Thursday, October 15, 2015
Observations on "A Grief Observed"
This is a repost of a brief review I wrote for the GCPC Women's Newsletter. As the book is a worthy read and this venue may find other interested readers, I thought it warranted sharing, again.
I picked up “A Grief Observed” with great expectations. It is, after all, authored by C. S. Lewis. But I admit to being uneasy upon reading the introductions and first chapter. The theology seemed off. I had, perhaps unfairly, opened this book with the assumption that Lewis was unassailable in matters of Christian doctrine. Then I was reminded that Lewis, while a highly-skilled and rightly-renowned apologist, was a lay theologian of Anglican background. He was not trained in Reformed doctrine, and my expectations had to be reworked in order to fully appreciate the value of this excellent and substantive little book.
So let me be straightforward. This book was never intended to be an examination of Biblical doctrine on death and the after-life and should not be read as such. It is, however, a remarkably-vulnerable account of one man's experience with grief and how it affected his faith.
Lewis' book is a raw, honest, and introspective record of reconciling beliefs with reality and how that can, sometimes, be a murky, drawn out, conflicting process. This book gives permission to feel the real effects of grief and wrestle with it, acknowledging that no two experiences will be the same. Grief is unique to the bearer. But the balm is always faith.
Lewis returns to this again and again as he wages internal war over feeling a failure for questioning God's plans and good purpose. Even as he laments his perceived lack of faith, calling it a “house of cards,” he goes on to recognize God's hand in restoring and rebuilding it. This is an encouragement because we know that struggling over the weakness of our faith is an indicator of God's continued perfecting of it, and Lewis is not alone in this. If we have not already experienced loss of his magnitude, we likely will. Sharing his personal struggle offers the reader commiseration and, in it, comfort and hope.
I recommend this book, not as a road map to navigating grief, but as a thought-provoking glimpse into one man's journey through it. One of the great values of this book is that it reminds us to be keenly aware of what our priorities ought to be and that the lifelong refining process is purposeful and desirable.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
The Difference a Year--or Three--Makes
Every now and then over the last few years I recalled...yes, I had a blog, once. The thoughts were fleeting, just enough to feel a pinch of sentimental regret without being nearly present enough to inspire any lasting motivation--and easily suppressed. But finally, yesterday, I decided I should write something, again. I have, in large part, shied away from it because I honestly felt I had nothing of consequence to say. But that cannot be the whole truth. So much happens in the course of a day, let alone a year. Or three. Why not mull it over in the way I like best, if for no one's sake but my own? So here I am. Writing. A full paragraph where one sentence might have sufficed. (I suppose not EVERYTHING changes...though much does.)
The exteriors are the most obvious place to start. Our home alone has undergone a delightful transformation, awash in new color. I am not sad to see all vestiges of the old, dull brown removed. Though it became familiar and, for that reason, welcoming enough, I do not miss it at all. The house already feels like the cozy retreat it should always have been, though only recently made over. Even my eldest son, who strongly objects to change of all sorts, is quite content with the calming green of the Simply Sage with the warm Spice, cool Elephant Skin, and fresh Vintage Linen accents.
Venture inside and the attuned eye will make note of other alterations. Larger shoes piled in the entry way and laundry room, a pile of journals on the hall table, more notches recording the inches of bare-footed, growing children, a piano for developing musical interests, and the lack of baby things...toys, cribs, high chairs. These were long ago passed on, replaced by big beds with fire-truck sheets, brothers' hand-me-downs, and a mish-mash of adult-sized chairs that nonetheless makes a complete set at the long dining table.
Now let us revisit those notches.
My firstborn has grown half a foot. He reaches to my nose. When we hug I no longer feel I am holding a child. He fits in a way that is other, and I know it is just the beginning of this transition. Soon he will grow in spurts, not inches. It will be no surprise if he has surpassed the top of my head by this time next year. I wonder what those hugs will feel like. Will it still feel like a mother's hug when he towers over my 5 foot 2 and envelopes me with his long arms? He is so astute. He amazes me. We have conversations, and I forget he is 11 because we discuss mature things in a mature way. And this is good. We discuss faith and doctrine, principles and politics! And then, because he is 11, hard, pressing things, too. Peer pressure. Purity. Pimples. Perseverance and hard work. I pray for his discernment and for the strength to continue in what is right.
The next is 10 and not far behind. I pray tear-filled prayers for them all, but most often for this one. There is so much of his Daddy in him, and this is a wonderful thing. I treasure seeing it, reveling in the sweet glimpses of what my dearest might have been like as a young man. But all those similarities, the great passion, the great potential, and the great need, lend to many difficulties. We, especially his Daddy, so want to spare him the harshest of the struggle. And yet I know, too, that we cannot spare him all of it--and shouldn't. Trial is very often God's sovereign tool for shaping and refining our character, a truth I encounter in practice more and more myself. And I want this for my child more than I want ease. Wisdom is essential, here. And I know my need of it daily.
My dear first daughter, she is a beauty. I do not know where she gets it, though her Daddy would chide me for saying so. She is lovely inside and out, and selfless. Selfless in a way I doubt I was at that age. She is always looking to help, anticipating the needs of others before they can think to ask for it. I worry over the way she pours so much of herself into pleasing others, hoping that I can gently direct her in the difference between loving and serving well and hanging your self-worth upon the approval and affirmation of others. She is insecure in this way. I see echoes of myself there and am sad for it. I want to encourage her as she grows that she might be far less burdened than I was and have been, that she might know, now, that we have all that we need in Christ and there is so much freedom there.
The third son brings adventure to my life every single day. In three years he has made the fewest strides in terms of height and continues to be my littler man. He seems completely and mercifully unaware of where he stands, literally, in comparison to others, which is a relief to my anxious Mother's heart. But he has a personality that far outshines his stature. He is confident and daring and full of energy. In three years his speech, once a worrisome concern, has improved greatly, and his love for books is finally translating into the ability to actually read them! These are the strides I boast in. He is without a doubt his own person, remarkably independent and content in it, both silly and serious, conscientious but also creative. I am by turns delighted and exasperated with his behavior, having to remind myself of all the challenges unique to raising a 7-year-old boy--and without comparing him to his brothers. He is a mystery I am still discovering.
My second daughter--here the changes become even more evident.
(Side note: We refer to the pronounced effects of canine age over time as "dog years," and it seems to me some similar concept should apply to small children.)
These "child years," as I have decided to call them, flew by with successions of milestones, none of which I chronicled here. Three years ago this precious babe was a toddler with tiny pigtails. Now she sports a cute bob because she will not let me arrange, let alone brush, her hair. She combs it herself and leaves it at that. She has her own sense of style, too, and I have decided, against all my inner Type-A protestations, to let her run with it. Her attire never matches or coordinates, though I have no doubt it is, in her mind, entirely purposeful. If she had been born decades ago, she could have been a bohemian "flower child," almost unfailingly happy, constantly flashing a sincere, brilliant smile, and always ready to give the best of hugs. She is brave, and she is tall. As tall as her older brother, in fact. My prayers for her are not as clearly defined as the others yet. The changes in her have been many, but I am still learning her strengths and weaknesses, as she is. And so I pray mostly for God's protection and care and that He would grow in her a deep understanding of the hope to which she know clings with a child's faith.
For in the last three years the middle four have all, like their eldest brother before them, made that profession of faith and prayed that simple prayer to their God, placing their trust in Jesus, His Son, their Savior. Every prayer I offer up on their behalf ends with my petition that they would love and know Him more, maturing in this faith, not remembering a day when they have not walked closely with Him. I pray this, too, for my "baby," though he is my baby no longer. He has not yet made that step for himself. But he prays. And I love to hear him pray, to hear the whisperings of his soft heart.
If you have kept up, that means he is speaking now! Gloriously-full sentences. Never-ending questions! He is four, after all. How is that possible, this baby? He runs and jumps and climbs and dances and just made himself lunch. And he laughs with an infectious, joy-filled laugh. He is alone with me, now, all his older siblings at "big" school, and I am enjoying it in ways I did not anticipate, shoving off the guilt of it in an effort to savor every precious moment. Guilt threatens often, though, as the bittersweet recognition comes that I did not have this time, "real," singular time, with any of the other children. I hope that lack will not hinder them in unforeseen ways, just as I hope it will not hinder and spoil this one. But what fun we have! And the places we go!
Soon, very soon, we hope to visit a dear friend for a day trip. She has had big changes in these three years as well. A chapter in her memoir could be aptly titled, "There And Back Again," though neither of us would be so bold as to steal outright from Tolkein. (Blogging doesn't count, somehow.) And we miss her. This is a hard change.
Other changes have been hard, too. In these three years my grandfather suffered from Alzheimer's disease and died. It was a difficult, painful death, and I cannot forget the anguish he was in at my last visit. The memory is tempered only by the sure knowledge that he now knows heavenly peace and rest. I wish that I had been able to see him more than I did. In his confusion, he did not know me, but I would like to think it was a comfort--to my father, at the very least. Six years in Virginia and I have fallen in love with this place. But I miss my family, supporting them and loving on them. That is a hard thing, more so with the birth of a nephew and two nieces in this three years of time. And, soon, a new brother-in-law.
I, on the other hand, will have no more babies, which, for me, has been a new normal. It took at least a year for my mind and body to begin accepting this fact, and I was, in many ways, thoroughly ravaged from mid-2012 until mid-2013. It was a reality that I did not emotionally grab hold of readily, and my body did not make the task easier. After years and years of pregnancy and nursing, I did not seem to know that hormonal equilibrium existed apart from that. I cannot describe that year as anything other than frustratingly manic, filled with mood swings that felt more like tidal waves. High days filled with overwhelming panic and anxiety. Low days filled with dark, despairing feelings and pervasive disinterest. Eventually, slowly, gradually, things seem to have evened out--for the most part. I cannot pinpoint when that occurred but, in three years, I am finally adjusting to this normal.
This normal where my children are growing up, and I am finding my place--and my peace--in the midst of that. I have run two half marathons and a mud race. I have coached soccer teams. I have spontaneously painted my kitchen cabinets. I have written fan fiction! I have attended the Women's Bible Study at our church. I have joined the music team. I have agreed to co-lead a mentoring group. I have discovered wines that I enjoy and butterscotch in baking! I have gotten two thoughtfully-designed tattoos. I have made new friends and deepened relationships with "old" ones. I have turned the pages of excellent books--as well as a few I will never reread. I have taken my first girls' weekend away in years. I have prayed a lot. I have fallen more deeply in love with my husband.
I have walked through hard with him, too. We went through another shoulder surgery, followed by months of intense physical therapy, some of which I still do for him regularly. This I do willingly now and, I hope, graciously.
You see, I accepted his chronic pain years ago. He was thus limited when I married him, and we did make vows to be faithful in sickness and in health, after all. But for a good length of time my prevailing attitude was that this was "his" thorn, the ongoing trial God had allowed for the perfecting of his character and the deepening of his faith through humble perseverance. I did not see how I fit in, other than to patiently put up with it. I did not see. And I was not very patient, though he has always been more patient and understanding with me than I deserved.
But God has shown me in these three years that it was never just my darling's thorn. It was ours. We are one. Why did I not understand the fundamental significance of this before? It has been for my good, as much as his. To teach me to be more selfless, more caring, more compassionate, more empathetic, more gentle, more thankful. To give me opportunity to love and serve well. What better gift can I give him? What better example can I model for my children?
It has been a good journey, these three years. And this has been a long entry, one I hope you will forgive should you actually make it to the end. Perhaps I will write more often, now, and, perhaps, be less wordy in the future. But this is just a shadow of what could have been shared. All that we experience colors us in ways both unmistakable and imperceptible, and it will all bleed into my future musings. Hopefully, if you read, you will read hues that were not there before. Hopefully, the changes I, too, have undergone in these three years will be more evident--and all for the better.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The "Boring" Life
A friend of mine posted something amusing on my Facebook page this morning. Murphy's Laws of Motherhood. You know what it's about. If you change your clothes, the baby will spit up on you. If you tell a child no, they will. If you want them to sleep, they won't.
I spend the day working to maintain a practical schedule that incorporates my to-dos and meets my kids' needs. But it can only account for a certain amount of the unpredictable. Really, motherhood is managed chaos. The only thing predictable about it, is that there WILL be unpredictability!
Some days have a little more of this craziness than others though. That was my Monday afternoon. I had a dentist appointment, and I had planned to the minute everything that would need to be prepared and accomplished in order to exit the house and arrive on time. Of course, that would be the day of multiple fits, the dogs refusing to go "potty" and repeatedly tangling their leashes, the baby pooping in his new diaper as we're about to walk out the door and, the icing on the cake (or last straw, whichever witticism seems most appropriate), my toddler falling out of the car while I was occupied getting the baby settled and before I could buckle her in...and busting her lip. She screamed and flailed, and I tried to slow the flow of blood with my shirt, which I didn't have time to run back inside to change. And so I put the whimpering child in her car seat, with her fat lip growing ever plumper, feeling more than a little harried and disheveled (and now dirty!) and...of course...I got behind someone going 45 mph in a 55 mph zone all the way to the dentist when already running late.
Days like that just feel so infuriating! Who ever said life the plain old family life was boring?! It is anything but that! And while sometimes the unpredictability can feel overwhelming and stressful, at the heart of it, and the point of the cute little post on my wall, is that in the middle of all this mess is a family I love and delight in!
Sure, I cringed today when my toddler daughter came running the minute I turned on the water in the kitchen sink, as if I was filling it with hot, sudsy water for the sole purpose of her enjoyment and play. It would be so much easier to have straightforward and uninterrupted dish duty. But right when I was beginning to grit my teeth over all the water she had poured on herself and the floor, she cheered me with a "Beep, beep Mommy" and a little hip bump to move me out of the way as she stretched her arms into the water.
Motherhood has never been boring! Even the repetition of daily tasks is infused with the unpredictable! And it's oh so sweet, even in the mess of it all, to see those little grins and just give in to this "boring" life...and it's mud-holes and skinned knees and sleepless nights and tears and drawings on the wall and Tu-tus and too-big boots and Legos and Hot-wheels and laughter and bugs and grass stains and dog-eared books and hugs...and love!
I spend the day working to maintain a practical schedule that incorporates my to-dos and meets my kids' needs. But it can only account for a certain amount of the unpredictable. Really, motherhood is managed chaos. The only thing predictable about it, is that there WILL be unpredictability!
