What defines you? You know, that thing that you are or do or believe; that thing that makes you YOU.
For me, its cooking and baking. I am the person who always has a warm kitchen full of delicious aromas and flavors just waiting to soothe your hurts, celebrate your victories or simply fill your empty spaces. I'm the girl you can count on to provide a huge meal for dozens of people at a moment's notice. I'm the lady who's always ready for those extra couple of guests. It's just who I am.
Only it isn't anymore.
My entire identity has revolved around food for as long as I can remember. My mother is an amazing cook, and most of my favorite childhood memories involve some meal or dish or treat that my mother made for some specific or special occasion... the ham with waldorf salad, or the vanilla cream chocolate drops, or the saurkraut and sausage meatloaf. We baked together and she taught me her tricks. It was magical.
Then I began building my own home full of its own memories. I learned new recipes and practiced the intricate timing of preparing a meal so that each item was ready at exactly the same time. I taught myself to recognize which flavor combinations would be tasty, and which would clash terribly. I experimented with spices and reveled in each delicious discovery. And nothing brought me greater joy than sharing this fount of knowledge and skill with a house overflowing with people.
So now, as I prepare for Christmas, knowing that all of my tried-and-true holiday delicacies will ultimately put me in the hospital (I've already been twice since Thanksgiving), I find myself not only wondering what to do with my time but wondering who I am. This "thing" that has defined me is now my enemy, and I just feel lost.
I hear the silent voices that remind me I am a daughter of the King, that Christmas is about Christ not food, that I am more than just a plate full of cookies or a box of homemade fudge. I hear them...but I cannot make myself believe them just yet. I do not know who I am without my stove, or hot cup of coffee or tea, or my fragrant home and warm kitchen. Its like I've woken up in a parallel universe where everything looks exactly the same, but sugar, gluten and caffeine are poison.
I will adapt. I will change. I will grow. But right now...today...I wonder who the imposter is that's living inside my skin.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
If It Doesn't Hurt, It Isn't Real - Part 1
Heidi can be a real pain in the (insert appropriate body part here). About once each week Heidi listens to my excruciating emotional diarrhea and then rapid-fires gut-wrenching questions at me until my confused and exhausted brain vomits the real truth behind my freakishly ridiculous belief system. And I pay her to do this to me.
A couple of weeks ago this oh-so-fun process resulted in me blurting out this mind-blowing statement:
If it doesn't hurt, it isn't real.
Originally, this was in response to her automatic-weapon-line of questions about how I know I've given enough. I've been living under the belief that "sacrifice," as described by pastors and church folk I know (and, thus, I assumed, Scripture) doesn't count if it doesn't make me suffer some kind of pain or loss. So, Heidi assigned me the homework of "exploring that some more."
Here's what I discovered during this "exploration":
A couple of weeks ago this oh-so-fun process resulted in me blurting out this mind-blowing statement:
If it doesn't hurt, it isn't real.
Originally, this was in response to her automatic-weapon-line of questions about how I know I've given enough. I've been living under the belief that "sacrifice," as described by pastors and church folk I know (and, thus, I assumed, Scripture) doesn't count if it doesn't make me suffer some kind of pain or loss. So, Heidi assigned me the homework of "exploring that some more."
Here's what I discovered during this "exploration":
- The word sacrifice comes to the English language via Old French from the Latin word sacrificium, from sacer which means "holy" and facere which means "to make." Thus, sacrifice actually means "to make holy," not "give until it hurts."
- In the Old Testament, God required sacrifices from His people, BUT He had different requirements from different classes of people, i.e., the rich gave cows, the middle-class gave goats, the poor gave birds. He didn't ask for something they just couldn't afford.
- Also, sacrifices resulted in a delicious meal. After the animal was burned, it was eaten, so it wasn't just thrown away. It was enjoyed.
- God ultimately sacrificed His Son. They did suffer the pain of separation, of a humble human life, and of a torturous death. However, they did this knowing all along that it was temporary and that the Son would live again. His resurrection would bring joy.
- Christ's sacrifice was not only enough, but all throughout Scripture God makes it crystal clear that He doesn't want our stuff. He wants our broken and contrite heart. He wants our obedience. He loves a cheerful giver. His yoke is easy and His burden is light.
"But what about the old lady who gave two coins and Jesus said that she was better than the Jewish leaders who gave a lot of money. He liked her sacrifice."
Go spelunking through that section of the Gospels. I discovered it was couched in a lot of stories about how much Jesus hated the burden that the Jewish leaders had placed on His people by adding to His Father's laws but that the leaders didn't really observe themselves. He got so peeved about it that He went ballistic in the temple courtyard and knocked over the "get your sacrifice here" stands that folks were using to take advantage these burdened, weary souls. Jesus didn't want that poor old lady to give away all her money and then go home to die. He pitied her. He loved her, and He ultimately died to free her from that tyranny.
So it all comes down to this: I don't have to sacrifice.
I'm A-OK in God's eyes if I never give or do one single thing. Jesus' blood was all it takes for me to be accepted and adopted into the Father's family. I can run right into that throne room and hop up on Daddy's lap any time I want. He's not the host of some Heavenly home where I'm obligated to bring a polite gift for the privilege of dining at His table. He's my DAD. There's no sacrifice, regardless of how painful it is to offer, that can make Him love me more than He already does.
But just like my kids are giving me a gift this Christmas and telling me how much I'm going to like it, and just like the way I enjoy knowing that I have chosen a gift that will touch my earthly father's heart, I WANT to give my best to God. I WANT to show Him I love Him. I WANT to make Him smile...but watching His little girl suffer to do so isn't what He wants. Knowing that my kids are going to suffer if they give me a gift would break my heart, and my Heavenly Daddy is no different.
Jesus' sacrifice made me holy, and all I have to do to make our Daddy happy is live like I believe that.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Minorities, Majorities and Legalities
I grew up in the rural south, my hometown is divided by railroad tracks, and the white kids all went to the private school specifically established as a way to keep the races separated. You would be hard-pressed to find a more stereotypical setting for racial prejudices to be fostered, and this was only 30 years ago.
My parents, for all their quirks and faults, did an excellent job of teaching me that skin color is simply a physical feature. It has nothing to do with the value of a human being, and I was told that if I had to describe someone's physical appearance I should do just that, i.e., "She is tall with black, curly hair and medium brown skin," or "She is short, with red hair, pale skin and freckles." Because I had never seen a person with actual black or white skin, I never used those terms. I was also taught to never assume I knew someone's heritage. If I wanted to label someone according to ethnicity, I should ask the person first. My parents did a great job with the whole race thing, and I am very grateful for that.
My parents also defied the scholastic separation in our little town and sent me to the public school. I started out as one of about eight "pale-skinned," "European-Americans" in my grade, but I finished as the only "white" student in my class. I'm not really sure what happened to the other students who shared my lower level of melanin. They may have moved, dropped-out, or switched to the private school, but I never really worried about it. I had friends. I liked my teachers. It was all good.
That is the background I bring to this whole Ferguson debacle. Everything in me wants to just ignore it all and pretend it doesn't affect me. That would render me an ostrich, however, and I am definitely NOT a large bird.
