Every night either Gavin or I give our youngest daughter a bath. Tonight, it's my turn, and I am watching her dance and twirl as the water runs. Happy and carefree though she is, I can hear the nightly news in the background. The talking head drones on, and I am vaguely aware of what he is saying. Hurricanes and tornadoes and terrorism and war, and I wonder at what point a child ceases to be such a free spirit and instead is taken hostage by all that is wrong with the world. I thought to myself, Right now, I am all that to her. Everything she knows about the world is what I have taught her, but most importantly what I have shown her. By my example, am I demonstrating love and compassion, hope and stability? Have I prepared her to navigate uncertainty, selfishness, jealousy, greed, and loss?
To twirl with such abandon, drunk on her own happiness, dizzy with creativity and brimming with sweetness is God's gift to children like her. And although many of the world's children live in poverty and abuse, and might only wish to dance and sing, little Cari Jill is not one of them. I have been given an amazing gift, and the gift brings with it an enormous amount of responsibility. As she grows, so will her circle of influence. It is my job to make sure that the center of that sphere is as strong as it can be. That way, when the yuck of the world surrounds her, what centers her will be the foundation of her years as part of our family. Sure, there will be disappointments. Even failures. But my most trusted source of comfort is that Gavin and I don't have to raise our children by ourselves. Our church partners with us to guide us every step of the way. This week, they taught her this:
"As for God, his way is perfect."--Psalm 18:30
Is there anything else she needs to remember?
Monday, August 29, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Experience Necessary
I attended a fundraising dinner last night for a local non-profit. It was a beautiful dinner and clearly a thoughtfully planned event. Yet, in the last fifteen years of which I have been a part of this organization, this dinner has been dreadfully predictable. I was sad to learn that the services they are able to provide have been cut and many families must be turned away due to a lack of funding. I was waiting for an engaging presentation by the executive director and a couple of live, personal stories from friends of the organization. These were not to be, and so I waited for the big draw, the one thing that really drives people to these events...not the food, not the silent auction, not the opportunity to write a check on their behalf, but the KEYNOTE SPEAKER!
This particular speaker spoke with the cadence and force of a former trial lawyer. I don't know anything about law, but perhaps in the context of a courtroom scenario it is beneficial to jump all over the place in the notes. Maybe the technique confuses the jury and so sways them toward a more favorable verdict. At any rate, this woman obviously lived a fascinating life and out of her mouth her heart spilled the stories of some of the amazing things she has seen and done. Captivating and entertaining were these stories, to say the least, but I really wanted her to share with me the answer to these two basic questions:
1. How have your life experiences affected your life both negatively and positively?
2. How have your responses to your life experiences shaped who you are today?
If she had answered those two questions, then I could have answered two for myself.
1. Based on what I heard today, what can I learn from you?
2. How will I behave differently?
In the end, I think her speech had something to do with setting goals and being a hero. Her impassioned words, however, meant nothing in light of these unanswered questions. Contemplating this tonight, I was thinking of my own life experiences. Based on a recent interview by our life insurance underwriter, both my husband and I lead pretty boring lives. Yet every singe time a choice is presented to me, every single person I meet and engage in conversation, every single book I read and reflect on its truths, every time I make a choice between two opportunities, I am shaping my unique future. If I view every single decision I make in light of the outcome of my choices, the potential for personal growth is unstoppable. It's time to be more intentional.
This particular speaker spoke with the cadence and force of a former trial lawyer. I don't know anything about law, but perhaps in the context of a courtroom scenario it is beneficial to jump all over the place in the notes. Maybe the technique confuses the jury and so sways them toward a more favorable verdict. At any rate, this woman obviously lived a fascinating life and out of her mouth her heart spilled the stories of some of the amazing things she has seen and done. Captivating and entertaining were these stories, to say the least, but I really wanted her to share with me the answer to these two basic questions:
1. How have your life experiences affected your life both negatively and positively?
2. How have your responses to your life experiences shaped who you are today?
If she had answered those two questions, then I could have answered two for myself.
1. Based on what I heard today, what can I learn from you?
2. How will I behave differently?
In the end, I think her speech had something to do with setting goals and being a hero. Her impassioned words, however, meant nothing in light of these unanswered questions. Contemplating this tonight, I was thinking of my own life experiences. Based on a recent interview by our life insurance underwriter, both my husband and I lead pretty boring lives. Yet every singe time a choice is presented to me, every single person I meet and engage in conversation, every single book I read and reflect on its truths, every time I make a choice between two opportunities, I am shaping my unique future. If I view every single decision I make in light of the outcome of my choices, the potential for personal growth is unstoppable. It's time to be more intentional.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Of Pride and Pain
My older daughter had braces put on her teeth today. I thought we were headed to the orthodontist for a quick consultation, but to my surprise, a rare open schedule on this particular day brought with it an opportunity to fill her mouth full of metal and wires. The staff presented us with a choice: do it now or re-schedule later. Either way, we were doing this thing. Because I had no plans, and my daughter thought it fortuitous that she would miss P.E., we decided to go for it!