Some days have a little more of this craziness than others though. That was my Monday afternoon. I had a dentist appointment, and I had planned to the minute everything that would need to be prepared and accomplished in order to exit the house and arrive on time. Of course, that would be the day of multiple fits, the dogs refusing to go "potty" and repeatedly tangling their leashes, the baby pooping in his new diaper as we're about to walk out the door and, the icing on the cake (or last straw, whichever witticism seems most appropriate), my toddler falling out of the car while I was occupied getting the baby settled and before I could buckle her in...and busting her lip. She screamed and flailed, and I tried to slow the flow of blood with my shirt, which I didn't have time to run back inside to change. And so I put the whimpering child in her car seat, with her fat lip growing ever plumper, feeling more than a little harried and disheveled (and now dirty!) and...of course...I got behind someone going 45 mph in a 55 mph zone all the way to the dentist when already running late.
Days like that just feel so infuriating! Who ever said life the plain old family life was boring?! It is anything but that! And while sometimes the unpredictability can feel overwhelming and stressful, at the heart of it, and the point of the cute little post on my wall, is that in the middle of all this mess is a family I love and delight in!
Sure, I cringed today when my toddler daughter came running the minute I turned on the water in the kitchen sink, as if I was filling it with hot, sudsy water for the sole purpose of her enjoyment and play. It would be so much easier to have straightforward and uninterrupted dish duty. But right when I was beginning to grit my teeth over all the water she had poured on herself and the floor, she cheered me with a "Beep, beep Mommy" and a little hip bump to move me out of the way as she stretched her arms into the water.
Motherhood has never been boring! Even the repetition of daily tasks is infused with the unpredictable! And it's oh so sweet, even in the mess of it all, to see those little grins and just give in to this "boring" life...and it's mud-holes and skinned knees and sleepless nights and tears and drawings on the wall and Tu-tus and too-big boots and Legos and Hot-wheels and laughter and bugs and grass stains and dog-eared books and hugs...and love!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Night Terror
I've been through the baby stage six times now, and my kids are all great sleepers. I don't run to them every time they fuss in the night. More often than not, they fall back to sleep without difficulty. But my little Renn has been having a rough week. For reasons I was unable to pinpoint, he started waking up multiple times throughout the night, crying uncontrollably. This crying, this has been different. It sounds, desperate. It sounds, not normal. But when my husband or I try to soothe him, he is almost inconsolable. It's been exhausting and frustrating.
I've gone through every explanation I can think of. Congestion? Sinus pressure? Ear ache? Headache? In an effort to rule out anything that might be causing actual pain and require medication, we went to the doctor yesterday. I was anxious. My gut told me this wasn't going to be a physiological thing, something medically treatable. But, in order to be thorough, we went anyway.
The doctor pronounced him a perfectly healthy baby. So...the problem is more than likely behavioral. The doctor suggested that Renn was either experiencing some very intense separation anxiety or experiencing night terrors. Just the sound of that was scary.
I went home and researched it. That's what I do. I get information so I can get a handle on the situation, regain some control. Unfortunately, though children usually outgrow night terrors by adolescence, there is no real treatment for them. They just...happen. This, this is terrifying to me.
I don't have many dreams myself, but when I do, the scariest ones are about losing my husband or children. Some harm befalling them. The scary thing about the possibility of night terrors? Not necessarily the thing itself, but the fact that something could happen to my child that I could do absolutely nothing about. Couldn't prevent. Couldn't help. Couldn't treat. Couldn't control.
I realized how little I understand about life with less-than-normally-healthy children. Nothing. Perhaps I could offer encouragement or sympathy to someone in that position. But empathy? No. What do I know about a child being afflicted with something that you can do nothing about? I know so many who walk that hard road on a daily basis, and I am in awe of them. I cannot even pretend to know what their days, and dreams, are like.
But don't I know that God is sovereign in all our situations? Mine and theirs. That nothing is outside of His control. That He gives grace that is all-sufficient for every circumstance. I know this, and yet I fear to be tested in it.
We kept him in our room last night, not only so that his cries would not wake any siblings, but also so that we could observe him and get a better grip on the potential problem. After listening to his sleep pattern, his noises, his rolling around and his eventual cries, I think it's possible that he's experiencing an extreme separation anxiety rather than a traditional night terror. He seems to work himself up to the desperate cries after coming to the realization of his solitude rather than suddenly erupting in outbursts of screams and cries.
I can't help but feel relieved. To have an idea of what he's going through AND know that it's something we can work through. It's a blessing. I feel a little ashamed of my relief. Why should we receive such a blessing when many others don't? I don't know. But I'm thankful! I'm thankful for the knowledge that no matter what, my children are in the Lord's hands. He has ordained ALL their days. Some day, one of them will face something that is completely out of my hands...and I'm praying that won't be the terrifying day it could be, because I've already surrendered them to His.
I've gone through every explanation I can think of. Congestion? Sinus pressure? Ear ache? Headache? In an effort to rule out anything that might be causing actual pain and require medication, we went to the doctor yesterday. I was anxious. My gut told me this wasn't going to be a physiological thing, something medically treatable. But, in order to be thorough, we went anyway.
The doctor pronounced him a perfectly healthy baby. So...the problem is more than likely behavioral. The doctor suggested that Renn was either experiencing some very intense separation anxiety or experiencing night terrors. Just the sound of that was scary.
I went home and researched it. That's what I do. I get information so I can get a handle on the situation, regain some control. Unfortunately, though children usually outgrow night terrors by adolescence, there is no real treatment for them. They just...happen. This, this is terrifying to me.
I don't have many dreams myself, but when I do, the scariest ones are about losing my husband or children. Some harm befalling them. The scary thing about the possibility of night terrors? Not necessarily the thing itself, but the fact that something could happen to my child that I could do absolutely nothing about. Couldn't prevent. Couldn't help. Couldn't treat. Couldn't control.
I realized how little I understand about life with less-than-normally-healthy children. Nothing. Perhaps I could offer encouragement or sympathy to someone in that position. But empathy? No. What do I know about a child being afflicted with something that you can do nothing about? I know so many who walk that hard road on a daily basis, and I am in awe of them. I cannot even pretend to know what their days, and dreams, are like.
But don't I know that God is sovereign in all our situations? Mine and theirs. That nothing is outside of His control. That He gives grace that is all-sufficient for every circumstance. I know this, and yet I fear to be tested in it.
We kept him in our room last night, not only so that his cries would not wake any siblings, but also so that we could observe him and get a better grip on the potential problem. After listening to his sleep pattern, his noises, his rolling around and his eventual cries, I think it's possible that he's experiencing an extreme separation anxiety rather than a traditional night terror. He seems to work himself up to the desperate cries after coming to the realization of his solitude rather than suddenly erupting in outbursts of screams and cries.
I can't help but feel relieved. To have an idea of what he's going through AND know that it's something we can work through. It's a blessing. I feel a little ashamed of my relief. Why should we receive such a blessing when many others don't? I don't know. But I'm thankful! I'm thankful for the knowledge that no matter what, my children are in the Lord's hands. He has ordained ALL their days. Some day, one of them will face something that is completely out of my hands...and I'm praying that won't be the terrifying day it could be, because I've already surrendered them to His.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
My Valentine
This weekend my husband was cleaning out our closet and found my DD2-14. Military discharge papers. Strange, it was 13 years, to the day. I clearly remember stuffing the few civilian clothes I had into the army green duffel bag. I remember the surreal feeling of my Squad Leader, star man and PT elite (it was all stitched onto his PT shorts to prove it), approaching to wish me well, the first civil words he'd ever spoken to me. I didn't have to stand at attention anymore, but it was hard to break the ingrained habit. I remember walking out of the barracks. They seemed deserted. Everyone else was at class. I remember the long walk down to the gate...and passing through it. I remember feeling so lost and yet so free.
I checked into a little motel in town. Alone with my thoughts and all the time in the world. Time to think over every thing that had led to this moment. It already seemed like a lifetime ago that I had hurried across the apron in the dark, clutching the gray teddy bear he had given me for Valentine's just a few days before. I remember trying to shield it with my body, keeping my head down just enough so as not to attract attention, but walking with enough stature and confidence so that any upperclassman passing by would leave me alone. The bear in my arms was just another thing they'd love to harass me for, but I held onto it with a vengeance as I sped to my barracks before TAPS rang out across the grounds.
Sitting there alone, I waited for him. We were headed to his home state, Indiana, for a few weeks. It didn't help my case at all. I wasn't leaving FOR him, I assured everyone. And I wasn't. He hadn't talked me into anything. I wasn't running away with him, though I suppose that's what it looked like. I just wasn't ready to go home. I wasn't prepared. I knew my parents didn't really understand yet, although eventually they would. And I knew I couldn't expect them to be happy with my decision. I'd had phone calls, emails and messages from former teachers, mentors and other concerned adults trying to reason with me about the consequences of such a momentous choice, as if I hadn't long agonized over it myself. I couldn't to go back...to the disappointment.
I can't recount how many cadets, upperclassmen even, came up to me after it was all finalized and confided that they, too, wanted to leave, but they had Grandpa's expectations to live up to or so-and-so back home living for their achievements. For many, it would be too hard to go, no matter how much they wanted to. They felt it was easier to stay. Their empathy provided little solace. Staying wouldn't be easier for me. The other difference between me and them? I didn't really WANT to leave. I just felt like I didn't have another choice.
Basic, or BEAST, as we called it then, had gone well. I knew my knowledge front and back. I kept up with the guys in my company, even besting a few of them, which didn't do me any favors. One of them sabotaged me during a leadership training exercise by purposely ignoring my commands. But I tried to take in stride, it came with the territory. Academics were straightforward. No real difficulty there. I joined the Glee Club and loved it, even traveling around New England for performances.
Then everything changed, so fast. In November I failed a PT test. By two sit-ups. I still remember that morning, because it was the beginning. True, I should have been better prepared. But it was also 0 dark 30 during a New York winter wearing nothing but PT shorts and a t-shirt, and my muscles seized up. It didn't matter what I had done or could do. It only mattered what I did that day. Of course, when you're a soldier, that's everything. If you can't muster up when called upon, nothing else matters. I understood that, and I wanted to redeem myself.
Then, I got a concussion. I had to stop training, because any physical exertion brought on dizzy spells and a massive headache. Retaking the PT test at that time wasn't an option. I went home for Christmas leave discouraged...but not yet broken.
When I returned, I still couldn't get my feet under me. I struggled for the first time. It didn't make sense, so one morning I hung back from breakfast formation to go to sick call. It wasn't long before the results came back. Every college student's nightmare. Mono. Except, this wasn't just any college. There was no contingency plan for that type of illness then, no protocol. I went to class just like everyone else. I got up when everyone else did, stood in every formation, attended every drill, went to every intramural swim meet. It was exhausting.
The doctor put me on "profile." That meant I was technically allowed to "rest" during certain activities. That didn't go over well. Upperclassmen dropped by my room to make sure I wasn't napping and, if I was, they woke me up. I was hazed for missing one night of "duties." The upperclassman yelled in my face, "If you're not vomiting blood, you show up next time." I remember praying I would pass out right there in the hall and make him eat his words. But I didn't.
The other female plebes started to distance themselves, because I was making them look bad. Most of the male plebes were condescending at best and outright mean at worst. I tried to keep up...but I started falling asleep in my classes. My last remaining stronghold was slipping away. It felt like I was losing everything. I couldn't exercise, couldn't do all my work, couldn't sleep and couldn't talk to anyone about it. If I tried to discuss it with an officer, my upperclassmen would inevitably get in trouble...or hear about it. I was already on everyone's bad side, there was no way I wanted that reputation to be permanent.
I was backed into a corner, and the only person who listened was my husband, who served as a Ring and Crest representative with me. He was the one who finally pointed out that maintaining my health and sanity meant something. He didn't talk me into leaving. He didn't sway me one way or the other. But he did make me feel like there was at least one person in the world who wouldn't be disappointed if I did. He made it okay for me to consider it as an option.
So I did. And he did too. His term of service was complete, and his status following a shoulder surgery was questionable, at the very least making him ineligible for the branch of service he had hoped to pursue. We understood each other and stuck together. I knew people whispered about it, TAC officers asked probing questions about our future plans with knowing glances. But I wasn't leaving for him, and he never asked me to...although, he would probably say he left for me, and doesn't mind saying it. Serving in the military is an honorable profession, but he envisioned a different kind of life for himself and hoped I would some day be a part of it.
God brought him into my life right when I really needed him, and I know he would do anything for me. Drive all night after a 12-hour shift to see me on our anniversary. Move across multiple states to be near me. Work three jobs when necessary so that I could stay home with our children. He would do anything I ask and many things I don't, and I know it. I love and appreciate all that he does for me, and that gray bear still sits on our bed after ten years of marriage. Just having him in my life is truly the best Valentine's Day gift.
Many things have changed in the last 13 years. We've all moved on. I'm content with the life God has for me. It's full of blessings I could never have imagined, and I'm thankful this week for the reminder that no matter what has changed over the years, my husband's love and unconditional support for me haven't changed at all.
I checked into a little motel in town. Alone with my thoughts and all the time in the world. Time to think over every thing that had led to this moment. It already seemed like a lifetime ago that I had hurried across the apron in the dark, clutching the gray teddy bear he had given me for Valentine's just a few days before. I remember trying to shield it with my body, keeping my head down just enough so as not to attract attention, but walking with enough stature and confidence so that any upperclassman passing by would leave me alone. The bear in my arms was just another thing they'd love to harass me for, but I held onto it with a vengeance as I sped to my barracks before TAPS rang out across the grounds.
Sitting there alone, I waited for him. We were headed to his home state, Indiana, for a few weeks. It didn't help my case at all. I wasn't leaving FOR him, I assured everyone. And I wasn't. He hadn't talked me into anything. I wasn't running away with him, though I suppose that's what it looked like. I just wasn't ready to go home. I wasn't prepared. I knew my parents didn't really understand yet, although eventually they would. And I knew I couldn't expect them to be happy with my decision. I'd had phone calls, emails and messages from former teachers, mentors and other concerned adults trying to reason with me about the consequences of such a momentous choice, as if I hadn't long agonized over it myself. I couldn't to go back...to the disappointment.
I can't recount how many cadets, upperclassmen even, came up to me after it was all finalized and confided that they, too, wanted to leave, but they had Grandpa's expectations to live up to or so-and-so back home living for their achievements. For many, it would be too hard to go, no matter how much they wanted to. They felt it was easier to stay. Their empathy provided little solace. Staying wouldn't be easier for me. The other difference between me and them? I didn't really WANT to leave. I just felt like I didn't have another choice.
