I am...I am not

 (This is an updated version of a post I wrote in April, 2009)

During this process of becoming, I have found it helpful to enter a spirit of reflectiveness and take note of who I am at this moment and who I am not. The list is a hodgepodge of sorts...some of it humorous...some of it deep...all of it honest.

I am flawed; I am not hopeless

I am competitive; I am not cunning

I am weak; I am not too weak to admit my mistakes

I am in love with my husband; I am not always kind to my husband

I am a mother; I am not always skilled at mothering

I am encouraged when I remember that Christ is more than enough; I am not suppose to be enough for anyone

I am heartbroken for those who suffer; I am not going to deny the existence of hope

I am sometimes jealous of others; I am not going to thrust myself into the spotlight

I am contemplative; I am not shy

I am joyful; I am not always happy

I am stubborn; I am not unyielding

I am cautious; I am not against spontaneity

I am unintentionally quirky; I am not funny unless I am not trying to be funny

I am in my thirties; I am not able to metabolize food like I did when I was in my twenties

I am adventurous; I am not careless

I am a writer; I am not a singer...or a dancer

I am cute; I am not glamorous or traffic-stopping beautiful

I am fine with the fact that I am not traffic-stopping beautiful; I am not interested in plastic surgery

I am a work of art made by the creator of art; I am not ashamed of my Creator's design

I am loyal; I am not afraid to establish boundaries

I am committed to taking care of our planet; I am not one who worships the creation instead of the creator

I am understanding; I am not going to ignore truth

I am compassionate and merciful; I am not always a good listener

I am emotional; I am not irrational

I am talkative; I am not always going to know the right words to say

I am forgiven; I am not able to forget my wrongdoings

I am gifted; I am not able to do all that I desire

I am a member of the body of Christ; I am not meant to live life just for myself.

I am loved...I am chosen...I am the daughter of the King of Kings; I am not going to hide my true identity.

Who are you? Who are you not?

“Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.” Romans 12:4-10 NIV

Video Thursday - It's About Life

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."

She Speaks - The Beginning of Becoming

Prologue:

Last fall, my friend Julie asked me if I would consider attending the next She Speaks Conference to be held July 31 – Aug 2, 2009. The She Speaks conference is an annual event for Christian speakers, writers, ministry leaders, and bloggers; and is sponsored by Proverbs 31 Ministries, headed by Lysa Terkuerst.

I told Julie that I would love the opportunity to attend and would begin praying for a way to make it. I also explained that with our finances severely limited, my chances for attending would be slim.

Recently, I learned that Proverbs 31 Ministries is holding a writing contest in which the winner would receive a conference scholarship. Immediately, I wanted to enter. So, I prayed. Then, I talked to my husband. Prayed again...and asked others to pray for me. Finally, I sat down to write. The process was tough. As I wrote, I also fought fear and those pesky “what ifs.” I kept telling myself that the competition was fierce (it is), and that if I did win, there would be a chance that those who chose me would end up regretting the decision--I've always feared that I come across better on paper and monitor than I do in person. I took a few deep breaths, shushed away those negative thoughts, and kept on writing.

I do not know if God intends for me to win the scholarship or if this is even my year to attend, but I do know that He wanted me to complete the process. My entry is below.

The Beginning of Becoming

Recently, I watched a science fiction television series in which a major character grappled with her identity--literally. She and others questioned whether she was truly human. At one point, out of sheer frustration, fear, and confusion, she tearfully screamed, “What Am I?” My eyes moistened and my heart thumped as I witnessed the character's inner turmoil. As outlandish as it may seem, I understood.

Twenty-months ago, a broken, abashed, and frightened version of me tugged at my disheveled hair and faced my reflection. I barely recognized myself in my bedroom mirror. The physical attributes remained the same as in years past, but my eyes...they appeared hollow. Loosening the grip on my hair, I allowed my hands to slowly slide down my face and rest just below my chin. I stood quiet and looked at myself. Although my legs and heart trembled, I felt as though I were frozen. With tears meeting my fingertips, I silently, agonizingly, cried out, “God help me. What am I? What have I become? Am I a mother or a monster?”

