The last couple of days I've really noticed a battle in my mind. There's been the "that will taste good, you should eat it" and the "this tastes so good I definitely want some more" and the "you have no real reason to get up this early to work out."
Perhaps the battle has always been there, but I've certainly rarely fought it before. In the past it's always been more of a giving in to whatever whim I may have had. I'd find myself in the middle of eating something or waking up at the last minute and having to rush through the morning or gaining and losing the same five pounds. I would hate where I was and wonder how I got there. But I never really battled with the cravings.
Since 2012 began, though, and I've started claiming the spirit of self discipline that God has given me, it's been different. I've dragged myself out of bed at 5:00 a.m. day after day, in the freezing cold. I've frozen 90% of a cheesecake and put back a piece I'd taken out to eat simply because I found I was satisfied with what I'd already eaten. I've frozen leftover brownies and thrown out part of a piece of zucchini bread when I realized I was full. I've read two days' worth of Bible readings to catch up. I've also slept in, eaten even though I was full, and chosen to veg on the sofa instead of reading my Bible. You win some, you lose some.
Maybe all that living a self-controlled life involves is fighting these battles. Maybe it's recognizing the fight, listening to the voice, and making the wise choice. I wonder if there will come a point when it's just natural and easy to choose less or working out or self denial. Maybe not. Maybe the only difference between the way I was living and athletes winning gold medals is simply that they chose wisely more often than they don't.
Until I get to that point, I hope that I keep seeing both choices. I hope that I keep resisting my natural desires and choosing to be where God wants me to be. And I hope that when I mess up, I recognize the amazing grace that God pours down on me and extend a little bit of it to myself. I hope that I see what's in front of me; hear God say, "Rise up, Mighty Warrior"; and choose to fight with all I have.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Fifth Sabbath
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound"Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone)", Chris Tomlin
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
Was blind, but now I see
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed
My chains are gone, I've been set free
My God, my Savior, has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, amazing grace
The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures
My chains are gone, I've been set free
My God, my Savior, has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, amazing grace
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow
The sun forbear to shine
But God who called me here below
Will be forever mine
Will be forever mine
You are forever mine
Friday, January 27, 2012
Micah 6:8
Like most Christian Reformed girls of a certain age, I grew up attending Calvinettes. Today it is called GEMS, and it's really like a Calvinist Girl Scouts. Every meeting began with us singing songs, including our theme song "Jesus is All the World to Me," and reciting our verse. The leader would say, "Calvinettes, what does the Lord require of you?" We would respond, in unison, "To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. Micah 6 verse 8." Ask almost anyone my age who grew up in the CRC, and they can sing you a verse and recite Micah 6:8.
I wonder when the reality of that verse started sinking in for me, though. At what point did I understand that "doing justice" wasn't just about deciding who was right or wrong, that "loving kindness" isn't just about good manners and being nice, and that "walking humbly with God" means more than not bragging. I wonder sometimes if it has yet sunk in.
A week or so ago in my prayer book, Everyday Prayers, author Scotty Smith (thanks, Writer Friend!) wrote about how our groanings and longings for eternity should cause us to show up rather than check out. He said that instead of numbing ourselves to the needs of the world as we wait, that longing for Christ to return and God to set things right for eternity should prompt us to work toward bringing that about now. He asked God, "What will it mean to love mercy, do justice, and walk humbly with you in the broken places of your world?"
Indeed. What will it mean? What will it mean for me to be more than one who seeks the difference between right and wrong, more than one who is nice to other people, more than one who doesn't brag about my walk with God? What will it mean, with the unique way that God has gifted me, the unique personality that I have, the unique place He has put me in His world? How should I seek to DO justice, to LOVE kindness, and to WALK HUMBLY with my God in His broken world? And not just in the future or in my profession or in my parenting.
In my friendships. In my right now. In this neighborhood.
In this day.
I wonder when the reality of that verse started sinking in for me, though. At what point did I understand that "doing justice" wasn't just about deciding who was right or wrong, that "loving kindness" isn't just about good manners and being nice, and that "walking humbly with God" means more than not bragging. I wonder sometimes if it has yet sunk in.
A week or so ago in my prayer book, Everyday Prayers, author Scotty Smith (thanks, Writer Friend!) wrote about how our groanings and longings for eternity should cause us to show up rather than check out. He said that instead of numbing ourselves to the needs of the world as we wait, that longing for Christ to return and God to set things right for eternity should prompt us to work toward bringing that about now. He asked God, "What will it mean to love mercy, do justice, and walk humbly with you in the broken places of your world?"
Indeed. What will it mean? What will it mean for me to be more than one who seeks the difference between right and wrong, more than one who is nice to other people, more than one who doesn't brag about my walk with God? What will it mean, with the unique way that God has gifted me, the unique personality that I have, the unique place He has put me in His world? How should I seek to DO justice, to LOVE kindness, and to WALK HUMBLY with my God in His broken world? And not just in the future or in my profession or in my parenting.
In my friendships. In my right now. In this neighborhood.
In this day.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
A Psalm
Every day in my readings I read at least one Psalm, sometimes two. Today it struck me that the Psalms (blogs, really) remind me a lot of the way that I tend to blog and why I've often struggled with it. It feels like when I sit down with my fingers on the keys what flows out of me is often downtrodden or slightly defeated. I always come around in the end, recognizing the gifts that I have, but at the beginning it feels like the same old same old things. As I was reading today, I realized that the Psalmist often does the same thing. Maybe that's part of life. So, I thought I would attempt an actual psalm with all that's in my mind right now.
Oh, God. You are my rock.
Your shelter and protection cannot be denied.
My enemies may not be coming at me with swords or rocks,
But this life is hard nonetheless.
Talk of war and division fill our news,
Even in Christian circles, people lament our future,
Our world.
Even in Christian circles, our families fall apart,
Division reigns.
Where is our hope?
Our hope is in You, maker of heaven and earth.
Creator of all things.
Author and perfector of our salvation.
You do not fail. You cannot fail.
Thank you for your healing power. This week alone you
Have shrunk tumors doctors believed were unshrinkable.
You have replaced cancerous bones
With the bones of life stolen too soon.
Be the God-who-heals for everyone who suffers.
Thank you for being the God who seeks and finds.
Thank you for our Navy SEALS and their dedication
To a calling higher than them.
Be the God-who-finds for all those who are lost,
Spiritually or physically. Restore them to those who long for them.
And, God, for the hurts that somehow go deeper--
For the mothers and fathers hanging on for dear life as they parent their children,
For the men and women caught in the prison of addiction,
For the husbands and wives dreaming of a way to be free of unhappy marriages,
For the children whose innocence is stolen,
For the depressed and the lonely and the widows and those struggling with who they are--
Be the Rock. Be the God. Be the Shepherd. Be the Deliverer. Be the Sustainer.
Be the God-who-brings-Life.
Oh, God. You are my rock.
Your shelter and protection cannot be denied.
My enemies may not be coming at me with swords or rocks,
But this life is hard nonetheless.
Talk of war and division fill our news,
Even in Christian circles, people lament our future,
Our world.
Even in Christian circles, our families fall apart,
Division reigns.
Where is our hope?
Our hope is in You, maker of heaven and earth.
Creator of all things.
Author and perfector of our salvation.
You do not fail. You cannot fail.
Thank you for your healing power. This week alone you
Have shrunk tumors doctors believed were unshrinkable.
You have replaced cancerous bones
With the bones of life stolen too soon.
Be the God-who-heals for everyone who suffers.
Thank you for being the God who seeks and finds.
Thank you for our Navy SEALS and their dedication
To a calling higher than them.
Be the God-who-finds for all those who are lost,
Spiritually or physically. Restore them to those who long for them.
And, God, for the hurts that somehow go deeper--
For the mothers and fathers hanging on for dear life as they parent their children,
For the men and women caught in the prison of addiction,
For the husbands and wives dreaming of a way to be free of unhappy marriages,
For the children whose innocence is stolen,
For the depressed and the lonely and the widows and those struggling with who they are--
Be the Rock. Be the God. Be the Shepherd. Be the Deliverer. Be the Sustainer.
Be the God-who-brings-Life.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Tie a Yellow Ribbon
This morning at the gym I wore my Team Mitchell t-shirt from last summer's Miles for Hope. I ran walked for Mitchell, the son of high school friend's. While Miles for Hope is about funds to research a cure for brain tumors, our t-shirts, designed by Mitchell's mom, incorporated the colors for brain tumor awareness and pediatric brain tumor awareness.
As I was walking from the treadmill to the weights, a woman stopped me, gestured to my shirt, and said, "I'm trying to figure out what the cure is for." When I told her, she said, "That's very cool."
Today is also the day that Beau's cousin Chelsea was told to wear blue to school in order to stop bullying. Because she's a snarky teenager, she announced that on Facebook and then wrote, "Is that because bullies are afraid of the color blue?" I laughed out loud.
Those two questions--what's that for, and are they afraid of that color--sent me thinking. Pink = October, which is breast cancer awareness month. Red = HIV/AIDS awareness. Blue = Child Abuse Awareness Month (April). Yellow = Brain Tumor Awareness and, because of a song years ago, signifies that you are waiting for a loved one to return home. The puzzle piece ribbon = Autism Awareness. I'm sure that all of these colors also mean something different, as I remember tying a blue ribbon on my antenna in honor of the horrors at Columbine and Chelsea is supposed to wear blue to stop bullying.
So what do these colors mean? Are they just the trendy way to pretend to stand for something? I'm confident that the bullies aren't afraid of the color blue, but I wonder if they came to school and saw everyone wearing blue if they would change the way that they treat other people. Because they'd see the solidarity. And I wonder if the woman I saw today thinks about brain tumors differently because she saw my shirt.
Mostly I wonder if more people are aware of anything because of all the ribbons we wear or if people are just confused by the colors. When people first started wearing red ribbons, it was a statement. It was a statement of support and solidarity and commitment that on my watch something was going to change. I wasn't going to be silent about a disease that shouldn't be destroying our families. But now, when you see a ribbon, do you even wonder what it's for? When you put on a ribbon, or a color, do you even remember what it's for?
There are a million causes in the world, and I'm quite certain that many of them have a color to go with them. The question I need to ask myself is which one is mine? And am I doing more than wearing a ribbon?
As I was walking from the treadmill to the weights, a woman stopped me, gestured to my shirt, and said, "I'm trying to figure out what the cure is for." When I told her, she said, "That's very cool."
Today is also the day that Beau's cousin Chelsea was told to wear blue to school in order to stop bullying. Because she's a snarky teenager, she announced that on Facebook and then wrote, "Is that because bullies are afraid of the color blue?" I laughed out loud.
Those two questions--what's that for, and are they afraid of that color--sent me thinking. Pink = October, which is breast cancer awareness month. Red = HIV/AIDS awareness. Blue = Child Abuse Awareness Month (April). Yellow = Brain Tumor Awareness and, because of a song years ago, signifies that you are waiting for a loved one to return home. The puzzle piece ribbon = Autism Awareness. I'm sure that all of these colors also mean something different, as I remember tying a blue ribbon on my antenna in honor of the horrors at Columbine and Chelsea is supposed to wear blue to stop bullying.
So what do these colors mean? Are they just the trendy way to pretend to stand for something? I'm confident that the bullies aren't afraid of the color blue, but I wonder if they came to school and saw everyone wearing blue if they would change the way that they treat other people. Because they'd see the solidarity. And I wonder if the woman I saw today thinks about brain tumors differently because she saw my shirt.
Mostly I wonder if more people are aware of anything because of all the ribbons we wear or if people are just confused by the colors. When people first started wearing red ribbons, it was a statement. It was a statement of support and solidarity and commitment that on my watch something was going to change. I wasn't going to be silent about a disease that shouldn't be destroying our families. But now, when you see a ribbon, do you even wonder what it's for? When you put on a ribbon, or a color, do you even remember what it's for?
There are a million causes in the world, and I'm quite certain that many of them have a color to go with them. The question I need to ask myself is which one is mine? And am I doing more than wearing a ribbon?
"At a certain point, I just felt, you know, God is not looking for alms, God is looking for action." Bono
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Things I Think I Think #1-17
Several random thoughts on my mind today, so I thought I'd share them all. Because I'm crazy like that.
*EDIT: part way through my list I decided to number these. Maybe when I have too many random thoughts and nothing concrete enough to create a real post I can add on to my list. Then, by the end of the year, maybe we'll end up with 100 random things I think. Won't that be fun?
1. One of my favorite quotes from the Bible is when the angel of the Lord finds Gideon hiding in the threshing room and says, "Rise up, Mighty Warrior." I've felt like that.
2. I cannot wait to start reading the next book on my list: The Meaning of Matthew, by Judy Shepard. It's the story of Matthew Shepard. I wish we were further along in his fight than we are.
3. There is no way I'd work out at 5:15 a.m. every morning if my friend, Leah, wasn't either picking me up or expecting me to pick her up.
4. It shouldn't be so hard for me to remember to write down a Kairos or a grateful moment every day, but I'm always behind on my list.
5. One of today's Kairos moments is happening right now: my three girls are playing me and some of my friends/family members. I love it when the one playing Julie calls me, "Beck."
6. I don't like making dinner for my family each night. That's probably one of the reasons I often suggest that we eat out. Since that isn't so helpful to my budget or my waistline, I should scale back on it. But the chicken pot pie on the menu tonight just is not calling my name.
7. I love, love, love politics, but I hate how politicky it gets. Maybe it would be better to say I love government and hate politics.
8. So far this year I have scored a free Kindle 3G and a free iPhone 3GS (on its way to me today). That's the mark of some pretty good friends and family.
9. It makes me smile to chat with my friends on Twitter when we could just text, email, or Facebook message. Ah, technology. (Welcome to Twitter, Jillian!) If you're there, you should follow me. Then we can chat there instead of in person, too.
10. While we're on the subject, it also makes me smile to read what celebrities write on Twitter and pretend that Adam Levine, Peter Alexander, Alison Sweeney, and Jason Segel really are talking to me. But it makes me sad to see how desperately other people seem to wish they were talking to them.
11. When I don't start my morning out reading the Bible, I'm a bitch. There, I said it. 'Cause it's true.
12. I would watch episodes of Hawaii Five-0 over and over again. No matter how many times I've seen them. The same is not true for Dora the Explorer.
13. I really should get up and finish that chicken pot pie. And fold the laundry. Probably not at the same time.
14. I'm hoping the pain currently shooting through my left hand is simply a result of holding it wrong while I worked out this morning and not indicative of something more serious. Like carpal tunnel. Unless that means I can't make dinner anymore.
