The Red Balloon

This is a video clip from the drama group One Time Blind. I like their style and artistic approach. I will post a few more of their clips this week. Blessings, Angela

Sweeping Crumbs Under the Temple Rug-updated

(Updated: If you are just now reading this post, you'll see there is an award of sorts in it...I want to clarify that the award was the one I chose for myself...not the one Linda chose for me. I have been learning a lot about myself this week)

Some days, I write well (just to warn you, this is not one of those days). Other days, I can barely write a cohesive sentence. Some days I write insightful posts, other days, I'll just give you a link. But, there is one constant you can count on finding here at Becoming Me: Honesty. I'm not going to lie to you...ever.

So, please do not come up to me while wearing black capri pants patterned with florescent pieces of fruit and ask for my opinion, because I will tell you to change your outfit. I use those pants as an example, because I once owned a pair until someone begged me to never wear them again. And that's one of the reason's I started Becoming Me. No, not because of the pants that nearly landed me on What Not to Wear, but the part about learning from my mistakes and sharing the gleaned wisdom with others. I cannot do that without taking an honest look at myself and coming clean when I mess up.

During the past three weeks I have been inspired to take better care of my body and also to go on a spiritual journey of sorts. I began a 21 day Daniel Fast and then after Linda posted the 30X5 challenge on her blog, I told her that I was game... I thought the two went well together. And they do. But I didn't do a very good job with either. Oh... I stuck to the fast, but I encountered some issues that I'll post about tomorrow...or next week.

As for Linda's challenge? I got this award:

I did not complete the challenge. That's not a completely honest sentence, because to finish something means one first must start it.

I did not start the challenge.

I had good intentions and a decent plan of action, but I also welcomed every single excuse I could find to get out of those plans. When my kids got sick, I reasoned that they needed the extra time with me and even asked Linda if holding a 30 pound two-year-old on my hip for 30 minutes while swaying to soft music counted, because I was, afterall, moving. I also thought about asking her if I could count the 30-60 minutes a day I spend playing "Crash and Roll," with my little boy. It is a game where he crashes his little body into mine and then we roll on the floor and repeat the fun insanity for about 500 to 1,000 times. But as far as actually getting myself in gear to excericise. I didn't, because I really didn't feel like it.

In the book of I Corinthains, Paul writes how the body of a follower of Christ is a temple/dwelling place of God, and how it should be taken care of and honored. Have you ever walked into a church building and heard someone say, "be on your best behavior, because this is the house of God?" In reality, every person who has accepted Christ as Lord and Savior is the house of God.

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." I Corinthians 6:19-20

As I reflect on those verses, my unwillingness to exercise, and my attitude regarding food and some other issues, I realize that I do not always do such a good job of taking care of God's temple. Lately, instead of doing the heavy-duty cleaning that needs to be done...I've been sweeping crumbs under a rug instead and saying, "Hey, this place doesn't look so bad afterall."

Bought With A Price

(This is another re-run, but if you started reading this blog after July of 2008, it will be new to you).

My husband’s grandmother, Mema, has filled several china cabinets with antique glassware. One cabinet in particular contains milk glass, which was very popular in the 1950’s and 60’s. Some of Mema’s collection always belonged to her, while other pieces she acquired at various sales. Some of the bowls, pitchers, and creamers in Mema’s cabinet are valued at more than $250.00, yet she never paid that amount of money for any of them. In fact, she bought several items for a few dollars each at local yard sales.

Whenever we visit Mema, she delights in showing me her newest treasure. It reminds me of the PBS program Antique Road Show where people wait for an expert to assess the value of their secret treasures. I once watched a lady nearly faint when a little glass egg she purchased for 50 cents was appraised at $2,000. I couldn’t help but think about the person who unknowingly exchanged a precious heirloom for pocket change.

Just as we don’t always know the value of material items, we don’t always grasp the value of our fellow man/woman. Several years ago, I volunteered at a local children’s hospital and spent time playing with and holding children who were victims of their own parents and guardians…the tiny baby addicted to crack; the little boy with two broken arms, and a 13-yr-old girl who attempted to end her life because she could no longer tolerate living with abusive parents, were children who my mind will never erase.

It is not only children who are abused and discarded. Broken hearts and lives take residence in every city, small town and village in every part of our world. Were you ever one of them? Have you ever walked around feeling as though you had a sticker on your back that read, “Free, just pick it up and take it away?” I have.

