Friday's Free Advice

It’s no secret that I have been dealing with severe moderate skin issues this past week.  The zit on my chin turned out to be, in fact, a boil.  It all came to a head (pardon the pun) last Saturday morning.  I spent all day Friday bemoaning my skin dilemma and feeling terribly sorry for myself, not to mention how uncomfortable I felt from the pain and swelling.  I didn’t shower or fix my hair, and it wasn’t until after lunch that I changed from my jammies into sweats.  Overall, it was one of those, “woe is me” kind of days (geez…I can be such a baby!).   

Saturday morning, Joel got up with the kids and let me sleep in (I think I whined so much that even he was feeling sorry for me).  When I finally woke up and joined my family in the playroom, the first thing out of Brooklyn’s mouth as I walked by was, “Mommy, you smell…(pause for dramatic effect)…interesting.”  And that’s when I knew…I was suffering from a common case of the “uglies”, and what I needed was some serious intervention. 

Initially, I wished I could simply climb back into bed and stay there until the boil was all healed up.  I was fully willing to surrender to the “uglies”.  Then I heard the “Mommy, we’re hungry; what’s for lunch?” cries from my three little people, and the harsh, cruel reality of the impending trip to the grocery store began to stare me in the face.  I was going to have to leave the house.  With a festering wound on my chin.  And a swollen jaw and lower lip.  It was at this point that I came up with my cure for the common case of the “uglies” and today’s Friday’s Free Advice: four do’s and a don’t.

Do take a shower – takes the “interesting” smell away.

Do your hair – good hair days are priceless.

Do put on make-up – need I say more?  A little cover-up and foundation works miracles.

Do smile – I caught the “uglies” for the first time in seventh grade.  My home perm had turned my naturally poker-straight hair into a wild and frizzy mess on my head.  I cried my eyes out one morning because I couldn’t seem to get control of my mane (I didn’t have the luxury of quality hair products – it was just me, a comb, and water).  By the time I had to leave for school I had cried so hard that my eyes were swollen and red.  I couldn’t bear to leave the house looking so hideous.  And that’s when I learned the power of a good smile.  My mom pulled me aside, looked me straight in the eyes, and said “Amy, show me your smile.”  I smiled.  Then she added, “When you smile, your whole face lights up, and those red splotches practically disappear.  You’re your most beautiful self when you have a smile on your face.”   And I’ve been smiling ever since.

Don’t wear sweats – I’m all about comfort.  I practically live in my sweats…er…comfy clothes.  There is nothing wrong with being comfortable; however, when the “uglies” have struck, the last thing a girl should do is hide in her sweats.  Put on your favorite pair of jeans, a shirt that doesn’t scream, “Hi, I’m a mommy,” and a cute pair of shoes.  As tempting as it is to throw on sweats when down with the “uglies”, I can promise you that you will not feel any better about yourself.  It only makes the case worse.

Trust me…this little cure really works.  Last Saturday, swollen face and bulging boil and all, I showered, make-upped, did my hair, put on my favorite jeans, trendy t-shirt and ballerina flats, and headed out for the grocery store with a big smile on my face.  While the “four do’s and a don’t” didn’t miraculously cure the boil, they were the perfect prescription for the “uglies”.  And I’ve been heeding this advice all week long!

Reality Check

As I write this post I am nursing a zit the size of a nickel on my chin (it could quite possibly be a boil – it’s a toss up).  It’s hideous, and I am vane enough to be grateful that I don’t have to leave my house today.  Two weeks ago I was having a great hair week.  The cowlicks in my bangs were behaving and the overall look was working for me.  I was having good skin days too.  I felt pretty (is that wrong…I really hope not).  Then, wouldn’t you know it, puberty struck my thirty-six-year-old body - my hair has gone flat while my face has started breaking out.  Hello world, I’ve digressed to my sixteen-year-old self.  I have a zit and bad hair.  

Reality strikes.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about my feelings regarding speaking to our women’s Bible study.  I was nervous, and really praying that God would enable me to share the word he had placed on my heart, but also do a good job in the delivery.  Looking out on the faces of women as I was speaking, I couldn’t help but notice a nice, elderly woman in the fourth row back, whose eyes were closed.  I don’t know if she was feeling considerably blessed by my message or if I had successfully lulled her to sleep by the sound of my voice.  I’m going to go with the first option, simply because I can’t bear to think I put someone to sleep while I was talking.  That would be downright embarrassing.   

Once again…reality check.

Just when I start feeling a little too important, I often get confronted by criticism and “please don’t take this the wrong way” conversations.  Some criticism is good, but not all of it is productive or appropriate.  Still, I can appreciate it.  It helps keep me from getting too big for my britches.  I don’t want to be off-limits from the negative side of feedback, just like I don’t want to stop receiving the positive affirmations either.

I call these “head out of the clouds, feet on the ground” moments my reality checks.  Sure, there are days when I’m not in a frame of mind to see the upside of the harsh remark or the blotchy skin - especially those days when I’m feeling particularly insecure about myself (and there are so many).  I’m already face to face with reality, and I don’t need any more help getting there.  But, because I am human, I also know my tendencies to go the opposite direction, and begin feeling a little too important.  As soon as this starts happening, reality comes sweeping through my door and slaps me back down (like my children falling to pieces in the ballet studio parking lot, bodies going limp as I try to heave them up into the Expedition, right after I’ve announced to a couple of the other mommies that I’ve taken two Love and Logic classes and the techniques are working beautifully - sigh).

Good skin and hair are as temperamental as the weather, and my hormones.  A good post, speaking well or just my overall life performance will have highs and lows.  I’ll hit a homerun one week and strike out the next.  The homeruns feel exhilarating.  The strikes are my reality check.  I’m grateful for both.  I need both.  Each serves a purpose in the growing and stretching of my life.

What about you?  How do you handle reality checks?  Do they destroy you or help you?  Any good stories to share?  It’s always comforting to hear from others who have experienced a good dose of reality, and how they’ve managed to get through it.

Art Imitates Life

Last Thursday evening fans everywhere tuned in to watch the miracle of birth The Office style.  Michael got an eye-full when he prematurely marched into the delivery room, Dwight was inspired to grow his business by growing a family, and love bloomed between Andy and the new office receptionist.  I could almost hear little birds chirping sweet songs of spring.  (Birds chirping?  I might be pushing it just a little bit with that last comment.)  Aside from watching Jim and Pam swim through the rush of emotions as they wrapped their brains around the reality of becoming parents, anticipating the welcome of their baby girl, I found myself walking through this awkward forty-five minute journey with them.  For anyone who has become a parent, you know exactly what I mean.  It is both exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.  

My favorite part of the episode was after the adrenaline died down, baby was born, and the visitors departed, Jim and Pam were left all alone with their tiny infant child.  I could so relate to the wave of emotions they were portraying – ah…sweet parenthood.  And then, as if this precious seven-pound creature had some foreknowledge and insight that this was her cue to speak up, her moment to shine in the spotlight of celebrity, she began crying.  Crying loudly, I might add.  Apparently, she was hungry.  Pam tried to nurse her, but their perfect bundle of joy was not going to have anything to do with it. 

Now for the reality check: the struggle, the stress, the perfect couple-with-happily-nursing-baby occupying the bed next to them, and the awkward visit from a male lactation nurse. 

