How Hard Can It Be?

"It's not that hard."

It's a mantra I say over and over again, mostly to convince myself that the majority of life's trials just aren't that difficult.   Yes, I've had hard days.  For any of you who read my post on the woes of homework, you know I don't have it all together.

"How do you do it?" I'm often asked.  I don't know why people ask me that.  I'm a stay-at-home mom with four kids.  Just one is still at home with me during the day, and even then just two days a week.  I don't home-school.  I don't have a full-time job.  I have a housekeeper who comes once a week.  I'm a little obsessive-compulsive, and I'm never bored.  I stay busy.  All the time.  But really.  Compared to many moms I know,  truly what I have going on here is not that hard.  To those that work long hours, come home to a messy house, care for their children and husband and drop into bed empty and exhausted, I commend you.  Yes, your life is hard.  My hope for you, though, is that your life is also full of joy.

But here's the kicker.  Don't be fooled by the lie that says that contentment is contingent on balance.   Not true, my friends.  The real secret to keeping things on the right track isn't balance; it's prioritizing.  Specifically, it's about prioritizing gratitude.   When you plan ahead, when you make a conscious, intentional decision to give thanks even BEFORE the consequences of your choices become manifest, you say to God, "Thank you for these kids.  Thank you for the laundry.  Thank you for the homework."  Truthfully, I'm not necessarily saying thank you for it.  I'm saying thank you that I'm in it.  For now, this is the place God has me.

"Thank you because you're God (priority one), and you gave me (these kids, homework, house, etc.) for a purpose (gratitude)."

Balance says it's okay to eat ice cream and cookies.  In moderation.  Balance says it's okay to work long hours as long as your time at home is quality time.  Balance says I deserve this dress.  I've been good with my bank account all month.  In moderation, people.

And all those things are okay, but balance is tricky.  It doesn't take much to upset it.  A little too much, and the waistline stretches.  Reality is blurred.  Money is tight.  And you have to start all over again.  What if, instead, you said, "I'm prioritizing my body.  I'll treat myself on Saturday night?"  How would your life be different if you said, "God, thank you for this family.  I understand that the time I spend with them has an eternal impact.  I'm drawing the line at 45 hours/week?"  What if you got to that spiritual place where you could say, "God thank you for clothing me.  I'm not going to spend money on myself until I've given what I have to others?"

The problem with "moderation" is that it's subjective, and the boundary lines are varied.  For me, having ice cream once a month might define moderation, but you might enjoy the cool treat once a week, and my friend down the street might think once a day is okay.  Where do we draw the line?  By focusing on priorities and gratitude, we acknowledge God first and his role in taking care of us.

Does that mean I'm complacent?  Absolutely not!  But I am content, and here's why:

Matthew 6: 31-33.  "So do not worry, saying 'What shall we eat?'  or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?'  For the pagans run after all these things and your heavenly Father knows that you need them.  But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. "


So I say it's not that hard.  But I also want to be a person who "does hard things."  There's a big difference between complacency and contentment.  By analyzing the opposite, we can define both.  Discontent says "My life lacks joy" while a person who is not complacent says, "There's surely more to life."  God gives us what we need.  That's why I'm content.  He promises us what we desire.  That's why I'm not complacent.  Real joy is found when my desires fall in line with what God desires for me.

I remain content because God is in control of the minutiae and the mundane as well as the magnificent and miraculous.  I get to participate in both .  Jeremiah 29:11-14: "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you and hope and a future.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.  I will be found by you," declares the Lord, "and will bring you back from captivity."  While I might once have felt that I was being held captive by my situation, the reality is that my negative thoughts and attitude kept me from the freedom and fulfillment I desired. 


So, while I'm joyful, I will never be happy with the way things are.  Why?  Because God has a plan for my life.   The only way to get there, though, is to DO HARD THINGS.   I have those words emblazoned on my keychain.  God created me for a purpose, for something holy and beautiful, and I don't want to waste a single day being complacent about the way things are, not when what could be is beyond my wildest imagination.  The freedom of fulfillment in a life of a contentedness is attainable.

Ephesians 5:16--Be careful, then, how you live--not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.  How do you do this?  It's not that hard.  You can choose to make excuses, or you can choose to make a difference. 

