Texas Snowman

I found out a while ago that some of my cousins have been reading my blog. This pretty much made my month. My cousins to me are larger than life.

I can proudly say that I'm the youngest of all the cousins. The runt of our proverbial litter. So I've always looked up to my older, cooler cousins (besides that I'm the cool one now because I'm young and hip. But now they're seasoned and wise, which, when scoring one's life, is like a triple word score in Scrabble, so they still win).

I didn't get the chance to grow up around any of my cousins, but I always looked forward to a visit to Ohio as a kid. That said, they must be pretty great. Why else would someone look forward to a vacation that took you to Ohio? (Except for the fact that Stephanie got us into Sea World. Something about Aquatic Mammals doing tricks that peaks my interest). I kid. Ohio is a great place. Especially when compared to Michigan.

When I was young my brother,sister, and I would count down the days until our Ohio trips. A trip to see our cousins was like Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and summer vacation all wrapped in one. My aunts and uncles lived on this property that I think closely resembles paradise. My Aunt Nancy and Uncle Larry lived one one side with my cousin Kris, and my Aunt Shirley and Uncle Denny lived on the other side with their girls. In the middle of the two houses was a pond, and next to it my grandparents would park their camper during the summer.

It was heaven on earth. We would go fishing, row the canoe around the pond, go swimming (definitely not in the pond), and go to sleep sunburned and tired. We would take a trip to Pizza Joe's where my cousins worked and grab a slice while proudly wearing our snazzy Chevrolet T-shirts provided by my Uncle. Heartbeat of America, baby.

It was in Ohio that I was introduced to the local delicacy "Garbage Can Dinner." And I was made a believer. There's something about cooking food in a can meant to hold waste that brings family together. Those were the memories I'll cherish. We didn't often get to spend time with our family, but we soaked up every minute we had while we were there.

We had a good thing going until the year we decided to go rogue. That's right. We went all Jack Bauer on our Ohio trip. The year was circa 1993-ish. We cut ties from CTU and went for it. Not even Tony Almeida or Chloe could save us from this mess.

Here comes the pitch: "Hey, how about we go to Ohio during the WINTER this time?"

And the hit: "Gee, that sounds exciting."

It's a home run! The crowd goes wild!

My family loaded up in our 1973 Plymouth Fury III (Jealous? It was puke green. Still jealous? You need to get out more.) and started the long drive north.

We were doing fine until we got to the Ohio state line.

Me: "Um, Mom? Why does it look like God suddenly got a bad case of dandruff?"

Mom: "It's called snow, honey. It's God's punishment to those who don't have sense to live in Texas."

Me: "You mean snow is a real thing? I thought it was only in the movies. Like Rudolph. And Home Alone."

The farther we got into Ohio the more it snowed. I started getting colder and colder. When we finally arrived in Southington our teeth were chattering. My siblings and I were cowering in the backseat bundled under seventy-two afghans huddling together to conserve body heat.

My poor cousins. They didn't even see it coming. They've grown up with snow and by that point the novelty had completely worn off. Here come their young hillbilly cousins from Texas bouncing off the walls begging them to join in their winter wonderland adventures.

"Come build a snow fort with me!"

"Who wants to have a snowball fight?"

"Can we sledding puh-lease?"

"I want hot chocolate!"

"When are we building a snowman?"

Quickly we learned the downside to snow. The one you don't learn about in the movies. It's cold. And wet. And exhausting to move through. Soon our joyful cries turned into woeful Job-esque pleas:

"my legs are so tired!"

"My hands are so cold, I think my fingers are falling off!"

"The snow went down my neck! It went down my neck!"

"I want to go inside!"

One day we decided it was time to build a snowman. My cousin Dennise bit the bait and headed outside with us. I'll never forget that snowman. He was our Texas snowman. Somewhere there's a video of us waving and saying "This is our Texas snowman!" with all the southern twang we could muster.

It's funny how I wanted snow so badly as a kid growing up in East Texas. I was so jealous of kids on TV who got to go sledding and have snow days from school. I never thought of the frustrations that came along with snow.