I want to believe things are better now than they were 30 years ago. I want to believe that we have grown in our understanding of racial divides and fears. I want to believe that these events are anomalies, and that our nation is overcoming these base instincts to fear that which is different and to lash out at those whom we fear. Is it naive to choose to believe this? Is it foolish to dream of a more enlightened and understanding world? I would rather be a fool for Christ...
I currently live in a home with students from eight different countries. Our skin covers the spectrum of pigment hues. It is beautiful here in our little sub-culture. We are a family drawn together by a common bond; friendship. All of these students worked diligently to qualify for scholarships and grants and various fundings to study in the United States. They jumped through every hoop required to come here legally, and they obey the rules set forth in their visas. They appreciate the opportunity they have worked so hard to obtain, and they are grateful to God for His goodness.
I wonder, and will one day work up the courage to ask, what they think about all of the squabbles we have as a nation, about police brutality and prejudicially motivated riots, about our granting the rights of citizens to those who fled their impoverished and/or violent homelands and came to the U.S. illegally in search of a better life, about how we look at each other and judge each other and convict each other and punish each other without even meeting each other, about how we are a nation based on Judeo-Christian beliefs yet can't muster even the smallest measure of grace or mercy for our fellow countrymen.
I will continue to pray, not for Ferguson, not for justice, nor for immigration reform. I will continue to pray that our country will believe and live these words...Oh, if we could only live this out:
My parents, for all their quirks and faults, did an excellent job of teaching me that skin color is simply a physical feature. It has nothing to do with the value of a human being, and I was told that if I had to describe someone's physical appearance I should do just that, i.e., "She is tall with black, curly hair and medium brown skin," or "She is short, with red hair, pale skin and freckles." Because I had never seen a person with actual black or white skin, I never used those terms. I was also taught to never assume I knew someone's heritage. If I wanted to label someone according to ethnicity, I should ask the person first. My parents did a great job with the whole race thing, and I am very grateful for that.
My parents also defied the scholastic separation in our little town and sent me to the public school. I started out as one of about eight "pale-skinned," "European-Americans" in my grade, but I finished as the only "white" student in my class. I'm not really sure what happened to the other students who shared my lower level of melanin. They may have moved, dropped-out, or switched to the private school, but I never really worried about it. I had friends. I liked my teachers. It was all good.
That is the background I bring to this whole Ferguson debacle. Everything in me wants to just ignore it all and pretend it doesn't affect me. That would render me an ostrich, however, and I am definitely NOT a large bird.
I want to believe things are better now than they were 30 years ago. I want to believe that we have grown in our understanding of racial divides and fears. I want to believe that these events are anomalies, and that our nation is overcoming these base instincts to fear that which is different and to lash out at those whom we fear. Is it naive to choose to believe this? Is it foolish to dream of a more enlightened and understanding world? I would rather be a fool for Christ...
I currently live in a home with students from eight different countries. Our skin covers the spectrum of pigment hues. It is beautiful here in our little sub-culture. We are a family drawn together by a common bond; friendship. All of these students worked diligently to qualify for scholarships and grants and various fundings to study in the United States. They jumped through every hoop required to come here legally, and they obey the rules set forth in their visas. They appreciate the opportunity they have worked so hard to obtain, and they are grateful to God for His goodness.
I wonder, and will one day work up the courage to ask, what they think about all of the squabbles we have as a nation, about police brutality and prejudicially motivated riots, about our granting the rights of citizens to those who fled their impoverished and/or violent homelands and came to the U.S. illegally in search of a better life, about how we look at each other and judge each other and convict each other and punish each other without even meeting each other, about how we are a nation based on Judeo-Christian beliefs yet can't muster even the smallest measure of grace or mercy for our fellow countrymen.
I will continue to pray, not for Ferguson, not for justice, nor for immigration reform. I will continue to pray that our country will believe and live these words...Oh, if we could only live this out:
1Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, 2then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. 3Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, 4not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.
5In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
7rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very natureb of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
8And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
9Therefore God exalted him to the highest place
and gave him the name that is above every name,
10that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
11and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
12Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, 13for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.
14Do everything without grumbling or arguing, 15so that you may become blameless and pure, “children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.”c Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky 16as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain. 17But even if I am being poured out like a drink offering on the sacrifice and service coming from your faith, I am glad and rejoice with all of you. 18So you too should be glad and rejoice with me.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Lessons From the Trail
Last week I had the privilege of being a main character in a friend's dream. Well...actually, I was the heroine in a dream I didn't even know I had, but it definitely all started in my friend's head, for sure. Hiking on the Appalachian Trail never even entered my sphere of consciousness, except perhaps when binge-watching Criminal Minds on Netflix, yet there I was...backpacking in northern Georgia.
I learned many things on this road trip, most of which I will address in another much-more-serious blog post. Today, however, I will apply the wise words of my sage, old grandmother, "Learn to laugh at yourself, Monica. Everybody else is!"
1. When determining whether or not to set out on your hike, look at the sky. If the sky is a dark shade of gray or if there is water falling from said, dark sky, stay inside your warm, cozy lodge room and enjoy the view of the mountains from behind insulated glass.
2. Should you choose to ignore lesson #1 or somehow fail to realize there is water falling from the darkened sky, do not, under any circumstances, buy your rain gear from the world's largest retailer. That big yellow smiley face is actually laughing his bright, shiny a$$ off at the thought of you getting soaked to the skin in your crappy rain coat and pants that inspired these words from my friend, "You know, you kinda look like a miniature sasquatch from the back."
3. When wearing said rain gear, you will get wet. As I learned on this excursion, "wet" is the state of having your clothing saturated with water that fell from the sky.
4. Even though I have a fairly working knowledge of this "wet" concept, when the temperature is at or below freezing it can be extremely difficult to recognize the difference between "frozen" and "wet."
5. Upon reaching your desired stopping point on the trail and setting up your microscopic tent, if your friend touches you and says, "You are wet. Take off your clothes," she is not, in fact, attempting to take your relationship to a new and uncomfortable level.
6. While it seems to fly in the face of all things reasonable, getting naked in a tent in the woods after wearing wet clothing for six hours can only be compared to a state of complete and utter ecstasy...unicorns and fairies float through the air as rainbows fill the tent with psychedelic light. (Your friend is, in fact, a freaking GENIUS!)
7. While your friend is a backpacking genius, you will still be trying to thaw out your brain. Do not attempt to make any life-altering decisions during this time of complete nirvana, such as, "Where should I place these nalgene bottles full of boiling water that my friend is telling me to put in my sleeping bag with me?" (Hint: next to your bare skin is the wrong answer.)
8. "Next to your bare skin" is ALSO the wrong answer regarding where to place the "Hot Hands" warming pads your friend remembered to bring. Actually, "Next to your bare skin" seems to be the wrong answer to a LOT of life's more difficult questions...
9. Backpacking "food," and I do use that term loosely, begins in a freeze-dried state and is, thus, quite light and easy to carry. By adding boiling water to the air-tight, zipper-sealed packet, the "food" is returned to its pre-freeze-dried state,and although it will smell and taste remarkably like cardboard and conjure images of abandoned puppies and unhappy children, it will provide calories for your body to burn.
