We didn't really want to go there, yesterday, but we did. Bill, Abby and I talked about hope, for some reason, as we drove there. Abby brought up that word. She's amazingly instinctive and even a bit prophetic at times- for a 14 year old. So when we arrived at the church that we were going to visit that day, we carried that word with us as we went inside: hope, that we would be glad to say that we had gone to the house of the Lord, hope that we would feel "included" and not like wandering, uninvited strangers crashing a party, and hope that we would leave there...changed.
There was a part of me bucking and rearing deep inside, like a bull out of the chute. I did not want to go through "all this" again. If you care about being in fellowship with other Christians, if you want to find a church "home" as we call it, there's nothing worse for a disguised introvert like me than to walk into new settings where you supposedly should feel immediate love and bonding with the people there- because they're Christians.
But Christians can be mean, resistant to outsiders, rude, or cold. I should know- I'm one of them. I have my days and my moments and my seasons, even, where I am not in love with other Christians at all. You could even say that I get tired of these people, tired of our rules or our Agenda or our strange culture of love and grace and grim faced judgment. We want to be gracious and kind and above all meanness and spite- but we are not. I am not. I hate that about myself and when I go into a church I see people like me who are trying to get above it all, trying to see Him in all His reality- so that our reality changes.
So we went inside. And we were not sorry that we did. We were welcomed by people, but more than that, the presence of the Holy Spirit was strong, heavy, like a comforting blanket that descended from the heavens. We'd heard that this church was not exactly the most seeker sensitive, meaning that it expressed itself in fervent outspoken worship, sudden cries coming from people who call out the Name above all Names, behavior that is not staid and riveted to the seats in decorum and human nobility. I was quiet in my seat, but comfortable with all that was going on around me. I didn't know what I would hear next, what I would experience next , and I was so glad for that.
We left the church and drove home quieter in thought than when we had arrived. Did we find our church home? I don't know yet. But I do know that I was touched and I was changed. I went in there with my invisible shroud of hurt and guardedness. I left there reminded that I was not allowed to keep that shroud on. I have no right to dwell in the land of mistrust and suspicion and reservations.
"Enlarge the place of your dwelling..." Isaiah 54:2 begins. I believe that where I am to dwell is the Land of Hope. And my dwelling in this land is supposed to increase and spread out. Because these three remain- faith, hope, and love, the Bible tells us. Hope is wedged right in the middle, I think, because our faith in His love for us should cause Hope to arise and spread out, like the smile that suddenly appears on my face because He surprised me again. He always does.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Read the Headlines
I wonder if we Americans are really in touch with the raging undercurrent of economic anxiety this nation is feeling. This past week I was dealing with my own situational concerns: a son sick with potential pneumonia based 13 hours away at college, a highly sensitive dog who had to be clipped down to the skin at the Groomers, a home schooled teenage daughter in need of more social interaction and who was just plain tired of me being her teacher- after only three weeks of home schooling.
I was aware of the news headlines, the dire straights that certain banks were in, the predicament that we all are in- but I couldn't do anything about these big, huge economic concerns. My own concerns were in front of me, and I was just trying to figure out what was required of me. What was I supposed to do, and what was I supposed to let God handle?
In the end, I saw my son miraculously recover from what would normally have taken chest x-rays and antibiotics to deal with. I saw my daughter end the school week yesterday with a smile on her face after a jaunt to the local mall with a friend and then an easy supper of pizza and wings where Bill, Abby and I enjoyed what I call our "happy meal" and Harry calls his sad meal- because he doesn't get a scrap of anything. When I say that this dog is delicate, you have no idea. The least bit of a change to his diet, and we all know in a very pungent way that he can't handle the change.
The changes in our nation right now are so upsetting and nauseating to so many that I imagine many have not been able to sleep or eat, much less have a happy meal. Our family already lives at a higher risk level than some families do because my husband is self-employed, we have no pension or retirement fund, and we've journeyed this way for so long now that I am used to the constant underlying pressure of living close to the edge financially. I don't enjoy it nor do I ever welcome it with open arms, but I have fully accepted that this is how we travel, so to speak- a bit like vagabonds living in a comfy suburban world with strange, out-of-this world beliefs that are best expressed in verses from melodies like "God will make a way, where there seems to be no way" and "Jehoval Jireh, My Provider, His Grace is sufficient for me".
But I still feel the tension and the wobbliness of what's going on nationally, economically, politically. There's a great amount of fear in our nation that's trying to go undetected so that the tidal wave of crisis and change doesn't become unnecessarily bigger than what it has to be. I think we want to be brave and stoic but many of us feel vulnerable, at risk more than ever, and shaky- whether we're employed, retired, unemployed, self-employed or just starting out.
I think this might be a good place to be- in touch with reality, in touch with the fact that we've never been so high and mighty that we've eliminated Risk and secured the big Guarantee. We don't want to feel vulnerable, but since when have we not been exposed to situations bigger than our control, mountains seemingly impossible to climb, rough choppy seas that should overwhelm a tiny boat?
This is walking-on-water time. Being in your little boat isn't any safer when you're in the midst of a turbulent, thrashing storm. I think walking on water may just be the thing we were born to do. It may just be exactly what God has called us to do- anytime we are tempted to hold back and hole up. Instead, God says, Hold On...to Me.
I was aware of the news headlines, the dire straights that certain banks were in, the predicament that we all are in- but I couldn't do anything about these big, huge economic concerns. My own concerns were in front of me, and I was just trying to figure out what was required of me. What was I supposed to do, and what was I supposed to let God handle?
In the end, I saw my son miraculously recover from what would normally have taken chest x-rays and antibiotics to deal with. I saw my daughter end the school week yesterday with a smile on her face after a jaunt to the local mall with a friend and then an easy supper of pizza and wings where Bill, Abby and I enjoyed what I call our "happy meal" and Harry calls his sad meal- because he doesn't get a scrap of anything. When I say that this dog is delicate, you have no idea. The least bit of a change to his diet, and we all know in a very pungent way that he can't handle the change.
The changes in our nation right now are so upsetting and nauseating to so many that I imagine many have not been able to sleep or eat, much less have a happy meal. Our family already lives at a higher risk level than some families do because my husband is self-employed, we have no pension or retirement fund, and we've journeyed this way for so long now that I am used to the constant underlying pressure of living close to the edge financially. I don't enjoy it nor do I ever welcome it with open arms, but I have fully accepted that this is how we travel, so to speak- a bit like vagabonds living in a comfy suburban world with strange, out-of-this world beliefs that are best expressed in verses from melodies like "God will make a way, where there seems to be no way" and "Jehoval Jireh, My Provider, His Grace is sufficient for me".
But I still feel the tension and the wobbliness of what's going on nationally, economically, politically. There's a great amount of fear in our nation that's trying to go undetected so that the tidal wave of crisis and change doesn't become unnecessarily bigger than what it has to be. I think we want to be brave and stoic but many of us feel vulnerable, at risk more than ever, and shaky- whether we're employed, retired, unemployed, self-employed or just starting out.
I think this might be a good place to be- in touch with reality, in touch with the fact that we've never been so high and mighty that we've eliminated Risk and secured the big Guarantee. We don't want to feel vulnerable, but since when have we not been exposed to situations bigger than our control, mountains seemingly impossible to climb, rough choppy seas that should overwhelm a tiny boat?
This is walking-on-water time. Being in your little boat isn't any safer when you're in the midst of a turbulent, thrashing storm. I think walking on water may just be the thing we were born to do. It may just be exactly what God has called us to do- anytime we are tempted to hold back and hole up. Instead, God says, Hold On...to Me.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Love and Relief
There are some days when I have a lot of petitions, complaints and questions that I bring before God, but this is not one of those days. Today is a day of peace, both inner and manifested. My son is well. He is not critical or in danger. And that means that I am speechless with relief and in awe at how God worked in this situation.
I knew Alex was going to be okay when I received a text message from him at noon, yesterday, asking about bananas and exactly how do they ripen? These are the strange, delightful things that my son will often throw out to me- when he's full of questions or ready to do something silly or crazy because he is full of life.
There are certain gaps in his schooling where Alex missed simple facts and important data, such as memorizing the months of the year. I found out last year that he doesn't know the months of the year in order (I home schooled him in kindergarten so this must be my fault) yet the kid memorized the Periodic Table of the Elements for fun. Anyhow, Alex texted me a question about bananas. I furiously texted back, "Never mind bananas-Are you okay? Did you sleep well last night? Are you eating breakfast right now? How is your breathing?"
Just a few words from him about feeling surprisingly okay made me take a deep breath and sigh with relief. He told me the college nurse had him in twice to check on his breathing and that she was taking good care of him. I wanted to hug that nurse and squeeze her tight with all the relief and gratitude I felt. This is a major breakthrough for my son. If he comes through this cold without it turning into pneumonia and causing an Asthma attack, this will be a big deal. A very big deal.
Weeks before Alex left for college, he wound up getting the Pneumococcal vaccination. It happened only because his sister was sick, again, with a sinus infection and her doctor brought up having her tested to see if this vaccine would help. Alex's health history was brought up, and they were both tested. Abby didn't need the vaccine, they said, but Alex did. A shot in the arm was administered- which Alex took cheerfully. We had no idea that this vaccine would prove to be an ally in battle.
So my son is well enough to send text messages about green bananas and about the pizza he ate last night. He is still standing. I am too, for that matter. Standing on the promises of God, as that old hymn goes, and standing tall and strong in love and relief. I have no big questions to ask of God today. I don't want to discuss with God any plaguing questions I've had about justice or war or what seems to be unfair in life.
I am quiet with awe right now. My son was not only rescued but I was too. While fear rose up within me, something greater rose up as well. My cry went out to God. He heard my voice. He hears mothers everywhere. He listens to the lonely. He cares about the downtrodden. He lifts up those who have fallen. And everywhere you look, you'll find God at work, somehow, in some way, in a miracle in the making...if you will just wait long enough to see what He will do when you ask God to carry you through.
I knew Alex was going to be okay when I received a text message from him at noon, yesterday, asking about bananas and exactly how do they ripen? These are the strange, delightful things that my son will often throw out to me- when he's full of questions or ready to do something silly or crazy because he is full of life.
