Three years ago I got a positive pregnancy test on Mother's Day.
I was stunned. I'm not going to lie- I'm the sentimental type. The symbolism of finding out I would be a mother again on Mother's Day pushed my emotional response into hyperdrive. I was excited.
Best Mother's Day gift ever.
A few weeks later, I miscarried.
I couldn't believe it. I'm sure a little piece of my heart fell out that day. I haven't been able to find it since.
Sure, my life looks pretty normal now.
But something's different.
There are certain things someone will say at a dinner party or a church function, and Trevor and I can communicate with each other with just our eyes. Sometimes I feel like he's the only one who has an idea of the feeling of loss I'm experiencing.
The dull aching doesn't really go away, but every once in a while something will come along that reveals a rawness to the wound you thought was long gone.
Kind of like those crazy contractions you have hours after having a baby. You think to yourself, "whoa. I thought I was done with this!"
But the reality is, you're never really quite done.
Being a mother is difficult and painful.
Not being able to be a mother is difficult and painful.
Being a mother, but not being able to have more kids when you want to is difficult and painful. Everyone tells you "at least you got to have a child." or "Be grateful for what you have."
Losing a child before they lose you... I can't even imagine the pain.
Losing your mom is heartbreaking.
Wishing your mom was able to show you love and acceptance instead of hateful words and the back of her hand is painful.
Having the kid you were never sure you wanted and now are overwhelmed with the responsibility is painful. And lonely.
Are we seeing a trend here?
Motherhood and the lack thereof are painful experiences.
Yet, there is always hope. Always.
There is always room for joy.
In Romans chapter twelve, Paul tells us to rejoice with those who are rejoicing and weep with those who weep.
I like everything to make sense within my neatly drawn parameters, but that doesn't happen with celebration and sorrow.
It's not one or the other.
It's both.
How do we rejoice and weep together?
We realize that there's beauty in pain, and sometimes a little pain in rejoicing.
I know. I sound crazy.
The only reason I try to talk about this is because I've lived it. I've experienced it.
It's messy, and ugly, and gorgeous, and exhausting, and exhilarating.
It's life.
Mother's Day is ugly to me, because I am reminded of the missing piece of my heart. The hole is so tangibly there.
Mother's Day is beautiful to me, because I have the most incredible children to be grateful for. I have a mom who loves me. Who believes in me.
More than any other holiday, this one looks the most like how I feel most of the time: beautifully broken.
So, can we just agree to widen the nets on Mother's Day?
Can we make room for the pain and the beauty: the hope deferred, the overwhelming gratitude?
The depth that comes from the darkest moments can not be replicated.
Let's embrace the mess that is life.
Let's rejoice with those who are celebrating, and weep with those who are mourning.
I know that come tomorrow, I'll be doing a little of both.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Friday, January 03, 2014
Try Hard
I've spent my whole life trying hard.
We've hashed through this quite a bit recently on this blog.
I look all around me, and I see people... striving. I think "striving" is a good way to describe it. If you look up the definition to "strive", you'll see words like exert vigorously, make strenuous efforts, or struggle.
It makes me think of yesterday, watching my 3 1/2 year old try to make her way across the back yard. The problem is we have had over three feet of snow in the past couple weeks. I watched as she would struggle to take a step, and once she finally did she would sink down in snow up to her armpits.
She was struggling. An exertion was taking place. I felt tired watching her.
Before, I tried because I was afraid. I felt I had already disappointed anyone who mattered to me, so every new person I met felt like a new opportunity to prove myself. I tried because I was hungry for restoration. It was a dark hunger, the kind that gnaws at your insides to the point that you feel sick.
Even though I tried, I reserved myself, so that if I failed, I could lick my wounds and comfort myself with the fact that I hadn't given everything I had.
When I allowed God to heal my past hurts, and began to learn how to accept the love He offered me, my trying changed.
Actually, I think at first my trying pretty much stopped. It was a gathering of my thoughts, emotions, and past experiences. It was a regrouping and redefining period. I kind of sat in this rest of the idea that I didn't have to prove anything anymore.
But I feel like something incredible happened at that point.
Something new was born in me.
I wanted to try again. But this time I wanted to give everything. I wanted to jump off the edge of the cliff to fly with no safety net.
I became more brave because I had experienced the grace of God.
Suddenly, I was aware that even if I took a huge, clumsy tumble (that I am known for!), it didn't mean anything. It wouldn't keep God from loving me, or being proud of me.
During this last stint in the hospital, Trevor came into my room with a little stuffed eagle (not an actual stuffed eagle. A stuffed animal eagle). He said he didn't know why, but it made him think of me.
So, I named her Elizabeagle the eagle, because that's how I do.
But honestly, it's probably my favorite thing he's ever given me. Because, at the risk of sounding extremely corny, I feel like that eagle. Now I feel like I can soar.
Okay. I'm starting to sound like a Ray Boltz song.
Hopefully this post connects with you! Have you ever struggled with trying for the wrong reasons? Let me know in the comments!
We've hashed through this quite a bit recently on this blog.
I look all around me, and I see people... striving. I think "striving" is a good way to describe it. If you look up the definition to "strive", you'll see words like exert vigorously, make strenuous efforts, or struggle.
It makes me think of yesterday, watching my 3 1/2 year old try to make her way across the back yard. The problem is we have had over three feet of snow in the past couple weeks. I watched as she would struggle to take a step, and once she finally did she would sink down in snow up to her armpits.
She was struggling. An exertion was taking place. I felt tired watching her.
Before, I tried because I was afraid. I felt I had already disappointed anyone who mattered to me, so every new person I met felt like a new opportunity to prove myself. I tried because I was hungry for restoration. It was a dark hunger, the kind that gnaws at your insides to the point that you feel sick.
Even though I tried, I reserved myself, so that if I failed, I could lick my wounds and comfort myself with the fact that I hadn't given everything I had.
When I allowed God to heal my past hurts, and began to learn how to accept the love He offered me, my trying changed.
Actually, I think at first my trying pretty much stopped. It was a gathering of my thoughts, emotions, and past experiences. It was a regrouping and redefining period. I kind of sat in this rest of the idea that I didn't have to prove anything anymore.
But I feel like something incredible happened at that point.
Something new was born in me.
I wanted to try again. But this time I wanted to give everything. I wanted to jump off the edge of the cliff to fly with no safety net.
I became more brave because I had experienced the grace of God.
Suddenly, I was aware that even if I took a huge, clumsy tumble (that I am known for!), it didn't mean anything. It wouldn't keep God from loving me, or being proud of me.
During this last stint in the hospital, Trevor came into my room with a little stuffed eagle (not an actual stuffed eagle. A stuffed animal eagle). He said he didn't know why, but it made him think of me.
So, I named her Elizabeagle the eagle, because that's how I do.
But honestly, it's probably my favorite thing he's ever given me. Because, at the risk of sounding extremely corny, I feel like that eagle. Now I feel like I can soar.
Okay. I'm starting to sound like a Ray Boltz song.
Hopefully this post connects with you! Have you ever struggled with trying for the wrong reasons? Let me know in the comments!
Thursday, January 02, 2014
New Year, Same You!
What is it about us that makes us love a clean slate? I'm definitely one of those people. I love looking outside and seeing a sheet of white snow in its pristine state. It doesn't last long, because I have small children that leave behind a trail that looks like something a drunk buffalo would make. But, I enjoy it while it lasts.
Nothing makes me sigh in complete contentment like a freshly scrubbed bathroom, mopped kitchen floor, or washed kitchen table.
You know the feeling: sleeping on freshly laundered sheets, rolling around a freshly cut lawn, marvelling at how much better your walls look with a fresh coat of paint.
We love what is... unspoiled.
I think that's why New Year's Eve holds such a feeling of excitement, anticipation, and in a way, sanctity.
We make lists of things we want to change in the new year. I know I made one.
We look with hope at this year, standing before us wholly unspoiled.
For some reason, a lot of us look at this as our one chance for change. If we miss it, we have to wait an entire year before we can try again.
The truth is, the clean slate is always available.
Yep.
That's one reason why I waited until January 2 to begin working on my January goals. I felt like it was important for me personally to break the stigma of having to begin on the first day of the new year.
See, this year is different. It's the first year I've ever faced in my 30 years where I am extending grace to myself.
I've always convinced myself that being kind to myself and forgiving myself would cause failure. Turns out I was completely wrong.
Your clean slate is always available.
God doesn't care what day it is. He is interested in you. Your wholeness. Your healing.
His time scale is quite a bit different than ours.
Embrace His mercy. Let Him really love you.
Let Him show you your clean slate.
Even if it is January 2nd.
Nothing makes me sigh in complete contentment like a freshly scrubbed bathroom, mopped kitchen floor, or washed kitchen table.
You know the feeling: sleeping on freshly laundered sheets, rolling around a freshly cut lawn, marvelling at how much better your walls look with a fresh coat of paint.
We love what is... unspoiled.
I think that's why New Year's Eve holds such a feeling of excitement, anticipation, and in a way, sanctity.
We make lists of things we want to change in the new year. I know I made one.
We look with hope at this year, standing before us wholly unspoiled.
For some reason, a lot of us look at this as our one chance for change. If we miss it, we have to wait an entire year before we can try again.
The truth is, the clean slate is always available.
Yep.
That's one reason why I waited until January 2 to begin working on my January goals. I felt like it was important for me personally to break the stigma of having to begin on the first day of the new year.
See, this year is different. It's the first year I've ever faced in my 30 years where I am extending grace to myself.
I've always convinced myself that being kind to myself and forgiving myself would cause failure. Turns out I was completely wrong.
Your clean slate is always available.
God doesn't care what day it is. He is interested in you. Your wholeness. Your healing.
His time scale is quite a bit different than ours.
Embrace His mercy. Let Him really love you.
Let Him show you your clean slate.
Even if it is January 2nd.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Value
Value is a silly thing.
Try explaining it to a kid. They see a shiny coin and will think that it must be far more valuable than a floppy piece of paper. If you take a three year old and give them a choice between a shiny penny and a five dollar bill, chances are they're going to grab the penny.
They don't see the value in cash like we do. They don't know the understood value behind the dollar bill; they just see a worthless scrap.
It's similar to the fact that we, the western culture consumers that we are, throw out tons of perfectly good "garbage" while holding onto other items for dear life.
It's not always about a monetary value, though. I'd be much more okay with someone stealing my television than I would my box of childhood memorabilia.
It all depends on what we determine has value.
In this day and age, we're quick to rip away the value from anything that has been cracked, stained, broken, tarnished. While our parents and grandparents would whip out the glue, duct tape and wd-40, we are just as quick to trash it and move on to the next.
Sadly, we do that to ourselves as well. When we fall, make mistakes, or don't reach our lofty goals, we deem ourselves worthless. We strip ourselves of all value.
God wants us to discover this crucial truth: He has created us! And then recreated us when we made a mess of ourselves. Ephesians 2:10 says we are God's masterpiece, a new creation in Christ Jesus, who made us for good things he planned for us long ago! There is such hope in these words.
God has created you intentionally. Specifically with the values that He has placed in you. He knew you were going to screw up. He knew that you would fail. He knew people would criticize you and mock you, and cause you to doubt that what He had created in you was real. He knew you would twist your values and use them for purposes that weren't His. He knew that you would try to ignore the values He's given you and run as hard as you could in the other direction.
But the truth is, the reality of who you are, the values placed in you by God himself, cries out to be heard. I know they have in me.