Now, as an adult living in Northern Canada, I seldom think of those happier times in my childhood where snow was considered a miracle from God, like sparkly cotton candy raining from the sky.

Now I think of how much shoveling needs to be done. How slippery the roads are going to be. How miserable it is to spend 20 minutes getting the kids bundled up to check the mail. How I can never find a matching pair of mittens. Ever. I think about the wet boots and coats that are strewn all over my living room furniture. The salt from the front porch ground into my carpet.

Oh, snow.

Not such a huge fan anymore.

It reminded me that I may not always know what I actually want. What's actually good for me. I realized that sometimes I ask for things from God like a child who has no concept of consequences. It's kind of like eating an entire pizza and wondering why your stomach is sick.

Sometimes what we think is the best for us is not so good after all. In our cotton candy world everything seems dandy, but when reality sets in, we see the cold, dirty side of things.

We wonder why God doesn't give us what we want. We wonder why things just don't work out for us like they have for someone else we know who is way less deserving.

The truth is we will never find satisfaction in those things. They are cold and empty. We stand alone empty handed wondering where we lost sight of what was important.

How did we think that this could be what we wanted?

What we needed?

We need only Him. Our satisfaction comes from Him alone.

iphones and crepe paper streamers

Today's my dear husband's birthday. I kind of feel bad for him. It's just right smack dab in the middle of winter. Kind of blah. It's not on an exciting day like my birthday or Aidan's. But we try to make it special. Some years it works better than others.

I haven't had to ask Trevor what he wants for his birthday this year because he's made his wishes clearly known to anyone who has ears and is within a five mile radius of him. He wants an iphone. He really really really wants an iphone.

He would be preaching on a Sunday morning and slip "when I get my iphone..." or "if I had my iphone, I could google that right now" into his sermon. Not so stealth. It will be a glorious day when that iphone appears in his hands. Mainly because I hopefully won't have to hear about it anymore.

At first I thought to myself, "that's never going to happen. I'm not paying $500 for a phone." Okay. I may have actually said that out loud.

But then the lord shone down His mercy from heaven in the form of a letter from our phone service provider. It went something like this: "You've received a credit to your account for $31.50. If you purchase a new phone, we will exchange this for a $100 credit to your account."

Oh sweet manna from heaven. So barring any unforeseen circumstances, an iphone will be his.

I think he may have had a spiritual experience while getting ready this morning, though. When he came downstairs he told me "I know what I want for my birthday. My microwave to be fixed (ours has been broken for two weeks now) and your immigration to be done."

"Wow." I replied. "Those sound like requests only God can take care of. You're going to have to ask God for those birthday gifts."

Then he said something that struck me. He said "I'm pretty sure that God doesn't care about birthdays."

Now I don't want to sound like one of those sentimental balls of fluff who imagines God donning his dollar store party hat (the one with the tiny rubber band that cuts into your chin fat when you wear it) decorating heaven with crepe paper streamers (I can imagine the angels daring each other to lick the streamers. They taste electric), and balloons filled with helium.

But I'm pretty sure he cares.

Every year when it's Aidan's birthday, I can't help but relive the events that brought us to that point. I warmly remember telling our friends we were going to have a baby, decorating his room, wondering what he would look like. I remember begging him to please, please hurry up and meet us already. I think back to the night he was born and the joy he brought us.

When Ainsley has her first birthday, I know Trevor and I will be doing the same thing; thanking God for our amazing, beautiful little girl and wondering where the past year has gone.

If I can't help but express joy and be overwhelmed with gratitude for the gift of my children on their birthday, how much more must our heavenly father rejoice? I can see Him, fondly thinking back to the day He first thought of you. He looks at you with pride, thinking of the masterpiece He lovingly created.

I can see Him going through the various scenes of your life (like the family slide show nights we would have when I was a kid), looking at how far you've come over the years and how much you've grown in Him.

I can't help but think that God is a bit nostalgic. If you think I'm being sappy, get over it. Because it's true. I can't help but think that He loves us with everything He is. Which is immeasurable. Unending. Incredible.