There are certain gaps in his schooling where Alex missed simple facts and important data, such as memorizing the months of the year. I found out last year that he doesn't know the months of the year in order (I home schooled him in kindergarten so this must be my fault) yet the kid memorized the Periodic Table of the Elements for fun. Anyhow, Alex texted me a question about bananas. I furiously texted back, "Never mind bananas-Are you okay? Did you sleep well last night? Are you eating breakfast right now? How is your breathing?"
Just a few words from him about feeling surprisingly okay made me take a deep breath and sigh with relief. He told me the college nurse had him in twice to check on his breathing and that she was taking good care of him. I wanted to hug that nurse and squeeze her tight with all the relief and gratitude I felt. This is a major breakthrough for my son. If he comes through this cold without it turning into pneumonia and causing an Asthma attack, this will be a big deal. A very big deal.
Weeks before Alex left for college, he wound up getting the Pneumococcal vaccination. It happened only because his sister was sick, again, with a sinus infection and her doctor brought up having her tested to see if this vaccine would help. Alex's health history was brought up, and they were both tested. Abby didn't need the vaccine, they said, but Alex did. A shot in the arm was administered- which Alex took cheerfully. We had no idea that this vaccine would prove to be an ally in battle.
So my son is well enough to send text messages about green bananas and about the pizza he ate last night. He is still standing. I am too, for that matter. Standing on the promises of God, as that old hymn goes, and standing tall and strong in love and relief. I have no big questions to ask of God today. I don't want to discuss with God any plaguing questions I've had about justice or war or what seems to be unfair in life.
I am quiet with awe right now. My son was not only rescued but I was too. While fear rose up within me, something greater rose up as well. My cry went out to God. He heard my voice. He hears mothers everywhere. He listens to the lonely. He cares about the downtrodden. He lifts up those who have fallen. And everywhere you look, you'll find God at work, somehow, in some way, in a miracle in the making...if you will just wait long enough to see what He will do when you ask God to carry you through.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
My Hand in His
When my son, Alex, and I first visited his college campus, we arrived in the early evening and it was cold, dark, and dreary in the town. Very dark. There were hardly any street lights illuminating our way as walked from the bed and breakfast we were staying at to the college campus down the street. I thought to myself, I don't like this and its cold and dark, and I turned to my son and said, "We're only here a couple days and then we are going home." I felt relieved at that thought, that he and I would leave the place that made us feel uncomfortable and cold and go to the place where we felt "safe and secure from all alarm".
But when we walked into the campus building, up the stairs into the student lounge area, we walked into warmth and light and friendship and new beginnings. Within hours I knew that this is where my son was going to be going to college. I knew it and I felt sure that it would be good. And it is good. But now it's hard.
My son is sick with a cold. That's nothing, as far as news, for most people. But to the mother of a preemie, the mother of a son who spent nights in emergency rooms struggling to breathe, the mother of a son who gets quiet and pale when a simple cold takes him down with asthma or pneumonia, this is knee-shaking news. This is going where I do not want to go: I am at a loss to help him the way I have always intervened when he was sick. I cannot assess how bad it is, from where I am. I can only hear his voice, by phone, and feel the fear inside me; the kind of fear that makes me nauseous with worry so that I only half hear what my daughter is saying to me when she asks me a question about her history lesson.
I feel cornered by God- because this is what I had dreaded and what I had known I would go through. I knew my son would be far away at a college campus and I would be reduced to a distant doctor's assessment of his health, with me assessing his health by phone call. That I would be trying to gauge, from a distance, where my son was at as far as the critical nature of breathing, just breathing.
I believe God does not want me to fear. In my head I know this. I believe God loves and cares for my son. But HOW do I get through this? I don't want to go through this. I don't like this kind of trial, this challenge He presents to me so that I can learn to not only trust Him, but trust Him as I am learning to trust Him.
"'A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master'(Matthew 10:24). In other words, the same things that happened to our Lord will happen to us on our way to to our 'Jerusalem' "(My Utmost for His Highest). I imagine that Christ knew where He was called to go, knew what lay ahead for Him, yet that doesn't mean He enjoyed the route, that He grinned and laughed on His way. No one smiles at a trial ahead of them, however big or small it may seem to others. Sometimes people, loved ones even, cannot understand what makes you quake in your boots. What we go through, we go through with shaking, cold hands that others may not see, but God feels them, He holds them, "for He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust" (Ps 103:14).
And as long as He intimately knows what its like to battle fear, to have to go where we do not want to go, then I can be comforted by Him. I can let Him lead me through a trial, across a mountain and up the difficult side, so that I can know the heights of His love, the depth of His comforting peace. I know in the end I will not have to say that I enjoyed the journey, but that the outcome of the journey was worth it all.
But when we walked into the campus building, up the stairs into the student lounge area, we walked into warmth and light and friendship and new beginnings. Within hours I knew that this is where my son was going to be going to college. I knew it and I felt sure that it would be good. And it is good. But now it's hard.
My son is sick with a cold. That's nothing, as far as news, for most people. But to the mother of a preemie, the mother of a son who spent nights in emergency rooms struggling to breathe, the mother of a son who gets quiet and pale when a simple cold takes him down with asthma or pneumonia, this is knee-shaking news. This is going where I do not want to go: I am at a loss to help him the way I have always intervened when he was sick. I cannot assess how bad it is, from where I am. I can only hear his voice, by phone, and feel the fear inside me; the kind of fear that makes me nauseous with worry so that I only half hear what my daughter is saying to me when she asks me a question about her history lesson.
I feel cornered by God- because this is what I had dreaded and what I had known I would go through. I knew my son would be far away at a college campus and I would be reduced to a distant doctor's assessment of his health, with me assessing his health by phone call. That I would be trying to gauge, from a distance, where my son was at as far as the critical nature of breathing, just breathing.
I believe God does not want me to fear. In my head I know this. I believe God loves and cares for my son. But HOW do I get through this? I don't want to go through this. I don't like this kind of trial, this challenge He presents to me so that I can learn to not only trust Him, but trust Him as I am learning to trust Him.
"'A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master'(Matthew 10:24). In other words, the same things that happened to our Lord will happen to us on our way to to our 'Jerusalem' "(My Utmost for His Highest). I imagine that Christ knew where He was called to go, knew what lay ahead for Him, yet that doesn't mean He enjoyed the route, that He grinned and laughed on His way. No one smiles at a trial ahead of them, however big or small it may seem to others. Sometimes people, loved ones even, cannot understand what makes you quake in your boots. What we go through, we go through with shaking, cold hands that others may not see, but God feels them, He holds them, "for He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust" (Ps 103:14).
And as long as He intimately knows what its like to battle fear, to have to go where we do not want to go, then I can be comforted by Him. I can let Him lead me through a trial, across a mountain and up the difficult side, so that I can know the heights of His love, the depth of His comforting peace. I know in the end I will not have to say that I enjoyed the journey, but that the outcome of the journey was worth it all.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Accepting the Ride of Your Life
I didn't think so at first, but I really do have a lot in common with those professional bull riders. I realized that after watching Sunday afternoon's broadcast on T.V. I sat there with my eyes glued to the screen, coughing up a storm due to this terrible cold we've been battling here these last couple days. I felt weak and and like I had been stomped on. But these bull riders don't just feel like they've been stomped on. Many of them actually have been stomped on, beat up, and pulverized by a snortin', whirling bull. And yet they often walk, or limp, out of the arena with a grimace of dignity and hope. Hope- because they're still alive, even if some bones are broken, and dignity, because at least they dared to try to ride a bull.
I'm trying to be daring, myself, lately. Daring and brave about anything that intimidates me or makes me feel like I want to turn back. And I've been holding on to a new principle, lately; and that is that sometimes holding on for dear life is about all you can do. In the bull rider's case they hold on to the rope with a gloved hand and muscles pulsing in their arm like fireworks going off. I have to hold on to God, grasp hold of what and Who He is, at the same time that I accept His plan for my life for the season I'm in. This kind of acceptance is equivalent to sitting on top of a snorting bucking bull and reminding yourself that you chose to get on it. You accepted the challenge.
I've gotten used to the schedule of homeschooling my daughter and answering questions while forgotten, wet laundry mildews in the washer, and more dirty pots and pans get hidden in the oven till I can get to them. If I make it sound like my house is messy, it really is. I just can't get on top of everything and do it all well. The old me got bothered by situations like that.
Now I am accepting what I cannot accomplish. I am accepting where I am, and where I am not. I'm not advancing in measurable things, right now. Success has a whole new meaning for me. Success means contentment, yielding of my will, a relaxing of my high standards for proving that "I am woman, hear me roar". What I am is a bit tired, a bit more apt to say, "let it go" and a bit more quick to smile at the mess I am in. The mess I am in, literally. Bill is wiring something so he tore apart the living room, and Alex's room has been turned into a quasi-office/homeschool room, and my bedroom is as congested as ever (as Bill and I are, physically, also).
This is not how I like things to be. I like order and I like to feel unashamed of my surroundings- as if a neat, orderly home really reflects a true, terrific person. A neat orderly home could, actually, reflect a fanatic and a fiend, I think. So, lets get off the subject of housekeeping and get to the things that affect our heart.
I have been asked to take a route in my life that I didn't think I'd be taking. And this is not just referring to me homeschooling my daughter. There are so many things going on in my life right now that I didn't expect- and so many things that are not going on that I had hoped would be happening. I have been asked, in effect, to ride a scary bull that wants to throw me off. And all that is required of me is to look that situation in the eye- as if staring into the eyes of a bull- and get on that bull as though this is what I normally do.
Because everyday that I follow the path and the plan of God, I wind up going where I do not want to go, only to experience something I'd never dreamed of- the exhilaration of seeing God take me onward and higher. I get to face Fear and say good-bye to Regret and hold on to God for all I've got.
