I've had all these blogs bouncing around in my head that have been screaming to be written and remembered, but then the baby always wakes up and requires a much more attentive sort of bouncing. So, here I am at the possible end of a nap time finally attempting to write and I almost can't decide which path to follow. But, confession is good for the soul and after avoiding the reading of some of my used-to-be-favorite blogs because of an over abundance of perfection displayed there, I think it's most appropriate to write about a recent eye opening.
I'm not as great at marriage as I thought I'd be (just like motherhood and adulthood and all the other things I thought I was so well equipped for). I struggle to remember that the purpose of marriage is God's glory, not my happiness; and what does God's glory in marriage mean anyways? Before you're married it means saving sex for marriage and not leading each other on or dating selfishly.... but what about after the I do's have been said?
Expectation kills relationships I have lived out. But how do you move forward without an expectation? You need a vision instead. I had forgotten. I have been praying that God would give me a vision of my husband; who is God making him and what role do I play in that? When you ask that, it makes your demands for happiness seem small. God's vision for my Husband vs. my vision for what my husband should do to make me happy.... right.
It was a series of conversations really that brought it all about. I was talking with a mother from Church about sleepless nights and busyness, and she recalled her life in that stage and how it had bonded her and her husband and suddenly I realized (you know how you can realize something you already know in your head, illuminated by a thought)that this was a very short season that someday Michael and I would look back on... duh, right? But for us, this is all we've ever known; him working a job, managing apartments, doing an internship, going to seminary.. and me with the kids all day every day without variation. But it won't always be like this.
Then there was his friends' family. Late, babies everywhere, a frightening diagnosis, and still happy and unflustered. I saw this man's wife and the joy in her face and thought about all they had stacked up against them and I saw so clearly what a help she was to him. We are all dealt our lumps of coal; was I my husband's lump of coal? That's not what I wanted to be...
Then the vision returned. It was just four months after we'd started dating. It was the Spring Banquet at the Reagan Library and I was sitting just behind Michael. I could hear the men singing so loudly and then the speaker powerfully challenging them and cautioning them. I remember thinking that it would be such a privilege to serve alongside this man; to support him. I heard his calling and for a point in time saw mine. I want to live with that vision. Regardless of where we go from this moment, I want to remember that moment. I want to see clearly God leading him and me following and supporting the way no one else can. And if I make demands, I want them to be demands for him to follow the calling he has received.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Friday, November 1, 2013
Fast Food of the Soul
The last few months of my pregnancy I was confronted with a reality check about my eating habits; I like junk food. I like being "busy" though not necessarily productive. This means that I'm more likely to spend an excessive amount of time on that sewing project or finishing that last chapter of the book I'm reading and less time in the kitchen making solid, healthy food. Also, my tastes are such that eating a loaf of garlic bread is much more appealing than a bowl of strawberries or carrots or even healthy meat options. This usually works out just fine for me... I am able to keep up a steady stream of carbs that fuel my day then get in my nutrition at dinner. However, at 8 months pregnant my body's requirements were a bit different than when I'm flying solo. This is true now that I'm breast feeding too. I realize how often I go for what sounds and feels good instead of what I actually need; what the hunger pains are actually supposed to direct me to.
And then there's my soul. It prefers junk food too (or if not "junk" at least quick and easy). I'd rather jump to a quick place of emotion as conjured up by listening to good worship music or reading a convicting book than do the hard work of digging into the Word and giving the Spirit time to unpack its benefits into the inner workings of my heart. It's like waiting for brown rice to cook; 45 minutes?!?!? are you joking me? They've got minute rice that cooks in 10. It feels the same on the stomach at first, but look at the effects on your body. Sugar spike followed by sugar drop and years later most likely followed by diabetes in my biological case... The spikes and valleys have characterized my spiritual walk for years.
I need some diligence. Diligence to turn on the oven BEFORE I'm hungry to be able to create a meal that satisfies not just my hunger pains, but my body's needs as well. I need diligence to steep myself in the Word and the Work of God BEFORE I'm in anguishing need, deeply taking it in despite the lack of hunger pains. Because, "Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds from the mouth of God"... even those words from Deuteronomy or Jeremiah. Don't sample them; feast on them. Take them in even if you don't know what their benefit is (like really, what dietary benefit is there to a mushroom?).
