The stress of the unknown weighted me anxious. I had an opportunity to pursue...a decision to make. A stirring deep within concocted a desire to explore. I didn't know why, but I knew that I must.
I knew that good would come from the exploration. Earth-shattering change was not eminent. Altering my life was not required; but inspection, scrutiny and analysis of situation and self demanded action. Yet, I froze...suspended in a nebula of confusion and fear.
Questions that I did not want to answer hovered. Undesirable scenarios loomed. A visual of potential hurt feelings flashed in my mind's eye. Threats of failure danced around me. Doubts circled and sang what-if?
I locked eyes with a Godly friend and whined
"I need someone to make this decision for me. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
"Explore it," she decided...quickly.
"I was hoping for a different answer," I sighed.
Then, she offered instruction. "Take fear out of the equation. Now, what do you want to do?"
I smiled. "I want to see what this is really about."
She returned my smile with one of her own, "Then, that's what you do."
So I explored. And I learned. And I grew.
In its unhealthy form, fear is, at best, an obstacle...at worst, it is an agent of paralysis and atrophy. When removed from the equation, fear is left without power and the right choice rises to the surface.
He ran ferociously: elbows bent, fists clenched, feet flying and Batman cape flapping. Just inches from catching up to his big sister, a crack in the uneven sidewalk knocked him to the ground.
His jeans tore and his breath left him until his scream found voice and filled the air.
My knees were on the ground a mere second after his fall. He hoisted his body into my lap and open arms. Then, he wailed a solitary demand:
"Feel me better! Please, please feel me better, right now!"
I had not one item in my purse to help him...not a time machine, band aid, ointment or even a tissue. So I held him tight, wiped away the tears that trickled down his plastic mask and whispered that everything was going to be O.K.
His pleas continued. "It hurts...please do something to feel me better."
I reached into my mind's files of "Useful Mommy Tools" and pulled out numerous kisses that I applied to his quivering chin, muddy palms and bloodied knee.
He sniffed, gulped air, sighed and exclaimed, "You did it mommy! You feeled me better! - But, I don't want to run anymore, I just want to walk beside you."
Then, with his hand in mine we walked slowly home. My boy felt better. He also felt safe.
As I held my little man (who will be four next month), I remembered so many of my past falls... so many wounds that stole my breath and pinned me to the earth. I remembered the times that I pleaded for God to take the pain away and make me feel better.
I remembered the times when the pain remained...even grew despite my begging. But I also remembered being held close in the arms of God. I remembered the balm of His comforting truth and steadfast love bringing solace to my stinging, scraped spirit.
And, I remember those times of healing...of gingerly walking forward while clenching His hand; feeling safe...feeling loved...feeling better. "All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. For the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ." - 2nd Corinthians 1:3-5 - NLT
The top of his head does not reach the kitchen sink, but he has a good arm and is determined to put his dirty dishes where they belong. As I watched him heave his hard plastic bowl into the sink, I saw the impending disaster, but did not have enough time to stop it.
Crash!
The bowl chiseled a crescent shaped chunk off of the glass during the instant of contact.
Clink.
The crescent of glass snapped backward hitting what remained of its broken form causing yet another break, which then resulted in several hairline cracks. As I removed the shards of glass from my sink I thought about the sight I witnessed and what humans have in common with the broken object.
I remembered times in my life when an outside force took a piece of me clean off. I'm not writing about broken bones or torn flesh...emotional breaks is the pain to which I infer.
Hurled insults.Crash!
Failed attempts. Crash!
Unrequited love.Crash!
Promises pulverized.Crash!
Honesty hidden.Crash!
Trust snapped.Crash!
Security betrayed.Crash!
When a person suffers a break in her spirit or heart, the jagged edges left from the initial blow often become agents of additional damage. It is human nature to want to either fight back or build a protective covering to decrease the chance of subsequent attacks. Sometimes both. And sometimes....most times, these instinctual human reactions cut deeper than what was first dealt.
Lies believed.Clink.