Actually, I am very proud of Christiana for choosing to begin the grueling eighteen month long process of tug-of-war on her teeth. Truly, the decision took a fair amount of fortitude on her part. She often procrastinates and has zero tolerance for pain. Since the day she was born, she has cried every day of her life. I fill my prayer time by begging God to give me the patience to endure it and to work with her to build both the relationship I have with her, as well as the one she has with her heavenly Father. She is tender-hearted and sensitive but also full of angst and sadness. And because she is in Middle School, her perspective on life in general is a little skewed, to say the least. I love her madly, and I see glimpses occasionally of the woman she will one day become. Today's bravery ranks as one of those, and I made sure to congratulate her on such a grown-up decision.
Of course, tonight her eyes brim with tears, and through the mumbling of clenched jaws, I cannot understand a word she says. I gather, however, that she is starving and can neither do her homework nor go to sleep. Two steps forward. One step back.
Romans 5:3-4: "...but we also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope." Suffering, at its best, is uncomfortable and at its very worst, unbearable. Regardless of our temporary perspective, however, this unpleasant sensation in us yields abundant fruit.
The first time I felt true suffering was during the labor of my first child, the very one of whom I am writing now. Breathing through the contractions, I noticed a cartoon on the wall. "
Honey", I said, "read me that cartoon. It looks funny." Anything to take my mind off the contractions.
Gavin squinted at the wall, and said, "I don't think you want me to read that cartoon."
But I persisted. "Yes, I do. Read the cartoon. NOW!"
The cartoon in question was actually a copy of the hospital's face pain chart, a handy little reference of facial expressions rated on a scale of 1-10 and designed to represent a person's felt pain. The first one depicted a perfect little happy face and the last a distorted monster of one. Not funny.
I persevered through the pain, and when my tiny baby girl was delivered into my arms, I felt an enormous surge of power. The next three times I endured labor I was able to withstand it and each time I think my character developed a little more fully because I had the hope that once again a precious little child would soon join our family.
Braces are a minor thing. She is not dying. She is not paralyzed (although she may think she is). She is not confined to a wheelchair for life. We are simply putting a little bit of pressure on her teeth in an effort to straighten things out a bit. Outwardly, her appearance will change. Inwardly, I want her to character to evolve. She is not suffering, any more than I was as I was breathing through those contractions all those years ago. But I want her to understand that this first baby step in a direction that seems uncomfortable brings with it great rewards down the line.
Actually, I am very proud of Christiana for choosing to begin the grueling eighteen month long process of tug-of-war on her teeth. Truly, the decision took a fair amount of fortitude on her part. She often procrastinates and has zero tolerance for pain. Since the day she was born, she has cried every day of her life. I fill my prayer time by begging God to give me the patience to endure it and to work with her to build both the relationship I have with her, as well as the one she has with her heavenly Father. She is tender-hearted and sensitive but also full of angst and sadness. And because she is in Middle School, her perspective on life in general is a little skewed, to say the least. I love her madly, and I see glimpses occasionally of the woman she will one day become. Today's bravery ranks as one of those, and I made sure to congratulate her on such a grown-up decision.
Of course, tonight her eyes brim with tears, and through the mumbling of clenched jaws, I cannot understand a word she says. I gather, however, that she is starving and can neither do her homework nor go to sleep. Two steps forward. One step back.
Romans 5:3-4: "...but we also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope." Suffering, at its best, is uncomfortable and at its very worst, unbearable. Regardless of our temporary perspective, however, this unpleasant sensation in us yields abundant fruit.
The first time I felt true suffering was during the labor of my first child, the very one of whom I am writing now. Breathing through the contractions, I noticed a cartoon on the wall. "
Honey", I said, "read me that cartoon. It looks funny." Anything to take my mind off the contractions.
Gavin squinted at the wall, and said, "I don't think you want me to read that cartoon."
But I persisted. "Yes, I do. Read the cartoon. NOW!"
The cartoon in question was actually a copy of the hospital's face pain chart, a handy little reference of facial expressions rated on a scale of 1-10 and designed to represent a person's felt pain. The first one depicted a perfect little happy face and the last a distorted monster of one. Not funny.
I persevered through the pain, and when my tiny baby girl was delivered into my arms, I felt an enormous surge of power. The next three times I endured labor I was able to withstand it and each time I think my character developed a little more fully because I had the hope that once again a precious little child would soon join our family.
Braces are a minor thing. She is not dying. She is not paralyzed (although she may think she is). She is not confined to a wheelchair for life. We are simply putting a little bit of pressure on her teeth in an effort to straighten things out a bit. Outwardly, her appearance will change. Inwardly, I want her to character to evolve. She is not suffering, any more than I was as I was breathing through those contractions all those years ago. But I want her to understand that this first baby step in a direction that seems uncomfortable brings with it great rewards down the line.
Season of Contentment
God is the creator of the universe, the ultimate wellspring of creativity, and I believe he bestows on people all the ideas for beauty and change in the world. He plants these little seeds in the minds of many people, knowing that someone somewhere will choose to act upon that little nudge that really is God's voice inside his head . Although this blog is a tiny thing I write primarily for my own benefit, for me, it is a response to that little nudge. Somewhere, a long time ago, I loved to write—stories, poems, short plays---and read, too, anything I could get my hands on. I devoted whole days to writing and reading, and I never wanted to stop. But somewhere along the way, LIFE got in the way, and the excruciating minutia of everyday living sucked the life right out of me. I got married, got a job, got pregnant, and got pregnant, and got pregnant, and got pregnant. Now, fifteen years and four kids later, there is time for little else but cooking, cleaning, washing, and serving. The ME person has begun to wither, as the little mini-MEs have begun to thrive. It is a beautiful time and a dark time. I think sometimes about that person that once was me and wonder where she went. Although it may be true that “Practice makes perfect,” sometimes I feel that I am JUST TRYING TO KEEP UP. There’s no time for practicing. This idea of practicing to make perfect has begun to haunt me. If I COULD practice, what would it be that I would be working on? What could be my thing? And wasn’t a little bit of practice better than no practice at all? And so here I am. Writing a blog to myself.