I've been lucky enough to have counselling that has really been life changing for me (I recommend it to everyone). One of the biggest things I've gained from counselling is learning what my values are. How God has wired me. They are the characteristics that I feel are most important (therefore put the most value in). For me, they are: compassionate, creative, visionary, and faithful.
I realized when I tried to ignore the values God had placed in me, I was miserable and angry.
I read a quote yesterday that really hit me. It's a C.S. Lewis quote, in the voice of the mighty lion, Aslan. He says:
"You doubt your value. Don't run from who you are."
How much time do we spend doubting and running, instead of believing and embracing?
When God redeems us, He does it because He loves us. He has place a value on us that goes far beyond what we could ever earn through our own effort. It is because He said it is.
So don't doubt your value. Don't run from who you are.
God is working in you. And when He has started something, He always finishes it.
Try explaining it to a kid. They see a shiny coin and will think that it must be far more valuable than a floppy piece of paper. If you take a three year old and give them a choice between a shiny penny and a five dollar bill, chances are they're going to grab the penny.
They don't see the value in cash like we do. They don't know the understood value behind the dollar bill; they just see a worthless scrap.
It's similar to the fact that we, the western culture consumers that we are, throw out tons of perfectly good "garbage" while holding onto other items for dear life.
It's not always about a monetary value, though. I'd be much more okay with someone stealing my television than I would my box of childhood memorabilia.
It all depends on what we determine has value.
In this day and age, we're quick to rip away the value from anything that has been cracked, stained, broken, tarnished. While our parents and grandparents would whip out the glue, duct tape and wd-40, we are just as quick to trash it and move on to the next.
Sadly, we do that to ourselves as well. When we fall, make mistakes, or don't reach our lofty goals, we deem ourselves worthless. We strip ourselves of all value.
God wants us to discover this crucial truth: He has created us! And then recreated us when we made a mess of ourselves. Ephesians 2:10 says we are God's masterpiece, a new creation in Christ Jesus, who made us for good things he planned for us long ago! There is such hope in these words.
God has created you intentionally. Specifically with the values that He has placed in you. He knew you were going to screw up. He knew that you would fail. He knew people would criticize you and mock you, and cause you to doubt that what He had created in you was real. He knew you would twist your values and use them for purposes that weren't His. He knew that you would try to ignore the values He's given you and run as hard as you could in the other direction.
But the truth is, the reality of who you are, the values placed in you by God himself, cries out to be heard. I know they have in me.
I've been lucky enough to have counselling that has really been life changing for me (I recommend it to everyone). One of the biggest things I've gained from counselling is learning what my values are. How God has wired me. They are the characteristics that I feel are most important (therefore put the most value in). For me, they are: compassionate, creative, visionary, and faithful.
I realized when I tried to ignore the values God had placed in me, I was miserable and angry.
I read a quote yesterday that really hit me. It's a C.S. Lewis quote, in the voice of the mighty lion, Aslan. He says:
"You doubt your value. Don't run from who you are."
How much time do we spend doubting and running, instead of believing and embracing?
When God redeems us, He does it because He loves us. He has place a value on us that goes far beyond what we could ever earn through our own effort. It is because He said it is.
So don't doubt your value. Don't run from who you are.
God is working in you. And when He has started something, He always finishes it.
Friday, October 25, 2013
A Follow Up
It's not really fair to write a post about being angry and then never follow up on it.
Alas, that is what I did.
It's funny- I was finally at a point in my life where for the first time in years, my life was devoid of major crisis and things were starting to come together.
The church my husband and I pastor was growing and vibrant and full of loving people. I had my dream job teaching worship and drama to high school students.
Life was good.
But I was so angry.
I didn't want to sit and wallow in my hurt and anger anymore. I was hurting the people I loved the most. I was miserable.
Thankfully, God was waiting to meet me in my brokenness.
When I was a little girl, I had this incredible love relationship with God. It was that beautiful, innocent affection a little girl has for her daddy. I couldn't get enough of Him. I loved to sing and write songs about Him. At church I would stand on the pews and sing at the top of my lungs. That was my happy place. I loved to preach sermons about Him and record them on cassette tapes.
For reasons I won't go into here, I began to feel shame about my effusive affection for my heavenly Father. I felt embarrassed that I was so intrinsically compelled to create and to worship the God I loved in such a loud and vibrant way.
I had lived my life so far in a complete abandon to who God created me to be without fear of rejection, and suddenly, I felt like I was told that who I was, that little girl who sang off key at the top of her lungs, was wrong. Was shameful. Was not good enough.
When that happened, my 5 year old self made two life altering statements:
1. Who I am is not good enough.
2. God thinks I am not good enough.
When I began to believe these statements, something in my little 5 year old heart changed. It hardened. I began making decisions that affected every aspect of my life. I set out to prove everyone wrong, and to change God's mind about me. If I could be perfect, then maybe people could see that I am enough.
The problem is, I'm not perfect. I sang in talent contests, I preached in church, I did well in school, I tried to be a good kid. But I still made mistakes. This need to please everyone and gain their approval created quite a disaster when a mistake was present. I became defensive and angry, because I was so desperate to not be seen as a failure.
And most of all, it put a huge wedge between myself and God. The love I had for Him didn't go away, but when joined with the thought that He saw me as a disappointment, I had an obsession with trying to be enough to make Him pleased with me.
This continued into my adult life. This constant cycle of trying to please and then giving up in frustration at my lack of perfection started defining every part of my life. In college, if I felt I was not doing well on a paper, project, or even a class, I would just give up. I'd rather guarantee my failure by giving up than try and fail. At least if I failed because I didn't try, I didn't feel like I was being rejected.
I was defensive at correction and criticism. It's like I had a gaping wound where my hurt and bitterness just gushed out like blood. I was a mess and it was affecting everyone around me.
God miraculously met me in my mess. He helped me discover the lies I've believed for years and began a process of restoration in my life.
He even worked through a friend of mine, who told me "God will restore the relationship you had with Him as a 5 year old little girl."
He had no idea the significance of what he was saying. But I did.
God is active in our lives. God is so eager to show us His love and extend His mercy.
He is in the business of redeeming what has been lost, restoring what has been broken, and resurrecting what has been left for dead.
I'm on a journey of restoration, and I feel more like that 5 year old little girl than I have in a very long time.
In His kindness God called you to share in His eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, He will restore, support, and strengthen you, and He will place you on a firm foundation.
1 Peter 5:10
Alas, that is what I did.
It's funny- I was finally at a point in my life where for the first time in years, my life was devoid of major crisis and things were starting to come together.
The church my husband and I pastor was growing and vibrant and full of loving people. I had my dream job teaching worship and drama to high school students.
Life was good.
But I was so angry.
I didn't want to sit and wallow in my hurt and anger anymore. I was hurting the people I loved the most. I was miserable.
Thankfully, God was waiting to meet me in my brokenness.
When I was a little girl, I had this incredible love relationship with God. It was that beautiful, innocent affection a little girl has for her daddy. I couldn't get enough of Him. I loved to sing and write songs about Him. At church I would stand on the pews and sing at the top of my lungs. That was my happy place. I loved to preach sermons about Him and record them on cassette tapes.
For reasons I won't go into here, I began to feel shame about my effusive affection for my heavenly Father. I felt embarrassed that I was so intrinsically compelled to create and to worship the God I loved in such a loud and vibrant way.
I had lived my life so far in a complete abandon to who God created me to be without fear of rejection, and suddenly, I felt like I was told that who I was, that little girl who sang off key at the top of her lungs, was wrong. Was shameful. Was not good enough.
When that happened, my 5 year old self made two life altering statements:
1. Who I am is not good enough.
2. God thinks I am not good enough.
When I began to believe these statements, something in my little 5 year old heart changed. It hardened. I began making decisions that affected every aspect of my life. I set out to prove everyone wrong, and to change God's mind about me. If I could be perfect, then maybe people could see that I am enough.
The problem is, I'm not perfect. I sang in talent contests, I preached in church, I did well in school, I tried to be a good kid. But I still made mistakes. This need to please everyone and gain their approval created quite a disaster when a mistake was present. I became defensive and angry, because I was so desperate to not be seen as a failure.
And most of all, it put a huge wedge between myself and God. The love I had for Him didn't go away, but when joined with the thought that He saw me as a disappointment, I had an obsession with trying to be enough to make Him pleased with me.
This continued into my adult life. This constant cycle of trying to please and then giving up in frustration at my lack of perfection started defining every part of my life. In college, if I felt I was not doing well on a paper, project, or even a class, I would just give up. I'd rather guarantee my failure by giving up than try and fail. At least if I failed because I didn't try, I didn't feel like I was being rejected.
I was defensive at correction and criticism. It's like I had a gaping wound where my hurt and bitterness just gushed out like blood. I was a mess and it was affecting everyone around me.
God miraculously met me in my mess. He helped me discover the lies I've believed for years and began a process of restoration in my life.
He even worked through a friend of mine, who told me "God will restore the relationship you had with Him as a 5 year old little girl."
He had no idea the significance of what he was saying. But I did.
God is active in our lives. God is so eager to show us His love and extend His mercy.
He is in the business of redeeming what has been lost, restoring what has been broken, and resurrecting what has been left for dead.
I'm on a journey of restoration, and I feel more like that 5 year old little girl than I have in a very long time.
In His kindness God called you to share in His eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, He will restore, support, and strengthen you, and He will place you on a firm foundation.
1 Peter 5:10
Friday, June 07, 2013
Anger
I'm angry.
I think I'll just start my post off with the honest to God truth.
I tried to start it off all nice and fluffy and work my way into the meat of it. But, nah.
Here goes...
I've got this friend.
Who I love dearly.
Who scares the ever living daylight out of me.
See, he's the one who always tells me like it is.
All it takes is four little words: "Can I be honest?"
Dang.
He lives in the Philippines, so I can do a pretty good job pretending like he doesn't exist most of the time.
But this friend recently visited us here in the frozen north. I was convinced he was here to inspire our church family as we work towards a relaunch, and to speak to the students at the Christian school where I'm a teacher. Which he did.
But that's not all he did.
One night I came downstairs after the kids went to sleep to find my friend sitting at the kitchen table having a talk with Trevor.
I went to wash the dishes, but was summoned to join them at the table.
Sigh.
I wasn't sure I could handle what was coming.
My friend looked at me and dropped the bomb:
"You're angry."
Of course, I cried.
Because I knew he was right. And I felt this outpouring of emotions I had dammed up inside me. I was angry. Because I was hurt. Which made me ashamed. Which made me defensive. Which made me angrier.
I am angry about the situations out of my control that have caused me and the people around me pain. I have a sense of injustice that creeps up my throat and feels like it's choking me most days.
I am even angrier about the situations in my life that are in my control, that I've created, that cause me and my family pain. These breed such a sense of shame, self-hatred, and worthlessness that makes it difficult somedays to simply put one foot in front of the other.
I'm angry, but I'm not hopeless. Because I know that this is not meant to be my life.
And it doesn't have to be.
It won't be.
I wish this was one of those awesome Jesus blogs that I could tell you I read my Bible and prayed a 37 second prayer and now I'm all better.
But I'm not.
I will probably never be "fixed."
Paul said in Philippians 3 that he hadn't reached perfection:
I'm just at the beginning of a long journey.
But by being honest about it, I've finally taken the first step.
I think I'll just start my post off with the honest to God truth.
I tried to start it off all nice and fluffy and work my way into the meat of it. But, nah.
Here goes...