Rejection is everywhere. It lurks on the playgrounds, bus stops, school cafeterias, college campuses, workplaces, nursing homes, and churches. Sometimes the rejection is blatant and mean spirited dealt with a cruel remark or disapproving glare. And other times it is unintentional. Regardless the circumstance, it hurts.

But just as there are experts who, because of years of study and experience, are able to assign value to antiques, there is one expert who knows our worth. He has studied the human race from the moment Adam sat up and brushed off some of the very dust that was used to create him. Our expert knows every inch of us because He is also our creator. And the sign He puts on our back does not list a price, instead it boldly states “sold.”

We have been bought with a price that included two wooden beams, large nails, a crown of thorns and the blood of the mighty Lamb of God who was rejected by the ones He came to save. Anyone who tries to convince you that your value is lesser than priceless just doesn’t know what he’s looking at.

Christ is the living Stone. People did not accept him. But God chose him. God places the highest value on him. You also are like living stones. As you come to him you are being built into a house for worship. There you will be holy priests. You will offer spiritual sacrifices. God will accept them because of what Jesus Christ has done. (1 Peter 2:4-5 New International Reader’s Version)

Overflow of the Heart

(This picture was taken some time during high school--try not to laugh too hard, it was the year of the hat...OK, not really, but it was the year for leggings and bulky sweaters.)

(Due to a copy editing deadline, I will be reposting some of my older pieces for the next few days. This story is special to me, because it is the first story I wrote when I decided to begin writing again. I think that the subject matter (our words) is one to which all can relate. Although I do discuss some painful high school memories in this story, I'd like to stress that I harbor no old wounds. I've learned so much from those experiences and share only to offer comfort to others and assess how I have grown. It is all part of the journey to becoming.)

The burst of cool air was the only refreshment I felt when entering the auditorium. Anxiety over which puce plastic chair to choose overwhelmed me. I was careful not to sit near the “in crowd,” as I knew I was not welcomed. It was also important for me to not sit anywhere I could be spotted by class comedians, “Clown-Around Cal” and “Sarcastic Sam” (names changed to protect the guilty), for I was one of their favorite targets. I resigned myself to a chair close to the back of the room and near an aisle. If a quick escape needed to be made, I was sure to be ready.

“Today is the first day of the rest of your lives and when you are old, you’ll remember the next four years as your days of glory,” said high school guidance counselor Mr. D.

My life has got to get better than this, I thought as I crossed my legs and slumped forward, hoping not to be noticed.

Growing up in a small Northern town, I attended 13 years of school with the same kids. Those who shared crayons and blocks with me in Kindergarten became those who hurled insults and food at me from the fourth-grade until close to graduation. I identified with underdog characters in Hollywood coming of age movies like “Lucas,” “Can’t Buy Me Love,” “Pretty in Pink,” and “Never Been Kissed.” You know the movie, there’s always at least one kid who stands out like a blue velvet tuxedo complete with ruffled shirt. In my high school, I was one of those kids. Only for me, there was no day of redemption. No tearful apologies, no dream date to the prom, no first kiss after a football game, and no convicting speeches given in the cafeteria that ended with thunderous applause and a renewed spirit of unity.

For years, I spent most of my time trying to fix myself. I would wonder what was wrong with me and then go to extremes to amputate the culprit. I stopped wearing my glasses and I lost more and more weight until my size one jeans were loose around my waist. Since trying hard not to be noticed didn’t stop the verbal barrage, I tried to earn approval by excelling. I worked hard in school and earned leadership positions in various student activities. I joined the drama team and co-starred in plays. I even volunteered to serve on several outreach projects, after all, how could “they” hate someone who is good to others, I reasoned. I even tried to bargain to those who bullied with their lips; for exchange of just one day free of scorn I would do their English homework or clean their lockers.

Despite my efforts, daydreams, prayers, and pleas, the teasing didn’t end, not even for a day, not even for an hour. Books were still thrown off my desk, signs that read “I’m a dork” were taped to my back, feet continued to trip me as I walked to the front of the classroom, and worst of all, taunts echoed in my ears and in my heart.

I graduated high school with two goals: Number one: Get as far away from that town as possible; and, number two, find out what was wrong with me.

My life took a turn for the better at the Christian college I attended. It was there when the Lord provided me with friendships that last still to this day. Friendships that have drawn me closer to understanding the character and love of Jesus.