I immediately found myself transported back to the Cascade Valley maternity ward, holding my 6 pound, 12 ounce baby girl, Sydney.  Joel and I would unwrap and wrap her back up in her swaddle over and over again, just to take a peek at her tiny feet and hands.  I gazed for minutes on end at this sweet miracle, completely mesmerized.  When she was asleep, I was in love. 

But when she woke up, I was scared out of my mind!  And here is where art imitates life.  My cute bundle of joy didn’t want to nurse.  She didn’t want to eat. When she was conscious, she didn’t want to have anything to do with me.  I was heartbroken, in tears and fighting a major battle with raging hormones.  Motherhood wasn’t supposed to look like this.  Nursing was supposed to be natural…right?  A baby was supposed to bond with its mommy…right?  So, what was wrong with me, what was wrong with my baby, and why couldn’t we get this thing right…the one thing that was supposed to come naturally to both of us? 

We had nurses, lactation specialists (all female, thank God), and our pediatrician at our beck and call.  I had so many different hands and machines on my “you know whats” that I didn’t quite feel like a woman anymore.  I was the cow.   I was a milk producer who felt as though she was failing at the one job she believed she was made to do well.  I found myself irritated with my newborn.  Sydney was already getting on my nerves and she wasn’t even forty-eight hours old.  Her strong will and my strong will came head-to-head.  Devastated and discouraged, I sat in my hospital bed watching all the sweet visions of the nursing mother with child go up in smoke right before my eyes. 

Unlike Pam, who was nursing brilliantly by the end of the show, it took us five weeks, a couple of home visits from my lactation nurse, and one or two “mommy time-outs” to finally get the breast feeding thing figured out.  Once Sydney got the hang of it, she became the biggest baby in the church nursery, ballooning to a whopping 20 pounds by the time she turned six months old.  We became pros. 

As Sydney has grown, I’ve seen much of those early lessons learned in the first few weeks of her life transition right along with her- and me.  To achieve the next milestone there is often times resistance.  She will fight it.  We’re maneuvering through some math challenges at school currently, and I can see that same fight or flight attitude flaring up in her.  It takes everything within me to not lose my patience when she is facing a new growth challenge.  Why she resists it so much is beyond me.  But rather than fight along with her, I am learning to relax, listen, observe, and support her.  I can’t make her understand math, or friendships, or failing at something, or whatever “crisis” she may be up against.  I can, however, be her steady support.  Listening, coaching, loving, and guiding.  Eventually she’ll get it.  She’ll overcome.  She’ll succeed, but she will do it in her time. 

The one thing I believe I am helping her learn- and it started in that cramped hospital room with nurses, electric pumps and family members cheering us on- is to never give up.  If it takes until the end of the sit-com, or five weeks of sticking to it, or years of practice and failure, never, ever, ever give up.  If it’s worth anything, then it’s worth the pain and the struggle, the blood, sweat, and tears to see it accomplished.

Sydney is only six-years-old.  We have a long way to go together.  We are both learning and growing.  My hope and prayer is that we will not give up, no matter what obstacle comes our way. 

My best wishes go out to Jim and Pam, fictitious characters who well portrayed a very non-fictional reality for so many of us.  The adventure has just begun!

Friday's Free Advice

Sitting here at my computer this morning, I do so with a very squirmy three-year-old.  Jackson has decided that simply being in the same room with me is not enough.  He needs to be pressed up, hands and feet on my waist and in my face kind of close to me.  Currently, he is leaning over my shoulder with his arms squeezing my neck.  This, of course, is not very conducive to typing, but who can resist “Mama, I wanna sit wiff you?”  My heart melts.   

Moments like this I try hard to capture and freeze in my mind like a photograph.  Moms who have gone before me have warned, time and time again, that this season will be gone in a flash.  How true.  Just last night I was looking at pictures taken at a photo shoot right after Sydney was born almost seven years ago.  Tiny hands and curled up toes, her mouth opening up with a yawn (or maybe she was rooting around for her milk - she sure loved mealtime).  Precious memories, evidence of God’s miraculous answer to a long awaited prayer. 

And so today, rather than fill a page with deep thoughts, funny stories, and motherly musings, I’m going to put my computer away for a while and sit with my son.  I’m going to cherish this human jungle gym feeling, tuck it away in my heart, and hold it like a worn black and white photo before it is lost forever.  With my face cupped in the sticky hands of my son as he whispers, “Mama, I love you,” I realize this is my moment to let time stand still…and I’m going to do just that.

Friday’s Free Advice: If it can wait until later, or even tomorrow, let it go and embrace the time you have with the ones you love…especially if their bodies are dangling from your shoulders with their cheeks mashed against yours.

Invisible

If you had a superpower what would it be?  I think mine might be invisibility.  Maybe it’s because of my reserved temperament, or what feels like years of dust accumulating on me as I sit on a shelf waiting for my moment to do something great for God.  Maybe it has nothing to do with either of these.  Yet, for whatever reason, I often times feel…invisible.   

I think Joseph – from the Bible, son of Jacob, sold into slavery, thrust into prison, second-in-command in Egypt Joseph – might have felt very much the same way I have at one time or another.  He had these incredible God-given dreams that placed him in a position of authority and prestige, only to be thrown down into a pit, bartered off by his brothers to endure years of heartache and disappointment.  It took tragedy after tragedy in his life for him to eventually see his dreams fulfilled.  He had to become invisible before God could raise him up to the most visible position in the land of Egypt.

I was looking at a seed the other day.  There was, with it, a picture of the beautiful flower that this seed was destined to become.  As I took a closer look at the small indescript object, I began to envision the end result.  All of the potential, color, texture and fragrance of this plant was right there in my hand – in the form of a tiny seed.  However, until it is actually placed into the ground, covered up with dirt, invisible and out of sight, it will never become the magnificent flower it was intended to be.

And even after that there is still a great deal of cultivation and patience needed before the results start poking through the soil.  Roots must grow deep and strong, expanding out and down under the ground to give the plant a firm foundation.  Without them the beautiful flower-to-be would be swept away when once the first storm were to hit its tender buds.  In time, in God’s time, tiny sprouts will protrude up through the grimy dirt, poking their heads out into the sunshine.  And eventually, the intended beauty of the flower will blossom and bloom: a gift to the world.

I believe, like with the seed and the flower, it is actually in those invisible moments - waiting for that dream, hope, promise to be fulfilled – that God is doing, by far, his greatest work.  It may appear as though, after God dropped a dream or a promise into your heart, he then mysteriously vanished.  It may feel close to abandonment.  Ever wonder why God does that?  I have.  What is the point of getting our hopes up, only to turn his back (seemingly) on us?  Oswald Chamber’s wrote: “Whenever God gives a vision to a saint, He puts him, as it were, in the shadow of His hand, and the saint’s duty is to be still and listen.  When God gives a vision and darkness follows, wait.  God will make you in accordance with the vision He has given if you will wait His time.”  God’s silence is not his abandonment.  He has not forgotten you, or the dreams he birthed inside you, simply because he has left you in complete darkness.  No.  He has, in fact, planted you deep in the soil, covered you up, made you invisible to all the world so that one day he may make you visible in accordance to his plan.

