and began several days of activities focused on him. I was 8 months pregnant at the time and although I kept up with the guys on most of their adventures, I bailed on the day trip planned to NYC. It was hot and sticky and the thought of trekking around the city with my growing belly was not enticing.
After a thorough review of the train schedule, they made their plans to leave early on a Saturday morning for a day trip. I elected to stay home and finish up the nursery. I spent hours on a chair in our soon-to-be-arriving baby girls bedroom stenciling pink bows on the walls. They spent the day touring and Philip excitedly came home that evening with an "official" NY Yankees jersey and lots of stories and pictures. The pictures were of all the usual tourist haunts, the Empire State Building, Times Square and one picture I will never forget of our sweet Philip standing in front of the World Trade Center Towers. That trip was six weeks prior to the tragedy of 9/11.
After sending Philip home with a full suitcase and his head dancing with memories, we settled in for the countdown to Abby's arrival. We were planning on a due date of 9/10/2001. She was born on 8/27 and what a surprise it was, a procrastinator by nature, I was not ready a 7lb. baby who rocked our world. My mom, however, is a planner. Thank goodness! She had purchased her plane ticket for her "inaugural grandma" visit months in advance. The timing was to be perfect, arriving on 9/18, exactly a week after the anticipated delivery and a week after Scott's return to work.
I was rocking my newborn in the nursery, admiring the stenciling I had gotten done just under the wire, and listening to the radio when the first news of the terrorist attacks hit the airwaves. The broadcast didn't make sense and I turned up the volume to better understand what was being reported. Indeed it was true, the towers had been hit...the same ones our sweet Philip had just posed in front of weeks before. The news media erupted and for seven days all of the local Connecticut news affiliates played around the clock footage of the carnage. So many deaths and so many missing people. There were so many families that we knew who had friends and family members who were affected.
Just as regular television programming was grounded, so was all air travel. Suddenly the excitement of living so close to the big cities and the draw of following our aspiring careers, seemed empty. I was home alone with an infant that cried and cried and I spent hours holding her as the news unfolded and I cried and cried. I wanted my mom and she couldn't get there. It was such a long week and we waited everyday to hear whether or not air travel would be reopened in time for her 9/18 flight from Iowa to Connecticut.
Reflecting on that time now, I can still remember the desperation I felt as I watched so many personal stories unfold about children who couldn't find their dad's and wives who were listening to recordings of their husband's voices on answering machines. The world seemed out of control and my new life as a mom felt out of control too. I wanted my mom to be there and what I had previously taken for granted, the ability to hop on a plane, was suddenly gone.
As we recognize "Patriots Day" tomorrow I wonder what your memories of that day are. Have you shared them with your kids? We have always talked about 9/11 in our home. I talk liberally with my three kids about the casualties and the heroes. It's important for them to know how quickly life can change. They need to know why I always save the last voicemail from my husband before he boards a plane. I don't want to scare them, but I want them to understand that our moments together on earth are short. God promises those who believe in Him an eternity in paradise, and by teaching them the fragility of life they begin to see the value of God's promise.
A week after September 11, 2001, the dust began to settle and the death tolls continued to mount. Television reports scaled back to regular time slots and we began to hear music again on the radio. The best gift of all was that on September 18, 2001 air travel resumed and a plane bound for Hartford, CT from DesMoines, IA landed safely and my mom met her first granddaughter and we hugged for longer than I ever remember hugging my mom before.
Living halfway between New York City and Boston allowed us the opportunity to explore two cities we had only heard about on TV and in the movies. When family and friends came to visit, one of the "must see" trips was to the Twin Towers in NYC. That trip was a must for a special visitor who came to stay in August of 2001.
Scott had become a Big Brother through Big Brother's Big Sisters just two years before we were transferred to Connecticut. It didn't take us long to build a strong bond with our "little brother," Philip. We couldn't wait for him to arrive for a visit a few months after we had moved. He flew out solo and we anxiously picked him up from the airport and began several days of activities focused on him. I was 8 months pregnant at the time and although I kept up with the guys on most of their adventures, I bailed on the day trip planned to NYC. It was hot and sticky and the thought of trekking around the city with my growing belly was not enticing.
After a thorough review of the train schedule, they made their plans to leave early on a Saturday morning for a day trip. I elected to stay home and finish up the nursery. I spent hours on a chair in our soon-to-be-arriving baby girls bedroom stenciling pink bows on the walls. They spent the day touring and Philip excitedly came home that evening with an "official" NY Yankees jersey and lots of stories and pictures. The pictures were of all the usual tourist haunts, the Empire State Building, Times Square and one picture I will never forget of our sweet Philip standing in front of the World Trade Center Towers. That trip was six weeks prior to the tragedy of 9/11.