We live in a very large neighborhood, and so to get from place to place I often drive our three-seater golf cart, (known affectionately by our friends as a "people transporter"). Today, as I was shuttling kids around the neighborhood during an afternoon ride, I ran into a new friend. She is starting her own business, partnering with two local businesses to do what she loves and what is clearly her gift during this season of economic instability. I felt energized after our conversation. Here lives a very talented and gifted person, with a husband and three kids, affluent, and who clearly doesn’t HAVE to go back to work. For her, this new opportunity is not work. Instead, it is an outlet for her God-given creative genius. She can’t NOT do this. The creativity is bubbling over. It’s eeking out of her pores. Her season is sprouting, and in the process those dormant buds that had been there all along are finally being tended and watered. Guess what? She’s blooming. Yes, she’s blooming where she’s planted!
Another friend in another town, equally as talented, equally as gifted, also has three kids. She’s frustrated by the incompleteness of her children’s public school education. She’s one of the most innovative and creative people that I know. She’s the kind of person who throws theme birthday parties that are beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. She dreams of bringing people together—through book clubs, wine tastings, vacations, etc. She sees the potential in people and capitalizes on their strengths, encourages them in their weaknesses, and in the process emerges herself as an inspirational leader of a rag tag group of women. Her frustration with the public education system has caused her to design a new, more innovative system that partners with parents in ways most people never even thought possible.
I have another dear friend who would love to have four kids, but instead, after a very difficult and dark season of infertility, embraces only one natural born child. Longing for what could be, she has not allowed herself to wallow in what may never be. Instead, she immersed herself in this season doing what she loves most—tirelessly working to bring God's love and provision to a remote village in Uganda, Africa. Here she is in an uncomfortable season, but with the resources and time to do the very thing that makes her feel most alive, she multiplies the investment of God's creativity in her. Meanwhile, she has been working to bring an adopted daughter home from Ethiopia. Trials and setbacks only made her praise God more fervently, allowed him to work in her more completely, and just yesterday she claimed her little girl as her own.
These are the people that inspire me. For now, though I write of a “season of contentment”, content is not something I feel every day. In fact, in the midst of the chaotic rough and tumble household that I call “home”, I sometimes feel the very OPPOSITE of content. Contentment is something I have to CHOOSE. It is a conscientious choice that I make every single morning. Rising before the sun rises, never stopping until the last child is tucked safely in her bed and the dishes are washed, the clothes are folded, the family room is straightened, and the next day’s lunches are packed, I have to choose to be OK with life’s messiness. I know that one day I will miss the dusty footprints and greasy fingerprints. I pray the imprint they leave on my soul, though, will last a lifetime. If a little bit of me must die so that each of them can thrive, I will do it. I CHOOSE contentment. The reward is eternal.
We live in a very large neighborhood, and so to get from place to place I often drive our three-seater golf cart, (known affectionately by our friends as a "people transporter"). Today, as I was shuttling kids around the neighborhood during an afternoon ride, I ran into a new friend. She is starting her own business, partnering with two local businesses to do what she loves and what is clearly her gift during this season of economic instability. I felt energized after our conversation. Here lives a very talented and gifted person, with a husband and three kids, affluent, and who clearly doesn’t HAVE to go back to work. For her, this new opportunity is not work. Instead, it is an outlet for her God-given creative genius. She can’t NOT do this. The creativity is bubbling over. It’s eeking out of her pores. Her season is sprouting, and in the process those dormant buds that had been there all along are finally being tended and watered. Guess what? She’s blooming. Yes, she’s blooming where she’s planted!
Another friend in another town, equally as talented, equally as gifted, also has three kids. She’s frustrated by the incompleteness of her children’s public school education. She’s one of the most innovative and creative people that I know. She’s the kind of person who throws theme birthday parties that are beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. She dreams of bringing people together—through book clubs, wine tastings, vacations, etc. She sees the potential in people and capitalizes on their strengths, encourages them in their weaknesses, and in the process emerges herself as an inspirational leader of a rag tag group of women. Her frustration with the public education system has caused her to design a new, more innovative system that partners with parents in ways most people never even thought possible.
I have another dear friend who would love to have four kids, but instead, after a very difficult and dark season of infertility, embraces only one natural born child. Longing for what could be, she has not allowed herself to wallow in what may never be. Instead, she immersed herself in this season doing what she loves most—tirelessly working to bring God's love and provision to a remote village in Uganda, Africa. Here she is in an uncomfortable season, but with the resources and time to do the very thing that makes her feel most alive, she multiplies the investment of God's creativity in her. Meanwhile, she has been working to bring an adopted daughter home from Ethiopia. Trials and setbacks only made her praise God more fervently, allowed him to work in her more completely, and just yesterday she claimed her little girl as her own.