10. Should you have the brilliant decision to use said packet of food as yet another warming device in your sleeping bag, do not, I shall repeat that: DO NOT sit on this packet regardless of how wonderful a warm bum sounds at the time.
11. After exercising your right to be an idiot, rather than using your extending-handle, camping spork to scoop the "Pineapple, Orange Chicken and Rice" back into the surprisingly sharp-edged, metal, zipper pouch, it is much easier and more efficient to simply use your spork to eat the "food" directly from your sleeping bag, regardless of the convulsive laughing emanating from the sleeping bag next to you.
12. Tremendous benefits actually result from squirting your entire meal into your sleeping bag. Hanging your food supply to protect it from bears is rendered unnecessary, as you have now transformed yourself into a living, breathing, food sack and will, thereby, attract all wildlife within a 200 mile radius. All other food supplies are now completely safe from any unwanted attention.
13. And finally, make sure your hiking buddy has a cell phone, so she can text the local trail shuttle service to get you the HE!! off that mountain at the butt-crack of dawn the next morning!!!!!!
This has been, "Lessons From the Trail." I pray these lessons serve you well on all your future backpacking adventures.
I learned many things on this road trip, most of which I will address in another much-more-serious blog post. Today, however, I will apply the wise words of my sage, old grandmother, "Learn to laugh at yourself, Monica. Everybody else is!"
1. When determining whether or not to set out on your hike, look at the sky. If the sky is a dark shade of gray or if there is water falling from said, dark sky, stay inside your warm, cozy lodge room and enjoy the view of the mountains from behind insulated glass.
2. Should you choose to ignore lesson #1 or somehow fail to realize there is water falling from the darkened sky, do not, under any circumstances, buy your rain gear from the world's largest retailer. That big yellow smiley face is actually laughing his bright, shiny a$$ off at the thought of you getting soaked to the skin in your crappy rain coat and pants that inspired these words from my friend, "You know, you kinda look like a miniature sasquatch from the back."
3. When wearing said rain gear, you will get wet. As I learned on this excursion, "wet" is the state of having your clothing saturated with water that fell from the sky.
4. Even though I have a fairly working knowledge of this "wet" concept, when the temperature is at or below freezing it can be extremely difficult to recognize the difference between "frozen" and "wet."
5. Upon reaching your desired stopping point on the trail and setting up your microscopic tent, if your friend touches you and says, "You are wet. Take off your clothes," she is not, in fact, attempting to take your relationship to a new and uncomfortable level.
6. While it seems to fly in the face of all things reasonable, getting naked in a tent in the woods after wearing wet clothing for six hours can only be compared to a state of complete and utter ecstasy...unicorns and fairies float through the air as rainbows fill the tent with psychedelic light. (Your friend is, in fact, a freaking GENIUS!)
7. While your friend is a backpacking genius, you will still be trying to thaw out your brain. Do not attempt to make any life-altering decisions during this time of complete nirvana, such as, "Where should I place these nalgene bottles full of boiling water that my friend is telling me to put in my sleeping bag with me?" (Hint: next to your bare skin is the wrong answer.)
8. "Next to your bare skin" is ALSO the wrong answer regarding where to place the "Hot Hands" warming pads your friend remembered to bring. Actually, "Next to your bare skin" seems to be the wrong answer to a LOT of life's more difficult questions...
9. Backpacking "food," and I do use that term loosely, begins in a freeze-dried state and is, thus, quite light and easy to carry. By adding boiling water to the air-tight, zipper-sealed packet, the "food" is returned to its pre-freeze-dried state,and although it will smell and taste remarkably like cardboard and conjure images of abandoned puppies and unhappy children, it will provide calories for your body to burn.
10. Should you have the brilliant decision to use said packet of food as yet another warming device in your sleeping bag, do not, I shall repeat that: DO NOT sit on this packet regardless of how wonderful a warm bum sounds at the time.
11. After exercising your right to be an idiot, rather than using your extending-handle, camping spork to scoop the "Pineapple, Orange Chicken and Rice" back into the surprisingly sharp-edged, metal, zipper pouch, it is much easier and more efficient to simply use your spork to eat the "food" directly from your sleeping bag, regardless of the convulsive laughing emanating from the sleeping bag next to you.
12. Tremendous benefits actually result from squirting your entire meal into your sleeping bag. Hanging your food supply to protect it from bears is rendered unnecessary, as you have now transformed yourself into a living, breathing, food sack and will, thereby, attract all wildlife within a 200 mile radius. All other food supplies are now completely safe from any unwanted attention.
13. And finally, make sure your hiking buddy has a cell phone, so she can text the local trail shuttle service to get you the HE!! off that mountain at the butt-crack of dawn the next morning!!!!!!
This has been, "Lessons From the Trail." I pray these lessons serve you well on all your future backpacking adventures.
Monday, November 10, 2014
90 days, 9 months....Whatever
I wish I had a dollar for every time I've tried to read the Bible from start to finish. I'd have like...okay, maybe 15 bucks. The truth is, I've probably read most of the Bible multiple times, but I had never done that thing that makes you a truly committed Christian; you know, a dyed in the wool, Jesus-freaky, card-carrying Believer. That one elusive check-mark on my list of "How to be a Spiritually Superior Being" left a big gaping hole in my soul.
Oh, I had the very best of intentions. I have purchased several "Through the Bible" 365-day versions of the Good Book, as well as accompanying devo's and journals in which to record all of my inspired insights. In my heart and mind, this has been the most epic failure of my entire eternal life, and not being able to cross this item off my list left me feeling like a Grade-A LOSER.
Somewhere around the book of Numbers, I just fall apart. For whatever reason, be it boredom or rebellion, around the 5th chapter of eight-syllable names, my brain goes numb, and I find myself mentally redecorating every room of my home...as well as my friends' homes, too!
Which bring me to this portion of my Health Journey; my spiritual health.
Back in February of this year (2014), I decided, once again, to take up this gauntlet and trudge through God's Holy Word. I even chose a truly righteous challenge and began a 90-day (that's right NINETY day...THREE month) reading plan on my oh-so-handy YouVersion Bible App (droid, not iphone, for those who care). I sat down with my coffee and 5.whatever screen and read, "In the beginning..." aaaaaaaaand 15 chapters later, my mental living room was absolutely gorgeous! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
That's when I noticed the little megaphone at the bottom of my screen. Tapping on that tiny icon, I discovered the secret to my perplexing dilemma and was introduced to "mellow voice man," the answer to my spiritual brain fog, With knitting in hand and Mr. Mellow on my phone, I was able to keep my hands busy and my mind focused. I have always considered myself a visual person, but gosh darnit if I'm not an auditory/kinesthetic learner. Who knew? (Okay, probably God and anyone who has ever tried to teach me anything...but it was brand-new info to me!)
Yesterday, November 9, 2014, I finally completed my long-coveted title of "Bible Reader" (or Listener, as the case may be). No, I didn't do it in 90 days. In fact I hit the "reset" button so many times my phone started laughing at me, but I did finish and in less than a year.