After sending Philip home with a full suitcase and his head dancing with memories, we settled in for the countdown to Abby's arrival. We were planning on a due date of 9/10/2001. She was born on 8/27 and what a surprise it was, a procrastinator by nature, I was not ready a 7lb. baby who rocked our world. My mom, however, is a planner. Thank goodness! She had purchased her plane ticket for her "inaugural grandma" visit months in advance. The timing was to be perfect, arriving on 9/18, exactly a week after the anticipated delivery and a week after Scott's return to work.
I was rocking my newborn in the nursery, admiring the stenciling I had gotten done just under the wire, and listening to the radio when the first news of the terrorist attacks hit the airwaves. The broadcast didn't make sense and I turned up the volume to better understand what was being reported. Indeed it was true, the towers had been hit...the same ones our sweet Philip had just posed in front of weeks before. The news media erupted and for seven days all of the local Connecticut news affiliates played around the clock footage of the carnage. So many deaths and so many missing people. There were so many families that we knew who had friends and family members who were affected.
Just as regular television programming was grounded, so was all air travel. Suddenly the excitement of living so close to the big cities and the draw of following our aspiring careers, seemed empty. I was home alone with an infant that cried and cried and I spent hours holding her as the news unfolded and I cried and cried. I wanted my mom and she couldn't get there. It was such a long week and we waited everyday to hear whether or not air travel would be reopened in time for her 9/18 flight from Iowa to Connecticut.
Reflecting on that time now, I can still remember the desperation I felt as I watched so many personal stories unfold about children who couldn't find their dad's and wives who were listening to recordings of their husband's voices on answering machines. The world seemed out of control and my new life as a mom felt out of control too. I wanted my mom to be there and what I had previously taken for granted, the ability to hop on a plane, was suddenly gone.
As we recognize "Patriots Day" tomorrow I wonder what your memories of that day are. Have you shared them with your kids? We have always talked about 9/11 in our home. I talk liberally with my three kids about the casualties and the heroes. It's important for them to know how quickly life can change. They need to know why I always save the last voicemail from my husband before he boards a plane. I don't want to scare them, but I want them to understand that our moments together on earth are short. God promises those who believe in Him an eternity in paradise, and by teaching them the fragility of life they begin to see the value of God's promise.
A week after September 11, 2001, the dust began to settle and the death tolls continued to mount. Television reports scaled back to regular time slots and we began to hear music again on the radio. The best gift of all was that on September 18, 2001 air travel resumed and a plane bound for Hartford, CT from DesMoines, IA landed safely and my mom met her first granddaughter and we hugged for longer than I ever remember hugging my mom before.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Morning madness...
My motives for driving my three kids to school each morning are purely selfish. It began two years ago when I made the commitment to myself and to God that I would pray with my kids individually before they hit the door. The idea was not my own and I'm honestly not sure why the desire to embrace them with a blessing before they left me each morning was so strong.
Perhaps it was the college campus shootings that I'd seen playout on the prime time news or a new awareness of my own mortality as a result of my liver diagnosis in 2008. The reason didn't matter, I just knew I had to begin to pray with each of them before they left my care. Now don't get the wrong idea, our house is just as crazy as anyone else's with multiple kids in the morning. I'm not conducting a worship service at the kitchen island, there is no singing or theology, there is yelling and rushing and me standing at the bottom of the stairs pleading with my son to "Hurry Up!"
There are the last minute requests for signatures and the wrestling of water bottles from backpacks that should have been emptied the night before. We pile into the car and have the daily jockeying for the front seat and the regular eye roll from my oldest when I turn off the music and insist that her ear buds come out.
I turn the key in the ignition and we begin our two mile drive to school.
Then comes my favorite part of the morning. It's really a simple routine as a reach back to hold my
backseat passengers' hand and pray for his safety and good health throughout his day. I pray that he has a chance to shine his light and that he has an opportunity to be a good friend and perhaps encounter a situation to help him shape his character. We pray for his teachers, his classmates and for patience and then with a quick parting hand squeeze, it's over. I repeat the process with my front seat rider and after a mini-hug and kiss on the cheek (only allowed if I'm not wearing my red lipstick!) they hop out of the car.
Then comes the selfish part. The nonverbal thread that binds my kids' hearts to mine. The look back. The glance over their shoulder to see if I'm still watching them. The split second look back when their eyes meet mine and they get one last smile from me and they smile back and I know the prayer has penetrated their hearts. It's the moment when I release them to God's care and humbly thank Him for the gift of being a mom.
I'd like to tell you that everytime I pray for them it's sincere and heartfelt. It's not. There are times when it's dull and I'm frustrated with my kids. There are days when I can't wait for them to climb out of the car because the morning has been so stressful, but I pray anyway. The exercise of praying for them is an act of obedience for me and a lesson for them that prayer is our cornerstone. Despite tough mornings and arguments about clothes, homework or school lunches, God is our foundation and when we reach out to Him at the start of our day, things can only get better.