These are the people that inspire me. For now, though I write of a “season of contentment”, content is not something I feel every day. In fact, in the midst of the chaotic rough and tumble household that I call “home”, I sometimes feel the very OPPOSITE of content. Contentment is something I have to CHOOSE. It is a conscientious choice that I make every single morning. Rising before the sun rises, never stopping until the last child is tucked safely in her bed and the dishes are washed, the clothes are folded, the family room is straightened, and the next day’s lunches are packed, I have to choose to be OK with life’s messiness. I know that one day I will miss the dusty footprints and greasy fingerprints. I pray the imprint they leave on my soul, though, will last a lifetime. If a little bit of me must die so that each of them can thrive, I will do it. I CHOOSE contentment. The reward is eternal.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
My Recurring Dream
My bed is my refuge. I love crawling between the cool sheets in the darkness of night, laying my head on my favorite pillow and drifting silently into dreamland. But my nightly dreams aren't always of the sweet variety.
I have a recurring dream. It's unlike other dreams of which I am familiar. I don't dream about public speaking in my underwear or missing important tests. Rarely, do I dream of being chased, falling, or losing my teeth. Maybe my dream isn't all that unique, but I have it so regularly now that I do feel lit belongs to me particularly. It's a vision that has evolved as the years have passed, and I am desperately trying to figure out what it means.
In the dream, an animal approaches me and puts his teeth on my hand. He doesn't clamp down, but just barely touches his teeth to the skin of my hand. I am paralyzed with fear. I'm afraid to jerk away because the animal might clamp down even harder. I remain rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to scream. The animal varies, but this scene is the same. At first, my animal tormentor was a bear, then a hyena, a wolf, and, because the animal's size has been trending downward, eventually a dog. I have been having this dream for years, and most recently, the animal was only a tiny chipmunk. In spite of my sub-conscious recognizing the situation, my instincts prevailed, and I flung the animal across the room. Only this time, he attacked me more ferociously, more tenaciously. Try as I might, I could not shake him away the second time.
Whatever it is that has its hold on me is getting smaller, yet, the grasp remains firm. I wonder if it's a fear I need to overcome? Maybe it's a sin of which I need to repent. I don't know. The funny thing is that if I do determine what it is that has me in his jaws, I almost fear the dream will go away. Ironic. Truly, it is a nightmare, and yet it is so familiar to me that if I never have the dream again, I think I might miss it.
I John 4:18-19--"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us."
When I read this verse, I felt a little disturbed. Fear and love. I never put the two together before now. Maybe it's not something I fear that is causing the dream. Maybe instead it's something I don't love. Don't love? I am a Christian. I am supposed to love everyone and everything. And yet I fear that perhaps there is something or someone I don't. Today, I pray that God will reveal his truth to me in the light so that what haunts me in the night will no longer have power over me.
Thinking about this now, I realize that that's the way it is with sin, too. I've met so many people who are afraid to come to Christ, because for them it means giving up something that is familiar to them--maybe something big like excessive drinking or gambling. But sometimes, giving up something small like a TV show that isn't helpful can be just as difficult. We fear the sacrifice because we think we're being punished, even though the reward is amazing. I love that this verse in I John holds a promise--"Perfect love drives out fear". Jesus Christ is perfect love, and because he fills us, there is no room for fear. Fear and love. Opposites. Antagonists. Us against God. He loved me first. I can give in, give up, or give it my all. If this evening I experience another episode of Night of the Killer Chipmunks, at least I have some scriptural ammunition to use in my counter-attack.
I have a recurring dream. It's unlike other dreams of which I am familiar. I don't dream about public speaking in my underwear or missing important tests. Rarely, do I dream of being chased, falling, or losing my teeth. Maybe my dream isn't all that unique, but I have it so regularly now that I do feel lit belongs to me particularly. It's a vision that has evolved as the years have passed, and I am desperately trying to figure out what it means.
In the dream, an animal approaches me and puts his teeth on my hand. He doesn't clamp down, but just barely touches his teeth to the skin of my hand. I am paralyzed with fear. I'm afraid to jerk away because the animal might clamp down even harder. I remain rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to scream. The animal varies, but this scene is the same. At first, my animal tormentor was a bear, then a hyena, a wolf, and, because the animal's size has been trending downward, eventually a dog. I have been having this dream for years, and most recently, the animal was only a tiny chipmunk. In spite of my sub-conscious recognizing the situation, my instincts prevailed, and I flung the animal across the room. Only this time, he attacked me more ferociously, more tenaciously. Try as I might, I could not shake him away the second time.
Whatever it is that has its hold on me is getting smaller, yet, the grasp remains firm. I wonder if it's a fear I need to overcome? Maybe it's a sin of which I need to repent. I don't know. The funny thing is that if I do determine what it is that has me in his jaws, I almost fear the dream will go away. Ironic. Truly, it is a nightmare, and yet it is so familiar to me that if I never have the dream again, I think I might miss it.
I John 4:18-19--"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because he first loved us."
When I read this verse, I felt a little disturbed. Fear and love. I never put the two together before now. Maybe it's not something I fear that is causing the dream. Maybe instead it's something I don't love. Don't love? I am a Christian. I am supposed to love everyone and everything. And yet I fear that perhaps there is something or someone I don't. Today, I pray that God will reveal his truth to me in the light so that what haunts me in the night will no longer have power over me.