While many of the events surrounding my nervous breakdown are now blurred and distant, I remember the dark moments like that one. Moments when the failure sweeping through my soul left me feeling vacant. I questioned my humanity. In the throes of Postpartum Mood Disorders, on top of adjusting to a cross-country move, I was too weak and disillusioned to battle the lies that had assaulted me for decades and had come at me again with Herculean force. Perfectionism, along with feelings of worthlessness, inferiority, and displaced anger pummeled me; I waved the white flag of defeat.

Therapy sessions with a Christian counselor were one aspect that led to my recovery. As I spilled my thoughts...the dark, the garbled, and the hopeful, my counselor helped me learn how to replace lies with truth. I had already known Jesus for decades, but I didn't truly believe Him. I believed in Him. And I believed what He said about other people, but somehow I thought I was an exception...that Christ loved me, but a little less than He did others.

When I emerged from that dank trench of dejection and desperation, I felt like a hibernating mammal that had awoken during a glorious spring morning. It was my clean slate, so to speak–my midlife do-over. I had escaped perfectionism's prison and embraced the opportunity to become who Christ intended me to be. And, I am still becoming.

For me, part of becoming is sharing with others where I have been, where I am now, and where I am going on this journey to be more like Jesus. Writing has always been part of who I am, but, after I became a mom, I buried that piece of me. After my breakdown, I felt the Holy Spirit whispering to my heart and telling me that it was time again for me to write, even if I didn't have a large audience. Even if I wasn’t paid. I just needed to write.

More than a year later, the impetus of my writing has not changed. I write openly and sincerely about every experience that God calls me to share, even the ones that showcase my flaws. Actually, mostly about the ones that showcase my flaws; because, it is in those moments when God's strength magnifies. I write to help others know that they are not alone...not in this world, and not in the mistakes they make, or in the circumstances that crash upon them without warning. I write because truth is too beautiful to not share. And, I write because it is through the writing process that I experience some of my most precious moments with my Savior.

Attending the She Speaks Conference would be an opportunity for growth. I would obtain information to help me to hone my craft. And, I would be learning from women who are not only at the top of their game, but who go to their knees and humble themselves before the King of Kings; because, He is what they most desire. I don't merely want to learn to write better, I could take classes anywhere if that were my only goal. I want to learn how to use my gifts and talents to better serve my Creator.

Twenty-months ago, I questioned my identity and who I was. Now, I know. I am not a monster. I am a flawed but forgiven child of God. I am a writer who sits in front of a computer screen and types words not only about Jesus, but also for Jesus, and because of Jesus. I want to allow Him to stretch me even when it hurts. My desire is not to become a Christian writer...it is to become a woman of unshakable faith who writes, not for her own fame, but to bring glory to the King Eternal.

Masterpiece

I watch American Idol. I have been threatening to give it up after season three. But still, I watch. And sometimes I vote...so how's that for some healthy transparency? Or maybe that is something that I should never admit in public...ever.


This year, I cut back and started watching after the top 36 were chosen. Many of my irritations with show lie with the critique styles of the judges. And it is not just Simon, I often agree with Simon's opinions...just not with how he chooses to express them. I do wish he would learn that honesty need not be laced with cruelty to garner effective results. But while calling someone a disaster is unkind and hurtful, it is the conflicting messages from the judges that I find most disturbing.


One of the most repeated phrases of feedback is the ever popular, “I'm just not sure who you are...you need to come out and be you.”


First of all, many of the contestants are still teenagers, and others are young adults. Additionally, most of them have not had special training in the music business, that was part of the genius behind the original concept for American Idol. I think it is unrealistic to expect a 17-year-old, or even a 23-tear-old to know exactly who they want to be as a performer.