Revenge plotted.Clink.
As I look back on my life experiences two feelings overflow from the container that was once broken: Compassion. Gratitude. Compassion for broken.Compassion toward those whose wounds were self inflicted. Compassion for those whose jagged edges are causing hurt to others. Not excuses. Not a free pass. Not an endorsement. Not inaction. But compassion.
Gratitude to the One who heals. To the One who seeks to restore the shattered. Gratitude to a loving and just God who is the only one with enough power to repair the damaged vessel. Gratitude to Jesus who allowed the outside world to break Him but did not allow those breaks to undermine His power, love, and authority. Gratitude to He who smooths the ugly jagged edges into beauty.
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit.” Psalm 147: 3-5 NIV
The H1N1 virus ( aka swine flu...or better yet as my sweet Pumpkindoodle mispronounced it "slime flu") has hit my home.
I'm either immune or am surviving on extra doses of grace and adrenaline. It's a good thing because my husband, son and daughter are not fairing well...however, they are not showing scary signs of complications either and I pray that they will not.
Pumpkindoodle has been fighting high fever for more than 72 hours...Z-man and The Professor have been suffering for little more than 24 hours...
I am very grateful for things I normally take for granted...things like extra blankets, grocery stores, enough money to buy necessary food items, apple sauce, shelter, a community of friends, accessible doctors, modern medicine, crayons, Netflix and of course the intangibles. Intangibles like the gratitude in the eyes of my family members, extra cuddles and snuggles from my kids, and the realization of how very blessed I am to have the priviledge to serve those I most love when they are most in need.
I'm at (In) Courage today with a post to which I think many can relate. Here's a sneak peek:
This post is for the woman who walks silently into a crowded room and stands alone hoping that someone will notice her.
This post is for the woman who sits quietly with her lips curved into a polite smile as she listens to small talk, but seldom joins the conversation.
This post is for the woman who walks up to a group of co-workers or moms at a PTO meeting and suddenly feels as though she's been transported back to high school. Although the other women are courteous and do not ignore her presence or respond with icy stares, she still feels out of place.
This post is for the woman who feels intimidated by her polar opposite...the woman who smiles eagerly, jumps readily into conversations with strangers, makes new friends with ease, and seems capable of swapping recipes with a door knob.
(This post was published on March 19, 2008, so the mentioned events are not recent...my husband's back surgery happened nearly 2 years ago. Still, this has always been one of my favorite posts even though my weaknesses are accented. --My apologies to those of you who have read this more than once...I normally don't repost things more than once, but today, I needed to reread this one.)
Earlier this week, during a phone conversation with my soul sister Jaime, I giddily recounted several falling in love with The Professor stories. The backdrop for the tales was painted more than nine years ago. Colors representing excitement, adventure, love, passion, yearning, searching, and expectation splattered the canvass of our love story adding texture to the abstract illustration.
While enrolled in premarital counseling class a pastor shared a story about a young couple struck by tragedy only weeks after their “I do’s” were spoken. A car accident rendered the husband paralyzed from waist to toe. The resolve of the young wife to honor and love the man she married never wavered. She nurtured him without complaint and worked both inside and outside their home. The pastor smiled as he announced that the couple would soon be celebrating 35 years of marriage and that the husband tirelessly bestowed praise on the wife of his youth who was a living example of platinum strength agape love. After hearing that touching tribute I thought “I will be that wife.”
Fast-forward nine years. I am not that wife. Boy those are tough words to type.
Tears swamped my jaded eyes only 12 hours after Jaime and I talked. My tears were not watery symbols of anger or displeasure with The Professor. Instead they were tears of self disappointment and failure. Three weeks ago the professor underwent extensive back surgery. The healing process crawls forward at a leisurely pace and although physical nerves are repaired emotional ones are, at best, frayed. I’m not that wife.
My exhaustion gets the best of me and ignoring James 5:9 I sometimes grumble. Sometimes I search for accolades. Sometimes I pout. And to make it worse my grumbling, pouting, and self-praise digging are not kept private. I flaunt them in front of The Professor, because I’m not that wife.