What can we learn in the wait?  Spiritual discipline, trust, brokenness and complete surrender.  We learn how to wait - how to be still and know that he is God.  We discover our weaknesses, those places in our hearts that are most vulnerable to pride, failure and self-sufficiency. 

How do we handle the wait?  We abide in Him. 

Psalm 91:1

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.”

Abide means “to remain, continue, stay; to continue in a particular attitude or relationship.”  We stick with God.  And while we are drawing closer to him and resting in him, we are also in his shadow - covered up and hidden away.

What can we receive from the wait?  God’s plan made perfect in us and through us.  That’s it.  The chiseling away of our selves and our pre-conceived ideas of what these life dreams are supposed to look like.  Joseph caught a glimpse of his future, and it was phenomenal.  I’m sure his heart started racing as he visualized the greatness and awe of his destiny.  It must have surely blown him away.  But he wasn’t ready for the destiny, and it took a few pits, being forgotten and a couple thousand moments of God’s silence for such a dream as this to be realized.  It didn’t come easy.  And neither will mine, or yours. 

During the wait God is refining us – chipping away self and pride.  He is humbling us in order to raise us up.  He is causing us to be invisible so that he can then make himself visible through us.

“When you are in that season – that dark, empty pit of your life – there is nothing more precious to God.” – Linda Noah (Communication/Group Life Pastor at Portland Christian Center)

As we wait through the pain, through the disappointments, through the long and heavy nights, we are precious to God.  How sweet is that?  He hasn’t forgotten us.  He hasn’t abandoned us.  He hasn’t walked away or turned his back, although it may feel that way.  He hasn’t let us go.  He is still holding on tightly to us.  In fact, he is holding us in the palm of his hands.  He is hiding us in the shadow of his wings.  We may be invisible to the world, but we are not invisible to Him.  He sees us.

And one day, when our roots are strong and our buds have blossomed, we will open our eyes, look up and feel the warmth of sunlight on our faces.  We will relish in the moment of seeing and being seen.  No longer invisible, no longer dusty or cast off into a pit, but fully alive and bearing fruit.  Fulfilling the destiny God has chosen for us, our dreams awakened and in full bloom.

So as we wait invisible, let us not waste time sinking into invisibility.   Rather, may we be hard at work during the wait, and never for a moment think that God’s hand has withdrawn from us, or that his eye has wandered.  We are destined for His greatness – His visibility through us.

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.)

Friday's Free Advice

I find it somewhat ironic (and perhaps a teeny bit frightening) that I decided to make Friday my big day for dishing out advice, seeing that I am not an authority or leading expert on anything (except for my own personal dysfunction).  I haven’t lived long enough nor have I collected nearly enough life experiences to fill your weeks with deep insights and "you ought to's".  Quite honestly, I feel a little pretentious as I sit here conjuring up this week’s free advice, scratching my head as to what possessed me to declare that Friday’s were going to be my “free advice” days in the first place.  What was I thinking?  Yet, I got this snowball started, so I guess I need to continue rolling away until I make it down the mountain (not even sure if that makes sense).  

Today’s “free advice”:  Do a little every day (housecleaning, that is). 

Because I “have it all together” and feel compelled to pass on these snippits of wisdom and knowledge, I have also come to realize that much of what I am advising is what I am personally feeling challenged to do, practice, and change in my own life.  Take, for example, housecleaning.  There was a time, in the not-so-distant past, when I practiced the art of doing a little cleaning throughout the week so that by the end of the week I wasn’t facing 1550 square feet of dirt, grime and laundry.  I was doing pretty well for a while, and then I started adding more to my life (another child included in that), and suddenly found myself pushing off the cleaning - procrastinating myself into a giant, filthy mess.

Last Saturday I literally spent the entire day cleaning, scrubbing, cooking, grocery shopping, vacuuming and washing multiple loads of laundry (which subsequently needed to be folded afterwards).  I was exhausted and ready to hit the hay by 7pm.  I wanted to kick myself for waiting to do it all in one day.  I realized I needed to start going back to what has worked for me in the past: taking on a little bit each day.

It kind of looks like this:

Monday – dusting and vacuuming

Tuesday – laundering clothes and vacuuming

Wednesday – laundering towels and vacuuming

Thursday – free day (which I desperately need) and, of course, vacuuming

Friday – bathrooms, laundering of washrags and kitchen towels and vacuuming

Saturday – groceries, laundering clothes and bed linens, kitchen, wash hardwood floors…and vacuuming

(As you can see, vacuuming is a daily chore at my house…and desperately needed.)

By breaking it up throughout the week I find that I am not so weary.  Some days are easier than others, but at least I’m not taking it all on in one day…that’s just unnecessary, especially with three young children running around.

What about you?  Have you tapped in to your inner housecleaning diva?  Do you have any tricks of the trade?  Please feel free to share your pearls of wisdom with the rest of us!

More Thoughts On Being Blessed

2 Corinthians 9:15

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"

A few months ago, I hammered out my thoughts on being blessed.  "What does it mean to be blessed?" was my question.  Revisiting the post, a wave of "writer's remorse" washed over me.  The thought seemed unfinished, but I needed more time to process and more time in God's word.  This is what I have since discovered in my quest to understand God's blessing: 

There are different kinds of blessings.  In this post, I am going to touch on the following:  Covenantal blessing, material and spiritual blessing, the blessedness of Christ and grace, and the cup of blessing. 

On the Covenant Blessing:

The covenant blessing signified God's promise and favor over His people (Deuteronomy 28:1-14).  This favor that God extended to His people was evidence of His graciousness towards them - a sign of His endless mercy and goodness.  At the same time, God's blessings were oftentimes contingent upon man's obedience to His laws as were His cursings a result of disobedience (Deuteronomy 30:15-20). 

There is also the covenant blessing God made to Abraham in Genesis:

Genesis 15:5

And He took him outside and said: "Now look toward the heavens, and count the stars, if you are able to count them."  And He said to him, "So shall your offspring be."

God made a pact with Abraham, being nearly one hundred years old, with no offspring of his own.  God took him outside, pointed to the vast and ominous heavens filled from one end of the sky to the next with stars, and promised Abraham that his offspring would be as many.  Abraham believed in the Lord.

Again in Genesis 17, God established a covenant between Himself, Abraham, and Abraham's descendants.

Genesis 17:7-8

I will establish my covenant as an everlasting covenant between me and you and your descendants after you for the generations to come, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you.  The whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you; and I will be their God.

On Material versus Spiritual Blessing:

In the Old Testament, material blessing was a result of God's favor upon His people and also their obedience.  God's hand of blessing and favor can be seen from the moment of creation.  He looked at what He had made, and He saw that it was good.  It was pleasing to Him.  He created man in His image, and again, He was pleased.  Then came the fall of man - disobedience - and the divine curse.  This curse not only touched the lives of man, but also that of God's creation entirely.  It is only because of God's graciousness and mercy towards man that restoration of relationship could be made.  Still, in order to live under that blessing, there had to be obedience.

While we do not live under the Old Testament law today, we can draw much from this example.  In the Old Testament, material blessing was the evidence that signified God's hand and favor on His people.  Today, while God may bring material blessings our way, the actual blessings a believer receives in return for their obedience, are spiritual.  A blessed life comes from the inside out, not the outside in.  God's hand and His favor are found most heavily upon those whose lives are fully surrendered and sacrificed to God.  It is not about those things that glitter and shine and please the physical eye, but what shines out from our innermost beings- who we are, not what we have.