I've got this friend.
Who I love dearly.
Who scares the ever living daylight out of me.
See, he's the one who always tells me like it is.
All it takes is four little words: "Can I be honest?"
Dang.
He lives in the Philippines, so I can do a pretty good job pretending like he doesn't exist most of the time.
But this friend recently visited us here in the frozen north. I was convinced he was here to inspire our church family as we work towards a relaunch, and to speak to the students at the Christian school where I'm a teacher. Which he did.
But that's not all he did.
One night I came downstairs after the kids went to sleep to find my friend sitting at the kitchen table having a talk with Trevor.
I went to wash the dishes, but was summoned to join them at the table.
Sigh.
I wasn't sure I could handle what was coming.
My friend looked at me and dropped the bomb:
"You're angry."
Of course, I cried.
Because I knew he was right. And I felt this outpouring of emotions I had dammed up inside me. I was angry. Because I was hurt. Which made me ashamed. Which made me defensive. Which made me angrier.
I am angry about the situations out of my control that have caused me and the people around me pain. I have a sense of injustice that creeps up my throat and feels like it's choking me most days.
I am even angrier about the situations in my life that are in my control, that I've created, that cause me and my family pain. These breed such a sense of shame, self-hatred, and worthlessness that makes it difficult somedays to simply put one foot in front of the other.
I'm angry, but I'm not hopeless. Because I know that this is not meant to be my life.
And it doesn't have to be.
It won't be.
I wish this was one of those awesome Jesus blogs that I could tell you I read my Bible and prayed a 37 second prayer and now I'm all better.
But I'm not.
I will probably never be "fixed."
Paul said in Philippians 3 that he hadn't reached perfection:
No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us. Phil 3:13-14
I'm just at the beginning of a long journey.
But by being honest about it, I've finally taken the first step.
“Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”
― Mark Twain
A Change
Woo-hoo! I am officially the worst person in the universe for leaving people hanging.
Who really starts a blog series, even going as far as naming the first installment "Part One" and then NEVER finishes it?
(Imagine me pointing my thumbs to my chest) This guy. Girl. Whatever. You get the point.
So, I'm not even going to finish what I started. Maybe someday. But not today. Probably not tomorrow.
In fact, the whole nature of my defunct blog which is kicking back into gear is changing.
I'm not going to lie. It's easier to write funny things and tell stories from my childhood. Which I will get back to.
But right now they're just hiding what's really going on in me.
And that's what I want to share now.
Because maybe my fight will help someone else.
And I want to have a place to be completely open with what is currently going on in me, which up to now I've regarded with such shame I've kept hidden.
So...
Who really starts a blog series, even going as far as naming the first installment "Part One" and then NEVER finishes it?
(Imagine me pointing my thumbs to my chest) This guy. Girl. Whatever. You get the point.
So, I'm not even going to finish what I started. Maybe someday. But not today. Probably not tomorrow.
In fact, the whole nature of my defunct blog which is kicking back into gear is changing.
I'm not going to lie. It's easier to write funny things and tell stories from my childhood. Which I will get back to.
But right now they're just hiding what's really going on in me.
And that's what I want to share now.
Because maybe my fight will help someone else.
And I want to have a place to be completely open with what is currently going on in me, which up to now I've regarded with such shame I've kept hidden.
So...
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Lost Phones
I know I usually tell stories about my little boy, Aidan, when I blog. Don't worry. That'll still happen. The kid is a gold mine of sound bytes. The thing is, his little sister, Ainsley has been moving up in the ranks. She's past that "I'm a cute blob with big brown eyes" stage and now has become a force to reckon with. Actually, that seems like an understatement. I'm not sure there are enough words in the dictionary to aptly describe her personality. But I shall try to paint a picture of who she is with the eloquent brush strokes that are my stellar writing skills.
Okay, I'm currently on percocet so please bear with me and ignore my overestimations of how talented and funny a writer I am.
For some reason in our household the babies have a serious aversion to phones. Okay, that's not necessarily true. Ainsley can successfully distinguish the difference between an iPad and iPhone and asks for them on a current basis. She's actually taught me some tricks on the iPad. It also took me a week to figure out how to turn the annoying voice over off. I was too stubborn to Google it.
So I guess you can say they just hate home phones.
When Aidan was about nine months old, we were sitting at home and I heard a faint beeping in the distance.
It wasn't one of those nice, soft beeps. No tinkling of wind chimes. Not even a distant car alarm.
Nay, it was that horrible, horror movie, makes you want to punch someone in the face beeping that comes from a phone being off the hook.
I can just imagine back in the eighties- you know, the decade God turned his back on the world, back when you wanted to make a call you rotary dialed that number and were attached to the phone terminal by a leash- a really curly bouncy leash that just cried out to you to use it for a jump rope while your mom was on the phone with your Auntie.... and then it'd get all tangled in a big curly knot and you'd spend three hours slowly twisting the ringlet back in order like the phone was going to the prom or something. Why the curly cord? Was that to make it safer? Less strangleable or something? Anyway, I digress.
So I assume it was in the eighties when they decided to have the phones make that noise when it was left off the hook. Someone was like "Hey guys, we've got a problem! All of a sudden there's been a rash of people using their phones for jump ropes and forgetting to hang them up when they're done! Maybe we should come up with the most annoying noise known to man and have the phone start emitting that noise like it's demon possessed so they know to hang up their phones!"
Done.
So Aidan and I are hanging out and I hear faint demon beeping. I stalk around the house searching for this evil noise. No where to be found. Finally I make my way to a heater vent in the floor. Hmm.. It's mysteriously askew.
Ah yes. Sure enough the phone and some other trinkets had been shoved down the heater vent by my angelic nine month old.
So when Ainsley tried the same thing I stopped her with a smug grin on my face. Not this time. I'm an experienced mom now.
So she broke the heater vent cover. It became her personal storage unit.
Okay.
Then she decided to start using the garbage to hold all of our valuables.
Keys, money, wallets, and of course, the phone.
I can't even tell you how many times I've barely rescued household items from the eternal banishment of the garbage truck. We've had some close calls.
Really, in my heart I knew it was only a matter of time before I would be defeated.
One day I had to make a really important phone call.
I searched everywhere. I looked in all of Ainsley's hiding spots. I looked in all the places that I leave things (hey, I never said Ainsley didn't come by it honestly). I hit the search button that's supposed to make the phone beep so you can find it.
No beeping.
I went to look in the trash.
Empty.
It was Wednesday morning.
Trash day.
I ran to the front to look in the garbage cans and saw the garbage truck driving away from our house.
Dang.
Meh, I wasn't a huge fan of our home phone anyway.
So Trevor and I did the logical thing. No, we didn't ge a new phone; we cancelled our phone line all together.
A couple months later we were spring cleaning and moving our couch. As Trevor pulled out the cushions, deep in the recesses I saw a glimmer of fake metal.
Our phone.
We laughed and realized how useless it was then since we had gotten rid of the base for the phone.
The silly thing is (that I don't want to admit) is God really got a hold of me when I saw that phone.
I realized how easily I give up on things and think they're gone forever when I'm actually sitting on them, stifling them myself and blaming someone else for it.
And I think we all do that. We get discouraged, we get distracted. We think we've failed before we've barely begun.
So we give up.
God speaks to me through everyday things. Sometimes it's embarassing. It's almost always funny. And it's something that I don't want to shut out.
So here I am. Because this blog is my phone. It hasn't been lost. It's been sitting here the whole time, waiting for me to get off my bum and see it.
Okay, I'm currently on percocet so please bear with me and ignore my overestimations of how talented and funny a writer I am.
For some reason in our household the babies have a serious aversion to phones. Okay, that's not necessarily true. Ainsley can successfully distinguish the difference between an iPad and iPhone and asks for them on a current basis. She's actually taught me some tricks on the iPad. It also took me a week to figure out how to turn the annoying voice over off. I was too stubborn to Google it.
So I guess you can say they just hate home phones.
When Aidan was about nine months old, we were sitting at home and I heard a faint beeping in the distance.
It wasn't one of those nice, soft beeps. No tinkling of wind chimes. Not even a distant car alarm.
Nay, it was that horrible, horror movie, makes you want to punch someone in the face beeping that comes from a phone being off the hook.
I can just imagine back in the eighties- you know, the decade God turned his back on the world, back when you wanted to make a call you rotary dialed that number and were attached to the phone terminal by a leash- a really curly bouncy leash that just cried out to you to use it for a jump rope while your mom was on the phone with your Auntie.... and then it'd get all tangled in a big curly knot and you'd spend three hours slowly twisting the ringlet back in order like the phone was going to the prom or something. Why the curly cord? Was that to make it safer? Less strangleable or something? Anyway, I digress.
So I assume it was in the eighties when they decided to have the phones make that noise when it was left off the hook. Someone was like "Hey guys, we've got a problem! All of a sudden there's been a rash of people using their phones for jump ropes and forgetting to hang them up when they're done! Maybe we should come up with the most annoying noise known to man and have the phone start emitting that noise like it's demon possessed so they know to hang up their phones!"
Done.
So Aidan and I are hanging out and I hear faint demon beeping. I stalk around the house searching for this evil noise. No where to be found. Finally I make my way to a heater vent in the floor. Hmm.. It's mysteriously askew.
Ah yes. Sure enough the phone and some other trinkets had been shoved down the heater vent by my angelic nine month old.
So when Ainsley tried the same thing I stopped her with a smug grin on my face. Not this time. I'm an experienced mom now.
So she broke the heater vent cover. It became her personal storage unit.
Okay.
Then she decided to start using the garbage to hold all of our valuables.
Keys, money, wallets, and of course, the phone.
I can't even tell you how many times I've barely rescued household items from the eternal banishment of the garbage truck. We've had some close calls.
Really, in my heart I knew it was only a matter of time before I would be defeated.
One day I had to make a really important phone call.
I searched everywhere. I looked in all of Ainsley's hiding spots. I looked in all the places that I leave things (hey, I never said Ainsley didn't come by it honestly). I hit the search button that's supposed to make the phone beep so you can find it.
No beeping.
I went to look in the trash.
Empty.
It was Wednesday morning.
Trash day.
I ran to the front to look in the garbage cans and saw the garbage truck driving away from our house.
Dang.
Meh, I wasn't a huge fan of our home phone anyway.
So Trevor and I did the logical thing. No, we didn't ge a new phone; we cancelled our phone line all together.
A couple months later we were spring cleaning and moving our couch. As Trevor pulled out the cushions, deep in the recesses I saw a glimmer of fake metal.
Our phone.
We laughed and realized how useless it was then since we had gotten rid of the base for the phone.
The silly thing is (that I don't want to admit) is God really got a hold of me when I saw that phone.
I realized how easily I give up on things and think they're gone forever when I'm actually sitting on them, stifling them myself and blaming someone else for it.
And I think we all do that. We get discouraged, we get distracted. We think we've failed before we've barely begun.
So we give up.
God speaks to me through everyday things. Sometimes it's embarassing. It's almost always funny. And it's something that I don't want to shut out.
So here I am. Because this blog is my phone. It hasn't been lost. It's been sitting here the whole time, waiting for me to get off my bum and see it.
Monday, January 09, 2012
Thesaurus
Getting back into blogging is not as easy as I thought it would be.
It's gone kind of like this:
No, this road back to blogging hasn't been easy. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to come up with ideas.
Thesaurus.com challenged me to a duel of perspicacity. (I looked that up on thesaurus.com) A showdown of the ages. They asked me "How Many Words Do You Know? Take our test!" Challenge accepted.
