My first guest blog!!! Jann is a great friend who I have known for a long time. She is an amazing mom, wife, and a great example what it looks life to follow God with all your heart.
I am so thankful for her influence in my life.
Read my guest blog entry at http://thereflectionofhim.blogspot.com
Then stick around for a while and let her words feed your soul.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
In Need of Trees
I've wanted to write a number of times in the last two weeks. However, I have been wiping noses, administering meds, and getting the house ready for Christmas. I need all ten fingers to type and they have been very busy. But, I'm not complaining. Or, at least, I am really focusing on not complaining or letting my heart drift down that tempting road.
It's poison...and, I've learned this the hard way.
This is my daily challenge. I wake up every morning with great intentions. I want so badly to be a person who is thankful. It is one of my deepest desires to be able to approach the tasks of the day with a heart of gratitude. But everyday, well, almost everyday, I feel like I'm failing.
Often, it is when things get hard.
I sit in my big blue chair in the Little Man's room giving him a bottle or settling him down for a nap. My mind wanders with to-do lists and want-to-do lists. I am hopeful. This time he is going to take his bottle and not fight me. This time he is going to lay down for his nap and fall peacefully asleep. Then, especially when I want it the most, those hopes resemble the likes of someone taking a baseball bat to a mirror...dashed...crashed...shards and fragments.
It is in these moments that I fail more than thrive. I am so ashamed to admit it. My sweet baby, whom 6 and a half months later I still can't quite figure out, doesn't understand why mommy is crying again. My sweet toddler peaks through the door and whispers, "Let's be happy mommy!!!"
"Yes, let's be happy," is what I really want to say but instead all that comes out of my mouth is a harsh "Shhhhh..." and all that wells up in my heart are the reasons I can blame someone else for this mess of a moment.
My mind flies from loved one to loved one...it's all their faults. I chuckle as I write it because it is so ridiculous, but, in the moment...in the mess...I have to find someone to blame. Why do I think this will make it any better? I don't know.
It seems that when I can't get things under control fear enters the picture. As those scheming voices get louder I begin to believe the jagged thoughts that are racing through my mind and then my heart takes in more of that poison.
I complain, not necessarily out loud, but I do. I take the posture of someone who thinks they are entitled. It's really embarrassing actually. If I were only to widen my focus and see the healthy, hearty boy in my arms and listen to the bright sweet voice on the other side of the door I might see the blessings. I might find something to be thankful for.
Everyday I'm learning over again to stop placing my expectations in people, timetables and to-do lists. This constant habit that has it's vice on on me ushers me into a "complaint fest". When my expectations are not met my heart wells up with anxiety and I find myself taking the bait. The words and thoughts sit on my heart and eventually sink in causing bitterness and self-pity...the antithesis of joy.
This is hard for me. I'm a smiley person. Joy is something that has always come easy. I look at my two sweet children and feel the guilt well up because I am so blessed, so lucky to be their mama but for the life of me I can't muster up the joy.
This is when I know something must be done. If I go on this way the poison that is overtaking me will begin to overflow onto the people around me, the little people especially.
So, I go to the Word.
It really is amazing. I don't know how to actually describe it, but, every time, I experience healing. I experience refreshing. I experience conviction that leads to repentance that leads to a seed of gratitude, a seed that if watered grows exponentially.
"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life."
Proverbs 13:12
I have had a few days living with a sick heart. What I need is a good look at the trees of life, the desires fulfilled. These are what restore me. These oaks, these trees draw in the living water that replenishes and refreshes.
Joy wells up and the complaining voices fade.
In high school I realized I needed to wear glasses. I borrowed my friends on the bus ride home one day. I will never forget what the trees looked like...such beauty, such detail, such life.
Tonight I am remembering desires fulfilled.
The man I married...
The babies sleeping in their beds...
The life long friends...
the family who loves and cares...
the opportunities...
the promises kept...
the smiles...the belly laughs...the joy.
I know the struggle is not over. Tomorrow holds new challenges. So, tonight I'm praying.
Lord, help me. Help me see. Remind me to water these seeds you planted tonight. May they grow into trees of life. Strong ones with deep roots, not easily blown over by the winds of adversity.
Thank you for fulfilling so much of my heart's desire.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Crying Out
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| Sweet baby kisses...it doesn't get any better than this. |
Sniff, sniff, sip. Sniff, sniff, sip. This is me right now. No, I'm not crying at this moment but I feel like I've been hit by a bus. It is with a bad head cold and a re-heated cup of coffee that I find myself typing this morning.
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| Mommy and the Bug with our sick eyes...all four of us are sniffling. |
This week started high and came crashing down. Monday, I was so happy. We had just come off the long weekend, we celebrated and had a grand ol' time. The kiddos were extra loved on with all the extra people around. They were happy little cherubs. That was the calm before the storm...literally.
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| Christmas at Disneyland...LOVE IT. |
If you've read A Lesson from Amy, the night that finally gave me something to write about and what started my blog entries, you know I have a sweet Little Man who has had trouble sleeping. It has been a long road since that 8 week old caused me to cry out to God in a way I hadn't in a long while.
Well, this week brought me to my knees again.
Not only is Little Man's night sleep a problem, his napping is not very spectacular either. Just like his big sister he has been a cat napper...with moments of break through that cause me to hope we are turning a corner. Then with the next day or the next nap my hopes are dashed...and so goes our days.
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| Sick and sleepy...of course he slept for two hours while I held him this afternoon. |
On Wednesday this week I was having one of those "Super" days where nothing goes according to plan; the anxiety and frustration well up to the tipping point. I was either going to implode or explode...either way it was not going to be pretty. I put both kiddos in their beds and got in the shower, also known as my prayer closet, and cried out...I said my ugly thoughts out loud and prayed for mercy. As I turned the streaming water off I crossed my fingers, hoping that God would take pity on me and there would be silence. Alas, to no avail, the silenced shower head left ample room for the volume of my screaming children. My ears were burning with their wails and that voice of self-condemnation..."Wow...aren't you mother of the year..."
I quickly dressed and grabbed a hair brush to brush out my hair before my hands were full again...and lo and behold, I brushed back my hair to find, to my horror, two spots on the corners of my head BALDING!!! I kid you not, a few days ago there was hair and at that moment I saw scalp! Ugly, white scalp that had never seen the sun! SCALP. It's not even a pretty word. Tears immediately. I called the Fly and said through choking sobs, after I was sure he was by himself, "I'm losing my hair!!!!" He came home.
I cried and we discussed what it could be: hormones, Post Partum (even though this didn't happen with The Bug), because I stopped nursing, sleep deprivation, stress, etc. We knew a trip to the doc was in order for me but in the mean time I needed to sleep. The Fly banished me to the guest room and geared up for the storm ahead that night.
Bless his heart. At 5:30am he came into the guest room and asked if I could come into our bed to stay with both babies. He had to go outside and try to fix the Christmas lights that were "whapping" against the window. The wind had been blowing hard keeping the small people awake most of the night. The Bug does not sleep well in our bed...she's wild and easily distracted from sleep...so she was not interested in sleeping and kept waking up the Little Man. The howling wind and rattling walls did not help either but I didn't know about any of this until the gentle nudge just before dawn.
As the Fly stumbled out the door to work I was refreshed and ready to tackle this sleep issue with some clarity. Sure, I was minus a few strands of hair, but I was determined to fix our problem.
I began the morning praying for direction, more clarity and that I would be sensitive to the promptings of the Holy Spirit. I wanted to be a good mom that day to make up for my behavior the day before.
After some consideration I made my decision. Little Man was going to have to learn how to soothe himself to sleep, otherwise, his mama would be bald, his daddy would turn into a Zombie and his big sister would be calling all the shots.
Now let me be clear...I do not fall on either side of the fence in the cry it out, don't cry it out argument. Of course, I would prefer to not have to let me sweet babies cry but I had tried everything up to this point and this was my last resort. I do not judge you if you let your babies sleep with you until they're 5, (as I did with my parents...probably why I'm so concerned about my kids sleeping in their own beds,) and I don't judge you if you let your little ones cry to teach them to fall asleep on their own....A mama's got to do what a mama's got to do...she's got to love her babies and she has to be sane...at least a little bit anyway.
So the training began. I went in at five minutes, then ten minutes, then 15 minutes, then 20 minutes. I really don't remember much as it was a constant cry fest. During one of the intervals I opened my Bible. I had been feeling a little convicted since I have read almost every sleep book there is (please excuse this slight exaggeration...but I have read a lot!) and hardly cracked The Word open in the last few days. I came across Psalm 86 and not only did it speak to me but it shouted at me!
Psalm 86
A prayer of David. 1 Hear me, LORD, and answer me,for I am poor and needy.
2 Guard my life, for I am faithful to you;
save your servant who trusts in you.
You are my God; 3 have mercy on me, Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
4 Bring joy to your servant, Lord,
for I put my trust in you.
5 You, Lord, are forgiving and good,
abounding in love to all who call to you.
6 Hear my prayer, LORD;
listen to my cry for mercy.
7 When I am in distress, I call to you,
because you answer me.
I cried this out as my son cried out. I cried out. The Bug was playing and I was praying. Again, I found myself begging God for sleep for my sweet baby. I just knew that if he could soothe himself to sleep we would all be better for it.
Now, this is where I wish I could wrap up this entry nice and neat with a sweet message on how God answers our prayers but it wasn't nice and neat at all.
All day that day and the next I let my sweet son cry it out. Every time I left his crib he would sob. It was a different kind of sob. The kind that said to my soul, "Mommy, please don't leave me!" I ached. I cried. I rearranged furniture. I played worship music. I played Christmas music. I prayed more. The Bug prayed with me. Yet, he still cried. There were a few times he fell asleep for about 15 or 20 minutes and I rejoiced thinking, "Finally!" but it would not last.