The Blessedness of Christ:

And then, there is the blessing of Christ.  God gave us the gift of His Son, Jesus, which far surpasses any blessing that we could ever imagine.  "Thanks be to God for this indescribable gift!"  The treasure we have in salvation is more than we can fathom.  I know I look for validation of God's blessing in material things.   I, too, fall into the trap that financial success and wealth are a reflection, or result of, spiritual depth and closeness to God.  Because I don' t have that, I question whether or not I am living under God's favor.  Am I missing something?  Yet, looking at God's word, rediscovering the gift that takes the words right out of my mouth, I realize it has nothing to do with stuff, and everything to do with the blessing of God's Son.  Because of Jesus, I can be forgiven of my sins and no longer live under a curse.  Because of Jesus, even in suffering I know a peace that passes understanding.  And because of Jesus, I, in turn, can bless others.  There is nothing magical about God's blessing.  It is simply His grace poured out lavishly upon us.

Which brings me to my final thought:  The Cup of Blessing:

The ancient Jews had a custom in which they would conclude their meal with a prayer of thanksgiving over a cup of wine - "the cup of blessing".  In doing so, they acknowledged God as the Giver of all good gifts. 

As I have reflected upon this, my thoughts have been drawn to my family.  What cup of blessing am I passing down to my children?  Do they see God's blessing as superficial as a brand new toy, or lunch out at a fun restaurant?  Or am I teaching them the beauty of God's blessing from the inside out?  I see this cup of blessing as something that each generation passes down to the next.  My parents, godly and wise, raised me to know God, love God, and see His handiwork in every aspect of our lives.  My husband, as well, was raised in a home where godly principles and instruction were taught and modeled.  From one generation to the next, we pass the cup.  We pass the gift of Jesus down to our children, pray that they will receive this gift, and in turn pass it on to their children.  With the cup of blessing in hand, we are unshakable.  We know who we are.  We know to Whom we belong.  We understand profoundly who provides our daily bread, the roof over our head, the clothes on our backs.  We give thanks to the One who gave us breath and life.  Oh, what a blessing that is!  What a blessed life we have!  All those outward things can fade away, but the gift of Jesus Christ remains forever.  And that, more than riches and wealth, is the inheritance I want to pass on to my children and the generations to follow.  

Jesus is the blessing, and the blessing I long to hold on to all of my days.

"It's Not About Me"

“It’s not about me.” If I had a quarter for every time I’ve heard that statement - whether from notable church leaders, speakers, bloggers or just super gifted every-day people - I’d be a millionaire.  I caught myself today, as I was praying, saying that very same thing, “Lord, it’s not about me.”  (I, by the way, am not any of those things I just mentioned…just so we’re clear.)

You see, tomorrow morning I will be speaking to our Ladies’ Bible Study.  There are about one hundred or so women in this group.  For me…it might as well be a thousand, a million, or a trillion - you get the picture.  I’m nervous, excited, filled with anticipation and terror.  I believe God has dropped a very meaningful word into my heart to share with these women; however, because the vessel (that would be me) that God has chosen to use is flawed, prideful, insecure, and weak, I have serious doubts that I will be successful in the delivery.

And here is where the rubber meets the road.  As much as I want to be available, real, and obedient to God, regardless of how “well” I do, there is a very real part of me that wants to do a good great job.  I don’t want to get up there and flop, mostly because, well, my human nature kicks in and starts believing that it is about me.  I don’t want to look silly standing up there at the microphone, lose my place in my notes or say, “Um, um, um” one too many times.  To say, “Oh, it’s not about me” is not being completely altruistic.  And I would venture to say that this is a struggle for many people in leadership roles.

There is also a part of me that longs for the affirmation post-speaking.  If I share what the Lord has laid on my heart, that should be enough, right?  Yet here I am wrestling down the flesh in me that wants to flare up and take credit for anything that comes out of my mouth while at the same time not wanting it to be about me.  It’s a battle.

Here’s the thing - I really can’t take any credit for what God has placed on my heart OR the way in which He chooses for me to convey the lesson.  As I have been preparing, every bit of creativity, every deep point, and every “a-ha” moment in the message came directly from God…not my own resources.  This is where I can honestly say, “It’s not about me.”  God is allowing me to utilize certain gifts and abilities in the delivery, but the content?  All that came from Him.  Do I care if I mess up, fumble my words, or realize afterwards that my zipper was down the whole time?  You bet I do!  Why?  Because I’m human.  I’m just a woman full of insecurities and dysfunction.  I’ve got a long way to go.  And maybe someday I won’t measure my success in how well I deliver the message, but if I simply delivered what God asked me to.

I believe true humility is not cowering or walking around slump shouldered, but it is being no more and no less than, the person God created me to be.  So, today I am praying with all my heart that when I get up to speak tomorrow that I will humbly recognize that it is not about me but about Him.  I pray that He will get the glory, even if I don’t.  I pray that my heart will stay in check.  And I’m praying, also, for confidence and peace that I am doing what I was created to do, and love every minute of it.  (And please, Lord, don’t let me trip on the way up to the platform or lose my place in my notes - humility...not humiliation!)

No, it’s not about me.  But it is about Him working through me, and what a marvelous opportunity to get to participate in something like that!

Friday's Free Advice

And my Friday’s Free Advice for the day is…(drum roll please)…  

Pursue your passions!

Yikes!  What the heck does that mean?  (Seriously, we could go in several different directions with this.  Especially since I just got home from MomsConnect, and the topic of discussion was “ways to spice up your marriage”.)

Allow me to clarify: find out what your God-given passion is, and then pursue it with all of your heart.

My first and foremost passion is God: 

Deuteronomy 6:5

Love the LORD your God with all your heart (passion) and with all your soul and with all your strength.

My second passion is for my husband:

Genesis 2:24

A man will leave his father and mother and be united (cleave) to his wife, and they will become one flesh.

Thirdly, I am passionate about raising my children to know and love God, each other, and live lives of integrity.

Proverbs 22:6

Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.

Beyond these first three priorities in my life, I believe God created me for something very specific.  In fact, I truly believe each and every person on the planet was created and designed for a purpose tailor-made just for them.  God has plans for us, my friends!  That excites me!  Does it excite you?

Sometimes the challenge comes, not from whether or not we believe we were created for a purpose, but from not having a clear picture of what that purpose is.  My $.02 for you today?  Do everything you can to uncover and discover all that God has intended for you.  A good place to start is by going through the book SHAPE, by Erik E. Rees.  (I took a class based on this book through my church recently – it was a powerful journey, let me tell you!)

Once you have a clear idea of what you are passionate about (and you may already know what that “thing” is but perhaps have been too afraid to declare it or step out and try it) I would encourage you to do two things:

• Find a mentor (someone you trust, respect, admire, and who’s walking a few steps ahead of you in the journey) -  Have them coach you through the process of discovery.

• Look for ways to put your passion to practice. - I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, and again, and again (you get the picture); writing is my passion, and that is why I have this silly, little blog.   I am also passionate about working and investing in the lives of other women, thus why I am active in the women's ministry at our church.  I’m learning to put my passion into practice. 