I’ve been a resident in my own “Perfectionists Anonymous” rehab center long enough to know that this thought process can be the first falling domino in a long line of self destructive behavior. Lamenting that I am not that wife, who by the way happens to be a women whom I have never met, hinders me from being the wife that God intends me to be to my husband.
I’m blessed that a forgiving heart beats in the chest of my Professor because I’m not perfect. Nor will I be. I’m the wife who makes mistakes that surpass burning toast and losing car keys. I’m the wife who gets angry, tired, and lonely.
I am also the wife who learns, albeit slowly, from her mistakes. I am the wife with a repentant heart. A heart that yearns to love as Christ loves and to forgive as Christ forgave. I am the wife who knows that her marriage is worth fighting for even if it means pummeling her own selfishness. I am the wife who is humbled so that her Father can be glorified. I am the wife who keeps trying, the wife who is driven to her knees beseeching assistance from the Perfect One. I am the wife who knows that only Christ can give her that platinum strength agape love she desires to give to the man who taught her that love is a choice.
"Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity." Colossians 3:12-14, NIV.
I have been under-the-weather today and am just now getting to let you know that today is the day I debut at (in)courage. Those of you who have been hanging around here for a long time will recognize the post. And some fact have changed...my daughter is now 5 and my son is two. Guess what hasn't changed? Well, I never found that box of Cheerios and I still have questions.
Before you head on over there, I have one question for you. Are you having trouble commenting here? I ask only because about five people have contacted me to tell me that they can no longer comment on my blog. Odd...and I have no clue as to why, but I am looking into it.
Hope you all have a great weekend and please visit me here.
I did not notice the intricate web or its creator until I had driven a few blocks from my house. After spotting the spider grasping the home it wove on my side view mirror, I pushed down slightly harder on the accelerator with the intent of blowing away the insect and its sticky silk.
Upon stopping at a red light, I glanced over at the web expecting the spider to be long gone. But it wasn't. Some of the web had disappeared, but the eight-legged Anthropod remained. I sighed and thought for sure that he'd be a goner once I reached the highway.
At the next red light I stole another peek. The spider remained. And he was there at the following light as well, somewhat frantic and urgent in his weaving, but he held on.
It was at that third light that my attitude toward the creepy bug changed. I began rooting for the spider and wishing that he would make it until I pulled into the grocery store parking lot. I wanted the spider to hold firm. I wanted him to survive, and I wanted to see him place his spindly legs on safer ground.
I wanted that for him because I had been there...to that place of barely hanging on. I am not there now, but the memories are not dull either. Circumstances of life have at times left me feeling as though there were just a few fragile strings standing between me and emotional and spiritual desolation.
Windblown. Disorientated. Battered. Frightened. Counted out. Unwanted. But not about to give up.
I have been there.
When I parked my car, I found a stick that enabled me to transfer the spider to the bark of a tree. And for probably the last time in my life, I related to a spider.
Because, I have been there too...at that place of second chances.
Resting in the nook of peace. Embracing hope. Dancing in the light of restoration. Delighting in the rescue.
"Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds."
Today, I'm just going to talk to you. I'm not going to get out my thesaurus, I'm not going to spend hours searching for the best adjectives, alliteration and phrasing....I'm just going to type with my fingers the words that are circulating in my mind almost in the fashion of a face-to-face conversation, albeit a one-sided conversation.
When I started Becoming Me about 18-months-ago I implemented a few self-imposed rules.
Rule # 1 - It would consist mostly of devotional posts
Rule #2 - Only serious and well written material would be published
Rule #3 - Each post, even the non devotional ones would include a Scripture verse.
Rule #4 - I would not obsess about growing my readership
Rule #5 - My posts would showcase my imperfections and be honest, sometimes even raw, so that whoever stopped by to read would know that through Christ there is hope for all human weaknesses and struggles.