Perhaps it was the college campus shootings that I'd seen playout on the prime time news or a new awareness of my own mortality as a result of my liver diagnosis in 2008. The reason didn't matter, I just knew I had to begin to pray with each of them before they left my care. Now don't get the wrong idea, our house is just as crazy as anyone else's with multiple kids in the morning. I'm not conducting a worship service at the kitchen island, there is no singing or theology, there is yelling and rushing and me standing at the bottom of the stairs pleading with my son to "Hurry Up!"
There are the last minute requests for signatures and the wrestling of water bottles from backpacks that should have been emptied the night before. We pile into the car and have the daily jockeying for the front seat and the regular eye roll from my oldest when I turn off the music and insist that her ear buds come out.
I turn the key in the ignition and we begin our two mile drive to school.
Then comes my favorite part of the morning. It's really a simple routine as a reach back to hold my
backseat passengers' hand and pray for his safety and good health throughout his day. I pray that he has a chance to shine his light and that he has an opportunity to be a good friend and perhaps encounter a situation to help him shape his character. We pray for his teachers, his classmates and for patience and then with a quick parting hand squeeze, it's over. I repeat the process with my front seat rider and after a mini-hug and kiss on the cheek (only allowed if I'm not wearing my red lipstick!) they hop out of the car.
Then comes the selfish part. The nonverbal thread that binds my kids' hearts to mine. The look back. The glance over their shoulder to see if I'm still watching them. The split second look back when their eyes meet mine and they get one last smile from me and they smile back and I know the prayer has penetrated their hearts. It's the moment when I release them to God's care and humbly thank Him for the gift of being a mom.
I'd like to tell you that everytime I pray for them it's sincere and heartfelt. It's not. There are times when it's dull and I'm frustrated with my kids. There are days when I can't wait for them to climb out of the car because the morning has been so stressful, but I pray anyway. The exercise of praying for them is an act of obedience for me and a lesson for them that prayer is our cornerstone. Despite tough mornings and arguments about clothes, homework or school lunches, God is our foundation and when we reach out to Him at the start of our day, things can only get better.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
11-year-old me...
As I watched my daughter celebrate another birthday this week, I spent a lot of time trying to remember what I was like at 11 years old. It seems a little easier to remember what I wasn't.
I wasn't 'tech savvy'.....I'd never even heard that term! I wasn't battling with my mom over shorts that were too short and shirts that were off the shoulder....based on the pictures I've found, I was still wearing baseball-jersey-type rainbow shirts! I wore thick dorky glasses and a headgear at night. I didn't beg for a phone, iPod touch, or new e-books. I was fascinated by our new VCR and the sound of our dot matrix printer.
That's what was on the outside of me, but if I dig deep, I can excavate the inside of the 11-year-old me. I was emotional. I felt things deeply and I loved to write. I could cry hard and laugh hard and I was in love with David Lee Roth and remember kissing the TV (yes, it was a giant console TV!) when JUMP was on Friday Night Videos.
Those memories make me smile and provide so much comfort as I worry about what I perceive as an obsession in our house with boy band, One Direction! I roll my eyes each time she squeals when their songs come on the radio, but I must have done the same thing, and in retrospect, One Direction looks pretty clean cut compared to the rockers of Van Halen!
As I reach back to reconnect with the 11-year-old me, I'm left wondering if I even would have been friends with my daughter. My first thought was, no way, I was way too nerdy and unattractive compared to the beauty that I find my daughter to be; too awkward and unsure of myself to befriend my kiddo. Then comes the best part of the whole trip down memory lane....the lanes start to merge.
As a mom, I view my daughter as beautiful and confident. Tech savvy and brilliant, a gifted writer and great athlete, but she doesn't see those things in herself. She views herself much the same as I view my 11-year-old self. Shaky and nervous, self-conscious and unsure, scared and excited all at the same time. Trying to sort out complicated feelings and questions about boys, her body and friendships.
The lightening moment hits me when I realize how perfectly my daughter and I have been matched. I heard early on in my parenting walk that we are each perfectly matched with our kids by God for all that they need from us and all that we need from them. I have no doubt that our lanes have merged for His glory.
Have you reflected on your 11-year-old self lately? Would that kiddo be proud of who you have become? Would she or he roll their eyes at you or would they come to you as a confidante who they believed cared about them? Who is God merging your past and present with today? Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Was It Enough?
As I dropped my first grader off in her bright new classroom today, I am reminded of the tsunami of emotions that suffocated me last year at this time when I dropped her off in Kindergarten.