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| I created this to keep my hands busy |
By 4:00pm yesterday I was done. He had been crying for an hour and a half. Even typing it makes my skin crawl and my eyes water. I let him cry. I let him cry for 90 minutes. Finally, I went in and picked him up. In seconds he was soothed...and then, a giant, heart melting smile that brought on mixed feelings of relief and guilt.
We stopped the process that night. We came home from a Christmas party and he was teething badly and very stuffed up. He slept snuggled in close to his daddy. This morning he woke up sick. I'm trying not to blame myself but it's hard.
I just want him to sleep. I want him to be healthy. I want him to love his crib. As I've been reflecting on all of this I am once again reminded that God's perspective is so much greater than mine.
I was really angry. Why wouldn't he answer these prayers. It wasn't like I was asking for everything I touched to be turned to gold...I was asking for the basic needs of my child.
Then today a whisper aroused my heart. I have been working through the book of Ruth, slowly. In the beginning of the second chapter it talks about how Ruth happened to be in Boaz's part of the field. The book of Ruth is a beautiful example of God's providence and how what we might consider happenstance is actually part of the larger perspective only He can see.
When I read through that I asked God what happenstance was upon me that day? Looking back I now understand that I happened upon a struggle that day. I may not like it or understand, it but it was part of my story...it was part of the Little Man's story.
With these thoughts my perspective has changed. I happen to have a son who does not sleep well. This is part of my story. A person I love happens to have a baby who is having the hardest time nursing. This is part of her story. Three other people I love happen to have a hard time getting pregnant. It's painful, but it's part of their stories.
Our problem does not lie in the happenstance but instead how we view it. We all happen upon struggles; it is the posture we choose to take that determines how it affects our story. We have a choice on how to view these moments as circumstance or happenstance. We can easily view it as a punishment, we can easily view it as being forgotten. It is much harder to view it as a piece of the narrative that reveals the redemptive work of Christ in our lives.
We have all cried out, whether it be as a helpless infant or helpless adult. We have all experienced our prayers not being answered. But, today, I want to remember that my God hears me. My God sees my tears. My God has compassion on me. And, that is why I have the privilege of seeing my circumstances as his hand-picked happenstances. It's part of my story.
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| Love those rolls. |
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Saturday, November 26, 2011
Can't Help Lovin' dat Man
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| He's not "scurred"!!! |
This weekend (well, Thursday through Sunday) was full. It was not just our bellies that experienced a filling, but our beings. We were thankful. We celebrated. We had birthday parties and went to Disneyland.
One of the birthday's happened to be Fly's. He turned 30. (Yes, I am older, but only by 18 days; these are the longest 18 days of my life!)
In honor of his big 3-0 here are 30 reasons why I love my Fly and am so blessed to do life with him:
1. He humors my love for musicals and by default has learned the songs to most of my favorites.
2. He washes my car every Saturday and cleans out the inside...this sometimes pains him but he still does it. (The inside of my car can often resemble the closet of a messy teenager.)
3. He's the most loyal man I know.
4. He looks good in every picture:)...he's so photogenic.
5. Being an uncle changed him for good...being a dad made him that much better. His nieces and his kids have no doubt in their minds that Uncle or Daddy love them and will go to the end of the world for each of them.
6. He sees right through fake concern. His a pretty discerning guy.
7. He can make our babies fall asleep in seconds in his arms.
8. He is full of adventure. Ask him about how he illegally rode a turtle in Maui and sought out the hammerheads...not a good idea if you ask me...but adventurous just the same.
9. He's not just adventurous. He is brave. I am never afraid when he is with me.
10. He sings silly songs. He changes all the lyrics to different songs to be silly...and sometimes slightly inapporpriate.
11. He surprises me because he knows I love surprises.
12. He is a planner.
13. He is a saver.
14. He hugs me and his kids.
15. He tells each of us he loves us...often.
16. He doesn't care what people think about him...he always does what he thinks is right.
17. He does dishes and laundry without complaint or a second thought.
18. He loves music. Music speaks to him. I'm pretty sure that's how God gets his attention:).
19. He loves gummy bears...and has passed his love for them to The Bug.
20. I love how I fit right under his head. He is a whole foot taller than me so my head hits his chest. It's my favorite place.
21. He knows when I need a Starbucks.
22. He is my pillar of strength.
23. He loves God and is an example of God's love to me and our kids.
24. He's selfless. When there are five coconut crusted shrimp he always lets me have three and he eats two. In all the time that I have know him he has never eaten the third one. I have tried everything. He will even let me throw it away because he knows I really want it and I won't just let it go to waste!
25. He doesn't watch scary shows and movies when I am around because he knows I don't like them.
26. He reads my blog...every entry.
27. He supports me and my dreams for our future, even the unconventional ones.
28. He makes me laugh. He makes me laugh all the time.
29. He sees us as teammates; we are in this game together.
30. He doesn't pretend to be perfect...instead he practices grace. For that, I am most thankful.
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| Silly Daddy |
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| The nieces and the Bug |
It's a good list. However, there are days when I forget these things and my heart becomes embittered with him. I am not proud of those days. But, if you ask any married couple, it's a part of the journey. On those days I try to remember that my daddy always told me not to go to bed angry with someone. So, I often try to forgive before we fall asleep. I touch my toes to his to signal the I'm sorry's and I forgive you's. And, if we've had enough time that's all it takes. We choose grace; we choose it for ourselves and each other. If God's mercies are new every morning who are we to hold a grudge. That's our secret...that's why we still like each other.
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| The 30 year olds |
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| So
selfless, that for his birthday he got me my new wedding ring. (A bad
guy stole my original...if you don't know the story you can read it here
The Glad Game) It was a stunning surprise. |
My prayer is that 30 years from now it is as easy to come up with 60 reasons why I love this man as it was to come up with 30. I pray that there will be at least another 30 years of silly songs, coconut shrimp and toe touching.
I love you Fly. Happy Birthday.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Sowing Season
So...I'm learning to sew. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I am slowly but surely domesticating.
Last year for my birthday I asked for a sewing machine. I had these beautiful images conjured up in this dreamy little head of mine of me, late at night, sitting at my sewing machine, creating masterpieces...costumes, curtains, pillowcases and anything else I could do with paisley fabric.
However, no one told me that being pregnant with a toddler who could run circles around you on your good day would mean that every chance I could sit I did just that. Often that sitting turned into laying down. The laying down caused my eyelids to get heavy. The rest is history. The moment that kiddo would go down for a nap I was out. Being pregnant is hard work. Being the Bug's mama is hard work. Put the two together and I remember why it's difficult for me to form coherent sentences after 6pm.
So...the sewing machine...sat in it's box for a year and week or so until finally, this week, I did it. I opened the box. I slid the squeaky Styrofoam right out of that box. I opened the directions and started with page one. I took a deep breath and began to read word for word the description of each little piece and what it's function was. It kind of felt like reading Spanish. I took enough Spanish in high school and college to make out the gist of what something says...granted it takes me a while. I know enough "head knowledge" about sewing to know things like the bobbin is an important feature. I'm not really sure what it does but I know that without it, there will be no sewing. (My friends who do sew....or have tried to teach me little bits are laughing at me now.)
To date I have not turned it on or has a piece of fabric graced the "Needle Plate" but it is out of the box. And that, my friends, is a victory in itself.
What was it that inspired me to finally dive in and at least look at the real thing rather than stare at the picture every time I came across it? First, I am in the process of some de-cluttering and the sewing machine lives in the cluttered, catch all, guest room. Second, I was working on a Bible Study I have been doing on my own in the book of Ruth and it reintroduced the idea of "sowing and reaping" to me. The study asked me a question, "Are you in a season of sowing or reaping?" It stumped me...but it also made me think of that machine...sitting in it's box...waiting to be used.
Am I in a season of sowing or reaping? The Bible uses these terms in a variety of passages. The idea comes from the farming process of sowing seed and reaping harvest. God's Word likens it to our journey through life. There are seasons of pouring in...into ourselves, our relationships, our community, our world and so on. Then there are seasons of reaping when we see all of our hard work pay off.
The study brought me to Psalm 126. Verses 5 and 6 say this,
5 Those who sow in tears
Shall reap in joy.
6 He who continually goes forth weeping,
Bearing seed for sowing,
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,
Bringing his sheaves with him.
This is the New King James Version...it's my favorite because it sounds so much like Shakespeare:). Don't judge...I love Shakespeare.
This passage reminded me that the season of sowing is a hard one. It reminded me that it takes blood, sweat and tears for a harvest to be produced. It reminded me that even though I may have many tears throughout my life my God can use them to produce harvest. This was a good reminder.
It was a good reminder because after some reflection I realized that I am in a sowing season...a sowing season that may actually be one of the very hardest I will ever face. I like to call this sowing season, "Motherhood."
This is a season in which God has entrusted me with His creations. He has equipped me to guide them and teach them. He has given me the ability to nourish not only their bellies but also their minds and their hearts. He has given me the chance to sow into these little ones the truths, the convictions, the passions, the desires to be people who live for the plan He has for each of them; a plan that is designed to reap more than just their own personal successes.
I sat with the Psalm for a little while...marinating in the words. I thought about tears...my tears. I have a lot of tears. My tear button is so sensitive that sometimes I think it malfunctions. I can be doing dishes and all of sudden tears are streaming down my face. The funny thing is that a sentence like that is usually followed with a "for no reason at all"...no, my malfunctioning comes from my reasoning. I may be crying while I'm doing the dishes out of joy because the Bug finally ate a vegetable I didn't have to hide. It's a sign of growing, maturing...I small sign of reaping from all the sowing I have been doing to get her to eat healthy foods.
I'm serious, people. Real tears.