And then to confuse matters even more, they will add statements like these:


“I'm not sure I like this sweet vibe you have going on...you need to dirty yourself up.”


“You have a great voice, but that dress...it's too old-fashioned and conservative.”


“The problem I have with you is that you are somewhat reserved, you need to bring out your inner party animal...or vixen”


“You are cute and charming...I actually kind of like you...but you are missing something...I think you lack sex appeal.”


Basically, the judges and producers want contestants to hold the answer to the oldest existential question in the universe (who am I?), unless the answer involves choices that do not conform to current trends. Talk about an identity crisis.


I have had a few identity issues of my own. And although I know more about myself today than I did ten years ago, sometimes I still need reminding of who I really am and to Whom I belong...because I live in a world where messages are watered down, mixed, spun, chopped, sautéed and then seasoned to sell. Far too often I buy into the lies that tell me I am too fat, too homely, too ordinary, too conservative, too sensitive, too dull, too gentle, too loud, too quiet, too social, and too outdated. Now, I agree that too much of something...even of good things, does not always reap what is good....but I need to run my issues through God's filter and not through that of the world. The world does not have a clue as to who I am or who I should become...the world just wants to tell me what actions I should acquire to properly fit into the times.


As I become....I need to submit my will to God's, and seek His guidance and direction. And not only is it vital that as Christians we know who we are in Christ so that we can grow closer to Him, but also so we know what is expected of us...how we are to behave as His representatives. Here are a few scripture versus that tell me more about who I am...and who you are too. (This list is partial and all references are from the NLT...a resource I used to compile the information below comes from here, but I did some of my own editing as well.)

• I am a child of God...I am adopted. The term adoption is extra special to me because when I was seven years old, my step-father legally adopted me...I became his daughter. I am also...and foremost a daughter of the Most High. But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God. John 1:12 & And since we are his children, we are his heirs. In fact, together with Christ we are heirs of God’s glory. & But if we are to share his glory, we must also share his suffering. Romans 8:17

• I am a part of the Church, the body of Christ. This means I have responsibilities to be like Christ and cannot do this without Him. “I am the true grapevine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch of mine that doesn’t produce fruit, and he prunes the branches that do bear fruit so they will produce even more. You have already been pruned and purified by the message I have given you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. For a branch cannot produce fruit if it is severed from the vine, and you cannot be fruitful unless you remain in me.“Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:1-5

• I am forgiven. So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. And because you belong to him, the power of the life-giving Spirit has freed you from the power of sin that leads to death. Romans 8:1-2 & He is so rich in kindness and grace that he purchased our freedom with the blood of his Son and forgave our sins. Ephesians 1:7.

• I am accepted. Oh this is a big one for me. But not only am I accepted, I am called to accept others as Christ accepted me. Then all of you can join together with one voice, giving praise and glory to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, accept each other just as Christ has accepted you so that God will be given glory. Remember that Christ came as a servant to the Jews to show that God is true to the promises he made to their ancestors. Romans 15:6-8

• I am a masterpiece and my existence was planned. I need to type that again...my existence was planned. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10.

There is so much more...but I'm going to end with that one.

What about you? Feel free to share a favorite verse that reminds you of your true identity.

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.

Letter To My 20-Yr-Old Self

Dear Me at age 20,

Oh girl, can you believe you're a college junior? Continue working hard, but also understand that obtaining a job in the field of public relations will require more than a respectable GPA, especially since you attend a small college. Save your money and search high and low for internships. Don't allow your fear of rejection to keep you from applying to the PR fellowship program offered by the Olympics or similar opportunities.

After graduation, (for which you'll want to wear a warm dress under your gown, because in Western NY, the snow sometimes falls in May) you will make one of the best decisions of your life. You will assert your independence by moving to Orlando, FL, with two suitcases and $500. That's one reason I keep reiterating that you should save your money, because if you don't, there will be eight days in your life that you eat only blueberry muffins and Cream of Wheat.