I really struggled last Fall. I questioned everything. Every past decision was pulled into the ring for a mental boxing match. The question that continued to struggle to it's feet after every hit was the desire to know if what I had done for my daughter was enough. Did I spend enough 'quality' time with her? Did I teach her enough? Does she understand how amazing her Dad and I think she is?
The job of parenting is one that is under constant scrutiny. Mom's can quickly move beyond curiosity about what other kids are doing to critical comparison of one kid to another. I'm guilty of this! It's so easy to say 'yes' with your actions when your heart and mind are reverberating 'no' but you refuse to listen.
After weeks of struggling last Fall, I ended up on my knees. I had to concede and bow out of the worldly fight. Only after I began to change the words to my questioning did I feel peace. Rather than asking myself and the world if I had done enough for my sweet girl, it came down to asking God if I was enough.
You see when I sent my third kiddo to Kindergarten, it ended a 10 year run of bring a stay-at-home mom. I had no idea what the future held for me.
My identity had been stripped away. I was no longer talking about potty training and naps. No one needed a pb&j with the crusts cut off at noon everyday. I was lost.
As I reflect back almost a year later I feel so blessed. My brokenness sparked a fire in my heart. I had to allow the fire to burn away my insecurities and God cleared away the ashes to carve out a fresh start for me.
Today I feel excited and renewed. I am anxious to see where God will lead me as I write what He prompts me to type and I speak what He calls me to deliver.
By realizing that I AM ENOUGH to the God who created me and equipped me to be a mom, I've come to discover by doing what He calls me to do, 'it' is always enough.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Perspective
Perspective
I was sitting a few chairs away at the nail salon this from three very chatty, very giggly girls. The three soon-to-be-freshmen young ladies were talking away about high school starting in just a few days. I couldn't help but overhear a fellow '40-something' customer who was seated next to them offering them some unsolicited advice. "Just be yourself and you'll do great!" she suggested. "Don't worry if you're a little boy crazy, I was, and I turned out just fine."
I'm always been fascinated by the way we are so free to offer advice to others. Don't we love to throw out our insight like candy at a parade? The problem is that our advice is always tainted with a perspective....ours! It's never neutral.
What is God's perspective on your life? What does He see from His vantage point? What advice would He offer you?
In an exercise to help 'visualize' their faith, I took my teen small group through a challenge of finding magazine pictures encouraging them 'see' what their relationship with God looks like.
My favorite picture came from a sweetie who grew up in the church and was an expert in 'bible speak' (she could answer any question with the text book answer...whether she felt it in her heart or not). It was a beautiful Fall scene torn from Better Homes & Gardens of a bistro table and two chairs surrounded by colorful landscaping. It was such an intimate setting.
"This is how I view my relationship with God right now," she explained.
"He's sitting there waiting for me through all seasons, and I'm not showing up."
Awesome honest perspective. What does your relationship with God look like? If He's sitting on your patio waiting on you, get out there and make Him at home, in your heart.
I was sitting a few chairs away at the nail salon this from three very chatty, very giggly girls. The three soon-to-be-freshmen young ladies were talking away about high school starting in just a few days. I couldn't help but overhear a fellow '40-something' customer who was seated next to them offering them some unsolicited advice. "Just be yourself and you'll do great!" she suggested. "Don't worry if you're a little boy crazy, I was, and I turned out just fine."
I'm always been fascinated by the way we are so free to offer advice to others. Don't we love to throw out our insight like candy at a parade? The problem is that our advice is always tainted with a perspective....ours! It's never neutral.
What is God's perspective on your life? What does He see from His vantage point? What advice would He offer you?
In an exercise to help 'visualize' their faith, I took my teen small group through a challenge of finding magazine pictures encouraging them 'see' what their relationship with God looks like.
My favorite picture came from a sweetie who grew up in the church and was an expert in 'bible speak' (she could answer any question with the text book answer...whether she felt it in her heart or not). It was a beautiful Fall scene torn from Better Homes & Gardens of a bistro table and two chairs surrounded by colorful landscaping. It was such an intimate setting.
"This is how I view my relationship with God right now," she explained.
"He's sitting there waiting for me through all seasons, and I'm not showing up."
Awesome honest perspective. What does your relationship with God look like? If He's sitting on your patio waiting on you, get out there and make Him at home, in your heart.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Red Light, Green Light
Red light, green light
Did you ever play that game as a kid? I loved it...one person would stand in front of a large group of kids and dictate how quickly the mob could move forward based upon the quick color commands of the leader. The challenge for the leader was always to allow for movement among the troops, but not enough to let them reach the line too quickly.
When I was "it" I loved to switch from red to green as quickly as possible never allowing for a hint of yellow. It was stop or go, no in between and I relished the chance to draw out the game as long as possible.