This, as hormone induced as it might sound, is not a new thing for me. My mother has said for a very long time, "Allison wears her heart on her sleeve." This is code for, "Allison cries...a lot." People that know me well...or even just sort of well...are nodding their heads in agreement.
But, I'm not ashamed. My tears are what bring me to my knees, whether it be out of desperation or joy...celebration or repentance. My tears shape my prayers and my relationship with God. My tears are the only way I know how to express my deep passions and compassion. After reading this Psalm I now know that my tears are not in vain. They are not just a girl thing. My tears are part of the sowing process. My tears, followed with authentic intention and action can reap a harvest of joy.
I have only been a mother for 2 years, 6 months and 13 days. In that time have cried a lot. I have prayed a lot. I have taught my little ones a lot. However, this is just the beginning. I know these years are dear and precious and even easy compared to what is to come.
Therefore, my prayer for this season is that I learn to sow.
I pray that I learn to sow into my children the knowledge that there is a God that loves them, who created them with a plan and a purpose. This purpose is beyond themselves. I want to sow into them a deep compassion for others; a true knowledge and understanding of the power of God's Word to heal and make whole. I want to sow in them life lessons that will help them make wise decisions. I want to sow in them the tangible experience of grace. I want them to know they will make mistakes...their parents will make mistakes, but grace, grace is why we are able to pick ourselves up, forgive, and see all circumstances as opportunities to experience more of who God is.
This is a lot of responsibility.
I am thankful that I am not alone in the process. I have the Fly...who is awesome. He really is. He loves his kids in a way that I could not have foreseen. I knew he would be a good dad but he is a GREAT dad. I am so thankful that I get to partner with him in this sowing season. I could not do it without him. When he digs deep for the extra patience or when he rolls around on the ground producing deep belly laughs I feel the tears well up and I thank God.
I am in a sowing season...probably the hardest...but also rewarding. I move forward knowing my tears have the ability to produce something if they compel me to act intentionally. I hope they do. I want to take my sowing seriously so that I can rejoice at the Harvest.
With all this said, I still want to learn how to actually sew. I have often experienced what is going on with me Spiritually manifest physically:). So...maybe in this sowing season...I will sew. And I pray, as my sewing skills increase my "sowing skills" will reap with joy.
Last year for my birthday I asked for a sewing machine. I had these beautiful images conjured up in this dreamy little head of mine of me, late at night, sitting at my sewing machine, creating masterpieces...costumes, curtains, pillowcases and anything else I could do with paisley fabric.
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| The Machine |
However, no one told me that being pregnant with a toddler who could run circles around you on your good day would mean that every chance I could sit I did just that. Often that sitting turned into laying down. The laying down caused my eyelids to get heavy. The rest is history. The moment that kiddo would go down for a nap I was out. Being pregnant is hard work. Being the Bug's mama is hard work. Put the two together and I remember why it's difficult for me to form coherent sentences after 6pm.
So...the sewing machine...sat in it's box for a year and week or so until finally, this week, I did it. I opened the box. I slid the squeaky Styrofoam right out of that box. I opened the directions and started with page one. I took a deep breath and began to read word for word the description of each little piece and what it's function was. It kind of felt like reading Spanish. I took enough Spanish in high school and college to make out the gist of what something says...granted it takes me a while. I know enough "head knowledge" about sewing to know things like the bobbin is an important feature. I'm not really sure what it does but I know that without it, there will be no sewing. (My friends who do sew....or have tried to teach me little bits are laughing at me now.)
To date I have not turned it on or has a piece of fabric graced the "Needle Plate" but it is out of the box. And that, my friends, is a victory in itself.
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| Out of the box!!! |
What was it that inspired me to finally dive in and at least look at the real thing rather than stare at the picture every time I came across it? First, I am in the process of some de-cluttering and the sewing machine lives in the cluttered, catch all, guest room. Second, I was working on a Bible Study I have been doing on my own in the book of Ruth and it reintroduced the idea of "sowing and reaping" to me. The study asked me a question, "Are you in a season of sowing or reaping?" It stumped me...but it also made me think of that machine...sitting in it's box...waiting to be used.
Am I in a season of sowing or reaping? The Bible uses these terms in a variety of passages. The idea comes from the farming process of sowing seed and reaping harvest. God's Word likens it to our journey through life. There are seasons of pouring in...into ourselves, our relationships, our community, our world and so on. Then there are seasons of reaping when we see all of our hard work pay off.
The study brought me to Psalm 126. Verses 5 and 6 say this,
5 Those who sow in tears
Shall reap in joy.
6 He who continually goes forth weeping,
Bearing seed for sowing,
Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,
Bringing his sheaves with him.
This is the New King James Version...it's my favorite because it sounds so much like Shakespeare:). Don't judge...I love Shakespeare.
This passage reminded me that the season of sowing is a hard one. It reminded me that it takes blood, sweat and tears for a harvest to be produced. It reminded me that even though I may have many tears throughout my life my God can use them to produce harvest. This was a good reminder.
It was a good reminder because after some reflection I realized that I am in a sowing season...a sowing season that may actually be one of the very hardest I will ever face. I like to call this sowing season, "Motherhood."
 |
| Me and Little Man |
This is a season in which God has entrusted me with His creations. He has equipped me to guide them and teach them. He has given me the ability to nourish not only their bellies but also their minds and their hearts. He has given me the chance to sow into these little ones the truths, the convictions, the passions, the desires to be people who live for the plan He has for each of them; a plan that is designed to reap more than just their own personal successes.
I sat with the Psalm for a little while...marinating in the words. I thought about tears...my tears. I have a lot of tears. My tear button is so sensitive that sometimes I think it malfunctions. I can be doing dishes and all of sudden tears are streaming down my face. The funny thing is that a sentence like that is usually followed with a "for no reason at all"...no, my malfunctioning comes from my reasoning. I may be crying while I'm doing the dishes out of joy because the Bug finally ate a vegetable I didn't have to hide. It's a sign of growing, maturing...I small sign of reaping from all the sowing I have been doing to get her to eat healthy foods.
 |
| So full of Life. |
I'm serious, people. Real tears.
This, as hormone induced as it might sound, is not a new thing for me. My mother has said for a very long time, "Allison wears her heart on her sleeve." This is code for, "Allison cries...a lot." People that know me well...or even just sort of well...are nodding their heads in agreement.
But, I'm not ashamed. My tears are what bring me to my knees, whether it be out of desperation or joy...celebration or repentance. My tears shape my prayers and my relationship with God. My tears are the only way I know how to express my deep passions and compassion. After reading this Psalm I now know that my tears are not in vain. They are not just a girl thing. My tears are part of the sowing process. My tears, followed with authentic intention and action can reap a harvest of joy.
I have only been a mother for 2 years, 6 months and 13 days. In that time have cried a lot. I have prayed a lot. I have taught my little ones a lot. However, this is just the beginning. I know these years are dear and precious and even easy compared to what is to come.
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| Awesome Hair Day |
Therefore, my prayer for this season is that I learn to sow.
I pray that I learn to sow into my children the knowledge that there is a God that loves them, who created them with a plan and a purpose. This purpose is beyond themselves. I want to sow into them a deep compassion for others; a true knowledge and understanding of the power of God's Word to heal and make whole. I want to sow in them life lessons that will help them make wise decisions. I want to sow in them the tangible experience of grace. I want them to know they will make mistakes...their parents will make mistakes, but grace, grace is why we are able to pick ourselves up, forgive, and see all circumstances as opportunities to experience more of who God is.
This is a lot of responsibility.
I am thankful that I am not alone in the process. I have the Fly...who is awesome. He really is. He loves his kids in a way that I could not have foreseen. I knew he would be a good dad but he is a GREAT dad. I am so thankful that I get to partner with him in this sowing season. I could not do it without him. When he digs deep for the extra patience or when he rolls around on the ground producing deep belly laughs I feel the tears well up and I thank God.
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| Love that "Fly Guy" |
I am in a sowing season...probably the hardest...but also rewarding. I move forward knowing my tears have the ability to produce something if they compel me to act intentionally. I hope they do. I want to take my sowing seriously so that I can rejoice at the Harvest.
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| Melts me. |
With all this said, I still want to learn how to actually sew. I have often experienced what is going on with me Spiritually manifest physically:). So...maybe in this sowing season...I will sew. And I pray, as my sewing skills increase my "sowing skills" will reap with joy.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Blessed to Bless
I'm feeling inspired. Stirred up.
When people are using their lives to be blessings to other people I get excited. It makes me remember that we are capable of good.
I read on an email devotional something along these lines, "I am blessed to be a blessing."
It made me think. It made me pray. Then my eyes began to catch glimpses of this very idea. Like when I wear a piece of shiny jewelry and it catches the sunlight, I began to see people and hear people talk about the way they live this out. So, I decided since it is November, I would take the next few posts to mash up opportunities of thanks and giving....
Today, I am thankful to have the privilege of knowing a beautiful woman named Juli. She has been living in Kenya for a number of years being a blessing. She recently founded a ministry call Living Room Ministries. Through her vision and the help of others, Kimbilio Hospice was built. It is a 24 bed inpatient hospice that houses adults and children living with terminal illness.
Last weekend I had the privilege of hearing Juli tell stories about the people she has the honor of blessing. Every once in a while we get to hear what has been going on at Kimbilio (which means refuge in Swahili) at Hillside Community Church when she visits the states.
Two things she said that day have been dancing around my head since her words fell on my ears.
1) She talked about the fact that access and availability of pain medications, such as morphine, are a major challenge in Kenya. She shared, "For a population of nearly 40 million people, it is reported that only seven of Kenya's approximate 250 government hospitals have morphine."
When I was pregnant with the Little Man I had to rush to the hospital one afternoon because of some unrelenting stomach pains. They hurt me so badly. The doctor gave me a dose of morphine and the pain went away. They were never able to diagnose the problem but Little Man was fine and it seemed I was too.
