This post will resemble the term "vague booking". Like when someone posts on Facebook "blood runs thicker than water but I guess not this time". Or "this is it I've had it" and you're thinking what is going on with Susie? Goodness knows she is such a drama queen. How do I block people's posts again? Seriously. Save the drama for your mama. (I *might* have more patience for these things. Unless I never see them to begin with because that individual is already blocked...)
Well the beauty of God is that you can struggle with anything and find him in the midst of it. I like to vague book on this blog because no one wants to know everything. (I might have alarmed a few of you with my last post and I'm sorry. I was highlighting all my diagnostic adventures spread over the course of three years. I am fine and healthy.) And, you can take Gods goodness and lessons and his character from any lesson you encounter. And by lessons I refer to mistakes, problems, and joyful situations. Life's a classroom you are the student. Now that's the biggest part to truly living I believe.
So I'm at this rub spot right now. It hurts like a classic chaffing situation. Think tender like inner thigh chaff from pants too tight. (If you can't identify then you might as well conjure up another painful rub situation cause I'm out of ideas, k?) Or wait, I have one. Remember the rafts we used at the beach as kids? Riding waves and that painful elbow rub chaff we used to get. Ouch and sad it interfered with fun.
This is the rub: I'm wise enough to know Gods plan is best (most days). But I'm human and childlike enough to keep asking him to change it. I've been asking and just wondering if he wants the situation to get to a place where it's not gonna happen so that he shows up and wow, that's a miracle and only God could have been in that one. Amazing God. Take the impossible make it possible, change the situation and make this blog entry obsolete. I dare you, God. Do it. Amaze me with your goodness and bless the heck out of it.
Here's the problem with that thinking. First, he's already here. Just because things aren't working out to my specifications does not mean he is not here. It doesn't mean he doesn't care. He feels the rub. He knows it hurts. He knows I am looking to him and wondering. Lord, what is the plan?
But my life isn't cookie cutter. My problems are sometimes messy. Things don't always go the way I plan and I'm stuck looking at the problems and not the blessing. Truth be told God saves me from myself. From my own planning my own selfishness.
My husband's hometown used to have this boutique special gift store. You could buy a toothpick from that store and they'd wrap it for you. (It's the south. They also displayed brides wedding patterns for purchasing, or judging, or just for sheer curiousity's sake.) No kidding. They wrapped everything you bought and had these bows. These glorious looking bows they probably used a whole spool of curling ribbon on. Your gift might have been less than 5 bucks but it was wrapped like it was a million. (I should pause here to say I've learned a few things in my days. You can take any crap gift, wrap it up pretty and be good to go. You can curl your dirty hair to bypass washing it, and you can iron less expensive clothes and make them look more expensive. Or you can say something, even prayer requests, and as long as you begin with "bless her heart..." it sure isn't gossip. The above tips I contribute are product of my upbringing. You are most welcome. This is the south. Where image and appropriateness brush every social situation.)
It's almost like he takes the mess, boxes it up, and wraps this glorious bow around it. A bow so fabulous you look at and think. "Man. I want that gift please".
Like a white elephant at Christmas. Ever played that one? It's cute. You go shopping around your house and chose stuff left over from the last garage sell or terribly chosen gifts from someone. You wrap it up real pretty and pick numbers of choosing order.
It's cute until someone decides to go abduct your cat, wrap it up, and bring it to the white elephant. It's all pawing like let me out. You say, "I think that's Muffy's cry" as you sip your drink around the Christmas tree with friends. You unwrap Muffy. Take Muffy home and she runs away never to be seen again. Now that, that's a true story. Not sure the relationship status of the two people in the above situation but that's worst case white elephant. That'll get PETA called in for sure.
But this, this story is my white elephant. I have this beautiful mess wrapped up. It has this Jesus loving beauty bow wrapped tightly. God, what's in there?
I just don't know. But I know the byproduct of this mess all wrapped up. The byproduct is more of God. It's deeper relationships with my family. It's an inner peace knowing I am not in control and his way is best. It's seeing blessing, not lacking. It's a long for when he will make the wrongs right and our lives are mere breaths here on earth. That eternity lies further beyond and I don't take this struggle with me to the grave.
That the only important thing is God himself. And then I'm reminded of how childlike my faith really is. And how simple my problems become when God's giant flashlight shines on them and shows me the next path to take.
And I'm thankful for that bow. That glorious graceful bow that keeps me together.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
The Nestea Plunge
I was driving down the highway this week with my yuppie air
conditioning blowing in my hair, music pumping (I'm from Durham. Get it girl). “International
Love” comes in the radio and let me tell you Zumba is a dangerous sport. (Sport
yes. Because the amount of sweat it produces is uh-mazing. Sport level amazing.
Sorry Crossfit to lump you with Zumba. That's a no no I know. But seriously
Zumba is for real.) All of a
sudden you know what happens. I start all the moves I know. "I don't play
baseball but I hit a home run!" Arms this way and that. Oh oh oh oh.
International love. Uh huh. Risking my life driving while dancing for the awesome beat. Rocking it by myself.
Why the outburst of happiness, you ask? Well I've had this
issue and I am finally honing in on what the problem might be. I was on my way
sola to get a blood test (woo!) and an X-ray (double woo!). And my lovely
parents came to watch my children. On their anniversary. I was feeling loved
and taken are of. Grateful. When his happens, I can't hold back.
Well almost taken care of. You see I have this neighbor.
She was just a neighbor. Until I
found out she was a radiological technician. At the place near us. And the last
three years have had lots of testing. So, before my first ever test she
was there. I called her. I said, "I'm coming to see you today. Are you
working?" And guess what? I didn't even have to ask her to
hold my hand. She came anyway. But today she's out of town and no one knows me
here. (I'm in the waiting room right now with geriatric patients bless their
hearts, smiling at me trying to make conversation. Where are my ear buds that make me have
invisible powers?)
So when I needed my CT scan, she wasn't able to be in there but
she told all her friends I was coming. I felt at ease. With my clothes off on
the table and cold as an iceberg. Uncertainty looming as to what he heck God
was having me face next. Chatting it up with her working buddy. She already
knew me cause my friend had told her about me.
So then I had this test that stirrups should have been involved
with, but delightfully not provided. I had to hold my legs in the air.
Inner thigh workout I could never have duplicated. (Safe to say I do not have
exotic pole dancing in my future.) Well this friend, she knew how bad the
test was. She used her lunch break to come with me. Even brought me a power bar
so I didn’t get sick. This was the point where my neighbor became my friend.
Good friend. Where she held my leg while the doctor did his thing
clamping my girl part (rhymes with gervix) and reclamping it cause it fell off,
apologizing for that, and my leg just a shaking. (I am sorry if you are tightly
crossing your legs by now...)
I told everyone then and there not to be deceived. That I crossfitted
quite often and was a powerhouse. But that someone must have carried kryptonite or some kinda nonsense in to the test to make me have the shakes. I also told
everyone that I am sure they were delightful people in real life, but I wasn't
sure if I'd really choose to hang with them this way. Legs wide open with my
doctor at the end. Everyone laughed but you know they were glad it wasn’t
them. Friends you gotta laugh at these things...