In the book of Second Samuel 11:1-27, King David orchestrated his own game of Red Light, Green Light. While his Israelite Army was at war, the King stayed behind in Jerusalem. He was enjoying his castle grounds one afternoon, and he took notice of a woman on a neighboring terrace and invited her over for a visit. (green light) The neighbor wasn't just any woman, it was Bathsheba, the wife of one of David's highest ranking officers, Uriah. (green light) After an evening of dining together, Bathsheba ended up in King David's bed. (green light, green light, green light) Yes, King David committed adultery with Bathsheba all while her husband was off fighting the war. The next morning perhaps the King panicked, because he quickly sent her home. (finally, red light)
Things were quiet for a while until word travelled to David that Bathsheba was pregnant. Obviously, with her husband at war, it was clear that the baby must be King David's. (green light) Now David had to find a way to explain the pregnancy away, so he called Uriah home from battle to sleep with her. (red light) What David was not anticipating, was his soldier's loyalty and commitment to the battle.
When David sent Uriah home to spend the night with his wife, he refused. His loyalty was to his men on the battle lines and he refused to be distracted by physical desires. (this was obviously not a concept David had encountered before) (red light) After a night of having Uriah as his guest, the king decided to up his game and he wined and dined him, hoping his intoxication would wear away his honor, but no such luck. Uriah slept another night on a mat with the servants at the castle. (red light)
King David was at his wits end. He needed action and he needed it quickly. King David sent Uriah back to the front line of battle with an executive order for Joab, Uriah's direct commander. The note instructed Joab to place Uriah in a position that would cause him to be killed immediately. (green light) Although Joab, might have wondered why, he didn't get caught up in questioning the King and he followed King David's orders and Uriah was killed.
Word of the death travelled back to Jerusalem quickly and the grieving began. "When Uriah's wife heard that her husband was dead, she mourned for him." 2 Samuel 11:26. (red light) The appropriate length of mourning began and all the while Bathsheba's baby continued to grow. "After the time of mourning was over, David had her brought to his house, and she became his wife and bore him a son." 2 Samuel 11:27a
(green light)
So it's a fairytale ending, right? Guy sees girl, falls in love, marries her and has a child, perfect. Except for the adultery, deception and murder. To the passerby, King David might appear to be a hero who rescued and widow and raised another man's child. But the story is not over, the moral of the story comes in the final verse of the chapter. "But the thing David had done displeased the Lord." 2 Samuel 11:27b.
No matter how perfect things may appear, we can't escape God's view. He sees what goes on behind closed doors when we think our small lies and go unnoticed. His plan for us is detailed in red and green in the bible. There is no screaming through a yellow light to escape a red mistake. It is only when we walk in His truth that we can understand the grace of forgiveness that He offers and our desire to walk in God's light, whether it is red or green, is all we need.
Did you ever play that game as a kid? I loved it...one person would stand in front of a large group of kids and dictate how quickly the mob could move forward based upon the quick color commands of the leader. The challenge for the leader was always to allow for movement among the troops, but not enough to let them reach the line too quickly.
When I was "it" I loved to switch from red to green as quickly as possible never allowing for a hint of yellow. It was stop or go, no in between and I relished the chance to draw out the game as long as possible.
In the book of Second Samuel 11:1-27, King David orchestrated his own game of Red Light, Green Light. While his Israelite Army was at war, the King stayed behind in Jerusalem. He was enjoying his castle grounds one afternoon, and he took notice of a woman on a neighboring terrace and invited her over for a visit. (green light) The neighbor wasn't just any woman, it was Bathsheba, the wife of one of David's highest ranking officers, Uriah. (green light) After an evening of dining together, Bathsheba ended up in King David's bed. (green light, green light, green light) Yes, King David committed adultery with Bathsheba all while her husband was off fighting the war. The next morning perhaps the King panicked, because he quickly sent her home. (finally, red light)
Things were quiet for a while until word travelled to David that Bathsheba was pregnant. Obviously, with her husband at war, it was clear that the baby must be King David's. (green light) Now David had to find a way to explain the pregnancy away, so he called Uriah home from battle to sleep with her. (red light) What David was not anticipating, was his soldier's loyalty and commitment to the battle.
When David sent Uriah home to spend the night with his wife, he refused. His loyalty was to his men on the battle lines and he refused to be distracted by physical desires. (this was obviously not a concept David had encountered before) (red light) After a night of having Uriah as his guest, the king decided to up his game and he wined and dined him, hoping his intoxication would wear away his honor, but no such luck. Uriah slept another night on a mat with the servants at the castle. (red light)
King David was at his wits end. He needed action and he needed it quickly. King David sent Uriah back to the front line of battle with an executive order for Joab, Uriah's direct commander. The note instructed Joab to place Uriah in a position that would cause him to be killed immediately. (green light) Although Joab, might have wondered why, he didn't get caught up in questioning the King and he followed King David's orders and Uriah was killed.