15. One of my favorite things to do is add books to my Goodreads list. I love it. It's like window shopping. There is so much possibility in all the books on my shelves. Even though I'm sure I'll need the first half of eternity to read them all.
16. I would happily pay $10 to sit through 90 minutes of previews at Celebration Cinema. (See the Goodreads list for my thoughts on possibilities.)
17. For the life of me I cannot understand why a presidential election is the only time we would consider hiring someone over 65 for a job. Seriously. Retire. Don't go for a new career--especially one that's going to age you several years. Unless you have a really great VP candidate that we maybe wouldn't elect on our own.
*EDIT: part way through my list I decided to number these. Maybe when I have too many random thoughts and nothing concrete enough to create a real post I can add on to my list. Then, by the end of the year, maybe we'll end up with 100 random things I think. Won't that be fun?
1. One of my favorite quotes from the Bible is when the angel of the Lord finds Gideon hiding in the threshing room and says, "Rise up, Mighty Warrior." I've felt like that.
2. I cannot wait to start reading the next book on my list: The Meaning of Matthew, by Judy Shepard. It's the story of Matthew Shepard. I wish we were further along in his fight than we are.
3. There is no way I'd work out at 5:15 a.m. every morning if my friend, Leah, wasn't either picking me up or expecting me to pick her up.
4. It shouldn't be so hard for me to remember to write down a Kairos or a grateful moment every day, but I'm always behind on my list.
5. One of today's Kairos moments is happening right now: my three girls are playing me and some of my friends/family members. I love it when the one playing Julie calls me, "Beck."
6. I don't like making dinner for my family each night. That's probably one of the reasons I often suggest that we eat out. Since that isn't so helpful to my budget or my waistline, I should scale back on it. But the chicken pot pie on the menu tonight just is not calling my name.
7. I love, love, love politics, but I hate how politicky it gets. Maybe it would be better to say I love government and hate politics.
8. So far this year I have scored a free Kindle 3G and a free iPhone 3GS (on its way to me today). That's the mark of some pretty good friends and family.
9. It makes me smile to chat with my friends on Twitter when we could just text, email, or Facebook message. Ah, technology. (Welcome to Twitter, Jillian!) If you're there, you should follow me. Then we can chat there instead of in person, too.
10. While we're on the subject, it also makes me smile to read what celebrities write on Twitter and pretend that Adam Levine, Peter Alexander, Alison Sweeney, and Jason Segel really are talking to me. But it makes me sad to see how desperately other people seem to wish they were talking to them.
11. When I don't start my morning out reading the Bible, I'm a bitch. There, I said it. 'Cause it's true.
12. I would watch episodes of Hawaii Five-0 over and over again. No matter how many times I've seen them. The same is not true for Dora the Explorer.
13. I really should get up and finish that chicken pot pie. And fold the laundry. Probably not at the same time.
14. I'm hoping the pain currently shooting through my left hand is simply a result of holding it wrong while I worked out this morning and not indicative of something more serious. Like carpal tunnel. Unless that means I can't make dinner anymore.
15. One of my favorite things to do is add books to my Goodreads list. I love it. It's like window shopping. There is so much possibility in all the books on my shelves. Even though I'm sure I'll need the first half of eternity to read them all.
16. I would happily pay $10 to sit through 90 minutes of previews at Celebration Cinema. (See the Goodreads list for my thoughts on possibilities.)
17. For the life of me I cannot understand why a presidential election is the only time we would consider hiring someone over 65 for a job. Seriously. Retire. Don't go for a new career--especially one that's going to age you several years. Unless you have a really great VP candidate that we maybe wouldn't elect on our own.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Book Two
Bossypants
Tina Fey
Hooray, Tina Fey! She seems to write everything she thinks, which is also how I write. Except then I delete most of it. I appreciate that Tina leaves it all in--her random thoughts, her tangents, her unnecessary explanations. It all makes it into Bossypants, and that's what makes it hilarious.
While the structure of the book is seemingly nonexistent, it almost doesn't matter. Fey covers a wide range of her life, from her childhood to her early career to her current work at 30 Rock and as a mother, with a stop with Sarah Palin in between. It all feels equally important to who she is now. If you're looking for a chronological autobiography, this is not your book. If, however, you are looking for candid and random facts from one of the funnier women in America--quit reading this review and pick up Bossypants!
Tina Fey
Hooray, Tina Fey! She seems to write everything she thinks, which is also how I write. Except then I delete most of it. I appreciate that Tina leaves it all in--her random thoughts, her tangents, her unnecessary explanations. It all makes it into Bossypants, and that's what makes it hilarious.
While the structure of the book is seemingly nonexistent, it almost doesn't matter. Fey covers a wide range of her life, from her childhood to her early career to her current work at 30 Rock and as a mother, with a stop with Sarah Palin in between. It all feels equally important to who she is now. If you're looking for a chronological autobiography, this is not your book. If, however, you are looking for candid and random facts from one of the funnier women in America--quit reading this review and pick up Bossypants!
The Fourth Sabbath
'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free"Simple Gifts," by Elder Joseph Brackett, 1848 (Traditional Shaker hymn and dance song. Because at the end of the day, shouldn't they really be one and the same?)
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come 'round right.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Book One
A Discovery of Witches
Deborah Harkness
Let me start by saying that I can't recall what I knew about this book going in, but I know that I wasn't aware of much when I opened the cover. Obviously I knew there were witches and that it was set in the present day. There was a discovery in that the protagonist discovered she was a witch. Or so I thought. Hopefully this isn't too much of a SPOILER to say that I was surprised (and disappointed) to discovery it was also about vampires and daemons and romance. Typically none of those things get me excited about a book, and I almost closed it and sent it right back to the library. I'm so glad I didn't.
If I'd read the Goodreads review, I would have known about the vampires and the romance, but I heard about this book in a four-sentence blurb in Entertainment Weekly. I am a lover of history and find the Salem witch trials an intriguing part of our history. So it's easy to suck me into a book that references that time. Diana Bishop is a descendent of the Bishop clan--one of the first witches tried in Salem. For personal reasons, however, she has stopped using her magic. As the reasons are revealed, I found myself more deeply enthralled with the story and with the family history. I also found myself caught up in the romance between Diana and Matthew, a vampire geneticist. Harkness weaves a tale of romance in the middle of a tale of history and the supernatural and the academic world. Her tale is gripping and hypnotizing. Much like after my reading of Rowling's Harry Potter series I was left wishing I knew how to conjur the spells for cleaning my house and could certainly stand to be living in a house that adds extra rooms to accommodate its residents. I hope knowing about the vampires and the daemons--and the romance--don't turn anyone away from this book. It's referred to in some places as a grown-up Twilight--don't let that stop you either.
This book is the first in a series, and I'm glad I waited until now to read the first book. That means my wait for book two is only a few months long!
Deborah Harkness
Let me start by saying that I can't recall what I knew about this book going in, but I know that I wasn't aware of much when I opened the cover. Obviously I knew there were witches and that it was set in the present day. There was a discovery in that the protagonist discovered she was a witch. Or so I thought. Hopefully this isn't too much of a SPOILER to say that I was surprised (and disappointed) to discovery it was also about vampires and daemons and romance. Typically none of those things get me excited about a book, and I almost closed it and sent it right back to the library. I'm so glad I didn't.
If I'd read the Goodreads review, I would have known about the vampires and the romance, but I heard about this book in a four-sentence blurb in Entertainment Weekly. I am a lover of history and find the Salem witch trials an intriguing part of our history. So it's easy to suck me into a book that references that time. Diana Bishop is a descendent of the Bishop clan--one of the first witches tried in Salem. For personal reasons, however, she has stopped using her magic. As the reasons are revealed, I found myself more deeply enthralled with the story and with the family history. I also found myself caught up in the romance between Diana and Matthew, a vampire geneticist. Harkness weaves a tale of romance in the middle of a tale of history and the supernatural and the academic world. Her tale is gripping and hypnotizing. Much like after my reading of Rowling's Harry Potter series I was left wishing I knew how to conjur the spells for cleaning my house and could certainly stand to be living in a house that adds extra rooms to accommodate its residents. I hope knowing about the vampires and the daemons--and the romance--don't turn anyone away from this book. It's referred to in some places as a grown-up Twilight--don't let that stop you either.
This book is the first in a series, and I'm glad I waited until now to read the first book. That means my wait for book two is only a few months long!
Friday, January 20, 2012
Kairos Moments
I discovered another blog yesterday, via a Huffington Post article that a mom I know posted. "Don't Carpe Diem" it said. Don't carpe diem? This is for moms? So don't carpe diem a parenting moment? I have several I'd like to not sieze. There are many I'd like to brush under the rug or into a corner in the closet so that no one ever finds out about them. Maybe those are the skeletons in my closet, since I've lived a fairly mundane and safe life. Look into the darkest recesses of my life, and you'll find all the parenting moments I chose to pretend never existed. Like, oh say the last six years.
Kidding.
It hasn't been that bad. There have surely been good moments. But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .
I really don't like parenting toddlers. Or first graders, apparently.
Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds. I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four. Didn't like them either. Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom. Nope. Even worse. Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.
I don't like cutting up food. I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse. (Could toys possibly be bigger, please? Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.) I don't like wiping butts either. And I don't like all that whining. I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it.
But I'll also be honest about something else. They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies. They are my joy. They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future. They are my I love you. Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:
I love parenting toddlers. And I love parenting first graders, apparently.
It's hard, hard work. I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work. Or a challenge. But I'm excited to get there. So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really? From the bathroom? Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.). I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days. I hope I don't screw them up too much. And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments. I can seize those.
Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room
It was such a good day.
Kidding.
It hasn't been that bad. There have surely been good moments. But, for the most part, if I'm being honest, if I'm telling my deep secrets, if you promise not to call Children's Protective Services on me (I work with some of them, and they're on my speed dial, so just try it), if we're going to shed light in the corners of my closets and lift up all the rugs in my house, if you promise not to tell anyone . . .
I really don't like parenting toddlers. Or first graders, apparently.
Back when I was simply babysitting, I discovered that I really don't like 4 year olds. I thought it would change when I actually had a real attachment to the child, but then my nieces hit four. Didn't like them either. Well, maybe it will change when they were birthed by me and call me mom. Nope. Even worse. Now that my youngest has been wholly consumed by the terrible twos, I've discovered that the truth is all these 2-6 years are something I could do without.
I don't like cutting up food. I don't like getting up from my computer or my book or my moment to breathe or my moment to sit on the toilet peeing allbymyselfforjustasecondplease in order to get a snack or find a toy or stop another fight or get a drink or get another snack or put the skirt on your mini Cinderella or find your Littlest Pet Shop purse. (Could toys possibly be bigger, please? Maybe all toys could be like those magical Snap 'N' Style dolls that even my two year old can maneuver.) I don't like wiping butts either. And I don't like all that whining. I don't mind zipping up coats and tying shoes, but I'll be honest and say that it gets a bit annoying when they're dancing around like a pretty, pretty princess fairies while I'm doing it.
But I'll also be honest about something else. They really are a pretty, pretty princess fairies. They are my joy. They are my hope that there are bright spots in the future. They are my I love you. Because, even in the middle of my wishing for a second to myself prior to passing out to the world at 10:30 p.m. (hopefully in my bed and not my onesecondtomyselfonthetoilet), even in the middle of my fear that I won't actually like any stage of parenting and my kids will grow up to hate me for it, I have another secret:
I love parenting toddlers. And I love parenting first graders, apparently.
It's hard, hard work. I know that middle schoolers and tweens and teens will also be hard, hard work. Or a challenge. But I'm excited to get there. So I hope that my kids forgive me for speeding us through a few of the rough patches, for losing my temper when my second in the bathroom is interrupted by a third little voice whining "Can you get me a piece of candy?" (Really? From the bathroom? Let me know how that goes.), for listening to Maroon 5 in the van when all they want is "Silly Songs!!!!!" (For. The. Fifteenth. Time...Today.). I hope that we share a mutual respect and love and admiration when they grow up and move out and I realize that these years went too fast and wish I had less time to myself and wonder why the juice boxes and Fruit Nuggets start lasting longer than two days. I hope I don't screw them up too much. And I hope, that like Glennon says, I don't forget to notice the Kairos Moments. I can seize those.
Yesterday's moments:
* Reading "Little House in the Big Woods" with Ellie
* Addie walking around the kitchen with her baby on her shoulders while I was making dinner
* Ellie's stunningly gorgeous face after she's been outside playing in the cold
* Megan's big blue eyes peeking at me from under a blanket
* Addie asking where the seat is at the table for her baby and then remembering that she only drinks milk
* Megan exclaming, "Oh my chinny-chin-chins!" when all the marbles from the marble run fell off the table in the dining room
It was such a good day.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Learning from Job and Tripp
I love the book of Job. It ends with the most beautiful images of creation. It includes sassy responses from God. It shows a strong man standing up to his friends. And it provides a stunning glimpse of joy in the midst of suffering.
Late last week, the book of Job was brought to mind again as I was introduced to Tripp Roth. A friend on Facebook posted the link to Courtney Roth's blog about being a mommy to her son, Tripp. This is a young woman in the prime of her life--enjoying being a wife and excited about the arrival of her son. I encourage you to check out her blog, starting with Tripp's Story. Within hours of his birth, Courtney and her husband, Randy, were told that he suffered from Epidermolysis Bullosa. Basically his skin was so thin that any contact with it would result in painful blisters to form. After discussing his case with various doctors and running numerous tests--all of which caused Tripp's skin to blister and tear--it became apparent that Tripp had a fatal case of EB and would be lucky to reach his 2nd birthday.
Tripp died on January 14, at 2 years and 8 months old. A recent visit to an expert revealed that with less care than his mother had given him, he would likely have died around his first birthday. He should have died then. Instead, his mother, who had never held her son skin to skin in her arms, never crushed him into her hug, never played tickle games, never smothered his face in kisses, committed her life to caring for her son. Her marriage to Tripp's father suffered and ended. She moved in with her parents, where her mother could help her with full time care. She spent 2 years and 8 months wrapping her son in a blanket, coaxing him to eat, sedating him to give him baths because the pain was so intense, watching her son's eyes fuse shut. She spent 2 years and 8 months knowing her son was in constant pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. And she spent 2 years and 8 months thanking God for every breath her son took, every drum beat she listened to him play, every smile he offered.