I'm trying to be daring, myself, lately. Daring and brave about anything that intimidates me or makes me feel like I want to turn back. And I've been holding on to a new principle, lately; and that is that sometimes holding on for dear life is about all you can do. In the bull rider's case they hold on to the rope with a gloved hand and muscles pulsing in their arm like fireworks going off. I have to hold on to God, grasp hold of what and Who He is, at the same time that I accept His plan for my life for the season I'm in. This kind of acceptance is equivalent to sitting on top of a snorting bucking bull and reminding yourself that you chose to get on it. You accepted the challenge.
I've gotten used to the schedule of homeschooling my daughter and answering questions while forgotten, wet laundry mildews in the washer, and more dirty pots and pans get hidden in the oven till I can get to them. If I make it sound like my house is messy, it really is. I just can't get on top of everything and do it all well. The old me got bothered by situations like that.
Now I am accepting what I cannot accomplish. I am accepting where I am, and where I am not. I'm not advancing in measurable things, right now. Success has a whole new meaning for me. Success means contentment, yielding of my will, a relaxing of my high standards for proving that "I am woman, hear me roar". What I am is a bit tired, a bit more apt to say, "let it go" and a bit more quick to smile at the mess I am in. The mess I am in, literally. Bill is wiring something so he tore apart the living room, and Alex's room has been turned into a quasi-office/homeschool room, and my bedroom is as congested as ever (as Bill and I are, physically, also).
This is not how I like things to be. I like order and I like to feel unashamed of my surroundings- as if a neat, orderly home really reflects a true, terrific person. A neat orderly home could, actually, reflect a fanatic and a fiend, I think. So, lets get off the subject of housekeeping and get to the things that affect our heart.
I have been asked to take a route in my life that I didn't think I'd be taking. And this is not just referring to me homeschooling my daughter. There are so many things going on in my life right now that I didn't expect- and so many things that are not going on that I had hoped would be happening. I have been asked, in effect, to ride a scary bull that wants to throw me off. And all that is required of me is to look that situation in the eye- as if staring into the eyes of a bull- and get on that bull as though this is what I normally do.
Because everyday that I follow the path and the plan of God, I wind up going where I do not want to go, only to experience something I'd never dreamed of- the exhilaration of seeing God take me onward and higher. I get to face Fear and say good-bye to Regret and hold on to God for all I've got.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Remembering What Counts
What a day. 9/11 is a day Americans will never forget, but it's also a day we don't particularly want to remember. Nobody wants to call upon sad or bad memories, painful times, days of trouble and scarring just for the sake of remembering Pain. But for some, a bad memory or sad memory is still a way to link with someone you loved; its still a way to stay in touch with someone you lost.
Last night we were able to do some kind of video-cam thing on the computer where we could see our son and talk to him at the same time. The reception was a bit choppy and we sometimes missed each other's words, but the gist of our conversation was there. My son looked well and there was nothing like looking into those dark eyes of his and seeing life. He is loving what he is learning and I have to say- so am I.
I am learning that sometimes we go through a long rough period in the trenches where we are fighting a battle of some kind, and then when God takes you out of the trenches and gives you a leave of duty from the battle, you find yourself feeling a bit out of sorts. You think you were trained only for war (and Scripture does tell us that He trains our hands for war), and you forget that He also trains you to be quiet and at rest, and maybe I would add - a bit bored. Not that I always loved putting out fires, but I never realized how active, full-time mothering of a teenage boy was so exhausting. Exhausting and never boring.
It's not that my daughter is a complete walk in the park, but she is more compatible with my temperament, and we don't clash much. Being with her I find myself laughing a lot, chuckling over her funny sayings and her honest assessment of things. I don't have to threaten her that her savings will have to buy hair coloring for me because she is not turning me gray. But that-kid-who-turned-me-gray is my son, my first born, and I am aware that he took a big turn down a road leading away from me. And now I don't care that he made my hair go gray. I only care that he is well, that he is safe and sound.
I only care about a couple things right now, in my life. I cared about a lot more, a whole lot more, a year ago. But right now what matters to me is that my daughter has a happy year learning what an 8th grader should learn, that our dog recovers from his anxiety over missing Alex and wondering why that boy is not where he should be- which my dog considers is here, with us, in that messy room of his that is now so quiet and still.
I only care that the few things I have put my hand to are done with simple obedience, no drama, and no fanfare. Now I am getting close to understanding what that passage was about when the household servant was to have this attitude: "The servant should not get any special thanks for doing his job. He is only doing what his master told him to do. It is the same with you. When you do all the things you are told to do, you should say, 'We are not worthy of any special thanks. We have only done the work we should do" (Luke 17).
It's not a false humility. It's simply a realization that you are called to do certain things. They are laid out for you. There is a simple obedience required- and it is good for you to have things simplified down to the Necessary, the Good, the Essential. Too often we get caught up with the fluff and the frills and the failures of trying to produce these things. I've had enough failures to know that many of them happened because I was caught up in trying to produce something significant out of the banal, the trite, the stupid, if I really get honest with myself.
So God is freeing me up, in a way, by winnowing me down. It's the brass tacks of Obedience 101. God knows what He is doing, He has a way for us to take, and when we come forth we will be shining as gold, even if we don't see how we shine.
Last night we were able to do some kind of video-cam thing on the computer where we could see our son and talk to him at the same time. The reception was a bit choppy and we sometimes missed each other's words, but the gist of our conversation was there. My son looked well and there was nothing like looking into those dark eyes of his and seeing life. He is loving what he is learning and I have to say- so am I.
I am learning that sometimes we go through a long rough period in the trenches where we are fighting a battle of some kind, and then when God takes you out of the trenches and gives you a leave of duty from the battle, you find yourself feeling a bit out of sorts. You think you were trained only for war (and Scripture does tell us that He trains our hands for war), and you forget that He also trains you to be quiet and at rest, and maybe I would add - a bit bored. Not that I always loved putting out fires, but I never realized how active, full-time mothering of a teenage boy was so exhausting. Exhausting and never boring.
It's not that my daughter is a complete walk in the park, but she is more compatible with my temperament, and we don't clash much. Being with her I find myself laughing a lot, chuckling over her funny sayings and her honest assessment of things. I don't have to threaten her that her savings will have to buy hair coloring for me because she is not turning me gray. But that-kid-who-turned-me-gray is my son, my first born, and I am aware that he took a big turn down a road leading away from me. And now I don't care that he made my hair go gray. I only care that he is well, that he is safe and sound.
I only care about a couple things right now, in my life. I cared about a lot more, a whole lot more, a year ago. But right now what matters to me is that my daughter has a happy year learning what an 8th grader should learn, that our dog recovers from his anxiety over missing Alex and wondering why that boy is not where he should be- which my dog considers is here, with us, in that messy room of his that is now so quiet and still.
I only care that the few things I have put my hand to are done with simple obedience, no drama, and no fanfare. Now I am getting close to understanding what that passage was about when the household servant was to have this attitude: "The servant should not get any special thanks for doing his job. He is only doing what his master told him to do. It is the same with you. When you do all the things you are told to do, you should say, 'We are not worthy of any special thanks. We have only done the work we should do" (Luke 17).
It's not a false humility. It's simply a realization that you are called to do certain things. They are laid out for you. There is a simple obedience required- and it is good for you to have things simplified down to the Necessary, the Good, the Essential. Too often we get caught up with the fluff and the frills and the failures of trying to produce these things. I've had enough failures to know that many of them happened because I was caught up in trying to produce something significant out of the banal, the trite, the stupid, if I really get honest with myself.
So God is freeing me up, in a way, by winnowing me down. It's the brass tacks of Obedience 101. God knows what He is doing, He has a way for us to take, and when we come forth we will be shining as gold, even if we don't see how we shine.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Quote for the Day
"We are to be fountains through which Jesus can flow as 'rivers of living water'.... Do you look at yourself and say, 'But I don't see the rivers'? Through the history of God's work you will usually find that He has started with the obscure, the unknown, the ignored, but those who have been steadfastly true to Jesus Christ."
9/7 My Utmost for His Highest
Monday, September 08, 2008
One Day at a Time
I'm still missing my son, I've started homeschooling my daughter, and I'm just taking everything "one day at a time, sweet Jesus." Everything is scaled down in my life, scaled down to the basics, the necessary, the fundamentals. This is not a time for dreaming big or even for reviewing my personal goals. It's more a time for just looking up, every so often, and asking God, "Remind me why I am doing this?". And the answer will come, every time: Because He leads me there, to that point, that place, that situation where HE thinks I should be. So nothing is about me, anymore, really. It's more about Him than ever before. And for that, I feel more at peace than I have in a while. More at peace yet completely in the dark. And its not a scary place to be after all.
I'm getting used to talking to my son by phone (very, very brief phone calls, on his part), brief emails, and with my every day look at his senior photo in the living room when I look into those deep brown eyes and whisper to him, I miss you. He says nothing back, because photos can't talk, but I still feel better talking to him that way every day.
I'm getting used to homeschooling my daughter again, and the even the joy of learning with her, learning more about her, and learning from her. It's just the three of us at the dinner table, now, with Harry hovering at our feet, and we have great conversations about how my cooking has not improved, the house is messier than ever, and how we miss Alex and can't wait to see him at Thanksgiving.
Fall is definitely almost here. The weather is getting crisp and cool in the evenings- just the way I like it. I also like that I feel younger than ever, somehow, and I think its because I am more unsure of everything and more confident in His provision, His care. Instead of feeling wise and mature, I feel young and so aware of all I don't know. Yet He is constantly telling me that this is how a believer feels and lives: you walk by faith while you feel lost in the dark, all the while telling yourself that its not what you feel that counts. It's more what you know, for sure, that matters.
I'm getting used to talking to my son by phone (very, very brief phone calls, on his part), brief emails, and with my every day look at his senior photo in the living room when I look into those deep brown eyes and whisper to him, I miss you. He says nothing back, because photos can't talk, but I still feel better talking to him that way every day.
I'm getting used to homeschooling my daughter again, and the even the joy of learning with her, learning more about her, and learning from her. It's just the three of us at the dinner table, now, with Harry hovering at our feet, and we have great conversations about how my cooking has not improved, the house is messier than ever, and how we miss Alex and can't wait to see him at Thanksgiving.