Rule #6 - I would personally respond to every comment left on my blog
Rule #7 - I would update my blog regularly as well as visit and comment on other blogs often.
There were other rules too. Some I kept, some I modified, and others I threw out. But when began this journey I felt that I needed hard and fast guidelines. I tend to live my life that way. I like rules, they make me feel safe. And I like to follow rules, because doing so makes me feel as if I'm a good person and pleasing to others. If there was a course called "People Pleasing 101" not only could I teach it, but I would have a special segment about rules.
In an early post I labeled my self a "recovering perfectionist and people pleaser." Extreme rule making and following can certainly be a symptom of such. And there is another to this...one that does not seem to fit.
When I become overwhelmed by to-do lists, projects, rules, and such, I tend to shut down and let it all slide away. I've done that with Becoming Me recently.
When I found out that we would have to move once again (our 7th major move in 10 years), I became weary. Not only were we having to move, we were having to move because my husband's job had been discontinued. (I think that's what is called a "double whammy"). And let's make it a triple whammy...he was having a difficult time securing a new job. Even though I honestly was not fretting about the situation because I knew with all my heart that God would make it good in time, I was annoyed with the situation. Moving yearly can be taxing both physically and emotionally. The thought of packing boxes, leaving friends, driving across country, unpacking boxes, making new friends, etc. invoked frustration. No, that's too mild...it made me angry. Really angry. Not with God. Not with my husband, but with life, with the situation.
Although writing has always packed therapeutic value, I had trouble thinking, writing, even praying. I felt overloaded. I'm still feeling a wee bit overloaded.
I'm not weeping. I'm not feeling depressed. I'm not even enraged. I'm just tired and mildly drained.
The good news is that my husband has found another job. We will be moving again...this time to a small town in Ohio. And the move will be soon. The Professor accepted the job offer on Monday, drove to Ohio on Tuesday to find a place to live, signed a lease on Wednesday, and then returned home last night. And guess what? We're moving in two weeks!
I promise you, I'm not complaining...I'm actually quite excited about the move...mildly daunted, but mostly excited. I know that we are not moving alone and that this is just a new chapter in the story God is writing for us. That does make my heart joyful.
I'm not going to give up on writing. But I am going to ease up on some of my self made rules...I may not post something new for another few weeks or even months...or I may be inspired and write something new tomorrow. But that's OK.
(I do promise to reinstate Blog of the Week sometime in the Fall)
(Today I welcome the lovely Dee-Dee Warren from the blog, DeeDee's: I Have no Greater Joy. Her post below is an excellent example of how a little bit of sin can add up to a whole lot of ugly.)
Pressure Washing
My husband and son have recently pressured-washed our home. It is a white vinyl house with green shudders. Because of the water-restrictions in our city for the last year and half (or so), and because we needed to clean it before the restrictions, the white house was GREEN. I forgot to take pictures. That probably is a good thing. I do not think I really would want proof of how bad it looked.
But can I just tell you how good it looks now? Clean. White. Fresh. Washed.
So, how did they clean it? First, they used bleach. Lots of it. Then they used the pressure-washers to wash off all of the mold/mildew/green stuff. On one side of our house, it is actually three stories high. The son climbed that ladder. He is a trooper and has no fear. It was good that I was not home that day. I am not sure I could have watched him on that high ladder, OR the husband on the roof of the front porch washing the front of the house. They did such a good job. Bleach, high pressure with water, and lots of hard work. Wonderful results.
So, how does it get there? How does it get that bad? Negligence. Just a little bit at a time. Over an extended period of time. Not really noticeable for a while. And then all of a sudden – it is real bad. Really obvious.
Just like we are.
Little sins are usually not very noticeable. And then one day you see the results. How did it get this bad? Just a little “yes” that should have been a “no” – one at a time – over an extended period of time. All of a sudden it is a REAL problem.
Now, it (our sin) is easier to take care of on an on-going basis. But I am afraid that does not always happen. And if neglected – then it is time for a ‘pressure-washing’ of our own.