Thinking about this now, I realize that that's the way it is with sin, too. I've met so many people who are afraid to come to Christ, because for them it means giving up something that is familiar to them--maybe something big like excessive drinking or gambling. But sometimes, giving up something small like a TV show that isn't helpful can be just as difficult. We fear the sacrifice because we think we're being punished, even though the reward is amazing. I love that this verse in I John holds a promise--"Perfect love drives out fear". Jesus Christ is perfect love, and because he fills us, there is no room for fear. Fear and love. Opposites. Antagonists. Us against God. He loved me first. I can give in, give up, or give it my all. If this evening I experience another episode of Night of the Killer Chipmunks, at least I have some scriptural ammunition to use in my counter-attack.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Follow Your Heart
Follow your heart. You're more likely to succeed at something you love.
I saw these words in my son's agenda today. Personally, they have always left a bad taste in my mouth. I associate "following your heart" with the final episodes of The Bachelor, when, torn between two lovers, the knight in shining armor must follow his heart and choose the girl with whom he'll spend the rest of his life.
In theory.
That's the problem with following your heart. The heart cannot be trusted. Rarely, do one of these matches result in a lifetime of unconditional love. Usually, the exact opposite of a happy ending is what ensues. This fairytale is a tragedy, and when the two join for the "After the Final Rose" episode, I'm reminded that Jeremiah 17:9 states, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" Why is anyone surprised when the one who followed his heart allowed it to lead him straight into the arms of the devil herself?
Yet, in this context of success vs. failure in my son's agenda, I came to an epiphany regarding the true meaning of the phrase. Certainly, it makes sense that a person is more likely to succeed at something she loves rather than something she doesn't.
I only wish someone had given me this advice in the fourth grade. Because I was an over-achiever, I mistakenly assumed that if something wasn't challenging, it wasn't worth doing. And because the things I loved came relatively easy, I often neglected them in order to perfect talents that God never intended for me. I became frustrated and dejected when, after putting forth my best effort, I still wasn't good enough.
Encouraged by a high school teacher, I majored in Literature in college. For a semester. Overflowing with confidence and a misguided sense of what my future might hold, I listened to my deceitful heart and heard the familiar rhythm of a short-sighted perversion of reality. I changed my major to Biology and never looked back.
Until now.
Now, it is becoming clear to me that God never meant for me to pursue science. Over and over again, the struggles I faced I attributed to a challenging field. What if, instead, I had listened to my heart? Really listened to it? Looked inside and found there the wellspring of what God had planted? How beautiful the harvest might have been!
Two verses come to mind here. The first, Proverbs 27:19, (As water reflects a face, so a man's heart reflects the man), has profound implications when its truth is applied. What is in my heart? Is it God's word or the message of the world? If it's God's word, then my prayer is that everyone I know would heed the message found in James 1:23: "Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it--he will be blessed in what he does."
Rejection of the reflection leads to compunction. Dissatisfaction. Disappointment. Regret.
As the girls from my small group graduate high school this year and head off to college, it is my prayer that they will "follow their hearts". While they are young, I pray that they will hold on to what they love, ask God to use it in their lives to further his kingdom, and encourage them as their gifts get used and multiplied.
Any blessings that come to me flow from the outpouring of God's love and grace on me. He is the ultimate source of an unlimited supply of gifts. The good news is that even though I failed to embrace the commission of my youth, God continues to provide. It's not too late to discover what God has in store for me. It's never too late. As long as I am living and God's spirit lives in me, God can use me to carry his message of grace. I hear him whispering, "Chantel, discover the gift that I gave uniquely to you. Find it. Use it." If I succeed, God gets the credit, but if I fail, it is because I didn't look for the words impressed on my heart since childhood, words I can trust if only I don't forget them.
Proverbs 4:23 says, "Above all else, guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life" (emphasis mine). Where God lives, anything is possible.
A Lizard on a Rock
Our dog was snoozing on top of a cozy blanket that was draped across the sofa. Cari Jill looked at me and said, "Why does Hammy sleep there?" I explained to her that all living creatures like sleeping in a soft spot. "For example", I said, "Would you rather sleep on a hard rock or on a soft pillow"? She thought for a second, then said, "Well, lizards like rocks."
That was true.
Lizards do like rocks. They are hard and often jagged, either hot or cold depending on the season, sometimes dirty, and I would argue, definitely UNCOMFORTABLE.
What a perceptive little three year old! The simple phrase--"lizards like rocks"--shows that this small child already recognizes that everyone and everything isn't exactly like her. Just because she would rather lay her head on a pillow and the family dog prefers to sleep cuddled up next to a soft blanket doesn't mean that lizards do.
I think it's interesting that a three year old could articulate that she likes pillows and lizards like rocks, but a middle school age child thinks that if she likes pillows, then everyone else should, too. At what point do we stop thinking of ourselves alone and instead shift our focus to the rest of humankind?
I was thinking about that today as I was watching my boys at football practice. Another mom was standing nearby, and I felt compelled to go and speak and with her. She has three kids, the same ages as my three older ones. She is a single, divorced mother who works full-time. Her life is crazy and painful, and I'm guessing quite difficult to navigate alone. I have a husband who loves me and who makes sure that he is home every night at dinnertime. He engages wholeheartedly with all our kids, and without a doubt, I would be lost without him. He is my pillow, my comforter, my companion through all life's trials and triumphs. Still, I often say that motherhood is hard. But this other mother--wow-- I wonder if sometimes she feels like she is sleeping on a rock?
