Grace

Red Ballpoint Pen Strokes - A Re-post...

Ms. Shaffer was notorious for driving poor, unsuspecting seventh grade students to tears with her ruthless grading scale and sharp-witted tongue. She was a legend at Rosslyn Academy, who we truly believed coined the phrases: “empty vessels make the most noise,” “little things amuse little minds,” and – probably my favorite – “open mouth, insert foot…and chew.” She never raised her voice, and pulled these zingers off with a smile on her face and a piece of chalk in her hand, all the while listening to Paul Simon – whom she loved. She was brutal. And I was terrified.  

Our first assignment in Ms. Shaffer’s seventh grade English class was to write an introductory journal entry telling her a little bit about ourselves. I was so relieved, and so excited because I loved to write. (Since I was eight years old, and wrote my first poem, I have loved to write.) I thought to myself, this is my chance to win Ms. Shaffer over…she’s going fall in love with me and I’m going to be her star student! Internally there was a serious party going on in my heart and Julie Andrews was singing, “I have confidence in confidence alone!” I couldn’t wait to get home and tackle my “Introducing Amy” journal entry. My fears were quickly subsiding.

 

As I sat down at my desk at home and opened up my square paper journal, I began to brainstorm about what to write. I really wanted to impress Ms. Shaffer, so I knew it needed to be good, and it needed to sound smart. Sounding smart was about the most important thing in the world to me when I was in school – that, and boys, of course. To be perfectly honest with you, sounding smart is still something I really strive for. Funny thing is, when you try too hard to do, or be, something because you really, really want to do, or be that particular thing, it usually ends up blowing up in your face. Which in my case, it did…big time.

 

Back to “thinking smart thoughts”: I remembered this “Family Ties” episode I had watched one time, and Alex – played by Michael J. Fox (dreamy) – used the word intellectual to describe himself. Alex was a very smart boy. Therefore, in my eleven-year-old brain I figured that if I used the word intellectual in my “Introducing Amy” piece Ms. Shaffer would be so impressed with me. Not just because it was a smart word, but it was a big word – and smart people use big words.

 

Let’s just put it this way, every hope I had in becoming Ms. Shaffer’s little buddy - her class pet, her superstar seventh grader - was dashed the moment she handed my journal back to me. My literary masterpiece was covered – COVERED – in red ink. From start to finish there was hardly any evidence that I had written anything at all because Ms. Shaffer’s red pen of death had completely ripped through the pages of my soul. I was heartbroken. To make matters worse, I didn’t even spell “intellectual” correctly. A smart person would have at least looked it up in the dictionary to verify the spelling, but I’m not too smart. It never even occurred to me to grab my dictionary. Not only that, but I was pretty bummed that I couldn’t even get a decent grade when my assignment was to simply write about myself – the one subject I just happen to know something about. Evidently Ms. Shaffer didn’t think so.

 

I spent my whole seventh grade English career living in fear and trepidation of Ms. Shaffer’s red ballpoint pen. I worked so hard that year to redeem myself from that hideous first impression. To this day, I honestly don’t know what Ms. Shaffer thought of me (probably something like…emotional). I will say this, however, she (or quite possibly fear) pushed me to work hard – harder than I had ever worked in my life. And then, of all things, English became my favorite subject in school (I’m not sure if Ms. Shaffer is the one to whom the credit is due on this one, but she certainly had a hand in it).

 

You know, there are times, as I go through my day-to-day activities, when that eleven-year-old girl resurfaces. As I did with Ms. Shaffer, I want to be Jesus’ superstar. I want to present him with an “Introducing Amy” life that will knock His socks off. But I so often mess it all up. I want God to be proud of me. So what do I do? I do what Spiritually smart people do. I get up early and spend time with Him - I pray, I seek, I wait and ask Him to lead and guide my day. I do this, only to get irritated at Brooklyn when she wanders downstairs and interrupts my moment of “Spiritual intellect”. If God had a red ballpoint pen my life would be hopelessly covered with marks and scribbles.