...Well...except for Numbers. Even mellow-voice-man couldn't get me through it. Sorry God. I married an accountant for a reason, you know : )
Oh, I had the very best of intentions. I have purchased several "Through the Bible" 365-day versions of the Good Book, as well as accompanying devo's and journals in which to record all of my inspired insights. In my heart and mind, this has been the most epic failure of my entire eternal life, and not being able to cross this item off my list left me feeling like a Grade-A LOSER.
Somewhere around the book of Numbers, I just fall apart. For whatever reason, be it boredom or rebellion, around the 5th chapter of eight-syllable names, my brain goes numb, and I find myself mentally redecorating every room of my home...as well as my friends' homes, too!
Which bring me to this portion of my Health Journey; my spiritual health.
Back in February of this year (2014), I decided, once again, to take up this gauntlet and trudge through God's Holy Word. I even chose a truly righteous challenge and began a 90-day (that's right NINETY day...THREE month) reading plan on my oh-so-handy YouVersion Bible App (droid, not iphone, for those who care). I sat down with my coffee and 5.whatever screen and read, "In the beginning..." aaaaaaaaand 15 chapters later, my mental living room was absolutely gorgeous! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
That's when I noticed the little megaphone at the bottom of my screen. Tapping on that tiny icon, I discovered the secret to my perplexing dilemma and was introduced to "mellow voice man," the answer to my spiritual brain fog, With knitting in hand and Mr. Mellow on my phone, I was able to keep my hands busy and my mind focused. I have always considered myself a visual person, but gosh darnit if I'm not an auditory/kinesthetic learner. Who knew? (Okay, probably God and anyone who has ever tried to teach me anything...but it was brand-new info to me!)
Yesterday, November 9, 2014, I finally completed my long-coveted title of "Bible Reader" (or Listener, as the case may be). No, I didn't do it in 90 days. In fact I hit the "reset" button so many times my phone started laughing at me, but I did finish and in less than a year.
...Well...except for Numbers. Even mellow-voice-man couldn't get me through it. Sorry God. I married an accountant for a reason, you know : )
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Give me back my burden!
Last week I went for a very ambitious hike. In retrospect, it was beyond me. Being super stubborn with the very hardest of heads, I did it, though. Truthfully, I am pretty stinkin' proud of my accomplishment, and am very grateful to my friend for encouraging me to hike 10 miles over the rivers and through the woods, and over the mountains and under the fallen trees, and through the boulders and under the stars...then reversing the 10 mile trek the next day. Even though I injured my knee and have hobbled for a few days, it was still a great adventure, and I can't wait to do it again...well, maybe a slightly more moderate version at least!
Since I started this health journey I've been learning so much about myself. A lot of these lessons are painful...much like my class on recognizing my hiking limitations...ha! There are times when I'd just as soon pack up my school books and go home, back to the comfort of the familiar, listening to the lies I've told myself for years, and accepting that I'm never going to change...basically, surrendering to the enemy.
Picking up a 30 lb. pack filled with life's basic necessities was a very tangible reminder of two vitally important realities, and one of the reasons I want to keep strapping that pack on and trekking through the woods is to be sure I won't forget them.
The first object lesson from that pack is quite physical. Since beginning my effort to get on with living or get on with dying, I have lost @ 30 lbs. Strapping on that back pack reminded me of the extra weight I carried around on a daily basis for many years. Those extra 30 lbs. suddenly felt like a boulder on my shoulders. I adjusted the weight, shifted my straps, tightened and loosened buckles and zippers trying to make the extra burden feel less cumbersome, but my knees knew the difference regardless of any relief my shoulders or back experienced.
It would be so easy to go back to my old way of eating and sitting. I love food. It tastes good. It feels good. Everything about it is warm and fuzzy...everything except the extra poundage. I have a choice about picking up that back pack, and I have a choice about picking up that donut, muffin, cookie, ice cream... My joints and organs, tendons and ligaments are worth the effort it takes to only pick up those thirty pounds when I'm heading down the trail to see more of God's beautiful creation.
But this journey isn't just about making my butt smaller or my muscles firmer. Its about my overall health...physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Each week I not only exercise and watch what I eat, I also see a counselor, spend time in God's Word, and am now part of a support group for women who are carrying around the same "weight" I have been all these years.
Going through my gear after that hike, trying to figure out what is absolutely necessary and what I could get rid of, was such a vivid reminder of what I'm doing with my emotional and spiritual baggage as well. Some of what I carry with me is, in fact, necessary, but thanks to Jesus, it isn't heavy. If it wasn't for these earthly burdens, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't know how to empathize with other hurting souls. I would be able to look the other way and....well, I just wouldn't care. But that yoke is easy, and that burden is light.
I choose to keep those items, the ones I need to be the person Jesus created me to be. The rest, I'm learning to take out and to leave them on the side of the trail. I suppose at any point, I can turn around and pick them back up, stuff them into my pack and trudge through life with the weight of the world on my back.
I don't want to do that. Its time to get on with living.
Since I started this health journey I've been learning so much about myself. A lot of these lessons are painful...much like my class on recognizing my hiking limitations...ha! There are times when I'd just as soon pack up my school books and go home, back to the comfort of the familiar, listening to the lies I've told myself for years, and accepting that I'm never going to change...basically, surrendering to the enemy.
Picking up a 30 lb. pack filled with life's basic necessities was a very tangible reminder of two vitally important realities, and one of the reasons I want to keep strapping that pack on and trekking through the woods is to be sure I won't forget them.
The first object lesson from that pack is quite physical. Since beginning my effort to get on with living or get on with dying, I have lost @ 30 lbs. Strapping on that back pack reminded me of the extra weight I carried around on a daily basis for many years. Those extra 30 lbs. suddenly felt like a boulder on my shoulders. I adjusted the weight, shifted my straps, tightened and loosened buckles and zippers trying to make the extra burden feel less cumbersome, but my knees knew the difference regardless of any relief my shoulders or back experienced.
It would be so easy to go back to my old way of eating and sitting. I love food. It tastes good. It feels good. Everything about it is warm and fuzzy...everything except the extra poundage. I have a choice about picking up that back pack, and I have a choice about picking up that donut, muffin, cookie, ice cream... My joints and organs, tendons and ligaments are worth the effort it takes to only pick up those thirty pounds when I'm heading down the trail to see more of God's beautiful creation.
But this journey isn't just about making my butt smaller or my muscles firmer. Its about my overall health...physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. Each week I not only exercise and watch what I eat, I also see a counselor, spend time in God's Word, and am now part of a support group for women who are carrying around the same "weight" I have been all these years.
Going through my gear after that hike, trying to figure out what is absolutely necessary and what I could get rid of, was such a vivid reminder of what I'm doing with my emotional and spiritual baggage as well. Some of what I carry with me is, in fact, necessary, but thanks to Jesus, it isn't heavy. If it wasn't for these earthly burdens, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't know how to empathize with other hurting souls. I would be able to look the other way and....well, I just wouldn't care. But that yoke is easy, and that burden is light.
I choose to keep those items, the ones I need to be the person Jesus created me to be. The rest, I'm learning to take out and to leave them on the side of the trail. I suppose at any point, I can turn around and pick them back up, stuff them into my pack and trudge through life with the weight of the world on my back.
I don't want to do that. Its time to get on with living.