Fall is definitely almost here. The weather is getting crisp and cool in the evenings- just the way I like it. I also like that I feel younger than ever, somehow, and I think its because I am more unsure of everything and more confident in His provision, His care. Instead of feeling wise and mature, I feel young and so aware of all I don't know. Yet He is constantly telling me that this is how a believer feels and lives: you walk by faith while you feel lost in the dark, all the while telling yourself that its not what you feel that counts. It's more what you know, for sure, that matters.
Monday, September 01, 2008
Bull Riding and Bridal Bliss
Bill said the dog followed him around the house like a shadow the whole time I was gone. It was only three days that I was gone, but I think the dog understood that I was miles away, in another world- a world of bull riding and bridal bliss.
I flew down to Tennessee to be with my niece and god-child, Jennifer. We spent Friday talking and catching up, planning her wedding, dreaming out loud. Then I watched my niece try on bridal gowns. I oohed and awed over the beauty of it all, the glowing face looking at herself in a mirror and seeing herself soon walking down the aisle. She picked THE dress of her dreams and we rejoiced over being one step closer to that glorious day when she will say "I do."
Then in the evening we geared up for something on the other side of the spectrum. We were going to a PBR Event and seeing our first Professional Bull Riding Event live and in color and up close. We were not close enough to see the bull snot fly as the riders fly off the backs of the bulls, but we hear there is a lot of it. We yelled and cheered and roared our admiration of these bull riders along with the crowd.
Saturday, we walked around town, talked more, and I took in the sights and the sounds of the South. I loved every minute of it. On Sunday I visited the church she and her fiance go to, and I participated in the Sunday School class. Of all things to be studying, they were doing the book by John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get Out of the Boat. And I heard the message loud and clear.
I nodded my head in agreement as different people in the class shared their fears and their concerns about getting out of their comfort zone. While they were sharing, deep inside me I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit, "Get out of the boat, Get Out of the Boat". And when you get out of the boat, you can sink or float, but you'll definitely be in His Will if You're walking toward Him, away from what holds you down and what holds you back.
“Lord, if it's you,” Peter replied,
Matt 14:28,29a
I flew down to Tennessee to be with my niece and god-child, Jennifer. We spent Friday talking and catching up, planning her wedding, dreaming out loud. Then I watched my niece try on bridal gowns. I oohed and awed over the beauty of it all, the glowing face looking at herself in a mirror and seeing herself soon walking down the aisle. She picked THE dress of her dreams and we rejoiced over being one step closer to that glorious day when she will say "I do."
Then in the evening we geared up for something on the other side of the spectrum. We were going to a PBR Event and seeing our first Professional Bull Riding Event live and in color and up close. We were not close enough to see the bull snot fly as the riders fly off the backs of the bulls, but we hear there is a lot of it. We yelled and cheered and roared our admiration of these bull riders along with the crowd.
Saturday, we walked around town, talked more, and I took in the sights and the sounds of the South. I loved every minute of it. On Sunday I visited the church she and her fiance go to, and I participated in the Sunday School class. Of all things to be studying, they were doing the book by John Ortberg, If You Want to Walk on Water, You've Got to Get Out of the Boat. And I heard the message loud and clear.
I nodded my head in agreement as different people in the class shared their fears and their concerns about getting out of their comfort zone. While they were sharing, deep inside me I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit, "Get out of the boat, Get Out of the Boat". And when you get out of the boat, you can sink or float, but you'll definitely be in His Will if You're walking toward Him, away from what holds you down and what holds you back.
“Lord, if it's you,” Peter replied,
“tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Come,” he said..."
Matt 14:28,29a
Monday, August 25, 2008
From a Distance
Everyone is home now. Bill and Abby arrived home late afternoon, yesterday. And Alex is settled in his new home, at college, far away. It feels surprisingly okay. After all, these last couple years we have seen less and less of him as he has gone out to concerts, stayed overnight at friends' houses, gone on short trips, worked a job. He has been growing up and leaving for college, in a sense, for a while now. It was talked about and planned for and then...it happened.
It's amazing how fast life goes, and also how agonizingly slow and long some days are- the painful days. Right now, these are happy days. I feel a bit sad, but I am not in severe pain over the loss and the separation. My son hasn't left us- he has just left home base for another base where he can continue on towards his dreams. That's what we want for him.
While Bill and Abby were gone, getting Alex settled into his dorm, I was here in an empty house filled with a lot of stuff. I had bags and boxes of things that we no longer needed or wanted or things that we have outgrown. So my sister, Sue, and I had a Garage Sale at her house. It was a great way to be busy and to thin out unnecessary things from our life.
It was hot and sunny and the people came in waves. It was also a lot of fun.
"A dollar!" became our answer for almost every inquiry of "How much is this?". We just wanted to get Stuff out of our life and make room for Love, for Change, for Moving Onward. Her oldest son was leaving to go back to his last year of college and we both were feeling a bit blue, a bit unsettled. So it was fun to be together and to meet so many interesting people.
And then I saw him- the most beautiful little baby boy. A chubby baby- as in pudgy dimpled arms and legs. I joked with the Mom who was holding him, "This is the only time in your life when rolls of fat look so good on you!". My sister and I remarked how adorable he was. The mother told us he was five months old. I looked at that little boy and thought of my little boy, now big, now grown, now gone. I think she saw longing in my eyes, because then she did something so unexpected. She suddenly reached out and placed her baby in my arms. Without a word. With a smile. A very knowing smile.
I held him close to me and my eyes welled up with tears. He was chubby and blond and fair skinned- not at all like my son was when he was a baby. But he was close to me. He was in my arms and not resisting. He was snuggled in close to me. And for one minute I felt such sweetness and such sadness that I couldn't speak. I had once held my son like this. More than once. Many, many times, many days, many years. And the years flew by.
And now I hold him close to me, but also from a distance.
"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun...." (Eccl. 3:1)
It's amazing how fast life goes, and also how agonizingly slow and long some days are- the painful days. Right now, these are happy days. I feel a bit sad, but I am not in severe pain over the loss and the separation. My son hasn't left us- he has just left home base for another base where he can continue on towards his dreams. That's what we want for him.
While Bill and Abby were gone, getting Alex settled into his dorm, I was here in an empty house filled with a lot of stuff. I had bags and boxes of things that we no longer needed or wanted or things that we have outgrown. So my sister, Sue, and I had a Garage Sale at her house. It was a great way to be busy and to thin out unnecessary things from our life.
It was hot and sunny and the people came in waves. It was also a lot of fun.
"A dollar!" became our answer for almost every inquiry of "How much is this?". We just wanted to get Stuff out of our life and make room for Love, for Change, for Moving Onward. Her oldest son was leaving to go back to his last year of college and we both were feeling a bit blue, a bit unsettled. So it was fun to be together and to meet so many interesting people.
And then I saw him- the most beautiful little baby boy. A chubby baby- as in pudgy dimpled arms and legs. I joked with the Mom who was holding him, "This is the only time in your life when rolls of fat look so good on you!". My sister and I remarked how adorable he was. The mother told us he was five months old. I looked at that little boy and thought of my little boy, now big, now grown, now gone. I think she saw longing in my eyes, because then she did something so unexpected. She suddenly reached out and placed her baby in my arms. Without a word. With a smile. A very knowing smile.
I held him close to me and my eyes welled up with tears. He was chubby and blond and fair skinned- not at all like my son was when he was a baby. But he was close to me. He was in my arms and not resisting. He was snuggled in close to me. And for one minute I felt such sweetness and such sadness that I couldn't speak. I had once held my son like this. More than once. Many, many times, many days, many years. And the years flew by.
And now I hold him close to me, but also from a distance.
"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun...." (Eccl. 3:1)
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Midnight Battles and Morning Convictions
You don't have to have a child going off to a college far away to feel anxious. There are so many things that can cause that nervous undercurrent where you are breathing rapidly and feel slightly nauseous. Then the mind kicks in with those circular thoughts that never come to a conclusion, and you realize you are worrying.
For me, this usually occurs at 3am. I don't know why, but this is when I suddenly wake up and have to admit that I am feeling anxious. It happened again last night. And the Fight is always harder at night time. This is when things look bleak and your resources seem to be a tiny, tiny cup of hope. This is when you could even think that God is far away and that your battle is yours, alone, to deal with. But its not.
I've gotten more adept at these night time battles. I no longer expect to float through life without getting attacked by Anxiety. Anxiety is a voracious lion always looking to enter into the land of your mind and feed off your fears. But now I expect that I can win this battle every time I start to feel the erratic palpitations of my heart.
God wants me to win this battle, because every time I do, I am reasserting my proclamation that God is My Provider, My Healer, My Deliverer. This is what is at stake: who is God when we feel weak and afraid? Is He as weak as our quivering will to survive or is He as mighty and strong as the One who just whispers an order and a violent storm is stilled and quieted? I have to answer that every time I battle anxiety, every time I feel afraid. I have to keep reasserting Who He IS and How I want to know Him.
How I know Him determines how well I sleep at night, determines how much I am willing to take a risk or even make a mistake. "He gives more grace", always more grace, to the ones who not only ask for it, but by their need are constantly aware that its by grace that they stand (James 4:6).
Now today I see a very dark sky. It's raining and it will probably thunder. It looks bleak and it feels as dark as it looks. But I also see a reason to smile, even as I look around the messy house and as I think of the last minute errands I have to run. I battled an enemy last night, and I came out ahead. I'm farther along in trusting Him, and I think I could even say He is proud of me that I am contending for all that He wants for me: to live in peace, to breathe in hope and give out love, and never ever fear what lies ahead.
For me, this usually occurs at 3am. I don't know why, but this is when I suddenly wake up and have to admit that I am feeling anxious. It happened again last night. And the Fight is always harder at night time. This is when things look bleak and your resources seem to be a tiny, tiny cup of hope. This is when you could even think that God is far away and that your battle is yours, alone, to deal with. But its not.
I've gotten more adept at these night time battles. I no longer expect to float through life without getting attacked by Anxiety. Anxiety is a voracious lion always looking to enter into the land of your mind and feed off your fears. But now I expect that I can win this battle every time I start to feel the erratic palpitations of my heart.