The next five years of your life will bring you a mixed bouquet...adventure, surprise, heartache, romance, opportunity, and closed doors. You will encounter a multitude of fears...some you will conquer, to others, you will succumb. Fear is your greatest adversary. If you allow it , that same fear, which also masquerades as self-doubt, apathy, and procrastination, will keep you head locked in its strong hold for years. Listen carefully to the voice of your creator as He whispers guidance in your heart. And listen to your gift of intuition when you meet prospective friends, roommates and employers. Don't second-guess those red-flag moments just because you are afraid that you cannot do better.

Your first few jobs will not be glamorous, and your youth and tiny voice will not garner respect. But, don't allow that to stop you from respecting yourself and working hard in spite of criticism. Truth be told, you do have a lot to learn and pride is just a waste of time and energy. Complete every task you are given, even the menial, to the very best of your ability and do so with a cheerful attitude. Hold your head up high when you enter a room, put some grip in your handshake, lower your voice (even if it feels fake), and look people square in the eye when you speak. My last bit of professional advice for you is this: sometimes confrontation is necessary. Don't be afraid to take a stand for something that you know is right. Confront with both kindness and firmness, and don't allow a shaky voice to shake your resolve.

When it comes to relationships, you'll quickly discover that the number of dates you go on in your twenties will make up for your nearly dateless teenage years. Apparently, southern guys find your combination of sweetness and spunk attractive, which is a good and bad thing because you have no clue who you are or what you want. Be gentle with the hearts that are offered to you. Once you refuse to stand behind a facade, you will find true love. Believe it or not, there is one man who will love you...quirks and all.

Before you find that man, you will fancy someone else...and when your feelings are unrequited, you will honestly be shocked. Arrogant, I know. This experience will cause you to doubt yourself like never before. Whatever you do...don't ask the young man to give you a list of reasons why he doesn't feel he same way as you do. Please, heed my advice on this one, because if you ask for a list...you will get one and it will not be pretty. You will get over the guy quickly, but it will take you a decade to get over the list. First of all, the list will be much longer than you expected it to be. Secondly, it is grounded in the opinions from just one man, not the representative for all mankind.

Should you ignore my counsel and ask for the list, do not use it as a measuring tool of your worth. Nor should you use it as impetus for self-improvement. In fact, do not use the standards of any man or woman, regardless how highly you esteem them, to shape your identity. Instead, align yourself with God's standards, and actively live your life in the pursuit of being more like Jesus.

Sincerely,

You at age 35

Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long. Psalm 25:4-5

Ten additional advice tips -

1. Select a roommate based on personality and not apartment—If you do not do this, you will live in a luxury apartment with an emotionally unbalanced woman who will terrorize you...no, “future you” does not exaggerate.

2. Don't behave like women in romantic comedies

3. Enjoy your time as a single woman

4. Get your driver's license before you move to Orlando

5. Wear sunscreen every day that you live in Florida, because yes you can get a 2^nd degree sunburn in March.

6. Take time to learn more about political issues

7. As you learn about these issues, decide where you stand on them based on your values and not merely on the opinions of others.

8. Go on a missions trip

9. When your friend Charis comes to visit you, do not let her eat chicken.

10. Only buy your friends wedding gifts for which they have registered.

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.

Super Powers

Aside for my adolescent affection for David Banner and his mean green alter ego, "The Hulk," I've never been a fan of movies or T.V. shows based on comic books. Had I not married a man who stomps his feet with excitement whenever a trailer promoting the latest flick about an iconic hero with superpowers is shown for the first time, I most likely would have gone the rest of my life without watching such characters.

The first time The Professor brought me to a theater to see a movie based on some legend from his childhood was to the premier of X-Men. As we stood in line behind a man wearing Wolverine claws, I rolled my eyes and thought that I would enjoy the next two hours as much as I enjoyed tweezing my eye-brows.