Apply the Word. Lots of it. Dive in and stay there till you have answers. Acknowledge the sin for what it is. Then allow the power of the Holy Spirit to help you cleanse the whole being.
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." (Ps 139:23-24)
"If we confess our sins, He is faithful to forgive our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (I John 1:9)
"Come now, and let us reason together, saith Jehovah: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. " (Isaiah 1:18)
Confession is good for the soul.
Cleansing is good. For the outside of a home. For the inside of the soul.
Fasten your seat belts, keep your hands inside the trolley car, and hang on tight. I am about to break a cardinal rule of blogging. If you are a reader of Leo Babuata's blog, Write to Done and filed to memory the Nov.12, 2008 blog post10 Mistakes That Could Be Killing Your Blog, you will note that I will be committing blog sin # 3: "Writing About Infrequent Posting."
In case you are wondering about the predecessor to menace #3, it is "Infrequent Posting."
Yep. Guilty as charged.
And while I do respect the advice from Leo Babuata (he's a fabulous professional writer/blogger and knows his stuff), I am choosing not to apply it to Becoming Me at this stage of the game. Why? Because in the growing world of blogging, I reside in the sprawling community of mommy bloggers. And, I think, rest, work, play, and pray in a smaller neighborhood within that mommy blogging community. And in this neighborhood, we know and care about one another.
If my real life neighbor went missing for several weeks, I would feel concern. And then if she reappeared and seemed a bit different than her usual chipper self, my apprehensions may rise.
So what has been keeping me from blogging? Several factors, but please know I am not closing down this blog.
1) Some Personal Chaos: Nothing terribly traumatic in the long scheme of life, but enough to keep me busy. Due to budget cuts, The Professor's job contract has not been renewed. This means we will be moving again (our fifth major move in a five-year period).
To where will we be moving you ask? We have no clue. But God does, and that is a beautiful and bankable truth. At this point, The Professor is on the job market looking for either another college level teaching position or a job in the field of political science.
I will also be going back on the job market and have taken on a few freelance projects. Revamping my resume, job searching, and freelance work has required time that I previously devoted to writing blog posts.
2) Technical Issues: I have been plagued with various technical difficulties from blog posts to Internet connections. Not fun.
3) Too Many Commitments: I'll keep this one simple. I say yes more than I say no.
4) Brain Fizzle: I bet you didn't know that Brain Fizzle is a technical term. OK, it's not. But I have a definition for it anyway.
Brain Fizzle is a cousin of Writer's Block. Unlike its cousin, Brain Fizzle victims easily find topic ideas and the words necessary to discuss them. However, those with brain fizzle think of so many items at one time that the ideas stop bubbling and fizzle out.
Those are my dilemmas. But like I wrote above, I'm not planning to bow out of blogging. I will post when I can. I also have some great guest posts coming up for you next week.
(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."
Please accept my sincere words of gratitude for your act of kindness toward the almost cartoonish woman who stood ahead of you in line one day last week. She will be referred to hence forth as Crazy Lady. I know that I voice the opinion of the cashier, as well as dozens of patrons when I write that without you handing that disheveled and frantic lady the 58 cents she was digging in her purse to find...the chaotic scene may have gotten uglier.
Many people were irritated with this strange woman wearing a clenched plastic smile long before she got in line with her screaming toddler. I noticed that a middle-age woman with red hair and rimless glasses huffed loudly when the aforementioned toddler managed to wrap his pudgy little fingers around a few plastic cups...sending them rolling down aisle six.
A tall young woman examining coffee pots with her fiance whispered, "yeah, like what that kid needs is sugar," upon noticing that Crazy Lady plopped a Hershey's Kiss into the wide open mouth of the rankled tot...a feeble attempt to secure temporary peace.
And did you see her accidentally ram carts with an elderly gentlemen just as he picked up a large container of laundry detergent? The poor man lost his balance, but fortunately remained on his feet. At least the Crazy Lady offered the fellow a heartfelt apology before darting toward the checkout lanes and muttering something about the ineffectiveness of the caffeinated/decaffeinated coffee blend she drank for breakfast.