Contentment is accepting the blessing of today.  Priscilla Shirer, author of the Bible Study, Resolution for Women, puts it this way: " It's a holy equilibrium.  A genuine gratitude for what the day brings, all the while maintaining a controlled anticipation for what tomorrow may offer."  And so I wait...patiently, expectantly, prayerfully.

Lord, I pray that you will lead me to discover the opportunities that today brings.   And in the meantime, I will give you thanks for giving me this day, no matter what it brings.

Now, that's hard.

Harry Potter and..the Pursuit of God

Even Atheists long for God.  No, they won't admit that's what they're searching for, but since God made everyone, I think there's something in all of us that seeks to draw us to him. 

In an article I read in the January 8th issue of Parade Magazine,  Daniel Radcliffe (a.k.a. Harry Potter) responds to a question about religion.  "I have a problem with religion or anything that says, "We have all the answers," because there's no such thing as 'the answers.'  We're complex.  We change our minds on issues all the time.  Religion leaves no room for human complexity."

Ahhh, young Harry, but it does.  You are right.  People are complex.  And life is hard.  As Christians, though, we have a direct line to the big man upstairs.  Jesus loves me, and that's enough. 

And so says Radcliffe, "I started to see the potential for acting as storytelling, as being part of something fundamental to human existence."  

You are right again.  We are all characters in the greatest story ever told, the one where God shows us again and again that he loves us and longs for a relationship with us.  Over and over, we turn our backs on him.  Yet, he continued to pursue us, ultimately sending Jesus here to live and die and save us from our sin so we could live forever.  You, Daniel Radcliffe, have a place in that story, too.

"What I learned is that acting is to a large extent about trying to stave off self-doubt long enough to be natural and real onstage.  I have quite a rich inner life, and I'm constantly looking for a way to express that.  I haven't found it yet in acting.  Self-expression is something that I love and yearn for. "

You haven't found it in acting because the expression of your soul can only be found in the one who created it:  God.

I love the poetry of the words of Jeremiah 17:7.  In these words, we find no room for self doubt.

"But blessed is the man who 
trusts in the Lord, 
whose confidence is in him.  He will be like a tree planted 
by the water that sends out its roots by 
the stream.  It does not fear when heat 
comes;
its leaves are always green.  
It has no worries in a year of 
drought 
and never fails to bear fruit."

Radcliffe ends by saying, "I still see something very romantic in the world that perhaps isn't there."  He's sees God, but he doesn't recognize him.

Are You There, Mom?

As my kids get older, I find myself pushing them farther and farther towards the edge of the nest.  Eventually, I'll touch them with my finger, and off they'll go...not to tumble downward, flapping their wings helplessly for me to pick them up again, but instead to soar to amazing heights.  I often ask myself, "For what other purpose do I feed and clothe them, teach them and train them?"  Surely, it's not simply to keep them alive.  No, it's to send them on their way!  Of course, that's my hope.  

Even at the ages they are now, they crave the independence.  "Mommy, let me do it!" my four year old cries as she brushes her teeth and clips a bow into her waves of curly hair. 

"I want to stay home by myself!", my 10-year remarks as I pack everyone in the car for the dreaded weekly trip to the grocery store. 

"Don't walk me to the bus stop!", my middle schooler laments.  Never mind that it's raining, and that I was going to hold the umbrella for her until she got on the bus.

I've come to realize that I may not have to push them out of the nest at all.  They are the ones giving me the boot! 

And yet as much as they want to hold me at arms-length, there is something in them that also wants to make sure I'm still there. 

I'm reminded of this inner turmoil when we are at the park. 

"Watch me, Mommy!", Cari Jill says as she runs to the tallest slide. 

"Did you see that pass?", Aaron asks as he tumbles to the ground with his football. 

"I'll be climbing that tree over there.  Where are you going to be?", Gavin mumbles as he runs away with a pack of friends.

I'm not going anywhere.

A month ago, I chaperoned the Middle School holiday dance.  Of course, I was spying, but I tried to be respectful of my 12-year old.  I acted as cool and aloof as humanly possible, talking only to my friends and just barely peeking at Christiana over my own half-full glass of punch.  In fact, I had no intention of speaking to her at all.  Yet, every half hour or so, there she was, making her way over to where I was standing. 

"Did you see that dress, Mom?" 
"Are you having fun, Mom?"

Really?  She wanted to know if I was having fun?

My children want to know that I'm paying attention, that I've got their back, that I'll protect them, cheer for them, and congratulate them.  They may say they want to do it "all by themselves," as well as assert their independence in other not so subtle ways.  But they'll always be back.  Drawn to me like a magnet to metal, they're always close. 