Her blog and Facebook page have allowed us a glimpse into her pain and inspiration from the care that she took of a little boy medical professionals and others told her she would be justified to leave in a hospital bed where she would visit from time to time. Or nurses could have bathed him in her home. She could have saved her marriage--after all, she knew her son's condition was fatal. Instead, she stayed by his side. Why? Because he was her son. She was his mother. He was her gift from God.
By the time that I discovered her blog and met Tripp, Courtney knew that his short life was ending. She rejoiced that he would soon be pain free, that his first skin to skin contact would be with Jesus Christ, God made flesh. God with torn flesh. And she asked that the ending would be peaceful--for Tripp, for her, and for her family. That's what we prayed for.
On Saturday, shortly after her only son took his final breaths wrapped snugly in a blanket in her arms, she wrote that heaven had a new drummer boy. She wrote of her broken heart and her grief. And then she wrote, "Please don't forget to thank God for the PEACE we prayed to him for."
Who does that? So few of us even remember to thank God for answered prayer in the best of times. Yet, here was a grieving mother, reminding us to thank God for answering our prayers. Courtney understood--and shared in her 2011 Christmas card to all of her blog followers--what Job knew. I can only pray that I know it, too. Especially when it matters most.
Late last week, the book of Job was brought to mind again as I was introduced to Tripp Roth. A friend on Facebook posted the link to Courtney Roth's blog about being a mommy to her son, Tripp. This is a young woman in the prime of her life--enjoying being a wife and excited about the arrival of her son. I encourage you to check out her blog, starting with Tripp's Story. Within hours of his birth, Courtney and her husband, Randy, were told that he suffered from Epidermolysis Bullosa. Basically his skin was so thin that any contact with it would result in painful blisters to form. After discussing his case with various doctors and running numerous tests--all of which caused Tripp's skin to blister and tear--it became apparent that Tripp had a fatal case of EB and would be lucky to reach his 2nd birthday.
Tripp died on January 14, at 2 years and 8 months old. A recent visit to an expert revealed that with less care than his mother had given him, he would likely have died around his first birthday. He should have died then. Instead, his mother, who had never held her son skin to skin in her arms, never crushed him into her hug, never played tickle games, never smothered his face in kisses, committed her life to caring for her son. Her marriage to Tripp's father suffered and ended. She moved in with her parents, where her mother could help her with full time care. She spent 2 years and 8 months wrapping her son in a blanket, coaxing him to eat, sedating him to give him baths because the pain was so intense, watching her son's eyes fuse shut. She spent 2 years and 8 months knowing her son was in constant pain and knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. And she spent 2 years and 8 months thanking God for every breath her son took, every drum beat she listened to him play, every smile he offered.
Her blog and Facebook page have allowed us a glimpse into her pain and inspiration from the care that she took of a little boy medical professionals and others told her she would be justified to leave in a hospital bed where she would visit from time to time. Or nurses could have bathed him in her home. She could have saved her marriage--after all, she knew her son's condition was fatal. Instead, she stayed by his side. Why? Because he was her son. She was his mother. He was her gift from God.
By the time that I discovered her blog and met Tripp, Courtney knew that his short life was ending. She rejoiced that he would soon be pain free, that his first skin to skin contact would be with Jesus Christ, God made flesh. God with torn flesh. And she asked that the ending would be peaceful--for Tripp, for her, and for her family. That's what we prayed for.
On Saturday, shortly after her only son took his final breaths wrapped snugly in a blanket in her arms, she wrote that heaven had a new drummer boy. She wrote of her broken heart and her grief. And then she wrote, "Please don't forget to thank God for the PEACE we prayed to him for."
Who does that? So few of us even remember to thank God for answered prayer in the best of times. Yet, here was a grieving mother, reminding us to thank God for answering our prayers. Courtney understood--and shared in her 2011 Christmas card to all of her blog followers--what Job knew. I can only pray that I know it, too. Especially when it matters most.
"Should we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity?" Job 2:10
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
A Hiccup
While I won't do this every week (never fear; I'll be certain to bore you in other ways!), I think it's helpful for me to look back over the hiccup that was last week. In every way that week one was a great success, week two was a terrific challenge.
* Physically - I snacked a bit and gave into some cravings, but for the most part I'm doing okay on my eating. It hasn't exactly been a "food is fuel" reminder, but my snacks were (mostly) healthier than the norm for me. That said, I barely worked out last week. I didn't work out Monday morning because Leah (my workout buddy) wasn't feeling the greatest and didn't want to push it since we were both looking forward to Pilates at night. We did go to Pilates, and it hurt worse than almost anything I've ever done. It certainly hurt longer. And I was amazed to find out that 90% of my weight is apparently in my legs. Or at least it was by the 85th time the instructor made me lift them. That soreness meant I didn't work out Tuesday morning. Then Wednesday I had a thing with my toe (trust me, too gross for such a public forum!!). We worked out Thursday morning, but then there was a blizzard on Friday. We planned to work out Saturday, but our cram-too-many-things-into-one-day schedule didn't allow for that. I did sleep more, but mostly only because I didn't get my lazy butt out of bed in the morning. Somehow in the middle of all of that, I hit my goal and have lost 2.8 pounds since 2012 began.
* Spiritually - Because I didn't get out of bed to work out or even in time to sit down and read my daily Bible and prayer readings, I fell behind. I hated that feeling and have now caught up (reading five days' worth Sunday, yesterday, and today, splitting up the four sections each day). In a way it was helpful to have skipped the readings, because it allowed me to see how different my attitude is when I read my Bible in the morning versus when I don't. My oldest is NOT a morning person, so the morning routine can get a bit tense at our house as I need to remind her several times to get her shoes on, finish her milk, brush her teeth, find her coat, and go back in the house to get her bag. Last week my temper flared, and I was short with her almost every morning. There was a lot of yelling on Friday, too, as she was home for the snow day and less than enthused about spending the day here instead of with her friends. Then, this morning, her routine was no different. There were still countless reminders, but I just had so much more peace. There's a lesson in that as I reflect on all that starting my day in the Word brings to my life. I stink at writing down my daily "thankful" notes, so my focus really needs to be on that in order to make it a habit.
* Creatively - I still haven't written my review for my first book of the year, and I'll be finishing book number two either today or tomorrow. So, maybe you'll get lucky and receive TWO book reviews in one week. I know you can't wait. The late start to my days has also made blogging tricky, so I'm behind in that. It's interesting that I've begun thinking in "blog" as I confront my day looking for what I want to make a subject or where my muses lie. I've missed thinking that way and enjoy the feeling of being a writer that it gives me.
I had a conversation today with my Writer Friend as we discussed my full DVR. She said that maybe there would come a point soon that I say "If I haven't watched it in X weeks, then I need to just delete it" or that I consider the fact that there are X number of episodes stored there and I'm losing interest in catching up . . . for some reason I don't like that idea. It seems so strange that I should care so much, but there's something about me that is clinging to the fact that I'm missing out. On what, I'm not really sure. Many of the shows I don't even miss. "Hawaii Five-O" is the only show that I will actually stay up late to watch, and there are only a few that I wish I had time to sit down and enjoy. But deleting those others--the ones I have three or four episodes stored--just feels so final. Like I'm acknowledging that self discipline sometimes means giving up vegging on the sofa wasting time over the latest hilarity to hit Marshall and Lily or what havoc Jack (& the Beanstalk) is creating for everyone's favorite Grimm and what songs Blaine and Curt are mashing together at McKinley. I know I don't care about it, but I think I care about not just lying around every day and actually getting several things accomplished--by 8:30 a.m.
For the mean time, I have this blog entry completed, Peter Alexander is filling me in on the latest campaign news on the Nightly News, Bossypants is waiting for me to finish it before tomorrow night's book club, and my wonderful husband is finishing up his dinner date with our three beautiful daughters. A hiccup is a just a hiccup, and this week is back on track.
* Physically - I snacked a bit and gave into some cravings, but for the most part I'm doing okay on my eating. It hasn't exactly been a "food is fuel" reminder, but my snacks were (mostly) healthier than the norm for me. That said, I barely worked out last week. I didn't work out Monday morning because Leah (my workout buddy) wasn't feeling the greatest and didn't want to push it since we were both looking forward to Pilates at night. We did go to Pilates, and it hurt worse than almost anything I've ever done. It certainly hurt longer. And I was amazed to find out that 90% of my weight is apparently in my legs. Or at least it was by the 85th time the instructor made me lift them. That soreness meant I didn't work out Tuesday morning. Then Wednesday I had a thing with my toe (trust me, too gross for such a public forum!!). We worked out Thursday morning, but then there was a blizzard on Friday. We planned to work out Saturday, but our cram-too-many-things-into-one-day schedule didn't allow for that. I did sleep more, but mostly only because I didn't get my lazy butt out of bed in the morning. Somehow in the middle of all of that, I hit my goal and have lost 2.8 pounds since 2012 began.
* Spiritually - Because I didn't get out of bed to work out or even in time to sit down and read my daily Bible and prayer readings, I fell behind. I hated that feeling and have now caught up (reading five days' worth Sunday, yesterday, and today, splitting up the four sections each day). In a way it was helpful to have skipped the readings, because it allowed me to see how different my attitude is when I read my Bible in the morning versus when I don't. My oldest is NOT a morning person, so the morning routine can get a bit tense at our house as I need to remind her several times to get her shoes on, finish her milk, brush her teeth, find her coat, and go back in the house to get her bag. Last week my temper flared, and I was short with her almost every morning. There was a lot of yelling on Friday, too, as she was home for the snow day and less than enthused about spending the day here instead of with her friends. Then, this morning, her routine was no different. There were still countless reminders, but I just had so much more peace. There's a lesson in that as I reflect on all that starting my day in the Word brings to my life. I stink at writing down my daily "thankful" notes, so my focus really needs to be on that in order to make it a habit.
* Creatively - I still haven't written my review for my first book of the year, and I'll be finishing book number two either today or tomorrow. So, maybe you'll get lucky and receive TWO book reviews in one week. I know you can't wait. The late start to my days has also made blogging tricky, so I'm behind in that. It's interesting that I've begun thinking in "blog" as I confront my day looking for what I want to make a subject or where my muses lie. I've missed thinking that way and enjoy the feeling of being a writer that it gives me.
I had a conversation today with my Writer Friend as we discussed my full DVR. She said that maybe there would come a point soon that I say "If I haven't watched it in X weeks, then I need to just delete it" or that I consider the fact that there are X number of episodes stored there and I'm losing interest in catching up . . . for some reason I don't like that idea. It seems so strange that I should care so much, but there's something about me that is clinging to the fact that I'm missing out. On what, I'm not really sure. Many of the shows I don't even miss. "Hawaii Five-O" is the only show that I will actually stay up late to watch, and there are only a few that I wish I had time to sit down and enjoy. But deleting those others--the ones I have three or four episodes stored--just feels so final. Like I'm acknowledging that self discipline sometimes means giving up vegging on the sofa wasting time over the latest hilarity to hit Marshall and Lily or what havoc Jack (& the Beanstalk) is creating for everyone's favorite Grimm and what songs Blaine and Curt are mashing together at McKinley. I know I don't care about it, but I think I care about not just lying around every day and actually getting several things accomplished--by 8:30 a.m.
For the mean time, I have this blog entry completed, Peter Alexander is filling me in on the latest campaign news on the Nightly News, Bossypants is waiting for me to finish it before tomorrow night's book club, and my wonderful husband is finishing up his dinner date with our three beautiful daughters. A hiccup is a just a hiccup, and this week is back on track.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Third Sabbath
When I survey the wondrous cross"When I Survey the Wondrous Cross," Isaac Watts
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to His blood
See, from His head, His hands, His feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown
Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all
Friday, January 13, 2012
Like a Kid Again
It's 5:30 a.m., and I'm awake and watching the news. I may put it on mute, because I find their reports a bit alarmist. Still, I keep watching the school closing reports and the "Instant Alerts," hoping I find my daughter's school scroll across. As each school close to us or even in our county is added, my heart soars a bit. As each minute ticks along without it, my heart sinks a bit.
I hate driving in this crap. I hate shoveling it off my car. I hate being cold like snow makes me cold. I hate having to bundle the girls into snow pants just to drive to school simply because an almost 4 year old and a 2 year old can't be expected to stay on their booted feet for a quick walk out to the car.
We've been so spoiled this year with winter not really beginning until January 12. I get that. But I just don't think the snow is going to melt in a week this time. That's probably why I told Beau he was welcome to look at job transfer opportunities in Hawaii. "Just for a couple of years."
Here I sit. Wondering if I'm going to be able to leave my car covered with snow, whether I can climb back in bed to start my day later, whether I should turn off my daughter's alarm clock, whether I'm going to regret all this hoping as I'm refereeing fights in a couple of hours, whether my two year old will be willing to play outside at some point--
What? Instant alert showing her school? Was that really our county? Yes! Yes! A confirming text alert. SNOW DAY!!
I hate driving in this crap. I hate shoveling it off my car. I hate being cold like snow makes me cold. I hate having to bundle the girls into snow pants just to drive to school simply because an almost 4 year old and a 2 year old can't be expected to stay on their booted feet for a quick walk out to the car.
We've been so spoiled this year with winter not really beginning until January 12. I get that. But I just don't think the snow is going to melt in a week this time. That's probably why I told Beau he was welcome to look at job transfer opportunities in Hawaii. "Just for a couple of years."
Here I sit. Wondering if I'm going to be able to leave my car covered with snow, whether I can climb back in bed to start my day later, whether I should turn off my daughter's alarm clock, whether I'm going to regret all this hoping as I'm refereeing fights in a couple of hours, whether my two year old will be willing to play outside at some point--
What? Instant alert showing her school? Was that really our county? Yes! Yes! A confirming text alert. SNOW DAY!!
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
One Week
So it's been one week since we started 2012. That's an appropriate time for an assessment of how I'm doing meeting my goals so I know if I need to kick it in gear or revise anything that might be a bit over the top.
* Physically - I have been doing much better with my food. There have been many days when I have not eaten what I was craving, because I put it off long enough that I forgot about it. I did have a hamburger on Sunday, but it was only after choosing salads and healthier foods for four days instead of the burger I wanted. Also, I worked out at 5:15 a.m. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday; took the girls for a (brief) walk on Saturday; and walked 1.8 miles to a friend's house on Sunday. Not 45 minutes a day, but definitely far better than I had been. I've been averaging 6-7 hours of sleep a night, so I need to kick that in gear.
* Spiritually - I have read the Bible every day but one and am on track with my KINGDOM Reading Plan. I've also been praying more regularly (led by Everyday Prayers by Scotty Smith) and have kept (mostly) current on my blessings list.