Word of the death travelled back to Jerusalem quickly and the grieving began. "When Uriah's wife heard that her husband was dead, she mourned for him." 2 Samuel 11:26. (red light) The appropriate length of mourning began and all the while Bathsheba's baby continued to grow. "After the time of mourning was over, David had her brought to his house, and she became his wife and bore him a son." 2 Samuel 11:27a
(green light)
So it's a fairytale ending, right? Guy sees girl, falls in love, marries her and has a child, perfect. Except for the adultery, deception and murder. To the passerby, King David might appear to be a hero who rescued and widow and raised another man's child. But the story is not over, the moral of the story comes in the final verse of the chapter. "But the thing David had done displeased the Lord." 2 Samuel 11:27b.
No matter how perfect things may appear, we can't escape God's view. He sees what goes on behind closed doors when we think our small lies and go unnoticed. His plan for us is detailed in red and green in the bible. There is no screaming through a yellow light to escape a red mistake. It is only when we walk in His truth that we can understand the grace of forgiveness that He offers and our desire to walk in God's light, whether it is red or green, is all we need.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Love notes...
I get overwhelmed with parenting some days. There are times I truly think I should be fired. I say 'no' way more than I say 'yes' and I seem to butt heads with my oldest about something nearly everyday. From pop stars to clothing, her perceived need for a cell phone and my embarrassing behavior when I speak to most anyone she knows, it has become a bit of an uphill battle.
Please do not misunderstand, I adore my daughter, she is beautiful and creative and so fun to be with that I can't wait to share the rest of my life with her, but some days I wonder if I'm cut out for this job. I'll admit I am not the most fun mom around. I won't allow her to have a Facebook account and I screen most things she is allowed to watch, but her Dad and I are not withholding Aeropastle or I-tunes or sleepovers...that would be crazy! (snicker...)
We have a few non-negotiables though and one of them is God. We insist on AWANA's and weekly church. We talk about our faith and we look for ways to serve others. Bible studies and small groups are hosted in our home weekly and we try to live our beliefs. Sometimes we fail miserably and we rely on God's grace and forgiveness to try again to love as He loves us.
It gets messy and sometimes and I lose hope that we are breaking through to our beautiful princess. Then something amazing happens. God sends a love note. I mini pep rally created just for me at just the right time. This week my inspiration came in the note you see above. It was tucked in the top corner of my daughters' mirror, a simple affirmation to me that God has this covered. Amongst the Justin Bieber posters and the One Direction clippings, was a love note. A note sent just when I needed it to a tired mom who was feeling worn down by the world.
The note was a reminder that I need to stay the course. That my daughter is listening. That although the media influences are strong and the desire to fit in with her clothing and material things is stifling, He is still carving out a piece of her heart too. God is that still small voice that is speaking to her heart and He's speaking to mine too.
Please do not misunderstand, I adore my daughter, she is beautiful and creative and so fun to be with that I can't wait to share the rest of my life with her, but some days I wonder if I'm cut out for this job. I'll admit I am not the most fun mom around. I won't allow her to have a Facebook account and I screen most things she is allowed to watch, but her Dad and I are not withholding Aeropastle or I-tunes or sleepovers...that would be crazy! (snicker...)
We have a few non-negotiables though and one of them is God. We insist on AWANA's and weekly church. We talk about our faith and we look for ways to serve others. Bible studies and small groups are hosted in our home weekly and we try to live our beliefs. Sometimes we fail miserably and we rely on God's grace and forgiveness to try again to love as He loves us.
It gets messy and sometimes and I lose hope that we are breaking through to our beautiful princess. Then something amazing happens. God sends a love note. I mini pep rally created just for me at just the right time. This week my inspiration came in the note you see above. It was tucked in the top corner of my daughters' mirror, a simple affirmation to me that God has this covered. Amongst the Justin Bieber posters and the One Direction clippings, was a love note. A note sent just when I needed it to a tired mom who was feeling worn down by the world.
The note was a reminder that I need to stay the course. That my daughter is listening. That although the media influences are strong and the desire to fit in with her clothing and material things is stifling, He is still carving out a piece of her heart too. God is that still small voice that is speaking to her heart and He's speaking to mine too.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalms 139:14
What is it to be fearfully and wonderfully made? I believe it relates back to our value as God's sons and daughters. When you consider what monetary item you value most, what comes to mind? Is it your jewelry, photographs, your furniture; perhaps it is your car that means the most to you. When you consider the "thing" that really excites you, put it to the test. Is your string of pearls "fearfully and wonderfully made"? How about the car, is it a masterpiece perfectly constructed for an amazing purpose? No material object can make that claim.
