Thoughts and Thanks

Last night I sat in a room full of mostly young men from around the world...Asia, Africa, Texas...and we discussed the events and happenings in 2012 for which we are thankful.  I know this is a very common practice this time of year, but its the first time I've ever participated in this ritual with international friends.

One thing we all have in common is we are all thankful for our families.  I was teased for the sappy expression I put on every time someone said the word "family", but I just couldn't help it.  There are just so many times when I am overwhelmed by what a gift a loving family can be.

Today, before I launch into the frantic food frenzy that is the day before Thanksgiving, I want to take a moment to share how grateful I am for my only little clan.

I am, of course, so thankful for my husband.  He works hard every day and is as loyal as the day is long.  He listens to my rants, tries his best to understand my views, and wipes my tears when I realize I am a total misfit.  He makes me laugh more than any other human being, he loves Jesus with all his heart, and is the most kind, generous, and understanding father I've ever encountered.

I am also quite grateful for my oldest son.  He has given me a run for my money at every turn, and knows how to push every single one of my buttons at the same time, but he's never written me off, even though there are many many children who just walk away from their families.  He has taught me what it looks like to forgive , and through him I've been given the opportunity to learn how to access Christ's love within me.  He is a sharpening stone in my life, and I so enjoy watching God work in and through him.

My oldest daughter also fills my heart with appreciation and admiration.  She is genuine and open, but is learning the fine art of recognizing trustworthy friends.  She is willing to do the extremely hard work of forgiving past mistakes; her own and those of others.  Her laugh fills a room but she doesn't have to joke to lift a mood.  She is a true friend who listens with an open mind and prays with an open heart.

I am grateful for my younger son as well.  He is so much like his father, loyal and diligent.  I don't get to see him very often these days, but he is in love with an only-child.  While it is difficult to part with him, his kindness in spending time with her family melts my heart.  He is young, but he is becoming a man who recognizes a need and does his best to fill it.  He is quiet and thoughtful and has a good heart.

This brings me to my youngest daughter, so much a mix of my husband and myself.  She has such a sensitive spirit, and she constantly reminds me that its okay to feel every emotion fully.  She is learning her worth and value as defined by Christ and I am often amazed at her strength when faced with temptation.  In the midst of so many stressors during her senior high school year, she allows herself the balance of unapologetic joy, anger and tears...all bathed in Scripture.

God knew that I needed each of these people to mold me, sharpen me and direct me to Him.  I am so thankful for each person in my family and for every memory that has formed us into who we are.

I'm not typically a big fan of country music, but when it comes to sappy lyrics about loving your family and your life, well...country music has a lot to offer.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Ultimate Culture Shock

Living in a home with people from multiple cultures can have its ups and downs.  I admit, I am learning a lot,which is good since I know so little about this process.

I've been trying to do some research and have been asking questions of people who know more about cultural transitions than I do.  I've been thinking about my friends who move to other parts of the world, and have been realizing how difficult that must be for them.  I've also become aware of how much more I could have done to reach out to them when they've made these life-changes.

During all of this research and questioning, remembering and regretting, I had a thought:  Jesus  must have experienced the ultimate culture shock.  I mean...I think leaving Asia and coming to the U.S. must be very difficult, but it can't be anything like leaving Heaven and coming to Earth.

I've decided to focus for a while on how He handled the cultural transition, and how He served His Father in the midst of it.

He surrounded Himself with a few close friends
He never lost sight of why He was here
He talked to His Father constantly
He LOVED people
He relied on God's power...

Yes.  I'll focus on Him and try to see everyone the way Christ does.  Seems like a good plan.

Abolishing Acceptable Addictions

I am addicted to coffee.  Why do I call my love of java an addiction?  Bottom line, I continue to consume coffee even though I know it is going to make me sick.  Coffee is bad for me, and yet I have to have it.  In addition to making my stomach feel like its wants to turn inside out, when I don't consume coffee, my brain starts banging wildly on the walls of its room demanding coffee.  That definitely qualifies as an addiction.

Not only am I addicted to coffee, but I've also come to realize that food is an idol in my life.  Here's where things get tricky, and I'm probably going to say something that people will find offensive, but its been bugging me for a long time, and well....this is my blog, so I can say what I want.  I think I am not the only one who has given food a throne above God in their lives.

I'm just going to ask this question very quickly and move on (like ripping off a band-aid):  Why does the Church frown on addictions to alcohol, pot, crack, meth, tobacco, porn, sex, etc, but we all just accept and ignore food addictions?

Okay...moving on.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time thinking about food...not just do I WANT food, I spend hours pouring over food blogs, food pins, food sites, books about food, pictures of food.  If I spent half the time thinking about Jesus that I spend thinking about food, I would have a much better relationship with Him than I do now.  

When I am sad, I want food.  When I am lonely, I want food.  When I am angry...food.  When I'm happy, I celebrate with food.  When I have friends over, my first thought is the appropriate food.  