The number of cancer patients in Kenya is climbing. Cancer is painful. It is chronically painful. I can't help but think about how desperate people are just to manage their pain...and how without a second thought I was able to have mine relieved.
Juli said that morphine is actually very inexpensive to provide...about $5. That is one less Starbucks drink. Imagine...$5 can offer relief. This has stirred me.
2) Juli told a story about a mother who traveled over 100 miles to get her son to a well-known herbalist that is near Kimbilio in Kipkaren. The little boy had a tumor appear on his face and his mother had heard that this herbalist may be able to do something for them. After a long journey for help none was found with the herbalist. The mother, not knowing where to go, caught a ride on the back of a motor bike. The driver told her he would take her to a place where they help people...where people get healed. He took her to Kimbilio. You can read the full story here.
As Juli was talking all I could think about was the name of her ministry...The Living Room. She had envisioned it to be a place that would offer compassion and care to the dying...what she did not know at the time was that God had so much life he would bring to those who came to her. When you hear her tell stories of people who came and were healed, people who came and were loved and left this world you can't help but be moved.
Her flier says, "On a daily basis the Living Room team extends compassion to the lives of the lonely and forgotten that God has never been able to forget."
God's words, "I will never leave you nor forsake you," have been very present in my life since September 14th of this year. That day I realized how fragile life is, how bad people can be but also through so many, how much good can come from pain, heartache and dire circumstances.
Juli reminds me that I have been given today and that makes me capable of giving. I can give my children hugs. I can give my husband my support. I can give the man who digs in the trash every trash day my bag of recyclables so he doesn't have to dig in one more can. I can give up my Starbucks tomorrow so my neighbor on the other side of the ocean can be relieved of pain. I can give more. There are opportunities everywhere, everyday I am given.
I don't know about you but I have been making a mental Christmas list. I have been thinking about what I want and need...now, I am not saying presents are wrong...but what if I needed and wanted a little less this year? Maybe I could be a blessing to someone else.
450 of you read my Glad Game post where I told the story of what happened on September 14th. If 450 people follow this link to Living Room Ministries and give $5 each that is $2,250. That's a lot of Morphine...that's a blessing.
When people are using their lives to be blessings to other people I get excited. It makes me remember that we are capable of good.
I read on an email devotional something along these lines, "I am blessed to be a blessing."
It made me think. It made me pray. Then my eyes began to catch glimpses of this very idea. Like when I wear a piece of shiny jewelry and it catches the sunlight, I began to see people and hear people talk about the way they live this out. So, I decided since it is November, I would take the next few posts to mash up opportunities of thanks and giving....
Today, I am thankful to have the privilege of knowing a beautiful woman named Juli. She has been living in Kenya for a number of years being a blessing. She recently founded a ministry call Living Room Ministries. Through her vision and the help of others, Kimbilio Hospice was built. It is a 24 bed inpatient hospice that houses adults and children living with terminal illness.
Last weekend I had the privilege of hearing Juli tell stories about the people she has the honor of blessing. Every once in a while we get to hear what has been going on at Kimbilio (which means refuge in Swahili) at Hillside Community Church when she visits the states.
Two things she said that day have been dancing around my head since her words fell on my ears.
1) She talked about the fact that access and availability of pain medications, such as morphine, are a major challenge in Kenya. She shared, "For a population of nearly 40 million people, it is reported that only seven of Kenya's approximate 250 government hospitals have morphine."
When I was pregnant with the Little Man I had to rush to the hospital one afternoon because of some unrelenting stomach pains. They hurt me so badly. The doctor gave me a dose of morphine and the pain went away. They were never able to diagnose the problem but Little Man was fine and it seemed I was too.
The number of cancer patients in Kenya is climbing. Cancer is painful. It is chronically painful. I can't help but think about how desperate people are just to manage their pain...and how without a second thought I was able to have mine relieved.
Juli said that morphine is actually very inexpensive to provide...about $5. That is one less Starbucks drink. Imagine...$5 can offer relief. This has stirred me.
2) Juli told a story about a mother who traveled over 100 miles to get her son to a well-known herbalist that is near Kimbilio in Kipkaren. The little boy had a tumor appear on his face and his mother had heard that this herbalist may be able to do something for them. After a long journey for help none was found with the herbalist. The mother, not knowing where to go, caught a ride on the back of a motor bike. The driver told her he would take her to a place where they help people...where people get healed. He took her to Kimbilio. You can read the full story here.
As Juli was talking all I could think about was the name of her ministry...The Living Room. She had envisioned it to be a place that would offer compassion and care to the dying...what she did not know at the time was that God had so much life he would bring to those who came to her. When you hear her tell stories of people who came and were healed, people who came and were loved and left this world you can't help but be moved.
Her flier says, "On a daily basis the Living Room team extends compassion to the lives of the lonely and forgotten that God has never been able to forget."
God's words, "I will never leave you nor forsake you," have been very present in my life since September 14th of this year. That day I realized how fragile life is, how bad people can be but also through so many, how much good can come from pain, heartache and dire circumstances.
Juli reminds me that I have been given today and that makes me capable of giving. I can give my children hugs. I can give my husband my support. I can give the man who digs in the trash every trash day my bag of recyclables so he doesn't have to dig in one more can. I can give up my Starbucks tomorrow so my neighbor on the other side of the ocean can be relieved of pain. I can give more. There are opportunities everywhere, everyday I am given.
I don't know about you but I have been making a mental Christmas list. I have been thinking about what I want and need...now, I am not saying presents are wrong...but what if I needed and wanted a little less this year? Maybe I could be a blessing to someone else.
450 of you read my Glad Game post where I told the story of what happened on September 14th. If 450 people follow this link to Living Room Ministries and give $5 each that is $2,250. That's a lot of Morphine...that's a blessing.
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| Kimbilio "Refuge" |
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Monday, November 7, 2011
30
Today is the day. I am 30. I have to tell the truth and say that I really was not looking forward to today. But, now that it is here, I am embracing it and truly feel excited about what it represents.
For a while there 30 scared me. My preconceived ideas were made up of images of myself as a much less attractive and much more boring version of myself. I really don't where these thoughts and images came from because when I look at my friends who are in there 30's, 40's and even 50's and 60's, I see beautiful women and attractive men who carry themselves with confidence. I see men and women who have lived life and have learned lessons. I see men and women who have lines on their faces that could represent their age but could also represent how often they've laughed and smiled.
And let me tell you, my friends, both, the men and women that have entered the decades past the twenties are so NOT boring. Actually they are far more interesting because the speak and live out of experience.
When I look back at the last decade I see 10 years of, "A Beautiful Mess." I started the decade as a young woman who had just fallen in love...with that man I would spend the rest of my life with and with my Savior. I was young, immature, bold in my dreams, confident that God had a great plan for me and a bit more arrogant and selfish than I would like to admit.
Those first 3 years of my twenties were crazy! I learned about my God and who He created me to be at an exponential rate. He set me on the fast track for sure. Thanks to my amazing university, Azusa Pacific University (Woot! Woot!) and the community I found there, and thanks to Hillside Community Church (Woot! Woot!) and the community I found there, I had people surrounding me on all sides pouring into me. There were a few key women who I will never be able to thank enough for their love and guidance and PRAYERS in that time.
During that time the Fly and I grew as individuals and together and although I would have said yes the day after our first Disneyland date...my sweet, wise, planner of a husband knew waiting was a better plan. I hate to admit it, and especially where so many will witness it, but he was right...at least once.
By the end of those first 3 years I had graduated college, started a masters and credential program, got a job teaching Kindergarten, got engaged, got married, got a job as a youth pastor to junior high students and moved into a cute little apartment with my new husband. I had learned not only that Jesus loved me and had a plan to use me in His Kingdom but I also learned of the amazing healing that one can experience by being in relationship with Him. I learned that my bad choices and mistakes no longer defined me. I learned that I was a "New Creation." I was given a second chance at doing life. I also learned of the tool that would come most handy in the next 7 years...prayer. My prayer life changed and instead of praying only prayers of defense and desperation I learned to pray from the offense...prayers that produced change...not because of me...but because I knew what my Jesus was capable of.
The next 6 years were good and hard in that way you feel after an intense workout...where you have to crawl to your shower to clean yourself up and drink 42 oz of gatorade or water because you are positive that there is nothing left inside of you. Working at Hillside was one of the greatest privileges and one of the greatest challenges I have had. As many of you know, I had planned a long career of entertaining people, not teaching rambunctious junior high students about how God loves them, has not forgotten them and has a great plan for each of their lives.
But, just like a good workout, those years were so good for me as much as I ached at times. They were rich with friendships, the kind that last and go deep. They were filled with lessons, the kind that make you cry, think, reflect and apply. They were filled with laughter, the kind that makes your belly hurt. They were filled with heartache, the kind where you don't know anything to do but cry out to a God you hope has not forsaken you or someone you care about. They were filled with teenagers, the kind that don't trust you right away, but once they learn you are for them and not against them, they hug you, talk to you and ask you to pray for them. They were filled with those teenager's parents, the kind that are in desperate need to know that their teenager is not going off the deep end, the kind that have taught me so much about being the kind of parent that raises kids who love God. They were filled with hopes both achieved and dashed. They were filled with creativity both stifled and unleashed. Those years impressed upon me the truth that I was placed on earth with a purpose that was more others-centered than self-centered. They were so messy and so beautiful.
The last three years though, those have been the hardest, but in the best way. The Bug came along and changed my life for the better. The Fly and I can not imagine our lives without our boisterous, joyful and life-filled Bug. Then came my Little Man...who I can tell is completely different than his big sister. His little personality is starting to show. He lets me hold him and hug him longer than she would:). And his deep belly laughs bring tears to my eyes. He is a giant Little Man who has brought even more joy into our lives.