So after my blood test I went to my Dirty D (affectionate name
for my hometown. People here aren’t so
much “dirty”) gas station eating my Oreos in line cause y'all I was
lightheaded. Telling the cashier I wasn't stealing them. Pointing to my bandage
saying that I had blood drawn. (Like a kid with a war story skinned knee. He
wasn't impressed. I also saw my fist pair of apple bottom jeans in line in
front of me. No boots with fur though. Then I decided I wanted some. Hubs-
Christmas idea)
And I worry sometimes about the future. What in the world will this world look like for our kids? What if/when "fill in the blank" happens. But my Friend, he's gone before me and is there already, waiting for me, waiting to usher us to the next place that's best for us.An he's told me that difficult things are going to happen. But he goes before me. He is sovereign. He is in control. He provides me with what I need when I need it. Sometimes it may seem like the last hour, but he's got me.
Like that fabulous 80's Nestea commercial, where the equally fabulous man in his tight jeans, loudly colored shirt, and fluffy hair falls back with a smile on his face into the water. And you're left wanting tea and a poolside excursion.
I'm falling back into his sea of grace. And you'd think I was frantically grasping to something around me to keep me from getting immersed. But that's not how Jesus works. I want to fall back. He and I, we're a team. He guides, I follow. And He makes sure to throw a laugh in there every now and then. Cause He knows I love to laugh. He's got me. Step by step. With him. Forever.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Blessings Come Through Raindrops
We got back from a week at the beach yesterday. We were all tired from sharing a very cozy very tiny house with my parents. Memories were made. The fact that we came home exhausted will fade. I will never forget seeing my husband, my dad, and my oldest play on the beach. I only regret not trying to skim board with my daughter. (I *think* like I'm 18 but have a thirty-something body. I guess it holds me back some:)
Well I was the only one up early this morning for another chapter in a three year saga of health things that have come up. I had a three (!) hour test this morning, in a room with no windows and wifi not working. (We do cell phones on the cheap. This is an important detail.) I blew kisses to my oldest as I left, sad mommy wasn't staying to cuddle watching tv, and made my trek to my delicious doctor. (Dr. "Pie". Boston Creme today, please.)
And I was driving and thinking, reflecting, and praying. Times alone are rare, and I use them well. I was remembering my dear friend saying to me, "I tell my daughters, if I die, don't you worry. This life isn't much. It's short. And we will spend eternity in heaven together. Don't worry." And I was thinking what faith that demonstrates to your daughters. I wondered if I had that kind of faith, but surely do want it.
I remember my littlest last night asking God to come out of her heart, through her mouth so she could see him. And I told her it's called faith, we never see God, but he's as real as he touches our hearts, stays in there, and starting a conversation with him is as easy as we talk. And I remember thinking how silly and ignorant that must sound to people who don't know him personally, who haven't experienced the realness of Jesus, felt him calm them with an overwhelming peace, love, life, joy, presence. And I reclaimed that truth, right there, standing in her bedroom. God is with us. Give us eyes to see.
Passing through the countryside, I was barely hanging on. (Perhaps I exaggerate here.) I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink since dinner the night before but more importantly I hadn't had my coffee. (Am I addicted? This must be the first question addicts ask themselves...) I was feeling a little down and wanting to still be in my comfy bed. Wanting God to take away all these issues so I could be normal again, whatever that looks like. Done with poking, prodding, testing the past three years. Then I reminded myself it isn't that serious, and I can adjust. Character building I like to call it.
During the test I caught up on my magazines I don't usually have time to read during the school year. A first year of homeschooling that has brought lots of togetherness, confidence, and a good 15 pounds. Like my freshman 15 in college. But then I remember it's more to shake when I dance and I'm happy again. (What an image. Sorry. Nod to my Zumba friends...)
I finished the test, practically ran out of the office in search of a quick coffee and something to eat. I was thankful I had a family to rush home to. A husband and two precious girls that altogether is a crazy lot and keeps me laughing, joyful, hopeful. I was reminded of how people struggle to have children, and how it is worth every bit of struggle. And how naive I was when we first became parents. How I had no idea my heart would grow to this size.
I found a deli family owned. Proud of their establishment, signs posted everywhere how it wasn't a franchise. It was the one and only and everything was homemade. (You had me at homemade.) I love the statement behind homemade items. Yes it takes more time, cleaning, and yet demonstrates tons of love. I got in the truck and came home. Passing the same elderly man faithfully working in his garden that I passed at 7:30am. Still working outside his humble house. Probably done that way for years and years.
Listening to the radio (positive, encouraging) I heard the following song play. The chorus really gets to me. Because everything we experience, small or large, is a blessing if it brings us to God. Today I choose to believe this and claim that God is behind everything.
We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we have faith to believe
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the achings of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise
Well I was the only one up early this morning for another chapter in a three year saga of health things that have come up. I had a three (!) hour test this morning, in a room with no windows and wifi not working. (We do cell phones on the cheap. This is an important detail.) I blew kisses to my oldest as I left, sad mommy wasn't staying to cuddle watching tv, and made my trek to my delicious doctor. (Dr. "Pie". Boston Creme today, please.)
And I was driving and thinking, reflecting, and praying. Times alone are rare, and I use them well. I was remembering my dear friend saying to me, "I tell my daughters, if I die, don't you worry. This life isn't much. It's short. And we will spend eternity in heaven together. Don't worry." And I was thinking what faith that demonstrates to your daughters. I wondered if I had that kind of faith, but surely do want it.
I remember my littlest last night asking God to come out of her heart, through her mouth so she could see him. And I told her it's called faith, we never see God, but he's as real as he touches our hearts, stays in there, and starting a conversation with him is as easy as we talk. And I remember thinking how silly and ignorant that must sound to people who don't know him personally, who haven't experienced the realness of Jesus, felt him calm them with an overwhelming peace, love, life, joy, presence. And I reclaimed that truth, right there, standing in her bedroom. God is with us. Give us eyes to see.
Passing through the countryside, I was barely hanging on. (Perhaps I exaggerate here.) I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink since dinner the night before but more importantly I hadn't had my coffee. (Am I addicted? This must be the first question addicts ask themselves...) I was feeling a little down and wanting to still be in my comfy bed. Wanting God to take away all these issues so I could be normal again, whatever that looks like. Done with poking, prodding, testing the past three years. Then I reminded myself it isn't that serious, and I can adjust. Character building I like to call it.
During the test I caught up on my magazines I don't usually have time to read during the school year. A first year of homeschooling that has brought lots of togetherness, confidence, and a good 15 pounds. Like my freshman 15 in college. But then I remember it's more to shake when I dance and I'm happy again. (What an image. Sorry. Nod to my Zumba friends...)
I finished the test, practically ran out of the office in search of a quick coffee and something to eat. I was thankful I had a family to rush home to. A husband and two precious girls that altogether is a crazy lot and keeps me laughing, joyful, hopeful. I was reminded of how people struggle to have children, and how it is worth every bit of struggle. And how naive I was when we first became parents. How I had no idea my heart would grow to this size.
I found a deli family owned. Proud of their establishment, signs posted everywhere how it wasn't a franchise. It was the one and only and everything was homemade. (You had me at homemade.) I love the statement behind homemade items. Yes it takes more time, cleaning, and yet demonstrates tons of love. I got in the truck and came home. Passing the same elderly man faithfully working in his garden that I passed at 7:30am. Still working outside his humble house. Probably done that way for years and years.
Listening to the radio (positive, encouraging) I heard the following song play. The chorus really gets to me. Because everything we experience, small or large, is a blessing if it brings us to God. Today I choose to believe this and claim that God is behind everything.