With the above-referenced facts in mind, I felt no surprise when Crazy Lady unraveled, like a ball of yawn in the paws of a feisty kitten, when she discovered she had forgotten her wallet. She handed a Target gift card to the young man wearing the red vest and stuttered, "Oh my goodness...I am so sorry...uh...ummm...I...uh..forgot my wallet....I'm sure I have the change you need somewhere in my purse."
The cashier rolled his eyes and fellow Target patrons sighed and shifted their weight from foot to foot while waiting for Crazy Lady to find two quarters, a nickel, and three pennies...their collective level of patience only slighter greater than that belonging to the wailing little boy sitting in Crazy Lady's shopping cart.
Finally, Crazy Lady surrendered. One could obviously tell that this woman was hanging on by only a proverbial frayed thread. She lifted up her hands and with tears welled up in her eyes stammered, "Look, I'm so sorry, but I can only find two dimes....just take something back..I don't care what you take back....just pick something and take it back. I'm sorry...I'm so so so so sorry."
And that is when you, Sweet Target Customer, came to the aid of Crazy Lady, the frazzled clerk, the squalling toddler, and everyone standing in lane twelve at precisely 10:53 a.m. on that one blustery morning when Murphy and his crooked law triumphed.
"It's O.K. ma'am," you said in a gentle voice while handing change to the cashier. "It is impossible to think or find anything when you have a cranky baby. I've been there...I've had three of them."
Crazy Lady thanked you, kissed her toddler, grabbed the plastic bag containing her purchase, and left the store. Everyone was relieved...all because you demonstrated kindness to a screwy stranger. I hope that I remember and mimic your merciful spirit should I ever find myself in a similar situation as you did.
With both appreciation and admiration,
Crazy Lady Ephesians 4:31-34 (New Living Translation)
Get rid of all bitterness, rage, anger, harsh words, and slander, as well as all types of evil behavior. Instead, be kind to each other, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God through Christ has forgiven you.
A fender bender between a white Ford Explorer and a tan Honda Accord turned a three minute drive to Pumpkindoodle’s preschool into a 20 minute anxiety laden excursion. I was going to be very late picking up my daughter and I worried that she was feeling sad and scared as she waited for me.With hurried strides I entered the classroom to find my four-year-old sitting alone at her table. She was wearing her pink coat with a matching hat; her princess themed back pack was resting over her slumped shoulders. When I called out her name, her little head popped up and reminded me of a gopher emerging from its tunnel.
“Mommy,” she exclaimed!
Reaching out for my embrace, she turned her head slightly toward her teacher and confidently said, “I just knowed my mommy would never leave me.”
Do you hold such confidence in your heavenly Father? Do you know that He’ll never leave you? I ask because deep down in my soul, I didn’t always believe this truth….parts of it, yes, but the whole truth…no.
I believed that God, the creator of the universe, was always present in His creation. And, I believed that if I were oppressed, victimized, or sick, He would be with me in those dark hours.
What I had trouble believing is that God would stay by my side during the times I failed. When circumstances were tough, promises broken, and insults hurled, I found my strength in knowing that I was a child of God and that He would not forsake me. Yet, when I was the promise-breaker, insulter, liar, and the selfish hoarder, I felt not only shame and sorrow for my actions, I felt alone. And that perceived desolation, which was stationed on a lie and wrapped with guilt, often kept me from crying out to my Savior.
The portion of truth that seeped into my heart after years of resting on the surface is that with God, never means never. Scripture does not read, He will never leave you or forsake you unless you take the Lord’s name in vain, or unless you commit adultery, or unless you covet your neighbor’s house.”
Yes, my actions have consequences. No, just as He was not always pleased with the decisions made by King David, He’s not always pleased with my choices. He knows I’ve made some bad ones. But still, He never leaves me alone…He never longs for me to self destruct. Instead, He hears my cry and rushes by my side …arms wide open.