I was wrong. After spending just 180 minutes alternating holding my breath and crying as the Marvel Heroes fought the bad guys and their inner demons, I was hooked. Now when a movie about a costumed crusader against evil is released, I'm ready to book a babysitter and stand in line. I'm also more likely to get caught up in T.V. shows focusing on people with powers of the super variety (hence my addiction to NBC’s Heroes).

Although the action scenes are riveting, it's the classic struggle between good and evil that keeps me glued. It's viewing seemingly ordinary people grapple with discovering that they are now different from others...different from whom they thought they once were. It's watching characters evolve not into people with super powers, but into people who are willing to make mountainous sacrifices for humankind.

I cannot leap giant buildings in a single bound, nor can I heal myself, or control minds...and I run slightly faster than a speeding turtle; but still I identify with the Clark Kent’s, Peter Parker’s, and Claire Bennett’s of the fantasy world. Because like them, I am different…set a apart. I don’t believe this because I think I am more special or better than anyone else. In fact, it’s not about me at all. It’s about Jesus and letting others know that I follow the Messiah.

As said by Peter Parker’s aunt in the movie Spiderman, “With great power comes great responsibility.” All Christians are given the responsibility of living up to the standards of a glorious and all-powerful God. That’s not small stuff… it is certainly too big for me to accomplish on my own strength. The good news is that I’m not meant to do it alone. And when I am tired, weary, frustrated, and broken from this world and from simply being me, I can rest in the One whose power is beyond anything in this universe.

Romans 12:1-3 (New Living Translation)

And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect. Because of the privilege and authority God has given me, I give each of you this warning: Don’t think you are better than you really are. Be honest in your evaluation of yourselves, measuring yourselves by the faith God has given us

New Living Translation (NLT)

Holy Bible. New Living Translation copyright © 1996, 2004 by Tyndale Charitable Trust. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers.

Evil Twin

(While these words are my own and result from personal events that occurred on October 9, 2008, I feel compelled to add that I recently read chapter three of Joann Weaver’s “Having a Mary Spirit” and was inspired by many concepts she presented. And once again, I'm not sure what is up with the formatting...perhaps Blogger has an evil twin too)

When I was a little girl, my mom and grandmother watched soap operas. I remember watching along with them as I sat in the living room and played with my “Little People” play sets. Once, a heroine went missing, was presumed dead, and then came home just days later. At first, her family rejoiced over her miraculous return, but as time went on they discovered she was different.

Months later the secret behind her mysterious behavior was revealed. The heroine had never returned. She was being held prisoner in an old farm house while her long lost twin sister assumed her identity. (Insert dramatic music here). The. Evil. Twin. The sibling who everyone forgot existed stole her beloved sister’s persona and began to live her life.

Often, I feel as though I have an evil twin. Only she doesn’t live in another town, she lives inside my body. I’m not writing about demonic possession, merely about the battle of good and evil

that rages in us all. Sometimes I feel as if there are two of me…one who is charming and pleasant, and another who is down right spiteful.

The “good me,” the part of me who I want to refer to as the real me, does her best to keep the evil twin at bay. She tries, but truth be known, she’s terribly weak. And that evil twin, well she’s quite crafty.

Yesterday morning it was as if this evil twin of mine bonked me over the head, drug me into a basement and then took over my life. She barked at my sweet children and criticized Pumpkindoodle for not walking fast enough. She even growled at Pickle when he whined for his morning cup of milk.

The entire morning was spent finding fault with others. Angry at life, everyone alive was deemed guilty by association. Through clenched teeth she bellowed that the day was going to be dedicated to cleaning and organization. It was made clear that anyone who didn’t agree with what she had in mind better get out of the way and remain silent. She was not in the mood for protests. I shuddered and averted my eyes as I heard her mutter that she was not even in the mood to be a mother.