And then there's my soul. It prefers junk food too (or if not "junk" at least quick and easy). I'd rather jump to a quick place of emotion as conjured up by listening to good worship music or reading a convicting book than do the hard work of digging into the Word and giving the Spirit time to unpack its benefits into the inner workings of my heart. It's like waiting for brown rice to cook; 45 minutes?!?!? are you joking me? They've got minute rice that cooks in 10. It feels the same on the stomach at first, but look at the effects on your body. Sugar spike followed by sugar drop and years later most likely followed by diabetes in my biological case... The spikes and valleys have characterized my spiritual walk for years.
I need some diligence. Diligence to turn on the oven BEFORE I'm hungry to be able to create a meal that satisfies not just my hunger pains, but my body's needs as well. I need diligence to steep myself in the Word and the Work of God BEFORE I'm in anguishing need, deeply taking it in despite the lack of hunger pains. Because, "Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds from the mouth of God"... even those words from Deuteronomy or Jeremiah. Don't sample them; feast on them. Take them in even if you don't know what their benefit is (like really, what dietary benefit is there to a mushroom?).
Monday, August 26, 2013
Picking my "one thing"
I am what my eldest brother would call a mystic. To those who are true mystics I'm nothing close, but I do search for meaning in everything. I could tell you a person's story before I could tell you their name. I'm most likely to mix up actual lyrics in a song but fully embody the meaning and emotion found there. I spent years loving variations class in ballet because we could learn steps, each of us learning the same combination, and then when the music began, find the life behind them.
Lately I've been searching for meaning in this time.
Each time my poor Caleb struggles with his tummy and spit up and digestion I search for meaning. Why does this thing he needs cause him such a struggle? If any time in life should be easy and effortless, shouldn't infancy be it? I remembered today Genesis 3:17-19 specifically this "in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life". God made him to be a man, and even here his struggle begins. How gracious that he can learn how to struggle while being held in his mamma's and daddy's arms. This is the rest of his life imaged in a bit of spit up we each wear. And I know that I will wear his struggle for the rest of his life because he's my baby...
We have this rule with Olivia when we go to the grocery store. She may pick out "just one thing" on our trip. For a long time she would pick a doughnut. She has finally learned that she pretty much just likes the sprinkles and that's only like 1/8th of the doughnut so it's not the best "one thing" to pick. Mostly now she chooses chocolate almond milk. Often when we're going through the store, if she's already picked out her "one thing" she forgets and asks for others instead, then of course comes the re-evaluation of priorities. Which is better. I will say for her that she is rather good at finding contentment with her one thing. I need to learn that. I walk into the display of life and want it all. I live like happiness is having all my desires met. I wish I could keep track of the "one thing" (though in fact they are many) that I've picked for myself and find delight and joy in that without being constantly discontent over the rest of the store that I'm leaving behind. I chose Olivia. That choice has pooled over, pressed down, overflowing into other choices. Here I am, four years later with my own family. It's exactly what I imagined I'd be doing by this point when I was young, but somehow it's not what I expected. Maybe I never considered that my mother must've made great sacrifices in her life in order to give us ours.
And when it comes down to it, Olivia and I are downright spoiled to have even "just one thing". So here's my meaning in today: God always gives better to his children than we fallen parents give ours. I have been given at least one thing today. Remember what it is and delight in it. Besides, who would really pick a couple sprinkles over a whole box of chocolate almond milk, right?
Lately I've been searching for meaning in this time.
Each time my poor Caleb struggles with his tummy and spit up and digestion I search for meaning. Why does this thing he needs cause him such a struggle? If any time in life should be easy and effortless, shouldn't infancy be it? I remembered today Genesis 3:17-19 specifically this "in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life". God made him to be a man, and even here his struggle begins. How gracious that he can learn how to struggle while being held in his mamma's and daddy's arms. This is the rest of his life imaged in a bit of spit up we each wear. And I know that I will wear his struggle for the rest of his life because he's my baby...
We have this rule with Olivia when we go to the grocery store. She may pick out "just one thing" on our trip. For a long time she would pick a doughnut. She has finally learned that she pretty much just likes the sprinkles and that's only like 1/8th of the doughnut so it's not the best "one thing" to pick. Mostly now she chooses chocolate almond milk. Often when we're going through the store, if she's already picked out her "one thing" she forgets and asks for others instead, then of course comes the re-evaluation of priorities. Which is better. I will say for her that she is rather good at finding contentment with her one thing. I need to learn that. I walk into the display of life and want it all. I live like happiness is having all my desires met. I wish I could keep track of the "one thing" (though in fact they are many) that I've picked for myself and find delight and joy in that without being constantly discontent over the rest of the store that I'm leaving behind. I chose Olivia. That choice has pooled over, pressed down, overflowing into other choices. Here I am, four years later with my own family. It's exactly what I imagined I'd be doing by this point when I was young, but somehow it's not what I expected. Maybe I never considered that my mother must've made great sacrifices in her life in order to give us ours.