* Creatively - I finished my first book of the year, The Discovery of Witches, by Deborah Harkness (review to come tomorrow or later today). I have also blogged every day but one. I couldn't blog that day, though, because the internet was down.
All in all, I'd say this is going quite well. As I was getting into bed last night, I thought about how I've "magically" had enough time to do things that I haven't been able to do before. I thought about my fairly clean house--not even a goal, though it should have been (should probably add doing laundry into the goal list!--the organized playroom, the dishes done, and our morning routine organized. And then I wondered how I possibly had time to do all of this when I didn't actually gain anything more than one hour in my morning.
Then I thought about how full my DVR is. Oh. So that's where I got those extra hours each day . . .
* Physically - I have been doing much better with my food. There have been many days when I have not eaten what I was craving, because I put it off long enough that I forgot about it. I did have a hamburger on Sunday, but it was only after choosing salads and healthier foods for four days instead of the burger I wanted. Also, I worked out at 5:15 a.m. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday; took the girls for a (brief) walk on Saturday; and walked 1.8 miles to a friend's house on Sunday. Not 45 minutes a day, but definitely far better than I had been. I've been averaging 6-7 hours of sleep a night, so I need to kick that in gear.
* Spiritually - I have read the Bible every day but one and am on track with my KINGDOM Reading Plan. I've also been praying more regularly (led by Everyday Prayers by Scotty Smith) and have kept (mostly) current on my blessings list.
* Creatively - I finished my first book of the year, The Discovery of Witches, by Deborah Harkness (review to come tomorrow or later today). I have also blogged every day but one. I couldn't blog that day, though, because the internet was down.
All in all, I'd say this is going quite well. As I was getting into bed last night, I thought about how I've "magically" had enough time to do things that I haven't been able to do before. I thought about my fairly clean house--not even a goal, though it should have been (should probably add doing laundry into the goal list!--the organized playroom, the dishes done, and our morning routine organized. And then I wondered how I possibly had time to do all of this when I didn't actually gain anything more than one hour in my morning.
Then I thought about how full my DVR is. Oh. So that's where I got those extra hours each day . . .
Monday, January 09, 2012
Let me never, never outlive my love for Thee
Years and years ago, I came across a book written by Steven Curtis Chapman and his pastor, Scotty Smith. It is called Speechless, and I highly recommend it. Knowing my appreciation for Scotty's writing, my writer/editor friend gave me a copy of his new book Everyday Prayers. I've been using it along with the KINGDOM Reading Plan to guide my daily devotional time.
Today I was struck by something that Scotty wrote. I was struck by it because of all that is packed into the simple paragraph, as well as everything that is left out. There is no condemnation, there is no guilt. It's very matter of fact. At the same time, it recognizes the free gift of salvation and that nothing more is required of us for our eternity to be secured. And yet, when nothing more is given, something is definitely missing.
One of my favorite hymns is "My Jesus, I Love Thee," by William R. Featherston:
As Scotty wrote:
Today I was struck by something that Scotty wrote. I was struck by it because of all that is packed into the simple paragraph, as well as everything that is left out. There is no condemnation, there is no guilt. It's very matter of fact. At the same time, it recognizes the free gift of salvation and that nothing more is required of us for our eternity to be secured. And yet, when nothing more is given, something is definitely missing.
One of my favorite hymns is "My Jesus, I Love Thee," by William R. Featherston:
I'll love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death
And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath
And say when the death dew lies cold on my brow,
"If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus 'tis now"
As Scotty wrote:
May I never stop singing the last line in the hymn "O Sacred Head Now Wounded": "Should I fainting be, Lord, let me never, never outlive my love for thee." That's my earnest, impassioned prayer, Jesus. I don't fear losing my salvation. I will stand firm to the end because of my standing in grace. But what could be worse than for my love for you to cool down, degree by degree, as I get older? Don't let that happen to me, Jesus. Don't let that happen. What could be worse than to finish the race with an ingrown, icy heart? (January 9)I want my love for Jesus to radiate out of me. I want it to be something that cannot be contained on my face and cannot be stopped by anything I endure. I want to lie on my deathbed and say, "Wow. I thought I loved you before. But if I've ever loved you, I know it's now."
Sunday, January 08, 2012
The Second Sabbath
Arise, my soul, arise; shake off your guilty fearsWords by Charles Wesley, Music by Kevin Twit
The bleeding sacrifice in my behalf appears
Before the throne my surety stands
Before the throne my surety stands
My name is written on His hands
He ever lives above, for me to intercede
His all-redeeming love, His precious blood to plead
His blood atoned for every race
His blood atoned for every race
And sprinkles now the throne of grace
Five bleeding wounds He bears; received on Calvary
They pour effectual prayers, they strongly plead for me
"Forgive him, O forgive," they cry
"Forgive him, O forgive," they cry
"Nor let that ransomed sinner die!"
My God is reconciled; His pardoning voice I hear
He owns me for His child, I can no longer fear
With confidence I now draw nigh
With confidence I now draw nigh
And "Father, Abba Father," cry!
Arise, arise, arise, my soul, arise
Arise, arise, arise, my soul, arise
Shake off your guilty fear and rise!
Saturday, January 07, 2012
Let It Be Said of Me
Recently, my sister (I think) commented on a blog entry I wrote in October 2010. She said that one of the lines from a song I quoted is one that she hopes is considered for her gravestone. It reads, "...the night of weeping shall be the morn of song." Then she wrote that she wanted the song from which it's taken, "The Church's One Foundation," to be played at her funeral. Almost as an afterthought, she included another line, "The praises won't end; I won't be silenced by the grave!" That's fitting for her. She plays the piano beautifully and she sings with perfect pitch and she loves to praise God.
My writer friend and I had a conversation years ago about what we wanted played at our funerals or written on our gravestones. She said that if she lived a short life she wanted her gravestone to say something about being Home at last, as if to say even this short time on Earth is a long sojourn Home. I've always wanted 2 Timothy 2:7 on my gravestone: "I have fought the fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." I also like, from Job 42:5, "My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you." And if we had placed a gravestone for Baby Zion, I would have inscribed: "Fly to Jesus . . . and live."
Morbid conversation? Perhaps. But, at the end of the day, we're all going to leave a legacy. There will be something about us, good or bad, that will be left behind. They'll say things at our funerals about how we lived and what they'll miss about us. It could be that we were generous. It could be that we were faithful friends. It could be that we made a lot of money, wrote a lot of books, painted a lot of pictures. Or, it could be hard to find nice things to say about us. Any way you look at it, though, there will be something.
I hope that when I'm gone people will remember me as someone who loved well. I like to laugh and make people laugh, so I'd like them to say that I was funny and a good writer and someone who loves to worship. I hope that they can truly say--that I can say and believe--that I have fought the fight, finished the race, and kept the faith. I want people to remember the words I've written and the way they made them feel or what they made them learn. I want people to believe that this world is better because I was here and they were here with me. I want people to say that no matter what happened to me I stood in the power of Christ.
Perhaps that's what this sojourn is about: the legacy we'll leave. What we'll have done that matters long beyond our time here. It's true that the night of weeping will be the morn of song. It's true that the grave can't silence my praises. It's true that even a few short years on Earth are a long sojourn back Home. And it's true that when I go, I will fly to Jesus and live. And when I do, this is what I hope to leave behind: "Let it be said of me, my source of strength, my source of hope is Christ alone."
My writer friend and I had a conversation years ago about what we wanted played at our funerals or written on our gravestones. She said that if she lived a short life she wanted her gravestone to say something about being Home at last, as if to say even this short time on Earth is a long sojourn Home. I've always wanted 2 Timothy 2:7 on my gravestone: "I have fought the fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." I also like, from Job 42:5, "My ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen you." And if we had placed a gravestone for Baby Zion, I would have inscribed: "Fly to Jesus . . . and live."
Morbid conversation? Perhaps. But, at the end of the day, we're all going to leave a legacy. There will be something about us, good or bad, that will be left behind. They'll say things at our funerals about how we lived and what they'll miss about us. It could be that we were generous. It could be that we were faithful friends. It could be that we made a lot of money, wrote a lot of books, painted a lot of pictures. Or, it could be hard to find nice things to say about us. Any way you look at it, though, there will be something.
I hope that when I'm gone people will remember me as someone who loved well. I like to laugh and make people laugh, so I'd like them to say that I was funny and a good writer and someone who loves to worship. I hope that they can truly say--that I can say and believe--that I have fought the fight, finished the race, and kept the faith. I want people to remember the words I've written and the way they made them feel or what they made them learn. I want people to believe that this world is better because I was here and they were here with me. I want people to say that no matter what happened to me I stood in the power of Christ.
Perhaps that's what this sojourn is about: the legacy we'll leave. What we'll have done that matters long beyond our time here. It's true that the night of weeping will be the morn of song. It's true that the grave can't silence my praises. It's true that even a few short years on Earth are a long sojourn back Home. And it's true that when I go, I will fly to Jesus and live. And when I do, this is what I hope to leave behind: "Let it be said of me, my source of strength, my source of hope is Christ alone."
Friday, January 06, 2012
Growing Up
When you read about lifestyle changes, you generally read that you should start small. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. So you aren't supposed to try to do everything at once, but you should break it down into more manageable goals.
I didn't do that this year.
The other day as I was working out, my workout buddy and I were chatting about our common goal to get healthier this year. I explained to her that I felt like I needed to do it all at once because I've tried it piece by piece before, and I never make it. I don't know if I get bored or feel like it's not making a difference or if I just get distracted. Whatever it is, it never works. So this year I decided to go for broke. Put all my proverbial eggs in one basket. Go big or go home. Go all in. (I have more cliches if you need them.)
Some mornings it feels crazy, but at the end of the day it always feels accomplished. As I was reading my Bible this morning, it felt like something more. It felt like growing up.
So, yeah. I'm trying to eat the whole elephant in one bite. I know that some morning it's going to feel more than crazy. It's going to feel overwhelming. But I also know that it's time I grow up. God gave me the spirit of self-discipline. Now I just need to live like it. Live my God-created identity. Be who I am. So let's get to it.
I didn't do that this year.
The other day as I was working out, my workout buddy and I were chatting about our common goal to get healthier this year. I explained to her that I felt like I needed to do it all at once because I've tried it piece by piece before, and I never make it. I don't know if I get bored or feel like it's not making a difference or if I just get distracted. Whatever it is, it never works. So this year I decided to go for broke. Put all my proverbial eggs in one basket. Go big or go home. Go all in. (I have more cliches if you need them.)
Some mornings it feels crazy, but at the end of the day it always feels accomplished. As I was reading my Bible this morning, it felt like something more. It felt like growing up.
In a word, what I'm saying is Grow up. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you. Matthew 5:48, The Message
So, yeah. I'm trying to eat the whole elephant in one bite. I know that some morning it's going to feel more than crazy. It's going to feel overwhelming. But I also know that it's time I grow up. God gave me the spirit of self-discipline. Now I just need to live like it. Live my God-created identity. Be who I am. So let's get to it.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
You Are Blessed
Today's readings came from Genesis, Joshua, Psalms, and Matthew. I'm pleased to be reading in The Message, because Peterson's phrasing brings ancient words to life in ways that make me feel I'm reading them for the first time. Some of these passages are otherwise so familiar that I don't even actually absorb the words I'm reading. His phrasing in two of today's passages have really given me something to chew on today. First, from Psalm 4:6-8:
I have friends who are fighting a fight that I've never fought and hope I never have to. Just over one year ago, their lives were flipped upside down--they'd lost what was most dear to them: the security of health for one of their children. Through this year, as they've fought beside their nine-year-old son as he fights the negative effects of the chemo and radiation that are needed to fight his brain tumor, I've been encouraged and inspired.
After high school ended, I went to a college outside of West Michigan and away from nearly everyone with whom I'd attended high school. Through our different circumstances, the miles, and my inability to keep in touch, all of those friendships that had carried me through high school ended. Including friendships with my closest friends. I suppose this is normal, and something that happens to many of those relationships. With the advent of Facebook, I've been able to at least get back in touch, if not rekindle old friendships, with many of those important people. With Mitchell's family, that has come through their battle with cancer.
I don't know why that little boy, and that family. I don't know why any family, really. But I do know that I'm blessed to have known Mitchell's parents when I was younger (couldn't have made it through middle school and paper routes without his mom and dad!), and I'm blessed to walk alongside them now, even at a distance. Because I have never known a family that is more blessed.
Surely this has been a hard year for them. Surely this has been a year from hell for them. Surely there have been tears and yelling at God and wanting to give up and being afraid to not fight and being afraid to fight. Surely there has been more than they can imagine. But, Mitchell is almost done with his treatments now. He's on his last cycle and scheduled to be done on Februrary 15. They can see the finish line, and by God's hand, they are in the lead. Mitchell's mom shared all of this with us in her most recent Carepages post. And then she talked about all they've gained. She talked about how they've changed. She quoted Laura Story's song, "Blessing":
Why is everyone hungry for more? "More, more," they say.And, from Matthew 5, the Sermon on the Mount:
"More, more."
I have God's more-than-enough,
More joy in one ordinary day
Than they get in all their shopping sprees.
At day's end I'm ready for sound sleep,
For you, God, have put my life back together.
You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.
You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.
You're blessed when you're content with just who you are--no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.
You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.
You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.
You're blessed when you get your inside world--your mind and heart--put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.
You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.
You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.
I have friends who are fighting a fight that I've never fought and hope I never have to. Just over one year ago, their lives were flipped upside down--they'd lost what was most dear to them: the security of health for one of their children. Through this year, as they've fought beside their nine-year-old son as he fights the negative effects of the chemo and radiation that are needed to fight his brain tumor, I've been encouraged and inspired.
After high school ended, I went to a college outside of West Michigan and away from nearly everyone with whom I'd attended high school. Through our different circumstances, the miles, and my inability to keep in touch, all of those friendships that had carried me through high school ended. Including friendships with my closest friends. I suppose this is normal, and something that happens to many of those relationships. With the advent of Facebook, I've been able to at least get back in touch, if not rekindle old friendships, with many of those important people. With Mitchell's family, that has come through their battle with cancer.
I don't know why that little boy, and that family. I don't know why any family, really. But I do know that I'm blessed to have known Mitchell's parents when I was younger (couldn't have made it through middle school and paper routes without his mom and dad!), and I'm blessed to walk alongside them now, even at a distance. Because I have never known a family that is more blessed.