But it doesn't just stop with me...oh no, I push my idol on other people, too.  When people come over, "Eat this."  When its cold and rainy, "Eat these things I baked."  When you have a baby...food.  When you are sick....food.  When you lose a loved one....LOTS of food.

Of course I am not saying that offering food is wrong, but it is my #1 knee-jerk response to absolutely every life situation, when my #1 default, auto-response really should be prayer...every single time.  There is absolutely no circumstance for which prayer, either praise or petition, isn't the right response.  

God has been so merciful throughout my life to help me recognize idols, and to help me start tearing them down.  Years ago, when my perfect-little-family was my idol, He sent a storm to knock it down.  Today, we are so much better for it.  Then, my beautiful home became my idol, and He sent a bright light (Perspectives) to shine on my life and help me see more clearly.  Now, He has brought celiac into my life to aid me in tearing down my idol of food.  

Paul prayed three times that God would take away the thorn in his side.  I, too, have prayed that He would take away the pain that food causes.  He has chosen to leave it in my life, and it is high time I remember how good and faithful He has been, and accept the loving discipline from my tender and merciful Father.

I Lost My Best Friend

I have a friend who has never let me down.  This friend lifts my spirits when I'm down, makes me feel warm and loved, accepts me for who I am, makes my problems take a back seat, fills me up, and is always, always, always there for me...until now.  Until 2011, food was my most trustworthy companion.

Now I have been diagnosed with celiac, and my one true, lifelong friend has become my enemy.  I've endured pain off and on for many years, but no one ever hinted that it could be my good, close friend that was hurting me.  Then last year my safe little world began to crumble, like the cakes and pies I so enjoyed baking and consuming.

I'm left feeling betrayed by my friend.  I am angry and hurt.  Sometimes I slip back into denial, and have to experience the betrayal all over again to return to the reality that gluten causes me to feel like I've swallowed broken glass, and it is slowly working its way through my digestive tract.

I know right now "Gluten Free" is the new "Low Fat."  Everyone thinks they can't have gluten.  Here's a crash course in what celiac is all about.  It is NOT gluten intolerance.

Inside your digestive tract, you have these little tiny fingery looking things called villi....they sort of look like shag carpet lining your intestines.  When these little fingers are all plump and happy, standing up at attention, they suck the nutrients out of the food you eat.  Those nutrients are what power your body and give you the vitamins and minerals you need to do all the wonderful things God designed you to do.

In a person with celiac, gluten causes the shag carpet to lose its body and to lay down flat.  the villi aren't able to absorb the nutrients.  Basically, a person can be eating all the food in the world, but if they have celiac, and they ate gluten, they can die from malnutrition because their body isn't absorbing any of the nutrients from the food they eat.

So...eating gluten can, quite simply, kill a person with celiac.

Tonight, I am laying her suffering because at some point in the past week I had gluten when I didn't realize it.  Gluten hides in lots of places...try reading some labels one day...just for fun.
Gluten is in: wheat flour, modified food starch,caramel color, MSG, "natural flavors," and maltodextrin, as well as any food containing wheat, rye, barley or spelt.

For someone with celiac, "gluten free" isn't enough.  If a gluten-free product comes into contact with anything containing gluten, that's all it takes.  For instance, Mellow Mushroom makes a gluten free pizza crust, but they use the same pans and utensils and cooking space to prepare it that they do for regular crust...so for someone with celiac, the pizza is no longer "gluten free."  If a gluten-free product is made in a factory that also produces gluten products, we can't have it.  Celiac disease is NOT just gluten intolerance.

Please take just a second to check out more information about celiac disease.  And remember, when you meet someone with celiac and they watch you eat that cookie like they've lost their best friend...it might be because they did.

More information about Celiac Disease

The Little Red Shovel

A long time ago, I was depressed.  Not just down in the dumps.  I was "swallow two bottles of pills" depressed.  

At the same time, I was the mother of three little munchkins, one of whom was a newborn.  Postpartum depression is a really sucky way to spend your baby's first year.

After I had recovered from that one desperately hopeless act (or was it hopelessly desperate?), I spent a lot of time being therapized.  At least twice per week I would drag myself off the couch and try to make my "insert-name-of-SSRI-drug-here" embalmed body look human.  All so I could go pour out my soul to a $100 p/hour stranger.

On one of these particular occasions, I noticed my son standing outside the bathroom door, watching me stare blankly into the mirror.  He asked where I was going, and I told him "to the doctor."  He thought a second, and then asked, "Why do you go to the doctor so much, Mom?"  In an effort to make it simple for him to understand, I explained, "Well, the doctor is trying to help mommy's heart not be so sad."  He shifted from one foot to the other, and then queried further, "Doesn't Jesus live in your heart anymore?"  

Wow.  That was a tough one, and I didn't really have the energy to handle that kind of depth from a five year old.  I tried, once again, to put it into kindergarten terms.  "Yes, Jesus is still in my heart, but I buried Him under a lot of sad stuff.  The doctor is helping me dig Him out."