I, too, want to be assured that someone cares for me, is watching out for me, and loves me unconditionally.

Are you there, God?  It's me...Chantel. 

"Hey, God, I'm going to do this thing my way...but I hope you're there; I hope you're watching.  I hope you'll save me if I fall down.  And God, I really hope you'll bless me even if I do the wrong thing."

Like the Psalmist (like our children), we say, "O Lord, I call to you; come quickly to me.  Hear my voice when I call to you" (Psalm 141:1).

I want to do it all by myself, and I also want the strength of God.  I want both.  I need both.

Psalm 139:7-10
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

Thank God. 

Thank God for those verses as well as the promise of Psalm 73:23-24:  Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.  You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.

Thank God, that even though one day my children may leave my home for good, they won't be far from God.  So now, when I clasp their tiny hands and look into their eyes, I hope they see God's reflection in mine.  I hope that even though they push me away, I'll take advantage of all those little moments that I unexpectedly get back--moments when they come running into my arms--happy or hurt or excited or angry--I want them to see God in me and know that like him, yes, I'm still here.  As he guides me with his counsel, so as their parent, I am instructed to do the same for them.

I'm still here.

 

Your Story Begins With a Place

My shoes squished as we walked across the cemetery, and yet it had not rained.  It was almost as if the ground was moist because of the millions of tears that had fallen there.  Over the hill, another family mourned, and I imagined their tears joining ours, soaking the grass, spilling into that deep pit that is grief.  As my friends led the way back to the car, I followed with my head bowed.  Passing the headstones, I quickly scanned the litanies.  A mother who lost two babies within eighteen months of one another, small children whose parents left tokens of their love with the passing of each season, wives, husbands, sisters and brothers slept together in this soggy berth.  The heavy hearts of their legacies caused the earth to sink where they lay.  I thought of my friends.  This place had become their harbor.  Now, it's the anchor that will shape their character more than anything else.  They will go to the cemetery when they're feeling sad, when there's something to celebrate, and when there's nothing else to do but to "be".

I bet they used to have a different place, but the circumstances of an unforeseen fate have altered the landscape of life as they know it.  Beginnings and new beginnings are always hard.  Yet, in the midst of the joy (and the pain), there is a place.  It's a place where God dwells, "and they were calling to one another:  'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty; the whole earth is full of his glory.'" (Isaiah 6:3)

As a child, I had a place like that, too.  The woods behind my house invited me to play every single day.  There, I outlined treasure maps, buried my prized rock collection, climbed trees, built forts, and outwitted bullies.  In summer, the trees provided shade and privacy.  But fall was my favorite time of year.  Crunch, crunch.  That's the sound of a crisp, autumn day.  It's the sound of running, jumping, playing, and hiding.  I knew every tree, and I loved it there.  I peeled chunks of pine bark and wrote messages with its brown powder on our back patio.

Now, I'm all grown up, and my place is still those woods.  When I look out the window behind the home I now own, I see trees, but the warm memories they evoke are of the ones I tramped as a kid.  I watch my kids swing from the branches and climb as high as they can.  I remember doing that and thinking, "I'm king of the world!"  My heart smiles when I remember the conversations I had with myself as I walked among the trees.  There, God confirmed that I matter to him.

When I left for college, I traded the familiarity of my childhood backyard for concrete and buildings.  Coming home on an airplane, I loved the descent into Atlanta.  Even in winter, the pine trees stood proud and strong...and green.  Their limbs welcomed me with open arms.

I guess all stories begin with a place.  I wonder where my children's "place" will be?  Will it be our warm kitchen, gathered around the large farm table where we meet for meals and to discuss the minutiae of our days?  Will it be the rolling hills of the camp they attend?  Or the peaceful, sunny beach where we wile away the summers?

Life continues, and the plot unfolds over a landscape that changes with the seasons.  Youth gives way to adulthood, and soon old age chases it through a space-time continuum that's bumpy and winding.  It can be cold and unforgiving.  But there's always a place, a beautiful wonderful place that says, "Welcome home.  I'm glad you're here." 

Why Wait?

What does "WAITING" mean to you?  When you hear that word, do you think of long lines at the grocery store, Christmas morning,  or a watched-pot of (almost) boiling water?  Waiting means something different to each and every one of us.  Whether we're waiting for a medical lab report or for the alarm that wakes us, the tick-tock of the clock serves one very important purpose:  It reminds us that we are not in control. 