By doing these two things, it is really hard to tell what doors God will open up to you next.  “Do not despise the day of small beginnings,” Zechariah 4:10 (paraphrased).  Where once there was a tiny seed, there will, one day, be a giant oak tree. 

Don’t be afraid to step up and out. 

Seize your moment…

Give God your life…

And pursue your passions with all of your heart!

Culture Shock

I'm a mom, and I blog, but I wouldn’t call myself a “mom blogger”.  

About three years ago, a friend of mine shared a little secret with me.  Her secret?  She had started a blog.  (I vaguely remembered another friend, several years prior to that, telling me the same thing, although I believe she had referred to hers as a website.)  In any case, I did an internal roll of the eyes and tuned her out.  I tried to put on my best listening face, but I’m sure the fuzzy glazed look in my eyes was all too obvious, because my dear friend never brought up her blog again.  Who knew that a few years later I would start my own (maybe my blog should be named “Humbling…me” rather than “Simplifying…me”)? 

In any case, one statement that stuck with me from our brief “blogging” conversation was that through her blog she had discovered an entirely new culture of people out there in the web-o-sphere.  Blogging was more than just writing and pasting pictures on a website, but was an actual way of life for multitudes of people - specifically, moms.

After doing this blogging thing for almost a year, I’m beginning to see what my friend was talking about: the culture of the mom blogger.  I’ll be very frank here: as much as I enjoy writing and pouring out from both deep and shallow ends of this brain pool, I don’t see myself as a blogger, and I often feel that I am experiencing a type of culture shock. 

Growing up in Kenya, I was an American living in Africa.  With as much exposure I had to the culture of that country, I was never a Kenyan.  When we returned to the States, my homeland, I could relate to a small degree with peers my age, but felt like a duck out of water 90% of the time. 

When I moved to France, I really wanted to immerse myself in the culture.  I wanted to become as French as I possibly could without becoming weird.  I did well my first six months, diligently working on language skills and French etiquette.  Then, one day I woke up, looked in the mirror at my American frame, tired eyes and greasy hair (I had been asked to refrain from showering every day as it was seen as a waste of water…not kidding here!), and realized I was French-fried.  I’d had it.  I was done with stinky armpits and unmanageable hair.  I was sick and tired of sitting down to dinner at eight or nine o’clock at night, only to spend the following thirty minutes talking about the food rather than eating the food (can we dig in already…I’m starving!).  As much as I wanted to be European chic, it just wasn’t in me.  I came to grips with my American/African/wanna-be-European-ness and decided to be myself: wearing GAP, shaving my legs, and washing my hair every day. 

Yet, here I am again, feeling like a duck out of water.  In my pursuit of chasing the blog dream, I have been confronted with the realization that - unlike a large percentage of mom bloggers - I don’t home school; I don’t have 10+ kids (that might be a slight exaggeration, but not too far from the truth); I don’t have a home business; I’m not frugal (although I’m growing in that area); and my internet proficiency goes as far as “cut, paste, e-mail and send”.  I blog to write.  That’s it. 

I see the importance of networking, but I find myself unable to relate to all these mom bloggers out there.  (Twitter is going to be my undoing for certain!)  There are groups and lingo, hashtags and conferences and multiple posts uploaded all day long, and I don’t have the time to read, comment, follow, carpool, manage children, cook dinner, do ministry prep, keep a house clean and a hubby contented all at the same time.  I wonder…are these women wearing their computers in a baby sling so that they can tweet every other minute while searching for “hot deals” and recipes online, blog about their lives, while changing diapers, teaching arithmetic and producing Martha Stuart-like snacks to their wee-ones? 

Before I burn any bridges and hurt feelings, let me stop right here.  It may seem that these women and I share little to no common ground.  I have three kids, and I feel like I’m managing Noah’s ark.  My children go to school outside the home.  My husband is a pastor, and I feel immensely blessed to partner with him in this calling.  My cooking skills leave much to be desired, but as my hubby puts it, “Hey, I’m not complaining because I didn’t have to make it.  It’s food.  That’s all that counts.”  (Thumbs up to the best and skinniest man in the whole world!)  I abhor doing crafts (too messy for me), and I’m not all that thrifty.  Still, I do believe I share something special with all of the supermom-bloggers out there.  We are kindred in our desire to raise responsible children, to love and support our husbands, pursue our passions, steward our money wisely, and reach out to other moms all over the country/world.  Can we relate 100% with each other?  No.  But in matters of the heart and values that truly count- yes, we can. 

This culture shock and my own insecurity might always be there, but at least I can appreciate the beauty around me, just as I learned to do with my life in France.  I lived in France, but I wouldn’t call myself “French”.  I'm a mom, and I blog, but I wouldn’t call myself a “mom blogger”.  However, I am open and willing to learn, grow, and make some new friends in this vast, sub-culture world of the blogging mom.

What about you?  Do you blog?  Are you a blogging mom?  Are you fully immersed in the blogging culture?  Or are you like me…standing with one foot in and one foot out?  Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions on the matter.  We may actually have something in common!

Stop And Enjoy The Potty Stops

Last week I was one twitch away from losing my sanity when, as I was driving to pick Sydney up from school, Brooklyn piped up from behind me, “I need to go potty.”  Which triggered something in Jackson and he echoed her plea, “I need to go potty, too!”  Even with the destination two minutes away, they ruthlessly insisted that they could not hold it…they needed to go “noooowww”.  

After I scrunched up my mouth, producing what can only be called the “Ugly Mommy Face”, I exhaled loudly and began searching for a feasible pit stop.  Nothing.  We continued driving.  The full bladder cries from the backseat intensified.  I kept driving, stressed out, darting my eyes here and there searching for a McDonald’s or Burger King…anything.  We made it to Sydney’s school parking lot where I parked the car and unloaded my two potty-dancing monkeys in the pouring rain.  They laughed, cheered, and thought this was the best adventure they’d ever had.  I, on the other hand, wanted to get inside the school building and find a bathroom before an “Oops!  Potty-in-the-pants” moment occurred.

When we made it back to the car, empty bladders and happy faces with 30 minutes to spare before Sydney would be let out of school, I sat back in my seat and thought further about this little adventure.  Why do I always feel like I’m in a hurry?  Why is my life a constant frenzy of panic and worry that I’m going to miss out on something or be late?  How is it that my children can turn a potty stop into Disney World bliss? 

Here’s why.  Children know how to live in a perpetual state of joy.  Every little thing in their lives is a reason for celebration.  Putting pee-pee in the potty, tying shoes, making beds, dressing themselves, cracking the eggs for the cookies we make, picking up their toys, and watching the neighbor walk his dog are all reasons to get down and shake their booties.  I wish I could look at life that way.  I wish I could pay my bills with a smile on my face and thanksgiving in my heart that we have the ability to pay them rather than grumble and grunt my way through.  Or twirl and sing when I’ve successfully folded a mountain of laundry, cooked a homemade meal, and swept the floors.  I think I am sorely deficient in celebrating the little things in life.

In the book, “The Life You’ve Always Wanted”, John Ortberg writes:

“God is the happiest being in the universe.  We will not understand God until we understand this about him.  God also knows sorrow and grief.  But the sorrow of GOD, like the anger of God, is his temporary response to a fallen world.  The sorrow will be banished forever from his heart on the day the world is set right.  Joy is God’s basic character.  Joy is his eternal destiny.  And God’s intent was that his creation would mirror his joy.”