Friday, October 24, 2014
You Don't Get a 20 Year Husband Without 20 Years of Work
Yesterday I was having a lovely conversation with an international student. She is a wonderful young woman; brilliant, kind, gentle and honest.
She was telling me about her father, and I was quite struck by how similar he is to my husband. They are both men who work tirelessly for their families. Her father worked an overnight job for many years, and would, upon returning home in the morning, escort his children to school. He is strict, but loving, and she knows he would do anything for his family. Her description of her father included this phrase, "His family is the most important thing in his life." I was so pleased to be able to say in response, without any hesitation, and in complete sincerity, "My husband is so like your father. Faith and family are the most important things to him."
Later, I was reading a few social media posts and articles shared by young women I know. These post were all about finding the right man or tips on relationships. As often happens, I found myself reminiscing about my own marriage, and how it has blossomed through the years.
The truth is, I have a highly coveted thing: a great marriage; however, it hasn't been an easy journey. If I could give young women one piece of relationship advice it would be this, "You don't get a 20 year husband without 20 years of work."
I know a LOT of young ladies who admire their fathers. (I do know just as many who don't, but that's another blog post!) These women know what a good man is supposed to look like. They know because they've watched their daddy for years, and now that they're ready to commit their hearts to another man, they expect him to be like their Dad. What they don't realize is, they didn't know their father when he was a 22 year-old kid just starting down his grown-up pathway. They are comparing the young men they know to a man who has spent a lifetime making mistakes, climbing mountains, conquering demons, and loving one woman and their children.
That's just not a fair comparison.
Next time you see your mom, ask her what your dad was like when they first met. Ask her about some of those times when she wished he would be the spiritual leader she pictured in their dreams or read about in the plethora of Christian relationship books on the shelves these days. Ask her about those times when she thought he would never grow up, but she'd be stuck with a 12-year-old trapped inside a man's body forever.
Then talk to the moms of 20-something sons. Ask her about the changes and growth she's seen in her boys. Ask her about the prayers she's prayed through the years; prayers that her children would grow closer to the Lord and more responsible in their lives. Ask her about the answers to those prayers through the years.
If you're feeling truly brave, talk to some young men about their moms. Ask them about how good they cook, or how tender, loving and nurturing they are. Ask them about how adept she is at taking care of her family and balancing all the various aspects of her very busy life.
How do you measure up?
One day, you will have a 20-year husband and father...One day... in about 20 years. It is SO worth the time. It is SO worth the effort. It really is.
She was telling me about her father, and I was quite struck by how similar he is to my husband. They are both men who work tirelessly for their families. Her father worked an overnight job for many years, and would, upon returning home in the morning, escort his children to school. He is strict, but loving, and she knows he would do anything for his family. Her description of her father included this phrase, "His family is the most important thing in his life." I was so pleased to be able to say in response, without any hesitation, and in complete sincerity, "My husband is so like your father. Faith and family are the most important things to him."
Later, I was reading a few social media posts and articles shared by young women I know. These post were all about finding the right man or tips on relationships. As often happens, I found myself reminiscing about my own marriage, and how it has blossomed through the years.
The truth is, I have a highly coveted thing: a great marriage; however, it hasn't been an easy journey. If I could give young women one piece of relationship advice it would be this, "You don't get a 20 year husband without 20 years of work."
I know a LOT of young ladies who admire their fathers. (I do know just as many who don't, but that's another blog post!) These women know what a good man is supposed to look like. They know because they've watched their daddy for years, and now that they're ready to commit their hearts to another man, they expect him to be like their Dad. What they don't realize is, they didn't know their father when he was a 22 year-old kid just starting down his grown-up pathway. They are comparing the young men they know to a man who has spent a lifetime making mistakes, climbing mountains, conquering demons, and loving one woman and their children.
That's just not a fair comparison.
Next time you see your mom, ask her what your dad was like when they first met. Ask her about some of those times when she wished he would be the spiritual leader she pictured in their dreams or read about in the plethora of Christian relationship books on the shelves these days. Ask her about those times when she thought he would never grow up, but she'd be stuck with a 12-year-old trapped inside a man's body forever.
Then talk to the moms of 20-something sons. Ask her about the changes and growth she's seen in her boys. Ask her about the prayers she's prayed through the years; prayers that her children would grow closer to the Lord and more responsible in their lives. Ask her about the answers to those prayers through the years.
If you're feeling truly brave, talk to some young men about their moms. Ask them about how good they cook, or how tender, loving and nurturing they are. Ask them about how adept she is at taking care of her family and balancing all the various aspects of her very busy life.
How do you measure up?
One day, you will have a 20-year husband and father...One day... in about 20 years. It is SO worth the time. It is SO worth the effort. It really is.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Another V-8 Moment
Another beautiful part of my health journey is a dear woman, Hilary, who teaches Holy Yoga two mornings per week. After spending a few weeks in a traditional yoga class, complete with buddhas and chanting, I discovered this sweet lady teaching yoga with a slightly different mind-set. With a back-drop of intensity appropriate worship music, Hilary guides us through yoga poses that require focused breathing, balance, and strength, interspersed with Scripture and prayer. It is an amazing time of full-body worship, and I LOVE it!
Today, on a Monday no less, I woke up at 6:14 with just 16 minutes to dress and fly to yoga class. I ran in quite flustered, but Hilary quickly quieted us all and led us through a wonderfully intense, sweaty series of moves that left me feeling fully alive and powerful. During the cool-down time of relaxation at the end of the teaching, Hilary read the story (see below) in John 5 about the healing at the pool, when Jesus saw a disabled man who couldn't make it into the healing waters on his own. Jesus simply said to him, "You're healed. Take up your mat and walk."
As I lay there, eyes closed, feeling my tired body relax into my own mat, I had a vision of the man jumping up and pushing his way to the pool to get in and be healed. Crazy, right? Jesus had just healed him. He was fully, totally, completely, utterly healed. How nuts would he have been to then use that power he'd been given to push past all those people to immerse himself in that pool?
Yet, I realized that is what I constantly find myself doing. Rather than simply accepting that I am completely healed, totally forgiven, fully accepted, utterly loved, I continue to believe I have to use God's power to heal myself. Seeing that now in writing, I can't believe how ridiculous it sounds.
How different would my life be if I chose to believe I am already 100% healed rather than begging God for the strength to heal myself? What if I chose to live out of God's strength instead of my own? What if I saw everyone else the same way...fully healed? Hmmmmm?
The Healing at the Pool
5 Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish festivals. 2 Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda[a]and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. 3 Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. [4] [b] 5 One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?”
7 “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”
8 Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” 9 At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Too Sad to Sleep
Have you ever been so sad you can't sleep? Tonight I am.
People in my life, the people I should be close to, the people I should count on, the people I hold dear, are avoiding me, and it hurts.
My mother wrote me off 25 years ago because I left her religion.
My father wrote me off because I got angry at him and his wife.
My daughter-in-law has written me off and forbidden me access to my grandson because...well, I'm not really sure, actually.
I don't think I'm a terrible person. I try to be kind, merciful, loving, genuine, truthful...all those things I'm supposed to be. There are several people in my life who seem to enjoy my company. My husband and children think I'm okay. What is it that makes me so unlovable to these three?