Have you ever prayed a prayer to God and felt like he just ignored you?  The clock's seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, and months ticked by, and that's literally all you heard--the empty sound of a silent God?  It's frustrating to find yourself opening up to God only to find that he doesn't reciprocate your efforts.  

Reading Lamentations tonight, I came across this verse:  He has blocked my way with a high stone wall; he has made my road crooked. (3:9)

If I had stopped there, I might have been tempted to say, "Yeah, you tell 'em, Jeremiah!  Blame it on the big guy!  I feel your pain."  But luckily, I didn't.  I kept on reading, and I'm so glad I did:

Lamentations 3:21-26:  Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:  The faithful love of the Lord never ends!  His mercies never cease.  Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.  I say to myself, "The Lord is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him!"  The Lord is good to those who depend on him, to those who search for him.  So it is good to wait quietly for salvation from the Lord.

Waiting is hard, to be sure.  When I read through these verses, though, I gained a new perspective on why we wait.  Waiting definitely produces perseverance and character and hope and all those other wonderful qualities that we read about in the New Testament, but beyond that, our trust in God is strengthened.  I like to see progress.  I like change that can be measured.  When I have an idea, I want to see immediate results.  I have a hard time being patient with what God is doing in me.  And unfortunately, he has a whole lot of work to do!  That last verse says that the Lord is good to those who search for them.  Searching takes time.  Searching requires a map.  Searching can be frustrating.

In the early 1970s, a famous professor from Stanford University conducted an experiment with four year old children to test their ability to delay gratification.  Each child was given a marshmallow, then the professor left the room and told the child not to eat the marshmallow.  If they could wait until the professor returned, then the child could have two marshmallows.  You can imagine a little four-year old sitting at the table staring at that lonely marshmallow in front of him.  How tempting to eat it!  How sugary and delicious it looked!  If he ate the marshmallow before the professor returned, then he would not get a second marshmallow.  It's no wonder that the children who were able to delay gratification in the simple marshmallow experiment grew up to be more successful adults.

And so it is as we wait on God.  He's our professor.  We can eat the marshmallow now.  It's tempting.  After all, how do we know that we can trust him to do what he says and bring two marshmallows when he returns?  That's why we wait.  We wait and we see.  God shows up and we see.  We wait and we remember.  God showed up!  All that waiting is time spent building a track record of events that fill the gaps between the tick and the tock, between the "Will he?" and "Why isn't he?" questions that dominate our prayer life.

Like a little child, God sometimes has to say to me:  "My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts....And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine."  (Isaiah 55:8).  Those words are hard to swallow.  They're the equivalent of my mom chiding, "Because I said so, that's why!"  But I take comfort in knowing this (Ephesians 3:20):  "....By his mighty power at work within us, he is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope. 

Yes, sometimes it seems like God places a stone wall on a crooked path.  But maybe that's because I'm not praying the right prayer.  I'm thankful for a God who knows better than I do what's best for me.  I can trust him because he has shown himself to me in times past.  Waiting is never easy, but when I think about what I can accomplish on my own, and what God can accomplish through me, I'm willing to wait.  Two marshmallows are always better than one. 

God Thinks You're Beautiful

Sitting at my computer, I typed frantically, trying to get the words down before I forgot them.  I was oblivious to everything going on at home.  I needed to get my work done.  My youngest daughter tapped my leg.  She bounced up and down.  "Mom," she said, "Do you know that God thinks you're beautiful?"

I paused for a second.  God thinks I'm beautiful?  I bent down and gently kissed my daughter's forehead.  I felt a smile creep to my lips.  What a wonderful interruption!  What prompted it?

At the moment, I felt neither ugly nor beautiful, but I welcomed the pause.  My other daughter is in middle school, and she would never admit it, but she often feels awkward and gangly.  The girls in her class judge each other ruthlessly.  She agonizes over her clothes and hair and who she will sit with at lunch.   I hope she remembers that God thinks she's beautiful.  I hope that God interrupts her negative thoughts and reminds her that he thinks she's beautiful.  He made her, he loves her, and he thinks she is beautiful.