The last three years have taught me even more how life is not about me...and that, in a strange way, is what I am most excited about. I feel like, in my twenties, it was all about figuring myself out...what I wanted, what I needed. Finally, I have found the joy in what it means to serve others...funny, you'd think I would have figured that out with working in ministry...and I did to a degree...but it has intensified recently.
So, 30's, I welcome you...with open arms and smile that is beginning to leave permanent lines in my face. I know you will be messy. I know you will be hard but I also know you will be beautiful and full. There will be lots of laughing at the Fly, the Bug and the Little Man...and any others that might come along:)...there will be tears because they are part of life...and, let's be honest, part of my everyday. There will be more stories and I plan to tell them because I want to remember and I want to learn. There will be adventures and I embrace them...even the scary ones that I can't control.
I must get back to the kiddos now, Little Man is screeching and The Bug is running out of things to keep her occupied while I type. But stay tuned...I plan on writing more, even if they are just short quips of what's going on in the beautiful mess I live in.
Thank you family and friends who have shaped me and poured into my life. Today, I am celebrating you.
For a while there 30 scared me. My preconceived ideas were made up of images of myself as a much less attractive and much more boring version of myself. I really don't where these thoughts and images came from because when I look at my friends who are in there 30's, 40's and even 50's and 60's, I see beautiful women and attractive men who carry themselves with confidence. I see men and women who have lived life and have learned lessons. I see men and women who have lines on their faces that could represent their age but could also represent how often they've laughed and smiled.
And let me tell you, my friends, both, the men and women that have entered the decades past the twenties are so NOT boring. Actually they are far more interesting because the speak and live out of experience.
When I look back at the last decade I see 10 years of, "A Beautiful Mess." I started the decade as a young woman who had just fallen in love...with that man I would spend the rest of my life with and with my Savior. I was young, immature, bold in my dreams, confident that God had a great plan for me and a bit more arrogant and selfish than I would like to admit.
Those first 3 years of my twenties were crazy! I learned about my God and who He created me to be at an exponential rate. He set me on the fast track for sure. Thanks to my amazing university, Azusa Pacific University (Woot! Woot!) and the community I found there, and thanks to Hillside Community Church (Woot! Woot!) and the community I found there, I had people surrounding me on all sides pouring into me. There were a few key women who I will never be able to thank enough for their love and guidance and PRAYERS in that time.
During that time the Fly and I grew as individuals and together and although I would have said yes the day after our first Disneyland date...my sweet, wise, planner of a husband knew waiting was a better plan. I hate to admit it, and especially where so many will witness it, but he was right...at least once.
By the end of those first 3 years I had graduated college, started a masters and credential program, got a job teaching Kindergarten, got engaged, got married, got a job as a youth pastor to junior high students and moved into a cute little apartment with my new husband. I had learned not only that Jesus loved me and had a plan to use me in His Kingdom but I also learned of the amazing healing that one can experience by being in relationship with Him. I learned that my bad choices and mistakes no longer defined me. I learned that I was a "New Creation." I was given a second chance at doing life. I also learned of the tool that would come most handy in the next 7 years...prayer. My prayer life changed and instead of praying only prayers of defense and desperation I learned to pray from the offense...prayers that produced change...not because of me...but because I knew what my Jesus was capable of.
The next 6 years were good and hard in that way you feel after an intense workout...where you have to crawl to your shower to clean yourself up and drink 42 oz of gatorade or water because you are positive that there is nothing left inside of you. Working at Hillside was one of the greatest privileges and one of the greatest challenges I have had. As many of you know, I had planned a long career of entertaining people, not teaching rambunctious junior high students about how God loves them, has not forgotten them and has a great plan for each of their lives.
But, just like a good workout, those years were so good for me as much as I ached at times. They were rich with friendships, the kind that last and go deep. They were filled with lessons, the kind that make you cry, think, reflect and apply. They were filled with laughter, the kind that makes your belly hurt. They were filled with heartache, the kind where you don't know anything to do but cry out to a God you hope has not forsaken you or someone you care about. They were filled with teenagers, the kind that don't trust you right away, but once they learn you are for them and not against them, they hug you, talk to you and ask you to pray for them. They were filled with those teenager's parents, the kind that are in desperate need to know that their teenager is not going off the deep end, the kind that have taught me so much about being the kind of parent that raises kids who love God. They were filled with hopes both achieved and dashed. They were filled with creativity both stifled and unleashed. Those years impressed upon me the truth that I was placed on earth with a purpose that was more others-centered than self-centered. They were so messy and so beautiful.
The last three years though, those have been the hardest, but in the best way. The Bug came along and changed my life for the better. The Fly and I can not imagine our lives without our boisterous, joyful and life-filled Bug. Then came my Little Man...who I can tell is completely different than his big sister. His little personality is starting to show. He lets me hold him and hug him longer than she would:). And his deep belly laughs bring tears to my eyes. He is a giant Little Man who has brought even more joy into our lives.
The last three years have taught me even more how life is not about me...and that, in a strange way, is what I am most excited about. I feel like, in my twenties, it was all about figuring myself out...what I wanted, what I needed. Finally, I have found the joy in what it means to serve others...funny, you'd think I would have figured that out with working in ministry...and I did to a degree...but it has intensified recently.
So, 30's, I welcome you...with open arms and smile that is beginning to leave permanent lines in my face. I know you will be messy. I know you will be hard but I also know you will be beautiful and full. There will be lots of laughing at the Fly, the Bug and the Little Man...and any others that might come along:)...there will be tears because they are part of life...and, let's be honest, part of my everyday. There will be more stories and I plan to tell them because I want to remember and I want to learn. There will be adventures and I embrace them...even the scary ones that I can't control.
I must get back to the kiddos now, Little Man is screeching and The Bug is running out of things to keep her occupied while I type. But stay tuned...I plan on writing more, even if they are just short quips of what's going on in the beautiful mess I live in.
Thank you family and friends who have shaped me and poured into my life. Today, I am celebrating you.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The O'Hara Girl
"As God as my witness I will never go hungry again!" These are
famous words spoken in the amazingly over dramatic, closing scene of the
first half of the epic film, Gone With the Wind. (Wow...what a sentence...the nerd in me kind of wants to diagram it:))
I remember watching this movie as a young girl and loving the swelling
score, the lavish landscapes, the embellished dresses, the sweet
southern accents and the love story between Scarlet and Rhett. I would
sit with my mom and we would watch it on the special VHS edition...real
classy.
Although I didn't comprehend the entire movie and all that it encompassed in regards to the brutalities and devastating effects of war and slavery, the movie still captured me. It quickly became my "esteemed" answer to the ice breaker question, "What is your favorite movie?" (I loved answering that question...I thought it made me look like a very "cultured" 14 year old.) I began to collect memorabilia, posters, pictures, books...anything I could get my hands on.
One of my favorite memories of this collecting process happened when my dad took me to Universal Studios for some daddy-daughter time. (I had been caught dating a boy I shouldn't have been dating...another story for another time...) I was 14, (reason number one why I shouldn't have been dating any boy!) and we were walking through Universal City Walk to get to the park. There used to be a store there where you could take your picture on a blue screen and they would super-impose you into a scene out of a movie of your choice. This was before everyone could photoshop from their home computers. So, of course I had to have a picture done with Rhett Butler! (Kind of ironic due to the circumstances surrounding our visit, but anyhoo--) My daddy knew me, and still knows me too well, and knew that I had such an infatuation with anything GWTW that he let me get the picture done. I took it home and hung it in my room. It hung there for a very long time, eventually surrounded by a GWTW movie poster, a Scarlett collectible doll and various black and white stills from the movie.
The infatuation then and what intrigues me still was not or is not, Rhett, or Mammy or and any of the other characters, but that O'Hara girl, Scarlet. I found her fascinating. Yes, she was manipulative and selfish. She was harsh and cruel at times. She was a real pain in the...Neck....but she was strong. She didn't take anything from anyone. She had a soured reputation but she was also known for her sheer determination. It was, and is, that strength and determination, and the lack of concern of what others thought of her that to this day stirs me up inside.
I think it is because I want that. I want to be strong. I want to be brave. I want to say what I think...out-loud...and not care what others are going to say about it. I want to channel a big, Italian mamma, who doesn't get crossed or messed with because everyone knows she has the ability to take you down. Scarlet wasn't big or Italian but she could give a look and you would know she meant business.
"Where is this coming from?" you might ask. Well, there are a number of things that have provoked this stirring inside me in the last few days but the one that put me over the edge was when I went to pick the kids up from the childcare center at my gym. The room I drop them off in is divided into babies and toddlers. I was getting the Little Man ready to go when I heard a shrill, determined voice shout from the other side. "STOP...SPITTING...ON...ME..." were the words that rang out of my seriously tweeked two and half year old. She had been sitting in a chair reading a book when I a little boy came up to her and started spitting on her. I had heard the childcare employees correcting a little one about something and I also heard some grunts and squeals but it wasn't until those words came out in such a ferocious tone and with such strength and determination that everyone...adults and kids seemed to fall silent and stop to see what little body could be so worked up.
I quickly made my way to her and the childcare employee corrected the little boy. I said to the Bug, "I understand that you don't want to be spit on but you don't need to yell. Next time say 'Please, stop spitting on me.'" The little boy was made to apologize and The Bug was encouraged to forgive...which she did...I think begrudgingly. As we headed out the door and to our car I couldn't shake the encounter from my thoughts. For the next few days I pondered my words to my Bug...and then, got angry with myself.
Why should she say "Please?"..."Please...stop spitting on me." When I look back at what happened she had every right to react the way she did. I began to think about how she is wired. Although only two and half I can see that this little girl is strong. She has some very strong opionions, emotions and feelings about her little life already. I feel that my job is cut out for me. I want to raise a strong girl who knows that God created her to be strong but to use that strength for His good with integrity and virtue.