 

Yesterday morning at church, before we partook in communion, the song “Amazing Love” filled the sanctuary…and I was suddenly overwhelmed – kind of like that feeling when you’ve had the wind knocked out of you. My hands trembled as I held the communion emblems in my fingers.

 

Amazing love – how can it be? That you my King would die for me? Amazing love – I know it’s true. And it’s my joy to honor you, In all I do, I honor you.

 

In a strange sort of way, God did have a red ballpoint pen. Although, He didn’t use it to scratch up the pages of my life and leave me covered in permanent ink. God sent Jesus - crucified on a cross…for me. Jesus – whipped, broken, covered in red strokes - poured out His love for me. He nailed my “mean mommy” moment towards Brooklyn to the cross along with His hands and feet - and countless other mistakes I’ve made in my life, the ones I’ve made just today, and the one I will more than likely make in the next hour or so - many, many years ago. He allows me to redeem my less-than-stellar moments, not with red ballpoint pen strokes, but by grace, forgiveness and a second chance. It’s not an excuse to be lazy. I still have a high responsibility in the various roles I play, but God knows I can’t do it alone. He knows I’ll forget to pull the dictionary out and end up misspelling a word or two. So, He allowed Christ to be the one to take the tough grade in my place. Every time I look at myself in the mirror I am reminded of the price that was paid so that I could be forgiven and uncovered with red ballpoint pen strokes. And at the end of the day, I actually get to be God’s superstar student!

Not My Usual Way & Not The Typical Post

I'm racing the clock to get something posted this morning.  This is not my usual way of operating.  I like to be organized, thorough and have my posts for the next week written on Friday.  It saves me time, and still allows me to stay on top of things.   

I had written something for today, but decided at the last minute to pull it.  It wasn't bad.  There was nothing wrong with it either.  It just didn't feel right.  At least, it didn't feel right for today.  So, here I am, we're headed into mid-morning, and I've got nothin'. 

 

Well, maybe not nothin'.  There is one little somethin' on my heart right now.   (Please excuse the typos  as this is coming straight from my heart to this page - unedited.)

 

One word. 

 

Perseverance. 

 

You know, it would seem as though life is determined to chew us up and spit us out sometimes.  We go from one pit to another pit.  Sometimes it's our circumstances that push us over the edge and we're down, gasping for breath.  Other times someone comes along and shoves us into a very dark place.  There are some holes we dig ourselves into, and then we have to struggle and fight to dig ourselves back out again.  In those weak and empty spaces of our lives it becomes increasingly tempting to give up.  We want to just throw in the towel and say, "I quit!"  Have you ever been there?  Oh my word, I know I have.  Many times I have found myself pressed in beyond what I feel I am capable of handling, and I've wanted to let go.  Release my grip and fall back into the hole of my sorrow.  That, my friends, is a very lonely, sad and broken place to be.

 

What keeps me from giving in to the flesh in me that wants to throw up my hands and surrender to the pit that has tried so hard to enslave me?  What keeps the soul from shriveling up and dying away?  What holds me steady, when everything else is falling apart?  Perseverance.  Tenacity.  Clinging to God and not the rope of my own making.  Clinging to the intricate strands of God's truth.  Trusting in the Lord, and lifting up sacrifices of thanksgiving when I don't necessarily see anything around me to be thankful for.  Grounding myself in the Word of God that gives me the unction to keep pressing on, keep moving forward and keep going deeper spiritually rather than deeper into the pit.  Perseverance is not about willing myself to just get through it, or relying on my own strength.  Perseverance is charging forward in God's strength when I'm so weak and broken I can't see the light of day.   

 

Romans 5:3-5

Not only so, be we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

 

Perseverance produces character (and I long to be a woman of integrity, raising children with godly character), and character produces hope (without hope, what else is there?).  We keep moving forward.  We keep pressing on.  Even in our weakest moment, by simply leaning on God - or perhaps falling to pieces in his arms - we are persevering.  We will not let go, and we will not give up.

 

My one thought for today: Perseverance!

(Inspired by the teaching of Linda Noah at a women's retreat I attended this past weekend.)