God wants me to win this battle, because every time I do, I am reasserting my proclamation that God is My Provider, My Healer, My Deliverer. This is what is at stake: who is God when we feel weak and afraid? Is He as weak as our quivering will to survive or is He as mighty and strong as the One who just whispers an order and a violent storm is stilled and quieted? I have to answer that every time I battle anxiety, every time I feel afraid. I have to keep reasserting Who He IS and How I want to know Him.
How I know Him determines how well I sleep at night, determines how much I am willing to take a risk or even make a mistake. "He gives more grace", always more grace, to the ones who not only ask for it, but by their need are constantly aware that its by grace that they stand (James 4:6).
Now today I see a very dark sky. It's raining and it will probably thunder. It looks bleak and it feels as dark as it looks. But I also see a reason to smile, even as I look around the messy house and as I think of the last minute errands I have to run. I battled an enemy last night, and I came out ahead. I'm farther along in trusting Him, and I think I could even say He is proud of me that I am contending for all that He wants for me: to live in peace, to breathe in hope and give out love, and never ever fear what lies ahead.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Tears and Smiles
I think the dog may be more in tune with the reality of what's happening than I am. After all, Harry is not running around buying socks, shampoo, x-long twin sheets for those famously uncomfortable extra long beds in the dorms. Instead he is lying on my bed, half asleep,half mourning all the commotion, looking like a sweet lamb in a bit of distress.
The dining room table is our Grand Central: that's where lists and bags and more bags of stuff are being stored. That, and Alex's room- which is quickly filling up with more duffel bags of clothes and books and assorted things. We are packing up our son as if he is going off to the wilderness for four years. I am too busy managing and shopping and making lists to pay attention to what I may feel later...when he is gone.
The plan is this: early (very early) Wednesday morning, Bill will be doing last minute packing of the car (I already know this). Then Alex will wake up in a fog,put in his contacts, and root around the house looking for last minute things. Abby will get up last, and smile at me in anticipation of the adventure ahead: she is going also. There is a college connection type of day camp going on at the same time as the freshman orientation. She is going to take part. It is going to be a whirlwind of activity for the three of them for three days. And I will be here at the house, soothing Harry with lots of murmuring, "It's going to be alright" and lots of sighing- both his and mine.
For the five days Bill and Abby will be gone(three days in Kentucky settling Alex in and then two days traveling home), I will be wandering around this house in total peace and quiet. I intend to pray a lot, take Harry on lots of walks, read, and look out the window while my mind flashes back to the days when I was so needed in my son's life.
There's a bit of joy and peace I have in releasing him to his future because I do feel I have done all I could do in "launching" him. He would tell you, also, that there has been no shortage of words, on my part, no lack of admonitions, warnings, and reminders. I could wish that I had hugged him more these last couple years, but even there it seems that young men need fewer hugs and more looks of love, instead; the kind of look that says, "I want to hug you so badly right now but instead I'll look at you with such pride. You're a strong young man,...and I'm so glad you're my son."
My son will tell you that I give him all kinds of looks- those looks of love, looks of frustration, looks that yell out in warning, "That's one more box of hair coloring that you owe me!" every time he has turned me gray with worry. I think he may miss the looks I give him most of all. He certainly knows that I will call him a lot and we'll talk by phone.
But as for the look on my face when we're talking, he will have to imagine what that is. Most of the time it will be a look that says, "I'm missing you so much right now...but I wouldn't wish that you were home. You are right where you are supposed to be. And that makes me smile. " After all, tears and smiles go together quite frequently. At least in this household they do.
The dining room table is our Grand Central: that's where lists and bags and more bags of stuff are being stored. That, and Alex's room- which is quickly filling up with more duffel bags of clothes and books and assorted things. We are packing up our son as if he is going off to the wilderness for four years. I am too busy managing and shopping and making lists to pay attention to what I may feel later...when he is gone.
The plan is this: early (very early) Wednesday morning, Bill will be doing last minute packing of the car (I already know this). Then Alex will wake up in a fog,put in his contacts, and root around the house looking for last minute things. Abby will get up last, and smile at me in anticipation of the adventure ahead: she is going also. There is a college connection type of day camp going on at the same time as the freshman orientation. She is going to take part. It is going to be a whirlwind of activity for the three of them for three days. And I will be here at the house, soothing Harry with lots of murmuring, "It's going to be alright" and lots of sighing- both his and mine.
For the five days Bill and Abby will be gone(three days in Kentucky settling Alex in and then two days traveling home), I will be wandering around this house in total peace and quiet. I intend to pray a lot, take Harry on lots of walks, read, and look out the window while my mind flashes back to the days when I was so needed in my son's life.
There's a bit of joy and peace I have in releasing him to his future because I do feel I have done all I could do in "launching" him. He would tell you, also, that there has been no shortage of words, on my part, no lack of admonitions, warnings, and reminders. I could wish that I had hugged him more these last couple years, but even there it seems that young men need fewer hugs and more looks of love, instead; the kind of look that says, "I want to hug you so badly right now but instead I'll look at you with such pride. You're a strong young man,...and I'm so glad you're my son."
My son will tell you that I give him all kinds of looks- those looks of love, looks of frustration, looks that yell out in warning, "That's one more box of hair coloring that you owe me!" every time he has turned me gray with worry. I think he may miss the looks I give him most of all. He certainly knows that I will call him a lot and we'll talk by phone.
But as for the look on my face when we're talking, he will have to imagine what that is. Most of the time it will be a look that says, "I'm missing you so much right now...but I wouldn't wish that you were home. You are right where you are supposed to be. And that makes me smile. " After all, tears and smiles go together quite frequently. At least in this household they do.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Everything Will Change
The dog is upset. I don't say that with much sympathy. I'm a bit frustrated with Harry right now. For the last six nights in a row, he has had an accident on the carpet, in the same spot, blatantly displaying his refusal to come and nudge us or bark in warning that he needed to go out. He didn't even try to get to the door to go out and do his business. No, it's like he has issued a warning to us that he is disturbed and emotionally troubled right now, and what better way to let us know that than with something so aromatically charged and obvious as his "business" right there before us where he has no business going?!
It could be that he can tell our son is leaving for college any day now. It may be that he senses all the commotion and packing and discussing is a sign that a big change is occurring- and he does not like change. He has made that very clear to us in the years we have had him.
"He's very delicate," my husband will say, in his defense.
"He's needy" my kids will offer up as an explanation of why he clings to us and shadows me everywhere I go in the house.
"He's a lot of work," I usually reply with an angry glare... and then a sigh signaling I am going to overlook his latest faux-pas. He is what he is: furry, fun, lovable and often a pain in the neck. But we adopted him from the Animal Rights Rescue group. We chose him to come live with us, for better or worse. And that's where we are right now, at one of those seasons where Harry is exhibiting his anxiety and confusion.
I myself have been having disturbing dreams, midnight wrestlings where I wake up and look at the clock reading 3am, and then battle all the "what if's" that suddenly come to mind. None of us are sad that Alex is leaving for college. We're excited for him. We're very hopeful about all that he is going to learn and experience. But we're a bit anxious about how life will be, now. Everything- and I do mean everything- is going to change.
Now there will be only three of us at the dinner table each night. The house will be quiet, except for the light humming along to music that Abby does. There won't be groups of guys coming over, saying "Hi Mrs. Caldwell!" while they hopefully eye the kitchen looking for chocolate cake or something freshly baked for them to eat. A big change will be that once Bill and I retire to our room to sleep, I will not lie there half awake as the night goes on, waiting for that knock on the door that signals my son's return home from whatever adventure he'd just had. When our daughter Abby goes to sleep (at a reasonable hour), she is out for the count, just like that. But our son is a night owl. And he doesn't always remember to let me know when he finally gets home. Many nights I have suddenly woken up with a start, run to his room to find him sprawled across his bed, and have heaved a sigh of relief. Now, when Bill, Abby (and even Harry) go to bed for the night, that's where everyone will be till dawn...in bed, safe and sound.
As to where my son will be every night, who knows?! He will be where he should be: at college, in his new world, carving out his life there with joy and probably some confusion. It will be a big change for him, having complete autonomy and jurisdiction over his life (other than the reminder phone calls that I do plan to make, reminding him to take medicine, reminding him to try-please try- and get some sleep, reminding him to eat vegetables and fruit and not just pizza and fries with cheese sauce all the time).
His leaving is not the only big change in our family's life. We are homeschooling Abby this year. We are also looking for a new church to be part of, one that is scaled down to the basics of fellowship, ministry, prayer. Many churches struggle in their quest to handle their growth. Sometimes they wind up wanting the supposed beauty of the business world where everything is efficient, successful, and organized. Management can become a key word, instead of Ministry. I'm at a point in my life where I have to scale back to the things that I know I need. I need to get to a place where I can fellowship with struggling Christians, with victorious Christians, with broken and confused Christians- 'cause I am all of those. Look me in the eye, and you'll see that. But we'll need to be face to face. We'll need to be real with each other.
Everything is changing. And change, for the most part, is stressful. But it is so needed. It signals that we're growing, that we're developing our gifts. It signals that we're releasing loved ones into their future. It means that we can't hold onto the past. We fumble around through change, and we often look ridiculous as we navigate the new paths before us. We are humbled as we have to ask for help, ask for advice from others who have gone before us. We are sometimes skittish and nervous, as Harry has been.
But it's all good. It really is. Or I should say it all works together for good- if we're flexible, if we admit that we have not gone this way before, if we look up and fix our eyes on the Author and Finisher of our Faith. He will make this new world we enter be above and beyond what we thought it could be. It will be a journey and a Challenge. And it will be alright.
It could be that he can tell our son is leaving for college any day now. It may be that he senses all the commotion and packing and discussing is a sign that a big change is occurring- and he does not like change. He has made that very clear to us in the years we have had him.
"He's very delicate," my husband will say, in his defense.
"He's needy" my kids will offer up as an explanation of why he clings to us and shadows me everywhere I go in the house.