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous--and how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.
You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God! They are innumerable!
Psalm 139:13-17

For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:10

A Horse Named Bud

I'm not a big fan of horses. Don't get me wrong- I think they're really pretty and all. They're just terrifying. I am a fan of movies and TV shows where they make horses look like they're talking. Animals aren't as intimidating when they're talking. I also enjoy a good rodeo (I did grow up in Texas), and I think rocking horses are pretty awesome as well.

I think lions are pretty, too. I also enjoy movies that have talking lions, like Madagascar or The Lion King. Who didn't want to be best buds with Simba back in the day?

It didn't hurt that his character was voiced by none other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas himself. (swoon. Are those flowers for me? You shouldn't have.) But I'm not going to befriend a lion in real life and try to ride it. Nay, my friend (maybe Aslan). That is pure insanity. Crazy talk. Lions are vicious. Dangerous. Hostile.

So are horses.

When I was a young warthog,(sorry, I'm still thinking about The Lion King)when I was a young girl, my sister was obsessed with had a deep appreciation for horses. She would draw beautiful pictures of horses on everything. I tried to copy her, but my horses looked like pigs with long legs. And a mane.

My sister was also super allergic to horses. Poor girl. I was convinced my parents would never let her have one. But somehow she managed to talk my parents into getting one (I'm not so sure how this deal went down; I was too young to know the intricate details, but I'm pretty sure there were some shady negotiations going on. I'm convinced this is the sole cause of my sister ratting me out for every wrong I committed over the next ten years).

One sunny day a truck pulled in our driveway and made its way back to our "barnyard" (I'll use that term loosely for lack of a better word). My brother, sister, and I watched in awe as the mysterious trailer was opened and a glorious creature emerged from its depths. Here was Bud (short for Budweiser. Keepin' it classy). Mom and Dad got a horse. It was kind of like that day my dad came home with 100 chickens. Or the time they brought home the Dalmatian from the SPCA (lasted a week. It was a bad dog. And deaf. But that's another story for another time). Looking back on my life, I'm starting to think my parents were more impulsive than I originally gave them credit for.

So here is Bud in all of his glory. Through my little girl eyes, he was a valiant steed; an untamed stallion waiting to catch me alone so he could trample my brains out. I was intrigued, yet terrified. It wasn't until years later that I realized how ridiculous I was. This horse was maybe five and a half feet tall. More a pony than a horse (I just wasted over an hour trying to find this picture of Bud with my brother and sister. My sister goes up to Bud's shoulder in it. And my brother's making a stupid face. It's a great photo. One day I'll find it and add it on). To me at the time he was a monster. I watched my back from then on when I had to enter our barnyard.

My sister, on the other hand, was in love. L-O-V-E love. She looked like a red headed Michael Jackson when she took him for a ride, with her surgical mask and gloves, she was so allergic. But she didn't care. She loved Bud.

I occasionally took a turn in the saddle as well, but always under my dad's supervision. I remember one particular day we were taking turns riding Bud in our front yard. I agreed to get on after telling my dad that he could not let go of the reigns under any circumstances. If the rapture took place at that moment, the horse would have been dragged along with us, because he was not going to let go.

I reluctantly climbed up on the horse and started my ride. My dad looked at me and said something along the lines of "You can do this without me" and let go of the reigns. Really? Really, Dad? I'm pretty sure I gave you precise instructions when we began this whole shenanigan.

Don't. Let. Go.

He let go.

I panicked. I yelled. I cried. I begged him to grab a hold of the reigns. I screamed hysterically.

Bud was not impressed. Not in the slightest. So, he took off. Towards the road. With me on him. I felt my life was in immediate danger, so I threw my hands up in the air in complete abandon.

Suddenly I felt something hard in my hands. I grabbed on for dear life. We were galloping under a tree and I had grabbed a hold of a branch. I slid off of that horse (pony) like butter off a hot roll. The horse kept going, and I hung like a limp rag doll (if rag dolls screamed hysterically for their daddy) from the tree. That poor little apple tree. Barely more than a sapling.