Deep breath. I wish, oh how I wish I really was chained up in a basement watching the events of that day play before my eyes on a TV monitor. How I wish that I could write that it wasn’t really me, that it truly was an evil twin and that I had no say in the matter. To watch someone else hurt my loved ones would be horrifying. Realizing that it is I who am responsible for the pain-filled eyes that return my icy stares…that is devastation.

While still in evil twin mode, I decided that baking a cake would bring back peace to my conflicted home. And if not, well at least it would make me feel better. I went to the dollar store and as the clerk rang up the price of the mix and frosting, she mentioned her love for cake. Then I heard a familiar sound—the voice of the “good me.” All traces of the sarcasm laced dialect that I spoke with earlier that morning disappeared. It was my voice that sincerely asked, “How long will you be working today? I’ll bring you a slice.”

I left the store promising to return with a piece of cake. The woman was delighted. I fought back tears as I headed to my car and gently kissed each of my children as I strapped them into their safety seats.

It was as if God reminded me that although there is a hideously depraved woman living inside my shell, she’s not in there alone. Jesus also lives within me. In fact, there really isn’t a “good” me. The only good that comes from this body of mine are the pieces of me that I’ve submitted to Christ. He is far more powerful than any brand of evil. And He will be victorious in refining me…evicting that deranged double of mine for once and for all. Dear Lord, how I wish that day would soon come.

Romans 7:14-27 (New Living Translation)

14 So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. 15 I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it. Instead, I do what I hate. 16 But if I know that what I am doing is wrong, this shows that I agree that the law is good. 17 So I am not the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

18 And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. 19 I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. 20 But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.

21 I have discovered this principle of life—that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. 22 I love God’s law with all my heart. 23 But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. 24 Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? 25 Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord. So you see how it is: In my mind I really want to obey God’s law, but because of my sinful nature I am a slave to sin.

Above verse was copied and pasted from Bible Gateway.

Legacy

When Genny contacted me regarding her blog carnival/challenge based on the New York Times best seller One Month to Live, I gave her my promise of participation. She’s my friend. However, had I happened across this challenge by chance, you would not be reading my response. You see, I tend to avoid books, conversations, and even thinking about the subject of how I would live my life if I found out it would end in 30 days.

It’s not because I harbor a fear of death, I don’t. It’s that I get uneasy when called to more self examination and the myriad inadequacies that always unearths.

Since I started writing this blog eight months ago, my flaws have been splattered about this electronic journal. You already know that I’m selfish, insecure, ferociously competitive, impatient, prideful, ungrateful, lacking in self control, and at times emotionally imbalanced. I often wonder if my readership has really grown because so many feel that they can relate to me or if it is really due to the “can’t keep my eyes off the train wreck” syndrome.

On the “plus” side of my list of character traits sits loyalty. I keep my word and was determined to explore this issue. First, because I said I would. Secondly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to do it for other unknown reasons.

Initially, my thoughts were about how to get the most out of this life while I have it. Then it hit me…nothing I do or experience in this body and on this planet will hold a candle to what I will experience in Heaven. Nothing. Not a week in Disney World or even a trip down the Grand Canyon.

It is unfathomable that my heart will experience a happiness guaranteed to surpass the elation that accompanies Eskimo kisses, snuggles, and giggles shared with my children. The tingling sensation that trickles down toward my fingertips when The Professor kisses my neck will one day be replaced with feelings not even known on this earth. When I am standing in the presence of angels, will I even remember the lovely songs the birds now sing? This life of mine has been blessed by immeasurable beauty and there is more to come when I reach my permanent home.

So what would I do if I had but a month to live? I would stop living for me. Stop striving for things to temporarily heal wounds and patch insecurities. Instead, I hope I would devote my time to contributing to the lives of others.