"He's a lot of work," I usually reply with an angry glare... and then a sigh signaling I am going to overlook his latest faux-pas. He is what he is: furry, fun, lovable and often a pain in the neck. But we adopted him from the Animal Rights Rescue group. We chose him to come live with us, for better or worse. And that's where we are right now, at one of those seasons where Harry is exhibiting his anxiety and confusion.
I myself have been having disturbing dreams, midnight wrestlings where I wake up and look at the clock reading 3am, and then battle all the "what if's" that suddenly come to mind. None of us are sad that Alex is leaving for college. We're excited for him. We're very hopeful about all that he is going to learn and experience. But we're a bit anxious about how life will be, now. Everything- and I do mean everything- is going to change.
Now there will be only three of us at the dinner table each night. The house will be quiet, except for the light humming along to music that Abby does. There won't be groups of guys coming over, saying "Hi Mrs. Caldwell!" while they hopefully eye the kitchen looking for chocolate cake or something freshly baked for them to eat. A big change will be that once Bill and I retire to our room to sleep, I will not lie there half awake as the night goes on, waiting for that knock on the door that signals my son's return home from whatever adventure he'd just had. When our daughter Abby goes to sleep (at a reasonable hour), she is out for the count, just like that. But our son is a night owl. And he doesn't always remember to let me know when he finally gets home. Many nights I have suddenly woken up with a start, run to his room to find him sprawled across his bed, and have heaved a sigh of relief. Now, when Bill, Abby (and even Harry) go to bed for the night, that's where everyone will be till dawn...in bed, safe and sound.
As to where my son will be every night, who knows?! He will be where he should be: at college, in his new world, carving out his life there with joy and probably some confusion. It will be a big change for him, having complete autonomy and jurisdiction over his life (other than the reminder phone calls that I do plan to make, reminding him to take medicine, reminding him to try-please try- and get some sleep, reminding him to eat vegetables and fruit and not just pizza and fries with cheese sauce all the time).
His leaving is not the only big change in our family's life. We are homeschooling Abby this year. We are also looking for a new church to be part of, one that is scaled down to the basics of fellowship, ministry, prayer. Many churches struggle in their quest to handle their growth. Sometimes they wind up wanting the supposed beauty of the business world where everything is efficient, successful, and organized. Management can become a key word, instead of Ministry. I'm at a point in my life where I have to scale back to the things that I know I need. I need to get to a place where I can fellowship with struggling Christians, with victorious Christians, with broken and confused Christians- 'cause I am all of those. Look me in the eye, and you'll see that. But we'll need to be face to face. We'll need to be real with each other.
Everything is changing. And change, for the most part, is stressful. But it is so needed. It signals that we're growing, that we're developing our gifts. It signals that we're releasing loved ones into their future. It means that we can't hold onto the past. We fumble around through change, and we often look ridiculous as we navigate the new paths before us. We are humbled as we have to ask for help, ask for advice from others who have gone before us. We are sometimes skittish and nervous, as Harry has been.
But it's all good. It really is. Or I should say it all works together for good- if we're flexible, if we admit that we have not gone this way before, if we look up and fix our eyes on the Author and Finisher of our Faith. He will make this new world we enter be above and beyond what we thought it could be. It will be a journey and a Challenge. And it will be alright.
Monday, August 11, 2008
How to Make Him Smile
You never know when something is an opportunity or a distraction until you do a bit of investigation. We received a letter in the mail, recently, saying that someone referred my daughter, Abby, to a local girl's pageant. It was a bit confusing, the letter. It seemed like it was talking about a type of beauty pageant- only they made references to it being a pageant based on personality. Hmmmm. Only one way to find out what this was all about: we decided to go to the information meeting. It was set for Saturday.
It turns out that it was not something we would get involved with- for many reasons. But we did have an enjoyable experience watching what was presented, listening to the details, and investigating what the bottom line was all about.
As we drove home, my daughter explained what the personal interview was like. She was told she needed to walk towards the panel of judges with her eyes on them, projecting confidence, and then sit down while they asked her three questions. It all happened within a couple minutes, she said. (And they were going to evaluate on just that?)
"Did you maintain eye contact with the judges as you walked toward them?" I asked.
"Yes, " she said. "Only they weren't looking at me. They were scribbling notes on a piece of paper, probably notes about the girl who had just gone before me. They didn't see that I was looking at them." My daughter is pretty discerning about the way life is: that first impressions are noted, that people do judge a book by its cover, and that she really isn't into "all that". So we headed to the community pool for some fun in the sun, and put all this pageant stuff behind us.
It was interesting, though, this morning, when I was reading in Hebrews chapter 4 and 5. We are not to have "an evil heart of unbelief". And with confidence, we are told to "come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need". To come boldly means to come without reservation, with unreserved utterance, candor, cheerful courage. Why would we be cheerful and courageous in approaching God with our requests for help? Why would we have our eyes on Him, expectant and hopeful, as we walk towards Him- just as my daughter did when she approached the panel of judges?
Could it be that cheerful courage is the sign, the external evidence, that we know Whom we have believed in and are persuaded that He is able to keep that which we have committed to Him- our faith, our trust, our reliance on Him?(2 Tim. 1:12) Now, those judges did not see my daughter looking confidently at them. They are human. They miss things. We all do.
But God never misses a saint looking expectantly at Him- never! But sadly true as well is the fact that He sees when we have averted our eyes, when we have failed to trust Him, failed to believe that He is our Help in times of trouble. "'...O you of little faith!' What a stinging pain must shoot through the disciples as they surely thought to themselves, "We missed the mark again!'. And what a sharp pain will go through us when we realize that we could have produced complete and utter joy in the heart of Jesus by remaining absolutely confident in Him, in spite of what we were facing"(My Utmost for His Highest 8/12).
The thought that I could produce joy in the heart of Jesus by letting Him see my eyes are on Him, my confidence is in Him, and I am walking towards Him expectant of His available help- well, that makes my day! I'm all set to go out and bring a smile of joy to Him by simply letting Him see that no where but Him do my eyes rest, no One but Him do I trust in to make me able to run this race and not be weary, to walk courageously onward and not faint.
It turns out that it was not something we would get involved with- for many reasons. But we did have an enjoyable experience watching what was presented, listening to the details, and investigating what the bottom line was all about.
As we drove home, my daughter explained what the personal interview was like. She was told she needed to walk towards the panel of judges with her eyes on them, projecting confidence, and then sit down while they asked her three questions. It all happened within a couple minutes, she said. (And they were going to evaluate on just that?)
"Did you maintain eye contact with the judges as you walked toward them?" I asked.
"Yes, " she said. "Only they weren't looking at me. They were scribbling notes on a piece of paper, probably notes about the girl who had just gone before me. They didn't see that I was looking at them." My daughter is pretty discerning about the way life is: that first impressions are noted, that people do judge a book by its cover, and that she really isn't into "all that". So we headed to the community pool for some fun in the sun, and put all this pageant stuff behind us.
It was interesting, though, this morning, when I was reading in Hebrews chapter 4 and 5. We are not to have "an evil heart of unbelief". And with confidence, we are told to "come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need". To come boldly means to come without reservation, with unreserved utterance, candor, cheerful courage. Why would we be cheerful and courageous in approaching God with our requests for help? Why would we have our eyes on Him, expectant and hopeful, as we walk towards Him- just as my daughter did when she approached the panel of judges?
Could it be that cheerful courage is the sign, the external evidence, that we know Whom we have believed in and are persuaded that He is able to keep that which we have committed to Him- our faith, our trust, our reliance on Him?(2 Tim. 1:12) Now, those judges did not see my daughter looking confidently at them. They are human. They miss things. We all do.
But God never misses a saint looking expectantly at Him- never! But sadly true as well is the fact that He sees when we have averted our eyes, when we have failed to trust Him, failed to believe that He is our Help in times of trouble. "'...O you of little faith!' What a stinging pain must shoot through the disciples as they surely thought to themselves, "We missed the mark again!'. And what a sharp pain will go through us when we realize that we could have produced complete and utter joy in the heart of Jesus by remaining absolutely confident in Him, in spite of what we were facing"(My Utmost for His Highest 8/12).
The thought that I could produce joy in the heart of Jesus by letting Him see my eyes are on Him, my confidence is in Him, and I am walking towards Him expectant of His available help- well, that makes my day! I'm all set to go out and bring a smile of joy to Him by simply letting Him see that no where but Him do my eyes rest, no One but Him do I trust in to make me able to run this race and not be weary, to walk courageously onward and not faint.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Letting Go
Two weeks from today my first child, my son Alex, leaves for college- and not a college in a nearby town but in a southern state 13 hours away by car. This is the child who was born 3 1/2 weeks premature, weighing 4 lbs. 14 ozs, and who didn't weigh what a normal new born would weigh till he was three months old. My husband kept saying "He looks like a little squab" as we looked at baby photos of him the other day.
This is the child who has aged me considerably these last two years. He was only doing what he had to do- which was asserting himself, trying out independence and autonomy; and I was only doing what a mother does- which was letting go, or trying to learn to let go while watching over him fiercely like the mother hawk that I am. I don't know how to love casually and dis-interestedly. But I had to learn to love from an increasing hands-off distance. I would give myself a C, so far.
At least I am not failing the Course "How to Be the Mother of a Teenage Son". The only mother who fails that course is the mother who gives up...permanently. I have given up many times. Usually at the dinner table. My son reminded me of that last night. My level of frustration will rise as the level of my son's humor-turned-into-sarcasm sometimes rises, and I'll throw my hands up, and retreat to the bedroom for some peace. (I normally did this when the supper turned out to be dry or burnt. It was easier to retreat then.)
But I only gave up temporarily. You're allowed to do that. Some nice people call it surrendering. Some Christians- the gracious kind- will murmur how you are wise to give up, to let go, to walk away. Even if I yelled out, "I quit! I'm not going to mother you anymore. Do your own laundry and make your own meals!", I meant it...for only an hour or so. Then that need to love and care for someone who tried my patience would return and I would buck up and brace myself to go on clumsily mothering my soon-to-fly-off little chickadee. Only this chickadee grows a beard in a day and walks like a man and sometimes comes back home for a quick hug and a whisper of encouragement to me: "You're not so bad, Mom".