My little five year-old, wise beyond his years, quickly turned and ran down the stairs.  I heard him digging through his toy box and then tromping up the stairs as fast as he could.  He stood, breathless, by the sink, and thrust the little red shovel into my hand.  "Here, Mommy, so you can find Jesus faster."

So often we do that....bury our Jesus.  He could easily burst through the rocks and sand of our sadness and stand triumphant upon the mountain of His accomplishment, and I suppose for some people He does just that.  For most of us though, I think we have to work.  I think the joy can only come when we put our backs into it, reach down through the rubble, and feel Jesus take our hand as we pull Him back up to his proper place.  Sometimes that what it takes, and the work is SO hard.  But He is SO worth it.

I still have that little red shovel...somewhere in a drawer, and when I randomly come across it as I search for something else, I am reminded of the joy I experienced on that day I realized Jesus was standing atop the rubble...standing there with me and that little red shovel from my sweet little son.

I Am Not Enough

Every day that I live in this wonderful place, one thing stands out in my mind...

I AM RIDICULOUSLY INADEQUATE FOR THIS ROLE!!!!!

One thing is certain, if anything positive happens in this house, it is 100%, bonafide, tried and true from God.  I can make a house pretty.  I can make a house feel homey.  I'm even okay at  ensuring people feel welcome here.  What I can't do is heal the hurts of the lovely young women who share this home with me.  I would give anything to be able to do that.

I have spent enough time on this planet to realize, however, that Jesus is enough to heal any hurt.  He is enough to sooth any sorrow.  He is enough...

So every morning I sit here on my little red loveseat in my tiny living room with my cup of coffee listening to the high school band practice, and I take each one of these ladies to my Heavenly Father.  I set them in His big comfy Dad lap and plead with Him to hold them, to make them feel safe, to let them feel loved, to pour peace over them, to fill them with joy.

That's all I can do.

There are days, when I feel
The best of me, is ready to begin.
Then there are days, when I feel
I'm letting go, and soaring on the wind;
But I've learned in laughter or in pain
How to survive.

And I get on my knees,
I get on my knees.
There I am before the Lord that changes me.
See, I don't know how but there's power
When I'm on my knees.

I can be in a crowd, or by myself
Or almost anywhere;
When I feel, there's a need to talk with God.
He is Emmanuel!
When I close my eyes, no darkness there,
There's only light.

When I get on my knees,
When I get on my kness.
There I am before the lord that changes me.
See, I don't know how but there's power
In the blue sky.
I don't know how but there's power
In the midnight.
I don't know how but there's power
When I'm on my knees.

I get on my knees.
I get on my knees.
There I am before the Lord that changes me.
I don't know how but there's power.
I don't know how but God gives me power.
I don't know how but there's power,
When I'm on my knees.

I am a Mom

I've been trying to put together a blog, complete with pictures, of our new home at the one-month mark.  Seeing as how it is now six weeks since we moved, I'd say its time to start working on the two-month blog.  Oh well.

In the meantime, I've had a couple of revelations lately, and considering that I'm sitting here with a giant mug of pumpkin spice coffee, I figured I'd take minute to jot them down.

Back in the day when all my wee ones were...well....wee, I was a stay-at-home mom.  I enjoyed it, but as the kids got a little older and more self-sufficient, I began pondering that age -old question, "Is this really all there is?"  I simply didn't feel very important.

Somewhere in a box in our storage unit (the 10x10 unit; not the 3000 sq/ft storage unit we are still trying to sell) sits an old book I completed when I was 8 years old.  The title of this relic is, "My Book About Me," and in it are all sorts of questions about my likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams.  At the ripe old age of eight, I declared that I wanted to be a Mom when I grew up.  At eight years of age, however, "Mom" doesn't necessarily imply what that word truly entails.

All I knew was that Moms are awesome!  I didn't truly understand that the job title of "Mom" actually means maid, chauffer, cook, nurse, teacher, personal shopper, etc, etc.  I just knew that everyone loves their Mom, and I wanted to be loved.

As the four little people who called me "Mom" grew up, I recognized that I was working myself out of a job, and I desperately wanted to be acknowledged and necessary.  I wanted people to appreciate all I had to offer, so I did what any reasonable person would do:  I got a job (outside the home).

And here's what I learned during the couple of decades I've spent working in administration:  I am a very good Mom.  Now I'm not saying I'm not a good administrator.  I'm okay at that, too.  The thing that brings me joy, however, is nurturing people and providing them with a safe, cozy, warm, loving environment to call home.

Do you want to hear the most amazing part of this epiphany?  God knows this about me, and He took me out of a career in which I was merely competent, and gave me the desire of my heart.  By simply obeying His leading, I am doing that which brings me the greatest happiness.

Until this point on my journey my eyes would not have been open to this.  My heart simply wasn't prepared to accept that "Mom" is what I was created to be.  Here I am, though...a Mom away from home to many young ladies (and gentlemen to a certain extent), and I am loving every minute of it.   My God is so good to me!