After college graduation, I moved to Orlando, Florida to pursue a career in public relations. This is a move that can be credited only to the grace and love of God. It was in Orlando where I continued to blossom into the woman God created me to be. There were many moments that can be written about, but one, very simple moment had a significant impact on my future.

My roommate and I were hosting a gathering of church friends and the subject of high school reunions was broached as several yearbooks were passed around. I mentioned that my fifth-year reunion was just around the corner and I had no intention of returning for the festivities. When asked to explain my strong feelings about skipping the reunion, I briefly shared that I was the local outcast.

My friend Eric, raised his eyebrow and incredulously questions “You?” “Kids made fun of you?” When I confirmed his suspicion, I braced myself for his next questions. Here it comes, I thought, he’s going to ask me what was wrong with me back then. When Eric started his question, I cringed, because it seemed like he was going where I thought he would go…only he didn’t. Instead, he shook his head and emphatically spat out the words “What was wrong with THEM?”

I gasped and it took every ounce of pride I had to refrain from leaping into Eric’s arms and hugging his Alabama neck. It was then on the living room floor of my first adult home when the truth behind the ugliness of high school finally pierced my heart. There wasn’t anything wrong with me. Sure, I had gone through a gawky phase. I walked funny in elementary school, and I made my share of social slips; but I did nothing to warrant the harassment I received. There was nothing wrong with me. There was, however, something wrong inside the hearts of my tormentors. Whether it was fear, insecurities, anger, grief, or pride, there was something wrong in their lives that enabled or propelled them to wound another individual.

It hurts to admit this, but there have been many times in my life when my words were no cleaner than the words spoken to me by my high school nemeses. Matthew 12:34 (NIV) states “For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.”

So every time I speak a harsh word to my husband in the heat of an argument, every time I let a sarcastic comment slip out in a moment of frustration, every time I bellow in anger in the presence of my young daughter, in those moments there is something wrong with me, because there is something wrong with my heart. Regardless of how provoked or justified I may feel, I am still responsible for my own words. Words that I know are not easily forgotten.

Matthew 12:33-36 - New Living Translation

A tree is identified by its fruit. If a tree is good, its fruit will be good. If a tree is bad, its fruit will be bad. You brood of snakes! How could evil men like you speak what is good and right? For whatever is in your heart determines what you say. A good person produces good things from the treasury of a good heart, and an evil person produces evil things from the treasury of an evil heart. And I tell you this, you must give an account on judgment day for every idle word you speak.

Follow Who?

I wish that when I had graduated high school nearly twenty years ago that all my insecurities would have vanished into the sky dappled with ceremonious caps. They didn’t.

Even though I gained confidence and revamped my awkward demeanor, twinges of self-doubt poke about my core. My desire to be adored by all whom I encounter propels many of my actions. Compliments about how I parent, manage my home, and serve and inspire my husband fill a void carved by uncertainty. As a writer, I fear inadequacy…there are so many who excel at my craft. And if you have blogged for at least….one week…I’m certain that you are somewhat familiar with the reoccurrence of feelings that you haven’t owned since that tube of Clearasil.

A few months ago, I wrote about taking off my blog rater because it was bringing out my competitive beast. About the same time, I noticed that Blogger had installed a feature called “followers.” Originally, I thought that adding the button would do nothing but introduce my OCD nature to a new enemy. However, there were nine people following this blog at that time and my inner public relations professional thought, “This would be a great way to promote the blogs of those who read Becoming Me.”

As you know, I added the button. At first, the OCD me was clam happy and cucumber cool. My readers increased from nine to thirty…and then 50. Daily I would check my numbers while imitating Sally Fields acceptance speech at the1985 Academy Awards (“You like me, right now, you like me.”).

My love affair with the following button escalated when an icon of a very well-known blogger appeared in that gadget slot. However, when I hit the 80s, I noticed that some of my “followers” dropped. Among them was the aforementioned famous one. It stung. I won’t even paint you a verbal picture of what I did when I discovered that a few of my readers dropped my blog to follow a newer one with the same name…let’s just say it involved me lying on my bathroom floor in the fetal position grasping an empty bag of M&M’s.