That's what will ring in my ears as he and his Dad fill the car with all his stuff and drive off to take him to his college, to take him to his future. I might feel a bit teary eyed but then I'll think of all that awaits him: the challenges, the fun, the growing, the discovery of it all. And then when I walk into the house and see the silent drum set in the garage, and hear no raucous music blasting from his room, and see no dirty clothes lying around the bathroom floor, I'll whisper to myself, "It's not so bad." And then I'll know that he and I can do this thing called Letting go.
This is the child who has aged me considerably these last two years. He was only doing what he had to do- which was asserting himself, trying out independence and autonomy; and I was only doing what a mother does- which was letting go, or trying to learn to let go while watching over him fiercely like the mother hawk that I am. I don't know how to love casually and dis-interestedly. But I had to learn to love from an increasing hands-off distance. I would give myself a C, so far.
At least I am not failing the Course "How to Be the Mother of a Teenage Son". The only mother who fails that course is the mother who gives up...permanently. I have given up many times. Usually at the dinner table. My son reminded me of that last night. My level of frustration will rise as the level of my son's humor-turned-into-sarcasm sometimes rises, and I'll throw my hands up, and retreat to the bedroom for some peace. (I normally did this when the supper turned out to be dry or burnt. It was easier to retreat then.)
But I only gave up temporarily. You're allowed to do that. Some nice people call it surrendering. Some Christians- the gracious kind- will murmur how you are wise to give up, to let go, to walk away. Even if I yelled out, "I quit! I'm not going to mother you anymore. Do your own laundry and make your own meals!", I meant it...for only an hour or so. Then that need to love and care for someone who tried my patience would return and I would buck up and brace myself to go on clumsily mothering my soon-to-fly-off little chickadee. Only this chickadee grows a beard in a day and walks like a man and sometimes comes back home for a quick hug and a whisper of encouragement to me: "You're not so bad, Mom".
That's what will ring in my ears as he and his Dad fill the car with all his stuff and drive off to take him to his college, to take him to his future. I might feel a bit teary eyed but then I'll think of all that awaits him: the challenges, the fun, the growing, the discovery of it all. And then when I walk into the house and see the silent drum set in the garage, and hear no raucous music blasting from his room, and see no dirty clothes lying around the bathroom floor, I'll whisper to myself, "It's not so bad." And then I'll know that he and I can do this thing called Letting go.
Monday, August 04, 2008
How Do You Spell S-U-C-C-E-S-S?
Saturday my Dad threw a party. My brother Mark and my two sisters and all the grandchildren gathered over at my parents' house to eat lobster and sweet corn from my brother's organic garden. Only my brother Joe and his family were not there (because they live in Pennsylvania). But we added in Laurenzo, my cousin, from my Dad's side of the family, and his daughter. When I introduced my daughter to his daughter, I tried to explain that she was a second (or was it third?) cousin, but Laurenzo gently rebuked me and said, "In South America, there are no second or third cousins. It is simply primo, cousin; you are family, and there are no second or thirds."
So we feasted and of course, we danced. Or I should say, they danced. I'm not into the salsa and tango and mambo or anything else that requires me to whirl around the dance floor shaking my hips. I must have missed out on that gene when it was passed out. Instead, I wound up out in the screened in porch overlooking the garden, discussing choice of majors, colleges, and careers with my nephews and one of my brothers-in law. I started to recall the days when I did recruiting and personnel placement. I wanted to help my nephew zero in on his heart's desire rather than choose a college major and a career based on what pays, who is hiring, and where the majority go.
Later, after we got home, I felt restless. And the restlessness didn't go away. What kept surfacing in my mind was the whole issue of how we navigate the major crossroads of our lives, the turning points when you have to make a choice, or by not making a choice to do something, you have inadvertently chosen something by default. The whole issue of success- or what is success- has been on the back burner of my mind, constantly simmering, never coming to full boil, but not cooling down either.
How we define success will influence our level of peace and contentment. And what, exactly, is success? Should the Christian have a different definition of success than the world does? According to wordnet, success is:an event that accomplishes its intended purpose;
an attainment that is successful;
a state of prosperity or fame;
achiever: a person with a record of successes; (wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn)
Now that last one-"a person with a record of successes"- can be a real doozy. If I choose the Lord Jesus Christ as my role model, and I look at His life, I find that He has successes and yet He has what looks like... failures. After all, in one town, "He could do no miracle there except that He laid His hands on a few sick people and healed them" (Mark 6:5). For Jesus, doing a "few" miracles is an apparent failure compared to the great success He had in other towns. And we could go on and on about the many times Christ looked like a failure, when Jesus withdrew from the crowds (Conquerors never withdraw), when Jesus looked like a bloody, broken mess dying on the cross (Successful people avoid looking bad at all costs, don't they?).
"God called Jesus to what seemed absolute disaster...His life was an absolute failure from every standpoint except God's" writes Oswald Chambers. And that's the word we have to remember: standpoint. It's not a common word. It has to do with viewpoint, stance, mental attitude. It's a position you take from which you make your decision: is this the right thing to do? Is this what it means to succeed?
To succeed means to prevail and to win the victory. That's how I define success. "And this is the victory that overcomes the world-- even our faith" (1 John 5:4). Our faith in Him leads us to obey Him. Successful is the one who obeys. Successful is the one who trusts Him even though it looks like your ship is sinking. Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him" and He was talking about what it felt like, what it looked like, when his world was falling apart. It can look like you are a failure- from the standpoint of one who trusts in attainment and fame. Or it can look like your world is shaky, your trophies have fallen, and yet your faith is still in the One who defines what success is for us.
Each time I trust when I want to fear, I am successful. Each time I reach out when it would be easier to pull back, I am successful. Each time I say, "Yes, Lord- even though I don't understand what You're doing", I have won the victory.
So we feasted and of course, we danced. Or I should say, they danced. I'm not into the salsa and tango and mambo or anything else that requires me to whirl around the dance floor shaking my hips. I must have missed out on that gene when it was passed out. Instead, I wound up out in the screened in porch overlooking the garden, discussing choice of majors, colleges, and careers with my nephews and one of my brothers-in law. I started to recall the days when I did recruiting and personnel placement. I wanted to help my nephew zero in on his heart's desire rather than choose a college major and a career based on what pays, who is hiring, and where the majority go.
Later, after we got home, I felt restless. And the restlessness didn't go away. What kept surfacing in my mind was the whole issue of how we navigate the major crossroads of our lives, the turning points when you have to make a choice, or by not making a choice to do something, you have inadvertently chosen something by default. The whole issue of success- or what is success- has been on the back burner of my mind, constantly simmering, never coming to full boil, but not cooling down either.
How we define success will influence our level of peace and contentment. And what, exactly, is success? Should the Christian have a different definition of success than the world does? According to wordnet, success is:
Now that last one-"a person with a record of successes"- can be a real doozy. If I choose the Lord Jesus Christ as my role model, and I look at His life, I find that He has successes and yet He has what looks like... failures. After all, in one town, "He could do no miracle there except that He laid His hands on a few sick people and healed them" (Mark 6:5). For Jesus, doing a "few" miracles is an apparent failure compared to the great success He had in other towns. And we could go on and on about the many times Christ looked like a failure, when Jesus withdrew from the crowds (Conquerors never withdraw), when Jesus looked like a bloody, broken mess dying on the cross (Successful people avoid looking bad at all costs, don't they?).
"God called Jesus to what seemed absolute disaster...His life was an absolute failure from every standpoint except God's" writes Oswald Chambers. And that's the word we have to remember: standpoint. It's not a common word. It has to do with viewpoint, stance, mental attitude. It's a position you take from which you make your decision: is this the right thing to do? Is this what it means to succeed?
To succeed means to prevail and to win the victory. That's how I define success. "And this is the victory that overcomes the world-- even our faith" (1 John 5:4). Our faith in Him leads us to obey Him. Successful is the one who obeys. Successful is the one who trusts Him even though it looks like your ship is sinking. Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him" and He was talking about what it felt like, what it looked like, when his world was falling apart. It can look like you are a failure- from the standpoint of one who trusts in attainment and fame. Or it can look like your world is shaky, your trophies have fallen, and yet your faith is still in the One who defines what success is for us.
Each time I trust when I want to fear, I am successful. Each time I reach out when it would be easier to pull back, I am successful. Each time I say, "Yes, Lord- even though I don't understand what You're doing", I have won the victory.
Friday, August 01, 2008
The Opportunity Before Me
I thought when I got back from vacation that I would be able to retain the newfound peace and sense of refreshment...but it's been a battle. Life comes at you with appointments, errands to run, children's needs to take care of, and you're flying all over the place taking care of these things when all of a sudden you realize your heart is racing, you're a bit agitated, and the sunny, peaceful beach days of vacation are long past. You could almost think you have to let go of what you gained. Almost. But I've decided that its mine to keep- the rest, the refreshment, the sense of contentment.
Even though this month of August is the THE month for change, for good-byes, for traveling, for visits, and for starting new things, it is still summer vacation. I've got to make sure I glean all I can out of the sun and the laughter and the taste of watermelon and the smell of sunscreen and sweat. "Summertime and the living is easy" that jazzy song tells us- but it's really not that easy to relax. It's doable, but not easy.
In about three weeks, my husband drives our son down to Kentucky for the beginning of his life away at college. Then a week after that, I fly down to Nashville to visit my niece. Then a week after that, I begin homeschooling our daughter. We have decided to go back to homeschooling her after two years of middle school education at a Christian school. It's going to be an interesting year, and possibly a bit quieter- with our son gone. (No more beating drums and blasting music). But one thing it will not be is routine. Everything is changing. There are more changes I will tell you about. And I've got to flex with it all.
"If I can stay calm, faithful, and unconfused while in the middle of the turmoil of life, the goal of the purpose of God is being accomplished in me. God is not working toward a particular finish- His purpose is the process itself" (My Utmost for His Highest 7/28). Now that "calm, faithful, and unconfused" part is a real mouthful. I normally don't major in calm (my husband does). I struggle with being faithful (but my dog, Harry, doesn't). But the unconfused part- well, that I am getting better at. I am no longer dismayed and floored by the changes and the suddenness of how life throws something new at you. This part- life's ups and downs- this part I expect. More than ever.