I want The Bug to know that God has a calling on her life to use her for good. I want her to know that He made her with specific abilities and talents that she can use for good. I want her to be strong with her words and kind...but I don't want her to apologize when there is no reason to be sorry. I want her to say what she means with dignity and respect even if the recipient might take offense...especially if it comes from a place of truth and conviction.
But there is a problem. Kids learn so much from our examples...and I fall so short here. For example, at the grocery store you will often hear me say,"Excuse me, so sorry. Excuse me, so sorry." As if I should apologize for doing what everyone else is doing...pushing a cart and filling it. I realized that I was doing this when The Bug started repeating me. "Skooz me, so surry..." WHY SHOULD WE BE SORRY FOR PUSHING OUR CART DOWN THE AISLE???????!!!!!! These are the things that draw me back to my intrigue with the O'Hara girl.
I just recently heard someone quote something like this..."Nice girls don't change the world." I googled it to find out who said it and then found this book by Lynne Hybels:
I know it wasn't Lynne Hybels that was quoted but I also didn't think it was a coincidence that I happened upon this book. This is what she says is regards to how she came up with the idea to write such a thing...
That would make a great title for a book, my husband suggested later as I spit out my latest kayaking insight. Oh right. But his suggestion lingered. Are there other nice girls out there? Women living out roles that deny their true selves and violate God’s calling on their lives? Women dying to come to life? Should I write for them as well as me? Thus was my little book conceived.
I could not say it better myself. I don't want to be an "innocuous people-pleaser." And, I certainly do not want my kids to be either. I want them to be world changers and forces for good. So, it's time. It's time for me to stop. It's time for me to stop caring so much about what people might say about me, what people might think about me. These fear producing thoughts no longer only impede me...they hinder my children. And, if there is anything that would cause me to examine myself and pray for transformation, it is my children.
The O'Hara girl is at it again in my life. Her fiery gaze and sheer determination have gotten under my skin in a good way. I am reminded again of how attractive passionate people are. At the same time, I am also fully aware of how easy it is for their passion to be tainted, in case you were worried. But, that is what my prayers are for. I will be praying for guidance and for my kids daily and I will be praying that the Fly and I are examples...examples of strength, integrity and virtue...and when we mess up...because we will often...I will pray that we will be examples of humility.
I know my kids aren't perfect and will never be while they walk this earth but I also know that "as God as my witness," they will be strong and they will be forces for good.
I think I might pick up a copy of that book, Nice Girls Don't Change the World. Because like I said, this had got to start with me. I turn 30 on Monday and I'm thinking this is gonna be a really great decade ahead....but more on that later.
For now, it's no more nice girl here, well, you know what I mean...it's okay to be nice but this nice is going to stem from passion and strength. And, you may hear what I think a little more often...I may ruffle your feathers...and I want to be okay with that. Because, the only way to raise world changers is to be one myself.
Although I didn't comprehend the entire movie and all that it encompassed in regards to the brutalities and devastating effects of war and slavery, the movie still captured me. It quickly became my "esteemed" answer to the ice breaker question, "What is your favorite movie?" (I loved answering that question...I thought it made me look like a very "cultured" 14 year old.) I began to collect memorabilia, posters, pictures, books...anything I could get my hands on.
One of my favorite memories of this collecting process happened when my dad took me to Universal Studios for some daddy-daughter time. (I had been caught dating a boy I shouldn't have been dating...another story for another time...) I was 14, (reason number one why I shouldn't have been dating any boy!) and we were walking through Universal City Walk to get to the park. There used to be a store there where you could take your picture on a blue screen and they would super-impose you into a scene out of a movie of your choice. This was before everyone could photoshop from their home computers. So, of course I had to have a picture done with Rhett Butler! (Kind of ironic due to the circumstances surrounding our visit, but anyhoo--) My daddy knew me, and still knows me too well, and knew that I had such an infatuation with anything GWTW that he let me get the picture done. I took it home and hung it in my room. It hung there for a very long time, eventually surrounded by a GWTW movie poster, a Scarlett collectible doll and various black and white stills from the movie.
The infatuation then and what intrigues me still was not or is not, Rhett, or Mammy or and any of the other characters, but that O'Hara girl, Scarlet. I found her fascinating. Yes, she was manipulative and selfish. She was harsh and cruel at times. She was a real pain in the...Neck....but she was strong. She didn't take anything from anyone. She had a soured reputation but she was also known for her sheer determination. It was, and is, that strength and determination, and the lack of concern of what others thought of her that to this day stirs me up inside.
I think it is because I want that. I want to be strong. I want to be brave. I want to say what I think...out-loud...and not care what others are going to say about it. I want to channel a big, Italian mamma, who doesn't get crossed or messed with because everyone knows she has the ability to take you down. Scarlet wasn't big or Italian but she could give a look and you would know she meant business.
"Where is this coming from?" you might ask. Well, there are a number of things that have provoked this stirring inside me in the last few days but the one that put me over the edge was when I went to pick the kids up from the childcare center at my gym. The room I drop them off in is divided into babies and toddlers. I was getting the Little Man ready to go when I heard a shrill, determined voice shout from the other side. "STOP...SPITTING...ON...ME..." were the words that rang out of my seriously tweeked two and half year old. She had been sitting in a chair reading a book when I a little boy came up to her and started spitting on her. I had heard the childcare employees correcting a little one about something and I also heard some grunts and squeals but it wasn't until those words came out in such a ferocious tone and with such strength and determination that everyone...adults and kids seemed to fall silent and stop to see what little body could be so worked up.
I quickly made my way to her and the childcare employee corrected the little boy. I said to the Bug, "I understand that you don't want to be spit on but you don't need to yell. Next time say 'Please, stop spitting on me.'" The little boy was made to apologize and The Bug was encouraged to forgive...which she did...I think begrudgingly. As we headed out the door and to our car I couldn't shake the encounter from my thoughts. For the next few days I pondered my words to my Bug...and then, got angry with myself.
Why should she say "Please?"..."Please...stop spitting on me." When I look back at what happened she had every right to react the way she did. I began to think about how she is wired. Although only two and half I can see that this little girl is strong. She has some very strong opionions, emotions and feelings about her little life already. I feel that my job is cut out for me. I want to raise a strong girl who knows that God created her to be strong but to use that strength for His good with integrity and virtue.
I want The Bug to know that God has a calling on her life to use her for good. I want her to know that He made her with specific abilities and talents that she can use for good. I want her to be strong with her words and kind...but I don't want her to apologize when there is no reason to be sorry. I want her to say what she means with dignity and respect even if the recipient might take offense...especially if it comes from a place of truth and conviction.
But there is a problem. Kids learn so much from our examples...and I fall so short here. For example, at the grocery store you will often hear me say,"Excuse me, so sorry. Excuse me, so sorry." As if I should apologize for doing what everyone else is doing...pushing a cart and filling it. I realized that I was doing this when The Bug started repeating me. "Skooz me, so surry..." WHY SHOULD WE BE SORRY FOR PUSHING OUR CART DOWN THE AISLE???????!!!!!! These are the things that draw me back to my intrigue with the O'Hara girl.
I just recently heard someone quote something like this..."Nice girls don't change the world." I googled it to find out who said it and then found this book by Lynne Hybels:
I know it wasn't Lynne Hybels that was quoted but I also didn't think it was a coincidence that I happened upon this book. This is what she says is regards to how she came up with the idea to write such a thing...
Nice Girls Don't Change the World
Splash. Splash. Back and forth in a steady
rhythm, my paddle pushed the water and my kayak sliced the waves. I
moved slowly as my thoughts gathered, but faster as my frustration
peaked. The muscles in my arms ached as my jumbled thoughts coalesced
into a single sentence: Nice girls don’t change the world! Therein
lay my frustration. Since childhood I had dreamed of being a righter
of wrongs, a force for good, a soul-soother, a world-changer—a dangerous
woman! But what had I been instead? A “nice girl,” an innocuous
people-pleaser. Good at going through the safe, socially accepted
motions of life, I had lost all sense of passion, giftedness, or dreams.That would make a great title for a book, my husband suggested later as I spit out my latest kayaking insight. Oh right. But his suggestion lingered. Are there other nice girls out there? Women living out roles that deny their true selves and violate God’s calling on their lives? Women dying to come to life? Should I write for them as well as me? Thus was my little book conceived.
I could not say it better myself. I don't want to be an "innocuous people-pleaser." And, I certainly do not want my kids to be either. I want them to be world changers and forces for good. So, it's time. It's time for me to stop. It's time for me to stop caring so much about what people might say about me, what people might think about me. These fear producing thoughts no longer only impede me...they hinder my children. And, if there is anything that would cause me to examine myself and pray for transformation, it is my children.
The O'Hara girl is at it again in my life. Her fiery gaze and sheer determination have gotten under my skin in a good way. I am reminded again of how attractive passionate people are. At the same time, I am also fully aware of how easy it is for their passion to be tainted, in case you were worried. But, that is what my prayers are for. I will be praying for guidance and for my kids daily and I will be praying that the Fly and I are examples...examples of strength, integrity and virtue...and when we mess up...because we will often...I will pray that we will be examples of humility.
I know my kids aren't perfect and will never be while they walk this earth but I also know that "as God as my witness," they will be strong and they will be forces for good.
I think I might pick up a copy of that book, Nice Girls Don't Change the World. Because like I said, this had got to start with me. I turn 30 on Monday and I'm thinking this is gonna be a really great decade ahead....but more on that later.