Surely this has been a hard year for them. Surely this has been a year from hell for them. Surely there have been tears and yelling at God and wanting to give up and being afraid to not fight and being afraid to fight. Surely there has been more than they can imagine. But, Mitchell is almost done with his treatments now. He's on his last cycle and scheduled to be done on Februrary 15. They can see the finish line, and by God's hand, they are in the lead. Mitchell's mom shared all of this with us in her most recent Carepages post. And then she talked about all they've gained. She talked about how they've changed. She quoted Laura Story's song, "Blessing":
'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindropsAnd then she reminded all of us that when we give our whole selves to Him--when we have nothing left to give, when He has broken our hearts--He gives His whole self back to us. He puts our lives back together again. We're changed, but we're blessed.
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
I'll Get By With a Little Help From My Friends
Oh, Tuesday morning, 5:15 came far too early. Monday nights are always a late night for me, because I can't resist staying up late to get my Scott Caan Hawaii Five-0 fix. Last night meeting my 2012 goals meant a bit of a late start for my television viewing, and I kept forgetting to fast forward through the commercials. That all led to me not getting into bed until about 11:30 p.m. I knew that 5:00 alarm was going to feel like only minutes after my head hit the pillow.
It did.
Thankfully I had a hot date at the gym this morning, and she was picking me up at 5:15 a.m. I'm grateful that I didn't have a choice to sleep in and just "go later" (ie. not at all) because Leah was going to be waiting in front of my house. I didn't want her to start honking or anything and waking up the rest of the neighborhood so everyone would know that I slacked off! And then there was the mutual fear we shared that our friend Eric would show up at the gym at 6:00 a.m. and report to all he knew that we were missing. (Let me note publicly that we were there, and he was not.)
Chatty Leah and Chatty Beka probably annoyed most of the rest of the gym goers, but it surely made my 35 minutes on the treadmill feel about as short as my night of sleep felt. And, I have to say, I was actually pretty excited about going to the gym this morning.
After the gym, I made some tea and did my reading for today and spent some time in prayer. Three days down. How many more to make this a habit? Grateful to have some friends to help me make it there.
It did.
Thankfully I had a hot date at the gym this morning, and she was picking me up at 5:15 a.m. I'm grateful that I didn't have a choice to sleep in and just "go later" (ie. not at all) because Leah was going to be waiting in front of my house. I didn't want her to start honking or anything and waking up the rest of the neighborhood so everyone would know that I slacked off! And then there was the mutual fear we shared that our friend Eric would show up at the gym at 6:00 a.m. and report to all he knew that we were missing. (Let me note publicly that we were there, and he was not.)
Chatty Leah and Chatty Beka probably annoyed most of the rest of the gym goers, but it surely made my 35 minutes on the treadmill feel about as short as my night of sleep felt. And, I have to say, I was actually pretty excited about going to the gym this morning.
After the gym, I made some tea and did my reading for today and spent some time in prayer. Three days down. How many more to make this a habit? Grateful to have some friends to help me make it there.
Monday, January 02, 2012
Raising My Ebenezer
In my Bible reading for today, God led the Israelites through yet another river on dry ground. This time they're heading in to claim victory and settle in The Promised Land, and they need to cross the Jordan River to get there. {There are also a number of other things they need to do, such as allow God to completely "dispossess" the land from all the people settling it. If we watch the news today, we can clearly see how well it worked out for them when they decided to live "peacefully" with all these people instead.} In Joshua 3: 9-13 in The Message, after Joshua has told the priests to begin crossing the Jordan with the Ark of the Covenant and instructs the Israelites to watch and pay attention to what God is saying, he says, "Look at what's before you: the Chest of the Covenant. Think of it--the Master of the entire earth is crossing the Jordan as you watch."
Once they are safely across--with "not one wet foot"--Joshua instructs a man from each of the 12 tribes of Israel to take a stone from the middle of the Jordan River and build a monument on the banks to remember the day that God led them through on dry land. This raising of the Ebenezer is a common thing in the Old Testament. It's a reminder of God's presence. His intervention. His grace. His plan.
This morning I was reminded of an Ebenezer that I could raise alongside US-131 heading south from Cadillac. Last year we were driving our full van of sleeping beauties home from Beau's parents' house, and the roads were bad. We should have stayed in Cadillac, but we weren't prepared for that, so we ventured home. At one point, as we were driving across a bridge spanning a fairly deep ravine, we hit black ice. Beau completely lost control of the car, and we were sliding toward the bridge railing and the edge of the ravine. For 20 long seconds we slid, within feet of striking a railing that likely wouldn't have held us at our speed. As we slid, I said, over and over again, "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
Beau reminded me of that this morning as we drove the roads of the first day of real winter to hit West Michigan this year. He said, "You kept saying it was okay, but it wasn't okay. I didn't have control, and I didn't think I'd get it back. I figured we were going over."
With tears in my eyes, I recalled my feelings at that moment. And I replied, "I wasn't telling you that you were in control or that we'd be fine because you'd get control back. I was telling you that it was okay if we hit. It was okay if we went over. It was okay if we were injured or even if we died. To be honest, I'm quite pleased that was my first response. Because it really would have been okay. We know where we're going, and we know Who holds us."
And it really would have been okay. Because we could look at Who was before us on that bridge. The Master of the entire earth was crossing ahead of us and behind us and next to us. He had us in his hands. He was in control, even if we weren't. Think of it!
Once they are safely across--with "not one wet foot"--Joshua instructs a man from each of the 12 tribes of Israel to take a stone from the middle of the Jordan River and build a monument on the banks to remember the day that God led them through on dry land. This raising of the Ebenezer is a common thing in the Old Testament. It's a reminder of God's presence. His intervention. His grace. His plan.
This morning I was reminded of an Ebenezer that I could raise alongside US-131 heading south from Cadillac. Last year we were driving our full van of sleeping beauties home from Beau's parents' house, and the roads were bad. We should have stayed in Cadillac, but we weren't prepared for that, so we ventured home. At one point, as we were driving across a bridge spanning a fairly deep ravine, we hit black ice. Beau completely lost control of the car, and we were sliding toward the bridge railing and the edge of the ravine. For 20 long seconds we slid, within feet of striking a railing that likely wouldn't have held us at our speed. As we slid, I said, over and over again, "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
Beau reminded me of that this morning as we drove the roads of the first day of real winter to hit West Michigan this year. He said, "You kept saying it was okay, but it wasn't okay. I didn't have control, and I didn't think I'd get it back. I figured we were going over."
With tears in my eyes, I recalled my feelings at that moment. And I replied, "I wasn't telling you that you were in control or that we'd be fine because you'd get control back. I was telling you that it was okay if we hit. It was okay if we went over. It was okay if we were injured or even if we died. To be honest, I'm quite pleased that was my first response. Because it really would have been okay. We know where we're going, and we know Who holds us."
And it really would have been okay. Because we could look at Who was before us on that bridge. The Master of the entire earth was crossing ahead of us and behind us and next to us. He had us in his hands. He was in control, even if we weren't. Think of it!
Sunday, January 01, 2012
The First Sabbath
Another year is dawning, dear Father, let it be--"Another Year is Dawning," Frances Havergal
In working or in waiting, another year with Thee.
Another year of progress, another year of praise,
Another year of proving Thy presence all the days.
Another year of mercies, of faithfulness and grace,
Another year of gladness in the shining of Thy face;
Another year of leaning upon Thy loving breast;
Another year of trusting, of quiet, happy rest.
Another year of service, of witness for Thy love,
Another year of training for holier work above.
Another year is dawning, dear Father, let it be
On earth, or else in Heaven, another year for Thee.
New Beginnings
It's the day of resolutions. The new beginning to becoming all that I really am. As I face 2012, I find myself wondering if I'll make it, or if I'll be sitting here one year from today, writing the same thing. I don't want my resolutions to be just dreams, I want them to be something that can really come true. Something that I can really make happen.
Armed with my already well-worn copy of Reshaping It All by Candace Cameron Bure (yeah, I was skeptical too), I'm confident that I will fail miserably at keeping any of these resolutions. But I know who won't. And so, here I go, reshaping it all, with my eyes on the One who makes all things possible.
Resolved, to live according to the truth found in 1 Timothy 2:17, recognizing that God has given me the spirit of self discipline, so I don't need to search it out anywhere else, and He has given me the spirit of love, so I can be found faithful.
Accordingly, I will strive to live out self discipline and faithful love in the following ways:
* Physically: Food is fuel. God intended it to taste good and be enjoyable, but "it is only a cookie--it cannot help." Exercise is an essential part of honoring God physically. So is sleep.
Goal - I want to lose 60 pounds by December 31.
Plan - I will learn to control my portions, stop eating when I am full, wait 15 minutes before giving in to a craving, get 7 hours of sleep each night, and exercise at least 45 minutes each week day.
* Spiritually: God is my life. Without Him I am nothing, and I have nothing. I need to center my day on Him.
Goal - I want to read through the Bible this year and live a more grateful life.
Plan - I will spend 30 minutes praying and reading the Bible each morning, using the KINGDOM Bible Reading Plan. I will also write down a blessing each day using the year calendar from A Holy Experience.
* Mentally: I have spent the last year feeling dry and like I'm barely holding on. I ended the year getting organized with colored Sharpies and a giant calendar on the wall. But I still owe myself--and God, who created me with this mind and these passions and talents--more than organized chaos. I need to challenge and express myself.
Goal - I want to blog at least 25 days a month, and I want to read at least 24 books this year.
Plan - I'll read all of our book club books (have the list and can start reading ahead), and I will also try to tackle at least one additional book from my bookshelf each month. I'm also going to "steal" 15 minutes each day for myself where I can explore my thoughts on my blog.
On the 24th of each month I'm going to reflect on the previous month so I can measure my progress and make any adjustments I need to. So, that's it. Above all, I want to honor Him with each of these areas of my life. I know that tapping in to the power that He has given me and making Him the focus of it all, I'll make it. When 2013 dawns, I hope to look just a bit more like who I was created to be and a much greater reflection of the Father who made me that way.
Armed with my already well-worn copy of Reshaping It All by Candace Cameron Bure (yeah, I was skeptical too), I'm confident that I will fail miserably at keeping any of these resolutions. But I know who won't. And so, here I go, reshaping it all, with my eyes on the One who makes all things possible.
Resolved, to live according to the truth found in 1 Timothy 2:17, recognizing that God has given me the spirit of self discipline, so I don't need to search it out anywhere else, and He has given me the spirit of love, so I can be found faithful.
Accordingly, I will strive to live out self discipline and faithful love in the following ways:
* Physically: Food is fuel. God intended it to taste good and be enjoyable, but "it is only a cookie--it cannot help." Exercise is an essential part of honoring God physically. So is sleep.
Goal - I want to lose 60 pounds by December 31.
Plan - I will learn to control my portions, stop eating when I am full, wait 15 minutes before giving in to a craving, get 7 hours of sleep each night, and exercise at least 45 minutes each week day.
* Spiritually: God is my life. Without Him I am nothing, and I have nothing. I need to center my day on Him.
Goal - I want to read through the Bible this year and live a more grateful life.
Plan - I will spend 30 minutes praying and reading the Bible each morning, using the KINGDOM Bible Reading Plan. I will also write down a blessing each day using the year calendar from A Holy Experience.
* Mentally: I have spent the last year feeling dry and like I'm barely holding on. I ended the year getting organized with colored Sharpies and a giant calendar on the wall. But I still owe myself--and God, who created me with this mind and these passions and talents--more than organized chaos. I need to challenge and express myself.
Goal - I want to blog at least 25 days a month, and I want to read at least 24 books this year.
Plan - I'll read all of our book club books (have the list and can start reading ahead), and I will also try to tackle at least one additional book from my bookshelf each month. I'm also going to "steal" 15 minutes each day for myself where I can explore my thoughts on my blog.
On the 24th of each month I'm going to reflect on the previous month so I can measure my progress and make any adjustments I need to. So, that's it. Above all, I want to honor Him with each of these areas of my life. I know that tapping in to the power that He has given me and making Him the focus of it all, I'll make it. When 2013 dawns, I hope to look just a bit more like who I was created to be and a much greater reflection of the Father who made me that way.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Behold, your King
I sang on the worship team at my church yesterday morning for our Christmas service. It's such a fun service to be part of, but yesterday was especially meaningful for me. We sang "O Holy Night," which has always been one of my favorite Christmas songs. The worship team struggled through our practices of it as we "Christian Reformed kids" weren't familiar with the "Reformed" version we were singing. The words were a bit different, and the tune hit the words that were familiar in just a little bit different way. And that second verse! What was with that second verse?!
We struggled.
Then it came time for the service. We sang. We managed to overcome what we thought we knew about the song and actually just sing what was on the page. And the second verse really hit me.
Behold, your King! He's that baby there. That God, become flesh. That Emmanuel. He came to be your friend in the middle of wherever you are. Behold, your King!
We struggled.
Then it came time for the service. We sang. We managed to overcome what we thought we knew about the song and actually just sing what was on the page. And the second verse really hit me.
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,That really is Christmas, after all. "The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger." What a ridiculous notion, this King in a manger. When we got home from church, I said to Ellie, "Who ever heard of a king born in a stable?" She shouted, "Me! I have! Jesus!" It's still a ridiculous idea, this King in a manger. But He was born to be our friend. He knows our need, He is no stranger to our weakness, and He came to make us whole. To bring us peace. And, as Pastor Tim pointed out yesterday, that peace isn't the peace I ask for from my girls or from our world governments. It isn't an absence of conflict. It is a deep-rooted, inside-out wholeness. It is life. It is joy. It is shalom. So when you look at that manger, when you approach this week, this season, remember.
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here come the wise men from Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger,
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold, your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold, your King! He's that baby there. That God, become flesh. That Emmanuel. He came to be your friend in the middle of wherever you are. Behold, your King!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
We're not home yet.
So we have some friends whose marriage appears to be over. We have prayed with them and prayed for them. We have counseled them. We have cried with them. We have hoped for them. And now we are surprised by whom they are turning out to be. All of it serves to remind me that we just aren't home yet. God, I wish we were back.
Still, it's Reformation Day. It's the day that we remember that the Word of God is for all of us. It's also the day (thanks, Dad) that we remember that the Word of God is life transforming and should never be taken lightly. And it's the day that I am reminded that the Church's one foundation, and MY one foundation, is Jesus Christ. No matter what.
Though with a scornful wonder
we see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed,
yet saints their watch are keeping;
their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping
shall be the morn of song.
Mid toil and tribulation,
and tumult of her war,
she waits the consummation
of peace forevermore;
'til, with the vision glorious,
her longing eyes are blest,
and the great church victorious
shall be the church at rest.