I didn't even have time to calculate my next move before I felt my dad's arms around me, helping me off the tree. Turns out he wasn't that far away after all. I wasn't thrilled with him for a while, but I soon got over the mishap. I wasn't very good at staying mad.

The lessons I've learned from this experience have stayed with me over the years. It's one of my favorite stories to relive because it's so ridiculous. It shows how much our reality is relative to our perspective.

If my dad told this same story it would sound completely different. He saw the real size of my object of fear. He knew that he was never far away and that I would be safe. I felt like my life was dangerously spinning out of control, and my dad was too far away to do anything to stop it. He was there to step in when I needed him.

I've realized how much we're affected by our perspective every day. How are we seeing things? We're in the thick of our personal battle, and we don't have the same perspective that God has. Sometimes I think He must wonder at how much we get tied up in knots by things that seem so small to Him. The things we fear or worry about that are like the itty bitty pony to Him. He sees the entire situation and knows He is in control. He knows that He's close enough to catch us when we need Him.

He needs us to trust Him. If I trusted my dad when he told me "you can do this" I wouldn't have panicked. If I didn't panic, the horse would have never spooked. Sometimes our lack of trust in God in a situation can cause us to make the situation way worse than it is.

We're sick from stress and worry. We're exhausted from sleepless nights. We fight with the ones we love because we don't know what to do with ourselves. We self-destruct. We turn a tense situation into a disaster.

Yet when we trust God, we have peace. We have quiet confidence. Not in ourselves, but in God, our faithful Creator.

He knows the "Buds" in your life. He sees your uncertainty. He knows that His Holy Spirit living in You can empower you to work through those fears. He's not going to leave your side. He's right with you during this journey.

He sees where you are and knows you are never out of His reach.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7

Just like I cried out to my dad as I hung onto that branch for dear life, we can call out to God in our need.

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!"
Romans 8:15

We are not slaves to our fear! We should not let our fear rule us. We have not received the spirit of slavery- why? because we are the beloved children of God. We cry out "Abba! Father!" "Daddy! Daddy!"

And He meets us there.

Wounded

My son is amazing at finding ways to get dirty. Filthy. The only thing he hasn't done is the legendary "Smear my poo all over myself, my cribs and the walls while Mommy thinks I'm still sleeping" move. (That one was for you, Michelle. I remember that picture you posted of Emily!)

(Here's a picture of my cousin's gorgeous daughter Emily having a not-so-gorgeous moment)
I figured he just decided to save that one for Ainsley to use on me eventually. I know my days are numbered.

He's managed to make quite a mess in other ways. When he was about 10 months old he managed to paint an entire kitchen with Nutella in oh, about five seconds. Not even exaggerating.

Another time he pulled an ice cream container out of the trash and danced around in the melted ice cream drippings that leaked on the floor. Mmm... Moosetracks.

When he was two he literally spent the entire summer in a hole filled with mud in our back yard.

He's the kid with grass stains on his linen Easter suit and a perpetual chocolate milk mustache. He lives hard, he plays hard, and you can tell.

So I really shouldn't have been surprised about what happened today. This past weekend we got quite the dump of snow. Not Tennessee snow. I'm talking four feet. In two and a half days. Everything is covered.

There are mountains of snow everywhere from the plows trying to keep up. Dawson Creek looks like a miniature version of the alps. With hunters in camo and rig guys driving big trucks instead of blondes with braided pigtails and lederhosen.

The temperature had jumped up quite a bit in the past day or so (from about -25 to 41 degrees!) so I finally let Aidan out to play. All you can see is white. For miles and miles. It's like Narnia, but instead of Mr. Tumnus and other mythical creatures we have moose.

I digress. So I threw Aidan off of our back porch into the sea of snow. (I didn't really because I didn't want anyone to call Child Services, but I was mighty tempted. I'm pretty sure Aidan would have loved it.) I let him do his thing for a while in the back yard until he knocked on the door about 45 minutes later. He was cold and ready to come in.