Psalm 9:9-10 (New International Version-Emphasis, Mine)
“The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Those who know your name will trust in you, for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you.”
Deuteronomy 31:6 (New International Version)
“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
1 John 1:9 (New International Version)
If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.
(Today, as I was mulling this post in my mind, and driving to pick up my daughter from school (no, I wasn’t late today), I heard this song on the radio. It’s called By Your Side from Tenth Avenue North. The words fit perfectly with this post and I wanted to share them with you.)
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.
While away, I read this beautiful excerpt from the Max Lucado book, When God Whispers Your Name. It's titled The Choice, and it eloquently states how we can choose exhibit the fruits of the spirit.
The Choice - Max Lucado
It's quiet. It's early. My coffee is hot. The sky is still black. The world is asleep. The day is coming. In a few moments the day will arrive. It will roar down the track with the rising of the sun. The stillness of the dawn will be exchanged for the noise of the day. The calm of solitude will be replaced by the pounding pace of the human race. The refuge of the early morning will be invaded by decisions to be made and deadlines to be met. For the next twelve hours I will be exposed to the day's demands. It is now that I must make a choice. Because of Calvary, I am free to choose.
I choose Love.... No occasion justifies hatred; no injustice warrants bitterness. I choose love. Today I will love God and what God loves.
I choose Joy.... I will invite my God to be the God of circumstance. I will refuse the temptation to be cynical...the tool of the lazy thinker. I will refuse to see people as anything less than human beings, created by God. I will refuse to see any problem as anything less than an opportunity to see God.
I choose Peace.... I will live forgiven. I will forgive so that I may live.
I choose Patience.... I will overlook the inconvenience of the world. Instead of cursing the one that takes my place, I will invite him to do so. Rather than complain that the wait is too long, I will thank God for the moment to pray. Instead of clinching my fist at new assignments, I will face them with joy and courage.
I choose Kindness.... I will be kind to the poor, for they are alone. Kind to the rich, for they are afraid. And kind to the unkind, for such is how God has treated me.
I choose Goodness.... I will go without a dollar before I take a dishonest one. I will be overlooked before I will boast. I will confess before I accuse. I choose goodness.
I choose Faithfulness.... Today I will keep my promises. My debtors will not regret their trust. My associates will not question my word. My wife will not question my love. And my children will never fear that their father will not come home.
I choose Gentleness.... Nothing is won by force. I choose to be gentle. If I raise my voice, may it only be in praise. If I clench my fist, may it only be in prayer. If I make a demand, may it only be on myself.
I choose Self-Control.... I am a spiritual being. After this body is dead, my spirit will soar. I refuse to let what will rot, rule the eternal. I choose self-control. I will be drunk only by joy. I will be impassioned only by my Faith. I will be influenced only by God. I will be taught only by Christ. I choose self-control.
Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Control. To these I commit my day. If I succeed, I will give thanks. If I fail, I will seek His grace. And then, when this day is done, I will place my head on my pillow and rest.
Last week, I had started writing some spiritual goals for myself based on 1 Cor. 13:4-8 and shared five of these goals in this post. The day after that post, I had a meltdown of sorts...basically I unraveled into a puddle of depression...you can read that lovely (nearly incoherent) post here.
All week I have wondered how to write a post with the rest of my goals and I even considered just axing the idea. But today during our worship service these words written in 2 Corinthians penetrated my heart and permitted hope to permeate my weary soul and provide refreshment.
2 Corinthians 12:7-10 - NIV (emphasis mine)
To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
I am not comparing myself to the apostle Paul except to say that I too have an issue, a thorn in my flesh. In fact, I have several issues that I have begged God to take from me. And while I have great faith that He will one day restore me, I do not think I will see that day come here on this earth. But at the same time, I'm not left in despair.
To continue with Paul's vernacular, the three thorns that stick deep inside my tissue and rub against bone are fear, pride, and selfishness. And, as you know, those three aliments can cause infection and breed a series of diseases to eat away ones spirit. Yet that is the beauty of the verse above.