You can't slap me in the face with your leather glove and expect me to walk away. Okay. Most of the time you can. But if it's a challenge to take an online quiz that determines the size and skill level of my vocabulary, I'm in.
You know what? I did pretty well. I'm not going to say how well, because I don't want to be a braggart, but I'm pretty impressed with myself.
I think I'm on par with a college professor or something. Astronaut. Neurosurgeon. Linguist. Something like that.
You know me.... the Bible College drop out. The girl who told people she wanted to be Amy Grant when she grew up.
The truth is I'm kind of past my prime. I was one of those really smart kids in school. You know, one of those "Gifted and Talented" students. I remember when I was in first grade, the school counselor pulled me out of class for an evaluation.
Of course they didn't tell me what the evaluation was for. I thought they were checking for learning disabilities. Or because I talked funny.
She started asking me to choose definitions for words she would give me. They started out easy. Cat. Shoe. Stuff like that.
Soon the words got harder and harder. They turned into contiguous and perpendicular. Splendorific. (I made that one up. Just want to make sure you're paying attention.)
I faintly remember feeling like crying and thinking they were going to kick me out of the school for being dumb.
I hadn't felt this stupid since the day my kindergarten teacher took us outside to show us that the blue sky goes all the way to the ground because she was sick of us coloring our pictures with the sky being a thin ribbon of blue at the top of our papers.
The thing is they weren't being mean.
I had to be tested to see how far I could go.
I had to be stretched so I had room to grow. (bam. That rhymed. I should be a slam poet.)
Even today I get in those situations that feel ridiculously impossible that make me want to cry and think about how dumb I am and how I'm failing everyone, especially God.
But really I'm just being stretched.
Because those words that stumped me as a child are a part of my vocabulary now.
Okay, maybe not contiguous.
But most of them. Which mean the impossible was attainable. Once I grew.
So, don't give up or be too hard on yourself when you fail. Don't feel like God abandoned you if you are in the midst of an impossible situation.
He may just be preparing you for something bigger.
Because He loves you.
And He knows your potential. Better than you know yourself.
It's gone kind of like this:
Elizabeth sits down with a McDouble and cold glass of Dr. Pepper and gleefully types out a mediocre blog post.
"Hey," she thinks to herself, "this isn't half bad."
Feeling nostalgic, she goes back to read some of her older blog posts.
"Dang." she mutters under her breath, "I used to be way more clever than I am now. I'll just have to write about something even better. Let's see.
I've already covered MacGuyver.
And Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego.
And kids lighting couches on fire in my driveway.
Hmm. I don't know if I can top that.
Unless a gang of hooligans uses a molotov cocktail to light fire to a whole bedroom set on my front porch.
No, that sounds pretty dangerous.
I'm out."
Then Elizabeth closes her browser window and stares blankly while scrolling through pinterest for three hours, planning which scarf she's going to make out of old t-shirts next.The end.
No, this road back to blogging hasn't been easy. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to come up with ideas.
1. I think of my childhood memories. There's enough material there to last years.
2. I think of the ridiculous things my kids have done lately. I actually have a list of them on my computer in a Word document. I'm such a great mom.Today I went to thesaurus.com because I couldn't think of the word "nostalgic." I actually didn't find it on the website because I got distracted. What did I get distracted by, you ask? This.
3. I go to thesaurus.com They usually have some crazy words that sometimes will trigger a thought process in my weirdo brain. A lot of times I go there when I'm stuck and can't find the right word to finish my thought.
Thesaurus.com challenged me to a duel of perspicacity. (I looked that up on thesaurus.com) A showdown of the ages. They asked me "How Many Words Do You Know? Take our test!" Challenge accepted.
You can't slap me in the face with your leather glove and expect me to walk away. Okay. Most of the time you can. But if it's a challenge to take an online quiz that determines the size and skill level of my vocabulary, I'm in.
You know what? I did pretty well. I'm not going to say how well, because I don't want to be a braggart, but I'm pretty impressed with myself.
I think I'm on par with a college professor or something. Astronaut. Neurosurgeon. Linguist. Something like that.
You know me.... the Bible College drop out. The girl who told people she wanted to be Amy Grant when she grew up.
The truth is I'm kind of past my prime. I was one of those really smart kids in school. You know, one of those "Gifted and Talented" students. I remember when I was in first grade, the school counselor pulled me out of class for an evaluation.
Of course they didn't tell me what the evaluation was for. I thought they were checking for learning disabilities. Or because I talked funny.
She started asking me to choose definitions for words she would give me. They started out easy. Cat. Shoe. Stuff like that.
Soon the words got harder and harder. They turned into contiguous and perpendicular. Splendorific. (I made that one up. Just want to make sure you're paying attention.)
I faintly remember feeling like crying and thinking they were going to kick me out of the school for being dumb.
I hadn't felt this stupid since the day my kindergarten teacher took us outside to show us that the blue sky goes all the way to the ground because she was sick of us coloring our pictures with the sky being a thin ribbon of blue at the top of our papers.
The thing is they weren't being mean.
I had to be tested to see how far I could go.
I had to be stretched so I had room to grow. (bam. That rhymed. I should be a slam poet.)
Even today I get in those situations that feel ridiculously impossible that make me want to cry and think about how dumb I am and how I'm failing everyone, especially God.
But really I'm just being stretched.
Because those words that stumped me as a child are a part of my vocabulary now.
Okay, maybe not contiguous.
But most of them. Which mean the impossible was attainable. Once I grew.
So, don't give up or be too hard on yourself when you fail. Don't feel like God abandoned you if you are in the midst of an impossible situation.
He may just be preparing you for something bigger.
Because He loves you.
And He knows your potential. Better than you know yourself.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
Teenagers
When I started substitute teaching I refused to do high school. As in, I put on my application that I would be willing to teach grades k-8. After teaching one kindergarten class for a couple of days, that immediately changed to grades 1-8. But I digress.
High schoolers freaked me out a little. They're kind of, well, they're kind of punks sometimes. And not so lovable. The cuteness has worn off by that point. They're just a big ball of hormones and B.O. And they read Twilight. And I was pretty sure that I wasn't cool enough for them anyway.
It's just like how Trevor and I knew that we were not called to be youth pastors. Funny, most people assumed that as young people in ministry that we should be youth pastors. But I would surely let people know that we did not have an affinity for teenagers.
Then my little boy started kindergarten. I got involved with the goings on of his school (which goes from K-12 grade). Soon I found myself volunteering to help with the Christmas program. Of all things, what did I end up doing? Working with a bunch of high school kids.
A choir of high school kids.
High school kids who had never been in a choir before.
Yeah.
I was handed a list of 11 songs for us to sing for a performance that was 4 weeks away.
Eleven songs. Four weeks.
And I was informed that most of the choir members were voluntold to join the choir.
Right.
I walked into the practice room that first day with apprehension. I had that feeling of foreboding that usually means a disaster is headed my way.
And I was met by the greatest group of kids that wanted to sing. At least they were nice enough to pretend like they wanted to sing in front of me. God bless them.
They worked their butts off.
They skipped lunches.
They came in to practice on school vacation days.
And when the day of the performance came, they brought down the house.
No one expected this little group of high schoolers to show up with so much heart.
The audience cheered, clapped, and sang along.
There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
These teenagers surprised everyone.
Especially me.
Because they got to me, and now I can't shake them.
They're my kids now.
(Plus, one of the guys noticed I dyed my hair today. Seriously!)
Have you ever been surprised by someone that you didn't really give a fair chance to begin with? Makes me think I should try to be friends with people who are Michigan fans.
Nah.
Baby steps.
High schoolers freaked me out a little. They're kind of, well, they're kind of punks sometimes. And not so lovable. The cuteness has worn off by that point. They're just a big ball of hormones and B.O. And they read Twilight. And I was pretty sure that I wasn't cool enough for them anyway.
It's just like how Trevor and I knew that we were not called to be youth pastors. Funny, most people assumed that as young people in ministry that we should be youth pastors. But I would surely let people know that we did not have an affinity for teenagers.
Then my little boy started kindergarten. I got involved with the goings on of his school (which goes from K-12 grade). Soon I found myself volunteering to help with the Christmas program. Of all things, what did I end up doing? Working with a bunch of high school kids.
A choir of high school kids.
High school kids who had never been in a choir before.
Yeah.
I was handed a list of 11 songs for us to sing for a performance that was 4 weeks away.
Eleven songs. Four weeks.
And I was informed that most of the choir members were voluntold to join the choir.
Right.
I walked into the practice room that first day with apprehension. I had that feeling of foreboding that usually means a disaster is headed my way.
And I was met by the greatest group of kids that wanted to sing. At least they were nice enough to pretend like they wanted to sing in front of me. God bless them.
They worked their butts off.
They skipped lunches.
They came in to practice on school vacation days.
And when the day of the performance came, they brought down the house.
No one expected this little group of high schoolers to show up with so much heart.
The audience cheered, clapped, and sang along.
There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
These teenagers surprised everyone.
Especially me.
Because they got to me, and now I can't shake them.
They're my kids now.
(Plus, one of the guys noticed I dyed my hair today. Seriously!)
Have you ever been surprised by someone that you didn't really give a fair chance to begin with? Makes me think I should try to be friends with people who are Michigan fans.
Nah.
Baby steps.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Lost Phones
My mom is in the hospital tonight.
When she sees that I wrote something about it on my blog (and facebook) she'll probably be embarrassed.
But you see, my mom's been bugging me about blogging again. She's told me a few times "You know, I keep clicking on that blog of yours to see if you've written anything lately, and I'm always disappointed to see you haven't."
It's been very encouraging to hear that my mom cares about such a little thing as my blog.
I can't be with her tonight. So, I figured the least I could do is write a post for her.
So, here goes.
I haven't written in a while. During that time my little girl who was just a few months old when I started this blog has blossomed into a very entertaining 18 month old.
She charms everyone who meets her and puts on quite the show. I think Trevor hits the nail on the head when he says "She has a personality only God himself could have come up with."
Ainsley also has an affinity with putting things away (praise the Lord someone in our family has finally inherited my mom's genes when it comes to cleaning up). If she can't figure out where the item in her possession belongs (which is almost always), it ends up in the garbage can.
I have found so many things in the garbage can that shouldn't have been there. Makes me wonder what I didn't catch before it got thrown out for good.
I've caught her trying to dispose of our phone three times. I don't know what her personal vendetta is against telephones, but it gets violent at times. Once I found the phone dismantled and shoved inside a McDonald's bag in the trash can. One of these days I'm going to find it at the bottom of a bathtub full of water with a brick tied to it.
So when the phone turned up missing a month or so ago I figured it made its weekly pilgrimage to visit the soiled diapers and banana peels.
I looked in the can. Not there. I realized that yesterday was garbage day. And this was a new bag.
Uh oh.
We held out hope that the phone would turn up somewhere around the house. After a couple of days of looking, we assumed the worst and threw out the charging stations and cords.
It was a lost cause.
We even went as far as to cancel our home phone completely. We don't use it much anymore, so we figured we wouldn't miss it.
A couple of weeks later I was digging in our couch, looking for a pair of keys (that ironically were later found in the trash can) when I pulled out our phone.
The phone I had completely given up on. It was right under my bum this whole time.
You know what I've been sitting on all this time?
Lots of stuff.
You know how you find something you really love, and then you go through a bad patch, get discouraged and give up?