Yes, I’m exaggerating. That never happened… but here comes an honest and pitiful confession---I began tracking my readers with the intent of wooing back any runaways. Oh yes, that was the plan. Praise God that I quickly got a grip and never executed such an arrangement that would have catapulted me into the role of psycho blogger. As usual, my grip was firmed by The Professor who sarcastically, yet helpfully quipped, “I don’t think you should refer to them as your followers…call them your disciples…because it is all about you, right?”

Ouch. Gulp. Ouch.

Then I laughed. Hard. I laughed because I realized how silly I was being. I laughed because there is no way I can keep up with all the blogs that are out there (did you know that there are thousands of great bloggity reads?), so why should I take it personally when someone cannot keep reading mine? I laughed because as the old 80’s saying goes, I thought I was all that and a bag of chips. I laughed at my audacity, which was hideous considering that I am a terrible blog follower. I fall into the overambitious category. I sign up to follow about 200 and then average on visiting most of those blogs only once a month.

So, I’m going to keep my little side bar button…but I’m keeping it for my initial reasons. I’m also going to try really hard to not obsess about it. In fact, I want every one of you who follow this blog to know that if you wish to stop following at any time for any reason, I will not have a nervous breakdown…nor will I stalk you. Pinky swear.

Because it is so not about me. It is all about Jesus. Let’s make a deal shall we…you just focus on following Him and I’ll be doing the same.

Matthew 16:23-25 - NIV

Jesus turned and said to Peter, "Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the things of God, but the things of men." Then Jesus said to his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it.

The Thief and The Amish Man

Yesterday, I shared the news about a friend, Sam, who lost almost all he owned when his home burnt to the ground.

As Sam stood amidst the thinning layers of smoke and surveyed the scorched metal and few surviving items strewn across the charred ground, an Amish gentleman came beside him. With a voice and expression lathered with empathy, the man, also a neighbor, offered to bring in a crew to clean up the damage. Knowing the complexities attached to such labor, Sam hesitated. He then asked the man to give him an estimate for the work so that he could present the bid to his insurance company.

With gentle firmness, the Amish man shook his head. “There will be no charge for the work. You are our neighbor…we want to help you.”

Rendered momentarily voiceless by the selfless gesture of his neighbor, Sam caught his breath, cleared his throat and thanked the kind man.

Later that day, another man came to Sam’s property…this man didn’t come to help…he came to steal. The thief was caught loading the last of Sam’s salvageable possessions into a truck.

Doesn’t that just extract the breath from your chest? It did mine. Knowing that someone could be so marred as to rob a man who had been sucker punched by devastation rocked my stomach with nausea.

After hearing the contrast between the two men who visited Sam’s effete property, I immediately thought about the piercing differences between our enemy and our Savior.

Like a thief, Satan holds no qualms about preying on the vulnerable. He cackles with delight when one’s defenses wobble…and then he attacks. He steals not with his hands, but with the lies of his tongue.

“You have nothing…you’re pitiful and worthless,” he says as he picks up fragments of joy and sticks them into his dark sack.

“No one wants you. You’ll always be mediocre…second-best…and that’s if you’re lucky…more likely than not, you’ll be a failure,” he shouts as he rips portions of peace from your limp grasp and shoves them with the slivers of stolen joy.

“Even God hates you,” he spits. “Think about it, you would never be in this mess if the Almighty loved you.” And with that most heinous lie he seizes hope, leaving his victim lying on the ground…ravaged…blanketed with cinders.

The enemy, a despicable swindler and a depraved deceiver, is the antithesis of Jesus, the Savior.

Jesus, the embodiment of love, does not delight in despair…He does not take from us when we are weak…He restores. He is the voice of truth.

“You are my beloved, and I will never leave you alone,” He whispers while opening his nail-scarred hand to offer you a love that begets joy.

“I faced scorn for you…bore bruises for you…spilled my blood for you…writhed in agony for you…and even though you question me, I am still and will always be on your side.” After those words are spoken, He lavishly furnishes your spirit with peace.

“You’re mind was not constructed to understand how deeply I hurt when you hurt, but please believe I do. I’m here now…in fact, I never left you precious one, and I will help you rebuild…please let me help you. For now you stand in an ash heap, but when I’m finished you will be surrounded by beauty.” And with that truth hope is restored.

When fire sweeps through your life, I pray that the attempts of thievery from the enemy will be thwarted so that a time of rebuilding resulting in splendor will occur.