Insecurities...And All

I’m a lucky girl.  I am surrounded by some of the most unbelievable women on. the. planet.  Seriously.  They are phenomenal mothers, wives, friends, cooks, home managers, and coupon clippers.  They are smart, witty, pretty, read their Bibles and pray every day.  It is simply an honor for me to be able to hang out with them and to know them.   

The challenge, not surprisingly, is that I am, maybe, fifty percent of those things, about fifty percent of the time.  I fall short…a lot.  Oh I try my darnedest to look like I’ve got myself all put together when I leave the safety of my home, but in the back of my mind I know my short-comings, and I never feel quite adequate enough.  As I hear my friends dialogue about motherhood my mind wanders to that episode with my daughter earlier in the day, when I lost my patience and snapped at her.  Or when my son kept begging me to play cars with him and I was irritated.  Oh, I played with him, but I didn’t do it with a sweet spirit (and I’m always encouraging my kids to be sweet to one another).  And so my insecurity continues to grow and grow and grow, like a festering wound deep inside my soul.

 

How do I shake the insecurity out of me?  How do stop this silly game of comparison (because it only paralyzes me)?  How do I climb out of this pit I’ve dug for myself? 

 

Here’s how:  I remember what God says about me.  I remember that He is the one who formed me in the womb, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made (yes, that is right…wonderfully).  I know I’m not perfect.  I know I will make mistakes.  But I also know that it is by God’s grace that I can wipe away the past failures and hit the delete button on shame. 

 

My mom has always said to me that my life is a book (an appropriate metaphor), and every experience, every challenge, every heartache, and every growth pain is all part of the story.  As I morph – transform – into the woman God has created me to be, there will be lots of bumps in the road.  I will struggle with insecurity, but I will also overcome.  I will catch myself looking at other women and thinking I have nothing to offer them but a long list of flaws and failures, while God still chooses to use me, insecurities and all:  mommy mess ups and all, burned dinners and unhappy eaters…and all.  And in the end, because I’m not Superwoman, God gets all the glory.  Any good that comes from my life has nothing – nothing – to do with human effort on my part. 

 

I think that’s the way God likes it.  And you know what?  I’m okay with that.  I may not be everywoman for everywoman, but I’ll just be me: insecurities, flaws, bad hair days (like the one I’m sporting right now)…and all.

This Far

K410B66D0_1000022 This year, as December approached, I found myself in a reflective state of mind – pondering the passing year and what the New Year may bring.  I get this way when December rolls around.  Usually I find myself in awe of what God has done, the miracles, and His goodness to me, and my family.  This time, however, I struggled to see the wonder of the past year and even more to anticipate a better 2010.  Depressing as this may sound, 2009 was – simply stated – an unexceptional year.  Without going into a lot of detail, I would have to say that my hopes and dreams and list of things I was believing God for in the year 2009 never materialized…at least not as of the first of December.  In my brief review and reflection I was disappointed…and even worse, I wasn’t feeling all that excited about the year to come.

 

Then, something happened.  It wasn’t a mind blowing, heart pounding, once in a lifetime kind of event.  In fact, it wasn’t just one something that happened.  It started with my quiet time.  It started with a Psalm.

 

Psalm 40:1-3, 5

I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God.  Many will see and fear and put their trust in the Lord.  Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders you have done.  The things you planned for us no one can recount to you; were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.

 

This passage triggered a memory of another scripture I had studied way back in April:

 

I Chronicles 17:16

“Who am I, O Lord God, a what is my family, that you have brought us this far?”

 

I was feeling pretty convicted as I read, and re-read those scriptures over and over.  In fact, the following morning I opened my Bible and meditated on them again.  And then again the next morning.  And the morning after that.  And every single day in December thus far. 

 

It occurred to me that, while I hadn’t seen the one, big miracle I believed would be evidence of God’s presence and provision for the year, there were dozens and dozens of little miracles throughout the course of 2009.  So many that “were I to speak and tell of them, they would be too many to declare.”  Looking once again at my family, and what God had done in our lives, internally and externally, I found myself frozen with gratitude for God’s graciousness to us.  That He had brought us this far.  That he had brought us through another year…evidence of His mercy, His love, His attention to every detail of our lives.  I recalled His protection, His provision of our daily needs, and His peace in the midst of the many ups and downs we’ve encountered.