Basic, or BEAST, as we called it then, had gone well. I knew my knowledge front and back. I kept up with the guys in my company, even besting a few of them, which didn't do me any favors. One of them sabotaged me during a leadership training exercise by purposely ignoring my commands. But I tried to take in stride, it came with the territory. Academics were straightforward. No real difficulty there. I joined the Glee Club and loved it, even traveling around New England for performances.
Then everything changed, so fast. In November I failed a PT test. By two sit-ups. I still remember that morning, because it was the beginning. True, I should have been better prepared. But it was also 0 dark 30 during a New York winter wearing nothing but PT shorts and a t-shirt, and my muscles seized up. It didn't matter what I had done or could do. It only mattered what I did that day. Of course, when you're a soldier, that's everything. If you can't muster up when called upon, nothing else matters. I understood that, and I wanted to redeem myself.
Then, I got a concussion. I had to stop training, because any physical exertion brought on dizzy spells and a massive headache. Retaking the PT test at that time wasn't an option. I went home for Christmas leave discouraged...but not yet broken.
When I returned, I still couldn't get my feet under me. I struggled for the first time. It didn't make sense, so one morning I hung back from breakfast formation to go to sick call. It wasn't long before the results came back. Every college student's nightmare. Mono. Except, this wasn't just any college. There was no contingency plan for that type of illness then, no protocol. I went to class just like everyone else. I got up when everyone else did, stood in every formation, attended every drill, went to every intramural swim meet. It was exhausting.
The doctor put me on "profile." That meant I was technically allowed to "rest" during certain activities. That didn't go over well. Upperclassmen dropped by my room to make sure I wasn't napping and, if I was, they woke me up. I was hazed for missing one night of "duties." The upperclassman yelled in my face, "If you're not vomiting blood, you show up next time." I remember praying I would pass out right there in the hall and make him eat his words. But I didn't.
The other female plebes started to distance themselves, because I was making them look bad. Most of the male plebes were condescending at best and outright mean at worst. I tried to keep up...but I started falling asleep in my classes. My last remaining stronghold was slipping away. It felt like I was losing everything. I couldn't exercise, couldn't do all my work, couldn't sleep and couldn't talk to anyone about it. If I tried to discuss it with an officer, my upperclassmen would inevitably get in trouble...or hear about it. I was already on everyone's bad side, there was no way I wanted that reputation to be permanent.
I was backed into a corner, and the only person who listened was my husband, who served as a Ring and Crest representative with me. He was the one who finally pointed out that maintaining my health and sanity meant something. He didn't talk me into leaving. He didn't sway me one way or the other. But he did make me feel like there was at least one person in the world who wouldn't be disappointed if I did. He made it okay for me to consider it as an option.
So I did. And he did too. His term of service was complete, and his status following a shoulder surgery was questionable, at the very least making him ineligible for the branch of service he had hoped to pursue. We understood each other and stuck together. I knew people whispered about it, TAC officers asked probing questions about our future plans with knowing glances. But I wasn't leaving for him, and he never asked me to...although, he would probably say he left for me, and doesn't mind saying it. Serving in the military is an honorable profession, but he envisioned a different kind of life for himself and hoped I would some day be a part of it.
God brought him into my life right when I really needed him, and I know he would do anything for me. Drive all night after a 12-hour shift to see me on our anniversary. Move across multiple states to be near me. Work three jobs when necessary so that I could stay home with our children. He would do anything I ask and many things I don't, and I know it. I love and appreciate all that he does for me, and that gray bear still sits on our bed after ten years of marriage. Just having him in my life is truly the best Valentine's Day gift.
Many things have changed in the last 13 years. We've all moved on. I'm content with the life God has for me. It's full of blessings I could never have imagined, and I'm thankful this week for the reminder that no matter what has changed over the years, my husband's love and unconditional support for me haven't changed at all.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Day 20
476) the dollop of whipped cream on my little girl's tongue
477) the excited smile when she realized I wanted to share
478) the full-arm stretch as my baby awoke from his nap
479) the answer to prayer, the final Children's ministry position filled
480) the enthusiastic faces of my children going through their Valentines
481) the excellent and much-improved handwriting of my son
482) the cooperation of my two oldest during our drive home from school
483) the good news of additional work for my husband
484) the all-sufficient grace of God
485) the refund check from the doctor's office
486) the goofy smile of my son, accentuated by fruit snack-front teeth
487) the sweet smell of fresh pineapple
488) the sight of my son wearing a too-large Storm-trooper helmet
489) the lovely, white daisies
490) the stately, purple tulips
491) the elegant, cherry-red vase
492) the smooth, creamy, rich, dark chocolate fondue
493) the delicate cubes of pound cake
494) the sweet, juicy, large, red strawberries
495) the dainty, vanilla-cream wafers
496) the squares of Rice Krispie treat
497) the golden, cream-filled cookies
498) the fluffy, miniature marshmallows
499) the salt-encrusted pretzel sticks
500) the rectangles of crunchy graham crackers
477) the excited smile when she realized I wanted to share
478) the full-arm stretch as my baby awoke from his nap
479) the answer to prayer, the final Children's ministry position filled
480) the enthusiastic faces of my children going through their Valentines
481) the excellent and much-improved handwriting of my son
482) the cooperation of my two oldest during our drive home from school
483) the good news of additional work for my husband
484) the all-sufficient grace of God
485) the refund check from the doctor's office
486) the goofy smile of my son, accentuated by fruit snack-front teeth
487) the sweet smell of fresh pineapple
488) the sight of my son wearing a too-large Storm-trooper helmet
489) the lovely, white daisies
490) the stately, purple tulips
491) the elegant, cherry-red vase
492) the smooth, creamy, rich, dark chocolate fondue
493) the delicate cubes of pound cake
494) the sweet, juicy, large, red strawberries
495) the dainty, vanilla-cream wafers
496) the squares of Rice Krispie treat
497) the golden, cream-filled cookies
498) the fluffy, miniature marshmallows
499) the salt-encrusted pretzel sticks
500) the rectangles of crunchy graham crackers
Monday, February 6, 2012
Day 19
451) the sense of smell
452) the post-nursing, morning snuggle with my contented baby
453) the distinct laugh of each child
454) the strange and fascinating ability to dream
455) the opportunity to serve church families in the nursery
456) the many dedicated Sunday School teachers
457) the Children's Worship coordinators and volunteers
458) the impromptu finger-puppet show of my son
459) the marker-ed Goatee on my son's face
460) the sight of my daughter smashing the stinkbug with a heavy roll of duct tape
461) the kitty-cat sheet turned into a Cupid's toga
462) the thoughtfulness of my little one, retrieving the well-loved toy of her brother
463) the light swirl of drifted snow, blowing in the wind inches from the ground
464) the fantastic fantasy world of Harry Potter
465) the Biblical example of Rebekah, both faithful and fearful
466) the aroma of simmering, hearty Beef Stroganoff
467) the feeling of wearing heels around the house, just because
468) the sight of my daughter, covered in a gold throw blanket, pretending to wear an invisibility cloak
469) the rolling boil of water
470) the well-worn, maroon Airborne t-shirt of my husband
471) the twisting curl of egg noodles
472) the bright orange of fresh, sliced-open carrots
473) the sapphire blue of my baby's eyes
474) the ice cream treat for which my husband made a special grocery run
475) the joy of hearing "I love you" every day
452) the post-nursing, morning snuggle with my contented baby
453) the distinct laugh of each child
454) the strange and fascinating ability to dream
455) the opportunity to serve church families in the nursery
456) the many dedicated Sunday School teachers
457) the Children's Worship coordinators and volunteers
458) the impromptu finger-puppet show of my son
459) the marker-ed Goatee on my son's face
460) the sight of my daughter smashing the stinkbug with a heavy roll of duct tape
461) the kitty-cat sheet turned into a Cupid's toga
462) the thoughtfulness of my little one, retrieving the well-loved toy of her brother
463) the light swirl of drifted snow, blowing in the wind inches from the ground
464) the fantastic fantasy world of Harry Potter
465) the Biblical example of Rebekah, both faithful and fearful
466) the aroma of simmering, hearty Beef Stroganoff
467) the feeling of wearing heels around the house, just because
468) the sight of my daughter, covered in a gold throw blanket, pretending to wear an invisibility cloak
469) the rolling boil of water
470) the well-worn, maroon Airborne t-shirt of my husband
471) the twisting curl of egg noodles
472) the bright orange of fresh, sliced-open carrots
473) the sapphire blue of my baby's eyes
474) the ice cream treat for which my husband made a special grocery run
475) the joy of hearing "I love you" every day
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Day 18-Grace for Today
426) the spontaneous invitation for "coffee" with a friend
427) the blessing of good conversation
428) the pleasure of making a long-awaited purchase
429) the surprise of the clean, dusted, clutter-free entry-way
430) the lovely swirl of white flurries
431) the clothing purchases made
432) the opportunity to help friends
433) the emerald green winter coat
434) the freckles scattered across my son's nose and cheeks
435) the salty popcorn treat shared with family
436) the colorful abstract art at the coffee shoppe
437) the refreshment of cool, clean water
438) the excitement of making Valentines
439) the big, warm blue blanket, perfect for couch-cuddling
440) the dog's perked dachshund ears
441) the sound of the wind whipping past the house
442) the full, stocked refrigerator
443) the willingness of my husband to watch movies I enjoy
444) the update from an old acquaintance and family
445) the opportunity to reach out in encouragement and prayer
446) the desire of all my children to offer thanks for their meals
447) the minty freshness of toothpaste
448) the creamy ivy vines climbing the height of my dining room curtains
449) the addition of an exciting, new book for my to-read stack
450) the happy, contented puppy curled up in a furry, black ball
427) the blessing of good conversation
428) the pleasure of making a long-awaited purchase
429) the surprise of the clean, dusted, clutter-free entry-way
430) the lovely swirl of white flurries
431) the clothing purchases made
432) the opportunity to help friends
433) the emerald green winter coat
434) the freckles scattered across my son's nose and cheeks
435) the salty popcorn treat shared with family
436) the colorful abstract art at the coffee shoppe
437) the refreshment of cool, clean water
438) the excitement of making Valentines
439) the big, warm blue blanket, perfect for couch-cuddling
440) the dog's perked dachshund ears
441) the sound of the wind whipping past the house
442) the full, stocked refrigerator
443) the willingness of my husband to watch movies I enjoy
444) the update from an old acquaintance and family
445) the opportunity to reach out in encouragement and prayer
446) the desire of all my children to offer thanks for their meals
447) the minty freshness of toothpaste
448) the creamy ivy vines climbing the height of my dining room curtains
449) the addition of an exciting, new book for my to-read stack
450) the happy, contented puppy curled up in a furry, black ball
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Day 17-Perseverance
I distinctly remember the day I came home from high school and determined that I was going to West Point. I knew it would be an arduous and difficult path, requiring a great deal of hard work. The first step, aside from all the paperwork, academic requirements, exams and tests, was simple. Get into better shape. Sharpen my physical abilities. Increase my stamina. The best way to begin? Run.
So, I did. Every day.
I was never a natural runner. It was always difficult. And if I improved, I adjusted my goal. Run farther. Run faster. Run longer. It was never easy. Anyone who runs or has run should understand. The better you become, the more you push yourself. A race is as much about perseverance as it is about ability. It begins with a burst of energy, finding your stride, settling into a pace. But the middle can get rough. The middle is about finding the desire to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Staying on course. Persevering all the way until the end.
Maybe it's natural for some, but every run was work for me. The race to which Paul refers doesn't come naturally for me either. I woke this morning with no desire to make a "list," to offer thanks today. I just didn't want to do it. In the beginning this was easy. The first week the thanks-offerings flooded from my mouth and poured from my nimble and ready fingers. The middle, the middle is getting hard. It's not yet natural. Will it ever be? Maybe not. What then? Give up? The goal is to pursue thankfulness...so that God may be glorified and that I may become more Christ-like. Giving up is not an option.
And so I am reminded of Paul's words in Hebrews 12:1-3, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
When I consider what Jesus has done for me, how can I grow weary and lost heart? How can I not offer thanks?
401) the circus
402) the blessing of loving, adult siblings
403) the sound of my daughter singing Winnie the Pooh
404) the blessing of friends nearby for play-dates
405) the functional van heater on a cold, frosty day
406) the availability of quality dental care
407) the accessibility of information
408) the happy exchange of smiles
409) the salvaged tree house
410) the book, once lost, now found
411) the bubbly baby babbles
412) the baby bouncing
413) the sweet baby hiccups
414) the provision of adequate clothing
415) the flock of birds flying in graceful unison through the sky
416) the warm, red-plaid flannel sheets
417) the upside-down sunglasses on my daughter's smiling face
418) the tiny tufts of pigtails on her head
419) the organizational skills of my son
420) the invention of Play-Doh
421) the gift my husband has for explaining scientific phenomena
422) the hugs from my oldest son, who is almost up to my chin
423) the spices that season our food
424) the laughter from my children as they chase one another around the house
425) the voice of my husband, singing hymns to our children
So, I did. Every day.
I was never a natural runner. It was always difficult. And if I improved, I adjusted my goal. Run farther. Run faster. Run longer. It was never easy. Anyone who runs or has run should understand. The better you become, the more you push yourself. A race is as much about perseverance as it is about ability. It begins with a burst of energy, finding your stride, settling into a pace. But the middle can get rough. The middle is about finding the desire to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Staying on course. Persevering all the way until the end.
Maybe it's natural for some, but every run was work for me. The race to which Paul refers doesn't come naturally for me either. I woke this morning with no desire to make a "list," to offer thanks today. I just didn't want to do it. In the beginning this was easy. The first week the thanks-offerings flooded from my mouth and poured from my nimble and ready fingers. The middle, the middle is getting hard. It's not yet natural. Will it ever be? Maybe not. What then? Give up? The goal is to pursue thankfulness...so that God may be glorified and that I may become more Christ-like. Giving up is not an option.
And so I am reminded of Paul's words in Hebrews 12:1-3, "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning it's shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."
When I consider what Jesus has done for me, how can I grow weary and lost heart? How can I not offer thanks?