Isaiah 61:2-4 (New Living Translation)

He has sent me to tell those who mourn that the time of the Lord’s favor has come, and with it, the day of God’s anger against their enemies. To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory. They will rebuild the ancient ruins, repairing cities destroyed long ago. They will revive them, though they have been deserted for many generations.

Mind Control

Disclaimer…if ever I am thrown into a vat of toxic waste like I will mention in a moment (because you know that happens to people every day), wishes for a speedy death will trump any hidden desires for super strength. The same is true for bites from radioactive insects or injections of any secret formula administered by a mad scientist. Just thought I should make that clear.

In my previous post, I wrote about my fascination with movies and T.V. shows based on characters with super-human abilities. As a fan of these shows, I cannot help wondering what I would do if I was thrown into a vat of toxic waste and emerged with out-of-this-world capabilities? What super power would I most like to have and how would I use it?

While there are a flurry of cool super powers for the taking, I do have a favorite. It separated itself from all the others one morning as Pumpkindoodle glared at me and refused to wear anything that I asked her to put on, and Pickle hurled blocks in my direction as an act of defiance.

Mind control.

Oh, I wouldn't use it in a bad way, I at first reasoned, just to help make life a little easier. I wouldn't make all the decisions for my kids...just the ones that involved obeying me. As the days and weeks went on, I thought of more ways as to how I'd use my new mind controlling abilities should ever they come. Sadly, none of my ideas involved lowering crime, world peace, or convincing celebrities (because you know if I had a super power Oprah would interview me) to live on $200,000 a year and donate the rest of their money to orphans.

My ideas for my imaginary super powers were self-centered. My children would eat their vegetables, wear the clothing I set out for them, and refrain from all acts of disobedience. The Professor would begin his mornings at four thus enabling him to come home early, make dinner, clean the kitchen, and suggest that I take more bubble baths. Babysitters would gladly exchange their services for a home cooked meal and a plate of brownies, and leasing agents at our apartment complex would eagerly agree to having our place remodeled.

And, this is why God in His infinite wisdom did not bestow me with the ability to control minds, nor any other super power that I could abuse. He knew I would unintentionally destroy the planet. However, He did entrust me with one mind to be in command of…my own. I have the power to choose selflessness over selfishness; to choose forgiveness over resentment; to choose peace over bitterness; to choose joy over despair. And while I cannot dictate the response of others, I make sure that my actions and reactions are consistent to God's teaching.

Romans 8:5-8 New International Version

Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; 7the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.

Onward to Becoming-Part 1

Confession…I’m complicated. Wait, you don’t need to tell me…you are complicated as well. If you are a male reading this and thinking that I’m only addressing women…sorry, you are complicated too. Most men don’t like to admit to that, but the truth is that we human beings are multidimensional...creatures layered with dreams and inhibitions, misinformation and truth, acceptance and rejection, insecurities and talents, health and scars… even a few gaping wounds. Yes indeed, we are all complicated to the core.

I’m coated with contradictions. I strive for tranquility, yet exude intense energy. Clutter limits my productivity, yet I’m often undisciplined. I’m a peacemaker, yet find myself erupting in anger. I desire to cloak my family in love, yet all too often I am cool and distant. I could list more…so many more internal conflicts…but I’m going to try something new, something positive.

Focusing first on love, I am going to try an exercise I found in the book Confessions of an Irritable Mother. The author, Karen Hossink, recommends writing down spiritual goals as if they have already happened. Karen’s goals revolved around the fruits of the spirit.

Since the Lord has been speaking to my heart about how to better love my family, the inspirations for my goals come from 1 Cor. 13:4-8.

Long blog posts are not popular, so I will list five today and the rest tomorrow.

Love is Patient - I persevere through daily struggles without grumbling, complaining, and hastily snapping out of frustration.

Love is Kind – I speak to my husband and children in a gentle manner, considering their feelings before reacting.

Love does not Envy – I do not try to make my husband or children become like anyone else’s and instead love them for who they are, not for who I want them to become. And, I refuse to live in the shadow of the “mom who has it all” and instead will live in the light that illuminates my blessings.

Love does not Boast - I acknowledge that every positive accomplishment that comes from my hands is possible only because Christ lives in me.

Love is not Proud – I apologize when I wrong my husband and children and ask their forgiveness.