I am challenged to stop hurrying my way through life, and take time to stop and enjoy the potty stops.  With my children as an example, who are experts at celebrating the little things, I want to grant myself permission to relish in the joys of motherhood, pat myself on the back once in a while for cleaning toilets and cooking dinner, and not allow myself to get bent out of shape when I hear “I need to go potty” from the backseat of the car.  Rather, I want to rejoice in the fact that I don’t change diapers anymore (which is cause for celebration for sure).  I want to sing in the rain (with a good, sturdy umbrella) and bask in the rays of pure joy. 

We have so much to celebrate - too many blessings to count.  I want to remember that life is a gift; life is about embracing the good and bad as whole, and remembering the One who holds me tightly in His grasp.  I want to be a mirror’s reflection of the One who takes joy in me. 

Psalm 28:7

The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.  My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to Him in song.

Friday's Free Advice

Read a book.  

That’s it.  Read a book. 

Oh…perhaps I should be a little more specific. 

Read a good piece of fiction. 

I like to read.  In fact, I like to read a lot.  Before I was married and had children, I was always reading something.  I wouldn’t classify myself as a bookworm, but I definitely take great pleasure in soaking up great literature.  My life as a mom has limited the scope of my reading.  These days I find myself flipping through the pages of Dr. Dobson’s “Strong-Willed Child” and “Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood”,  both of which I highly recommend.  And, if my nose isn’t in one of those books, you can easily find me sniffing away through one of several spiritual growth and leadership development books.  Between my job as a mom, my role as a wife, my passion for ministry and deep desire to grow in all three of these areas, by the time my kids are down for the night I don’t have very many active brain cells left.  I’m pretty much tapped out.

Last spring I challenged myself to read Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina”.  I didn’t care how long it took me to read it.  I was determined to plow my way through.  In the past I have felt guilty granting myself permission to read something simply for the fun of it.  I mean, really.  Who has the time?  Then I realized something quite simple.  I have to make the time, and stop feeling guilty about it. 

It took me four months to read “Anna Karenina” (even admitting how long it took me to read this book is a tad bit humiliating, to say the least).  There were some days I could only get through about two pages.  My eyes would start criss-crossing and the next thing I knew I was drifting off to “la, la land”.  Still, I tried to read a little bit every day. 

For me, thrusting myself into a great story is a form of pampering.  I absolutely love to get caught up in characters and plot, suspense and intrigue, lapping up and chewing on the rich words of the storyteller.  It takes me away, causes me to use my imagination and stretches out the tired muscles in my head. 

My advice, read a good fictional piece of literature.  Be good to yourself.  Enjoy thirty minutes of a good story. 

I know it can appear unproductive and wasteful, but let me give you something to think about for a minute.  We’re all about balance these days, right?  We work hard to prioritize, juggle, multi-task, etc., in order to attain a semblance of balance.  In my opinion, a balanced life knows how to play too.  It knows how to take care of itself so it doesn’t burn out.  For me, and perhaps for you too, reading something for the pleasure of reading is how I keep a little balance in my life. 

I just finished “The Lovely Bones”, by Alice Sebold, and I’m currently looking for my next fictional read.  My goal is to incorporate four fictional pieces of literature into the mixture of other books I am reading through the year.  Maybe you’ve already learned how to strike a balance in this.  I know I tend to be a slow learner.  So, tell me, what books are you reading right now?  Have you read anything good lately?  Is there something you would recommend?  Feel free to share it…I would love to hear your feedback.

In the meantime…read on, my friends.

Distracted

I knew something wasn’t quite right when I heard Jackson squealing with unabashed delight from the other room.  My first mistake was being in the other room.  My second mistake was allowing myself to be distracted by the ever-important task of plucking my eyebrows.  Realizing the inspiration for Jackson’s joy couldn’t possibly be the zillionth re-play of “Dora’s Search For Squeaky”, but had to be something potentially dangerous or illegal (as in, illegal in the Slater home), I dropped the tweezers and ran.  

Sure enough, I was welcomed into the playroom with a white carpet entrance brought to me by Jackson and two completely unraveled rolls of toilet paper.  Not a happy moment for Mommy.  Toilet paper is a precious commodity at chez moi.  Taking a deep, deep breath, I exhaled and, in good Love and Logic fashion, began singing, “Uh-oh” (picking Jackson up), “so sad” (keep breathing, Amy), “I guess we need a little bedroom time” (more for Mommy’s sake than yours right now, little buddy).  I plopped him, kicking and screaming, into his bed.  “When you’re sweet (and after I’ve recovered), you can join us in the playroom.”  Lesson learned:  I will not allow myself to be distracted by unruly eyebrows ever again.

As I was re-rolling toilet paper (like I said, TP is a precious commodity) to the sound of Jackson’s cries for mercy from his bedroom, I recalled another time when this good intentioned Mommy was distracted, and the mayhem that followed. 

The house was suddenly very quiet.  My (then) three-year-old and two-year-old were nowhere to be seen or heard.  My distraction this time was nursing infant Jackson.  Wearing my son, literally, I went in search of where the silence was coming from.  Calling to the girls, I tracked them down by their giggles.  (Giggles coming from behind a closed door is never a good sign.)  When I opened their closet door, I was welcomed, again, by something white.  This time, there were white clouds of baby powder billowing and falling like snowflakes in the air.  Sydney had stripped down to her panties and proceeded to shake the Costco-sized bottle of baby powder all over herself, her sister, and every other poor, unfortunate object in their closet.  Brooklyn’s face was a mask of white. 

What’s a mom to do?  I put Jackson down, reached for my camera, and took a snapshot for posterity sake. 

 

Truth be told, I get distracted a lot.  I start getting into decorating mode and lose myself to tweaking my knick-knacks and Pottery Barn catalogs.  I jump on the computer to look for a recipe, read a blog, or see what my Facebook friends are up to, and I end up sucked in to the ways of the web.  I go to my closet to find something to wear…and I never come out because…I’m still trying to find something to wear.  The distractions are endless, and my kids know this.  They have a sixth sense about these things, and intuition tells me that they live for these distracting moments. 

Distractions can be our undoing.  Whether they are in parenting, in our relationships, or even in our pursuit of God.  It is too easy to get sidetracked and eventually knocked off track all together.

How do we keep ourselves from falling victim to distractions?  I can’t say that I’m an expert on this; however, one thing I know for sure, starting the day with time alone with God does wonders in keeping life on track.  I’m also learning that having a clear and specific goal in mind helps me to stay on course because I know where I’m headed.  Additionally, I believe it’s important to allow myself time to do random, time-wasting activities (but not when Jackson is awake, as evidenced by the toilet paper incident this morning). 

I realize, however, that some distractions are unavoidable.  Life happens, right?  Another key thing that I am learning is to roll with the punches.  I do the best I can with what I have before me.  Like I am trying to teach my kids, you don’t have to be the best, just do the best you can.  Set the goals, make appropriate choices, give yourself a break every now-and-then, and leave a little wiggle room for whatever life happens to throw your way.

Morning Rejoicing - My Brookie

“Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” – Psalm 30:5

Brooklyn is the rejoicing that comes in the morning.