I remembered our friend the lizard. I assumed he likes sleeping there, but the reality is probably that he HAS to sleep there, for on the rock, even though it is hard and lumpy and jagged, it provides warmth on a sunny day and camouflage in the face of danger. He is alone, but he is where he has to be. I commend this mother. Her life is not easy. She would not choose the rock over the pillow, but survival merits its own hardships. Her rock is her badge of honor.
With God's grace, she can proclaim the words of the Psalmist, "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire, he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand" (40:2).
Tonight, our conversation was light and superficial, but underneath our shared experience, I sensed a deep sense of longing. After a long day at work, a trying afternoon trudging through homework, and an endless evening of football practice, I heard her wishing for reprieve, perhaps a pillow in which to lay her weary head. I pray that one day she will be able to say, "The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold" (18:2). The rock isn't a bad place; it's precisely the place where she will experience Jesus' redeeming love.
That was true.
Lizards do like rocks. They are hard and often jagged, either hot or cold depending on the season, sometimes dirty, and I would argue, definitely UNCOMFORTABLE.
What a perceptive little three year old! The simple phrase--"lizards like rocks"--shows that this small child already recognizes that everyone and everything isn't exactly like her. Just because she would rather lay her head on a pillow and the family dog prefers to sleep cuddled up next to a soft blanket doesn't mean that lizards do.
I think it's interesting that a three year old could articulate that she likes pillows and lizards like rocks, but a middle school age child thinks that if she likes pillows, then everyone else should, too. At what point do we stop thinking of ourselves alone and instead shift our focus to the rest of humankind?
I was thinking about that today as I was watching my boys at football practice. Another mom was standing nearby, and I felt compelled to go and speak and with her. She has three kids, the same ages as my three older ones. She is a single, divorced mother who works full-time. Her life is crazy and painful, and I'm guessing quite difficult to navigate alone. I have a husband who loves me and who makes sure that he is home every night at dinnertime. He engages wholeheartedly with all our kids, and without a doubt, I would be lost without him. He is my pillow, my comforter, my companion through all life's trials and triumphs. Still, I often say that motherhood is hard. But this other mother--wow-- I wonder if sometimes she feels like she is sleeping on a rock?
I remembered our friend the lizard. I assumed he likes sleeping there, but the reality is probably that he HAS to sleep there, for on the rock, even though it is hard and lumpy and jagged, it provides warmth on a sunny day and camouflage in the face of danger. He is alone, but he is where he has to be. I commend this mother. Her life is not easy. She would not choose the rock over the pillow, but survival merits its own hardships. Her rock is her badge of honor.
With God's grace, she can proclaim the words of the Psalmist, "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire, he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand" (40:2).
Tonight, our conversation was light and superficial, but underneath our shared experience, I sensed a deep sense of longing. After a long day at work, a trying afternoon trudging through homework, and an endless evening of football practice, I heard her wishing for reprieve, perhaps a pillow in which to lay her weary head. I pray that one day she will be able to say, "The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold" (18:2). The rock isn't a bad place; it's precisely the place where she will experience Jesus' redeeming love.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Iron Sharpens Iron
As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another (Proverbs 27:17).
Today, I am thankful for good friends. They are hard to find, but precious to keep. Over the years, I have enjoyed the company of beautiful people that have filtered in and out of my life. In college, especially, I forged the friendships that would last a lifetime. Seeing the bright future on the horizon ahead of us, we pursued a common goal, and the angst and intensity of that pivotal time helped establish a bond that could not be severed. In the years since, I have found myself disappointed with the transient relationships that characterize adulthood--moves, children, (lack of children!), and jobs have all served to invite people to join me in my journey only to disappear and make space for someone else.
Not anymore.
I love the friendships that are forever, but I also love the ones that are for a season. In these, wonderful wise people have spoken into my life. They leaned in my direction, and I found in them a comfort characterized not necessarily by our parallel lives but by our mutual desire to sharpen and inspire one another. Change is inevitable; now, I welcome it, for it is only through change that we grow. I can't hang on to people any more than I can hang onto a rope dangling from a cloud. As our hopes and dreams evolve, so do our relationships. Finding the strength to launch our friends in pursuit of what they love takes courage. Fear of loneliness and rejection could paralyze us... or it could serve to propel us toward a greater goal.
In 7th grade, I lamented the friends I left behind in elementary school, but this first step, out there on my own, discovering my true identity as the people around me jockeyed for position and clout in an arena that mattered not, I forged ahead, making connections with the people that would make me not necessarily popular, but better. In college, again, I entered a foreign arena that was teeming with interesting people. Relationships were formed quickly and strongly. Late nights up studying together, coupled with the shared pressure of our unknown future, made for friendships that would test the bonds of time.
Time.
In a moment, our lives can take a different path than the one we planned. Before we know it, weeks have passed, then months, and suddenly entire years will be lived only in the shadows of our memory. Events that seemed important are often only so because of the relationships we have attached to them. May those relationships serve to sharpen and strengthen me. May the people that I have invited into my life to share it with me be such that whether they are a forever friend or a fleeting friend, I count them as treasure. Unlike books or school or money or health, only another man can inspire greatness. He may use those other things as tools, but it is the fortitude of the soul that manifests itself in our interaction with others that makes us better.