 

This realization has been profound and humbling to me.  Just because I didn’t see God work the way I wanted Him to, or expected Him to, does not mean He wasn’t working.  He was just doing it His way - the best way.  He makes all things beautiful: the pain, the struggle, the disappointments and hurts.  He weaves them together with the threads of hope, grace, humor and unconditional love to produce a tapestry of indescribable depth and beauty.

 

I will remember this year forever.  Not as the year that “that one thing happened”, but as the year that God had brought us this far.  His wonders were too many to recount.  The favor of His hand was in the breathtaking brush strokes of the ordinary, the uncertain, the pain and even the little miracles of life.  Amazing to me that once again, He has brought us this far.

 

What about you?  Can you say that God has brought you this far?  I hope so.  I hope that if you are struggling to see it just now, that you will discover the wonders God has done before the year ends.  And I hope you too will be able to say:

 

Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my family, that you have brought us this far?”

Laid Bare...Continuing The Thought (On A More Serious Note)

Writing yesterday’s blog post was fun for me. I smiled as I recalled the awkward airport bathroom moment I shared with my son...and the two women occupying the stalls next to us. (My kids have gifted me with more material for writing than just about any personal experience I have gone through in my life thus far…they are a treasure!) Once completed I uploaded my story, hoping that either it would give someone a good laugh, or perhaps a kindred spirit would read it, relate to it and “feel my pain.” In any case, it was shared, for all intents and purposes, as a good laugh. Then, as I was lying in bed last night I started reflecting on the idea of being “laid bare”. How absolutely horrifying and humiliating those moments can be - and are - when I’m out in public with my children and something happens that is completely out of my control. Suddenly I am…exposed.

“Hypothetical” situation: We’re at church and it’s time to go home. One out of three decides they don’t want to go, so they stomp their foot down – as if stomping their foot will magically fuse their body to the floor of the church lobby, like a majestic oak tree taking root in fertile soil. In my efforts to uproot this mighty oak, I can see out of the corner of my eye the other two-thirds of my crew running willy-nilly through the foyer, nearly knocking down an unsuspecting senior citizen. The tantrums begin, and I want to scream, cry, hide under a rock and just disappear. It’s not so much because my three spunky and energetic offspring are being naughty (kids are naughty a lot), but in that split second moment my failings are revealed for all the world (my church) to see. Flaws, imperfections, inadequacies, insecurities as a mom – you name it – it is all hanging out there and I have no where to hide. I am laid bare…and that is a very vulnerable and painful place to be.

I simply couldn’t let go of this thought last night. Yesterday’s story was entertaining and funny, as most of my embarrassing motherhood stories tend to become after time. It was the concept of being laid bare that kept me up late into the night. How I hate looking and feeling out of control. As much as I mock perfection I find myself consistently reaching for it, but it is an illusion that no one can quite grasp.

No one - that is - except Jesus.

And it was upon this thought that my mind lingered. Jesus - God in the flesh, but perfect and without sin. Jesus – who had nothing gross, ugly and shameful to conceal - took upon Himself all the sin of the world and was laid bare on a cross. Exposed…for me. He did it for those moments when I lose my cool and “Mean Mommy” appears, saying something foolish and stupid, and I have to run to His feet for forgiveness. He did it for those days when I just can’t seem to get a handle on the chaos and clutter, and I run to Him again for wisdom, strength and guidance. I shudder in my laid bare moments because I somehow think I can pull off perfect, or at least I want to. And yet, Jesus, who really IS perfect, humbly laid Himself bare for me.

I was convicted last night. Not because I wrote a funny story (at least I thought it was funny), but mostly because I forgot to include Christ in my weakest moment. In my weakness, He is my strength. He allows me to mess it up so that I won’t forget just how much I need Him. Everyday. (In every bathroom stall across the country.) I don’t ever want to forget the One to laid it bare for me in my many, many laid bare moments.