Last night, I was reading a bit of "Crazy Love" by Francis Chan-- ALWAYS a challenge. The chapter I read was encouraging me to stress less. He defined that "stress says that the things we are involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace toward others, or our tight grip of control." He went on to say that being stressed conveys that "It's okay to sin and not trust God because the stuff in my life is somehow exceptional" and that it reeks of arrogance. Man!
So I did something I don't usually do. I hand wrote 3 Bible verses, cut them out, and taped them up around my kitchen (aka my office). They are:
1) This is the day that the Lord has made. I WILL rejoice and be glad in it.
2) Rejoice in the Lord ALWAYS and again I say rejoice.
3) The joy of the Lord is my strength.
A few months ago, we emptied our savings to put a new engine in our only vehicle.
A week ago, that same vehicle's engine acquired a hard knock. So it's in the shop now, awaiting an official prognosis. We're not optimistic. Thankfully, our savings is up to where we could handle a pretty decent blow. Again.
This morning, I washed a load of towels in our sounds-like-death washer. When I put them in the dryer, it wouldn't spin. We had plenty of heat, but no turning action.
Really?
I remembered to those blasted verses I had posted no more than 12 hours earlier and thought about how God is a funny guy. But in all seriousness, I was able to take the hit in stride and with a sense of joy. I am worthy of testing :) And I'm excited to see how God pulls through.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Break the Mirror
I can't seem to lose this baby weight.
My teeth make me look like a redneck.
I have a "muffin top" that just won't seem to go away.
Stupid acne.
If only my teeth were straighter/whiter.
I hate hate hate my varicose veins.
Leave the house without makeup? Ha!
I have more stretch marks than the elastic in the pants I have to wear.
My hair is too frizzy.
Ugh, wrinkles.
I just can't seem to shed these last, stubborn 20 pounds.
Does any of this sound familiar?
Why do we want to change these things? Often, the things we hate the most about our appearance are things we can do nothing about-- the shape or size of your nose. The way your second toe is longer than your big toe. Dimples. Wrinkles. Freckles. The thickness of your hair (or lack thereof). Your crooked pinky finger.
I happen to know a sweet soul who has visible rolls of fat on her thighs, an abnormally big head, is bald, and has only gums to bear her smiles. I realize she doesn't sound pretty, but she is absolutely one of the most beautiful people I know. Her name is Ezra, and she's my 2-month-old daughter. Talk about perspective, huh :)
It's almost laughable to think of a baby's physical characteristics as ugly or inexcusable. But I have to wonder how God sees His girls. Maybe He doesn't see a few extra pounds, stretch marks and varicose veins, but instead sees a woman He called and equipped to motherhood. Or if maybe He views the woman who's morbidly obese as His precious princess who struggles with overeating or maybe is still unable to cope with the molestation she endured as a child.
The Bible doesn't mention these things specifically. But through the eyes of a loving parent, I can begin to imagine what God may see.
Take, for instance, my 4-year-old daughter who has been richly gifted with external beauty. I can imagine her on the playground with her little girlfriends, scrutinizing their "flaws." All it would take is one little girl spreading the viral idea that "dimples are ugly" to send my daughter home in tears, thinking she is somehow worth less than her friends because of her dimples-- one of my favorite features!!
I think God winces at the entire concept of air brushing. We do it to people to make them look better (according to who?), and the effect is that none of us can ever equate to that standard. Feeling ugly because we don't look like the cover girl on Cosmo is as logical as my dog wanting to look like the star of Blues Clues.
God wants so much more than that for His girls. Proverbs 4:23 says, "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." How can we love other people and help them see what God sees if our own hearts are filled with disdain for ourselves? We don't allow even ourselves to see our created beauty because we're so wrapped up in the flaws we're told to look at. Our "dimples" if you will.
I was recently in a wedding as a bride's maid-- three weeks after birthing a baby. Talk about self conscious! Anyway, we carpooled to the salon in the morning to have our hair beautified. Until then, I didn't know my hair could look so way cool. It's a drab shade of dish water. And when it's not tied up for cooking, cleaning, or Play-doh, it hangs heavily down in a very boring, frizzy, no-layer-type fashion. But in its up-do, it had shrieks of highlights and twistiness. Very fun.