We pray for blessings
We pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering
All the while, You hear each spoken need
Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
We pray for wisdom
Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we have faith to believe
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
And what if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the achings of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Take a Picture
My morning today started early. We had a swim meet so up and at um girls we are outtie. We love swim meets. I love the community, excitement, and basically anything with a timer really is the bees knees in my opinion. (Race the machine...)
Being a Durhamite I always see someone I know from the past. But today was a great day. We chose to sit in the shade in the lawn. And because we are a part of Durham's biggest swim team, we all camped out together outside the gates since we were visitors. (That is the closest I will get my husband to camping. Surprised? Help me convince him it's a good idea. Please.)
It was made of small beautiful moments. Nothing substantial. But I looked around as I sat and waited. I took mental pictures. I saw a mom give her precious, adopted and dripping wet girl an Eskimo kiss as she got out of the pool and did her best. She then had thoughtfully packed healthy snacks and handed her one. (Let's not judge, but that definitely beat my Cheetos and sugar drink snack bar run. Cutting up fruit was not on my agenda this am.) Another mom carefully applied sunscreen to her child three times, squinting to make sure it was all rubbed in. An older woman beside me and I started up a conversation about Old Durham and people we knew. She was there to watch her grandson swim, and she kept checking during our talk to make sure she didn't miss anything.
I threw back my head in laughter at a friend telling me the story of the day she leaned to bop her kid in the head (with love) getting her to behave in swim practice. And then she summersaulted in with the team. The coach not seeing the fall acting all confused as how she got in there. My friend equally embarrassed. Her husband there to lift her out and she sat there sopping wet until they got home. My other college friend locked her keys in her car, we drove her home, and reminisced about a funny college story I might have to blog about later, involving one of our classmates who is with Jesus now, precious friend he was. Glad to have that extra time with her.
I chatted with my older daughter's homeschool enrichment teacher about our story, and we agreed it's important to do what's best for our kids whatever that looks like, public, private, or homeschool. Dads were there volunteering on their Saturdays off. One dad used his own watch to time his little girl. (I should add he did this behind the two timers already timing her.) I loved the look on his face when he realized she had a personal record. I saw another mom who volunteers had purchased a special bag in our team colors just because. I cheered on our neighbor who won her heat. I gave her mom a thumbs up afterwards and felt a little teary as I remembered her as a baby.
I overheard a dad say to my friend that her little girls reminded him of when his little girls were small. His kids are well past swim team age but he still volunteers since she's a coach now. How he missed those days.
And I'm sitting here, sore throat from cheering (screaming) for my little girl. My little swimmer who dove right in to swim team, never really swimming before, to a group of which she knew no one, and thriving. And I'm proud of her courage and strength. I'm proud of myself for pushing her and demonstrating nothing different than diving right in and doing it if you love it. Don't look around you just swim. And I'm proud I'm old enough to know that you can be proud of yourself as a mom, as long as credit is given to our Creator. We moms do good things. Claim it and press on.
And I'm looking back on my morning. My half day made of small moments. I saw care and compassion all around me. I saw mommies and daddies lined up to video and take pictures of their kids trying their dang best to swim from one end of the pool to the next. Sometimes watching them struggle across to the finish, out of breath with them. Congratulating the ones who finished way last place. But they finished. And they did their very best.
And I'm remembering that we are all in this race together. All these insignificant small moments really add up. All of these mamas and daddies and friends cheering for our children, really just wanting the best for them, in a world where it seems like things are falling apart sometimes. And where we leave the swim meet and we're all reminded that there are children and families in much worse places and we pray, and hope, Lord make it right. Use me to help.
And I'm thankful. Thankful for healthy children who run and swim and laugh and drive me to my knees. I'm loving having a voice to cheer on my kids, alongside other families doing the same.
I'm reminded some of us are faster, some are slower, but we all get there in the end. I just hope we're all taking pictures as we go.
Being a Durhamite I always see someone I know from the past. But today was a great day. We chose to sit in the shade in the lawn. And because we are a part of Durham's biggest swim team, we all camped out together outside the gates since we were visitors. (That is the closest I will get my husband to camping. Surprised? Help me convince him it's a good idea. Please.)
It was made of small beautiful moments. Nothing substantial. But I looked around as I sat and waited. I took mental pictures. I saw a mom give her precious, adopted and dripping wet girl an Eskimo kiss as she got out of the pool and did her best. She then had thoughtfully packed healthy snacks and handed her one. (Let's not judge, but that definitely beat my Cheetos and sugar drink snack bar run. Cutting up fruit was not on my agenda this am.) Another mom carefully applied sunscreen to her child three times, squinting to make sure it was all rubbed in. An older woman beside me and I started up a conversation about Old Durham and people we knew. She was there to watch her grandson swim, and she kept checking during our talk to make sure she didn't miss anything.
I threw back my head in laughter at a friend telling me the story of the day she leaned to bop her kid in the head (with love) getting her to behave in swim practice. And then she summersaulted in with the team. The coach not seeing the fall acting all confused as how she got in there. My friend equally embarrassed. Her husband there to lift her out and she sat there sopping wet until they got home. My other college friend locked her keys in her car, we drove her home, and reminisced about a funny college story I might have to blog about later, involving one of our classmates who is with Jesus now, precious friend he was. Glad to have that extra time with her.
I chatted with my older daughter's homeschool enrichment teacher about our story, and we agreed it's important to do what's best for our kids whatever that looks like, public, private, or homeschool. Dads were there volunteering on their Saturdays off. One dad used his own watch to time his little girl. (I should add he did this behind the two timers already timing her.) I loved the look on his face when he realized she had a personal record. I saw another mom who volunteers had purchased a special bag in our team colors just because. I cheered on our neighbor who won her heat. I gave her mom a thumbs up afterwards and felt a little teary as I remembered her as a baby.
I overheard a dad say to my friend that her little girls reminded him of when his little girls were small. His kids are well past swim team age but he still volunteers since she's a coach now. How he missed those days.
And I'm sitting here, sore throat from cheering (screaming) for my little girl. My little swimmer who dove right in to swim team, never really swimming before, to a group of which she knew no one, and thriving. And I'm proud of her courage and strength. I'm proud of myself for pushing her and demonstrating nothing different than diving right in and doing it if you love it. Don't look around you just swim. And I'm proud I'm old enough to know that you can be proud of yourself as a mom, as long as credit is given to our Creator. We moms do good things. Claim it and press on.
And I'm looking back on my morning. My half day made of small moments. I saw care and compassion all around me. I saw mommies and daddies lined up to video and take pictures of their kids trying their dang best to swim from one end of the pool to the next. Sometimes watching them struggle across to the finish, out of breath with them. Congratulating the ones who finished way last place. But they finished. And they did their very best.
And I'm remembering that we are all in this race together. All these insignificant small moments really add up. All of these mamas and daddies and friends cheering for our children, really just wanting the best for them, in a world where it seems like things are falling apart sometimes. And where we leave the swim meet and we're all reminded that there are children and families in much worse places and we pray, and hope, Lord make it right. Use me to help.
And I'm thankful. Thankful for healthy children who run and swim and laugh and drive me to my knees. I'm loving having a voice to cheer on my kids, alongside other families doing the same.