I lead him inside and start helping him remove his winter gear. His muddy, muddy winter gear. Wait a second. There's four feet of snow outside. How on EARTH did he manage to find mud? His coat is splattered. His mittens are completely covered. I open the door to look on the outside of it. Yep. It looks like a mud monster was murdered on the back porch. Little mud hand prints are displayed perfectly on the white door.

I ball my hands into fists and breathe out slowly.

Aidan.

How? How did he do it?

Everything is white. Everything is clean. Except him. He found the mud. It's like he has a mud divining rod.

Tonight I went to coffee with my best friend and had a great talk with her. I was telling her that I was trying to get rid of the bad attitude I could feel festering inside of me. I knew there were situations in my life where I was wounded.

We've all been there before. Where someone says or does something that hurts us, whether they meant to or not. They unknowingly leave behind an open wound. We try to deal with the pain, but if it's not taken care of it just keeps getting worse. We become bitter and look for ways to be hurt by that person again to feed our grudge. To meet the need for justification of our anger.

We find ways to manipulate the most harmless of situations to suit our purposes. We are surrounded by snow, but somehow we dig up the mud. We're supposed to seek reconciliation in relationships. Not vengeance. God calls us to live at peace with everyone. To act out of love. Not out of bitterness.

Do your part to live in peace with everyone, as much as possible.
Romans 12:18

Is there any encouragement from belonging to Christ? Any comfort from his love? Any fellowship together in the Spirit? Are your hearts tender and sympathetic?
Then make me truly happy by agreeing wholeheartedly with each other, loving one another, and working together with one heart and purpose.
Philipians 2:1-2

The last scripture is so vital to the health and effectiveness of the body of Christ. The church. Not only that, but our individual lives as well. Bitterness breaks you. We must have a heart that is tender; not cold, hard and bitter. We must work together, loving each other. If we don't it will hinder the purpose God has given us. It will destroy unity in the body of Christ.

We can't waste time licking our wounds.

How do we deal with them, then?

In 2 Corinthians chapter 2, Paul brings up a man who has obviously caused deep heartache to the church in the past. Paul had written the church before about him, instructing them to somehow punish or censure this person for his misdeed. The church was obviously wounded deeply by him, but now we see that this man was repentant of his sins and in turn was also suffering.

The church in Corinth was a church of extremes. Paul said to separate themselves from this person, so they did. So Paul had to encourage them to offer forgiveness and love to this man as well.

I am not overstating it when I say that the man who caused all the trouble hurt your entire church more than he hurt me.
He was punished enough when most of you were united in your judgment against him.
Now it is time to forgive him and comfort him. Otherwise he may become so discouraged that he won't be able to recover.
Now show him that you still love him.
2 Corinthians 2:5-8.

Now is the time to forgive.

Now is the time to heal.

God is calling us to put aside the bitterness that we've been clinging to so desperately.

God is drawing us to greater things; to heights we will never reach if our unforgiveness continues to weigh us down.

What wounds are you holding onto?

Do you see the snow? Or are you looking for the mud?

Echo Cardiogram

Today Aidan had an echo cardiogram. It wasn't his first. He actually had his first echo when he was just a few days old.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

Trevor and I had just experienced the miracle of being parents. Here he was. The tiny little boy we wondered about all these months. What would he look like? Who would he act like? Would he have hair? Be big? Have dimples? Finally he made his debut. On December 31st, nonetheless.

He was perfect. Beautiful. We were exhausted. The next day we were all packed up, ready to be discharged. We were excited to head home with our little boy. We could show him the room we painted for him. A list of attributes we hoped for him stenciled on the wall. We would show him how Daddy installed a special dimmer light switch so Mommy could check on him in the middle of the night. We would show him his big fluffy dog named Kennedy and the toy box that Daddy put together just for him.

The pediatrician came in to check over Aidan before we were released. We had the car seat ready with big fluffy blankets for the chilly weather. The doctor laid him out on the hospital bed. He did that hip-swivel action they do on babies. He listened to his heart. He checked a few more things. He listened to his heart again.

We waited.