As the sun wakes up and ushers in the dawn, my little Brookie’s eyes pop open with a twinkle and a smile.  She is love and hugs and a kiss on the cheek before the words “good morning” leave her mouth.  She twirls through life, as though there is perpetual music playing in her head all day long.  She is my cuddle bug, my “Oh Mommy, you’re loo-lee-ful (beautiful)”, my twenty questions throughout the day, my hot cocoa addict and my big, brown-eyed darling wrapped up in a fuzzy purple robe.  She is a treasure.

I lost a baby in February 2004.  I was heartbroken, as only those who have lost a baby can truly understand.  I wanted that baby so much.  I wanted to know why God would allow a pregnancy to end after ten weeks.

Three months later we were expecting once again.  Our due date was February 2005.

Brooklyn Ava-Marie was born on Tuesday, February 8, 2005.

Brooklyn’s full name means: “beautiful waterfall; running stream; giver of life; bitter sea”.  In the midst of a bitter season in our lives, this beautiful, life-giving stream was born into our family.  For five years she has blessed us with hugs, kisses and unconditional love.  My morning of rejoicing.

Brookie, I am captivated by your wide-eyed innocence, your love for babies and puppies and early morning songs.  That you know the words to “Pocket Full of Sunshine” by heart is no surprise to me.  I am so grateful that God gave you to our family.  I am so blessed beyond my wildest hopes and lifelong dreams to get to see your sweet smile every day.

You are my precious girl, and today I celebrate your life!

Friday's Free Advice

I love to be pampered.  Let me repeat myself: I love to be pampered.  I can’t think of any better gift than a spa package, complete with massage, facial, mani, pedi, an “I can’t get my nose out of this” kind of book, and a venti something in my hand.  Stuff like this makes me giddy, and by nature, I am not a girl that gets “giddy”.  However, putting my feet up and allowing someone to rub my worries away for sixty minutes, is the quickest way to my heart.   

It didn’t take too long for my husband to figure this out.  When, after one gift-giving mishap, he gained significant insight into what makes me tick, and he hasn’t let me down since.  Now, while I love a good massage, things like bills, groceries, gas money, (you get the picture) seem to take a financial priority to that of spa days and pedicures.  Still, I have these needs.  I can’t help myself.  So, what’s a girl like me to do?

Well, I have learned the art of self-pampering.  I do believe that it is possible to carve out time amidst piles of laundry, dusting, vacuuming, nap times, snack times, sibling rivalries, writing, and dinner making.  Some days it is as simple as making myself a hot cup of coffee or tea in the afternoon, and pausing for five or ten minutes.  Anything to bring myself back into focus - centered, rejuvenated - and ready to keep plowing through the never-ending list of chores and motherly responsibilities.

I can’t claim to be an expert, by any means, but because of my love for pampering, I have come up with various and creative ways to make sure this need of mine gets met.  Thus, I have decided to make Fridays my Free Advice days.  You can take it or leave it, it’s up to you, but I’m going to throw my two cents out there anyway (does that still make it free?).

My first Friday Free Advice is communicating to your spouse, significant other or a family member, what makes you tick – what replenishes you and fills your love tank.  In order to successfully do this, you need to know what your love language is.  And you can find that out by taking this test.  It can be completed in about five minutes, or less.  Next, share your results.  Your husband may want to take it too.  Believe me, discovering our different love languages (I highly recommend “The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman), revolutionized my marriage.  Suddenly, we knew how to love each other in the unique ways we receive love.

In any case, sometimes the first step to successful pampering, is to know what it is you need, and then communicate it (appropriately) with those closest to you.  When I’ve had a bad hair day, the best thing my husband can do for me is wrap me up in his big, strong arms and hold me for a while, no words necessary.  

Have fun discovering your love language, and don’t forget to share it!

Hard Things

I’ve done one or two difficult things in my life.  And by difficult, I mean, things that pushed me beyond my comfort zone and meant taking a risk.  I moved to France in August of 1999.  I lived with a woman who spoke zero English (nada, zilch…not one word of my native tongue).  I bought a wedding dress before I even had a steady boyfriend (call me crazy…I’m sure lots of people did).  I’ve climbed a mountain (okay, it was a small mountain, but it still counts because when I looked down into its crater and felt my stomach swirl and flop there was no questioning we were at a much higher altitude than your average, run-of-the-mill hill).  I’ve done a little public speaking (which I have recently learned that 95% of public speakers experience nervousness and anxiety to some degree).  And I birthed my last child sans drugs.  It was completely au natural, and I remember it like it was yesterday, believe me.   

Like I said, I haven’t done too many hard things, which really only means I’ve been playing it safe my whole life.  Too safe.  I’m not an adventure seeker, and you will never see me on Survivor, Amazing Race, or hanging out with the likes of Bear Grylls and the National Geographic crew.  You can forget about that.  I’m not one looking for the next thrill, but I am one who wants to live a thrilling life.  I want to be one who lives out her faith and is willing to take the chances that God brings my way.  I could easily stay on the sidelines and enjoy the comfort and security of where I am currently, but I believe if I want true blessing and an extraordinary life, then I need to start stepping out and doing a few difficult things.

Sunday was our missions faith-promise Sunday.  Each person/family was challenged (but not obligated) to commit a certain amount of money each month, throughout the year, for missions.  In addition to that, we were given the opportunity to participate in planting 250 churches in Ethiopia.  And in addition to that, we were given a challenge to participate with Convoy of Hope and bring one day’s salary as an offering on Easter Sunday that will go towards “One Day To Feed The World”.  Wow.  As I sat in my seat that morning, I could feel the wrestling match going on in my head and in my stomach.  “But God…it’s been such a hard year.  You can’t really be asking us to do all this?”  “God, I’m not sure I have enough faith.  I believe you can do anything, and I believe you can supply, but…this?  Really?”

And then something else happened.  As clear as day, I recalled what I sensed God whisper to me in the wee hours of that same morning, “Amy, trust me.  Amy, stop worrying about tomorrow.  Take care of today.  Focus on today.  Trust me with the tomorrows.”

And suddenly, I knew.  We couldn’t sit on the sidelines and simply watch while others stepped out in courageous faith.  We had to step out too.  We had to place all of our fears and uncertainties and, “how are we going to do this?” questions on the altar along with our faith promise commitments. 

This was one of those hard things.  Hard, as in, “God you have called us to do this, to step out in faith, and now we surrender to you…to the unknown path we walk.”

On the way home from church, Sydney called to me from the back seat, “Hey Mom! Would you break my piggy bank when we get home?”  

“Why, Honey?”

“I want to give all my money to help the people in Haiti.”

My heart melted.  And I realized something very profound: if Joel and I want to raise children with hearts for giving, then we must model giving.  For Sydney, this was so simple…nothing hard about it at all.  In fact, to her, giving is a delight.  Even for myself, giving this time was a joy, even though it was a step of faith.  I truly felt what it means to be a cheerful giver.

My family is on a mission: a mission to change the world, one small step at a time.  We will not shy away from the difficult tasks, but we will accept the challenges God brings our way and live lives with purpose and courageous faith.  We will do the hard things.

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.