(The Church's One Foundation, Samuel Stone)
We sang these words in church this morning, and it made me weep with the beauty and the promise of it all. We aren't home yet, but we will be one day soon. And in that day where there is no more night and no more pain and no more divorce, we, the church victorious, shall finally be the church at rest.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
Still, it's Reformation Day. It's the day that we remember that the Word of God is for all of us. It's also the day (thanks, Dad) that we remember that the Word of God is life transforming and should never be taken lightly. And it's the day that I am reminded that the Church's one foundation, and MY one foundation, is Jesus Christ. No matter what.
Though with a scornful wonder
we see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed,
yet saints their watch are keeping;
their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping
shall be the morn of song.
Mid toil and tribulation,
and tumult of her war,
she waits the consummation
of peace forevermore;
'til, with the vision glorious,
her longing eyes are blest,
and the great church victorious
shall be the church at rest.
(The Church's One Foundation, Samuel Stone)
We sang these words in church this morning, and it made me weep with the beauty and the promise of it all. We aren't home yet, but we will be one day soon. And in that day where there is no more night and no more pain and no more divorce, we, the church victorious, shall finally be the church at rest.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Where I Stand
A friend who has known me since college recently expressed surprise at learning some of my “social” (political) leanings. It was over Facebook, so I sat down to write a quick message back to her.
It happened to be right around National Coming Out Day, and it struck me that this was, for me, a bit of a coming out. I can’t possibly liken it completely to the coming out of our dear LGBTQ members of society, but it was still quite scary. I know that some in my circle wouldn’t look at me the same to know what really goes on in my head and why I struggle so much on the 1st Tuesday after the 1st Monday in November. I never know how to vote, because I never fit into one party. And I can hear the hateful talk from some people that I consider friends or at least close acquaintances. But I don’t think fear should keep anyone in the closet. Not the straight allies or the teenagers who realize they are gay or the politically moderate or the thoughtful followers of Christ. And I also think for me and the LGBTQ teens who are scared out of their minds about what will happen to them that there are more people than I think--and some of them will surprise me--who will fully support me and be proud of my courage. I also know that it really does get better.
So {breathes deeply}, here goes.
I have ALWAYS been a straight ally. :) I've just been closeted most of my life, because I get so sad when the debate comes into the church and the church is too often hateful. My cousin and one of my close friends (okay a couple) are gay, and I could be nothing but loving and supportive of them.
Beyond that, I would be a democrat if they believed in actually holding people accountable instead of just handing things out. I vote the issues, not the party. I didn't vote for Obama, but only because Beau and his gift of discernment didn't trust him. Now I'm glad I didn't. I'll be voting against Obama in 2012 (unless it's Sarah Palin, then I'm writing someone in), and I'll be voting mostly Republican in November, but not because they're Republicans. I'm an independent and would register that way if MI did that. I'm prolife, but pro all life in that I'm anti capital punishment and pro AIDS money and pro stem cell research. If I had to pick a hot-button issue, it's definitely not voting anti abortion, because I feel like we still don't offer enough support for young mothers and I believe that if you are going to vote against abortion then you damn well better be willing to love your daughter through her teen pregnancy or take in a child whose parents have decided to turn her out. And then, perhaps you should be willing to take on responsibility for that baby, too, so that the state doesn't have to. I don't think you can legislate morality. I think that parents who have extra embryos should be given the option to say they want them used for stem cell research instead of being "forced" to keep them frozen or adopt them out. And I'm pro civil union and same sex partner benefits. I think that there is no reason that uniting with a partner for life should be prohibited for those who are LGBTQ through no choice of their own. And, as someone once said, why should the heterosexuals have the market on getting divorced? Being gay isn't leading to the downfall of our society, but being stupid and ignorant and a workaholic and hateful and abusing your kids is. Legislate hate if you really want to make a difference. I don't think that if you hand out condoms in schools or offer a needle exchange program you are giving your blessing to premarital sex and IV drug use; I just think you're saving someone's life. And, at the end of the day, that's what I want to do. I'm sure that I'm "wrong" on some of this and that I don't understand fully what the Bible is saying. But if I'm going to err, which I am, because I'm human, then I'd rather err on the side of compassion. That's what Jesus did. And I'm an independent follower of Jesus. I was Conservative growing up, and then I became Liberal for a while. I've probably moved a bit more Conservative, but mostly I've become more gray. More gray for everyone else and more black and white for me. I was watching an old episode of The West Wing (best show ever) recently, and Bartlet says to Toby, "It's MY Catholicism." As in, the standards that God has for me are my standards to keep, not my standards to make sure everyone else keeps.
Whew. Feels good. Come what may.
It happened to be right around National Coming Out Day, and it struck me that this was, for me, a bit of a coming out. I can’t possibly liken it completely to the coming out of our dear LGBTQ members of society, but it was still quite scary. I know that some in my circle wouldn’t look at me the same to know what really goes on in my head and why I struggle so much on the 1st Tuesday after the 1st Monday in November. I never know how to vote, because I never fit into one party. And I can hear the hateful talk from some people that I consider friends or at least close acquaintances. But I don’t think fear should keep anyone in the closet. Not the straight allies or the teenagers who realize they are gay or the politically moderate or the thoughtful followers of Christ. And I also think for me and the LGBTQ teens who are scared out of their minds about what will happen to them that there are more people than I think--and some of them will surprise me--who will fully support me and be proud of my courage. I also know that it really does get better.
So {breathes deeply}, here goes.
I have ALWAYS been a straight ally. :) I've just been closeted most of my life, because I get so sad when the debate comes into the church and the church is too often hateful. My cousin and one of my close friends (okay a couple) are gay, and I could be nothing but loving and supportive of them.
Beyond that, I would be a democrat if they believed in actually holding people accountable instead of just handing things out. I vote the issues, not the party. I didn't vote for Obama, but only because Beau and his gift of discernment didn't trust him. Now I'm glad I didn't. I'll be voting against Obama in 2012 (unless it's Sarah Palin, then I'm writing someone in), and I'll be voting mostly Republican in November, but not because they're Republicans. I'm an independent and would register that way if MI did that. I'm prolife, but pro all life in that I'm anti capital punishment and pro AIDS money and pro stem cell research. If I had to pick a hot-button issue, it's definitely not voting anti abortion, because I feel like we still don't offer enough support for young mothers and I believe that if you are going to vote against abortion then you damn well better be willing to love your daughter through her teen pregnancy or take in a child whose parents have decided to turn her out. And then, perhaps you should be willing to take on responsibility for that baby, too, so that the state doesn't have to. I don't think you can legislate morality. I think that parents who have extra embryos should be given the option to say they want them used for stem cell research instead of being "forced" to keep them frozen or adopt them out. And I'm pro civil union and same sex partner benefits. I think that there is no reason that uniting with a partner for life should be prohibited for those who are LGBTQ through no choice of their own. And, as someone once said, why should the heterosexuals have the market on getting divorced? Being gay isn't leading to the downfall of our society, but being stupid and ignorant and a workaholic and hateful and abusing your kids is. Legislate hate if you really want to make a difference. I don't think that if you hand out condoms in schools or offer a needle exchange program you are giving your blessing to premarital sex and IV drug use; I just think you're saving someone's life. And, at the end of the day, that's what I want to do. I'm sure that I'm "wrong" on some of this and that I don't understand fully what the Bible is saying. But if I'm going to err, which I am, because I'm human, then I'd rather err on the side of compassion. That's what Jesus did. And I'm an independent follower of Jesus. I was Conservative growing up, and then I became Liberal for a while. I've probably moved a bit more Conservative, but mostly I've become more gray. More gray for everyone else and more black and white for me. I was watching an old episode of The West Wing (best show ever) recently, and Bartlet says to Toby, "It's MY Catholicism." As in, the standards that God has for me are my standards to keep, not my standards to make sure everyone else keeps.
Whew. Feels good. Come what may.
Friday, September 10, 2010
From the Mouths of Babes
Two conversations recently overheard:
Ellie: Meg, I'm going to teach you how to be a safe driver, because I want all my kids to be safe drivers.
Meg: Okay.
E: When you are driving, if you see a car in front of you, go around it. Because if you don't, you can get in an accident. And if you get in an accident, you can die. Do you want to die, Meg?
M: Um, no . . .
E: Well, in a few years, when you're older, you're gonna die.
Ellie (to Meg, playing the role of Grandma): Grandma, why do we need sunscreen to go in the hot tub?
Meg: Because it's hot.
Ellie: Meg, I'm going to teach you how to be a safe driver, because I want all my kids to be safe drivers.
Meg: Okay.
E: When you are driving, if you see a car in front of you, go around it. Because if you don't, you can get in an accident. And if you get in an accident, you can die. Do you want to die, Meg?
M: Um, no . . .
E: Well, in a few years, when you're older, you're gonna die.
Ellie (to Meg, playing the role of Grandma): Grandma, why do we need sunscreen to go in the hot tub?
Meg: Because it's hot.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Signs Fall is Approaching
* Pinky-orange leaves on the big maple tree on the way back from the cottage
* Orange leaves caught on the wind
* Two weeks of football covers on Sports Illustrated
* Sneezing and itchy eyes
* Orange leaves caught on the wind
* Two weeks of football covers on Sports Illustrated
* Sneezing and itchy eyes
Monday, July 12, 2010
Overheard Sunday at Church*
Ah, what random questions parents must field on Communion Sunday when there is no Children's Worship.
"What? Jesus died? Did God die, too?"
"Is the blood of Christ really juice?"
"That's the body of Christ?"
"No honey, it's just bread."
"Oh, can I touch it?"
"Is that blood?!"
"No. It's juice."
"Well it looks like blood. I think it's blood."
"You aren't going to heaven any time soon, are you?!"
"What's an orgy?"
* Names withheld to protect the curious children and frustrated (or alarmed) parents.
"What? Jesus died? Did God die, too?"
"Is the blood of Christ really juice?"
"That's the body of Christ?"
"No honey, it's just bread."
"Oh, can I touch it?"
"Is that blood?!"
"No. It's juice."
"Well it looks like blood. I think it's blood."
"You aren't going to heaven any time soon, are you?!"
"What's an orgy?"
* Names withheld to protect the curious children and frustrated (or alarmed) parents.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
What Do I Know Of Holy
I made You promises a thousand times,
I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time.
I think I made You too small. I never feared You at all. No.
If You touched my face, would I know You?
Looked into my eyes, could I behold You?
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out.
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were might to save.
But those were only empty words on a page.
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be.
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees.
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
on earth and heaven above
what do I know of this Love?
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
--Addison Road, "What Do I Know of Holy," Addison Road
My daughter couldn't have a more beautiful name. And my children couldn't have a more beautiful Hope.
I tried to hear from Heaven, but I talked the whole time.
I think I made You too small. I never feared You at all. No.
If You touched my face, would I know You?
Looked into my eyes, could I behold You?
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
I guess I thought that I had figured You out.
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were might to save.
But those were only empty words on a page.
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be.
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees.
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of Holy?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life its name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
on earth and heaven above
what do I know of this Love?
What do I know of You
who spoke me into motion?
Where have I even stood
but the shore along Your ocean?
Are You fire?
Are You fury?
Are You sacred?
Are you beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?
--Addison Road, "What Do I Know of Holy," Addison Road
My daughter couldn't have a more beautiful name. And my children couldn't have a more beautiful Hope.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Three Months?!
My blog is the first of three home pages that greet me every time I open my web browser. Every day I think, "You should post something today. People are counting on you. You have something to say." While it may be untrue that people are counting on me, I should post "today," and I do have something to say. But every day life takes more time than the sun and moon are willing to allot. So every day I say nothing.
The other day, though, I looked at FunnyWriterMommy when I opened my web browser, and I thought three months?! THREE MONTHS?! Seriously? Something must be done. Three months is a very long time.
That was one week ago.
I didn't know when I began that day what the day would bring, had already brought. And, reflecting on the past three months, I didn't think about what that amount of time really meant.
Three months is, indeed, a long time. But, somehow, by the end of last week Monday, it seemed like a very short time. Three months ago, we baptized Addison, giving her to God, acknowledging that she had always been His, and thanking Him for the short life of Baby Zion. Then, we got back to living our lives. Since then, Addie has learned to eat "real" food. She has learned to roll over from her front to her back and back over again. She babbles now, and she giggles. Megan speaks much more clearly now and is learning to potty on the toilet, and Ellie has really learned to read. For us, it has been a long time.
But for one family, the time was too short.
Three months ago, Vaughn Arthur Barckholtz wasn't sick. He was just a healthy, four-year-old boy learning to enjoy books and loving his mom, his dad, his cousins, his flashlight, and his every day. He was full of life. Then he started to get bruises. He started to have pain where he didn't before. He started to get sick.
Less than three months ago, he was diagnosed with ALL Leukemia, and he was sent to the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor. In March, he beat his leukemia. But then he got RSV and pneumonia. He beat the RSV, though his lungs were severely damaged, but he couldn't beat the pneumonia. It was diagnosed as MRSA. Then, by a miracle, he beat that, too. Machines were keeping him alive as treatments tried to fix his lungs. But he was alive. And he was free of all those letters that had tried to take him from his family.
Then, on a Saturday, he started bleeding. Doctors couldn't understand where the bleeding was coming from, or why. Two days later, one week ago today, his heart rate skyrocketed while his blood pressure plummeted. His family gathered, and they told him they loved him. Because they did. The last three months hadn't changed that. But it wasn't enough. For reasons we won't understand until they cease to matter as we stand at the feet of our Savior, God called him home. Just a couple of days shy of 4 and a 1/2 years after God delivered him into the arms of his parents, God called him home. That wasn't long enough, God. It just wasn't. How can three months seem like such a long time while 4 1/2 years isn't long enough? And how can three months be a long time for some but be far too sudden for a little boy to go from healthy to gone from this world?
I don't know. But I know that Beau's cousin Chad and his wife Sarahbeth will never fully recover from this three months.
The other day, though, I looked at FunnyWriterMommy when I opened my web browser, and I thought three months?! THREE MONTHS?! Seriously? Something must be done. Three months is a very long time.
That was one week ago.
I didn't know when I began that day what the day would bring, had already brought. And, reflecting on the past three months, I didn't think about what that amount of time really meant.