He looked up at us. "I'm sorry, but you're not going to be able to leave yet. I hear a murmur in his heartbeat. There's something wrong. He could have a serious defect that wasn't picked up on your ultrasound, or it may be a simple problem."

Our world came tumbling down around our ankles. I tried to put on a brave face and hold back the tears. Over exaggerating? Maybe. But this was my baby. I just got him. He's perfect. Now you're telling me there might be something seriously wrong?

We had to leave the room so they could take a chest x-ray. The room that was full of well-wishers just yesterday. The room we had been celebrating in just a few hours ago. The room that Trevor and I sat in as the clock struck midnight. A new year began as we marveled at our firstborn son.

We stood in the hallway outside the door of our room, but we might as well had been miles away. I could hear his little newborn cry through the doorway. My arms felt empty. My heart felt heavy. It was only for minutes, but it felt like hours.

The day wore on as we were moved to the pediatrics ward for the remainder of our stay. We were told that they wouldn't know anything until we met with a Pediatric Cardiologist and had an echo cardiogram. We were warned that this would take a while since it was a holiday. Until then, Aidan had to be hooked up to various monitors in case he went into cardiac arrest or had other problems because of a possible heart condition.

Trevor and I were so young. We didn't know what we were doing. Our nerves were frayed. We were overwhelmed. Together we cried and prayed to God that he would guide us through this. That our baby would be okay. Every few minutes Aidan would flinch and one of his monitors became dislodged, setting the alarm off and sending us into a panic. I didn't think that night would ever end.

Soon we became accustomed to the alarms and I began to wonder how effective they would be in the event that he actually had trouble. We started learning how to restlessly sleep through it all. Twenty-four hours passed with no word. Finally at 5:30 the following evening we were taken to the cardiology wing to perform the echo. A Pediatric Cardiologist from Seattle was there by web cam.

We sat silently while watching the technician at work. After ten minutes or so the Cardiologist spoke to us:

"Your son is going to be okay."

I quickly released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I couldn't hold back the sobs now. The tears of relief were streaming down both mine and Trevor's faces.

Aidan has a Ventricular Septal Defect (VSD). It is the most common of heart defects and the least serious. It occurs in about 4 of 1000 births. It's a small hole between the left and right ventricles of the heart. 90% of these will close in the baby's first year of life as the heart grows larger.

Aidan's hasn't closed yet. Our wonderful family doctor isn't worried because Aidan is thriving physically. He's such a healthy, big boy. He has to go for occasional echo cardiograms to ensure that everything is okay.

Today Trevor took Aidan to his appointment. He came home bouncing through the door telling me all about it. "The lady had books for Daddy to read to me! She had a Critter book! Then she gave me a sticker AND a sucker! I already ate my sucker though."

I laughed and marveled at the blessing God had given us. The little boy that terrorizes his little sister. The boy who loses his DVDs and creates a path of destruction everywhere he goes. The boy who colors on our beige couch with an ink pen.

The boy who goes around the house singing church songs at the top of his lungs. The boy who says "Mommy, I want to give you a hug and a kiss because I like you." The boy who always wants to help when I make biscuits or cookies. The boy who isn't too cool to cuddle yet.

He's amazing.

He's our little boy.

As I sit here I think about the past four years and I realize how much we've changed. How much we've grown. And I am overwhelmed at the goodness and faithfulness of God. I'd like to say it's all because of me. Or Trevor, even. But it's not. It's because God didn't give up on us. God was with us, guiding us every step of the way.

I remember that long night at the hospital while we were waiting to find out what was wrong with Aidan. My parents were far away. Trevor's parents were home for the night. My best friend was out of town. Our pastor was out of town. We were completely alone.

I think God arranged it that way.

Because he met us there.

His love for us is overwhelming. If anyone knew what we were feeling, it was him. Who else can understand a mother or father's love like He does? A parent's heartache? We learned a lesson that night on God's faithfulness. His provision. I truly learned how to cast my cares and anxieties on Him.