401) the circus
402) the blessing of loving, adult siblings
403) the sound of my daughter singing Winnie the Pooh
404) the blessing of friends nearby for play-dates
405) the functional van heater on a cold, frosty day
406) the availability of quality dental care
407) the accessibility of information
408) the happy exchange of smiles
409) the salvaged tree house
410) the book, once lost, now found
411) the bubbly baby babbles
412) the baby bouncing
413) the sweet baby hiccups
414) the provision of adequate clothing
415) the flock of birds flying in graceful unison through the sky
416) the warm, red-plaid flannel sheets
417) the upside-down sunglasses on my daughter's smiling face
418) the tiny tufts of pigtails on her head
419) the organizational skills of my son
420) the invention of Play-Doh
421) the gift my husband has for explaining scientific phenomena
422) the hugs from my oldest son, who is almost up to my chin
423) the spices that season our food
424) the laughter from my children as they chase one another around the house
425) the voice of my husband, singing hymns to our children
Day 16-One Nation Under God
In light of this year's upcoming election, politics is often at the forefront of news and discussions. It's common for these discussions over the state of our country to become heated. Everyone has an opinion regarding the best course and which candidate is best equipped to lead us on that path. Everyone is concerned about the future, fiscal and moral accountability, the economy, social responsibility versus limited government. There is an extensive and often controversial list.
I studied politics in college, even minored in the subject. Over the years I prided myself on being well informed, introducing my husband to the importance of political awareness and involvement. I also tended to worry about it frequently. Then I reached a point where I realized my worry was an affront to God, who says in Hebrews 13: 1, "for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God."
Paul made that statement during a time in which the Jews lived under the authority of Rome. They were governed by non-Christians and probably also persecuted for their beliefs. My Bible's commentary on this verse says "even the possibility of a persecuting state did not shake Paul's conviction that civil government is ordained by God."
How then should I respond to my government, once a nation that claimed to be under God and yet which now denies and defies Him, implicitly and explicitly, in turn?
Submit to the authority, then participate in every manner provided by the governing Constitution to make my views and preferences known. But, do not worry. Be diligent...and then trust. In Matthews 6 Jesus says, "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or stow away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?...Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
God is not unaware of our current plight. He is not surprised by anything that we face. Therefore, should I not trust in His ability to provide exactly what is needed, according to His will, in all situations?
Where freedoms and rights and livelihoods are at stake, passionate discourse is important. I have no less passion or concern for these issues than I once did, but I choose not to be angry or to allow anxiety to creep into my heart regarding the future. Regardless of the election results and the implications it may have, good or bad, the future is in the Lord's hands, and I am thankful for it! The fact that our nation may no longer acknowledge God's authority does not in any way diminish the fact that He IS still on the throne, and every power, ruler and authority exists under His sovereignty.
376) the smell of my husband's cologne lingering in the house
377) the smiling little girl playing with her baby doll
378) the raspberry kisses on my baby's belly
379) the discernment to select a reliable, new dentist
380) the contented and cooperative play of my children
381) the scent of my Home Sweet Home Yankee candle
382) the contrast of cool cream cheese on a warm, toasted bagel
383) the freedom to participate in the political process
384) the tart, red cranberry
385) the daily prayers of faithful around the world, offered on behalf of our leaders
386) the boxes of shoes stored away for future use
387) the freedom to openly worship and attend church
388) the freedom to educate my children as I choose
389) the existence of excellent Christian schools
390) the ability to be a stay-at-home Mom
391) the spectacular rock wall on the side of the mountain
392) the sound of my daughter singing nursery rhymes
393) the excellent writings of J.R.R. Tolkein
394) the blessing of abundant leftovers
395) the crunchy almond
396) the tender, buttery cashew nut
397) the children eating pickles on forks
398) the sound of my children singing the alphabet
399) the piggy bank payout, teaching our children fiscal responsibility
400) the review of our upcoming budget
I studied politics in college, even minored in the subject. Over the years I prided myself on being well informed, introducing my husband to the importance of political awareness and involvement. I also tended to worry about it frequently. Then I reached a point where I realized my worry was an affront to God, who says in Hebrews 13: 1, "for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God."
Paul made that statement during a time in which the Jews lived under the authority of Rome. They were governed by non-Christians and probably also persecuted for their beliefs. My Bible's commentary on this verse says "even the possibility of a persecuting state did not shake Paul's conviction that civil government is ordained by God."
How then should I respond to my government, once a nation that claimed to be under God and yet which now denies and defies Him, implicitly and explicitly, in turn?
Submit to the authority, then participate in every manner provided by the governing Constitution to make my views and preferences known. But, do not worry. Be diligent...and then trust. In Matthews 6 Jesus says, "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or stow away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?...Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
God is not unaware of our current plight. He is not surprised by anything that we face. Therefore, should I not trust in His ability to provide exactly what is needed, according to His will, in all situations?
Where freedoms and rights and livelihoods are at stake, passionate discourse is important. I have no less passion or concern for these issues than I once did, but I choose not to be angry or to allow anxiety to creep into my heart regarding the future. Regardless of the election results and the implications it may have, good or bad, the future is in the Lord's hands, and I am thankful for it! The fact that our nation may no longer acknowledge God's authority does not in any way diminish the fact that He IS still on the throne, and every power, ruler and authority exists under His sovereignty.
376) the smell of my husband's cologne lingering in the house
377) the smiling little girl playing with her baby doll
378) the raspberry kisses on my baby's belly
379) the discernment to select a reliable, new dentist
380) the contented and cooperative play of my children
381) the scent of my Home Sweet Home Yankee candle
382) the contrast of cool cream cheese on a warm, toasted bagel
383) the freedom to participate in the political process
384) the tart, red cranberry
385) the daily prayers of faithful around the world, offered on behalf of our leaders
386) the boxes of shoes stored away for future use
387) the freedom to openly worship and attend church
388) the freedom to educate my children as I choose
389) the existence of excellent Christian schools
390) the ability to be a stay-at-home Mom
391) the spectacular rock wall on the side of the mountain
392) the sound of my daughter singing nursery rhymes
393) the excellent writings of J.R.R. Tolkein
394) the blessing of abundant leftovers
395) the crunchy almond
396) the tender, buttery cashew nut
397) the children eating pickles on forks
398) the sound of my children singing the alphabet
399) the piggy bank payout, teaching our children fiscal responsibility
400) the review of our upcoming budget
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Day 15-Psalm 8
Sometimes during the day I feel stalled, wanting to give thanks but struggling for a starting point. During these moments I go to a window and let my eyes wander over world outside.
Romans 1:20 says, "For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities-his eternal power and divine nature-have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." In God's handiwork I not only see intricate and admirable beauty but also reflections of His magnificence. I consider Psalm 8...
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory above the heavens.
From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise
because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.
When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.
You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:
all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field,
the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,
all that swim in the paths of the seas.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
If the Lord is sovereign over ALL this marvelous creation, for which He deserves the highest praise and thanks, and yet, still cares for me, personally and intimately, such that Psalm 139 says...
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
...then I am not only blessed with myriad visible reminders of His incomparable majesty whenever I look around me, but I also have great confidence in his specific and purposeful care for me.
I admire His creation, awestruck. His goodness is evident everywhere. How could I not see it and give thanks?
351) the large, delicate snowflakes
352) the slow, soft snow-falling, almost lingering in the air
353) the elegant tree branches, frosted white
354) the kissable nose of daughter
355) the little feet standing on mine while she embraces my legs
356) the tree-bark crevices holding pockets of snow
357) the gradual spread of pristine white over grassy green
358) the Veggie-tales stories
359) the glistening water droplets suspended on extended tree limbs
360) the dark green ivy climbing over an aging tree stump
361) the sweet crunch of banana chips
362) the tangy and textured dried apricot
363) the homey warmth of my brown curtains
364) the happiness of wrapping my almost-too-big-to-pick-up three year old in a hug
365) the rest-time on the couch, wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, head on my husband's lap
366) the creamy thyme-cheese sauce poured over angel hair pasta and sauteed vegetables
367) the sound of my sons practicing their spelling words
368) the pink flower in my daughter's hair
369) the dishes being cleaned by my husband
370) the rosy flush of my baby's cheeks after snuggling close
371) the healthy appetite of my children
372) the bubbles floating about the kitchen, delighting my daughters
373) the joyful moment of dancing with my son
374) the rocking with my baby before bed
375) the reading of the Word to the children
Romans 1:20 says, "For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities-his eternal power and divine nature-have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." In God's handiwork I not only see intricate and admirable beauty but also reflections of His magnificence. I consider Psalm 8...
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
You have set your glory above the heavens.
From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise
because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.
When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.
You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:
all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field,
the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea,
all that swim in the paths of the seas.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
If the Lord is sovereign over ALL this marvelous creation, for which He deserves the highest praise and thanks, and yet, still cares for me, personally and intimately, such that Psalm 139 says...
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
...then I am not only blessed with myriad visible reminders of His incomparable majesty whenever I look around me, but I also have great confidence in his specific and purposeful care for me.
I admire His creation, awestruck. His goodness is evident everywhere. How could I not see it and give thanks?
351) the large, delicate snowflakes
352) the slow, soft snow-falling, almost lingering in the air
353) the elegant tree branches, frosted white
354) the kissable nose of daughter
355) the little feet standing on mine while she embraces my legs
356) the tree-bark crevices holding pockets of snow
357) the gradual spread of pristine white over grassy green
358) the Veggie-tales stories
359) the glistening water droplets suspended on extended tree limbs
360) the dark green ivy climbing over an aging tree stump
361) the sweet crunch of banana chips
362) the tangy and textured dried apricot
363) the homey warmth of my brown curtains
364) the happiness of wrapping my almost-too-big-to-pick-up three year old in a hug
365) the rest-time on the couch, wrapped in a soft, warm blanket, head on my husband's lap
366) the creamy thyme-cheese sauce poured over angel hair pasta and sauteed vegetables
367) the sound of my sons practicing their spelling words
368) the pink flower in my daughter's hair
369) the dishes being cleaned by my husband
370) the rosy flush of my baby's cheeks after snuggling close
371) the healthy appetite of my children
372) the bubbles floating about the kitchen, delighting my daughters
373) the joyful moment of dancing with my son
374) the rocking with my baby before bed
375) the reading of the Word to the children
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Day 14-Perspective
I'm finding that perspective can make all the difference. And things that typically irritate me can hold blessings in disguise. The truth of the old adage "every cloud has a silver lining" is poignant and real.
I once saw blankets and sheets piled over my table in tent-like fashion as additions to the list of things I'd be cleaning up that day. An annoyance and a chore. Now I find I am capable of looking past that to see the happiness on my children's faces as they exercise their creativity and imaginations. I once stood outside thinking only of the negatives, the chill, the difficulty of constantly tracking them with my eyes. Counting one, two, three, four, five. Knowing where they are at all times, safe and secure. Now I am able to see their cold cheeks, pink with exertion and glee. I mark their busy trails all over our yard and thank the Lord for our .625 acres, an expanse we would have been hard pressed to find in our former city.
People ask the question, "is the glass half full or half empty?" to determine your outlook on life...are you an optimist or a pessimist? I like the joke-alternative, the engineer's response, you just need a different glass! How true! God's blessings are everywhere and the glass is ALWAYS full...if you have the right glass.
It's all a matter of perspective, because it's not about being optimistic or pessimistic by nature. It's about being self-centered by nature versus seeking to be Christ-centered through the Spirit. Cultivating a grateful heart means framing every circumstance with the question, "How can I thank God for this?" And even if it's not thanks for the immediate now, we can always offer thanks in the now with hope for the future, for "we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)
326) the much-needed night of better rest
327) the memory foam pillow that supports my head and neck
328) the child's hunt for, and avoidance of, stinkbugs
329) the fine, dark granules of cocoa mix
330) the little arms that give sweet, baby hugs
331) the colors of the spectrum displayed in my children's drawings
332) the steam wafting into my face as I sip from my mug
333) the gray bear with dark magenta bow, first Valentine's gift from my husband, still sitting on our bed
334) the all-too-brief moment when my usually-busy 3 year old sprawled contentedly across my lap
335) the pointy, impish ears of my son, inherited from his Daddy
336) the windowpane shadows in blocks of bright sunlight
337) the joy of singing "This is the Day!" in the morning
338) the sight of my son standing in front of the glowing window making shadows on the floor
339) the way my sleepy baby rubs his eyes with his little fists as he wakes up
340) the reading of "Goodnight Moon"
341) the persistence of my daughter in searching the sky for the moon every time we go outdoors
342) the cardboard and construction paper rocket, thrown into the air to simulate flight
343) the children's excitement when Daddy gets home
344) the children's continued safety and protection from harmful accidents
345) the neck rub that eased some of the ache and tension-pain
346) the water beading on the crisp red-purple grapes
347) the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon
348) the decadent, authentic Ukrainian chocolate
349) the blessing of praying with fellow believers
350) the handmade metal diffuser that circulates heat throughout the house
I once saw blankets and sheets piled over my table in tent-like fashion as additions to the list of things I'd be cleaning up that day. An annoyance and a chore. Now I find I am capable of looking past that to see the happiness on my children's faces as they exercise their creativity and imaginations. I once stood outside thinking only of the negatives, the chill, the difficulty of constantly tracking them with my eyes. Counting one, two, three, four, five. Knowing where they are at all times, safe and secure. Now I am able to see their cold cheeks, pink with exertion and glee. I mark their busy trails all over our yard and thank the Lord for our .625 acres, an expanse we would have been hard pressed to find in our former city.
People ask the question, "is the glass half full or half empty?" to determine your outlook on life...are you an optimist or a pessimist? I like the joke-alternative, the engineer's response, you just need a different glass! How true! God's blessings are everywhere and the glass is ALWAYS full...if you have the right glass.
It's all a matter of perspective, because it's not about being optimistic or pessimistic by nature. It's about being self-centered by nature versus seeking to be Christ-centered through the Spirit. Cultivating a grateful heart means framing every circumstance with the question, "How can I thank God for this?" And even if it's not thanks for the immediate now, we can always offer thanks in the now with hope for the future, for "we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)
326) the much-needed night of better rest
327) the memory foam pillow that supports my head and neck
328) the child's hunt for, and avoidance of, stinkbugs
329) the fine, dark granules of cocoa mix
330) the little arms that give sweet, baby hugs
331) the colors of the spectrum displayed in my children's drawings
332) the steam wafting into my face as I sip from my mug
333) the gray bear with dark magenta bow, first Valentine's gift from my husband, still sitting on our bed
334) the all-too-brief moment when my usually-busy 3 year old sprawled contentedly across my lap
335) the pointy, impish ears of my son, inherited from his Daddy
336) the windowpane shadows in blocks of bright sunlight
337) the joy of singing "This is the Day!" in the morning
338) the sight of my son standing in front of the glowing window making shadows on the floor
339) the way my sleepy baby rubs his eyes with his little fists as he wakes up
340) the reading of "Goodnight Moon"
341) the persistence of my daughter in searching the sky for the moon every time we go outdoors
342) the cardboard and construction paper rocket, thrown into the air to simulate flight
343) the children's excitement when Daddy gets home
344) the children's continued safety and protection from harmful accidents
345) the neck rub that eased some of the ache and tension-pain
346) the water beading on the crisp red-purple grapes
347) the sweet, spicy scent of cinnamon
348) the decadent, authentic Ukrainian chocolate
349) the blessing of praying with fellow believers
350) the handmade metal diffuser that circulates heat throughout the house
Friday, January 27, 2012
Day 13-Slipping
My daughter sits on the couch screaming through a tantrum, and my head pounds. I cannot think straight, and I look around struggling. God, please help me be thankful today! But, I'm not seeing it. I didn't see it all weekend.