And when it comes down to it, Olivia and I are downright spoiled to have even "just one thing". So here's my meaning in today: God always gives better to his children than we fallen parents give ours. I have been given at least one thing today. Remember what it is and delight in it. Besides, who would really pick a couple sprinkles over a whole box of chocolate almond milk, right?
Saturday, August 10, 2013
You've missed your train
"You've Missed Your Train"
Innocently singing along
'Till those four words escape.
"You've missed your train" was all it took
a matchstick burst to flame.
Ignites a trail of memories
that have no right to be,
claiming corners of my mind
that I entreat released.
Ten years now have marched along
I thought by now he'd go.
The price I payed for his missed train
was greater than I'd known.
Innocent then too, I think,
when feeling for his pain,
I offered he could come upstairs
I truly meant to wait....
Uneducated in the code
of stairs and coming up
unknowingly invited him
to play we were in love.
The matchstick flame of memory
burns wildfire down the years.
I wish that they would burn away-
cauterizing pain would seer.
But even though He paid the price
to cover these mistakes
my misplaced values of the past
my mind will not vacate.
Living fearful of a word,
or song or smell or thought
to spark to life dead memories
ignoring I've been bought.
Bought and paid for by His blood
Him knowing all this shame.
My virtue lost, and at His cost,
He lets me bear His name.
"A child of God!" I can announce
to combat memories
that all my mind would occupy,
His dwelling place redeemed.
Innocently singing along
'Till those four words escape.
"You've missed your train" was all it took
a matchstick burst to flame.
Ignites a trail of memories
that have no right to be,
claiming corners of my mind
that I entreat released.
Ten years now have marched along
I thought by now he'd go.
The price I payed for his missed train
was greater than I'd known.
Innocent then too, I think,
when feeling for his pain,
I offered he could come upstairs
I truly meant to wait....
Uneducated in the code
of stairs and coming up
unknowingly invited him
to play we were in love.
The matchstick flame of memory
burns wildfire down the years.
I wish that they would burn away-
cauterizing pain would seer.
But even though He paid the price
to cover these mistakes
my misplaced values of the past
my mind will not vacate.
Living fearful of a word,
or song or smell or thought
to spark to life dead memories
ignoring I've been bought.
Bought and paid for by His blood
Him knowing all this shame.
My virtue lost, and at His cost,
He lets me bear His name.
"A child of God!" I can announce
to combat memories
that all my mind would occupy,
His dwelling place redeemed.
Friday, May 10, 2013
only 2 fish
Pastor John's evening message last Sunday was EXACTLY what I needed. I have felt the part of a failure lately. Whether it's a moment of honest evaluation, or just the sheer emotional exhaustion of the last 8 months of vomiting and heart burn and Olivia adjusting to life changing as often as waves hit the beach... Maybe I move more slowly than I realized. I used to see myself the adventurer, the explorer, the risk taker who thought little of consequences and simply experienced life. That's not who I am anymore, and I find my lack of fearlessness makes me feel rather sad too. Either way, my impatience has grown, my creativity has slacked, my endurance has waned, and my passion for life is nill. I see myself the way I think Olivia must see me and I don't like what I see. How could all of this be good? How could this be worth doing? How could she look back on this time in life and smile the way I do when I look back on my childhood? It's impossible!
Then John calls my attention to Matthew 14:13-21, and a bit of context from just before this story. John the Baptist has just been beheaded and Jesus is sorrow filled, setting off to seek isolation. There's an "it" used in vs. 13 that I wonder about... does the crowd hear about John the Baptist or about Jesus' departure? I sort of wonder if it isn't the prior. This crazy man eating locusts and honey in the wilderness who had a large following and had made many converts has just been beheaded. Be that as it may, the part of the story that actually hit me was the loaves and fish. He had this compassion on the crowd who had no compassion on him at all. He just wanted to rest, to ponder and grieve the loss of his cousin, and here are these people again. His brokeness made him susceptible to their brokenness; I want to be that kind of broken. Not to put up walls of renewed resistance, but to allow my pain to see it in others' eyes.