Another confession---I’m trembling a bit. Those five aforementioned goals seem a little lofty considering my recent failings. In fact, if I were relying on my own strength, I’d erase this post pronto. But I’m not working on my time-line or with anything I’ve got…I’m relying on Jesus…and that means the above and the ones to come can be my reality.

Karen didn’t just write her goals down once…she rewrote them daily until they became a reality…and because repetition works for me too, I am going to try to do the same…anyone want to keep me accountable? If so, there’s a link to my e-mail in the header---you have my permission to e-mail me daily if you feel led to do so.

My Hope

There are lots of ways to hurt me. Physically, my bones are breakable, my muscles tear, and my arms over extend. While I’ve always considered my spirit stronger than my flesh, it’s not impregnable. Harsh words, haughty laughter, and disapproving stares scar my heart. But for me, there is one weapon that wounds with fire and burns a hole through my core. That weapon is betrayal.

Several months ago, when my husband told me that his job would be ending with the semester, I choked on the air that had just entered my lungs. My heart ached. I felt that our family had been betrayed. I hurt deeply for my husband.

How could this happen? This position was supposed to be tenure track. This was supposed to be the real deal. We were supposed to be in the same place for at least five years.

I was not worried about my husband finding a new job, I immediately felt peace that the Lord would provide. He always has in the past and His word assures us of that truth. Yet still, I grieved. My heart ached. Even The Professor was able to let go of the hurt, but mine stayed.

Earlier this week, as I was searching through scripture to find a particular verse that would fit with this post (well, the post I originally wrote, of which only a few sentences remain), I came across two verses about “Boasting in Tomorrow.” Immediately the verses grabbed my heart. But almost as quickly I shrugged them off. I kept looking and nothing seemed to fit and then, I "stumbled" upon these same two verses again.

I sighed. I wanted to write about betrayal and how God made it good. Instead, God wanted me to understand why I felt so betrayed. Yes, our feelings are an essential component to our humanness. A more intimate relationship with Christ does not fashion us into robotic creatures. Pain accompanies injury. However, the amount of distress I felt was disproportional to the size of the emotional laceration.

Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth. Proverbs 27:1

I read that verse aloud. And then I recited it as I pursued sleep. I woke up the next morning with it etched on my heart. Finally, I understood. I bore some responsibility for my own heartache. Yes, poor decisions were made by others, decisions that I could not change. But had my hope been where it belonged, the blow wouldn’t have been so staggering.

My hope was in the supposed to be. I told people that our days of moving were behind us. South Carolina was home and we were staying put. And I believed it so. Although I didn’t stick out my tongue and say na na na na naaahhh, I boasted in my tomorrow. The tomorrow that I had planned. So when that news came, my plans were disregarded. And it hurt.

This week, God reminded me that my tomorrow’s, if I even have a tomorrow on this planet, are His. Sure, I can make plans, I can even dream, but placing my hope in those plans…not a good idea.

Now for some more good news, The Professor, did get a new job with a well known and respected university. We will be moving to Georgia in less than a month and the blessings are many.

How long will we be in Georgia? I have no clue. But that’s just fine. My Jesus does. And while my immediate future is a mystery, I do know the ending of my story…it has no end...it’s a true happily-ever-after.

Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that." As it is, you boast and brag. All such boasting is evil. James 4:13 (NIV)

Righteousness

Like most writers, I am a lover of words and phrases. Thesaurus.Com is my number one writing buddy. A breeze of giddiness embosoms me whenever I search for the origins of common sayings such as, “It’s raining cats and dogs.” Despite my desire to master the English language, I still confuse some words now and again. For example, I often look up affect verses effect. Stationary and stationery puzzle me at times, as do complement and compliment. Most recently, the word righteousness invoked many sighs as I dug deeper into studying The Armor of God, referenced in the book of Ephesians.

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place.” Eph 6:10-14.

Prior to this study, whenever I read the word righteousness, I believed it’s meaning to be what is found in The American Heritage Dictionary, “Morally upright; without guilt or sin.” Knowing this and also reading in God’s word that I am to put on a breast plate of righteousness put me in a conundrum. How can I, one who sins, put on a garment of righteousness? And not only a garment, but a piece of armor designed to protect the organs that my body cannot live with out; chief among those organs is the heart. It does not get more important than that. I want to be obedient in this, but I cannot, not if this is the definition is the driving force behind my desire. So why then would God ask the impossible? Click on the link below for the rest of the article.