Human beings are the only "things" that can be fearfully and wonderfully made by God. We are created with such intricacy and forethought that each of us is as unique as a snowflake. I believe that and have great appreciation for that fact, but what about those days when I hate my body. When I feel it is betraying me and I am beyond frustrated by my physical imperfections?
Four years ago I received a diagnosis, not a death sentence, but a life changing diagnosis. I have a chronic autoimmune liver disease that, as of today, does not have a cure. Most days I take my medicine and rarely think about it. Then there are days that I struggle with fear and hopelessness and anxiety supplemented by intense itching. It can drive me crazy. It's the kind of itching that makes you want to peel back your skin like the husk on an ear of corn. I endure, and after a few weeks, it subsides and all is well with the world.
How can I, in the dark overnight hours when I am itching and want nothing more than an escape from my physical body, be fearfully and wonderfully made? The only way I can make sense of it is through the truth that my value to Him never changes. When the episodes are over and I regain perspective, I imagine our Heavenly Father whispering words of love to me. A kind embrace and a warm touch ensuring me that He was with me through the night and when I reached the abyss of exhaustion, He held me and put me to sleep.
When our kids were little and sometimes past the point of exhaustion, my sweet husband would wrap them in his arms and hold them tight through the crying until they finally gave up and reluctantly slid into a deep slumber. I used to hate watching it and had such a difficult time listening to them cry, but he knew that we had to override their desire to stay awake to reset their small body clocks.
God loves us even more than we love our own children. His value for us is priceless. Why don't we treat ourselves and others accordingly? You are worth more than a car, a new wardrobe, a designer purse, God adores you and when you don't act like it, the most amazing thing happens, He loves us anyway.
What is it to be fearfully and wonderfully made? I believe it relates back to our value as God's sons and daughters. When you consider what monetary item you value most, what comes to mind? Is it your jewelry, photographs, your furniture; perhaps it is your car that means the most to you. When you consider the "thing" that really excites you, put it to the test. Is your string of pearls "fearfully and wonderfully made"? How about the car, is it a masterpiece perfectly constructed for an amazing purpose? No material object can make that claim.
Human beings are the only "things" that can be fearfully and wonderfully made by God. We are created with such intricacy and forethought that each of us is as unique as a snowflake. I believe that and have great appreciation for that fact, but what about those days when I hate my body. When I feel it is betraying me and I am beyond frustrated by my physical imperfections?
Four years ago I received a diagnosis, not a death sentence, but a life changing diagnosis. I have a chronic autoimmune liver disease that, as of today, does not have a cure. Most days I take my medicine and rarely think about it. Then there are days that I struggle with fear and hopelessness and anxiety supplemented by intense itching. It can drive me crazy. It's the kind of itching that makes you want to peel back your skin like the husk on an ear of corn. I endure, and after a few weeks, it subsides and all is well with the world.
How can I, in the dark overnight hours when I am itching and want nothing more than an escape from my physical body, be fearfully and wonderfully made? The only way I can make sense of it is through the truth that my value to Him never changes. When the episodes are over and I regain perspective, I imagine our Heavenly Father whispering words of love to me. A kind embrace and a warm touch ensuring me that He was with me through the night and when I reached the abyss of exhaustion, He held me and put me to sleep.
When our kids were little and sometimes past the point of exhaustion, my sweet husband would wrap them in his arms and hold them tight through the crying until they finally gave up and reluctantly slid into a deep slumber. I used to hate watching it and had such a difficult time listening to them cry, but he knew that we had to override their desire to stay awake to reset their small body clocks.
God loves us even more than we love our own children. His value for us is priceless. Why don't we treat ourselves and others accordingly? You are worth more than a car, a new wardrobe, a designer purse, God adores you and when you don't act like it, the most amazing thing happens, He loves us anyway.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Sun addict...
It began early for me...alternating mineral oil and baby oil as I greased up my skin preparing for maximum sun exposure when the weatherman promised a 'high sun index' day ahead.
Many July afternoons, my high school girlfriends and I would reposition our lawnchairs each hour like the arm of a sundial. When I began working at the local pool in my hometown as a lifeguard, I'd volunteer to cover extra hours for swim lessons, secretly plotting to bask in the mid-morning rays before the pool opened to the public at noon.
I love the sun. I'm also a well-educated woman. I've read the studies that say I'm likely to encounter skin cancer in the years ahead. The suspicious moles on my neck and back make me nervous, on occasion, but not worried enough to send me under the umbrellas and shade trees. I've watched the sobering YouTube videos pleading with me to rethink my addiction, I've seen the leathery skin of 70+ year old sun lovers, yet I persist.