I'm reminded some of us are faster, some are slower, but we all get there in the end. I just hope we're all taking pictures as we go.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Identity Crisis
So I had to call my GI doctor today and it brought back a great memory of when we met. You see, he's an awesome doctor with an awesome name. What is it, you ask? Dr. Pai. (Read that "Pie".) My sister recommended him to me and I giggled. How fitting. So when he walked into the exam room and introduced himself, I told him his name was delicious. And then we talked about our favorite pies and Thanksgiving and his family. (I don't just visit doctors, it's a social event. Now some might be saying, "Poor homeschooling mama. She doesn't get out much." But the reality is I pride myself on talking to just about anyone. Especially weird ones. Those are super interesting.) My visit in a couple of weeks will be sure to help me digest my "pie" better. He's that good:)
My brother in law recommended I go to an eye doctor in town just in case we can't make it to see him in his office forever away. (They won't move. I already asked.) I called the number and guess what his name was? Dr Vizithum. (read "visit em"). I should have prepared myself before I called because I have this middle school girl tendency to giggle at silly things at the worst times. It can be so hard to be an adult for me sometimes. (As in, the preacher could be talking about someone dying but if he gets tounge-tied and says something naughty by accident, I might have to fake cough and leave the room. Sorry folks, it is what it is.) So on the phone I had to crack a stupid joke that overwhelmed me and made me cry. "I guess I'll be in to Vizithum next week." I couldn't contain myself. I hung up, my husband shaking his head, and me about to pee in my pants. Best part, it was still funny to me when I had to call back and reschedule. (My comment then, "I've gotta Vizithum another time and reschedule.") Still funny as I laugh and type right now.
Then there is a Dr. Wiener in the nearby area. Yep, he's a urologist. True story. He probably felt his calling early in his life to, yes, work with wieners. With a name like that its either x-rated work or urology. I'd pick urology, wouldn't you?
We had a friend in college with the last name "Beaver". No, he didn't go into gynecology, at least to my knowledge. Yeah. Disappointing to me too. I remember in med school when people asked him about the connection he'd say, "Dr. Beaver, at your cervix." Funny stuff indeed.
So I don't have an interesting name at all. But there is this guy in Sea Rescue (Saturday morning kid show, a favorite in this house). I tell my husband I want his name. I mean, our name is fine and all. But, his is "Sam Champion". Can you imagine walking around town as "Mrs. Champion"? Yeah. Me too and its a wonderful wonderful image. "Yes, well, I am a Champion and all. You can't change that fact." (insert snarky, yet trying to be humble, laugh) And your kids all walking around like "captain Americas" and all. For sure be whooping all the kids hineys in sports. Cause "we are the champion..." I think I'll keep my man (um forever) but Sam Champion, I covet your awesome name.
A couple of weeks ago I read a story about a homeschool mom named "Mona Lisa". She has sent every one of her kids to college by age 12. I kid you not. These guys are the real deal. I bought their e-book the other day (just out of curiosity cause y'all I hope my girls are still into American Girl overpriced crap at age 12.) I forgot I had bought it (shocker) and a strange charge came up with a phone number in my account. So, clearly, we called the number. One of their kids answered the phone (oh yeah, I realized the purchase) and said Mona Lisa and her husband were on a date. How cute. How the heck you find time to have that much sex and have all those babies, date your husband, and send your kids to college early, I have no clue. But, you can also buy a phone interview with them. So if I do this, I promise to blog and let y'all know how she does it. (And if we become friends with this family, expect the "sex" sentence to be deleted in 5,4,3,2,1 seconds...)
Can I be honest? ("Ok class, say, 'Yes Carla.'") And the following will probably show how selfish I am. Yeah, over it already. I usually meet people and as soon as they tell me their name I don't even try anymore. I don't even preface it with,"oh mommy brain I'll probably forget so you'll have to remind me again and again..." stupidity. I just say, "Nice to meet you." Not that they don't matter but I will remember their life story before their names. I am not a "Trivial Pursuit" kinda girl. I'm a "share your heart and soul outside of dance class and let's share for four straight weeks and make it too awkward to ask you your name at that point" so forever you will be "that dance class lady with the dysfunctional yet loving family who needs a glass of wine when they all get together" friend. Got that? I love people and need to work on this name thing.
We have new neighbors. A lot of them. All our old ones moved at once. Mass freakin exodus. (As far as I know it isn't us that stinks, just my crossfit pants.) So, I'm in a pickle. Because I still don't know the ones down the street who have been there for a few years. So, when it's like your NEXT door neighbor, you gotta put forth some effort. Well, my husband makes up cutesy sayings for them. I won't tell you in my blog, since I don't use names, but one is an international capital and the other an 80's rock band. He's amazing, that husband of mine. Thankfully he was listening when they introduced themselves. I was looking at what was in their boxes they were unpacking and didn't have time for that. (Who's really in that house beside us?? It's risky business...)
So this week I had four (count um- 4) opportunities to become unglued. (There were more, but I focus on these four, ok?) I told God he needed to stop already. They were themed (yeah God for making my issues "match") and all played upon this soft spot in my heart.
And while I got angry, I paused, but I filled that pause with anger and not God. Even a prayer of "Lord, I want to say _____. Please shut my mouth. Give me peace." That would have been appropriate. But I was angry. I had rules and they were broken.
But not everyone follows your rules. Not everyone cares if they hurt people. Sometimes, *gasp*, people want to "stir your pot" and watch and wait. What will you say? (I have most definitely met people who just can't tolerate peaceful existences. Almost like a game they need to keep some kind of drama going. I cannot feed their "addiction". Not happening. No time and energy for that.)
So I'm wondering in these moments, am I having an identity crisis? I know I'm not Mrs. Champion (tears shed), but I have the power of the Holy Spirit in and around me. He gives self control. And these moments I might have the propensity to become unglued, so to speak, is Sweet Jesus testing, trying, and recommitting His love for me. Carla, do you know who you are? At all times?
And then he tells me when I fail, "It's ok. You've learned. I went deep with you. I know it hurt. But, know who you are. I will remind you. You can choose a better way. You have a better way, paved through the blood of Jesus. You are redeemed."
I don't make any promises about always having it together. As God refines me and keeps me, I will encounter these moments. But, the pause button is there. And I've prayed for God to help me use it.
My brother in law recommended I go to an eye doctor in town just in case we can't make it to see him in his office forever away. (They won't move. I already asked.) I called the number and guess what his name was? Dr Vizithum. (read "visit em"). I should have prepared myself before I called because I have this middle school girl tendency to giggle at silly things at the worst times. It can be so hard to be an adult for me sometimes. (As in, the preacher could be talking about someone dying but if he gets tounge-tied and says something naughty by accident, I might have to fake cough and leave the room. Sorry folks, it is what it is.) So on the phone I had to crack a stupid joke that overwhelmed me and made me cry. "I guess I'll be in to Vizithum next week." I couldn't contain myself. I hung up, my husband shaking his head, and me about to pee in my pants. Best part, it was still funny to me when I had to call back and reschedule. (My comment then, "I've gotta Vizithum another time and reschedule.") Still funny as I laugh and type right now.
Then there is a Dr. Wiener in the nearby area. Yep, he's a urologist. True story. He probably felt his calling early in his life to, yes, work with wieners. With a name like that its either x-rated work or urology. I'd pick urology, wouldn't you?
We had a friend in college with the last name "Beaver". No, he didn't go into gynecology, at least to my knowledge. Yeah. Disappointing to me too. I remember in med school when people asked him about the connection he'd say, "Dr. Beaver, at your cervix." Funny stuff indeed.