Left to my own vices I would remain a miserable creature. Continuously, I fail, but His love is infallible. As I cling to the hem of Jesus' robe, sobbing and unable to stand, He helps me to my feet. He wipes my tears, casts away the thoughts that frighten me, steadies my balance, and feeds me truth. It is then and only then when I am strong.
Just a quick note to thank all of you who have taken the time to pray for me and leave encouraging comments. My spirit was lifted tremendously during the past two days.
God is so good. Always.
It truly makes my heart sad knowing that so many in the world think the body of Christ to be malicious, hard-hearted, and self-righteous because of the reputation of a few who live on the fringe. Reality is that there is so much love in the hearts of those who truly love and follow Jesus. It's a love put there by Christ alone...and a love I've felt many times...especially this week.
I think out of the 50 plus comments my "Derailed and Weary" post received, only 5 were from friends I have actually had the privilege of meeting face to face.
The old saying is that "blood is thicker than water." Traditionally, it means that the bonds we have with our family members are stronger than we could ever have with others who do not share our DNA. I interpret that saying a little differently. To me it includes my brothers and sisters in Christ...because it is the blood of Jesus that covers us and weaves us together; and there is nothing thicker...stronger...more powerful than the blood of our Savior.
Again, thank you. I will write more when I'm not quite so exhausted (for those of you who suggested that my Thyroid issues and some depression from moving may be at the root of my recent state of melancholy...you are correct).
I have had some very precious quiet times with God this week and have been immeasurably blessed by some new friends as well as all of you...so please believe me when I say I am well...just very, very tired.
Today it’s difficult for me to write. Hard lumps of air remain painfully lodged in my throat. Silky tears leak from my eyes and slide down my cheeks…a few drip on my wrists and key board. Yet, I feel I must write…I must for some reason record my pain.
I’m suppose to write the rest of my love goals mentioned in the post below, but I have already failed with the first set of five. I know God does not make mistakes, yet I flip through pages of memories stored in the archives of my mind that reveal my mistakes and I beg to understand why He gave me the blessing of a husband and children I do not deserve. I know I must rest my hope in His Sovereignty…but still…I hurt.
I’m not just writing about mistakes made months and years ago, but the ones made minutes ago. If I were working a 9-5 job and today was my annual performance evaluation, I’d be packing my office belongings into a cardboard box and leaving without any positive references…blacklisted…labeled as being of no good use to the profession.
When The Professor left for work a look of defeat shadowed his face. Clutter is everywhere. If I could neatly stack our dirty laundry if would extend floor to ceiling. Dirty dishes align the sticky kitchen counter tops. My bed is unmade and I desperately yearn to crawl back into it and hide under my covers.
I’m repeatedly told that these are they days I will beg to return…that I’ll one day want my children to be small again…and that I should cherish these moments. To be brutally honest…that’s a bit much for me to swallow right now. Today is a day of demands, frustrations, meltdowns and failures. Yes, I know that one day when they are grown I’ll long for them to be little again…to hold them close and to once again gaze into their soft eyes…but reliving this day and moments like it?
Honestly, can anyone who has made it through the fires of mothering tell me that they welcome back a day of temper tantrums and ungrateful responses? I just cannot imagine that. And the fact that I sometimes wish these moments away make the tears flow harder, because I know I'm selfish.
So please forgive me for not being uplifting today and for not completing my goals. I am not giving up and will write them today or tomorrow and I will stick with this exercise. I know that the war raging within has already been won for me, but I am weary of this particular battle. I am weary of me.
Excuse me as I lay down my broken soul at the feet of Jesus and cry out for His healing. I ache, but not without hope, because I know He will answer.
Psalm 119:27-29 (New Living Translation)
Help me understand the meaning of your commandments, and I will meditate on your wonderful deeds. I weep with sorrow; encourage me by your word. Keep me from lying to myself; give me the privilege of knowing your instructions