For now, it's no more nice girl here, well, you know what I mean...it's okay to be nice but this nice is going to stem from passion and strength. And, you may hear what I think a little more often...I may ruffle your feathers...and I want to be okay with that. Because, the only way to raise world changers is to be one myself.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Holes in the Mirror
It's been a while since I sat down to write. My hands have been full...full of babies, both big and small...well, smaller than the bigger one at least. My hands have been full of dishes left over from home cooked meals. My hands have been full from picking up coloring books, crayons, puzzle pieces, teething toys and such off the floor. My hands have been full of things that even just a year ago I struggled to enjoy but now they are constant reminders of what a precious season I am living in...they are a reminder that I am only promised today and for today I am grateful.
Last year at this time I had just found out we would be expecting a new baby. It was sooner than I had planned but as I have learned over and over again, my ways are not always HIS ways. My Bug had just healed from a broken arm...she took a tumble down the stairs...more traumatic for me than her...and I was planning her Shirley Temple costume...with real tap shoes, of course.
I had just gone from working full-time to part-time. This was a change that I knew needed to happen but was very difficult in so many ways. For the previous 5 years I had the privilege of pastoring a junior high ministry. It was a season filled with excitement, intense learning, exhaustion, deep joy, real tears, growing life long friendships and working like I had never worked before. Many days before my transition to part time, and then to my resignation, I would find myself day-dreaming about days filled with babies, diapers and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I was certainly plagued by "the grass is always greener" syndrome more than I would like to admit.
Since this time last year I have been what you might call, acclimating...to this new season. Yes, I know it has been a whole year and in many ways that tells you how much I love change, (insert sarcastic tone), but this morning as I sit at my kitchen table with my cup of coffee and my two sweet babies, sitting together on the ground, each playing in their own way, I feel a peace that I have been searching for in the last 365 days.
This is where I belong right now, today. God's plan for my day holds many surprises but I do know that part of His plan is graciously, giving me the Holy opportunity to love my kids and teach them to love each other, and to love God. I have learned that this is best done by example. And, even though that is best, it is the most difficult. It demands more than I have...more patience...more energy...more wisdom. It demands that I seek the Holy Spirit to walk me through my decisions, through my discipline, through each moment. I'm not great at this. I generally cry at least once a day and let the fleeting thought that I am ruining my children sit a little too long in my head. But, there are those moments, when it's quiet, when I'm feeding the Little Man in my over-stuffed blue rocking chair, when The Bug is determined and focused to color every last square inch of her Tangled coloring sheet, that I find myself so happy. Despite the fact that the world around me is moving as fast as I wish I could go, I'm happy that I have stopped. I'm happy that I'm slow. I'm happy that my world has gone from fast food meals to crockpot delicacies.
Last year at this time, I caught the bug doing something. As I would get ready in my bathroom I would hear that wonderful but suspicious sound coming from my 17 month old...silence. I sneaked up on her to find that she had taken a bobby pin and was poking holes in the backside of my mirror through the protective paper. My first inclination was to stop her but instead I stopped myself. I watched, without her knowing, as she strategically poked. She was so precise and definite with each puncture. I don't remember if it was that moment or later but I came to conclusion that I was just going to let her keep poking.
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| The Holes |
I hate to admit it but this is the first time in my life that I am not eagerly yearning for tomorrow. I have always been excited for what's next...too excited that I know I missed much of the present. I don't want to do that anymore. It is so easy for humans to do that. It is always in hindsight that we realize we should have or we could have. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to be content with today. I want look backwards and think I did that well. I lived my days...whether they were at home, still in my pajamas at noon with my babies on the floor, or dressed to nines for an outing with other adults...I want to say I lived them...real good. I want to say I savored them when it was easy and when it was hard.
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| In action. |
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| Oops! Got caught! |
These are definitely high aspirations for myself. I know I will still struggle with it all...I'm quite human. But, hopefully when I get it wrong I will see the holes and try again.
I encourage you to find the remarkable in today too. We aren't promised tomorrow.
Everyone was amazed and gave praise to God. They were filled with awe and said, “We have seen remarkable things today.” --Luke 5:26
The Remarkable in my life today...
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| Picture taken by Amanda Aday at April Smith Photography |
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| Picture taken by Amanda Aday at April Smith Photography |
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| Picture taken by Amanda Aday at April Smith Photography |
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| Picture taken by Amanda Aday at April Smith Photography |
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| Big enough to play in his saucer! |
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Finding Good
Overwhelmed. That is the one word I can use to describe the last 13 days of my life. The whole ordeal of September 14th has begun to take on shades of haze in my mind...for this I am thankful.
This experience has been much more difficult to "get over" than I thought it would be. However, the one thing that has continued to occur is the overwhelming outpouring of love and support from family, friends, friends of friends and even strangers. I have already seen a number of miracles derived from the situation. This makes me smile.
To all of you who have sent me messages, said prayers, and asked me how I am doing...thank you. I have been reminded through all of this of how good people can be. Funny, huh? You would think it would be the opposite.
I had a hard week last week. Every morning was filled with tears. In a matter of seconds this man stole more from me than my precious wedding ring.
You see, I have always been someone who wants to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. It is not uncommon for me to say, "Something bad probably happened in his childhood!" when talking about a cantankerous fellow. (I just really like to use the word cantankerous.) Anyway, the point is that I really do want to find the potential for good in people. But, when this young man did what he did, he stole this from me.
Ever since I had a gun pointed at me I see people differently. I find myself suspicious, hyper-vigilant and even profiling those that pass me. I hate it...really, I abhor it. My stomach turns and I feel this combination of fear, guilt and anxiety. I think it's giving me wrinkles...or that could just be motherhood.
What does this mean for me? I'm not sure. People keep asking how I am doing and I often respond with a smile and, "I'm doing really well!" And truly, I'm trying to live there. I really want to be well. But, there is a piece of me that needs restoring.
So, tonight, as my house sleeps and I am still awake, I am praying.
I am praying for the "young man." (That's what I call him.) I am praying that one day he will know compassion. He will know it because he is finally capable of feeling it for someone else and that someone might extend it to him.
I am praying for me. I am praying that this piece of me will be restored, renewed. I am praying that I will have the courage to run errands with my kids again. I am praying that I will see people the way God sees them...I would really like that.
I am also thankful.
Thank you God for pouring your love on me through so many these last two weeks. Thank you for using this experience to draw people closer to you. Thank you for you faithfulness.
I re-read my last post today and decided to watch Pollyanna. It's been a while since I've popped it in the DVD player. I was folding laundry and had two sleeping babies...perfection. At the end of the movie Pollyanna is paralyzed from a fall out of a tree. She is supposed to go to Baltimore (Woot! Woot! The homeland!(I was born there.)) for an operation. The doc is worried because she finds her glad-self in a deep depression...she can't find anything to be glad about. Then the entire town comes to visit her with gifts and words of encouragement and love. As the cheese meter goes through the roof my eyes fill with tears.
It reminded me of my last two weeks. People loved me. They brought me homemade bread and cookies. They called. They came over. They brought me soy Frappuccinos from Starbucks. The told jokes. They told their own stories of invasion and injustice. They prayed. Some mornings I really did find a numbness creeping in and the gladness seeping out. It was these acts of kindness, the conversations, the listening ears that helped to restore my smile.
For this I am thankful. It fills me. It reminds me of the potential for good. One person almost shattered that completely for me but hundreds are reminding me of it daily.
As my house sleeps and I am awake, I am smiling, knowing that God's goodness is flowing from his creation and encouraging me. I am smiling knowing that I am loved.
Thank you family, thank you friends, thank you friends of friend and thank you strangers...as the reverend in Pollyanna says, "We looked for the good in them, and we found it."
This experience has been much more difficult to "get over" than I thought it would be. However, the one thing that has continued to occur is the overwhelming outpouring of love and support from family, friends, friends of friends and even strangers. I have already seen a number of miracles derived from the situation. This makes me smile.
To all of you who have sent me messages, said prayers, and asked me how I am doing...thank you. I have been reminded through all of this of how good people can be. Funny, huh? You would think it would be the opposite.
I had a hard week last week. Every morning was filled with tears. In a matter of seconds this man stole more from me than my precious wedding ring.
You see, I have always been someone who wants to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. It is not uncommon for me to say, "Something bad probably happened in his childhood!" when talking about a cantankerous fellow. (I just really like to use the word cantankerous.) Anyway, the point is that I really do want to find the potential for good in people. But, when this young man did what he did, he stole this from me.
Ever since I had a gun pointed at me I see people differently. I find myself suspicious, hyper-vigilant and even profiling those that pass me. I hate it...really, I abhor it. My stomach turns and I feel this combination of fear, guilt and anxiety. I think it's giving me wrinkles...or that could just be motherhood.
What does this mean for me? I'm not sure. People keep asking how I am doing and I often respond with a smile and, "I'm doing really well!" And truly, I'm trying to live there. I really want to be well. But, there is a piece of me that needs restoring.
So, tonight, as my house sleeps and I am still awake, I am praying.
I am praying for the "young man." (That's what I call him.) I am praying that one day he will know compassion. He will know it because he is finally capable of feeling it for someone else and that someone might extend it to him.
I am praying for me. I am praying that this piece of me will be restored, renewed. I am praying that I will have the courage to run errands with my kids again. I am praying that I will see people the way God sees them...I would really like that.
I am also thankful.
Thank you God for pouring your love on me through so many these last two weeks. Thank you for using this experience to draw people closer to you. Thank you for you faithfulness.
I re-read my last post today and decided to watch Pollyanna. It's been a while since I've popped it in the DVD player. I was folding laundry and had two sleeping babies...perfection. At the end of the movie Pollyanna is paralyzed from a fall out of a tree. She is supposed to go to Baltimore (Woot! Woot! The homeland!(I was born there.)) for an operation. The doc is worried because she finds her glad-self in a deep depression...she can't find anything to be glad about. Then the entire town comes to visit her with gifts and words of encouragement and love. As the cheese meter goes through the roof my eyes fill with tears.