I try to imagine what would cause me to seek shelter in a cabana, to lather up with 50+ SPF, it's a tough call. I'd love to say that my family members prompting would stop me, but it hasn't yet. The sunburns marked with blisters and peeling haven't made a difference either. Is God weighing in on this area
of my life? Is my assertion that my love of the sun is a way to enjoy His creation just a crazy justification?
The decision is mine. I will step into the shade when the benefits outweigh the risks, but for now I'm not ready. It's my normal and I can find enough sun loving friends who help me feed my addiction. We sweat it out together at our kids ballgames and swim meets.
What is your addiction and what would it take for you to give it up?
What has become so normal for you that you have no desire to change?
Is it the music you listen to or the shows you watch? Have you allowed yourself to partake for so long that you haven't got a clear perspective?
Is God whispering? Lean in and be still.
I'll be listening....in the sun.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Grateful not grumbling...
Could purity of thought include positive thinking? If we box in the concept of purity with the rigid confines of sex and intimacy, we're missing all the areas of our lives that can so easily be targets of impure thoughts and feelings.
(NIV) Proverbs 15:26 says, "The LORD detests the thoughts of the wicked, but those of the pure are pleasing to him."
When I am moaning and groaning and whining about what I don't have and how unfair my circumstances are, I can sound as wicked as any witch in the East or the West. I can whine about having nothing to wear, but when I move from grumbling to grateful the tables are turned.
My thoughts determine my attitude and by walking in the PURE light of His blessings, I am not a puppet who is responding to life based on the fleeting material inadequacy I may be saddled with in the moment.
So often I battle my 'flesh woman'....the part of me that judges others quickly and makes snap decisions based on external appearances. I fail to see things through the shadow of the cross. I want to jump to conclusions and analyze others actions through my skewed lens of personal perspective rather than stepping back and seeing a new viewpoint.
God's reflection is so much larger, it covers more ground than I can even recognize when I'm grumbling and passing judgement about what I think I see at the moment. He covers every situation with His PURE grace and until I begin to frame my encounters with the shadow of the cross, my potentially gratefully heart will stay hidden.
Could purity of thought include positive thinking? If we box in the concept of purity with the rigid confines of sex and intimacy, we're missing all the areas of our lives that can so easily be targets of impure thoughts and feelings.
(NIV) Proverbs 15:26 says, "The LORD detests the thoughts of the wicked, but those of the pure are pleasing to him."
When I am moaning and groaning and whining about what I don't have and how unfair my circumstances are, I can sound as wicked as any witch in the East or the West. I can whine about having nothing to wear, but when I move from grumbling to grateful the tables are turned.
My thoughts determine my attitude and by walking in the PURE light of His blessings, I am not a puppet who is responding to life based on the fleeting material inadequacy I may be saddled with in the moment.
So often I battle my 'flesh woman'....the part of me that judges others quickly and makes snap decisions based on external appearances. I fail to see things through the shadow of the cross. I want to jump to conclusions and analyze others actions through my skewed lens of personal perspective rather than stepping back and seeing a new viewpoint.
God's reflection is so much larger, it covers more ground than I can even recognize when I'm grumbling and passing judgement about what I think I see at the moment. He covers every situation with His PURE grace and until I begin to frame my encounters with the shadow of the cross, my potentially gratefully heart will stay hidden.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
John 3:16
I'm not a fan of tattoo's, but if I were, this graphic would be a good candidate. Is there any better representation of how deeply you are loved by your creator? You are worth waiting for!
PINC...
Purity is no compromise. That's a bold statement and one that God laid on my heart 3 years ago when I began exploring what purity means in the lives of the teens and tweens I'm blessed to be surrounded by. God tapped on my heart three years ago after I had been volunteering as a small group leader with the teens of our church in the Northwest Chicago Suburb of Huntley, Illinois.
As He lovingly does, if calls you to a ministry, He equips you to fulfill it...but obedience is the primary tool you must supply.
I invite you on a journey with me as I explore what purity means in the lives of those around me, not only sexual purity, but purity of thought, action and deed. Let's set out together as we seek His face in a world calling us to conform to the desires of the world.
Purity is no compromise. That's a bold statement and one that God laid on my heart 3 years ago when I began exploring what purity means in the lives of the teens and tweens I'm blessed to be surrounded by. God tapped on my heart three years ago after I had been volunteering as a small group leader with the teens of our church in the Northwest Chicago Suburb of Huntley, Illinois.
As He lovingly does, if calls you to a ministry, He equips you to fulfill it...but obedience is the primary tool you must supply.
I invite you on a journey with me as I explore what purity means in the lives of those around me, not only sexual purity, but purity of thought, action and deed. Let's set out together as we seek His face in a world calling us to conform to the desires of the world.
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