We woke up Saturday morning in my parent's house and, from the early rising-hour, we were on the go. It was raining and gray, and we were out the door for a family breakfast. I tried to maintain the fledgling habit of thanks-giving, but it so easily slipped away with the morning. It was a good day, a good weekend, with LOTS of things to be thankful for. I just wasn't intentional about noting any of it.
I can see why people say that forming a new habit takes consistency. Any break in that routine can so easily throw you off, and all your resolve slips away. I am frustrated with myself. Should it be so easy to overlook God's goodness? Can I still call this "Day 13" when, technically, it isn't? It is the thirteenth day of actual list-making but not the thirteenth consecutive day since I started. Oh, that grates on me.
I even find myself a little irritated with the dog, again, as I spy her curled up in one of the kid's bean bag chairs. My head is still pounding, and my daughter is still fussing, but there's no real reason for the irritation. I am mindful of Paul's words in Romans 7:18, "I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out."
However, he continues in chapter 8 verse 26, "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express." What comfort! God, help me to persevere today. Help me to slowly press on. Let the peace and contentment that come through thankfulness not slip away.
I close my eyes and think, hard. One at a time. One methodical offering of thanks at a time, and praying the Lord will bless it...
301) the orange haze in the black night sky as lights play games in the atmosphere
302) the safe return home
303) the crunch of frosty grass under my feet
304) the compassionate help of another mother
305) the sniffling of a reluctantly calming child
306) the open-mouthed wonder of a child at an unexpected pleasure
307) the fog hovering about the trees
308) the joy of singing loudly
309) the bright green roof on the old barn shed
310) the news of a possible adoption that would be a blessing to many
309) the little brow creased in thought
310) the tree shadows spreading across the lawn
311) the peaceful rest of a weary child
312) the fan blowing the sting of onion from my nose and eyes
313) the aroma of simmering savory spices
314) the box of recipes thoughtfully compiled by my sister
315) the seeds that will produce a bountiful garden
316) the softening pinkish hue of fluffy cloud
317) the extra humidifier, given by a friend
318) the medicine that is both gentle enough and strong enough for my baby
319) the coat that keeps me warm on cold, wintry days
320) the peppermint in my daughter's handmade five-senses book
321) the willingness of a brother to help his little sister
322) the sight of my husband and baby making faces at each other
323) the piggyback ride for my son
324) the joy of singing "You Are My Sunshine" to my little ones
325) the Date Night planned by my husband
We woke up Saturday morning in my parent's house and, from the early rising-hour, we were on the go. It was raining and gray, and we were out the door for a family breakfast. I tried to maintain the fledgling habit of thanks-giving, but it so easily slipped away with the morning. It was a good day, a good weekend, with LOTS of things to be thankful for. I just wasn't intentional about noting any of it.
I can see why people say that forming a new habit takes consistency. Any break in that routine can so easily throw you off, and all your resolve slips away. I am frustrated with myself. Should it be so easy to overlook God's goodness? Can I still call this "Day 13" when, technically, it isn't? It is the thirteenth day of actual list-making but not the thirteenth consecutive day since I started. Oh, that grates on me.
I even find myself a little irritated with the dog, again, as I spy her curled up in one of the kid's bean bag chairs. My head is still pounding, and my daughter is still fussing, but there's no real reason for the irritation. I am mindful of Paul's words in Romans 7:18, "I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out."
However, he continues in chapter 8 verse 26, "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express." What comfort! God, help me to persevere today. Help me to slowly press on. Let the peace and contentment that come through thankfulness not slip away.
I close my eyes and think, hard. One at a time. One methodical offering of thanks at a time, and praying the Lord will bless it...
301) the orange haze in the black night sky as lights play games in the atmosphere
302) the safe return home
303) the crunch of frosty grass under my feet
304) the compassionate help of another mother
305) the sniffling of a reluctantly calming child
306) the open-mouthed wonder of a child at an unexpected pleasure
307) the fog hovering about the trees
308) the joy of singing loudly
309) the bright green roof on the old barn shed
310) the news of a possible adoption that would be a blessing to many
309) the little brow creased in thought
310) the tree shadows spreading across the lawn
311) the peaceful rest of a weary child
312) the fan blowing the sting of onion from my nose and eyes
313) the aroma of simmering savory spices
314) the box of recipes thoughtfully compiled by my sister
315) the seeds that will produce a bountiful garden
316) the softening pinkish hue of fluffy cloud
317) the extra humidifier, given by a friend
318) the medicine that is both gentle enough and strong enough for my baby
319) the coat that keeps me warm on cold, wintry days
320) the peppermint in my daughter's handmade five-senses book
321) the willingness of a brother to help his little sister
322) the sight of my husband and baby making faces at each other
323) the piggyback ride for my son
324) the joy of singing "You Are My Sunshine" to my little ones
325) the Date Night planned by my husband
Day 12-Book Snob
I do not have the luxury of being particular about many things. But, I am particular about books. They sit on my bookshelf just so, separated into categories obvious only to me. When I read one, I am careful not to bend the spine or the pages too much. I like to maintain the integrity of the book itself as long as possible. I handle them carefully, because I am re-reader. I will read those I love over and over, and the better preserved through each reading, the longer a book is likely to last. This is important to me, because I have no intention of going over to the electronic dark side. I know it appeals to some, but I love holding a book in my hands. Turning the pages one by one Visually marking my progress through the story. Tangibly anticipating the climax and resolution!
I am also particular about the type of book I read. Some books, for one reason or another, just do not appeal to me. I cannot always put my finger on the why. Sometimes, just an impression or topic. I prefer books I consider more artistic in literary form. Stylistically unique or gripping. An interesting point of view. Old classics or destined to be. That does not mean I am unable to enjoy or appreciate other types, just that I don't gravitate to them. For this reason, I think my family secretly, or not-so-secretly, considers me a "book snob."
I don't mean to be snobbish about my literary preferences but, since I have limited time to read, I usually have to make my choices carefully. There isn't much extra reading time to expand my horizons. However, on occasion, I have been prodded into reading a book that I originally avoided and been pleasantly surprised by how much I actually enjoyed it!
For a long time I refused to jump on the Harry Potter-bandwagon. I "snobbishly" felt anything that popular probably wasn't the type of novel I would enjoy. However, when I finally picked it up, I was surprised to discover it had so much more depth and wit and creativity than I expected! I have reread them several times, including reading them aloud to my husband and children. I have been a devoted fan since. (I also became a fan of the Twilight series in the same way. And, in the same way, many are either vehemently against them or obsessively for them! I won't digress into a full-length blog on why I enjoy them so much but, suffice it to say, I enjoy that they draw on classic themes and creatively weave those themes through-out a vividly-imagined and compelling fantasy.)
The point is, I will sheepishly admit that I am often a "book snob," but I am usually thankful for the times when I have been pushed out of my comfort zone, prompted to try new things or pressed on with a book I was unsure about. For this reason, I am thankful to be part of a Book Club. Selection rotates through the members, so I am always exposed to the interests and preferences of others. As someone who easily becomes entrenched in my own little world, this is a good thing. If not for this, I would not have picked up "One Thousand Gifts." It wasn't a book I would have chosen for myself...but I am thankful someone else chose it for me.
I'm thankful for good books and thankful that God doesn't leave me entrenched in my own little world either; He continually pursues me every day, because I am His, and He knows me better than I know myself.
276) the spot on my husband's chest where I fit perfectly
277) the tiny cleft in my baby's chin
278) the delicate crystals frosting over glass
279) the ability to easily visit family
280) the anticipation of a surprise
281) the complimentary flavors of peppermint and chocolate
282) the transformation of toddler-speak into sentences
283) the pleasure of a good book
284) the pirate ship on the playground
285) the beautiful and stately church spires rising above the tree-line
286) the naturally-sweet, juicy peach
287) the invention of peanut butter
288) the rolling hills of the southern Virginia valley
289) the lack of traffic en route to Charlotte
290) the sun setting into the waters of Lake Norman
291) the waiting meal for our famished family
292) the children's enthusiastic searching of the night sky for incoming and departing airplanes
293) the welcoming city lights
294) the glass of sweet, strawberry wine
295) the full, happy baby playing with his toes for Grandma
296) the baby, held high in Papa's arms, laughing happily
297) the safe travels
298) the inspiring songs of Christian musicians
299) the warm scent of the burning Balsam and Cedar Yankee Candle
300) the corrective lenses that adjust my vision and prevent headaches
I am also particular about the type of book I read. Some books, for one reason or another, just do not appeal to me. I cannot always put my finger on the why. Sometimes, just an impression or topic. I prefer books I consider more artistic in literary form. Stylistically unique or gripping. An interesting point of view. Old classics or destined to be. That does not mean I am unable to enjoy or appreciate other types, just that I don't gravitate to them. For this reason, I think my family secretly, or not-so-secretly, considers me a "book snob."
I don't mean to be snobbish about my literary preferences but, since I have limited time to read, I usually have to make my choices carefully. There isn't much extra reading time to expand my horizons. However, on occasion, I have been prodded into reading a book that I originally avoided and been pleasantly surprised by how much I actually enjoyed it!
For a long time I refused to jump on the Harry Potter-bandwagon. I "snobbishly" felt anything that popular probably wasn't the type of novel I would enjoy. However, when I finally picked it up, I was surprised to discover it had so much more depth and wit and creativity than I expected! I have reread them several times, including reading them aloud to my husband and children. I have been a devoted fan since. (I also became a fan of the Twilight series in the same way. And, in the same way, many are either vehemently against them or obsessively for them! I won't digress into a full-length blog on why I enjoy them so much but, suffice it to say, I enjoy that they draw on classic themes and creatively weave those themes through-out a vividly-imagined and compelling fantasy.)
The point is, I will sheepishly admit that I am often a "book snob," but I am usually thankful for the times when I have been pushed out of my comfort zone, prompted to try new things or pressed on with a book I was unsure about. For this reason, I am thankful to be part of a Book Club. Selection rotates through the members, so I am always exposed to the interests and preferences of others. As someone who easily becomes entrenched in my own little world, this is a good thing. If not for this, I would not have picked up "One Thousand Gifts." It wasn't a book I would have chosen for myself...but I am thankful someone else chose it for me.
I'm thankful for good books and thankful that God doesn't leave me entrenched in my own little world either; He continually pursues me every day, because I am His, and He knows me better than I know myself.
276) the spot on my husband's chest where I fit perfectly
277) the tiny cleft in my baby's chin
278) the delicate crystals frosting over glass
279) the ability to easily visit family
280) the anticipation of a surprise
281) the complimentary flavors of peppermint and chocolate
282) the transformation of toddler-speak into sentences
283) the pleasure of a good book
284) the pirate ship on the playground
285) the beautiful and stately church spires rising above the tree-line
286) the naturally-sweet, juicy peach
287) the invention of peanut butter
288) the rolling hills of the southern Virginia valley
289) the lack of traffic en route to Charlotte
290) the sun setting into the waters of Lake Norman
291) the waiting meal for our famished family
292) the children's enthusiastic searching of the night sky for incoming and departing airplanes
293) the welcoming city lights
294) the glass of sweet, strawberry wine
295) the full, happy baby playing with his toes for Grandma
296) the baby, held high in Papa's arms, laughing happily
297) the safe travels
298) the inspiring songs of Christian musicians
299) the warm scent of the burning Balsam and Cedar Yankee Candle
300) the corrective lenses that adjust my vision and prevent headaches
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Day 11-A Firm Foundation (part two)
Yesterday I asked, when inevitable failure occurs...what happens then?
I've been married ten years. I would not claim to be an expert. The challenges of two sinful people coming together and living graciously and harmoniously are many. But, I do know what happened when my heart was not full of thankfulness. Instead, filled with ingratitude. I traveled far down the path of resentment. I lived there for a few years. It was a lonely, sad place. All the books on doing better, trying harder, showing love more unselfishly were lost on me. I did not have a road map back, because my compass was faulty. My heart was caught up in what I deserved and did not get, rather than what I had and God's purpose for me in and through it.
Mercifully, God revealed two truths to me through the study of two different books. Books I wish I had read long before. Two books dealing with the heart of the problem, "When Sinners Day I Do" and "2Becoming1." I do not remember every chapter or concept, but from each book I took away one primary and, for me, revolutionary truth.
From the former, I was reminded that I am a sinner too. That would seem obvious. But, in the midst of frustration and conflict and long, tiring days, it's often not. Consider how often Jesus spoke about dealing with our own sin, the log in our own eye, rather than judging those around us for the specks in theirs. The book reminded me that I never come with clean hands. My motivations and thoughts, actions and words are suspect. I will bring some fault to every situation, and I need to be willing to consider that and examine myself, first. Being honest about my own failings not only makes me more humble, where I once was proud, but it makes me more gracious, where I once found only fault.
From the latter, I was reminded that God is perfect. Again, didn't I know this? If God is perfect and does not make mistakes, He is able, and does, join together two imperfect, sinful people who, according to HIS purposes, are perfect for one another. This simple truth delved deep. God does not make mistakes. In Matthews 19 Jesus says, "'So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.' 'Why then,' they asked, 'did Moses command that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce and send her away?' Jesus replied, 'Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning.'" Because your hearts were hard. But that is not what God intended.
Because of the fall, marriage is not ever easy. It gets hard, still. But my dependence is not on my husband, it is on the Lord. I know that for those He joins together, He purposes good through it. Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." Marriage is about grace. Sacrificial love. Becoming more Christ-like. The perfection of my character. It is not about what my husband does or does not do for me. It is about what God is doing in me. Because God is sovereign, I can trust that HE brought my husband into my life, flaws and all, for a purpose beyond my understanding...but also for good beyond my imagining. I can be thankful for him, as is, the gift God knows I really need.