So here I sit. Unable to sleep. I am sad. I am hurt. And I feel very alone.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Uphill...both ways
Part of my journey toward a healthy lifestyle involves physical exercise. I have actually come to love hopping on my bicycle and riding around town. Who would've ever thought I'd admit to enjoying exercise?! It clears my mind and helps me focus in a way I haven't known in quite a while.
Today I had one of those "deep thought" moments while I was riding back from meeting a friend for tea and conversation. The ride there was much faster than I expected, and I was feeling mighty proud of myself. I had time to order my beverage, scope out and claim one of the coveted booths, and stop sweating before my friend arrived.
Although my ride to the coffee lab was faster than usual, it was still your basic Fayetteville ride...downshifting and struggling (followed by whimping out and walking) uphill then flying downhill with my feet off the pedals, channeling my inner five-year-old.
The ride back was radically different. Fayetteville is one of those unique places on the planet where you really do travel uphill both ways. As soon as I made the turn onto the bike path leading south toward my home, the wind practically knocked me backwards off my bike. Every rotation of the tires required extra effort. My eyes were watering and I was struggling to breath normally within the first mile. It was then I had my epiphany...so to speak.
The ride to coffee was full of struggles uphill just like the return trip; however, riding against the wind made it practically impossible. Several times in Scripture the Holy Spirit is compared to breath and wind. When I take the time to stop and listen to God's Word, to be still and wait for that quiet voice to speak to me, I'm riding with the wind. There are still hills...to struggle up and coast down. I must still work, and it isn't always easy, but with the wind at my back I'm encouraged to keep going and to overcome...to prevail.
When I turn the opposite way, going away from the Spirit's direction, I am riding into the wind. The hills seem steeper, and the usual invigorating cresting of the hill is followed by eye-stinging, breath-taking descent. At the end of the ride, I'm exhausted. Instead of feeling refreshed and focused, I'm just happy its over.
When it comes to riding my bike, even if I take the time to check the direction of the wind, returning home will be rough. Thankfully, in life, I can throw some dust into the wind and see which way it blows, then ride with it all the way to the final destination...home.
Today I had one of those "deep thought" moments while I was riding back from meeting a friend for tea and conversation. The ride there was much faster than I expected, and I was feeling mighty proud of myself. I had time to order my beverage, scope out and claim one of the coveted booths, and stop sweating before my friend arrived.
Although my ride to the coffee lab was faster than usual, it was still your basic Fayetteville ride...downshifting and struggling (followed by whimping out and walking) uphill then flying downhill with my feet off the pedals, channeling my inner five-year-old.
The ride back was radically different. Fayetteville is one of those unique places on the planet where you really do travel uphill both ways. As soon as I made the turn onto the bike path leading south toward my home, the wind practically knocked me backwards off my bike. Every rotation of the tires required extra effort. My eyes were watering and I was struggling to breath normally within the first mile. It was then I had my epiphany...so to speak.
The ride to coffee was full of struggles uphill just like the return trip; however, riding against the wind made it practically impossible. Several times in Scripture the Holy Spirit is compared to breath and wind. When I take the time to stop and listen to God's Word, to be still and wait for that quiet voice to speak to me, I'm riding with the wind. There are still hills...to struggle up and coast down. I must still work, and it isn't always easy, but with the wind at my back I'm encouraged to keep going and to overcome...to prevail.
When I turn the opposite way, going away from the Spirit's direction, I am riding into the wind. The hills seem steeper, and the usual invigorating cresting of the hill is followed by eye-stinging, breath-taking descent. At the end of the ride, I'm exhausted. Instead of feeling refreshed and focused, I'm just happy its over.
When it comes to riding my bike, even if I take the time to check the direction of the wind, returning home will be rough. Thankfully, in life, I can throw some dust into the wind and see which way it blows, then ride with it all the way to the final destination...home.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Healthy, Wealthy and Wise
I'm 45 1/2 years old. I am very hopeful that this is the midway point in my life journey, and its at this juncture I have decided to get healthy. I've also reached the point where I think I might actually "get it."
Losing weight isn't it.
Riding my bike for 20 miles isn't it.
Looking good in a bikini MOST DEFINITELY isn't it.
"IT" is being the best me I can be.
"IT" is letting you be whoever you are.
"IT" is accepting that God is God and I am not.
So I'm dealing with the consequences of my first 45 1/2 years and entering this second half of my life with my mind, heart and arms wide open. I'm aligning my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual being with my Creator, and am taking these first bold steps into the healing process; getting past my past and pressing onward toward the prize.
First Steps:
Physical - Medical tests to determine health issues
Emotional/Mental - Establish a therapeutic relationship with a trained Christian counselor
Spiritual - Read/Listen to the entire Word of God and return to daily prayer journaling.
Here we go...
Second verse, different from the first!
Losing weight isn't it.
Riding my bike for 20 miles isn't it.
Looking good in a bikini MOST DEFINITELY isn't it.
"IT" is being the best me I can be.
"IT" is letting you be whoever you are.
"IT" is accepting that God is God and I am not.
So I'm dealing with the consequences of my first 45 1/2 years and entering this second half of my life with my mind, heart and arms wide open. I'm aligning my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual being with my Creator, and am taking these first bold steps into the healing process; getting past my past and pressing onward toward the prize.
First Steps:
Physical - Medical tests to determine health issues
Emotional/Mental - Establish a therapeutic relationship with a trained Christian counselor
Spiritual - Read/Listen to the entire Word of God and return to daily prayer journaling.
Here we go...
Second verse, different from the first!
Monday, June 16, 2014
Seasonal Fruit
This morning I went out and picked a nice bunch of basil and made the salad I've linked below. Tonight I'm serving this salad along with watermelon and mint, and a lovely marinated, grilled pork loin. As I stood there making a chiffonade of basil (new fancy-pants cooking term for the day - its described in the recipe), I was thanking God for the incredible smell of basil and mint and melon. My mouth watered as I basked in the aroma of these sweet gifts and anticipated the first bites at our evening meal together.
As I took time to talk to God, He spoke to me as well. I was struck by how much I love summer food...in the summer. However, when September rolls around, I am ready to move on to pumpkin and apples and cinnamon and ginger. In the winter, I look forward to thick soups and stews, piping hot, filling my home and belly with warmth and comfort. Come April, I can't wait to get my hands on fresh asparagus and bright green lettuce.
Today, my Father said clearly, "Every season is beautiful and perfect, even this season. I created the seasons, and I created you. I knew when I made you which specific seasons you would enjoy and endure, and I love you. Don't be afraid. Every season is full of blessing, because every season is full of Me."
I've been wallowing in self-pity and fear, because I absolutely LOVE food. I love to plan it, find it, prepare it, savor it, and, of course, consume it. The doctor's recent diagnoses of various digestive disorders put an extreme limit on which foods my body can properly process. It will take a lot more planning, sacrifice and self-control. Planning I'm down with...sacrifice and self-control? They've never been my strong suits. God knew I would reach this point, and He knows my weakness, but He is my strength. He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He anoints me with oil, and my cup overflows. How sweet are His words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth, more to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb.
As I type this, the aroma of basil and mint oils worked into my fingertips wafts up and gives me peace. His words are life, and His changing seasons are welcome.