One life changing thing I learned from reading The Success Principles was to look at problems as an opportunity to learn something. And where there are problems, there's stress. And where there's stress, there's a need for surrender. "If you want to remain calm and peaceful as you go through life, you have to have high intention and low attachment. You do everything you can to create your desired outcomes, and then you let it go" writes Jack Canfield. And he is absolutely right.
But the letting go part is the killer. Acting as if you can trust God to take care of what you cannot is a beautiful expression of faith. But this is not beautiful as in "sittin' pretty". This is beautiful as in the praying, releasing, worrying and then praying and releasing all over again. This is work. This is the beautiful work of the Christian- "letting it go" into the hands of God.
When we let go of what is happening and our expectation of how something should turn out, we can look for the surprise God had in mind for us, rather than the expected Outcome we had wanted. Canfield says it best when he writes, "Instead of getting upset when things don't unfold as you anticipated, always ask yourself the question, 'What's the possibility that this is?'"
So many changes occurred in these last months that I could be very confused about what God wants from me. Or I could view all these changes and problems as opportunities, possibilities. There's always the possibility that God has something different in mind- different than what you were thinking.
I am quite uncertain about what God is doing, right now, in my life. But I am not confused as to his motive and His plan: God wants me to learn to "appropriate risk and uncertainty" (The Shack) and by learning to live with all that I don't know or understand, still be certain of His love, still be completely unconfused as to the fact that he is FOR me. He leads me. There's no doubt about that in my mind. He loves me- there's occasional bits of doubt about that, yes; because there are times that are not so loving and comfortable. But oh, the opportunity to grow and trust Him!
Even though this month of August is the THE month for change, for good-byes, for traveling, for visits, and for starting new things, it is still summer vacation. I've got to make sure I glean all I can out of the sun and the laughter and the taste of watermelon and the smell of sunscreen and sweat. "Summertime and the living is easy" that jazzy song tells us- but it's really not that easy to relax. It's doable, but not easy.
In about three weeks, my husband drives our son down to Kentucky for the beginning of his life away at college. Then a week after that, I fly down to Nashville to visit my niece. Then a week after that, I begin homeschooling our daughter. We have decided to go back to homeschooling her after two years of middle school education at a Christian school. It's going to be an interesting year, and possibly a bit quieter- with our son gone. (No more beating drums and blasting music). But one thing it will not be is routine. Everything is changing. There are more changes I will tell you about. And I've got to flex with it all.
"If I can stay calm, faithful, and unconfused while in the middle of the turmoil of life, the goal of the purpose of God is being accomplished in me. God is not working toward a particular finish- His purpose is the process itself" (My Utmost for His Highest 7/28). Now that "calm, faithful, and unconfused" part is a real mouthful. I normally don't major in calm (my husband does). I struggle with being faithful (but my dog, Harry, doesn't). But the unconfused part- well, that I am getting better at. I am no longer dismayed and floored by the changes and the suddenness of how life throws something new at you. This part- life's ups and downs- this part I expect. More than ever.
One life changing thing I learned from reading The Success Principles was to look at problems as an opportunity to learn something. And where there are problems, there's stress. And where there's stress, there's a need for surrender. "If you want to remain calm and peaceful as you go through life, you have to have high intention and low attachment. You do everything you can to create your desired outcomes, and then you let it go" writes Jack Canfield. And he is absolutely right.
But the letting go part is the killer. Acting as if you can trust God to take care of what you cannot is a beautiful expression of faith. But this is not beautiful as in "sittin' pretty". This is beautiful as in the praying, releasing, worrying and then praying and releasing all over again. This is work. This is the beautiful work of the Christian- "letting it go" into the hands of God.
When we let go of what is happening and our expectation of how something should turn out, we can look for the surprise God had in mind for us, rather than the expected Outcome we had wanted. Canfield says it best when he writes, "Instead of getting upset when things don't unfold as you anticipated, always ask yourself the question, 'What's the possibility that this is?'"
So many changes occurred in these last months that I could be very confused about what God wants from me. Or I could view all these changes and problems as opportunities, possibilities. There's always the possibility that God has something different in mind- different than what you were thinking.
I am quite uncertain about what God is doing, right now, in my life. But I am not confused as to his motive and His plan: God wants me to learn to "appropriate risk and uncertainty" (The Shack) and by learning to live with all that I don't know or understand, still be certain of His love, still be completely unconfused as to the fact that he is FOR me. He leads me. There's no doubt about that in my mind. He loves me- there's occasional bits of doubt about that, yes; because there are times that are not so loving and comfortable. But oh, the opportunity to grow and trust Him!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Awards and Acknowledgments
I'm a bit behind on acknowledging and accepting some beautiful blog awards recently given to me. In fact, I'm a bit behind on a lot of things. So that's what I've been doing since we came home from vacation: I've been catching up on odds and ends, things that must be done, and things that haven't been done that I've put off for quite a while.
One thing about the blog world that is so inspiring is the immediate communication and responses you get to your writing, to your thoughts. Being the mother of a semi-comatose (at times) 18 year old son who graces me with his appreciative responses to my acts of loving service (my mothering and my hovering over him) about once a year, I am touched by these two blog awards I've recently been given. Besides the awards, thank you just for talking to me!
Gi at You Can Hope2
has awarded me a beautiful award with a jazzy Spanish name- Arte Y Pico, which originated here at http://arteypico.blogspot.com/
"What is the meaning of the expression: Arte y Pico
What is the meaning of the expression: And basically, ironically, it translates into a wonderful phrase in Mexico, “lo maximo.” LOL! It will never find its counterpart in English, but if it HAD to, it would be something like, Wow. The Best Art. Over the top."
I'd like to pass this award on to four beautiful blogs that never fail to inspire, encourage, or wow me with their insights and their honesty (and ask that they pass the award on to 3-5 other blogs):
Random Redheaded Ramblings
Weighty Thoughts
Sonflower
This I Do
Then I received from Random Redheaded Ramblings
a colorful award called Robin's Red Award which came out of a personal experience she had with being noticed and identified as the creative, beautiful person she is. This award touched my heart, because I also had an experience with a teacher that changed my life because it changed how I viewed myself. I'll tell you about it sometime.
Thanks for the award Robin!
One thing about the blog world that is so inspiring is the immediate communication and responses you get to your writing, to your thoughts. Being the mother of a semi-comatose (at times) 18 year old son who graces me with his appreciative responses to my acts of loving service (my mothering and my hovering over him) about once a year, I am touched by these two blog awards I've recently been given. Besides the awards, thank you just for talking to me!
Gi at You Can Hope2
has awarded me a beautiful award with a jazzy Spanish name- Arte Y Pico, which originated here at http://arteypico.blogspot.com/
"What is the meaning of the expression: Arte y Pico
What is the meaning of the expression: And basically, ironically, it translates into a wonderful phrase in Mexico, “lo maximo.” LOL! It will never find its counterpart in English, but if it HAD to, it would be something like, Wow. The Best Art. Over the top."
I'd like to pass this award on to four beautiful blogs that never fail to inspire, encourage, or wow me with their insights and their honesty (and ask that they pass the award on to 3-5 other blogs):
Random Redheaded Ramblings
Weighty Thoughts
Sonflower
This I Do
Then I received from Random Redheaded Ramblings
a colorful award called Robin's Red Award which came out of a personal experience she had with being noticed and identified as the creative, beautiful person she is. This award touched my heart, because I also had an experience with a teacher that changed my life because it changed how I viewed myself. I'll tell you about it sometime.
Thanks for the award Robin!
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Quote for the Day
"Ah, that is the risk of faith, Mack.
Faith does not grow in the house of certainty."
-The Shack by William P. Young
Faith does not grow in the house of certainty."
-The Shack by William P. Young
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Clam Chowder and Sunshine
We've been on vacation this week. I did not realize how shallow my breathing had become, how frantic and frenzied my pace was, how ready I was to take a week and slow the pace down to the thick slow drip of New England Clam chowder dripping off a spoon. That we've done nothing but read, sit at the beach, eat, play cards, laugh, eat, and read is a testament to the perfection of this vacation. Our family didn't really need a lot of entertainment or roller coaster rides or crowds of people. What we needed was family time, food, fun, and life at the pace of a hot summer day when you feel like your only responsibility is to live and love.
Instead of a phone constantly ringing in the background, I hear my kids cheerfully discussing the choice of ice cream or slushies. Or I should say that Abby, my daughter, is cheerfully discussing the choices and Alex is nodding slightly and without regard for her question because he has his headphones on and a book in his hand. His job, as a kid going off to college in a month, is to accommodate our time together as a family without letting on too much that he is enjoying himself.
I'm so relaxed. You would be too- if you were sitting at the beach and listening to the roar of the ocean, and feeling very small but loved. You see the ocean, hear it roar, wonder at its presence, and then remember that the God who created it is the God who has a plan for your life. You sit at the beach and see all the people, hear them, feel the sun beat down on your skin- and yet you are miles away in thought. You're feeling hope and you're starting to dream bigger. You're letting go of hurts and confusion. There are possibilities, endless possibilities, when you feel refreshed, rejuvenated...and loved.
Instead of a phone constantly ringing in the background, I hear my kids cheerfully discussing the choice of ice cream or slushies. Or I should say that Abby, my daughter, is cheerfully discussing the choices and Alex is nodding slightly and without regard for her question because he has his headphones on and a book in his hand. His job, as a kid going off to college in a month, is to accommodate our time together as a family without letting on too much that he is enjoying himself.
I'm so relaxed. You would be too- if you were sitting at the beach and listening to the roar of the ocean, and feeling very small but loved. You see the ocean, hear it roar, wonder at its presence, and then remember that the God who created it is the God who has a plan for your life. You sit at the beach and see all the people, hear them, feel the sun beat down on your skin- and yet you are miles away in thought. You're feeling hope and you're starting to dream bigger. You're letting go of hurts and confusion. There are possibilities, endless possibilities, when you feel refreshed, rejuvenated...and loved.
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