The ring I placed on his finger ten years ago was a dull, brushed gold. All the wear of the years, the nicks, the scratches, the hardness of life against soft metal, should have taken it's toll. I look at it now. It shines brightly. Polished. More beautiful than the day it was made and given. The only recognizable resemblance is the etched cross on it's surface. Christ, the firm foundation. Christ, grace for me a sinner. Grace to perfect that which is flawed. Grace which inspires a heart of thankfulness. The way back.
251) the sight of my son sweetly holding and rocking his little sister
252) the older son patiently reading a child's book to her
253) the fun of dressing up and pretending, today, robots and pirates
254) the opposing swirls of hair on the back of my baby's head
255) the cowlick that rises into Mohawk tuft
256) the sun breaking out from behind the rain clouds to illumine the day
257) the chirping birdsong
258) the hopping birds searching for their morning meal among the grasses
259) the swift bird-flight soaring and arcing through the trees
260) the still-wet pavement glistening under the sunshine
262) the inspiring video of a hard-run race, falling does not prevent a strong finish
263) the much-needed laugh at my son's antics with Lego buildings
264) the kisses that bring comfort to salty, tear-stained cheeks
265) the timely reading of "Prayers for a Small Child"
266) the snapping turtle cloud
267) the word of God, sharper than two-edged sword, useful for teaching, correcting, rebuking, encouraging, revealing truth
268) the sprawling, open fields
269) the grazing cows
270) the red-leaf fringed bushes about our front porch
271) the sound of my daughter singing "Amazing Grace"
272) the evening-time when the cratered, half moon and low, glowing sun share the sky
273) the many climbing trees edging our property
274) the gnarled, old tree outside our door, still standing
275) the shoes, thoughtfully cleaned by my husband
I've been married ten years. I would not claim to be an expert. The challenges of two sinful people coming together and living graciously and harmoniously are many. But, I do know what happened when my heart was not full of thankfulness. Instead, filled with ingratitude. I traveled far down the path of resentment. I lived there for a few years. It was a lonely, sad place. All the books on doing better, trying harder, showing love more unselfishly were lost on me. I did not have a road map back, because my compass was faulty. My heart was caught up in what I deserved and did not get, rather than what I had and God's purpose for me in and through it.
Mercifully, God revealed two truths to me through the study of two different books. Books I wish I had read long before. Two books dealing with the heart of the problem, "When Sinners Day I Do" and "2Becoming1." I do not remember every chapter or concept, but from each book I took away one primary and, for me, revolutionary truth.
From the former, I was reminded that I am a sinner too. That would seem obvious. But, in the midst of frustration and conflict and long, tiring days, it's often not. Consider how often Jesus spoke about dealing with our own sin, the log in our own eye, rather than judging those around us for the specks in theirs. The book reminded me that I never come with clean hands. My motivations and thoughts, actions and words are suspect. I will bring some fault to every situation, and I need to be willing to consider that and examine myself, first. Being honest about my own failings not only makes me more humble, where I once was proud, but it makes me more gracious, where I once found only fault.
From the latter, I was reminded that God is perfect. Again, didn't I know this? If God is perfect and does not make mistakes, He is able, and does, join together two imperfect, sinful people who, according to HIS purposes, are perfect for one another. This simple truth delved deep. God does not make mistakes. In Matthews 19 Jesus says, "'So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.' 'Why then,' they asked, 'did Moses command that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce and send her away?' Jesus replied, 'Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning.'" Because your hearts were hard. But that is not what God intended.
Because of the fall, marriage is not ever easy. It gets hard, still. But my dependence is not on my husband, it is on the Lord. I know that for those He joins together, He purposes good through it. Proverbs 27:17 says, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." Marriage is about grace. Sacrificial love. Becoming more Christ-like. The perfection of my character. It is not about what my husband does or does not do for me. It is about what God is doing in me. Because God is sovereign, I can trust that HE brought my husband into my life, flaws and all, for a purpose beyond my understanding...but also for good beyond my imagining. I can be thankful for him, as is, the gift God knows I really need.
The ring I placed on his finger ten years ago was a dull, brushed gold. All the wear of the years, the nicks, the scratches, the hardness of life against soft metal, should have taken it's toll. I look at it now. It shines brightly. Polished. More beautiful than the day it was made and given. The only recognizable resemblance is the etched cross on it's surface. Christ, the firm foundation. Christ, grace for me a sinner. Grace to perfect that which is flawed. Grace which inspires a heart of thankfulness. The way back.
251) the sight of my son sweetly holding and rocking his little sister
252) the older son patiently reading a child's book to her
253) the fun of dressing up and pretending, today, robots and pirates
254) the opposing swirls of hair on the back of my baby's head
255) the cowlick that rises into Mohawk tuft
256) the sun breaking out from behind the rain clouds to illumine the day
257) the chirping birdsong
258) the hopping birds searching for their morning meal among the grasses
259) the swift bird-flight soaring and arcing through the trees
260) the still-wet pavement glistening under the sunshine
262) the inspiring video of a hard-run race, falling does not prevent a strong finish
263) the much-needed laugh at my son's antics with Lego buildings
264) the kisses that bring comfort to salty, tear-stained cheeks
265) the timely reading of "Prayers for a Small Child"
266) the snapping turtle cloud
267) the word of God, sharper than two-edged sword, useful for teaching, correcting, rebuking, encouraging, revealing truth
268) the sprawling, open fields
269) the grazing cows
270) the red-leaf fringed bushes about our front porch
271) the sound of my daughter singing "Amazing Grace"
272) the evening-time when the cratered, half moon and low, glowing sun share the sky
273) the many climbing trees edging our property
274) the gnarled, old tree outside our door, still standing
275) the shoes, thoughtfully cleaned by my husband
Day 10-A Firm Foundation (part one)
I glance at the still-sleeping form of my husband. A glint of gold catches my eye. His ring shines in the lessening darkness, reflecting the light seeping into our room. It wasn't like that when I gave it to him. I selected a brushed-gold ring, knowing him to prefer something understated. It was a beautiful effect, even in it's dullness of finish.
As with ring selection, we expended much time and energy in knowing one another's likes and dislikes well. Expectations and dreams. Building a foundation. We spent months diligently attending premarital counseling, doing all the requisite studying and follow-up discussion, reading all recommended books. One of the most highly regarded books at that time was the still-popular "The Five Love Languages." We tore through the chapters, eager to see the other in its pages and be better prepared to meet all the needs that attend growing love.
I could never have anticipated that this book, and others like it, would actually cause so much frustration. There is much to be said for seeking to actively demonstrate love to your spouse, to meet their specific needs and to avoid the damage of unmet expectations. Those pursuits ARE extremely important and worthy endeavors. However, I failed to consider the damage that might occur when the broader perspective of marriage is lost and so much emphasis is placed on what is being done.
Marriage is not really about what my husband does for me. I appreciate it, most definitely! But when I start to focus on what he does and doesn't do, it's only a matter of time before I connect those actions to his feelings for me and my sense of worth and security. When he doesn't do what I want, he doesn't really love me. I don't mean to keep a record of wrongs, but I do. The longer the list of wrongs becomes, the more ingratitude fills my heart. As my heart brims with ingratitude, discontent seeps into the marriage. The more discontent I feel in the relationship, the more I resent HIM for where we are, where I am. Once resentment is the primary attitude of my heart, I no longer desire to actively show love in any form or be receptive to that which he offers.
It's not that there is so much wrong with the doing. We are called to serve one another in love. That's what Ephesians' admonition to husbands and wives is about. Different methods of service, the wife's submission to the husband and the husband's sacrificial love for his wife. A wrong attitude of the heart creates an improper view of service. The attitude of the heart in marriage must be right or the actions will always be lacking.
This is inevitable, because we do not marry perfect people who are able to perfectly meet our needs, love languages or realistic, or unrealistic, expectations all the time. We marry sinners. I am a sinner! All the doing of life is bound to reveal flaws. How I handle those flaws is significant. How I view my husband in light of God's sovereign plan is significant. I can either treat him as a gift from the Lord, a gift to be thankful and grateful for, or as a person there to meet my needs.
So when inevitable failure occurs...what happens then? If my attitude is thankfulness, then I am content in spite of wrongs or unmet expectations. If I can say to my husband: I love you and am thankful for you, because I trust God brought us together. If there is anything to change for the better, that is God's work to do, not mine to identify...THEN I am being gracious. THEN we have a foundation on which to base a marriage.
226) the early morning snuggles of my toddler daughter with her Daddy
227) the baby's sweet, full-body sneeze
228) the oldest son's initiative to serve his siblings breakfast
229) the remarkably bright, blue sky
230) the crisp, clean air
231) the once-reluctant son's new-found enthusiasm for school
232) the tinkling sound of chimes in the distance
234) the twirling dance shared with my daughter
235) the rich, milk chocolate-covered, vanilla bean ice cream bars hidden in the freezer for me by my husband
236) the willingness of my husband to sacrificially serve our family and others
237) the admirable and incomparable work ethic he brings to his job
238) the way he tells me every day I'm beautiful
239) the wisdom and discernment he demonstrates in being a good steward of our finances
240) the gift of his humor
241) the report of answered prayer
242) the advances in medical technology allowing for more accurate diagnoses and treatments
243) the old-fashioned, oval brass curtain rod that turns our tub into a shower
244) the scrubbed, soapy-clean bare surface of my baby
245) the children, all snuggle-y in their pajamas, ready for bed
246) the aroma of percolating coffee
247) the company of great friends
248) the good report of continuing mission work with college students in Ukraine
249) the precious child whose presence defies doctors and testifies to God's power
250) the quiet house, hushed with slumber
As with ring selection, we expended much time and energy in knowing one another's likes and dislikes well. Expectations and dreams. Building a foundation. We spent months diligently attending premarital counseling, doing all the requisite studying and follow-up discussion, reading all recommended books. One of the most highly regarded books at that time was the still-popular "The Five Love Languages." We tore through the chapters, eager to see the other in its pages and be better prepared to meet all the needs that attend growing love.
I could never have anticipated that this book, and others like it, would actually cause so much frustration. There is much to be said for seeking to actively demonstrate love to your spouse, to meet their specific needs and to avoid the damage of unmet expectations. Those pursuits ARE extremely important and worthy endeavors. However, I failed to consider the damage that might occur when the broader perspective of marriage is lost and so much emphasis is placed on what is being done.
Marriage is not really about what my husband does for me. I appreciate it, most definitely! But when I start to focus on what he does and doesn't do, it's only a matter of time before I connect those actions to his feelings for me and my sense of worth and security. When he doesn't do what I want, he doesn't really love me. I don't mean to keep a record of wrongs, but I do. The longer the list of wrongs becomes, the more ingratitude fills my heart. As my heart brims with ingratitude, discontent seeps into the marriage. The more discontent I feel in the relationship, the more I resent HIM for where we are, where I am. Once resentment is the primary attitude of my heart, I no longer desire to actively show love in any form or be receptive to that which he offers.
It's not that there is so much wrong with the doing. We are called to serve one another in love. That's what Ephesians' admonition to husbands and wives is about. Different methods of service, the wife's submission to the husband and the husband's sacrificial love for his wife. A wrong attitude of the heart creates an improper view of service. The attitude of the heart in marriage must be right or the actions will always be lacking.
This is inevitable, because we do not marry perfect people who are able to perfectly meet our needs, love languages or realistic, or unrealistic, expectations all the time. We marry sinners. I am a sinner! All the doing of life is bound to reveal flaws. How I handle those flaws is significant. How I view my husband in light of God's sovereign plan is significant. I can either treat him as a gift from the Lord, a gift to be thankful and grateful for, or as a person there to meet my needs.
So when inevitable failure occurs...what happens then? If my attitude is thankfulness, then I am content in spite of wrongs or unmet expectations. If I can say to my husband: I love you and am thankful for you, because I trust God brought us together. If there is anything to change for the better, that is God's work to do, not mine to identify...THEN I am being gracious. THEN we have a foundation on which to base a marriage.
226) the early morning snuggles of my toddler daughter with her Daddy
227) the baby's sweet, full-body sneeze
228) the oldest son's initiative to serve his siblings breakfast
229) the remarkably bright, blue sky
230) the crisp, clean air
231) the once-reluctant son's new-found enthusiasm for school
232) the tinkling sound of chimes in the distance
234) the twirling dance shared with my daughter
235) the rich, milk chocolate-covered, vanilla bean ice cream bars hidden in the freezer for me by my husband
236) the willingness of my husband to sacrificially serve our family and others
237) the admirable and incomparable work ethic he brings to his job
238) the way he tells me every day I'm beautiful
239) the wisdom and discernment he demonstrates in being a good steward of our finances
240) the gift of his humor
241) the report of answered prayer
242) the advances in medical technology allowing for more accurate diagnoses and treatments
243) the old-fashioned, oval brass curtain rod that turns our tub into a shower
244) the scrubbed, soapy-clean bare surface of my baby
245) the children, all snuggle-y in their pajamas, ready for bed
246) the aroma of percolating coffee
247) the company of great friends
248) the good report of continuing mission work with college students in Ukraine
249) the precious child whose presence defies doctors and testifies to God's power
250) the quiet house, hushed with slumber
Day 9-It's Not Much, But It's Home
I remember, when I was younger, going to homes now and then that I would have said had an "eclectic" taste. Mismatched furniture and decor. Well worn. Well lived in. Yet I never came away thinking they needed a make-over. In fact, I often enjoyed the homey quality. The families all seemed happy, however different their lifestyle may have been from the perfection of Southern Living or Pottery Barn.
Now I live in one of those homes. Watermarks on the buffet. Hand-me-down, used or scratch-and-dent furniture. Nothing considered a "set." Nicks in my bookshelf. Etchings in the dining table. Crayon and pencil drawings on the walls that could probably use a new coat of paint. Forget that we haven't even finished painting some halls and rooms for the first time! A hole in our bedroom window, stuffed with an old white undershirt. Scratched and worn wooden floors.
And I love our home. I've written about it before. It IS old. It IS homey. It IS beautiful to me in all of the life that it holds day in and day out and displays in the very fabric of its structure. But, I admit, sometimes I believe the lie that festers within. The lie that I deserve better, need more. The lie that breeds ingratitude and discontent.
I admiringly surveyed my newly-married sister's home recently and struggled not to envy it's pristine appearance and gorgeous decor. I am extremely happy for her and appreciative of her excellent taste. So why, even in the midst of my joy on her behalf, is it so easy to believe the lie?
Back in Philippians 4, Paul says, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." He learned, through continual thanksgiving, to be content in all circumstances.