Three months is, indeed, a long time. But, somehow, by the end of last week Monday, it seemed like a very short time. Three months ago, we baptized Addison, giving her to God, acknowledging that she had always been His, and thanking Him for the short life of Baby Zion. Then, we got back to living our lives. Since then, Addie has learned to eat "real" food. She has learned to roll over from her front to her back and back over again. She babbles now, and she giggles. Megan speaks much more clearly now and is learning to potty on the toilet, and Ellie has really learned to read. For us, it has been a long time.
But for one family, the time was too short.
Three months ago, Vaughn Arthur Barckholtz wasn't sick. He was just a healthy, four-year-old boy learning to enjoy books and loving his mom, his dad, his cousins, his flashlight, and his every day. He was full of life. Then he started to get bruises. He started to have pain where he didn't before. He started to get sick.
Less than three months ago, he was diagnosed with ALL Leukemia, and he was sent to the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor. In March, he beat his leukemia. But then he got RSV and pneumonia. He beat the RSV, though his lungs were severely damaged, but he couldn't beat the pneumonia. It was diagnosed as MRSA. Then, by a miracle, he beat that, too. Machines were keeping him alive as treatments tried to fix his lungs. But he was alive. And he was free of all those letters that had tried to take him from his family.
Then, on a Saturday, he started bleeding. Doctors couldn't understand where the bleeding was coming from, or why. Two days later, one week ago today, his heart rate skyrocketed while his blood pressure plummeted. His family gathered, and they told him they loved him. Because they did. The last three months hadn't changed that. But it wasn't enough. For reasons we won't understand until they cease to matter as we stand at the feet of our Savior, God called him home. Just a couple of days shy of 4 and a 1/2 years after God delivered him into the arms of his parents, God called him home. That wasn't long enough, God. It just wasn't. How can three months seem like such a long time while 4 1/2 years isn't long enough? And how can three months be a long time for some but be far too sudden for a little boy to go from healthy to gone from this world?
I don't know. But I know that Beau's cousin Chad and his wife Sarahbeth will never fully recover from this three months.
O God, whose beloved Son took children into his arms and blessed them: Give us grace to entrust Vaughn to your never-failing care and love, and bring us all to your heavenly kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.Taken from The Book of Common Prayer, The Burial of the Dead: Rite Two, "At the Burial of a Child"
Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding: Deal graciously with Chad and Sarahbeth in their grief. Surround them with your love, that they may not be overwhelmed by their loss, but have confidence in your goodness, and strength to meet the days to come; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Four Small Roses
Sunday, January 10, 2010. Baptism Day.
It was a special day on its own. The day that we would present our newest daughter to God, acknowledging that we are sinners, vowing that it is only Jesus' blood that makes us clean, and committing ourselves to raise our little one in that Truth. A day when we are reminded that God chooses us, not for anything that we can offer, but simply because we are His. It would have been a beautiful day any way you looked at it.
It became much more than that.
Since I learned that I would deliver two children, one living and one truly alive, I have wondered what baptism would bring. And I wanted it to be about three children--the one who is living, the one who is truly alive, and the One who is the Life. I wanted to celebrate Addie Maye and her place in His world, in His heart. I wanted to celebrate Zion and that baby's place in our eternal Home. And I wanted to celebrate Jesus, His birth, His death, and His life, as the hope that we can give Addie that she will one day know her beautiful twin again. I talked a bit about it, but I never mentioned "memorial service." That's what I wanted, though.
And, because God knows my desires and can do all things, that's exactly what I got.
We placed a single pink rose, in a vase bought just for the occasion, on the organ. It stood in front of the screen displaying the words to "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" (on my "play at my funeral" list) and "In Christ Alone." We saw it as we beseeched God to help us stand in His power from life's first cry to final breath when He takes our hands and leads us Home. That was Zion's rose, and it is Addie's vase. It will hold a rose on every birthday and all of Addie's special days, and it will remind us of what we have lost and also what lies ahead for us.
I also asked our pastor to say a simple prayer for Zion when he prayed for Addie after my dad finished baptizing her. His words brought tears to our eyes. As he said, "We also think of Zion, this silent twin who is anything but silent in Your presence," Meggie saw my tears and climbed into my arms to dry them. Seeing that she couldn't, she nestled in to my neck to hold me. Precious one.
That was what we planned, though both meant more than we could have dreamed. What we didn't plan was even more beautiful in a way. And it came in two parts.
The bulletin had a note about the rose, which I requested. But it went on from there:
It was a special day on its own. The day that we would present our newest daughter to God, acknowledging that we are sinners, vowing that it is only Jesus' blood that makes us clean, and committing ourselves to raise our little one in that Truth. A day when we are reminded that God chooses us, not for anything that we can offer, but simply because we are His. It would have been a beautiful day any way you looked at it.
It became much more than that.
Since I learned that I would deliver two children, one living and one truly alive, I have wondered what baptism would bring. And I wanted it to be about three children--the one who is living, the one who is truly alive, and the One who is the Life. I wanted to celebrate Addie Maye and her place in His world, in His heart. I wanted to celebrate Zion and that baby's place in our eternal Home. And I wanted to celebrate Jesus, His birth, His death, and His life, as the hope that we can give Addie that she will one day know her beautiful twin again. I talked a bit about it, but I never mentioned "memorial service." That's what I wanted, though.
And, because God knows my desires and can do all things, that's exactly what I got.
We placed a single pink rose, in a vase bought just for the occasion, on the organ. It stood in front of the screen displaying the words to "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" (on my "play at my funeral" list) and "In Christ Alone." We saw it as we beseeched God to help us stand in His power from life's first cry to final breath when He takes our hands and leads us Home. That was Zion's rose, and it is Addie's vase. It will hold a rose on every birthday and all of Addie's special days, and it will remind us of what we have lost and also what lies ahead for us.
I also asked our pastor to say a simple prayer for Zion when he prayed for Addie after my dad finished baptizing her. His words brought tears to our eyes. As he said, "We also think of Zion, this silent twin who is anything but silent in Your presence," Meggie saw my tears and climbed into my arms to dry them. Seeing that she couldn't, she nestled in to my neck to hold me. Precious one.
That was what we planned, though both meant more than we could have dreamed. What we didn't plan was even more beautiful in a way. And it came in two parts.
The bulletin had a note about the rose, which I requested. But it went on from there:
We give thanks to God for his grace as we celebrate this opportunity to baptize Addison Maye. The rose on the organ is in memory of Addison's twin, Zion, who passed away in utero. The sprinkled water of baptism is God's prescribed visible expression of his assurance that we are cleansed through the scandalous wounds, shed blood, and death of Jesus on the cross. God knows and chooses us long before we are coneceived. He told Jeremiah, 'Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.' Scripture makes it clear that God delights in children, especially pre-born children. Could there be special grace for those who are taken home to their heavenly Father before they are born? John Newton, an eighteenth-century Anglican and the author of hymns such as 'Amazing Grace,' wrote, 'I cannot be sorry for the death of infants. How many storms do they escape! Nor can I doubt, in my private judgment, that they can be included in the election of grace. Perhaps those who die in infancy are the exceeding great multitude of all people, nations, and languages mentioned [in Revelation 7:9] in distinction from the visible body of professing believers who were marked on their foreheads and openly known to be the Lord's.' The gospel, made visible through the sacraments and heard through preaching, is God's gracious provision for the storms that Beau, Beka, and every one of us will not escape.Then there was Tuesday. We came home from a long day of work to flowers on our front porch. There were from someone in our church, someone we know but don't really know well. And they were a beautiful gift from the Body of Christ, which grieves when we grieve and rejoices when we rejoice. The card said it so simply and so profoundly at the same time:
Four small roses in your hearts: three will bloom here, and one will bloom in Heaven.Indeed. And amen.
Monday, December 21, 2009
June-December 2009 -- According to me
I should have written my Christmas letter this way. Somehow it says so much:
Rebekah
* wants to eat pie and drink Coke.
* can dodge a wrench, so she must be able to dodge a ball.
* enjoyed a very productive day. LOVE this weather.
* is once again enjoying a cold breakfast, which would be fine were it Raisin Bran. Eggs not so much.
* is pretty sure Addie wishes Meggie loves her just a little bit less.
* simply cannot stand Chutes & Ladders.
* has a mouse in her house. Again. So begins winter.
* could stand to be back on a routine.
* just thought Addison was choking. Turns out it was Ellie spitting. In my living room. Who needs a son?
* is very proud of her husband.
* can't wait for Addie to smile and quit looking quite so bored with me.
* needs to get the house cleaned up. Again. Happens every day.
* would like some abs to replace the jello middle.
* and Ellie feel like they're fallin' for fall.
* is one happy mama . . .
* is feeling run over--physically and emotionally.
* wishes some things lasted forever . . . like Pull 'N' Peel licorice.
* is trying to explain the difference between football and baseball to a four year old who is cheering for the Tigers while watching the Jets.
* just put in the order for my new dishwasher. WOO-HOO!
* feels a bit like summer came at an annoying time.
* just found out that I can also play fantasy COLLEGE football. That's probably a bit more than I need.
* just got tutored by Ellie in how you properly drink in Spanish. Um.
* is off to clean toilet paper out of the bathtub . . . too bad Meggie can reach the roll from her bath.
* has a friend having a baby right now.
* is the wife of the newest Foremost employee . . . pending the drug test, I suppose.
* finally finished cleaning her room . . . only four weeks after she started.
* just overheard Ellie telling Moose A. Moose, "No, we didn't see any of those at the zoo, but we did see X-rays."
* does not have to buy new baby clothes and is accepting donations for the weddings fund.
* thinks it probably doesn't matter if it is Christian rap. It's still a bit loud, neighbor boy.
* finds it comical that Meggie has taken to toting a bag of potatoes around the house.
* is not sure how to react to the fact that Megan earned her "crying badge" but is pretty sure Ellie shouldn't reinforce her whining by presenting her with a necklace.
* always worries about the children . . . even a wacky (though talented) dad is better than being fought over for money.
* is listening to Ellie tell Josh that he can't go upstairs without an adult, a princess, or a king.
{taken from my Facebook statuses from today looking back to June}
Rebekah
* wants to eat pie and drink Coke.
* can dodge a wrench, so she must be able to dodge a ball.
* enjoyed a very productive day. LOVE this weather.
* is once again enjoying a cold breakfast, which would be fine were it Raisin Bran. Eggs not so much.
* is pretty sure Addie wishes Meggie loves her just a little bit less.
* simply cannot stand Chutes & Ladders.
* has a mouse in her house. Again. So begins winter.
* could stand to be back on a routine.
* just thought Addison was choking. Turns out it was Ellie spitting. In my living room. Who needs a son?
* is very proud of her husband.
* can't wait for Addie to smile and quit looking quite so bored with me.
* needs to get the house cleaned up. Again. Happens every day.
* would like some abs to replace the jello middle.
* and Ellie feel like they're fallin' for fall.
* is one happy mama . . .
* is feeling run over--physically and emotionally.
* wishes some things lasted forever . . . like Pull 'N' Peel licorice.
* is trying to explain the difference between football and baseball to a four year old who is cheering for the Tigers while watching the Jets.
* just put in the order for my new dishwasher. WOO-HOO!
* feels a bit like summer came at an annoying time.
* just found out that I can also play fantasy COLLEGE football. That's probably a bit more than I need.
* just got tutored by Ellie in how you properly drink in Spanish. Um.
* is off to clean toilet paper out of the bathtub . . . too bad Meggie can reach the roll from her bath.
* has a friend having a baby right now.
* is the wife of the newest Foremost employee . . . pending the drug test, I suppose.
* finally finished cleaning her room . . . only four weeks after she started.
* just overheard Ellie telling Moose A. Moose, "No, we didn't see any of those at the zoo, but we did see X-rays."
* does not have to buy new baby clothes and is accepting donations for the weddings fund.
* thinks it probably doesn't matter if it is Christian rap. It's still a bit loud, neighbor boy.
* finds it comical that Meggie has taken to toting a bag of potatoes around the house.
* is not sure how to react to the fact that Megan earned her "crying badge" but is pretty sure Ellie shouldn't reinforce her whining by presenting her with a necklace.
* always worries about the children . . . even a wacky (though talented) dad is better than being fought over for money.
* is listening to Ellie tell Josh that he can't go upstairs without an adult, a princess, or a king.
{taken from my Facebook statuses from today looking back to June}
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Parenting
When I entered the title of this entry, it looked more like "pARenTing." That's been my reality lately.
I'm writing with a Boppy pillow (how do you parent without one?!) on my lap and a baby (how do you parent without one?!) on top of that. The baby is sleeping--thankfully--with her fist clenched around my necklace--a wedding present from my husband--and her face tucked into the inside of my left elbow.
The pillow is on my lap so the baby can be on my lap while allowing me to continue working on the computer. The baby is on my lap so she will sleep. Again allowing me to continue working on the computer. I'm mostly successful, though I don't have full mobility of my left hand. Hence the extra capitalization, and my inability to easily stretch for the keys outside of "Home" for that hand. It's the best I can do when she won't sleep anywhere else.
I certainly wouldn't be naive enough to state that Sweet Baby has colic. I wouldn't want to belittle the pain of parents who have really had to endure that nightmare. I hear they walk for hours snuggling their young ones to no avail. We get the break. Sweet Baby sleeps from time to time and when she hasn't given way to precious rest she is mostly just fussy, whimpering and occasionally crying out in her kitty cat voice. We just have to hold her to get her there.
And that means we do what can be done with a Boppy pillow and a baby on our laps. Reading. Watching TV. Vegging out. Cleaning is impossible. Folding laundry is buried somewhere underneath the piles of clothes that get washed in the morning before the gassy nights begin. Computer time is designated for work because typing is a challenge at best.
It hurts to see and hear her discomfort and pain. I wonder if we will give unwrapped gifts for Christmas this year. I imagine Ruth will bang on my door soon for my Fourth Focus article. And I'm pretty sure the hearing damage caused by pain too severe to sleep or "Meow" through is permanent.
But it is worth it all, Sweet Baby. Unspeakably worth it.
I'm writing with a Boppy pillow (how do you parent without one?!) on my lap and a baby (how do you parent without one?!) on top of that. The baby is sleeping--thankfully--with her fist clenched around my necklace--a wedding present from my husband--and her face tucked into the inside of my left elbow.
The pillow is on my lap so the baby can be on my lap while allowing me to continue working on the computer. The baby is on my lap so she will sleep. Again allowing me to continue working on the computer. I'm mostly successful, though I don't have full mobility of my left hand. Hence the extra capitalization, and my inability to easily stretch for the keys outside of "Home" for that hand. It's the best I can do when she won't sleep anywhere else.