As I took time to talk to God, He spoke to me as well. I was struck by how much I love summer food...in the summer. However, when September rolls around, I am ready to move on to pumpkin and apples and cinnamon and ginger. In the winter, I look forward to thick soups and stews, piping hot, filling my home and belly with warmth and comfort. Come April, I can't wait to get my hands on fresh asparagus and bright green lettuce.
Today, my Father said clearly, "Every season is beautiful and perfect, even this season. I created the seasons, and I created you. I knew when I made you which specific seasons you would enjoy and endure, and I love you. Don't be afraid. Every season is full of blessing, because every season is full of Me."
I've been wallowing in self-pity and fear, because I absolutely LOVE food. I love to plan it, find it, prepare it, savor it, and, of course, consume it. The doctor's recent diagnoses of various digestive disorders put an extreme limit on which foods my body can properly process. It will take a lot more planning, sacrifice and self-control. Planning I'm down with...sacrifice and self-control? They've never been my strong suits. God knew I would reach this point, and He knows my weakness, but He is my strength. He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. He anoints me with oil, and my cup overflows. How sweet are His words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth, more to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey and drippings of the honeycomb.
As I type this, the aroma of basil and mint oils worked into my fingertips wafts up and gives me peace. His words are life, and His changing seasons are welcome.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Shine a Light and End It
My daughters want to do it. My daughter-in-law wants to do it. My sister wants to do it. All of the younger women in my life constantly talk and share about it.
It isn't cooking.
It isn't shopping.
It isn't exercise, styling your hair, refashioning clothes, getting married, having a baby, buying a house, getting an SUV, raising beautiful perfect children, or following celebrities...it isn't any of the things that seem to be such a big part of this American life, as evidenced by Pinterest, Instagram or Facebook (I don't tweet, but I guess you find all of that there, too.)
The younger women in my life want to end slavery.
Today, as I sat down on the couch in my living room, all set to drink my gallon mug of coffee, catch up on my social media, and do a little knitting whilst I listen to the mellow-voice-man read the book of Ezra to me, I was blinded.
On the east wall of our cozy living room, right next to the front door, there is an antique little window. It still contains the original glass from when this house was built in the 1920's. Across the street from our cool, old home, there is an apartment complex. Every day there are about 5 minutes when the sun comes up and shines over the roof of the apartments and directly through the little window. It throws rainbows all over the house, and its one of my favorite moments of the morning. However, I've never been in the direct line of that light before, I've only ever walked through the indirect beams.
As I sat down and opened up my laptop, I saw a big red X on the screen, and then everything went white. It looked kinda like this:
It made me think...about God's Word as a light for my path - Psalm 119:105; about how God is my everlasting light - Isaiah 60:19; about how we are the light of the world, a city on a hill - Matthew 5:14; about Jesus shining in the darkness, but the darkness not understanding - John 3:18-20; and mostly, that the night is nearly over, and we should put on our armor of light! - Romans 13:12
As the sun rose higher, and I could again focus, I saw a big red X on my computer screen. Today is the day the "END IT" movement has asked us to put a red X on our hands in an effort to shine a light on slavery.
So, I'm drawing an X on my hand, I'm forcing myself to watch all the videos that are posted, I'm crying and praying, I'm supporting my daughters, my sister...and all those with no voice.
We must not be silent.
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” ― Dietrich Bonhoeffer
It may seem that changing a profile picture and drawing a red X on our hands won't do anything, but guess what? Last year at this time, I could not have told you that the Super Bowl is one of the largest sex-trafficking events in the world...but we all know that now. Last year, I wouldn't have been able to tell you how many slaves there are estimated in the world, but now we all can rattle 27 million (27 MILLION!!!!) off without even thinking. We are AWARE. That's the first step. Now, are we ready for the next step?
For more info, click this link OR just follow my girls on facebook and click their links. Its time to let this sink into our hearts and our consciousness. It really is time to End It.
http://enditmovement.com/
It isn't cooking.
It isn't shopping.
It isn't exercise, styling your hair, refashioning clothes, getting married, having a baby, buying a house, getting an SUV, raising beautiful perfect children, or following celebrities...it isn't any of the things that seem to be such a big part of this American life, as evidenced by Pinterest, Instagram or Facebook (I don't tweet, but I guess you find all of that there, too.)
The younger women in my life want to end slavery.
Today, as I sat down on the couch in my living room, all set to drink my gallon mug of coffee, catch up on my social media, and do a little knitting whilst I listen to the mellow-voice-man read the book of Ezra to me, I was blinded.
On the east wall of our cozy living room, right next to the front door, there is an antique little window. It still contains the original glass from when this house was built in the 1920's. Across the street from our cool, old home, there is an apartment complex. Every day there are about 5 minutes when the sun comes up and shines over the roof of the apartments and directly through the little window. It throws rainbows all over the house, and its one of my favorite moments of the morning. However, I've never been in the direct line of that light before, I've only ever walked through the indirect beams.
As I sat down and opened up my laptop, I saw a big red X on the screen, and then everything went white. It looked kinda like this:
It made me think...about God's Word as a light for my path - Psalm 119:105; about how God is my everlasting light - Isaiah 60:19; about how we are the light of the world, a city on a hill - Matthew 5:14; about Jesus shining in the darkness, but the darkness not understanding - John 3:18-20; and mostly, that the night is nearly over, and we should put on our armor of light! - Romans 13:12
As the sun rose higher, and I could again focus, I saw a big red X on my computer screen. Today is the day the "END IT" movement has asked us to put a red X on our hands in an effort to shine a light on slavery.
So, I'm drawing an X on my hand, I'm forcing myself to watch all the videos that are posted, I'm crying and praying, I'm supporting my daughters, my sister...and all those with no voice.
We must not be silent.
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” ― Dietrich Bonhoeffer
It may seem that changing a profile picture and drawing a red X on our hands won't do anything, but guess what? Last year at this time, I could not have told you that the Super Bowl is one of the largest sex-trafficking events in the world...but we all know that now. Last year, I wouldn't have been able to tell you how many slaves there are estimated in the world, but now we all can rattle 27 million (27 MILLION!!!!) off without even thinking. We are AWARE. That's the first step. Now, are we ready for the next step?
For more info, click this link OR just follow my girls on facebook and click their links. Its time to let this sink into our hearts and our consciousness. It really is time to End It.
http://enditmovement.com/
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Memorials and Making Memories
Today was a contemplative day. It all started this morning with a memorial service for a friend who passed away much too soon. She got the flu, developed pneumonia and was gone before we even knew she was ill. She was in her mid-fifties. She was so young.
It was a lovely memorial on a stereo-typical, cold and rainy day. The room was filled with people from so many different spheres of her life. It was such a glorious testimony to a life well lived. Our friend was so well loved, because she loved so well.
As is often the case, this caused my husband and me to pause and think about our own life's testimony and to question, "What would people say about us?" I'd hope there would be a lot of laughter, as was the case this morning, with a sprinkling of tears. I'd hope there would be friends and family, and hugs, and music, and praise, and rejoicing, and prayer. I'd hope, like this morning, Jesus would be the focus... and I hope it will be a long, long time from now.