And on days when I'm feeling ugly, I pray I'll remember that God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I'm short with my kids, God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I'm behind on my chores, God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I compare myself to other moms, God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I over-commit and under-deliver, God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I'm tired and grouchy, God thinks I'm beautiful.  When I am anything but beautiful, God thinks I'm beautiful.

Psalm 139:14
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well. 

I love that verse.  It's a reminder that our duty is to praise God for what he has made.  Each and every one of us is a wonderful work of art.  Let's all be as candid and frank as the toddler:  "Do you know that God thinks you're beautiful?"  Yes, he thinks you're beautiful.  Just the way you are.  You are not defined by your wrinkles, your gray hair, your husband, your job, or your kids.  You are exactly as you should be, wonderful because the one who made you is wonderful, beautiful because the one who made you is beautiful.

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this song by Gungor--whenever I need a little reminder.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OR7VOKQ0xJY 

Lessons from the Football Field

There's almost nothing in the world I like less than football.  I wish I liked it.  I wish I loved it.  I have two boys that play, and they eat, sleep, and live football everyday all the time all year long.  I think I dislike it because I don't understand it.  In high school, I learned what "first and ten" meant, and then after that I stopped paying attention.  The announcers speak a foreign language and the players are like bees doing a secret dance.  I just don't get it.

I love hearing of families getting together over the weekend to cheer their favorite team on TV and share a bowl of chili.  My family never did that.  My dad is a runner, which is a fairly solitary sport, and my mom is only a fan of the rivalry that occurs in the context of a daytime TV courtroom.  Thus, I never sported a colored jersey or painted my face in an effort to spur the local team to victory.  I longed to be a part of that sacred season because it always looked like everyone was having such a grand time, slapping each other on the back and high-fiving it all over the place.  Whenever I did get invited to a game party, I sat on the couch stuffing my face full of all the yummy snacks just so I would have an excuse to get up and refill the other plates in the room.  Something to do, you know.

I wonder sometimes if that's how people feel who don't go to church.  Because they don't understand it, they stay away.  There they are, sitting quietly in their seat in the audience, and they have no idea what's going on.  On stage, a few musicians might be leading a song and in front of them some people are waving their hands in the air.  Then they sit down, and a bucket is passed.  The pastor prays for God to bless those that have decided in their heart to give, leaving those that haven't and don't understand the real reason for the bucket wondering, "Will God bless me, too"?   After a message peppered with history and logic, they file out the door with the rest of the crowd, uncertain what to do with the information and vowing never to return.

The scenario I just described is not what happens at my church.  Even though we sing, pass the bucket and listen to a message, I feel like we do a really good job explaining WHY we do them and giving people space to ask the questions that will help them figure out God and his role in their lives.  We strive to be a church that un-churched people love to attend.  Everything we do is filtered through the lens of the answer to this question:  "Will ________ help lead people into a growing relationship with Jesus Christ?"  I love being a part of a movement like that.  Together, we are all trying to figure it out, and I am praying that even the ones that begrudgingly sit in the audience will come away with their very first piece of "first and ten" knowledge, knowledge that will tease them into coming back for more. 

Apparently, I have a lot to learn about football, but if the world can get excited about a bunch of boys in matching uniforms scrambling over an oblong leather flotation device and ramming each other in the head with metal helmets, I'm pretty sure a Spirit filled church can inspire people to come back week after week to hear God speak on the rivalry brewing since the beginning of time and to witness miracles beyond what has ever been seen between the goal posts.  This is no "holy huddle"; this is the brilliant story of humanity, of you and me, and God's plan to redeem the world unfolding as we each begin to understand our own personal playbook under the direction of the greatest owner, coach, and manager of all time.

In the bleachers at my sons' football games, I may not be able to follow the ball or understand calls like "holding" or "fumble".  I go to the games because I love my boys and I see the joy in their eyes when they're playing their favorite sport.  I want to share a little bit of that with them.   With a few caring people alongside me explaining things as we go along, I am praying that I become a raving fan.  Maybe one of these days, when they ask for volunteers to call the games over the loudspeaker, I can raise my hand and come forward.

And that's exactly what I'll do with the friends who visit my church.  When they have questions, I will join the conversation.  I don't ever want to hear someone say they hate church, especially when the reality is that they simply do not understand it.  I want people to see the joy that overflows that room, touching the lives of those leaving and living, and thinking, "OK, I didn't totally understand everything.  But that was fun, and I learned something new, and so I'm coming back next week."

See you there.

What My Child Taught Me

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?