So I don't have an interesting name at all. But there is this guy in Sea Rescue (Saturday morning kid show, a favorite in this house). I tell my husband I want his name. I mean, our name is fine and all. But, his is "Sam Champion". Can you imagine walking around town as "Mrs. Champion"? Yeah. Me too and its a wonderful wonderful image. "Yes, well, I am a Champion and all. You can't change that fact." (insert snarky, yet trying to be humble, laugh) And your kids all walking around like "captain Americas" and all. For sure be whooping all the kids hineys in sports. Cause "we are the champion..." I think I'll keep my man (um forever) but Sam Champion, I covet your awesome name.
A couple of weeks ago I read a story about a homeschool mom named "Mona Lisa". She has sent every one of her kids to college by age 12. I kid you not. These guys are the real deal. I bought their e-book the other day (just out of curiosity cause y'all I hope my girls are still into American Girl overpriced crap at age 12.) I forgot I had bought it (shocker) and a strange charge came up with a phone number in my account. So, clearly, we called the number. One of their kids answered the phone (oh yeah, I realized the purchase) and said Mona Lisa and her husband were on a date. How cute. How the heck you find time to have that much sex and have all those babies, date your husband, and send your kids to college early, I have no clue. But, you can also buy a phone interview with them. So if I do this, I promise to blog and let y'all know how she does it. (And if we become friends with this family, expect the "sex" sentence to be deleted in 5,4,3,2,1 seconds...)
Can I be honest? ("Ok class, say, 'Yes Carla.'") And the following will probably show how selfish I am. Yeah, over it already. I usually meet people and as soon as they tell me their name I don't even try anymore. I don't even preface it with,"oh mommy brain I'll probably forget so you'll have to remind me again and again..." stupidity. I just say, "Nice to meet you." Not that they don't matter but I will remember their life story before their names. I am not a "Trivial Pursuit" kinda girl. I'm a "share your heart and soul outside of dance class and let's share for four straight weeks and make it too awkward to ask you your name at that point" so forever you will be "that dance class lady with the dysfunctional yet loving family who needs a glass of wine when they all get together" friend. Got that? I love people and need to work on this name thing.
We have new neighbors. A lot of them. All our old ones moved at once. Mass freakin exodus. (As far as I know it isn't us that stinks, just my crossfit pants.) So, I'm in a pickle. Because I still don't know the ones down the street who have been there for a few years. So, when it's like your NEXT door neighbor, you gotta put forth some effort. Well, my husband makes up cutesy sayings for them. I won't tell you in my blog, since I don't use names, but one is an international capital and the other an 80's rock band. He's amazing, that husband of mine. Thankfully he was listening when they introduced themselves. I was looking at what was in their boxes they were unpacking and didn't have time for that. (Who's really in that house beside us?? It's risky business...)
So this week I had four (count um- 4) opportunities to become unglued. (There were more, but I focus on these four, ok?) I told God he needed to stop already. They were themed (yeah God for making my issues "match") and all played upon this soft spot in my heart.
And while I got angry, I paused, but I filled that pause with anger and not God. Even a prayer of "Lord, I want to say _____. Please shut my mouth. Give me peace." That would have been appropriate. But I was angry. I had rules and they were broken.
But not everyone follows your rules. Not everyone cares if they hurt people. Sometimes, *gasp*, people want to "stir your pot" and watch and wait. What will you say? (I have most definitely met people who just can't tolerate peaceful existences. Almost like a game they need to keep some kind of drama going. I cannot feed their "addiction". Not happening. No time and energy for that.)
So I'm wondering in these moments, am I having an identity crisis? I know I'm not Mrs. Champion (tears shed), but I have the power of the Holy Spirit in and around me. He gives self control. And these moments I might have the propensity to become unglued, so to speak, is Sweet Jesus testing, trying, and recommitting His love for me. Carla, do you know who you are? At all times?
And then he tells me when I fail, "It's ok. You've learned. I went deep with you. I know it hurt. But, know who you are. I will remind you. You can choose a better way. You have a better way, paved through the blood of Jesus. You are redeemed."
I don't make any promises about always having it together. As God refines me and keeps me, I will encounter these moments. But, the pause button is there. And I've prayed for God to help me use it.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
The River Tour
My husband is from a small town in the eastern part of our state. A small southern town on the river. I call him "River Boy" because he grew up in a stretch of maybe 10 houses. The road to his house is narrow and winds and becomes more narrow and humbly stretches towards the river. Well, his hometown has festivals throughout the year. People have moved in from all over (usually those with a little more dinero wanting a place to dock their boat) and they have these "river tours" held out of the community center.
Well, his mama grew up there. And her mama did too. His grandmother was a bit of a matriarch of the town, making tussie mussies for all the young married ladies. (Google it. It's a southern thing.) She hosted book clubs, held parties, homemade everything. (Read that, everything.) I had a few short years to get to know her and sharp as a tack. Sharp as a tack.
And, did I mention it's a small town? Everyone knows everyone. And all their trash and all their goods. It's wonderful. Except for these transplants, who are clueless to the history and drama, who hear the stories of this town and romantically ask more questions, etc. They've fallen in love with the slow talking, slow moving, one stoplight kinda town with few big box stores and quiet river lapping.
It's the kind of town that when I reached for his town's Arts Council Cookbook the other day, my mother in law instructed me not to look at the recipe, but to look at the contributor. So, I flipped through the cookbook calling out names and she gave me a mini lesson on how appropriate/inappropriate that recipe would be for me depending on their life, who they were, and most importantly, what their cooking reputation was. Amazing. I will treasure this cookbook but definitely need her as my guide through it so it comes out ok. Perhaps even make notes in the margin. I wish I were kidding.
We went to visit his mama and she signed us up for one of these river tours. We went down the river, one man picking a banjo (you read that right) and the guide being an older man just a talking about facts as we drifted along. He pointed to the old mill (where some of my husband's family used to work), the old railway (still in use and scary rusty) and then he got to a row of houses, with a white event tent in the yard. The tour guide said, "Oh look. And event is going on there. Maybe a graduation party?" The yacht owners riding on the boat with us leaned in to take a look and said, "Ooh."
My mother in law kind of scoffed silently but loud enough I could hear her. I whispered to her, "What is really going on there?" (Because I knew she would know. Guaranteed.) She said "Oh, that's my doctor's house. His daughter is getting married. Small wedding. The reception will be there on the lawn." She opened her mouth to talk to the group but decided against, and we turned around and floated back.
When we got back, I said, "Why didn't you speak up? You knew more history, personal and factual, than anyone on that boat. You could do those tours!" She said, "I know. My friend has me convinced we could be a team. I could have told everyone about that wedding. My friend couldn't go shopping with me this week because she was cutting up fruit for that same wedding." She rolled her eyes and I asked what kind of fruit. Inquiring minds wanted to know...
And this whole scenario has played over in my mind the past few days. So I blog...
And I think, how many times do I forget I have the tour guide with me? I float down the river and I forget. Or I have this cookbook of options and don't ask God, which one is the best one?
I ignore the Guide. I fight against what I know is best, asking God to help me.
In my head I know he has the better plan, and I know he is Sovereign in every sense of what I understand of Sovereign. Even Sovereign over what I can't comprehend, which is a lot I admit.
But what I'm missing by not asking for help is the relationship. You see, it's not a rule-based system (even though the "rules" he gives are meant to protect, not to harm). No rules in the sense of a checklist. "Have I done this today? Well, lets win some favor with God because Lord knows he wants me to read the Bible instead of watching TV."
It's a relationship.