Truth

Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist…Ephesians 6:13-14 (NIV)

I remember the first time I read the above verses. I sat on an old red velvet cushioned wooden pew at my neighbor’s church during Vacation Bible School. Attentive, I watched as other children displayed decorative cardboard garments to demonstrate the armor of God. When explaining truth, the teacher told us that it meant to never lie and to also know that God’s word is true. And to be honest, I didn’t give it much more thought.

However, this past year, the pursuit of truth has become a passion of mine. After years of believing lies about myself and my value to God, I emerged from a suffocating and grimy pit of rubbish. Brushing off the debris and wiping the mud from my eyes, I was ready to hear, see, and embrace the truth about God’s love for me.

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The Question Mark

I find myself incapable of resisting the delectable combination of chocolate and peanut butter, tickling tiny toes, and completing multiple choice personality tests. Perhaps it’s the puzzle of trying to figure out what I have in common with a pair of cotton pajamas, a Golden Retriever, and a Daffodil that swells the intrigue? Or maybe it’s because I have never taken one that lived up to its promise of defining me? Regardless the why, and despite the let downs, I still take the tests. The most recent was the highly unscientific ditty What Punctuation Mark Are You? The title screams DO NOT TAKE ME SERIOUSLY. But still, I checked five boxes and I read that I was most like a comma. Sadly, yet not surprisingly, this test didn’t “get me,” either. Now, the comma and I are tight, but no piece of punctuation sums me up better than the question mark.

Why the question mark? For starters, I operate with caution. Although an adventurous streak courses through my veins and predictable is not on my calling card, I invest considerable thought in the decisions that fall under my jurisdiction. Another reason is that my initiation into motherhood requires my participation in a scavenger hunt of sorts. In this hunt, the clues are evasive, the answers well-hidden, and the questions emerge from a bottomless cavern.

Some confrontational questions include:

• Is it normal for my four-year-old to burst into tears because she wants to play with a plastic candy wrapper that I asked her to throw away? And is it a normal part of her imagination to give said candy wrapper a cutesy name and call it a friend?

• Is loosing an entire box of Cheerios ™ a sign of the undocumented medical phenomena Mommy Brain or a symptom of a brain tumor?

• Should I keep choosing my daughter’s clothing for her on Sundays as a part of stressing obedience? Or is it not worth the battle?

• How can I gently stop my one-year-old son from spontaneously screaming?

• How can I keep my kids free of foods stacked with unnecessary hormones and chemicals while adhering to an unforgiving grocery budget? And where is that balance between healthy and unhealthy?

I’m guessing that in 20 years I will chastise myself for wasting time on such unknowns, but if I really believed that wouldn’t the questions vanish?

There are probably child psychologists, super nanny types, and pediatricians who can offer plausible answers to my questions. So I do my research. Yet, even then I find conflict among the experts. What’s a mother to do? Here is my three-step action plan (because I cannot remember more than three-steps). It may seem simple, perhaps even trite, but it’s all I’ve got.

1. I’m going to wake up each morning dedicated to doing my best; and accept that on some days my best will be excellent and on other days my best will be allowing my good enough to be good enough.

2. I’m going to cover my children in prayer. I’m not going to ever have all the answers. Despite my desire to control my life, I was not given that responsibility. It’s not my job. But I’m on a first name basis with the One who is in charge. And I can call on Him…not just for the answers, but as the Answer.

3. I’m going to enlist my inner “Mama Bear” to capture, shackle, and kick out every stinking lie that invades my heart. Lies like I’m a failure as a mother; God made a mistake by thinking I could handle this (fill in the blank); and, I’m going to ruin my kids. Once those culprits are vanished, I’m going to plant truth in those empty spaces. Truth such as, I have not been given a spirit of fear but of power, love and a sound mind – 2 Tim., 1:7; I have been chosen and appointed to bear fruit – John, 15:16; and, I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength – Phil., 4:13.

After Pumpkindoodle’s birth I referred to delivering a baby sans pain medication as my Mt. Everest. But I soon learned that the journey of motherhood is the highest mountain to climb. It is going to take me a few decades, dozens of falls, and thousands of bruises and pulled muscles, but I’m going to reach that mountain top some day. And when I do, I’m going to collapse into the mighty arms of my Savior. I pray that He will reward my efforts with seven whispered words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. II Timothy 4:7-8 (NIV)