I certainly wouldn't be naive enough to state that Sweet Baby has colic. I wouldn't want to belittle the pain of parents who have really had to endure that nightmare. I hear they walk for hours snuggling their young ones to no avail. We get the break. Sweet Baby sleeps from time to time and when she hasn't given way to precious rest she is mostly just fussy, whimpering and occasionally crying out in her kitty cat voice. We just have to hold her to get her there.
And that means we do what can be done with a Boppy pillow and a baby on our laps. Reading. Watching TV. Vegging out. Cleaning is impossible. Folding laundry is buried somewhere underneath the piles of clothes that get washed in the morning before the gassy nights begin. Computer time is designated for work because typing is a challenge at best.
It hurts to see and hear her discomfort and pain. I wonder if we will give unwrapped gifts for Christmas this year. I imagine Ruth will bang on my door soon for my Fourth Focus article. And I'm pretty sure the hearing damage caused by pain too severe to sleep or "Meow" through is permanent.
But it is worth it all, Sweet Baby. Unspeakably worth it.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Danger, Will Robinson
Addie would not fall back asleep last night. She slept 6 hours after her bottle, so I did get to sleep until around 4:00 this morning. But then she wouldn't go back to sleep. Normally this would be okay--I'd just sit up with her--but today we're headed out after school. That means the girls will nap in the car, and I should probably NOT nap when they do.
So I sat up for a bit with her. While I was rocking her, I read. I'm greatly enjoying On Writing. Today, for really the first (and only?) time, Stephen King gave a writing assignment. He delivered a situation, and then he instructed us to sit and write it down without plotting it. As Addie was falling asleep, I was thinking. Characters were coming alive. Without me plotting it (which is the way I prefer to write anyway), a story was being born.
She fell asleep, but she didn't stay that way. Dear Husband ended up sleeping in the chair and holding her for the rest of the night. He's better at that than I am. They both slept. I slept, too. But then, during my shower, the characters came back. It turns out that the husband (not mine) is not such a great guy after all, and it may not be entirely her (not me or Addie) fault.
The danger is this:
We have a busy, busy day today. How am I to write down what's in my head with no time before bed to sit and do it? How can I keep the characters from moving on without me? How can I be certain that when I do sit down, I'm still as surprised by whom the characters are rather than forcing them to be whom I think they should be?
Of course, I could have started now, but I knew I could blog about it in the five minutes I have before feeding Addie, taking Meg to the sitter, bringing Ellie to school, and rushing to the doctor's office. A story . . . well, I could get lost in that for hours.
So, thanks a lot, Steve. And thanks a lot, Muse. Could you and Addie maybe sleep a bit longer--or pick a less busy day to strike?
So I sat up for a bit with her. While I was rocking her, I read. I'm greatly enjoying On Writing. Today, for really the first (and only?) time, Stephen King gave a writing assignment. He delivered a situation, and then he instructed us to sit and write it down without plotting it. As Addie was falling asleep, I was thinking. Characters were coming alive. Without me plotting it (which is the way I prefer to write anyway), a story was being born.
She fell asleep, but she didn't stay that way. Dear Husband ended up sleeping in the chair and holding her for the rest of the night. He's better at that than I am. They both slept. I slept, too. But then, during my shower, the characters came back. It turns out that the husband (not mine) is not such a great guy after all, and it may not be entirely her (not me or Addie) fault.
The danger is this:
We have a busy, busy day today. How am I to write down what's in my head with no time before bed to sit and do it? How can I keep the characters from moving on without me? How can I be certain that when I do sit down, I'm still as surprised by whom the characters are rather than forcing them to be whom I think they should be?
Of course, I could have started now, but I knew I could blog about it in the five minutes I have before feeding Addie, taking Meg to the sitter, bringing Ellie to school, and rushing to the doctor's office. A story . . . well, I could get lost in that for hours.
So, thanks a lot, Steve. And thanks a lot, Muse. Could you and Addie maybe sleep a bit longer--or pick a less busy day to strike?
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Let It Snow!
For the third year in a row, I have decided to undertake the Kent District Library's "Let It Snow!" winter reading program for adults. It's a bingo board of different genres of books, plus some random things like "Read a book or author starting with the letters 'K,' 'D,' or 'L'." The first year I got about two books read. Last year I completed two full bingos. This year I'm gonna make it!
I've been spending some of my nursing time reading On Writing by Stephen King. It's a humorous take on the craft of writing, and it keeps me up during Addie's 3 a.m. snack time. I'm enjoying it. One of the tools King says every writer must have in her toolbox is a library (at home or at the actual library) full of read books. He says we learn much from "bad" books, perhaps more than we learn from "good" books. So this year I'm gonna make it through all my bingos, even the genres I don't like.
I just finished the second book--my "Award Winner or New York Times Bestseller"--Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy by Gary D. Schmidt (who lives in Alto. What the . . . huh?!). It turns out that I am the last in my immediate family to have read the book, which I borrowed from my parents who, as it also turns out, happen to own a library full of read books. Including, I believe, every book Stephen King has ever written.
When I set out with Lizzie, I wasn't much of a fan. "The Buckminster Boy" happens to be the son of a preacher who happens to be a bigot. Or so I thought. It turns out instead that he is just a scared man who wants, at all costs, to keep the proverbial boat from rocking. Most of the other characters in the book truly seem to be actual bigots . . . except for Turner (The Buckminster Boy), Turner's mom (one may wonder why she married "Buckminster" in the first place), Mrs. Hurd (who paints her shutters and her doors a nonChristian color), and Mrs. Cobb (who reminds me of my grandmother). I hated that preacher even more than I hated his church and town full of bigots. I hated him because he didn't have an excuse. And then I declared that the book wasn't very good and I would finish it only for my bingo.
Then I paused to think about it.
An author, and subsequently a book, has to be at least halfway decent to make me so strongly dislike someone by the third page of the book. And it has to be even better than halfway decent to make me so strongly like him by the end. And besides, maybe the reason I hated him so much was that he was maybe just a bit too much of me.
As it turns out, this Gary D. Schmidt from Alto, MI, can write a book that made me love and hate characters who, in the end, are far too human. And this Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy was a good book after all.
Who knows what other treasures I'll uncover between now and March 31. Two down. Fourteen to go.
I've been spending some of my nursing time reading On Writing by Stephen King. It's a humorous take on the craft of writing, and it keeps me up during Addie's 3 a.m. snack time. I'm enjoying it. One of the tools King says every writer must have in her toolbox is a library (at home or at the actual library) full of read books. He says we learn much from "bad" books, perhaps more than we learn from "good" books. So this year I'm gonna make it through all my bingos, even the genres I don't like.
I just finished the second book--my "Award Winner or New York Times Bestseller"--Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy by Gary D. Schmidt (who lives in Alto. What the . . . huh?!). It turns out that I am the last in my immediate family to have read the book, which I borrowed from my parents who, as it also turns out, happen to own a library full of read books. Including, I believe, every book Stephen King has ever written.
When I set out with Lizzie, I wasn't much of a fan. "The Buckminster Boy" happens to be the son of a preacher who happens to be a bigot. Or so I thought. It turns out instead that he is just a scared man who wants, at all costs, to keep the proverbial boat from rocking. Most of the other characters in the book truly seem to be actual bigots . . . except for Turner (The Buckminster Boy), Turner's mom (one may wonder why she married "Buckminster" in the first place), Mrs. Hurd (who paints her shutters and her doors a nonChristian color), and Mrs. Cobb (who reminds me of my grandmother). I hated that preacher even more than I hated his church and town full of bigots. I hated him because he didn't have an excuse. And then I declared that the book wasn't very good and I would finish it only for my bingo.
Then I paused to think about it.
An author, and subsequently a book, has to be at least halfway decent to make me so strongly dislike someone by the third page of the book. And it has to be even better than halfway decent to make me so strongly like him by the end. And besides, maybe the reason I hated him so much was that he was maybe just a bit too much of me.
As it turns out, this Gary D. Schmidt from Alto, MI, can write a book that made me love and hate characters who, in the end, are far too human. And this Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy was a good book after all.
Who knows what other treasures I'll uncover between now and March 31. Two down. Fourteen to go.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
Giving Thanks
I was preparing to write our annual Christmas letter when I came across last year's letter. I closed it with words my dad wrote for a Thanksgiving litany some years ago at the church he pastors. The fact that it is December instead of the fourth Thursday in November should not prevent us from giving thanks for this year that was up as much as it was down.
For all the times we laughed until our sides ached; for all the times we were troubled and friends we didn't even know we had sprang up from nowhere and cared for us; for all the times we could have chosen evil over good but didn't; for all the times we could have been hurt but weren't; for all the times we could have died suddenly and unprepared but didn't; and for what would have awaited us even if we had--O Lord, we thank you!. . . For all persons who love us unconditionally and in whose presence we can drop all pretense and still be accepted; for the one who calls us long distance and the one who calls us "Darling"; for the one who calls us "Mom" or "Dad"; and for the one who will one day call us into eternity--O Lord, we thank you!
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
World AIDS Day
Far from here, though not as far as some may want to believe, a child sits alone. Crying. Longing for a mother, a father, anyone to pick him up and comfort him. But he lives in a family alone. More than 15 million children worldwide face this reality every day. Most of these children live on the continent of Africa, but that has no less impact on us.
Today, may God bless those who have stepped in and adopted one of those blessed children. And may He continue to hold those little ones who wait.
Just down the road and in cities across this country and villages around the world, a woman lies alone. Dying. Longing for a hand to hold, longing for hope. But she has been abandoned. AIDS is the number one cause of death for women worldwide.
Today, may God bless those who have stepped in and held the hand of one of those blessed women. And may He continue to hold those beautiful ones who wait.
Across the world millions will, in some way, mark this day. Living. Remembering. Holding hands and standing together. Gaining knowledge. Getting tested. Will you?
Today, may God bless those who get a positive test result and those whose test is negative. May He bless those who are abandoned by the ones they love and those who are embraced. And may this day be the day that even one person gets informed and stays safe and another person finds a cure.
In 1990, Ryan White was dying, and I was a 7th grader following his story on the front page of every newspaper I delivered. The day he died, I cried. The next year I gave an oral report on AIDS in my English class. My class laughed at me. It didn't matter.
Today is the least that we can do for him . . . and them.
Sites to learn more or get involved:
Product (Red)
CRWRC Embrace AIDS
AIDS Information
What's Going On video
AmFAR
Today, may God bless those who have stepped in and adopted one of those blessed children. And may He continue to hold those little ones who wait.
Just down the road and in cities across this country and villages around the world, a woman lies alone. Dying. Longing for a hand to hold, longing for hope. But she has been abandoned. AIDS is the number one cause of death for women worldwide.
Today, may God bless those who have stepped in and held the hand of one of those blessed women. And may He continue to hold those beautiful ones who wait.
Across the world millions will, in some way, mark this day. Living. Remembering. Holding hands and standing together. Gaining knowledge. Getting tested. Will you?
Today, may God bless those who get a positive test result and those whose test is negative. May He bless those who are abandoned by the ones they love and those who are embraced. And may this day be the day that even one person gets informed and stays safe and another person finds a cure.
In 1990, Ryan White was dying, and I was a 7th grader following his story on the front page of every newspaper I delivered. The day he died, I cried. The next year I gave an oral report on AIDS in my English class. My class laughed at me. It didn't matter.
Today is the least that we can do for him . . . and them.
Sites to learn more or get involved:
Product (Red)
CRWRC Embrace AIDS
AIDS Information
What's Going On video
AmFAR
Monday, November 30, 2009
First Birthday
Today I started (and brought up to date) Addie's first year calendar. I'm late on it because my mom bought it for her "for Christmas" (even the newborns are not exempt from calendar gifts!), and she gave it to me on Thanksgiving. So today I dated the undated pages, placed stickers to mark each month's aging and first holidays, and wrote all that we have accomplished in just under six weeks.
Six weeks is surprising to me. I feel like she's always been here. I also feel like I've been on maternity leave for months and months, rather than just six weeks. In fact, six weeks from tomorrow I was busily finishing our website edits thinking I still had another week. Funny how one day can change everything.
For now her only calendar notes are growth and new visitors. Her "firsts" consist of bottles, babysitters, and church services.
Oh, how that will change in the months to come. I have stickers to mark her first time rolling over, her first attempts at food (which will mostly result in her 80th-100th baths), her first waves, her first words, and her first steps. Oh, the changes between now and her first birthday.
As I filled in the dates and noted the holidays and family birthdays, I found myself longing for a place to note Baby Zion. To prove that the baby existed for more than just those first few weeks with Addison. But there isn't room on the calendar. We received a beautifully hand-decorated photo album for Addie, and the woman who made it thoughtfully left space for the few pictures we have to show that there were twins. There is room in the album. But the days and weeks and holidays and firsts aren't there. No stickers are needed to detail fourteen and a half weeks of existence, despite the lifetime of missing they created.
Oh, the changes between now and Addison's first birthday, which is also the first birthday of the day that we really had to say goodbye to Baby Zion. God willing, there will be many birthdays for Dear Addison. She'll count them down on a calendar and celebrate them all with pictures that she can put in an album filled with her memories. And somewhere, tucked away in our hearts, there will still be room for Baby Zion.
Six weeks is surprising to me. I feel like she's always been here. I also feel like I've been on maternity leave for months and months, rather than just six weeks. In fact, six weeks from tomorrow I was busily finishing our website edits thinking I still had another week. Funny how one day can change everything.
For now her only calendar notes are growth and new visitors. Her "firsts" consist of bottles, babysitters, and church services.
Oh, how that will change in the months to come. I have stickers to mark her first time rolling over, her first attempts at food (which will mostly result in her 80th-100th baths), her first waves, her first words, and her first steps. Oh, the changes between now and her first birthday.
As I filled in the dates and noted the holidays and family birthdays, I found myself longing for a place to note Baby Zion. To prove that the baby existed for more than just those first few weeks with Addison. But there isn't room on the calendar. We received a beautifully hand-decorated photo album for Addie, and the woman who made it thoughtfully left space for the few pictures we have to show that there were twins. There is room in the album. But the days and weeks and holidays and firsts aren't there. No stickers are needed to detail fourteen and a half weeks of existence, despite the lifetime of missing they created.
Oh, the changes between now and Addison's first birthday, which is also the first birthday of the day that we really had to say goodbye to Baby Zion. God willing, there will be many birthdays for Dear Addison. She'll count them down on a calendar and celebrate them all with pictures that she can put in an album filled with her memories. And somewhere, tucked away in our hearts, there will still be room for Baby Zion.
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