Drop The Ball

Everyone deals with stress in their own special way.  Some people lash out and attack, while some withdraw and end up with stomach ulcers.  Others cry or spend money they don’t have, or pick up old habits they beat years ago.  For me, if you want to know the degree of stress I'm under, all you need do is take a look at my house.  When stressed, my house falls apart.  Clutter, which I hate as much as going to the dentist, fills every empty space, every drawer, and every closet.  I literally freeze up while piles of paper accumulate in the kitchen, dining room, office, and bedroom.  I find facing the menial tasks before me a challenge because all my energy and focus is on the issue at hand.  

For a little over a month, Joel and I were under a tremendous weight of stress.  There are stressors every day, but this was out-of-the-ordinary kind of stress.  We had some major decisions to make, and quite honestly, it was all I could do to just walk out the door with my hair done and a smile on my face.  My poor house sat neglected for weeks.  (I suppose I should set a disclaimer here that my house did not go without being cleaned for two months - I can only neglect to a point – but stacks and stacks of clutter, clothes, papers, etc., were accumulating, and I hadn’t an ounce of motivation to face them and clean them up.)  It wasn’t until earlier this week that closure was made on this particular decision we were facing.  Suddenly, it was as though I had lost twenty pounds.  The burden and the stress began to ripple off my back, and I felt my old-self climbing up out of clutter.

And you can only guess what happened next.  Yep.  This house is in major de-clutter mode.  The other morning I pulled every file out of our filing drawer and began re-organizing, purging, and filing (filing, filing, filing) all the papers, bills and statements that had been collecting dust in our dining room.  And my favorite part has been throwing miscellaneous papers, envelopes, and forgotten art projects away.  I feel great…and I’ve only just begun.  Slowly but surely, my home will be back in working order.

Which brings me to my point in sharing this little insight into my stress management, or lack thereof.  There are seasons in our lives that sometimes overwhelm and bear down so hard on us that it’s all we can do to simply get up and out of bed in the morning.  Have you ever faced a time like this?  I have.  And too often, when we are in those seasons, what compounds the difficulty is the stress we feel from outside expectations – that we have to keep all the balls in the air in spite of the pain or grief or depression…or whatever it is we are facing.  And I just want to say, it’s okay to drop a couple of balls now and then.  It’s okay to let the loose ends remain loose for a while.  I’m not a real fan of a dirty, cluttery house (just ask Joel…he loves to tease me about my obsessive compulsive tendencies), but there are times when my focus and energy are pushed so far in one direction that something’s gotta give.  Something needs to go by the wayside until the pressure has passed and I sense relief. 

I’m not encouraging a life void of discipline, but when a life is in crisis, or under heavy stress, I am encouraging a life void of unnecessary pressures.  Because, my friends, if you are going through a dark season right now, and you haven’t given yourself any wiggle room to let go of a few things, then I strongly believe you are setting yourself up to snap.  And I would sure hate it if someone I knew, or someone who reads this blog, ended up falling apart into a million pieces. 

You know, God’s not expecting perfection.  He’s already got that one in the bag.  If you are at your breaking point, He just wants you to come as you are – frail and weak.  I think He’d tell you the same thing that I’m trying to tell you:  that it’s okay to drop a few of those balls you’ve been frantically juggling, and let Him take care of you.  Eventually, when this tough patch has cleared, and you find yourself on the other side, whole and renewed, then you can pick those balls back up.  You can jump back into your life, but this time complete…restored.

Believe me, I share this because I’ve experienced the breaking point, and it’s not somewhere I ever want to revisit.  That’s why the papers will pile up every now and then, the closets will look like a bomb went off in them, and our junk drawer will look like a junk yard.  I’m learning to quit the juggling act and allow God to hold on to the balls for me because when I’ve overcome the obstacle in my way, the balls will always be waiting for me on the other side, and I’ll be in much better shape to handle them.

Asking "Why" About Haiti

I love the wild and unpretentious things that spring forth from my children’s mouths like, "Mommy, when you're mad your eyes get red!"  Or “Mommy, I put pee pee in the potty!  I’m a big boy!  You put pee pee in the potty too!  You a big girl!” - such sweet innocence.  Sometimes their simplistic views and profound observations make me smile.  I love to listen to my children discover life – taking in all the wonderment of this world they occupy.  

However, recently Sydney has been asking some pretty deep questions.  Much, much heavier content than, “Why do you wear make-up?” and “Do I really have to be a grown up someday?”  Lately the questions she’s been throwing my way have been inspired by the tragedy in Haiti.  “Did God make the earthquake?”  “Why did it happen?”  “Why did God let it happen?”  “Did those people do something wrong?”  Joel and I are not ones to throw petty answers at our children when they ask us tough questions, realizing at the same time, we need to keep our answers 6-year-old friendly.

As I was forming a response in my head, I felt overwhelmed.  How do I explain that the same God we have taught her about since she was squirming around in my womb - the God who is loving, compassionate, our protector, Who has good things for His children, Whom she has invited into her life - would allow an earthquake to trample a city to the ground, killing thousands upon thousands of men, women and children?  How do I explain the character of God to a 6-year-old, without confusing or skewing the image of such a gracious, merciful and forgiving Heavenly Father? 

Sorting out the best way to answer, I started thinking about the people who don’t believe in God at all.  Perhaps they are asking the same questions as my little girl.  What would I say to them?

Here is the response I came up with:

God is good, but sometimes, bad things happen.  Sometimes God allows tragedy because He knows what is best for us.  Just like I allow Sydney to make mistakes, knowing full well the consequence in the end will not be a pleasant one.  While God is in control of all the earth and everything in it, He still gives it permission to operate, rotate, breathe in and breathe out, fulfilling its cycles as it was created to do. 

Could He have saved those who perished?  Yes.  He could have.  Was He punishing them, and therefore chose not to save them?  No.  While He could have swooped in and protected each one of the earthquake victims, God chose not to.  And quite honestly, we’ll never know why or understand fully as long as we’re living on earth.  That’s a tough answer to swallow.  We like to know why.  We like to understand and rationalize and make sense of uncertainties.  It is very difficult to settle with the fact that we won’t always know why.

Here’s the thing.  Life is precious to God.  His character will always be good, righteous, holy and pure.  But we live in a broken world.  When Adam and Even chose to disobey the one command God gave to them in the Garden of Eden, sin entered into the picture…and life has never been the same.  Bad things are going to happen.  Good and bad people alike will suffer here on earth.  Even Christians will suffer. 

Could it be, though, that God sees a picture far, far bigger than the one we are looking at right now?  Could it be that from the devastation good will emerge?  Love will bloom where once it had no root?  That those who’s hearts were hardened to God, may, in fact, be melting at this very moment?  It’s difficult to imagine that anything good could come from this, but I don’t see all the details, or the full scope of the image God sees.  Could it be that while we are searching to understand why, God is already at work answering our questions, opening up our eyes to His panoramic view, little by little?  And while we may never see it fully, we may at least catch a tiny glimpse of the image God sees, and realize He was always good, and He was there the whole time.

I think it’s great to ask why, and I’m so touched that Sydney would feel comfortable to ask such questions of me, and my husband.  Sometimes I might be able to give a clear-cut answer, but other times, like this, I won’t.  She’ll have to learn to settle for the fact that not all “whys” have answers.  She’ll have to wrestle with it on her own, just as all of us do.  But the one thing I pray she will hold on to for her entire life is that God is good…no matter what.