Let me tell you it is way more fun to hear the whole story from my mother in law. She has the insider's scoop on pretty much everything her town has to offer. I find it way more interesting to hear about someone's German past and how they've put a new twist on a traditional recipe, weaving their family recipe into their story and how she knows them and probably has taught their children. Or the lady who's recipes I need to skip because she doesn't cook. She probably just needed something to contribute and to "be heard" somehow so she swiped a recipe from Southern Living and submitted it as her own. (It takes all kinds, right? And I'm not sure how self-deceived someone could be. Everyone knows everything in a small town.)
Well, today I'm remembering. I remember you, Jesus. You're my Guide. You're my Friend. And sure I can go through life on my own. But how tragic to miss the beautiful details without you. How sad to go on without hope, encouragement, that the thing I choose is the confirmed one.
God, you are the right thing. You whisper details. I humbly listen with a bent knee. It's a sweet spot indeed.
Well, his mama grew up there. And her mama did too. His grandmother was a bit of a matriarch of the town, making tussie mussies for all the young married ladies. (Google it. It's a southern thing.) She hosted book clubs, held parties, homemade everything. (Read that, everything.) I had a few short years to get to know her and sharp as a tack. Sharp as a tack.
And, did I mention it's a small town? Everyone knows everyone. And all their trash and all their goods. It's wonderful. Except for these transplants, who are clueless to the history and drama, who hear the stories of this town and romantically ask more questions, etc. They've fallen in love with the slow talking, slow moving, one stoplight kinda town with few big box stores and quiet river lapping.
It's the kind of town that when I reached for his town's Arts Council Cookbook the other day, my mother in law instructed me not to look at the recipe, but to look at the contributor. So, I flipped through the cookbook calling out names and she gave me a mini lesson on how appropriate/inappropriate that recipe would be for me depending on their life, who they were, and most importantly, what their cooking reputation was. Amazing. I will treasure this cookbook but definitely need her as my guide through it so it comes out ok. Perhaps even make notes in the margin. I wish I were kidding.
We went to visit his mama and she signed us up for one of these river tours. We went down the river, one man picking a banjo (you read that right) and the guide being an older man just a talking about facts as we drifted along. He pointed to the old mill (where some of my husband's family used to work), the old railway (still in use and scary rusty) and then he got to a row of houses, with a white event tent in the yard. The tour guide said, "Oh look. And event is going on there. Maybe a graduation party?" The yacht owners riding on the boat with us leaned in to take a look and said, "Ooh."
My mother in law kind of scoffed silently but loud enough I could hear her. I whispered to her, "What is really going on there?" (Because I knew she would know. Guaranteed.) She said "Oh, that's my doctor's house. His daughter is getting married. Small wedding. The reception will be there on the lawn." She opened her mouth to talk to the group but decided against, and we turned around and floated back.
When we got back, I said, "Why didn't you speak up? You knew more history, personal and factual, than anyone on that boat. You could do those tours!" She said, "I know. My friend has me convinced we could be a team. I could have told everyone about that wedding. My friend couldn't go shopping with me this week because she was cutting up fruit for that same wedding." She rolled her eyes and I asked what kind of fruit. Inquiring minds wanted to know...
And this whole scenario has played over in my mind the past few days. So I blog...
And I think, how many times do I forget I have the tour guide with me? I float down the river and I forget. Or I have this cookbook of options and don't ask God, which one is the best one?
I ignore the Guide. I fight against what I know is best, asking God to help me.
In my head I know he has the better plan, and I know he is Sovereign in every sense of what I understand of Sovereign. Even Sovereign over what I can't comprehend, which is a lot I admit.
But what I'm missing by not asking for help is the relationship. You see, it's not a rule-based system (even though the "rules" he gives are meant to protect, not to harm). No rules in the sense of a checklist. "Have I done this today? Well, lets win some favor with God because Lord knows he wants me to read the Bible instead of watching TV."
It's a relationship.
Let me tell you it is way more fun to hear the whole story from my mother in law. She has the insider's scoop on pretty much everything her town has to offer. I find it way more interesting to hear about someone's German past and how they've put a new twist on a traditional recipe, weaving their family recipe into their story and how she knows them and probably has taught their children. Or the lady who's recipes I need to skip because she doesn't cook. She probably just needed something to contribute and to "be heard" somehow so she swiped a recipe from Southern Living and submitted it as her own. (It takes all kinds, right? And I'm not sure how self-deceived someone could be. Everyone knows everything in a small town.)
Well, today I'm remembering. I remember you, Jesus. You're my Guide. You're my Friend. And sure I can go through life on my own. But how tragic to miss the beautiful details without you. How sad to go on without hope, encouragement, that the thing I choose is the confirmed one.
God, you are the right thing. You whisper details. I humbly listen with a bent knee. It's a sweet spot indeed.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Just Jump In
So it's swim team season. I'm a new swim team mom and I think I'm having just as much fun as my little girls. My oldest is part fish. She loves it. She has the swimming bug. We signed her up for this reason. First day she was dressed head to toe in pink ruffles, a combo of three different suits, perfectly married into one pink bedazzled beauty. Goggles to match. The coach told her, "Ruffles slow you down. You might want to think about a different suit for the meets. One without ruffles. You'll be faster, you know." Well, that sold her, my little queen of speed, and the sleek suit I bought her hasn't come off her body. (Although there might be some sort of advantage to practicing in full on ruffles, because perhaps you'll be faster at the meets? This is when I tell my crossfit super powers/clock watching craziness to back off a bit.)
On the other hand, my youngest, she loves the big girl and boy "baby coaches" but not so much the swimming under water. These high schoolers volunteer their time and teach these littles how to swim. (Yeah, I'm new to finding out that my particular team will take your non swimmers and teach them. Amazing if you ask me.) Well, she loves them so much she will try new things for them. Everything except getting fully immersed in the water. Blowing bubbles, she'll do it. Not doing the underwater crawl. None of that nonsense. Not yet, at least.
She has had a couple of under water experiences in her day that scared her. Yeah I high fived her after it was all over like "they" say to do when accidents happen (to instill confidence and pretend it wasn't that big a deal?) but she looked at me like what are you talking about woman?! I coulda drowned! As if my shaking arms couldn't be still- they totally ratted me out. I was scared and know some experiences have lasting effects sometimes, on mommy and child.
So I kept putting her in swim lessons because we were getting over this together. I call it "Carla's Water Desensitization Program". (CWDP) Sometimes it has involved tears but with a little bribary (no shame) she has come a long way. But, there is no way I can talk her into going underwater. No toy will work for that one. (I probably should add she has a will of steel. A beautiful thing in the long run. Short run- I have to get really creative and keep trying new tricks with her. But in this family two truths remain #1- we only make girls #2- we only make um strong. I guess you could say we specialize in females.)
I've found I can't talk this child into anything. Specifics are what really sells. But more than that, she needs to watch kids having fun going underwater to truly sell her. She watches kids in the line up before her with a smile, all splashing around, bobbing up and down, and she senses she's missing out, that she could be joining in, if she could only get over this obstacle. I am equally proud of both my girls and think they are equally courageous, given what God has given them. We are just working at different places with them.
Fear is huge. We always think it holds us back but in reality it motivates us. Motivates us to act differently, sets us up for failure from the beginning. It tenses our body, gets it out of alignment, stirs up our digestive track, and causes us to behave out of a place of anxiety, disturbance, and sometimes sheer panic.