Then you fall behind on your expectations and think it's a lost cause.
I do that with pretty much everything.
I did that with writing.
But the lost phone's meaning was not lost on me.
Most of our dreams that we think are long gone are within arms reach.
We're just sitting on them.
What are you sitting on?
When she sees that I wrote something about it on my blog (and facebook) she'll probably be embarrassed.
But you see, my mom's been bugging me about blogging again. She's told me a few times "You know, I keep clicking on that blog of yours to see if you've written anything lately, and I'm always disappointed to see you haven't."
It's been very encouraging to hear that my mom cares about such a little thing as my blog.
I can't be with her tonight. So, I figured the least I could do is write a post for her.
So, here goes.
I haven't written in a while. During that time my little girl who was just a few months old when I started this blog has blossomed into a very entertaining 18 month old.
She charms everyone who meets her and puts on quite the show. I think Trevor hits the nail on the head when he says "She has a personality only God himself could have come up with."
Ainsley also has an affinity with putting things away (praise the Lord someone in our family has finally inherited my mom's genes when it comes to cleaning up). If she can't figure out where the item in her possession belongs (which is almost always), it ends up in the garbage can.
I have found so many things in the garbage can that shouldn't have been there. Makes me wonder what I didn't catch before it got thrown out for good.
I've caught her trying to dispose of our phone three times. I don't know what her personal vendetta is against telephones, but it gets violent at times. Once I found the phone dismantled and shoved inside a McDonald's bag in the trash can. One of these days I'm going to find it at the bottom of a bathtub full of water with a brick tied to it.
So when the phone turned up missing a month or so ago I figured it made its weekly pilgrimage to visit the soiled diapers and banana peels.
I looked in the can. Not there. I realized that yesterday was garbage day. And this was a new bag.
Uh oh.
We held out hope that the phone would turn up somewhere around the house. After a couple of days of looking, we assumed the worst and threw out the charging stations and cords.
It was a lost cause.
We even went as far as to cancel our home phone completely. We don't use it much anymore, so we figured we wouldn't miss it.
A couple of weeks later I was digging in our couch, looking for a pair of keys (that ironically were later found in the trash can) when I pulled out our phone.
The phone I had completely given up on. It was right under my bum this whole time.
You know what I've been sitting on all this time?
Lots of stuff.
You know how you find something you really love, and then you go through a bad patch, get discouraged and give up?
Then you fall behind on your expectations and think it's a lost cause.
I do that with pretty much everything.
I did that with writing.
But the lost phone's meaning was not lost on me.
Most of our dreams that we think are long gone are within arms reach.
We're just sitting on them.
What are you sitting on?
Monday, October 03, 2011
Drive Thru
Every time Trevor and I decide to eat healthier we receive a McDonald's coupon book in the mail.
It's just not right.
The most recent one even had the word CRAVE plastered across the front of it. We have a hard enough time keeping ourselves from eating at McDonald's. Slap on a discount and it's officially a lost cause.
The only time we were able to stop eating at McDonald's was when they tore it down and rebuilt it. Yes, there's a McDonald's in Wal-Mart, but then you have to get out of your car and walk through Wal-Mart to get to it. And the food tastes differently there. I think a little Wal-Mart rubs off on it.
Anywho, when the new McDonald's opened, we were ecstatic. We went inside to check out the digs. Pleather couches, fake fireplace, new playland, the works. I even sat and watched Monday Night Football on a flat screen. Awesome.
One of my greatest joys came when I ventured over to the drive thru.
Two. Lanes.
Our little McDonald's is growing up!
But for some reason, the sweet, unassuming people in our town can't seem to adjust to the change of having two drive thru lanes. Which means extra bonus for me.
I get no greater joy than passing four or five cars up in line just by using the neglected extra lane.
I should feel guilty.
But I don't.
They could use those lanes just as easily as I have.
But they won't.
So I get my sausage breakfast biscuit faster (thank you McDonald's for finally bringing biscuits to Canada).
Booyah.
But you're smart, right? You wouldn't be the guy who has to wait ten extra minutes for his mcgriddle because he didn't want to change his habits. Of course not.
Why are we so resistant to change? Maybe I'm rogue enough to use the new line at McDonald's. But that doesn't mean I've got this down pat.
Sometimes we're set in our ways even when we know that it's not working for us.
Why?
Sometimes I wonder what God could accomplish if we allowed him to do a new thing in us. In our church. In our relationships.
What newness, what change is God drawing you to in your life?
It's just not right.
The most recent one even had the word CRAVE plastered across the front of it. We have a hard enough time keeping ourselves from eating at McDonald's. Slap on a discount and it's officially a lost cause.
The only time we were able to stop eating at McDonald's was when they tore it down and rebuilt it. Yes, there's a McDonald's in Wal-Mart, but then you have to get out of your car and walk through Wal-Mart to get to it. And the food tastes differently there. I think a little Wal-Mart rubs off on it.
Anywho, when the new McDonald's opened, we were ecstatic. We went inside to check out the digs. Pleather couches, fake fireplace, new playland, the works. I even sat and watched Monday Night Football on a flat screen. Awesome.
One of my greatest joys came when I ventured over to the drive thru.
Two. Lanes.
Our little McDonald's is growing up!
But for some reason, the sweet, unassuming people in our town can't seem to adjust to the change of having two drive thru lanes. Which means extra bonus for me.
I get no greater joy than passing four or five cars up in line just by using the neglected extra lane.
I should feel guilty.
But I don't.
They could use those lanes just as easily as I have.
But they won't.
So I get my sausage breakfast biscuit faster (thank you McDonald's for finally bringing biscuits to Canada).
Booyah.
But you're smart, right? You wouldn't be the guy who has to wait ten extra minutes for his mcgriddle because he didn't want to change his habits. Of course not.
Why are we so resistant to change? Maybe I'm rogue enough to use the new line at McDonald's. But that doesn't mean I've got this down pat.
Sometimes we're set in our ways even when we know that it's not working for us.
Why?
Sometimes I wonder what God could accomplish if we allowed him to do a new thing in us. In our church. In our relationships.
"But forget all that— it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."
It's time to break out of our comforts and embrace the new.Isaiah 43:18-19
What newness, what change is God drawing you to in your life?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Easy Off
I'm not one to normally be swayed by advertising. Okay, I like to think that I'm not swayed by advertising. Maybe it's the rebel deep inside me that wants to do the opposite of what someone is telling me I should do.
But every once in a while there comes a product so intriguing, so genius, that I have to give it a try.
A few months back I saw an ad for Huggies Slip On diapers. In all honesty, it didn't take a whole lot of ingenuity to come up with this one (why hello Pull Ups for smaller babies). But when you are the parent of a fifteen month old who kicks and screams like you're performing an exorcism at each diaper change, you're open to other options.
My thought process went a little like this:
So, I bought them. Which would typically be a Trevor thing to do. Usually I do my own personal marketplace analysis when buying diapers to make sure I get the best deal. But now that I have freedom (aka Driver's license- but that's another post) I get this rush of adrenaline when walking in a store alone and I do stupid things. In my defense, they were out of the normal diapers that were on sale.
First we experienced the honeymoon phase of slip-on diaperdom. The "hey, these work pretty well!" phase.
That phase didn't last very long. Survival of the fittest is taking place in our house and I'm pretty sure Ainsley is the fittest. She soon learned to kick with abandon to fight off my feeble attempts to wrangle a clean diaper on her.
Now I feel like I'm taking part in a calf scramble. I've got her legs up in the air all wrapped around each other while I try to shimmy her diaper on. Seriously. I broke a sweat today. Changing a diaper. I think I may have pulled a muscle.
But that's not the worst of it. Apparently "slip-on" diapers are also incredibly easy to "slip off." Oh, has Ainsley mastered this one. Her new favorite hobby is nudity. She's running around the house naked as the day she was born. Jaybirds have nothing on her.
On Sunday we were having a cutesy family cuddle sesh in our bed. It was so sweet and post card-ish. It was the stuff those people who write cutesy family blogs would write about. Using heartfelt, emotion-wrecking prose that makes you tear up even when they talk about things like taking out the garbage.
Ainsley is trawling around the room in search of old food particles and other non-digestible items to gnaw on and Aidan's in bed with us reading a book. Ainsley climbs up on the bed and we catch a distinct whiff of a number two wafting on the breeze.
Trevor, being the amazing husband and father he is, says "somebody needs their bum changed!"
He goes to grab her and realizes there's nothing to change out of. Ainsley is diaperless. And there is poo located somewhere in our room.
Not to mention the smear on our bed. Classy.
I'll save you the rest of the details, but it involves wipes, a bath, and carpet cleaner.
Is there something you're compromising on because it's easier? Seems to make perfect sense? Be wary of shortcuts and easy roads.
Sometimes the way that seems easy leads to a bunch of crap. Literal crap.
But every once in a while there comes a product so intriguing, so genius, that I have to give it a try.
A few months back I saw an ad for Huggies Slip On diapers. In all honesty, it didn't take a whole lot of ingenuity to come up with this one (why hello Pull Ups for smaller babies). But when you are the parent of a fifteen month old who kicks and screams like you're performing an exorcism at each diaper change, you're open to other options.
My thought process went a little like this:
"Hey, cool! Now I don't have to wrestle Ainsley to the ground and hold her there like I'm waiting for the tap out in a WWE match just to affix the sticky tabs to the front of her diaper! And she won't have the inevitable saggy bum syndrome due to the malpositioning of aforementioned sticky tabs that are dangling precariously after the smackdown diaper change. This is going to make my life so much easier! Gasp! They're ON SALE!"Something like that. Yes, I always talk to myself using words like "aforementioned" and"malpositioning."
So, I bought them. Which would typically be a Trevor thing to do. Usually I do my own personal marketplace analysis when buying diapers to make sure I get the best deal. But now that I have freedom (aka Driver's license- but that's another post) I get this rush of adrenaline when walking in a store alone and I do stupid things. In my defense, they were out of the normal diapers that were on sale.
First we experienced the honeymoon phase of slip-on diaperdom. The "hey, these work pretty well!" phase.
That phase didn't last very long. Survival of the fittest is taking place in our house and I'm pretty sure Ainsley is the fittest. She soon learned to kick with abandon to fight off my feeble attempts to wrangle a clean diaper on her.
Now I feel like I'm taking part in a calf scramble. I've got her legs up in the air all wrapped around each other while I try to shimmy her diaper on. Seriously. I broke a sweat today. Changing a diaper. I think I may have pulled a muscle.
But that's not the worst of it. Apparently "slip-on" diapers are also incredibly easy to "slip off." Oh, has Ainsley mastered this one. Her new favorite hobby is nudity. She's running around the house naked as the day she was born. Jaybirds have nothing on her.
On Sunday we were having a cutesy family cuddle sesh in our bed. It was so sweet and post card-ish. It was the stuff those people who write cutesy family blogs would write about. Using heartfelt, emotion-wrecking prose that makes you tear up even when they talk about things like taking out the garbage.
Ainsley is trawling around the room in search of old food particles and other non-digestible items to gnaw on and Aidan's in bed with us reading a book. Ainsley climbs up on the bed and we catch a distinct whiff of a number two wafting on the breeze.
Trevor, being the amazing husband and father he is, says "somebody needs their bum changed!"
He goes to grab her and realizes there's nothing to change out of. Ainsley is diaperless. And there is poo located somewhere in our room.
Not to mention the smear on our bed. Classy.
I'll save you the rest of the details, but it involves wipes, a bath, and carpet cleaner.