At the end of a long day he sees their physical need for food. The disciples suggest sending them away to go get food (I can imagine the extatic feeling of relief in discovering a legitimate excuse to send them away; much the way I feel about Olive's bedtime most nights). Jesus is much more compassionate, "you feed them". Eh?!? But this is our out! Besides, we don't have enough food. And my favorite part is that instead of sighing with a "if you want something done right, do it yourself" sort of feeling, Jesus simply asks them to give what they do have. And out of that great deficit He breaks it into more and more and more pieces until when everyone in that huge crowd of 5,000 men not counting women and children had eaten, there were 12 baskets of pieces left over.
And it's all a bit scarry because I know me. And I want so desparately to hold tight to my mere 2 fish and 5 loaves and not let him take them and break them and spread them around, but isn't that the truest kind of wreckless adventure I was designed for? Isn't life better when you look to bind up others' wounds than when you sit and lick your own? Aren't the stars happier burning up and the water happier bashing itself mercilessly against jagged rock after jagged rock?
At first the mystery was that He could take so little and make it so much, be it fish and loaves or the little ability to love that I have. Now that wonder is that I'm afraid of giving up my little to watch it become something so big... and He has me do it. He doesn't push me out of the way, he uses me. I wish it were easier to break myself open, but it is Christ who has to break the bread and give thanks for it, because it was He alone who could be the ultimate bread and wine eucharist; giving thanks before His very breaking.
Oh, broken one, eternally wearing the scars of your brokenness, teach me to thank You as I offer what I have. Teach me to put down the chip on my shoulder and burn wrecklessly. Help me to not look for the legitimate excuse but instead for the impossible service I could offer out of my lack. Help me not fight You as you take what little I have and break it into pieces, trusting fully that when You are done breaking there will be BASKETS FULL to be picked up... and let all of that feel more worth it than my "happiness".
Then John calls my attention to Matthew 14:13-21, and a bit of context from just before this story. John the Baptist has just been beheaded and Jesus is sorrow filled, setting off to seek isolation. There's an "it" used in vs. 13 that I wonder about... does the crowd hear about John the Baptist or about Jesus' departure? I sort of wonder if it isn't the prior. This crazy man eating locusts and honey in the wilderness who had a large following and had made many converts has just been beheaded. Be that as it may, the part of the story that actually hit me was the loaves and fish. He had this compassion on the crowd who had no compassion on him at all. He just wanted to rest, to ponder and grieve the loss of his cousin, and here are these people again. His brokeness made him susceptible to their brokenness; I want to be that kind of broken. Not to put up walls of renewed resistance, but to allow my pain to see it in others' eyes.
At the end of a long day he sees their physical need for food. The disciples suggest sending them away to go get food (I can imagine the extatic feeling of relief in discovering a legitimate excuse to send them away; much the way I feel about Olive's bedtime most nights). Jesus is much more compassionate, "you feed them". Eh?!? But this is our out! Besides, we don't have enough food. And my favorite part is that instead of sighing with a "if you want something done right, do it yourself" sort of feeling, Jesus simply asks them to give what they do have. And out of that great deficit He breaks it into more and more and more pieces until when everyone in that huge crowd of 5,000 men not counting women and children had eaten, there were 12 baskets of pieces left over.
And it's all a bit scarry because I know me. And I want so desparately to hold tight to my mere 2 fish and 5 loaves and not let him take them and break them and spread them around, but isn't that the truest kind of wreckless adventure I was designed for? Isn't life better when you look to bind up others' wounds than when you sit and lick your own? Aren't the stars happier burning up and the water happier bashing itself mercilessly against jagged rock after jagged rock?
At first the mystery was that He could take so little and make it so much, be it fish and loaves or the little ability to love that I have. Now that wonder is that I'm afraid of giving up my little to watch it become something so big... and He has me do it. He doesn't push me out of the way, he uses me. I wish it were easier to break myself open, but it is Christ who has to break the bread and give thanks for it, because it was He alone who could be the ultimate bread and wine eucharist; giving thanks before His very breaking.
Oh, broken one, eternally wearing the scars of your brokenness, teach me to thank You as I offer what I have. Teach me to put down the chip on my shoulder and burn wrecklessly. Help me to not look for the legitimate excuse but instead for the impossible service I could offer out of my lack. Help me not fight You as you take what little I have and break it into pieces, trusting fully that when You are done breaking there will be BASKETS FULL to be picked up... and let all of that feel more worth it than my "happiness".
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