I think that's the difference. I've learned to put my trust in God wholeheartedly. I've learned to trust that His plan is the perfect outcome even when it makes no sense to me. When we learn to give up what we can't control and submit ourselves into the hands of our faithful Creator- that's when life becomes beautiful.

A Little Update on the DVD Situation...

I had to share this for all six of my faithful followers...
Thanks to a suggestion from a dear friend of mine, the Cars Dvd was found in Aidan's toybox. After we already paid for it at the video store.
It's ok. The video store charged us $17 for it. It costs $26 at Wal-Mart. From now on I'm shopping for all kids movies by "losing" them and paying the fees at the video store.

Better Than MacGyver

I don't really remember watching a lot of TV as a kid, but the TV I did watch has stuck with me. When I was in Kindergarten, Dad and I would watch Batman (the real Batman with the "Wham! And Kepow!"s) and Gilligan's Island. Another staple in the Rasey family was Dr. Quinn- Medicine Woman. Oh yeah. We were legit.

One of my favorite shows had to be MacGyver.

What a class act, that Angus MacGyver. And his hair. Sweet hair manna from Heaven. MacGyver was a looker. And he could wriggle his way out of any bad situation. He didn't usually even need to resort to violence. The guy was smart, too. Who else is there like MacGyver?
I used to want my husband to be just like MacGyver, but I figured that would get to be exhausting. For one, he would never let you go shopping for anything. I can imagine it now:

Me: "Hey Mac, I'm going to head over to the mall. The shoe store is having a sale and I could use a new pair of stilettos."

My Love MacGyver: "Honey, you don't need to go buy stilettos. I've got a roll of duct tape, some nails, and a ball of twine. I can make you a fantastic pair of shoes out of those. They could even have the little ties that go up your legs so you could look like a ballerina, huh? Like Lara Flynn Boyle that one year at the Golden Globes?"

Me: "That's nice sweetie, but Lara Flynn Boyle has been on every worst dressed list known to man since she wore that outfit. Plus I don't think the nails would work on our hardwood floors. I just want some normal shoes."

My Love MacGyver: (pouting) "Fine. But I bet you wouldn't be able to diffuse a bomb using the material of your 'normal shoes' you get at the mall. I'll be in my workshop."

Hey,even MacGyver can get moody, sometimes. When you have to do things like this all the time:


it's understandable.

Sometimes I wish that I were able to MacGyver my way out of impossible situations that I'm in. You know, those times when the time is ticking and the walls are closing in around you? I keep thinking, "Dang! If only I could find a paper clip and use it to rewire the main system that is running the countdown clock for this ticking time bomb attached to my leg, I could 'MacGyver' my way out of the situation!"
Newsflash: The paper clip isn't going to do you any good.

The point is, we're all hopeless. We can't 'MacGyver' our way out of a wet paper bag. We're flawed and destined to failure. We're more like MacGyver's useless sidekick who stands there bawling our eyes out, yelling "what are we gonna do, MacGyver? I'm too young to die!"

We are weak. hopeless. void of any ability to save ourselves. we are dying.

Yet the One comes to bring us hope.

For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 6:23

Our spirits break free from our death sentence like a glorious sunrise as we grasp the gift of grace from our Savior. The true hero has arrived.

He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.
2 Corinthians 12:9

It amazes me that we can accept His grace to save our lives, but forget that He still wants to work in our lives beyond that point. God doesn't save you and forget about you. He wants to be real in your life. He wants to be involved.
Sometimes we find ourselves in impossible situations because we haven't let God in. Maybe we don't think we're good enough. Maybe we don't think that God wants to be bothered with our problems.

But he does.

He loves you.

He knows your weaknesses.

He created you.

Christ's strength is made perfect in our weakness. The more impossible the situation we find ourselves in (dare we say, a MacGyver situation?) the more God shows his power in our lives. We serve a God with immeasurable resources. Kind of like if MacGyver borrowed Diego's Rescue Pack. (MacGyver and Diego- now THERE's a team!) Our God has unlimited resources.

Think about it.

unlimited.

Now does your problem seem so big?

Embrace God's strength in the areas of your weaknesses.