It shakes our confidence. As adults we find things to hide behind. Like my new cute outfit, or my awesome kids, my church activities (a tee shirt for everything, I tell you), my good deeds I do for other people, my job or my neighborhood. All of these are wonderfully fine things. But these blessings were not made to serve a purpose of a "hiding place" or an identity. (My personal favorite is cowering and not starting a blog because you're afraid of what people might think of you. A "friend" once had this happen to her...)
Another friend (this one is not myself. For real) said she was at an event the other day full of "church attenders". They started talking about a nearby church ( and unknown to them, that she attends). They rattled off about how this church was not up to par for some reason I forgot, that's how silly it was. She spoke up and talked about how wonderful the people were, how they have welcomed her with open arms. (Literally and figuratively, they are hugging people.) **Crickets**
Now people have their opinions, sure. And some people can search Scripture and find legit reasons of why things don't quite match up with what God designed, the way Jesus lived, etc. Fine. But where were those comments coming from? A place of fear of infringement of their "rules" or truly, list it friend, how did this place offend you? (I speak knowing the full context of it all and y'all this church is fine. Jesus lovin fine. Different from "their"church but get over it already! There are more important things to take care of. No time for foolish church bashing. Denomination bashing speaks from a place of superiority. And it's nauseating.)
I've know people that love Jesus and just aren't sure how to handle people who believe differently than they do. I understand. We are drawn to people who are like us, right? I suppose It depends on your upbringing a bit, or a lot. Or who you live near, work with, etc. Perhaps a good look into Scripture would show us that seeing others as made in God's image, common ground issues are the same. (I don't mean like, "And we all smile in the same language. La la la." Or maybe I do and don't want it to sound that way...) It's for real. Real feelings, inadequacies, pain, emptiness, joy, suffering.
If I said I love Jesus truly, then I wouldn't have to bash those around me, but love them and live life with them. That's what He did. And He says perfect love casts out fear. Now, I can tell you this man Jesus is for real, and because He has forever touched my heart with ways I could never deserve and life I can't live any differently than for Him. He has given me hope and a future and I am on a path with Him and thriving with His tender, funny, grace-giving, loving, merciful Self. I don't measure up, He knows it, and that's why He redeems my life and I am seen as spotless and blameless before a Most Holy God. He laid it all on the line so I may be free to love those around me. All my good is His anyway. Everything good comes from Him. I am in Him and for Him and with Him and following Him.
I can't hide behind those things, and oftentimes I fail (and my new maxi dress covers a multitude of sins I should add- totally great purchase), but I'm hidden behind the cross, and He's got it covered. That is His only desire for me. Reckless abandonment, losing myself in Him. Walking on a path designed for sheer enjoyment, pleasure in His grace. There is no room for fear or hate.
On the other hand, my youngest, she loves the big girl and boy "baby coaches" but not so much the swimming under water. These high schoolers volunteer their time and teach these littles how to swim. (Yeah, I'm new to finding out that my particular team will take your non swimmers and teach them. Amazing if you ask me.) Well, she loves them so much she will try new things for them. Everything except getting fully immersed in the water. Blowing bubbles, she'll do it. Not doing the underwater crawl. None of that nonsense. Not yet, at least.
She has had a couple of under water experiences in her day that scared her. Yeah I high fived her after it was all over like "they" say to do when accidents happen (to instill confidence and pretend it wasn't that big a deal?) but she looked at me like what are you talking about woman?! I coulda drowned! As if my shaking arms couldn't be still- they totally ratted me out. I was scared and know some experiences have lasting effects sometimes, on mommy and child.
So I kept putting her in swim lessons because we were getting over this together. I call it "Carla's Water Desensitization Program". (CWDP) Sometimes it has involved tears but with a little bribary (no shame) she has come a long way. But, there is no way I can talk her into going underwater. No toy will work for that one. (I probably should add she has a will of steel. A beautiful thing in the long run. Short run- I have to get really creative and keep trying new tricks with her. But in this family two truths remain #1- we only make girls #2- we only make um strong. I guess you could say we specialize in females.)
I've found I can't talk this child into anything. Specifics are what really sells. But more than that, she needs to watch kids having fun going underwater to truly sell her. She watches kids in the line up before her with a smile, all splashing around, bobbing up and down, and she senses she's missing out, that she could be joining in, if she could only get over this obstacle. I am equally proud of both my girls and think they are equally courageous, given what God has given them. We are just working at different places with them.
Fear is huge. We always think it holds us back but in reality it motivates us. Motivates us to act differently, sets us up for failure from the beginning. It tenses our body, gets it out of alignment, stirs up our digestive track, and causes us to behave out of a place of anxiety, disturbance, and sometimes sheer panic.
It shakes our confidence. As adults we find things to hide behind. Like my new cute outfit, or my awesome kids, my church activities (a tee shirt for everything, I tell you), my good deeds I do for other people, my job or my neighborhood. All of these are wonderfully fine things. But these blessings were not made to serve a purpose of a "hiding place" or an identity. (My personal favorite is cowering and not starting a blog because you're afraid of what people might think of you. A "friend" once had this happen to her...)
Another friend (this one is not myself. For real) said she was at an event the other day full of "church attenders". They started talking about a nearby church ( and unknown to them, that she attends). They rattled off about how this church was not up to par for some reason I forgot, that's how silly it was. She spoke up and talked about how wonderful the people were, how they have welcomed her with open arms. (Literally and figuratively, they are hugging people.) **Crickets**
Now people have their opinions, sure. And some people can search Scripture and find legit reasons of why things don't quite match up with what God designed, the way Jesus lived, etc. Fine. But where were those comments coming from? A place of fear of infringement of their "rules" or truly, list it friend, how did this place offend you? (I speak knowing the full context of it all and y'all this church is fine. Jesus lovin fine. Different from "their"church but get over it already! There are more important things to take care of. No time for foolish church bashing. Denomination bashing speaks from a place of superiority. And it's nauseating.)
I've know people that love Jesus and just aren't sure how to handle people who believe differently than they do. I understand. We are drawn to people who are like us, right? I suppose It depends on your upbringing a bit, or a lot. Or who you live near, work with, etc. Perhaps a good look into Scripture would show us that seeing others as made in God's image, common ground issues are the same. (I don't mean like, "And we all smile in the same language. La la la." Or maybe I do and don't want it to sound that way...) It's for real. Real feelings, inadequacies, pain, emptiness, joy, suffering.
If I said I love Jesus truly, then I wouldn't have to bash those around me, but love them and live life with them. That's what He did. And He says perfect love casts out fear. Now, I can tell you this man Jesus is for real, and because He has forever touched my heart with ways I could never deserve and life I can't live any differently than for Him. He has given me hope and a future and I am on a path with Him and thriving with His tender, funny, grace-giving, loving, merciful Self. I don't measure up, He knows it, and that's why He redeems my life and I am seen as spotless and blameless before a Most Holy God. He laid it all on the line so I may be free to love those around me. All my good is His anyway. Everything good comes from Him. I am in Him and for Him and with Him and following Him.
I can't hide behind those things, and oftentimes I fail (and my new maxi dress covers a multitude of sins I should add- totally great purchase), but I'm hidden behind the cross, and He's got it covered. That is His only desire for me. Reckless abandonment, losing myself in Him. Walking on a path designed for sheer enjoyment, pleasure in His grace. There is no room for fear or hate.
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Dancing for Him
Yesterday was dance recital rehearsal for my littlest. I have to say I think being a "dance mom" even with a preschooler is too stressful, but oh so worth it. (I think.) I watched all the dancers perform and at one moment was in tears with laughter. In my three years experience of dance "moming" it, there is always one little girl who dances to her own beat. Doing what she wants.