Unlike the family of this dear woman, my husband and I left that occasion and returned to a normal Saturday afternoon. We ran errands together, baked a cake, and fell asleep on the couch. We learned fancy new rhumba moves in our dance lesson, and sipped lattes as we talked in hushed voices at our favorite cafe. We discussed grandbabies and weddings and how much we love this community, realizing the nine years we've lived here is longer than either of us have ever lived in a single community. We shared how much we love running into people we know and care about everywhere we go and how wonderful it is to know people in different industries that we can call upon with questions or turn to for help.
As the sun, albeit hidden, sets on this day, I got a text from a friend. "I couldn't find the Cavenders seasoning at Walmart. Would these spices work for your fish recipe instead?" I was able to text back, "I'll be there in 10 minutes," as I grabbed my canister of Greek seasoning and jumped in the car. Six minutes later, I handed the spice to her husband and popped back home as quick as I had left. It was a tiny thing, really, but its part of that good life well lived...having friends, sharing, smiling, doing life together.
Thank you, Connie Lynn Lawrence, for your life well-lived. Jesus, thank you for the reminder, through Connie and her family, of what matters most.
It was a lovely memorial on a stereo-typical, cold and rainy day. The room was filled with people from so many different spheres of her life. It was such a glorious testimony to a life well lived. Our friend was so well loved, because she loved so well.
As is often the case, this caused my husband and me to pause and think about our own life's testimony and to question, "What would people say about us?" I'd hope there would be a lot of laughter, as was the case this morning, with a sprinkling of tears. I'd hope there would be friends and family, and hugs, and music, and praise, and rejoicing, and prayer. I'd hope, like this morning, Jesus would be the focus... and I hope it will be a long, long time from now.
Unlike the family of this dear woman, my husband and I left that occasion and returned to a normal Saturday afternoon. We ran errands together, baked a cake, and fell asleep on the couch. We learned fancy new rhumba moves in our dance lesson, and sipped lattes as we talked in hushed voices at our favorite cafe. We discussed grandbabies and weddings and how much we love this community, realizing the nine years we've lived here is longer than either of us have ever lived in a single community. We shared how much we love running into people we know and care about everywhere we go and how wonderful it is to know people in different industries that we can call upon with questions or turn to for help.
As the sun, albeit hidden, sets on this day, I got a text from a friend. "I couldn't find the Cavenders seasoning at Walmart. Would these spices work for your fish recipe instead?" I was able to text back, "I'll be there in 10 minutes," as I grabbed my canister of Greek seasoning and jumped in the car. Six minutes later, I handed the spice to her husband and popped back home as quick as I had left. It was a tiny thing, really, but its part of that good life well lived...having friends, sharing, smiling, doing life together.
Thank you, Connie Lynn Lawrence, for your life well-lived. Jesus, thank you for the reminder, through Connie and her family, of what matters most.
Friday, January 31, 2014
A Little Mom (and Mom-in-Law) Advice
Recently my daughter and her fiance' began pre-marital counseling. One of their assignments was to find out their parents' "philosophy on marriage." My first reaction was, "Marriage is wonderful...except when it isn't." I thought perhaps I could do a little better than that, so I searched my computer for something a little bit deeper.
This is a letter I
wrote to my first daughter-in-law. While
it was written specifically to one person, it pretty much sums up my view of a
wife’s role in the marriage. It doesn’t
get into the nitty-gritty details, but I think these overarching attitudes are
the spirit that leads to working out those details. There's nothing new or earth-shattering in here, but maybe it will offer a little hope to some young (or not-so-young) bride out there wondering what it means to be "a good wife."
Dear (daughter or daughter-in-law)
I got up this morning bound and determined to find the
perfect little gems to share with you…just the right combination of words to
give you a good start on this new path of marriage. I typed in, “Marriage advice from
mother-in-law.” This is what the Google
gave me:
I was a little taken aback.
I mean, we’ve all heard the horror stories about monsters-in-law. It just never occurred to me that one day I
might be one! I never want to be that
person you dread. I just want to be a
person who’s on your team…who’ll always have your back…who’ll pray for you
every single day…who you know you can count on when the chips are down…who’ll
tell you the truth even if it’s hard.
So here is my best advice for being married to a man:
- He needs…no he NEEDS!!!!!...your respect. A survey was performed asking men which they would prefer: A woman who deeply respected them or a woman who deeply cherished them. 92% of the 1000 men surveyed answered, “What is the difference?” (Guy’s Name) thrives on respect and admiration. Be his biggest fan in every context.
- When your girlfriends get together and start dishing the dirt on their hubbies, don’t join in. Many years ago I went through a terrible depression. Rick had to take care of our three (at the time) children pretty much on his own as I was in and out of the hospital over a one-year span. After it was over, and I was on my feet again, my own mother-in-law told me, “You know, Rick never once said a single negative thing about you.” That really moved me, and I vowed to never again complain about him to another person. (Guy’s name) needs you to be his loyal ambassador in this world.
- More than anything else, (Guy’s name) (like most men) is afraid that people will reject him or think he is inadequate. He’ll face this in every area of his life on a daily basis…work, church, friends, parenting, husbanding. As much as it is possible for you, protect him from this in his home. He won’t be perfect, but try your very, very best to accept him and encourage him.
- Pray for him. Pray with him. Pray about him. Pray around him. Pray….
- Start every day with a kiss. End every day with a kiss.
- Live in a constant state of “YES” with God. Constantly fight the American dream! You are blessed to be a blessing. Use your blessings to further the Kingdom. Don’t let your blessings manage you, instead. Start your marriage with the mindset that you always want to be in a position to answer His call…whatever that might be. Don’t break into prison…shackling yourself to a house or car or any other debt. Live your life in such a way that you can walk away from any earthly material thing whenever our Father asks you to. Its easy to wake up in your 40s and look back on a life of wasted time and effort and regrets. I promise you will never regret saying YES to Jesus! (getting off of soap box now).
I promise, as your mother (in-law), to listen objectively when
(guy’s name) calls to ask, “What the heck is she doing?” “What did she mean by
this?” “I just don’t get women.” And I
promise to point him to Jesus as the only source of help. I promise to remind him that he loves
you. I promise to never, ever feed anger
or hostility, but to pray diligently with and for him and for you.
I also promise to do the same when you call to ask, “Why
does he do that?” “Why does he always try to fix me?” “Why can’t he just
understand?”
Every day I thank our Father for bringing you two together,
but it is going to be hard. Times are
going to rough. Money’s going to be
short. You’re going to be tired. There will be tragedies. Fights will happen. You will both be tempted to run away from
home.
In this world, you will have trouble. BUT!!!!!
He has overcome the world. (Can I
get an AMEN!)
When you want to scream…pray together
When you want to run…pray together
When you want to throw something…pick up the Bible…but don’t
throw it!!!!
Read James…the whole book.
Read it over and over together.
Read it in many versions and translations. Memorize it…the whole book. Live together in a Jamesy community.
I could go on and on, but praise God, I have the rest of my
life to love you, to pray for you and with you, to watch your relationship with
(guy’s name) mature and bear much fruit.
I love you, (daughter or daughter-in-law)! I am so, so, so happy you are marrying (guy’s
name)!
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