Once again, God does not qualify his statements. I either have or don't have. The quality of those provisions is never a matter of consideration. I don't get to complain because my curtains aren't as pretty as someone else's. It might be nice, but it is not a requirement for a happy home. I am not in want or in need. The reality is that I truly have plenty, plenty to be thankful for!
I have floors worn by the tread of many precious feet. I have walls marked by busy, curious, energetic little hands. I have furniture that holds our possessions and our bodies. I have a house that is loved and lived in. I'm reminded of Ron Weasley's humble comments when he brings Harry to their household for the first time, "It's not much. But it's home."
I would offer one caveat. It IS much. And I want to be mindful to give thanks for it, so I too may learn to be content!
201) the rounded belly of my baby boy, full with milk
202) the act of rolling over, another milestone
203) the spacious dining table, large enough for friends and family
204) the hugs shared between the older brothers and their younger siblings before school
205) the hammer-wielding three year old "fixing" protruding nails in our floorboards
206) the microwave that warms my beverage on chilly, winter mornings
207) the fading, dyed-red heels that graced my feet on prom night many years ago, giving my daughters such enjoyment today
208) the act of sitting unassisted, second developmental achievement in one day
209) the warmed, wooden planks under my bare-feet, absorbing sun through the windows
210) the granddaughter missing her Papa
211) the ornate, old buffet that holds all my discontinued Mikasa Richelieu china, purchased from an antique store
212) the sight of my children jumping gleefully on the couch together, before I made them stop
213) the comfort of wearing my husband's button-down shirt
214) the knowledge that God is sovereign over governments
215) the shelves that hold my many well-loved and well-worn books
216) the six frames on the playroom wall that display my children's works of art
217) the almost musical quality of a baby cooing
218) the bushes that become hiding places
219) the slide propped high on the Wheeping Cherry, made from the broken tree-house
220) the compost bin at the fallow garden's corner that will feed our seedlings and plants all spring and summer
221) the sandbox built by my husband's hands, scene of moats, castles, towers and mountains
222) the hole under the dogwood tree where the children dig and get dirty and imagine
223) the crystallized sweetness of dried pineapple
224) the picture of a woman in red with white-flowered bouquet
225) the monthly Book Club meeting tonight
Now I live in one of those homes. Watermarks on the buffet. Hand-me-down, used or scratch-and-dent furniture. Nothing considered a "set." Nicks in my bookshelf. Etchings in the dining table. Crayon and pencil drawings on the walls that could probably use a new coat of paint. Forget that we haven't even finished painting some halls and rooms for the first time! A hole in our bedroom window, stuffed with an old white undershirt. Scratched and worn wooden floors.
And I love our home. I've written about it before. It IS old. It IS homey. It IS beautiful to me in all of the life that it holds day in and day out and displays in the very fabric of its structure. But, I admit, sometimes I believe the lie that festers within. The lie that I deserve better, need more. The lie that breeds ingratitude and discontent.
I admiringly surveyed my newly-married sister's home recently and struggled not to envy it's pristine appearance and gorgeous decor. I am extremely happy for her and appreciative of her excellent taste. So why, even in the midst of my joy on her behalf, is it so easy to believe the lie?
Back in Philippians 4, Paul says, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want." He learned, through continual thanksgiving, to be content in all circumstances.
Once again, God does not qualify his statements. I either have or don't have. The quality of those provisions is never a matter of consideration. I don't get to complain because my curtains aren't as pretty as someone else's. It might be nice, but it is not a requirement for a happy home. I am not in want or in need. The reality is that I truly have plenty, plenty to be thankful for!
I have floors worn by the tread of many precious feet. I have walls marked by busy, curious, energetic little hands. I have furniture that holds our possessions and our bodies. I have a house that is loved and lived in. I'm reminded of Ron Weasley's humble comments when he brings Harry to their household for the first time, "It's not much. But it's home."
I would offer one caveat. It IS much. And I want to be mindful to give thanks for it, so I too may learn to be content!
201) the rounded belly of my baby boy, full with milk
202) the act of rolling over, another milestone
203) the spacious dining table, large enough for friends and family
204) the hugs shared between the older brothers and their younger siblings before school
205) the hammer-wielding three year old "fixing" protruding nails in our floorboards
206) the microwave that warms my beverage on chilly, winter mornings
207) the fading, dyed-red heels that graced my feet on prom night many years ago, giving my daughters such enjoyment today
208) the act of sitting unassisted, second developmental achievement in one day
209) the warmed, wooden planks under my bare-feet, absorbing sun through the windows
210) the granddaughter missing her Papa
211) the ornate, old buffet that holds all my discontinued Mikasa Richelieu china, purchased from an antique store
212) the sight of my children jumping gleefully on the couch together, before I made them stop
213) the comfort of wearing my husband's button-down shirt
214) the knowledge that God is sovereign over governments
215) the shelves that hold my many well-loved and well-worn books
216) the six frames on the playroom wall that display my children's works of art
217) the almost musical quality of a baby cooing
218) the bushes that become hiding places
219) the slide propped high on the Wheeping Cherry, made from the broken tree-house
220) the compost bin at the fallow garden's corner that will feed our seedlings and plants all spring and summer
221) the sandbox built by my husband's hands, scene of moats, castles, towers and mountains
222) the hole under the dogwood tree where the children dig and get dirty and imagine
223) the crystallized sweetness of dried pineapple
224) the picture of a woman in red with white-flowered bouquet
225) the monthly Book Club meeting tonight
Day 8- The Mean Girl
I'm learning that I need to fully, FULLY appreciate the people in my life and all that having them in my life brings. It's hard and convicting. I'm still thinking about Philippians 4 and how to practice grateful living, giving thanks in and for all things.
Verse 5 has continued to stick with me, "Let your gentleness be evident to all." And I am realizing something very nasty about myself. I have not been gentle or kind or loving to ALL. One of my coping mechanisms for dealing with daily stress and frustration has been to take my irritation out on our dog. To let her be my outlet, the surrogate receptor of my ingratitude, because I would never unleash the full brunt on my family.
I have not been hurtful to her, but neither have I been very loving or kind. Little things. Seeing her lazing the day away on the hot grate after my long, tiring day with little to no rest. An irritant. So, I make her move. No reason, other than I felt like it. Letting her sit on my husband's lap while we relaxed on the couch? No. He's mine! I've given and shared and poured myself out all day long. I don't want to share any more! So, I deny her, and she curled up on the floor.
I always knew it was selfish and petty, but I justified it. I characterized my actions as quirky or silly...even endearing! How could it NOT be sweet that I want my husband all to myself!? And look, I gave her a blanket to lay on! She's not cold, hungry or alone...just, not cared for.
The longer I pondered this scripture, the more the motivations of my heart were revealed. Hebrews 4: 12-13 says, "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give an account." And in truth, my thoughts and actions have been nothing short of mean-spirited.
I'm not one of those people who will ever feed her from the table or consider her my "fur-baby." I have six babies, who all need my love and attention. They take precedence. However, she does need more than just nourishment and shelter. She needs my fondness and care as well, a valued place in our family and, yes, sometimes a place on my lap.
God's word does not leave room for partiality. I don't get to pick and choose how or to whom I should be apply it. It simply admonishes, "Let your gentleness be evident to all." And the implications are far-reaching. If I am convicted to show more loving-kindness to my pet, how much more willing should I be to demonstrate kindness, gentleness and love to those that, for one reason or another, I find it difficult to get along with or whose opinions or background differ from my own!?
For now, I am finding that through this daily thanks offering, my heart is more full of gratitude than ingratitude and, as a result, I am more likely to pour out fruit of the Spirit, even to her. Hopefully, this fruit will continue to be evident, not only to those in my insular world, but to any and all I meet!
176) the Lord's protection over friends in a potentially dangerous and life-threatening situation
177) the privilege of lifting the needs of others up before the Father
178) the clean refrigerator, a labor of love from my husband
179) the warm, insulated laundry room
180) the fingers that can zip, button and snap
181) the exhaust tails from distant airplanes streaming across the clear sky
182) the bulbs peaking up through winter ground
183) the neighboring tree that just may be a "Whomping" Willow
184) the American flag flying full and majestic
185) the large, freely-given wardrobe
186) the quilt adorning my bed with crimson, blush and pale blue flowers on delicate vines
187) the ridges in my husband's collarbone, empty screw-holes, physical reminders of God's sovereignty in all circumstances
188) the pigtails, bouncing on my daughter's head as she runs
189) the trustworthy recommendations of friends
190) the Crock-pot, slowly and easily cooking our evening meal
191) the child's painted landscape in watercolor
192) the sweet, flavorful aroma of simmering tomato sauce
193) the elation on my son's face when we found his missing Monkey blanket
194) the way my baby reaches his little hands up to touch my face when I'm near
195) the comforting feeling of a warm mug in my hands
196) the slobbery baby-kisses all over my face
197) the sparkling concord grape juice, deep purple and bubbly in my glass
198) the smooth, clean-shaven face of my husband
199) the tall, dark red champagne flutes
200) the slow dance with my dear one, held close and swept up in the music
Verse 5 has continued to stick with me, "Let your gentleness be evident to all." And I am realizing something very nasty about myself. I have not been gentle or kind or loving to ALL. One of my coping mechanisms for dealing with daily stress and frustration has been to take my irritation out on our dog. To let her be my outlet, the surrogate receptor of my ingratitude, because I would never unleash the full brunt on my family.
I have not been hurtful to her, but neither have I been very loving or kind. Little things. Seeing her lazing the day away on the hot grate after my long, tiring day with little to no rest. An irritant. So, I make her move. No reason, other than I felt like it. Letting her sit on my husband's lap while we relaxed on the couch? No. He's mine! I've given and shared and poured myself out all day long. I don't want to share any more! So, I deny her, and she curled up on the floor.
I always knew it was selfish and petty, but I justified it. I characterized my actions as quirky or silly...even endearing! How could it NOT be sweet that I want my husband all to myself!? And look, I gave her a blanket to lay on! She's not cold, hungry or alone...just, not cared for.
The longer I pondered this scripture, the more the motivations of my heart were revealed. Hebrews 4: 12-13 says, "For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give an account." And in truth, my thoughts and actions have been nothing short of mean-spirited.
I'm not one of those people who will ever feed her from the table or consider her my "fur-baby." I have six babies, who all need my love and attention. They take precedence. However, she does need more than just nourishment and shelter. She needs my fondness and care as well, a valued place in our family and, yes, sometimes a place on my lap.
God's word does not leave room for partiality. I don't get to pick and choose how or to whom I should be apply it. It simply admonishes, "Let your gentleness be evident to all." And the implications are far-reaching. If I am convicted to show more loving-kindness to my pet, how much more willing should I be to demonstrate kindness, gentleness and love to those that, for one reason or another, I find it difficult to get along with or whose opinions or background differ from my own!?
For now, I am finding that through this daily thanks offering, my heart is more full of gratitude than ingratitude and, as a result, I am more likely to pour out fruit of the Spirit, even to her. Hopefully, this fruit will continue to be evident, not only to those in my insular world, but to any and all I meet!
176) the Lord's protection over friends in a potentially dangerous and life-threatening situation
177) the privilege of lifting the needs of others up before the Father
178) the clean refrigerator, a labor of love from my husband
179) the warm, insulated laundry room
180) the fingers that can zip, button and snap
181) the exhaust tails from distant airplanes streaming across the clear sky
182) the bulbs peaking up through winter ground
183) the neighboring tree that just may be a "Whomping" Willow
184) the American flag flying full and majestic
185) the large, freely-given wardrobe
186) the quilt adorning my bed with crimson, blush and pale blue flowers on delicate vines
187) the ridges in my husband's collarbone, empty screw-holes, physical reminders of God's sovereignty in all circumstances
188) the pigtails, bouncing on my daughter's head as she runs
189) the trustworthy recommendations of friends
190) the Crock-pot, slowly and easily cooking our evening meal
191) the child's painted landscape in watercolor
192) the sweet, flavorful aroma of simmering tomato sauce
193) the elation on my son's face when we found his missing Monkey blanket
194) the way my baby reaches his little hands up to touch my face when I'm near
195) the comforting feeling of a warm mug in my hands
196) the slobbery baby-kisses all over my face
197) the sparkling concord grape juice, deep purple and bubbly in my glass
198) the smooth, clean-shaven face of my husband
199) the tall, dark red champagne flutes
200) the slow dance with my dear one, held close and swept up in the music
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Day 7-The Inconvenient Truth
I'm ashamed to admit that there are many days when sitting down to read books with my kids feels inconvenient. Helping them with a request is an intrusion into my daily routine. Sitting down to color or play or build keeps me from doing something...more important. As a mother, that truth about myself is an admission of the biggest kind of failure.
Delving into my thoughts on the use of time last week was just the tip of the ice burg. It was eye-opening to realize that in all my busyness to accomplish things with my allotted time, I was really wasting that most precious commodity. But the conviction didn't stop there. This was not just an issue of overlooking God's gifts to me in my daily haste. It was also an issue of my attitude toward those things and people who alter my plans. How much more awful it has been to realize how deep my selfishness goes. I pour out frustration rather than thankfulness when I feel my time, MY time, isn't being used well. But not only that...I pour out frustration on the things, and especially the ones, who get in my way. The truth about my heart is ugly.
I sat playing with daughter in the playroom Friday. It was fun! We laughed, and I was content. Then I was overwhelmed with the realization that, all too often, rather than truly enjoying these moments, I had to consciously suppress impatience. My breath caught in my throat, and I fought back tears. Even as we walked out the door together to cross the street to the preschool, these emotions of failure continued to flood over me.
And then, the dreariness of that overcast day was literally broken wide open with a burst of sunlight from behind the clouds. It poured over us, shining bright and golden and lighting the dark spaces of tree shadows on the grass, and my heavy heart was glad with thanks.
Deliberately making time for those moments was only half the equation. I could spend every waking moment with my children to the exclusion of all else, dirty dishes in the sink, laundry piled on the couch and crumbs littering the floor, but neither of us would be blessed by that interaction if I was seething inwardly with selfish ingratitude. I needed to go into every moment with a thankful heart. I not only needed a proper view of time but a fuller understanding of the way God uses people in my life...and the knowledge He might be pleased to use me in theirs. Then with all that enough time, as Ms. Voskamp calls it, I would not only fully take hold of God's gifts but also fully appreciate His means of grace to me.