Well there was one this go round too. In one dance all the little girls had yellow sparkly tutus with a wonderful bounce. The group pitter pattered to their spots on stage. The lights turned on and the other little girls were politely waiting for their music cue. However, as soon as the music came on, one decided to let go. The beat was there and she needed to spin. So she spinned. She stopped. Looked around. No one stopped her so she threw her head back smiled and did it again. Stopped for a little arm motion action. Realized the dance required a point and straighten with her foot and did as the rest of the group did, but caught up in the music she let go. She danced to her own beat. The audience was loving it. My heart screamed, "Yes, girl, dance!"
Everyone loves that child, right? She got giggles, claps, applause. She was herself. Don't we all want to be our authentic selves?
A few weeks ago a video circulated around the Internet of this couple at a gas station. Well, it was supposed to be a free style candid experience of the two of them lip syncing and dancing for some show, letting go in broad daylight. Much to my disappointment, it was fake. But people watched the video and make comments about how cool they were, wanted to be their friends, etc. People are attracted to being yourself. Truly yourself.
I feel like a little girl sometimes with God. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me want to dance before him, laughing and enjoying the dance. But sometimes I stop dancing. I look around me. Some people dance differently. Some follow different dancing rules. Some are pouting and refusing to dance, complaining, whining. (God help me I have the lowest tolerance for whining. Especially whining adults.) Some people are **gasp** criticizing my dancing. (In my head I'm a Janet Jackson back up singer. But I may look like a rhino. I don't care...)
But God made me a dancer. He made me to find my beat in the rhythm of the Gospel. With my dance in flow and in tune to his nature, his fresh wind of forgiveness, grace, mercy, love. He wants me to stop looking around me, throw my head back and dance. Feel the beat and move.
I've felt this urge recently. Sometimes I brush shoulders with folks that care about living in a certain zip code or neighborhood, or needing their kids to be show monkeys to fill some need they have. (Sports, academics, what have you.) Or an "air" about them of superiority that serves as a boost for their confidence. (Sometimes trying to take your kids down in the process. Such is my experience the last few days.)
In a way that kind of stinkin thinkin becomes pattern of behavior, propping them up with things that God tells us will fall down. They will fail us. There is one thing that doesn't fail. God never fails. He can't. It is not in his character.
When I've spent time with God, those things and people fade away and he again becomes clearer. My girls are show-monkeys-turned beautiful princesses of the Most High God, created uniquely for the sole purpose of glorifying by enjoying him forever. Maybe they excel at some "trick", maybe not. Bottom line-
Have I introduced them to Jesus?
Have they met this Friend of mine who just never gives up loving? Do they feel this love?
Do they see a mommy apologizing, admitting she doesn't have it all together but she is held by the One who does?
Is my home filled with fresh winds of grace, tender mercies, beautiful moments, probably messy, but beautifully messy?
Are their activities tied to my identity/pursuits or for the purposes of developing their character, skills, preferences?
He whispers to me, "Dance Carla. Keep dancing. Look to me. Be yourself. Your authentic self. Speak life words. Be a life giver to those around you. Press on. The music may get a little dicey at times. With me you'll keep the beat. And soar gracefully. And with those awkward, sad, strange times that will occur, keep dancing to the beat. Glorify me. Live for me. You stand before an audience of one. And I think you are amazing. My glory is made more powerful in your weakness. The weaker you are, the stronger I am."
That's what he is telling me. My hope is you are hearing those same words. His purposes are for good. But we must be willing to dance with him. And remembering all the while when times get tough, he is gently turning our head to see his face, depending on him more, and glorifying him in our weakness.
My tutu is on and he thinks I'm beautifully ready. Front and center I'm hearing the beat and dancing like no one (but him) is watching.
Well there was one this go round too. In one dance all the little girls had yellow sparkly tutus with a wonderful bounce. The group pitter pattered to their spots on stage. The lights turned on and the other little girls were politely waiting for their music cue. However, as soon as the music came on, one decided to let go. The beat was there and she needed to spin. So she spinned. She stopped. Looked around. No one stopped her so she threw her head back smiled and did it again. Stopped for a little arm motion action. Realized the dance required a point and straighten with her foot and did as the rest of the group did, but caught up in the music she let go. She danced to her own beat. The audience was loving it. My heart screamed, "Yes, girl, dance!"
Everyone loves that child, right? She got giggles, claps, applause. She was herself. Don't we all want to be our authentic selves?
A few weeks ago a video circulated around the Internet of this couple at a gas station. Well, it was supposed to be a free style candid experience of the two of them lip syncing and dancing for some show, letting go in broad daylight. Much to my disappointment, it was fake. But people watched the video and make comments about how cool they were, wanted to be their friends, etc. People are attracted to being yourself. Truly yourself.
I feel like a little girl sometimes with God. He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me want to dance before him, laughing and enjoying the dance. But sometimes I stop dancing. I look around me. Some people dance differently. Some follow different dancing rules. Some are pouting and refusing to dance, complaining, whining. (God help me I have the lowest tolerance for whining. Especially whining adults.) Some people are **gasp** criticizing my dancing. (In my head I'm a Janet Jackson back up singer. But I may look like a rhino. I don't care...)
But God made me a dancer. He made me to find my beat in the rhythm of the Gospel. With my dance in flow and in tune to his nature, his fresh wind of forgiveness, grace, mercy, love. He wants me to stop looking around me, throw my head back and dance. Feel the beat and move.
I've felt this urge recently. Sometimes I brush shoulders with folks that care about living in a certain zip code or neighborhood, or needing their kids to be show monkeys to fill some need they have. (Sports, academics, what have you.) Or an "air" about them of superiority that serves as a boost for their confidence. (Sometimes trying to take your kids down in the process. Such is my experience the last few days.)
In a way that kind of stinkin thinkin becomes pattern of behavior, propping them up with things that God tells us will fall down. They will fail us. There is one thing that doesn't fail. God never fails. He can't. It is not in his character.
When I've spent time with God, those things and people fade away and he again becomes clearer. My girls are show-monkeys-turned beautiful princesses of the Most High God, created uniquely for the sole purpose of glorifying by enjoying him forever. Maybe they excel at some "trick", maybe not. Bottom line-
Have I introduced them to Jesus?
Have they met this Friend of mine who just never gives up loving? Do they feel this love?
Do they see a mommy apologizing, admitting she doesn't have it all together but she is held by the One who does?
Is my home filled with fresh winds of grace, tender mercies, beautiful moments, probably messy, but beautifully messy?
Are their activities tied to my identity/pursuits or for the purposes of developing their character, skills, preferences?
He whispers to me, "Dance Carla. Keep dancing. Look to me. Be yourself. Your authentic self. Speak life words. Be a life giver to those around you. Press on. The music may get a little dicey at times. With me you'll keep the beat. And soar gracefully. And with those awkward, sad, strange times that will occur, keep dancing to the beat. Glorify me. Live for me. You stand before an audience of one. And I think you are amazing. My glory is made more powerful in your weakness. The weaker you are, the stronger I am."
That's what he is telling me. My hope is you are hearing those same words. His purposes are for good. But we must be willing to dance with him. And remembering all the while when times get tough, he is gently turning our head to see his face, depending on him more, and glorifying him in our weakness.
My tutu is on and he thinks I'm beautifully ready. Front and center I'm hearing the beat and dancing like no one (but him) is watching.
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