It reminded me of my last two weeks. People loved me. They brought me homemade bread and cookies. They called. They came over. They brought me soy Frappuccinos from Starbucks. The told jokes. They told their own stories of invasion and injustice. They prayed. Some mornings I really did find a numbness creeping in and the gladness seeping out. It was these acts of kindness, the conversations, the listening ears that helped to restore my smile.
For this I am thankful. It fills me. It reminds me of the potential for good. One person almost shattered that completely for me but hundreds are reminding me of it daily.
As my house sleeps and I am awake, I am smiling, knowing that God's goodness is flowing from his creation and encouraging me. I am smiling knowing that I am loved.
Thank you family, thank you friends, thank you friends of friend and thank you strangers...as the reverend in Pollyanna says, "We looked for the good in them, and we found it."
Saturday, September 17, 2011
The Glad Game
I love the movie Pollyanna. I think it is one of those really good movies that you can let your kids watch and not worry one bit about it. I know that the cheese factor is high but I'm a sucker for cheese. The more cheese the better if you ask me. And, these days, since I can't eat cheese due to the Little Man's tummy the movie kind of cheese seems to curb my craving.
One of the reasons I love this movie so much is because Pollyanna and I seem to have a similar approach to life. Rather than wallowing in circumstances Pollyanna chooses to, "play the glad game," and find something to be glad about.
This week was one where I had to make myself choose to be a Pollyanna. I just had to find something to be glad about. It was a week I will never forget but my hope is that rather than remember the trauma I will remember the God encounter and be glad.
On Wednesday, around 12:50pm in a Target parking lot, with my two sweet babies a man approached me with a gun while I was buckling The Bug in her seat. He pointed it at me and told me to give him my ring. I gave him my silver ring first. He didn't like that one. He asked if I had a purse. I lied. I threw my wedding ring at him and he ran and got in a get away car.
It was scary. I called 911 and practically parked in Target. I was right in the front. I wanted to make a huge scene in case he wasn't happy with what he found and came back. The police came. I gave a report. They dusted my car for finger prints.
As I pulled out of the parking lot after everything was over, I cried out to God. I was mad. Who thinks they have the right to pull a gun out anyway near my children. It was an injustice and that fires up my soul. I cried out to God and first prayed for justice. I want the man to know what he did was wrong. Second, I asked God to draw near this young man. I want to see his face again...in heaven one day. I played through in my mind what a person must have gone through as a child, a teenager, and young adult to do what he did. I told my mom, "You shouldn't feel sorry for me. He's the one you should feel sorry for."
I came home and took a shower...a long one. I replayed the horrific experience moment by moment in my head. I cried a lot. It was the sobbing cry that comes from that deep gut-wrenching place...the one you save for when you are by yourself and in the most desperate of places.
I told God that I didn't want to live in fear. I want to be able to take my kids places and not think everyone is going to attack us. I begged him to show me where His angels were during the whole experience. Jesus where were you?
Now for those of you that don't share my faith, this next part may sound crazy. Even if you do share my faith you may still think I'm crazy. That's fine. You can call me crazy and I don't take any offense.
I closed my eyes and saw a picture of my car and I saw angels. Well, if I'm honest I saw lots of wings that were kind of see-through and iridescent and gold all at the same time. They were covering my children. They were all around my car. I saw Jesus standing right behind me...really big...much bigger than me and the car.
It was this moment in the shower that I knew I had something to be glad about. I went through the rest of the day trying really hard to focus on the miracle that took place rather than the horrendous experience...No one was harmed, my kids were okay and all he took were my rings.
As if this wasn't enough for one week, the next day was the day that The Fly had his last procedure to determine if there was any cancer in his bladder. A while ago some test results came back that led us through a slew of tests and procedures to rule out cancer. The poor guy had to go through the worst one this last Thursday. That morning when I got out of bed I knew I had two choices. Wallow or be glad. I decided to choose glad. I began to focus again on the miracles every time an image of the day before would enter my head...which let me tell you was often. And again, I prayed. I prayed for peace for my husband and I prayed that no matter the outcome we would be able to find something to be glad about.
He called me around lunch time and gave me the great news. No cancer! The procedure was torture but he was glad...no cancer.
Later that day I spoke to dear friend who prayed for me and also helped me see the miracles in the circumstances that surrounded me. I realized that I had so much to be glad about after I got off the phone with her...from the test results to God's protection over my babies and me.
With all this said, I'm not naive. I know that Pollyanna gets a bad wrap sometimes. I know the reality of what happened to me more than anyone. I see the gun in fleeting thoughts all day long. I see this young man's face and hear his voice constantly through my stream of consciousness. I don't like it. When I go outside I am leery of men. I don't like that. I keep saying I want to be normal again. (Not that I was very normal before...but you know what I mean.)
I know that getting past this ordeal will take time but in that time I am choosing glad.
We took the kids to Disneyland last night to celebrate the miracles of our week. We chose glad. And every time The Fly put his hand on the small of my back I knew he was choosing glad too. He was glad we were safe. He was glad there was no cancer. We were glad that we got to ride the Ariel ride we our Bug and Little Man. We were glad we got to share corn dogs. We were glad as we held hands on the ride home and the Little Man slept as the Bug serenaded us with the ABC song.
Bad things happen. There are lots of people out there that are hurting enough to do desperate and mean things. Like I told my mom, don't feel sorry for us. We are the blessed ones. We were protected by the creator of the universe. Instead, pray for the guy if you are the praying type. I'm praying. Who knows what will happen? What was meant to harm can always be used for good because my God is greater.
One of the reasons I love this movie so much is because Pollyanna and I seem to have a similar approach to life. Rather than wallowing in circumstances Pollyanna chooses to, "play the glad game," and find something to be glad about.
This week was one where I had to make myself choose to be a Pollyanna. I just had to find something to be glad about. It was a week I will never forget but my hope is that rather than remember the trauma I will remember the God encounter and be glad.
On Wednesday, around 12:50pm in a Target parking lot, with my two sweet babies a man approached me with a gun while I was buckling The Bug in her seat. He pointed it at me and told me to give him my ring. I gave him my silver ring first. He didn't like that one. He asked if I had a purse. I lied. I threw my wedding ring at him and he ran and got in a get away car.
It was scary. I called 911 and practically parked in Target. I was right in the front. I wanted to make a huge scene in case he wasn't happy with what he found and came back. The police came. I gave a report. They dusted my car for finger prints.
As I pulled out of the parking lot after everything was over, I cried out to God. I was mad. Who thinks they have the right to pull a gun out anyway near my children. It was an injustice and that fires up my soul. I cried out to God and first prayed for justice. I want the man to know what he did was wrong. Second, I asked God to draw near this young man. I want to see his face again...in heaven one day. I played through in my mind what a person must have gone through as a child, a teenager, and young adult to do what he did. I told my mom, "You shouldn't feel sorry for me. He's the one you should feel sorry for."
I came home and took a shower...a long one. I replayed the horrific experience moment by moment in my head. I cried a lot. It was the sobbing cry that comes from that deep gut-wrenching place...the one you save for when you are by yourself and in the most desperate of places.
I told God that I didn't want to live in fear. I want to be able to take my kids places and not think everyone is going to attack us. I begged him to show me where His angels were during the whole experience. Jesus where were you?
Now for those of you that don't share my faith, this next part may sound crazy. Even if you do share my faith you may still think I'm crazy. That's fine. You can call me crazy and I don't take any offense.
I closed my eyes and saw a picture of my car and I saw angels. Well, if I'm honest I saw lots of wings that were kind of see-through and iridescent and gold all at the same time. They were covering my children. They were all around my car. I saw Jesus standing right behind me...really big...much bigger than me and the car.
It was this moment in the shower that I knew I had something to be glad about. I went through the rest of the day trying really hard to focus on the miracle that took place rather than the horrendous experience...No one was harmed, my kids were okay and all he took were my rings.
As if this wasn't enough for one week, the next day was the day that The Fly had his last procedure to determine if there was any cancer in his bladder. A while ago some test results came back that led us through a slew of tests and procedures to rule out cancer. The poor guy had to go through the worst one this last Thursday. That morning when I got out of bed I knew I had two choices. Wallow or be glad. I decided to choose glad. I began to focus again on the miracles every time an image of the day before would enter my head...which let me tell you was often. And again, I prayed. I prayed for peace for my husband and I prayed that no matter the outcome we would be able to find something to be glad about.
He called me around lunch time and gave me the great news. No cancer! The procedure was torture but he was glad...no cancer.
Later that day I spoke to dear friend who prayed for me and also helped me see the miracles in the circumstances that surrounded me. I realized that I had so much to be glad about after I got off the phone with her...from the test results to God's protection over my babies and me.
With all this said, I'm not naive. I know that Pollyanna gets a bad wrap sometimes. I know the reality of what happened to me more than anyone. I see the gun in fleeting thoughts all day long. I see this young man's face and hear his voice constantly through my stream of consciousness. I don't like it. When I go outside I am leery of men. I don't like that. I keep saying I want to be normal again. (Not that I was very normal before...but you know what I mean.)
I know that getting past this ordeal will take time but in that time I am choosing glad.
We took the kids to Disneyland last night to celebrate the miracles of our week. We chose glad. And every time The Fly put his hand on the small of my back I knew he was choosing glad too. He was glad we were safe. He was glad there was no cancer. We were glad that we got to ride the Ariel ride we our Bug and Little Man. We were glad we got to share corn dogs. We were glad as we held hands on the ride home and the Little Man slept as the Bug serenaded us with the ABC song.
Bad things happen. There are lots of people out there that are hurting enough to do desperate and mean things. Like I told my mom, don't feel sorry for us. We are the blessed ones. We were protected by the creator of the universe. Instead, pray for the guy if you are the praying type. I'm praying. Who knows what will happen? What was meant to harm can always be used for good because my God is greater.
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| Genesis 50:20 "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." |
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