Is there something you're compromising on because it's easier? Seems to make perfect sense? Be wary of shortcuts and easy roads.
Sometimes the way that seems easy leads to a bunch of crap. Literal crap.
There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.
Proverbs 15:12 NIV
Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.
Matthew 7:13 NIV
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Grown Ups
Aidan crawled under the covers with me early this morning before Ainsley was awake. That in itself was quite the feat. We tiptoe by Ainsley's room like you would a shallow cave harboring a sleeping monster that would be featured in an Ancient Greek saga. She sleeps lightly and is quite the grumpaloo if awakened before her body's clock tells her it's time to get up. I have no idea where she gets that from.
Aidan stealthily makes his way to my room and asks for a cuddle. My little boy is quite the big boy nowadays. He is a full fledged kindergartener and can take care of himself, thankyouverymuch. But, he still likes to cuddle. And I love it!
He knows the edict of cuddling in the Birak household: talking is allowed during day cuddles, but not night cuddles. I know that sounds harsh, but he would NEVER go to sleep if he got to lay in bed and shoot the breeze with us every night.
He jumps under the fluffy covers, lays his head next to mine on my pillow, curls up in a ball and starts talking. We discuss school; how he's learning his letters and the days of creation. He tells me that he can't wait until day five, because "we're going to learn about the birds and fish, and all things that live in the water and sky." Since when did my kid sound like a walking New International Version?
Then, being quite the philosopher he busts out this big one:"Mommy, why does it take so long to grow up?" See, after he completed a few days of Kindergarten, Aidan decided he was fully ready to move up to grade one. I informed him that it would be a whole year before he was in grade one.
He desperately wants to be in a grade that is associated with a number, so we started calling Kindergarten "grade zero" in our house.
I thought of when I was a little kid and was desperate to grow up. Now as an adult, I desperately want my children not to.
Often I find myself looking inward and realizing that I'm taking too long to grow up. There's a frustration that wells up in my heart when I see myself and how little I've grown in some areas. As a pastor, I have that same frustration when I see those who I try to minister to struggle as well.
Where is our hunger for growth? Why are we content to weakly swallow the milk when we should be digging into the solid food? We blithely waste our days entertaining ourselves instead of straining for knowledge and maturity in the Spirit.
I do believe that there's something in us, though, that is drawing us to more. The embers of desire lay dormant in us begging to be rekindled. I can feel the dissatisfaction that calls me out of my slumber to search for more.
Aidan stealthily makes his way to my room and asks for a cuddle. My little boy is quite the big boy nowadays. He is a full fledged kindergartener and can take care of himself, thankyouverymuch. But, he still likes to cuddle. And I love it!
He knows the edict of cuddling in the Birak household: talking is allowed during day cuddles, but not night cuddles. I know that sounds harsh, but he would NEVER go to sleep if he got to lay in bed and shoot the breeze with us every night.
He jumps under the fluffy covers, lays his head next to mine on my pillow, curls up in a ball and starts talking. We discuss school; how he's learning his letters and the days of creation. He tells me that he can't wait until day five, because "we're going to learn about the birds and fish, and all things that live in the water and sky." Since when did my kid sound like a walking New International Version?
Then, being quite the philosopher he busts out this big one:"Mommy, why does it take so long to grow up?" See, after he completed a few days of Kindergarten, Aidan decided he was fully ready to move up to grade one. I informed him that it would be a whole year before he was in grade one.
He desperately wants to be in a grade that is associated with a number, so we started calling Kindergarten "grade zero" in our house.
I thought of when I was a little kid and was desperate to grow up. Now as an adult, I desperately want my children not to.
Often I find myself looking inward and realizing that I'm taking too long to grow up. There's a frustration that wells up in my heart when I see myself and how little I've grown in some areas. As a pastor, I have that same frustration when I see those who I try to minister to struggle as well.
Where is our hunger for growth? Why are we content to weakly swallow the milk when we should be digging into the solid food? We blithely waste our days entertaining ourselves instead of straining for knowledge and maturity in the Spirit.
You have been believers so long now that you ought to be teaching others. Instead, you need someone to teach you again the basic things about God's word. You are like babies who need milk and cannot eat solid food.
For someone who lives on milk is still an infant and doesn't know how to do what is right.
Solid food is for those who are mature, who through training have the skill to recognize the difference between right and wrong.
The writer of Hebrews says in verse eleven: "There's so much more I want to explain, but you are too spiritually dumb and don't care enough to listen!" (Elizabeth's paraphrase) How much are we missing out on because we aren't eager to listen and understand? Because we are not ready to grow?Hebrews 5:12-14
I do believe that there's something in us, though, that is drawing us to more. The embers of desire lay dormant in us begging to be rekindled. I can feel the dissatisfaction that calls me out of my slumber to search for more.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Reboot
I feel like I owe you an apology. But parts of me thinks that would make me quite self-centered. Should I apologize for not writing for so long as if your life was slightly emptier without my ramblings in it? Without assuming too much (we all know what happens when you assume), I do know that I have a few followers who would read my posts regularly.
I also know that I broke the major blogging rule known to all bloggers. Be consistent. Write regularly.
And, I haven't.
I don't even have a really great excuse. Like losing an arm to a hungry alligator during a tour of the everglades via airboat (you know, those metal canoes with a box fan attached to the back of it) rendering me unable to type until I've mastered the use of my new robotic hand. I've got nothing.
Not even carpal tunnel.
I won't drone on about the past couple months. It was a rough time that I felt disconnected. Honestly, most of the time I still feel that way. But I can hear God's voice as he reaches out to me, calling my name. So, here I am. Ready to try again.
You called and you shouted,
you broke through my deafness.
You flashed and you shone,
dispelled my blindness.
You breathed your fragrance on me
You breathed your fragrance on me
Late have I loved you
Gungor
"Late Have I Loved You"
I also know that I broke the major blogging rule known to all bloggers. Be consistent. Write regularly.
And, I haven't.
I don't even have a really great excuse. Like losing an arm to a hungry alligator during a tour of the everglades via airboat (you know, those metal canoes with a box fan attached to the back of it) rendering me unable to type until I've mastered the use of my new robotic hand. I've got nothing.
Not even carpal tunnel.
I won't drone on about the past couple months. It was a rough time that I felt disconnected. Honestly, most of the time I still feel that way. But I can hear God's voice as he reaches out to me, calling my name. So, here I am. Ready to try again.
You called and you shouted,
you broke through my deafness.
You flashed and you shone,
dispelled my blindness.
You breathed your fragrance on me
You breathed your fragrance on me
Late have I loved you
Gungor
"Late Have I Loved You"
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Camping Trip
This past weekend my husband and I decided to take a sort of sabbatical by heading out into the wilds of Alberta for a camping trip.
It was the first time we had reached a level of exhaustion that made us delusional enough to think that it was possible to take a one year old and a four year old camping without completely losing the little bit of sanity we were desperately clinging to.
In case you're considering a similar trip, let me be the one to tell you that it is not.
And all of our friends were like, "Oh, how fun!" "Have a great time!" "You can borrow my tent!" "Bears don't like the flavor of people!"
I felt like that friend you have who is dating the total jerk but no one has the guts to tell her that her prince charming is a loser. (If people are saying things like, "He's not as bad as that last guy." or "He has a puppy. So he can't be a total psychopath. Psychopaths don't like puppies." - you are that friend.)
I wish someone would have smacked me upside the head and said, "are you INSANE?" Or something like that.
My suspicions were confirmed when we got back and everyone at Trevor's work wanted to know how Ainsley handled the camping trip. Like they had a betting pool about it or something.
We probably should have spent the weekend in a motel. One that serves complimentary hot breakfasts, has a mini fridge and microwave in the room for Easy Mac, and has a water slide and shampoo that smells like cinnamon. Really. It's like Christmas every time you shower.
But no. We went camping. In the mud. In the rain. Hanging out with the mosquitoes. And apparently one bold cougar. Awesome.
Actually, camping was a lot of fun. I loved becoming one with my inner Laura Ingalls Wilder by sleeping on the ground and hauling water to boil on a camp stove just to wash dishes.
There was one major downfall. Besides my husband leaving the hatchet on the ground EVERYWHERE.
Mud.
Lots and lots of mud.
Do you know how hard it is to clean a one year old in a campground bathroom? We were actually doing okay until I underestimated the amount of water Ainsley would displace when sitting in the bathroom sink.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Our kids took to camping like flies take to cow poop.
They were all over it. Couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't even try to compete with the whirlwind of destruction and dirt that enveloped them. I mean, Ainsley had bark. in her poop.
It was really bad when Aidan figured out this simple equation:
Dirt + Water = Mud.
As soon as we would get their mud infested bodies sparkling clean and back to our campsite they would discover a new way to turn themselves into the swamp thing.
Not that I was faring much better myself. I reeked of campfire smoke and Off Skintastic. The dirt and pine needles from the ground looked like they had permanently bonded with the soles of my feet, never to be parted again.
It seems like you just can't get away from being filthy while camping. I had that glorious five minute break from the filth while taking a shower, but it seemed pointless as soon as I donned my dusty flip flops and headed back to our tent.
I'm not prissy, but I also don't like to stink. And this was downright discouraging.
But even more discouraging was I realized this experience mirrored the frustration I'm dealing with in my own life.
I've been acutely aware of my failures as of late. It's something I constantly battle with.
I feel like my moments of redemption don't last long compared to living in the filth and dirt of the shortfalls and failures in my life.
Sometimes it all seems futile. I'm just going to get messed up again. It seems as soon as I accept the redemptive powers of God's grace I screw it up somehow. Why bother?
Like the people of Israel:
I've come to realize that I've been depending on my own righteousness. Trying to redeem myself on my own. Not willing to fully embrace God's simple gift of grace while I preach it to others.
Yet my righteousness is a disgust. I'm literally wading in my own filth when trying to gain righteousness on my own.
I roll around in that miry pit because for some reason I can't accept the reality of the simplicity of God's love. I write about it. I tell everyone else about it. Yet I deny it for myself.
But I think I'm starting to get it.
It was the first time we had reached a level of exhaustion that made us delusional enough to think that it was possible to take a one year old and a four year old camping without completely losing the little bit of sanity we were desperately clinging to.
In case you're considering a similar trip, let me be the one to tell you that it is not.
And all of our friends were like, "Oh, how fun!" "Have a great time!" "You can borrow my tent!" "Bears don't like the flavor of people!"
I felt like that friend you have who is dating the total jerk but no one has the guts to tell her that her prince charming is a loser. (If people are saying things like, "He's not as bad as that last guy." or "He has a puppy. So he can't be a total psychopath. Psychopaths don't like puppies." - you are that friend.)
I wish someone would have smacked me upside the head and said, "are you INSANE?" Or something like that.
My suspicions were confirmed when we got back and everyone at Trevor's work wanted to know how Ainsley handled the camping trip. Like they had a betting pool about it or something.
We probably should have spent the weekend in a motel. One that serves complimentary hot breakfasts, has a mini fridge and microwave in the room for Easy Mac, and has a water slide and shampoo that smells like cinnamon. Really. It's like Christmas every time you shower.
But no. We went camping. In the mud. In the rain. Hanging out with the mosquitoes. And apparently one bold cougar. Awesome.
Actually, camping was a lot of fun. I loved becoming one with my inner Laura Ingalls Wilder by sleeping on the ground and hauling water to boil on a camp stove just to wash dishes.