I would listen intently, invite freely, converse openly, compliment lavishly, and forgive without a millisecond of hesitation. Most importantly, I would share the details about my upcoming change of address without inhibition. I would live without fear knowing that nothing can happen to me on earth that cannot be fixed the instant I walk into Heaven.

I have no clue as to the amount of time I have left to live on this beautiful blue rock. I could have thirty days, thirty years, thirty minutes, or some number greater or less than all of those possibilities.

Will I now begin to live as though I have only one month to live? Honestly, I don’t think so. I think that for me, that train of thought would serve to fan the fading embers of my perfectionist tendencies. But I will make changes.

I will try my hardest to focus on what matters and give little attention to the shiny looking stuff born of insignificance. I will continually remind myself that there are no riches on earth that compare to the treasures my Father has stored for me in Heaven.

I will live not to receive but to give…to leave behind a legacy. It is my prayer that my legacy be embroidered with love, truth, and hope. A legacy that will not highlight the life I lived on earth, but the life than can be lived by all who place their trust in the nail scarred hands of Jesus.

For I fully expect and hope that I will never be ashamed, but that I will continue to be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past. And I trust that my life will bring honor to Christ, whether I live or die. For to me, living means living for Christ, and dying is even better. But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ. So I really don’t know which is better. I’m torn between two desires: I long to go and be with Christ, which would be far better for me. Phil. 1:19-23 New Living Translation

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit. Gal. 5:22-25 NIV

In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." John 14:2-4 NIV

To read more posts on this subject, please head on over to Genny’s blog, My Cup 2 Yours.Also, it's not too late to write your own post about this. Feeling a little nervous about that? I totally understand, as I wrote, I was too, but I am so glad I gave it a chance.

An Ugly Shade of Green

My 18-month-old-son, Pickle, is a quintessential "Mama’s Boy." Times exist when the affections of others are pushed aside like a cold Brussels sprout if I am near. Recently, his wishes to spend time with his mommy have evolved into unbridled jealousy of anyone else who holds my attention.

Yesterday, I witnessed the proverbial green-eyed monster transform my sweet-tempered toddler into an enraged, purple-faced vigilante swinging his fists at a perceived injustice. His target was none other than his big sister, Pumpkindoodle. My four-year-old daughter was guilty of standing in front of me while I brushed her straight blond hair. At that moment, Pickle saw his greatest fan as his worst enemy…she stood between him and his mommy and if it took brute force to remedy the situation by golly he was prepared.

Jealousy. I wonder why the color of life, calm, and emeralds was also assigned to such an ugly, resentful, and often ill-will bearing emotion. It is neither life-giving nor soothing in nature, yet it has existed in the hearts of humans since our genesis.

Many years have passed since I have experienced the type of coveting that would allow another to experience hurt in order for the attainment of my desire. Even so, I’m not exempt from feelings of envy. Only instead of harboring anger toward another, the type of jealousy that creeps into my life breeds discontentment.

Jealousy is often rooted in insecurity (which, by the way is rooted in pride) and for me there are three areas in which I feel most vulnerable: My talent, my intelligence, and my appearance.

There have been times that I’ve written stories that received various accolades, only to feel disheartened moments later when reading beautiful words transcribed by someone else. Instead of being inspired, I put on that ugly shade of green. I won’t think ugly thoughts about the author whose style I may covet, but I will belittle myself. Discontentment settles in and I think, “I’m just a mom who dabbles in writing. I’m not a writer. I’m not even sure why I pretend to be one.”

I’ve mentioned before about my love of word games. I can play a word game on line and earn a fantastic score, but as long as there are others ahead of me, discontentment settles in. Again, I’ll don that ugly shade of green and think, “I’m only mediocre. I wonder if I should even continue home schooling, I’m just not smart.”