Empathy and encouragement and inspiration and intellect are evident in the words of the writer of Proverbs when he said, " He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm" (13:20). Choose your friends carefully. Whether they walk beside you for a spell or carry you through a lifetime, the person you become will largely be because of them.
Today, I am thankful for good friends. They are hard to find, but precious to keep. Over the years, I have enjoyed the company of beautiful people that have filtered in and out of my life. In college, especially, I forged the friendships that would last a lifetime. Seeing the bright future on the horizon ahead of us, we pursued a common goal, and the angst and intensity of that pivotal time helped establish a bond that could not be severed. In the years since, I have found myself disappointed with the transient relationships that characterize adulthood--moves, children, (lack of children!), and jobs have all served to invite people to join me in my journey only to disappear and make space for someone else.
Not anymore.
I love the friendships that are forever, but I also love the ones that are for a season. In these, wonderful wise people have spoken into my life. They leaned in my direction, and I found in them a comfort characterized not necessarily by our parallel lives but by our mutual desire to sharpen and inspire one another. Change is inevitable; now, I welcome it, for it is only through change that we grow. I can't hang on to people any more than I can hang onto a rope dangling from a cloud. As our hopes and dreams evolve, so do our relationships. Finding the strength to launch our friends in pursuit of what they love takes courage. Fear of loneliness and rejection could paralyze us... or it could serve to propel us toward a greater goal.
In 7th grade, I lamented the friends I left behind in elementary school, but this first step, out there on my own, discovering my true identity as the people around me jockeyed for position and clout in an arena that mattered not, I forged ahead, making connections with the people that would make me not necessarily popular, but better. In college, again, I entered a foreign arena that was teeming with interesting people. Relationships were formed quickly and strongly. Late nights up studying together, coupled with the shared pressure of our unknown future, made for friendships that would test the bonds of time.
Time.
In a moment, our lives can take a different path than the one we planned. Before we know it, weeks have passed, then months, and suddenly entire years will be lived only in the shadows of our memory. Events that seemed important are often only so because of the relationships we have attached to them. May those relationships serve to sharpen and strengthen me. May the people that I have invited into my life to share it with me be such that whether they are a forever friend or a fleeting friend, I count them as treasure. Unlike books or school or money or health, only another man can inspire greatness. He may use those other things as tools, but it is the fortitude of the soul that manifests itself in our interaction with others that makes us better.
Empathy and encouragement and inspiration and intellect are evident in the words of the writer of Proverbs when he said, " He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm" (13:20). Choose your friends carefully. Whether they walk beside you for a spell or carry you through a lifetime, the person you become will largely be because of them.
It's Not That Hard
Baloney.
No-- BALOGNA.
Mr. Bojangles restaurants are advertising a new bologna biscuit. When I saw the sign, I almost gagged. Who was the genius who came up with that one? And thus my point is proved--it's not that hard. A nice fluffy biscuit, a slimy slice of circular piece-meat. Splice the two together, and voila! Who wouldn't love that?
I've been using that phrase for years now. People look at me funny whenever I say it, but the reality is that if YOU know how to do something, then for you it's truly not that hard. I have a friend who writes books for other people. She listens to their stories and then writes the books, not in her own voice, but theirs. Wow! I stand amazed, but for her, it's not that hard.
I have another friend who lights up every room she enters. She knows how to connect with people she's never even met. She enjoys fascinating conversation wherever she goes. It's a gift, and for her, it's not that hard.
I don't profess that everything is easy. Surely it's not! I only marvel at how a national company like Bojangles can inspire people to ingest something that barely passes as food and even fool them into thinking they are in fact eating a new and improved gourmet treat. Trust me, you cannot improve on the Chick-fil-A chicken biscuit. But somebody somewhere presented this idea. And somebody sitting across the table from them said, "Yeah, that might work." And somebody else bought an entire log of wax-wrapped bologna, peeled it slice by slice, and said, "OK, we're doing this." Who would have thought? Now, if I may suggest...A single slice of processed cheese? It has a wrapper. I'm not sure if it's actually food, but yes, that might work, too. A bologna and CHEESE biscuit!
See? It's not that hard.
No-- BALOGNA.
Mr. Bojangles restaurants are advertising a new bologna biscuit. When I saw the sign, I almost gagged. Who was the genius who came up with that one? And thus my point is proved--it's not that hard. A nice fluffy biscuit, a slimy slice of circular piece-meat. Splice the two together, and voila! Who wouldn't love that?
I've been using that phrase for years now. People look at me funny whenever I say it, but the reality is that if YOU know how to do something, then for you it's truly not that hard. I have a friend who writes books for other people. She listens to their stories and then writes the books, not in her own voice, but theirs. Wow! I stand amazed, but for her, it's not that hard.
I have another friend who lights up every room she enters. She knows how to connect with people she's never even met. She enjoys fascinating conversation wherever she goes. It's a gift, and for her, it's not that hard.
I don't profess that everything is easy. Surely it's not! I only marvel at how a national company like Bojangles can inspire people to ingest something that barely passes as food and even fool them into thinking they are in fact eating a new and improved gourmet treat. Trust me, you cannot improve on the Chick-fil-A chicken biscuit. But somebody somewhere presented this idea. And somebody sitting across the table from them said, "Yeah, that might work." And somebody else bought an entire log of wax-wrapped bologna, peeled it slice by slice, and said, "OK, we're doing this." Who would have thought? Now, if I may suggest...A single slice of processed cheese? It has a wrapper. I'm not sure if it's actually food, but yes, that might work, too. A bologna and CHEESE biscuit!