How deep is the Father's love for me, an undeserving sinner, that He continues to heap blessing upon blessing into my life? Thank you, Lord, for shining light into my dark heart, for revealing the depth of my ingratitude and the hope of grace in Christ! Thank you for the sunshine and for my daughter's laughter. Make her into the woman I wish I was!
151) the additional half hour of sleep
152) the banter overheard between brothers
153) the clopping on wood of too-big shoes on little feet
154) the fingers brushing my cheek in a good-morning caress
155) the ring, once dull-finished, becoming more golden with age
156) the dimples at the back of my baby's chubby elbow
157) the tiny, inquisitive hand searching my face in exploration and familiarity
158) the ties that turn boys into handsome little men
159) the twisted tree standing alone in a field
160) the flowers dotting the barren landscape of the veteran's cemetery with color
161) the sun shimmering across the New River
162) the hay bales, round and big and orderly stacked against the pasture fence
163) the wise words of a godly woman
164) the tea bag brought from home to church by my husband for my refreshment
165) the voices in unison raising the chorus "Alleluia, grace like rain pours down on me"
166) the stained glass flower, mosaic of translucent color, on the sanctuary wall
167) the small town in which we reside, homey and familiar
168) the two sisters, playing and giggling together happily
169) the two pairs of feet hanging off the couch, one big, one small, side by side
170) the amateur wrestling match between father and son
171) the sweet smell of brown sugar permeating the kitchen
172) the old, claw-foot bathtub, reminiscent of my Grandma's house and nautical, whale-papered bathroom
173) the aroma of fresh-baked oatmeal bars
174) the weary child, heavy with approaching slumber, in my arms
175) the father and daughter gleefully whirling together in dance
Delving into my thoughts on the use of time last week was just the tip of the ice burg. It was eye-opening to realize that in all my busyness to accomplish things with my allotted time, I was really wasting that most precious commodity. But the conviction didn't stop there. This was not just an issue of overlooking God's gifts to me in my daily haste. It was also an issue of my attitude toward those things and people who alter my plans. How much more awful it has been to realize how deep my selfishness goes. I pour out frustration rather than thankfulness when I feel my time, MY time, isn't being used well. But not only that...I pour out frustration on the things, and especially the ones, who get in my way. The truth about my heart is ugly.
I sat playing with daughter in the playroom Friday. It was fun! We laughed, and I was content. Then I was overwhelmed with the realization that, all too often, rather than truly enjoying these moments, I had to consciously suppress impatience. My breath caught in my throat, and I fought back tears. Even as we walked out the door together to cross the street to the preschool, these emotions of failure continued to flood over me.
And then, the dreariness of that overcast day was literally broken wide open with a burst of sunlight from behind the clouds. It poured over us, shining bright and golden and lighting the dark spaces of tree shadows on the grass, and my heavy heart was glad with thanks.
Deliberately making time for those moments was only half the equation. I could spend every waking moment with my children to the exclusion of all else, dirty dishes in the sink, laundry piled on the couch and crumbs littering the floor, but neither of us would be blessed by that interaction if I was seething inwardly with selfish ingratitude. I needed to go into every moment with a thankful heart. I not only needed a proper view of time but a fuller understanding of the way God uses people in my life...and the knowledge He might be pleased to use me in theirs. Then with all that enough time, as Ms. Voskamp calls it, I would not only fully take hold of God's gifts but also fully appreciate His means of grace to me.
How deep is the Father's love for me, an undeserving sinner, that He continues to heap blessing upon blessing into my life? Thank you, Lord, for shining light into my dark heart, for revealing the depth of my ingratitude and the hope of grace in Christ! Thank you for the sunshine and for my daughter's laughter. Make her into the woman I wish I was!
151) the additional half hour of sleep
152) the banter overheard between brothers
153) the clopping on wood of too-big shoes on little feet
154) the fingers brushing my cheek in a good-morning caress
155) the ring, once dull-finished, becoming more golden with age
156) the dimples at the back of my baby's chubby elbow
157) the tiny, inquisitive hand searching my face in exploration and familiarity
158) the ties that turn boys into handsome little men
159) the twisted tree standing alone in a field
160) the flowers dotting the barren landscape of the veteran's cemetery with color
161) the sun shimmering across the New River
162) the hay bales, round and big and orderly stacked against the pasture fence
163) the wise words of a godly woman
164) the tea bag brought from home to church by my husband for my refreshment
165) the voices in unison raising the chorus "Alleluia, grace like rain pours down on me"
166) the stained glass flower, mosaic of translucent color, on the sanctuary wall
167) the small town in which we reside, homey and familiar
168) the two sisters, playing and giggling together happily
169) the two pairs of feet hanging off the couch, one big, one small, side by side
170) the amateur wrestling match between father and son
171) the sweet smell of brown sugar permeating the kitchen
172) the old, claw-foot bathtub, reminiscent of my Grandma's house and nautical, whale-papered bathroom
173) the aroma of fresh-baked oatmeal bars
174) the weary child, heavy with approaching slumber, in my arms
175) the father and daughter gleefully whirling together in dance
Day 6-The Time Turner
On Wednesday I took a few minutes of quiet to sit on the couch and snuggle with my baby. Normally, I would systematically and efficiently take care of business, the feeding, the diaper, putting him down to play and moving on to the first of many to-dos of the day. I don't have time to do it any other way.
Time. A big don't-have. I often joke to Mike that I need a time turner like Hermione Granger. On that day, I stopped. Made that moment deliberate. Searched for the goodness of God in it.
I slowed down and wrote about those moments. Then I spied the clock. Where had the time gone? Fifteen minutes until I walked the two to school and none were dressed! Rushing, rushing. Five minutes and two were still naked! We made it, down to the minute, but I herded them out the door still in my sleep pants, the lilac ones covered in a rainbow of butterflies. They didn't remotely pass for regular clothes. I felt the push. I gave up time on one thing for time on another, and it didn't feel like enough!
Later I took my toddler in my room and let her help me with my bed. A simple act but so against the grain. It took twice as long, not a "good" use of time. Usually, I would hurry to work around her, not work with her. But I did it, and she was delighted. We approached the pile of laundry together. She put on a pair of her brother's underwear, and we laughed. I even took a picture! One pair of pants folded, then she saw sparkling sunlight on the wall, refracted through our window in a beautiful way I'd never noticed before. She ran to it, wanting to touch it, so we did.
To my surprise, I checked the clock and discovered that the morning's time had flown by but, instead of feeling anxiety over the many things still left undone, I felt unfazed. I was baffled. I had done less than expected, but I felt as though I had accomplished more! What an amazing paradox! Seeing God's gifts to me takes time. It requires deliberate attention. Thankfulness is learned and cannot be rushed. It does not fit into a schedule. It does not fit neatly into a box. Contentment thrives where God's gifts in time are appreciated.
Then that afternoon began to slip away, back, back into the normal routine of busyness. I looked at the clock. I had just enough time between a feeding and a nap to finish the dishes. I scrubbed and rinsed. Only halfway done and I poked my head out of the kitchen to see if the baby appeared happy, entertaining himself. I was smote with guilt.
My husband always tells me, spend time with our children. THAT is your job. I love that he says this, and I believe he is genuine. But, I always think to myself, when will the things that NEED to be done, get done? After bedtime? Tomorrow?! We need clean dishes to eat on, clean clothes to wear, food to eat. It all has to be done some time! There never seems to be enough for everything, to accomplish the "urgent" and the "necessary." I separate the two because, I am realizing, the necessary and the urgent are rarely the same.
I talked myself into leaving the dishes half done. I began to leave the kitchen and spied the leaves accumulating under the cupboards, evidence of Tuesday's outdoor adventures. I grabbed the broom. This I could do quickly. I had time...I gave in and swept. I wished that I would not, even as I did it. Finally, I went out and picked up my baby and gathered two others, and we sat on the floor, reading books together.
It was a hard thing, making those choices throughout the day, and it grates on me to admit how hard. But I was, am, beginning to understand how to really "turn time." Not take it back, not make more, but turn it into that which is enough.
Thursday morning I found myself on the couch surrounded by four children reading more books. I looked around, surprised at myself. Was I not normally busy with something else at this time of the morning? But, for the life of me, I could not remember what I was supposed to be doing except exactly that. I looked down and smiled at my son's chubby little knees. Precious.
Every time I deliberately accept the time that I have as enough for what matters, I know I will have an opportunity to see another of God's blessings to me. All the minutiae of living will be attended to in due time. Indeed, as that day went on, I discovered that when I stopped rushing around chasing perfection and slowed down in performing, and enjoying, all the tasks that were really essential, there was plenty of time. Even more than I needed.
126) the whirring sound of air rushing up the central duct and passing through the grate
127) the tent of blankets completely obscuring our dining room table
128) the moment of stillness when an unwell child rests their head upon my chest for comfort
129) the way my daughter's little legs flail when she runs, free and with total abandon
130) the pieces of cereal in my daughter's hands zooming around in overlapping orbit until they collide and crumble
131) the blanket that soothes her hurts when her thumb cannot
132) the adornment of purple, my husband's favorite
133) the decadent taste of rich dark chocolate
134) the old bottle of aftershave, fragrant with memories
135) the fan that circulates the heat throughout the first floor
136) the silky drizzle of honey
137) the drooping, winter-barren limbs of our majestic Weeping Cherry sweeping over the yard
138) the strong scent of citrus as peel is pared from orange flesh
139) the unmatched enthusiasm of boys for a tale of heroics and adventure
140) the distant mountains rising up from the valley
141) the horizon haze where land meets sky
142) the clouds swiftly floating across my field of vision
143) the creamy yellow roses tipped pinky-rouge
144) the last loaf on the day-old bread cart
145) the rainbow, Covenant of Grace visible on earth
146) the beautiful lyrics, like my own heart-song
147) the triumphant child's first potty success
148) the meal appreciated by friends in need
149) the vast improvement in my son's reading ability
150) the deep blue eyes that wept on our wedding day and smiled with silent 'I love yous' every day since
Time. A big don't-have. I often joke to Mike that I need a time turner like Hermione Granger. On that day, I stopped. Made that moment deliberate. Searched for the goodness of God in it.
I slowed down and wrote about those moments. Then I spied the clock. Where had the time gone? Fifteen minutes until I walked the two to school and none were dressed! Rushing, rushing. Five minutes and two were still naked! We made it, down to the minute, but I herded them out the door still in my sleep pants, the lilac ones covered in a rainbow of butterflies. They didn't remotely pass for regular clothes. I felt the push. I gave up time on one thing for time on another, and it didn't feel like enough!
Later I took my toddler in my room and let her help me with my bed. A simple act but so against the grain. It took twice as long, not a "good" use of time. Usually, I would hurry to work around her, not work with her. But I did it, and she was delighted. We approached the pile of laundry together. She put on a pair of her brother's underwear, and we laughed. I even took a picture! One pair of pants folded, then she saw sparkling sunlight on the wall, refracted through our window in a beautiful way I'd never noticed before. She ran to it, wanting to touch it, so we did.
To my surprise, I checked the clock and discovered that the morning's time had flown by but, instead of feeling anxiety over the many things still left undone, I felt unfazed. I was baffled. I had done less than expected, but I felt as though I had accomplished more! What an amazing paradox! Seeing God's gifts to me takes time. It requires deliberate attention. Thankfulness is learned and cannot be rushed. It does not fit into a schedule. It does not fit neatly into a box. Contentment thrives where God's gifts in time are appreciated.
Then that afternoon began to slip away, back, back into the normal routine of busyness. I looked at the clock. I had just enough time between a feeding and a nap to finish the dishes. I scrubbed and rinsed. Only halfway done and I poked my head out of the kitchen to see if the baby appeared happy, entertaining himself. I was smote with guilt.
My husband always tells me, spend time with our children. THAT is your job. I love that he says this, and I believe he is genuine. But, I always think to myself, when will the things that NEED to be done, get done? After bedtime? Tomorrow?! We need clean dishes to eat on, clean clothes to wear, food to eat. It all has to be done some time! There never seems to be enough for everything, to accomplish the "urgent" and the "necessary." I separate the two because, I am realizing, the necessary and the urgent are rarely the same.
I talked myself into leaving the dishes half done. I began to leave the kitchen and spied the leaves accumulating under the cupboards, evidence of Tuesday's outdoor adventures. I grabbed the broom. This I could do quickly. I had time...I gave in and swept. I wished that I would not, even as I did it. Finally, I went out and picked up my baby and gathered two others, and we sat on the floor, reading books together.
It was a hard thing, making those choices throughout the day, and it grates on me to admit how hard. But I was, am, beginning to understand how to really "turn time." Not take it back, not make more, but turn it into that which is enough.
Thursday morning I found myself on the couch surrounded by four children reading more books. I looked around, surprised at myself. Was I not normally busy with something else at this time of the morning? But, for the life of me, I could not remember what I was supposed to be doing except exactly that. I looked down and smiled at my son's chubby little knees. Precious.
Every time I deliberately accept the time that I have as enough for what matters, I know I will have an opportunity to see another of God's blessings to me. All the minutiae of living will be attended to in due time. Indeed, as that day went on, I discovered that when I stopped rushing around chasing perfection and slowed down in performing, and enjoying, all the tasks that were really essential, there was plenty of time. Even more than I needed.
126) the whirring sound of air rushing up the central duct and passing through the grate
127) the tent of blankets completely obscuring our dining room table
128) the moment of stillness when an unwell child rests their head upon my chest for comfort
129) the way my daughter's little legs flail when she runs, free and with total abandon
130) the pieces of cereal in my daughter's hands zooming around in overlapping orbit until they collide and crumble
131) the blanket that soothes her hurts when her thumb cannot
132) the adornment of purple, my husband's favorite
133) the decadent taste of rich dark chocolate
134) the old bottle of aftershave, fragrant with memories
135) the fan that circulates the heat throughout the first floor
136) the silky drizzle of honey
137) the drooping, winter-barren limbs of our majestic Weeping Cherry sweeping over the yard
138) the strong scent of citrus as peel is pared from orange flesh
139) the unmatched enthusiasm of boys for a tale of heroics and adventure
140) the distant mountains rising up from the valley
141) the horizon haze where land meets sky
142) the clouds swiftly floating across my field of vision
143) the creamy yellow roses tipped pinky-rouge
144) the last loaf on the day-old bread cart
145) the rainbow, Covenant of Grace visible on earth
146) the beautiful lyrics, like my own heart-song
147) the triumphant child's first potty success
148) the meal appreciated by friends in need
149) the vast improvement in my son's reading ability
150) the deep blue eyes that wept on our wedding day and smiled with silent 'I love yous' every day since
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