There was one major downfall. Besides my husband leaving the hatchet on the ground EVERYWHERE.
Mud.
Lots and lots of mud.
Do you know how hard it is to clean a one year old in a campground bathroom? We were actually doing okay until I underestimated the amount of water Ainsley would displace when sitting in the bathroom sink.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Our kids took to camping like flies take to cow poop.
They were all over it. Couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't even try to compete with the whirlwind of destruction and dirt that enveloped them. I mean, Ainsley had bark. in her poop.
It was really bad when Aidan figured out this simple equation:
Dirt + Water = Mud.
As soon as we would get their mud infested bodies sparkling clean and back to our campsite they would discover a new way to turn themselves into the swamp thing.
Not that I was faring much better myself. I reeked of campfire smoke and Off Skintastic. The dirt and pine needles from the ground looked like they had permanently bonded with the soles of my feet, never to be parted again.
It seems like you just can't get away from being filthy while camping. I had that glorious five minute break from the filth while taking a shower, but it seemed pointless as soon as I donned my dusty flip flops and headed back to our tent.
I'm not prissy, but I also don't like to stink. And this was downright discouraging.
But even more discouraging was I realized this experience mirrored the frustration I'm dealing with in my own life.
I've been acutely aware of my failures as of late. It's something I constantly battle with.
I feel like my moments of redemption don't last long compared to living in the filth and dirt of the shortfalls and failures in my life.
Sometimes it all seems futile. I'm just going to get messed up again. It seems as soon as I accept the redemptive powers of God's grace I screw it up somehow. Why bother?
Like the people of Israel:
We are all infected and impure with sin. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall, and our sins sweep us away like the wind.
Isaiah 64:6
I've come to realize that I've been depending on my own righteousness. Trying to redeem myself on my own. Not willing to fully embrace God's simple gift of grace while I preach it to others.
Yet my righteousness is a disgust. I'm literally wading in my own filth when trying to gain righteousness on my own.
I roll around in that miry pit because for some reason I can't accept the reality of the simplicity of God's love. I write about it. I tell everyone else about it. Yet I deny it for myself.
But I think I'm starting to get it.
We are made right with God by placing our faith in Jesus Christ. And this is true for everyone who believes, no matter who we are.
For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard.
Yet God, with undeserved kindness, declares that we are righteous. He did this through Christ Jesus when he freed us from the penalty for our sins.
Romans 3:22-24
For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God's wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ.
Yes, Adam's one sin brings condemnation for everyone, but Christ's one act of righteousness brings a right relationship with God and new life for everyone.
Romans 5:17-18
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Burning Couches
Sometimes doing the right thing doesn't go the way you plan. Sometimes it's awesome, and you get the little tingly sensations on the back of your neck as you contemplate how your small sacrifice just may have changed the doomed course of all mankind. I mean, I'm sure Salvation Army is happy you donated the knock off Louis Vuitton purse that you spilled Diet Coke all over, but I don't think that's necessarily equivalent to saving the world. Still, helping people can feel pretty great.
But the more you help people, the more you realize that things are going to go wrong. Sometimes horribly, horribly wrong. Why? Well, for one, people are in the equation.
If you want to help clean up pelicans suffering from an oil spill, get a teaspoon of Dawn, a gallon of water, a toothbrush and some Q-tips (This blog post was not sponsored by the Dawn or Q-Tip brands) and get to work. I'm no biologist, but it's fairly simple.
If you want to help the environment, just reduce, reuse, and recycle.
If you want to save tiny orphan tigers, introduce them to a momma pig who will nurse them back to health. (What is our fascination with weird animal pairings anyway? I can't get enough of cute pictures of hippos and tortoises playing together!)
Precious, right?
But people; we're far more messy. Well, not literally. I've been to a zoo. Animals poop a lot.
I've learned by trial and error that there is no quick fix for people. A lot of times you try your best to help someone and trouble rains down on you.
It doesn't even necessarily mean you're doing something wrong.
Sometimes it means you're actually doing something right.
And sometimes it probably doesn't mean anything at all.
Like this weekend. We have a close friend who needed some help, so one of the things we did was have a garage sale. It was the garage sale of all garage sales.
Plus I made colorful signs with stars on them. They were snazzy.
We raised a lot of money and most importantly, made a lasting impression on our friend of how much we love him.
We also had some stuff left over.
Including a couch. We loaded up most of the extra stuff to take to Sally Ann, but we put the couch by the road in case someone wanted it.
After a long hard weekend Trevor and I finally settled down to sleep around midnight on Sunday. As Trevor started dozing off I listened to what I thought was a bee buzzing and flitting around our window screen. The noise got louder and was accompanied by pops and fizzes.
I turned over and noticed bright orange lights dancing across my ceiling. In my daze (I'm waiting on a root canal and took two T-3s to help me sleep) I realized there were no hapless bugs trying to make their way into our home.
There was a fire. Very close.
First I thought maybe it was our friend's house across the street. No, too far away.
Then I thought maybe the roof directly in front of our window was on fire. When I looked out the window in panic I realized it was the couch.
Trevor grabbed his keys and ran outside to move our van, which was parked next to the couch.
I looked like I was the stupid one from a sitcom that stands there stunned asking
"what do we do?" You know, the one who runs around panicking until someone knocks them out and carries them over their shoulder to safety? That was me. (I blame that completely on the medication.)
Someone had doused that stupid couch in gasoline and lit it on fire.
We stood and watched as a fire truck pulled up. A little over the top. But, I didn't call them so whatever. They pulled out their huge hose for that little couch. It was kind of like using a missile launcher to kill a fly. Then the firefighters decided we needed to get the police involved. Awesome.
The police officer asked us if anyone held a grudge against us. Really? What is this? Law and Order Criminal Intent? Trevor thought maybe one of our church members doesn't like his preaching. It looked to me like someone was holding a grudge against the couch, not us.
Forty five minutes later, we were tucked back in our bed with no leads and a smoldering couch frame decorating our driveway. Double awesome.
All of a sudden the high we were on from our successful weekend of helping our friend turned into dejected exhaustion as we pondered how exactly we would discard the charred remains.
Then our friend we were helping stopped by last night. And he reminded me why we help people. Because love wins. (I paid Rob Bell five bucks to say that.) I saw how much an outpouring of love and support can change a person's perspective. How it stays with them a lot longer than the actual physical help may.
Money will come and go. Couches will be used as bonfire fuel. Hopefully not in your front yard.
But sometimes, when you are open to God working through you, God will use you to shine His love in someone's life.
And I wouldn't trade that for all the burnt couches in the world.
But the more you help people, the more you realize that things are going to go wrong. Sometimes horribly, horribly wrong. Why? Well, for one, people are in the equation.
If you want to help clean up pelicans suffering from an oil spill, get a teaspoon of Dawn, a gallon of water, a toothbrush and some Q-tips (This blog post was not sponsored by the Dawn or Q-Tip brands) and get to work. I'm no biologist, but it's fairly simple.
If you want to help the environment, just reduce, reuse, and recycle.
If you want to save tiny orphan tigers, introduce them to a momma pig who will nurse them back to health. (What is our fascination with weird animal pairings anyway? I can't get enough of cute pictures of hippos and tortoises playing together!)
Precious, right?
But people; we're far more messy. Well, not literally. I've been to a zoo. Animals poop a lot.
I've learned by trial and error that there is no quick fix for people. A lot of times you try your best to help someone and trouble rains down on you.
It doesn't even necessarily mean you're doing something wrong.
Sometimes it means you're actually doing something right.
And sometimes it probably doesn't mean anything at all.
Like this weekend. We have a close friend who needed some help, so one of the things we did was have a garage sale. It was the garage sale of all garage sales.
Plus I made colorful signs with stars on them. They were snazzy.
We raised a lot of money and most importantly, made a lasting impression on our friend of how much we love him.
We also had some stuff left over.
Including a couch. We loaded up most of the extra stuff to take to Sally Ann, but we put the couch by the road in case someone wanted it.
After a long hard weekend Trevor and I finally settled down to sleep around midnight on Sunday. As Trevor started dozing off I listened to what I thought was a bee buzzing and flitting around our window screen. The noise got louder and was accompanied by pops and fizzes.
I turned over and noticed bright orange lights dancing across my ceiling. In my daze (I'm waiting on a root canal and took two T-3s to help me sleep) I realized there were no hapless bugs trying to make their way into our home.
There was a fire. Very close.
First I thought maybe it was our friend's house across the street. No, too far away.
Then I thought maybe the roof directly in front of our window was on fire. When I looked out the window in panic I realized it was the couch.
Trevor grabbed his keys and ran outside to move our van, which was parked next to the couch.
I looked like I was the stupid one from a sitcom that stands there stunned asking
"what do we do?" You know, the one who runs around panicking until someone knocks them out and carries them over their shoulder to safety? That was me. (I blame that completely on the medication.)
Someone had doused that stupid couch in gasoline and lit it on fire.
We stood and watched as a fire truck pulled up. A little over the top. But, I didn't call them so whatever. They pulled out their huge hose for that little couch. It was kind of like using a missile launcher to kill a fly. Then the firefighters decided we needed to get the police involved. Awesome.
The police officer asked us if anyone held a grudge against us. Really? What is this? Law and Order Criminal Intent? Trevor thought maybe one of our church members doesn't like his preaching. It looked to me like someone was holding a grudge against the couch, not us.
Forty five minutes later, we were tucked back in our bed with no leads and a smoldering couch frame decorating our driveway. Double awesome.
 |
| Still free to good home. Some smoke damage, but nothing a little Febreeze can't fix. |
Then our friend we were helping stopped by last night. And he reminded me why we help people. Because love wins. (I paid Rob Bell five bucks to say that.) I saw how much an outpouring of love and support can change a person's perspective. How it stays with them a lot longer than the actual physical help may.
Money will come and go. Couches will be used as bonfire fuel. Hopefully not in your front yard.
But sometimes, when you are open to God working through you, God will use you to shine His love in someone's life.
And I wouldn't trade that for all the burnt couches in the world.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
Bad People
Lately Aidan has been obsessed with the difference between good people and bad people.
For instance, in his world bad people don't have birthdays. Only good people get cotton candy ice cream. Hippopotamuses eat plants and bad people. Apparently so do bears and other wild animals of the north.
He also loves asking questions about God. Most of his questions I find hard to answer.
"Why do bad people hate God?"
I had a hard time explaining this one. I imagine my four year old: at an age where his best friend is imaginary, where he's grappling with discerning the pretend (Spiderman (sorry to offend any of you die hard Spiderman enthusiasts)) from the real (Jesus), and trying to understand the rituals and traditions of the church- and I try to find the simplest answer that will appease his curiosity without offending his intelligence.
I ask him "Who are bad people?"
He answers "well, the ones with guns. And the ones who put God on the cross."
Then I realized the answer. "We are all bad people." I tell him. "We've all done bad things that make God sad. We're all bad people that God helps be good people."
I know it sounds a little "salvation through works"-ish, but that's not what I was getting at at all. We've been teaching on the gifts of the Spirit in Sunday School. I love that we have a group of kids who are learning that it is God who empowers us to live holy lives. It is by His spirit dwelling in us that we bear fruit of love, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, etc.
Bottom line- we're all bad people. Sure, we may not be Swiper or carry guns and fight super heroes, but we're all sinful jerks in our own way at one time or another. It's only because of His grace that we are called good.
For instance, in his world bad people don't have birthdays. Only good people get cotton candy ice cream. Hippopotamuses eat plants and bad people. Apparently so do bears and other wild animals of the north.