See? It's not that hard.
Protector of the House
We have a dog.
I used to say, "I'm not a dog person." In fact, I've had a cat (or two) all my life and as far back as I can remember. However, I would never say, "I'm a cat person." That just sounds creepy. But secretly, I love cats. I love that they are soft and clean themselves and are for the most part, independent. It is what I wish for my children. And my husband. My husband isn't even a "pet person", which I think is a tragedy in itself. He never so much as even had a gerbil or a fish...or for that matter, even a turtle. I think every child should have a pet, lest they start collecting rocks and talking to them as if they understand. That's how people become crazy and end up in asylums. All because they never had a little pet that they could love and that would love them back.
After losing two cats at this address in less than two years, I began to re-think having a cat. In this neighborhood, I might as well be a murderer or at least a conspirator to murder, what with the way cats mysteriously disappear and all. Hungry coyotes view them as a snack pack in the purest sense of the phrase.
Last April, my daughter was taking a walk down our street with a friend from out of town. They came home with a dog.
I saw that dog, a handsome little thing, all neatly groomed and happy. The kids immediately all wanted to take turns holding him, and he just let them. They were all in his face being completely obnoxious, and he just licked them. We kept him around all that day. He didn't beg at the table, was obviously leash trained, and clearly had once belonged to someone. I sent my daughter back down the street to find out where this dog lived. Another neighbor told us what he witnessed: a blond haired woman in a white SUV tossed him out the passenger door in the cul-de-sac the night before. What? Who would do such a thing?
I guess it doesn't really matter. What matters is that my sweet, tender-hearted daughter saw a dog, picked him up, and brought him home with every intent to keep and care for him. Did I mention that I am not a dog person?
Three weeks prior to this event I had a dream, a dream so vivid and disturbing that I ventured to write it down in my journal. In the dream, I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy. (As a side note, I feel like our family is complete, and I have no plans to become pregnant, nor can I, as things have been "taken care of" in that area.) In the dream, I named my little boy, "Hammond". Where did this name come from? I know of no one who goes by this name, and yet this dream was very real.
The next morning, I typed "Hammond name meaning" into Google on my computer. It means "Protector of the House." Interesting, I thought. Surely, I dreamed this dream for a reason. And sure enough, three weeks later, here comes this little dog. And aren't dogs the "protectors of the house?"
We call him Hammy; he's a five-pound Yorkshire Terrier. He's the "cat" of the dog world.
Coincidence. Or God's gift to us? I'm choosing to thank God for this precious gift because every child should have a pet to care for and love, even if he is a little stinky.
I used to say, "I'm not a dog person." In fact, I've had a cat (or two) all my life and as far back as I can remember. However, I would never say, "I'm a cat person." That just sounds creepy. But secretly, I love cats. I love that they are soft and clean themselves and are for the most part, independent. It is what I wish for my children. And my husband. My husband isn't even a "pet person", which I think is a tragedy in itself. He never so much as even had a gerbil or a fish...or for that matter, even a turtle. I think every child should have a pet, lest they start collecting rocks and talking to them as if they understand. That's how people become crazy and end up in asylums. All because they never had a little pet that they could love and that would love them back.
After losing two cats at this address in less than two years, I began to re-think having a cat. In this neighborhood, I might as well be a murderer or at least a conspirator to murder, what with the way cats mysteriously disappear and all. Hungry coyotes view them as a snack pack in the purest sense of the phrase.
Last April, my daughter was taking a walk down our street with a friend from out of town. They came home with a dog.
I saw that dog, a handsome little thing, all neatly groomed and happy. The kids immediately all wanted to take turns holding him, and he just let them. They were all in his face being completely obnoxious, and he just licked them. We kept him around all that day. He didn't beg at the table, was obviously leash trained, and clearly had once belonged to someone. I sent my daughter back down the street to find out where this dog lived. Another neighbor told us what he witnessed: a blond haired woman in a white SUV tossed him out the passenger door in the cul-de-sac the night before. What? Who would do such a thing?
I guess it doesn't really matter. What matters is that my sweet, tender-hearted daughter saw a dog, picked him up, and brought him home with every intent to keep and care for him. Did I mention that I am not a dog person?
Three weeks prior to this event I had a dream, a dream so vivid and disturbing that I ventured to write it down in my journal. In the dream, I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy. (As a side note, I feel like our family is complete, and I have no plans to become pregnant, nor can I, as things have been "taken care of" in that area.) In the dream, I named my little boy, "Hammond". Where did this name come from? I know of no one who goes by this name, and yet this dream was very real.
The next morning, I typed "Hammond name meaning" into Google on my computer. It means "Protector of the House." Interesting, I thought. Surely, I dreamed this dream for a reason. And sure enough, three weeks later, here comes this little dog. And aren't dogs the "protectors of the house?"
We call him Hammy; he's a five-pound Yorkshire Terrier. He's the "cat" of the dog world.
Coincidence. Or God's gift to us? I'm choosing to thank God for this precious gift because every child should have a pet to care for and love, even if he is a little stinky.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)