Until recently, I’ve been identified as the “cute little blond.” I slipped back into my size 4 suits six weeks after my daughter was born. Being thin was part of my identity. While I am not obese, I am considered slightly over-weight and that thrusts me out of the cute and little category. I don’t like it. And when I am around women who do fit into that category, discontentment settles in and once again I drape that horrid shade of green around myself. Do I wish my friends would gain 20 pounds so I will feel better about myself? No. And that’s the truth. But I do wish I were 20 pounds lighter and I think, “I’ll never be pretty again. I turned into an old frump and I’m five years away of 40.”

Yep. That’s one ugly shade of green that I need to ditch. I’ll keep you posted on how I’m doing with it, because as you now know, this is an on-going struggle. It’s a struggle that will require my focus shift from my imperfect self to my perfect Savior.

Anger is cruel and fury overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy?

Proverbs 27-4 NIV

(Many who follow this blog know that I’ve mentioned working on a piece about jealousy several weeks ago. As I developed my thoughts, something was missing…I just couldn’t get the article to gel. Then yesterday, during a sermon by our new pastor about being content in all circumstances, I realized the missing link...discontentment. In fact, I have at least one follow-up piece already in the works.)

Instinct

(This piece was inspired by two spiders and a Yorkshire Terrier named Rosebud.)

A few weeks ago a large brown spider

stood militantly still on my dinning room floor. While I’ve been known to capture arachnids and re

lease them outdoors to hunt what I consider the greater evil…mosquitoes…I felt threatened by this formidable

looking bug and took action.

Certain that she was a Brown Recluse; I shakily summoned the professor to squash the Charlotte-Wanna-Be and take her to the university’s etymology lab to confirm my suspicion.

Turns out that I am well-versed in paranoia, but my skills in the arena of insect identification are lacking. The spider found in my home was a non-poisonous common house spider. After being assured that I’d probably have a greater chance of being struck by lightning than I would being attacked by a Brown Recluse in my own home, I let down my guard.

A few days later, I found a smaller spider crawling into my purse. I took pity on the little fellow and used a business card to redirect him outdoors. Mistaking my generosity for malice, the spider prepared for attack. He raised four of his legs upward and bared his fangs. It made no matter that he had little chance of defeating his perceived nemesis, his instinct told him to fight. Fortunately, for both of us, he didn’t get the chance and quickly adapted to life on my rosebush.

There are times when I am like that spider. If I feel threatened, I react. Sometimes, this is a good thing. I’ve learned to trust my gut instinct where matters of life or limb are concerned. I truly believe that these instincts are a gift given by our creator. If I’m walking to my car alone during the night, my pace is brisk, my keys are in position to stab, and I mentally review tactics of self-defense. I’m not a big gal, but I assure you, there’s fight in me.

However, there are also unwarranted times when my defensive instincts kick in. Instincts that have been collected by life experiences. Typically, I have two defense mechanisms that thrust into action when I feel like I have been or will be attacked. Ironically, the two are at opposite ends of the verbal combat zones. I either launch into a sarcastic tirade or cower.

It’s almost comical that the very same emotions that can trigger me to remark snidely to someone who has made an honest mistake, can also lead me to apologize for simply being.

As I strive to become more like Christ, I realize that neither of those reactions are a part of his character. Yes, I do think Christ had a bit of a sarcastic streak he used for rebuke, but it was different than what comes from my lips. And, my savior was certainly not a wimp when he walked the ancient dusty roads of the Middle East. He knew his rightful place in his Father’s kingdom.

In a gray shaded world, there exist many choices of response. I’m learning that remembering my place in my father’s kingdom, which was a gift of grace, enables me to release my grip on defensive strategies. Instead, I want to react as how God desires for me to react…that regardless the situation I will conduct myself as the daughter of a magnificent King and not as a frightened house spider.

Turn your ear and hear the words of the wise, and open your mind to what they teach. For it will be pleasing if you keep them in your heart, so they may be ready on your lips. I have taught you today, even you, so that your trust may be in the Lord. (Proverbs 22:17-19 NLV)