He also loves asking questions about God. Most of his questions I find hard to answer.
"Why do bad people hate God?"
I had a hard time explaining this one. I imagine my four year old: at an age where his best friend is imaginary, where he's grappling with discerning the pretend (Spiderman (sorry to offend any of you die hard Spiderman enthusiasts)) from the real (Jesus), and trying to understand the rituals and traditions of the church- and I try to find the simplest answer that will appease his curiosity without offending his intelligence.
I ask him "Who are bad people?"
He answers "well, the ones with guns. And the ones who put God on the cross."
Then I realized the answer. "We are all bad people." I tell him. "We've all done bad things that make God sad. We're all bad people that God helps be good people."
I know it sounds a little "salvation through works"-ish, but that's not what I was getting at at all. We've been teaching on the gifts of the Spirit in Sunday School. I love that we have a group of kids who are learning that it is God who empowers us to live holy lives. It is by His spirit dwelling in us that we bear fruit of love, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, etc.
Bottom line- we're all bad people. Sure, we may not be Swiper or carry guns and fight super heroes, but we're all sinful jerks in our own way at one time or another. It's only because of His grace that we are called good.
God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can't take credit for this; it is a gift from God.
Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it.
Ephesians 2:8-9
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| Aidan's Drawing- "God on a Cross" |
Monday, June 06, 2011
A Story of Love
Today's post shares a story that is very personal to me. I understand that not everyone is comfortable when people share private details of their lives. The reason I am writing about this is because I felt compelled to share my message of God's faithfulness to those who may need to read it.
Also, I feel that the church has done a poor job when it comes to helping people cope with pain and tragedy. We have become so uncomfortable with people in pain that we ignore them, which makes them feel deserted and unloved. I wanted to share my story of pain, so that it may encourage us as the Body of Christ to make transparency no longer taboo.
Thank you to all of you who have read my blog over the past few months and given me so much love and encouragement. It's because of you that I felt like I could share my heart. You have my gratitude.
Soon after Ainsley was born we knew we wanted to add to our family. We have two of the most amazing children I have ever met. They are beautiful children with sparkling personalities and a tremendous capability to love. I still am in awe that God has entrusted them into my care.
Still Trevor and I felt like something was missing. More like someone was missing.
On Mother's Day I got an incredible gift. I sat in the bathroom myself willing that second little pink line to make an appearance. And it did. Trevor and I were overwhelmed- with excitement, a little fear, but mostly hope for what the future would hold.
We didn't tell anyone at first about this new little life; it was our little secret. We would lie awake at night in bed dreaming of the future, wondering if we would have a boy or girl, what we would name the baby, who he or she would look like. We prayed for our baby. With earnest hearts we petitioned our Father in Heaven to be near.
A few weeks later we found out we were losing our baby.
Instead of lying in bed hoping and dreaming of the future, we cried tears of sorrow as we prayed to God for peace and comfort.
Earlier that day, I led our church in songs of worship. We sang of God's faithfulness. How we serve a God who never changes. We sang of our love for Him amidst all circumstances.
Trevor preached about pain. About the faithfulness of God in times of suffering.
That day we were not only singing or preaching the message. We were living it.
That night we huddled together in our tears and Trevor offered a prayer to God. He affirmed God's authority in our lives and committed our small, sweet baby into His hands.
When it came my turn to pray, I could only choke out the words of a song I had sung in church just that morning:
Where I had expected to feel anger and anguish, I just felt love.
The reality of God's love for me has never been as strong as that moment. In my brokenness, in my pain, I finally allowed God to just love me.
I often sing about God's love and think that it's enough for everyone else, but not for me. I know how much I've failed God. I know how horrible of a person I am. I know the real me. And I sure as heck know that I don't deserve anything good from God. I've shut myself out from His mercy. From His love for me.
But as I sat on my bed and thought about this little baby whom I already loved- this baby I would never hold- this little child whose eyes I would never look into- my heart broke. And I forgot about my self-imposed requirements to approaching my God.
I simply became a daughter who needed to be loved.
And God met me there. In my darkest moment God's love shone brightest.
It's been a week full of doctors' appointments, ultrasounds, and blood tests since that night. It hasn't been easy. And my pain is still fresh. But I will not question God's faithfulness. Nor will I question His love for me.
God used a moment of my deepest pain to confirm His unending love for me.
I ask that you pray for me and my family during this time. As God mends our broken hearts and restores our joy, I pray that he can use us as an example of His love for all of His children.
Also, I feel that the church has done a poor job when it comes to helping people cope with pain and tragedy. We have become so uncomfortable with people in pain that we ignore them, which makes them feel deserted and unloved. I wanted to share my story of pain, so that it may encourage us as the Body of Christ to make transparency no longer taboo.
Thank you to all of you who have read my blog over the past few months and given me so much love and encouragement. It's because of you that I felt like I could share my heart. You have my gratitude.
Soon after Ainsley was born we knew we wanted to add to our family. We have two of the most amazing children I have ever met. They are beautiful children with sparkling personalities and a tremendous capability to love. I still am in awe that God has entrusted them into my care.
Still Trevor and I felt like something was missing. More like someone was missing.
On Mother's Day I got an incredible gift. I sat in the bathroom myself willing that second little pink line to make an appearance. And it did. Trevor and I were overwhelmed- with excitement, a little fear, but mostly hope for what the future would hold.
We didn't tell anyone at first about this new little life; it was our little secret. We would lie awake at night in bed dreaming of the future, wondering if we would have a boy or girl, what we would name the baby, who he or she would look like. We prayed for our baby. With earnest hearts we petitioned our Father in Heaven to be near.
A few weeks later we found out we were losing our baby.
Instead of lying in bed hoping and dreaming of the future, we cried tears of sorrow as we prayed to God for peace and comfort.
Earlier that day, I led our church in songs of worship. We sang of God's faithfulness. How we serve a God who never changes. We sang of our love for Him amidst all circumstances.
Trevor preached about pain. About the faithfulness of God in times of suffering.
That day we were not only singing or preaching the message. We were living it.
That night we huddled together in our tears and Trevor offered a prayer to God. He affirmed God's authority in our lives and committed our small, sweet baby into His hands.
When it came my turn to pray, I could only choke out the words of a song I had sung in church just that morning:
I love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow
If ever I loved Thee, My Jesus tis now
Where I had expected to feel anger and anguish, I just felt love.
The reality of God's love for me has never been as strong as that moment. In my brokenness, in my pain, I finally allowed God to just love me.
I often sing about God's love and think that it's enough for everyone else, but not for me. I know how much I've failed God. I know how horrible of a person I am. I know the real me. And I sure as heck know that I don't deserve anything good from God. I've shut myself out from His mercy. From His love for me.
But as I sat on my bed and thought about this little baby whom I already loved- this baby I would never hold- this little child whose eyes I would never look into- my heart broke. And I forgot about my self-imposed requirements to approaching my God.
I simply became a daughter who needed to be loved.
And God met me there. In my darkest moment God's love shone brightest.
It's been a week full of doctors' appointments, ultrasounds, and blood tests since that night. It hasn't been easy. And my pain is still fresh. But I will not question God's faithfulness. Nor will I question His love for me.
God used a moment of my deepest pain to confirm His unending love for me.
I ask that you pray for me and my family during this time. As God mends our broken hearts and restores our joy, I pray that he can use us as an example of His love for all of His children.
And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.
May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.
Ephesians 3:18-19
Sunday, June 05, 2011
Dead Squirrels
A few weeks or so ago I was introduced to a pretty great video via my friend's Facebook sharing. I laughed until I almost peed myself and then called my husband to come watch.
A little note of warning- after watching it a few times, there's a part that the mom might have whispered an expletive or two.
I'm guessing from the responses I got on Facebook that not everyone thought this was as hilarious as me. Some people were downright grossed out. And with all just cause.
With my twisted way of seeing things, a video with a preschool girl running around in her underwear rubbing a dead squirrel all over her body (spoiler alert if you didn't watch the video) made me think of Jesus. I know. This "taking weird things in life and making spiritual object lessons out of them" thing might have gone too far.
But don't give up on me yet. I was thinking about the religious climate in Jesus' days. I was thinking about the Jews. The law followers. The hand washers. The Torah reciters. The rejecters of the imperfect. The broken. The dirty. The disgusting.
Can you imagine the reaction of the Jews when Jesus hung out with the sinners? The tax collectors? The harlots? The dirty fishermen? I'm pretty sure that's the Biblical equivalent to rubbing a rabies infested dead squirrel all over your body.
I'm also pretty sure that Jesus was setting an example for us when he spent his time and gave his love to the unlovable. What dead squirrels are we ignoring? As the Body of Christ? In our personal lives?
I'm saddened to think that we've become a club; a members only circle of believers who don't want to get our hands dirty.
I understand how hard it is. In theory, it's great to talk about helping people. In reality, it kind of sucks. It's usually frustrating. You don't usually get the automatic results you crave.
Loving someone doesn't mean we always enjoy serving them. I don't get really excited every time my baby has a dirty diaper. I don't shout for joy that I have fourteen loads of clean clothes on my bed to fold before I can go to sleep. But I love my family, so I will serve them.
When we love, we look past the uncomeliness of people who are hurting. Who need to experience God's love. Because we too were (and probably still are at times) uncomely ourselves. We too were in the miry pit of sin, covered in the stench of death when Jesus reached down and rescued us.
So, I guess we can continue to sit in our comfortable churches and cower like the expletive-muttering mom.
But I choose to be the girl in her underpants.
A little note of warning- after watching it a few times, there's a part that the mom might have whispered an expletive or two.
I'm guessing from the responses I got on Facebook that not everyone thought this was as hilarious as me. Some people were downright grossed out. And with all just cause.
With my twisted way of seeing things, a video with a preschool girl running around in her underwear rubbing a dead squirrel all over her body (spoiler alert if you didn't watch the video) made me think of Jesus. I know. This "taking weird things in life and making spiritual object lessons out of them" thing might have gone too far.
But don't give up on me yet. I was thinking about the religious climate in Jesus' days. I was thinking about the Jews. The law followers. The hand washers. The Torah reciters. The rejecters of the imperfect. The broken. The dirty. The disgusting.
Can you imagine the reaction of the Jews when Jesus hung out with the sinners? The tax collectors? The harlots? The dirty fishermen? I'm pretty sure that's the Biblical equivalent to rubbing a rabies infested dead squirrel all over your body.
I'm also pretty sure that Jesus was setting an example for us when he spent his time and gave his love to the unlovable. What dead squirrels are we ignoring? As the Body of Christ? In our personal lives?
I'm saddened to think that we've become a club; a members only circle of believers who don't want to get our hands dirty.
I understand how hard it is. In theory, it's great to talk about helping people. In reality, it kind of sucks. It's usually frustrating. You don't usually get the automatic results you crave.
Loving someone doesn't mean we always enjoy serving them. I don't get really excited every time my baby has a dirty diaper. I don't shout for joy that I have fourteen loads of clean clothes on my bed to fold before I can go to sleep. But I love my family, so I will serve them.
When we love, we look past the uncomeliness of people who are hurting. Who need to experience God's love. Because we too were (and probably still are at times) uncomely ourselves. We too were in the miry pit of sin, covered in the stench of death when Jesus reached down and rescued us.
So, I guess we can continue to sit in our comfortable churches and cower like the expletive-muttering mom.
But I choose to be the girl in her underpants.
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