Then I had makeup applied to my face (since I don't wear it otherwise, and can't tell eyeliner from lip liner) with a subtle but flattering look. I was of course wearing a fun, pretty dress and had AMAZING Converse All Star shoes to complete the look of "Glam Meets Fun."
Adding all those things together should have granted me a sense royalty. And part of me did feel cute and wonderfully beautiful. But the few times my eyes met a mirror, my heart heaved a deep sigh if disapproval. Every bit of beauty that could be accentuated WAS, and it still wasn't enough. I observed attributes like the weird shape of my nose, wrinkles creasing my face, and other "flaws" that I've come to hate.
I found it impossible to give myself permission to just feel pretty. Even for the day.
The truth is that we have an enemy (and it's not Society :) ). There's a blanket of shame that he somehow gets us to hide behind. We can never get to a place where we feel truly beautiful. And if we ever do brush against the feeling of beauty, we dismiss the idea as fantasy or vanity. "Who am I to say I'm pretty?"
My encouragement to you today is to live like you're really His girl.
If my daughter has any "flaws," I truly don't know what they are. I love everything about her-- from her dimples to her moles and freckles to her little toenails. None of those things are imperfections to me. They're just things that are unique to her.
I myself need to stop looking at mirrors, and make the choice to look into His face and run to His arms instead. They are open, accepting, and will tell me I'm beautiful as much as I will hear it.
Psalm 45:10-11 "Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord."
My teeth make me look like a redneck.
I have a "muffin top" that just won't seem to go away.
Stupid acne.
If only my teeth were straighter/whiter.
I hate hate hate my varicose veins.
Leave the house without makeup? Ha!
I have more stretch marks than the elastic in the pants I have to wear.
My hair is too frizzy.
Ugh, wrinkles.
I just can't seem to shed these last, stubborn 20 pounds.
Does any of this sound familiar?
Why do we want to change these things? Often, the things we hate the most about our appearance are things we can do nothing about-- the shape or size of your nose. The way your second toe is longer than your big toe. Dimples. Wrinkles. Freckles. The thickness of your hair (or lack thereof). Your crooked pinky finger.
I happen to know a sweet soul who has visible rolls of fat on her thighs, an abnormally big head, is bald, and has only gums to bear her smiles. I realize she doesn't sound pretty, but she is absolutely one of the most beautiful people I know. Her name is Ezra, and she's my 2-month-old daughter. Talk about perspective, huh :)
It's almost laughable to think of a baby's physical characteristics as ugly or inexcusable. But I have to wonder how God sees His girls. Maybe He doesn't see a few extra pounds, stretch marks and varicose veins, but instead sees a woman He called and equipped to motherhood. Or if maybe He views the woman who's morbidly obese as His precious princess who struggles with overeating or maybe is still unable to cope with the molestation she endured as a child.
The Bible doesn't mention these things specifically. But through the eyes of a loving parent, I can begin to imagine what God may see.
Take, for instance, my 4-year-old daughter who has been richly gifted with external beauty. I can imagine her on the playground with her little girlfriends, scrutinizing their "flaws." All it would take is one little girl spreading the viral idea that "dimples are ugly" to send my daughter home in tears, thinking she is somehow worth less than her friends because of her dimples-- one of my favorite features!!
I think God winces at the entire concept of air brushing. We do it to people to make them look better (according to who?), and the effect is that none of us can ever equate to that standard. Feeling ugly because we don't look like the cover girl on Cosmo is as logical as my dog wanting to look like the star of Blues Clues.
God wants so much more than that for His girls. Proverbs 4:23 says, "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." How can we love other people and help them see what God sees if our own hearts are filled with disdain for ourselves? We don't allow even ourselves to see our created beauty because we're so wrapped up in the flaws we're told to look at. Our "dimples" if you will.
I was recently in a wedding as a bride's maid-- three weeks after birthing a baby. Talk about self conscious! Anyway, we carpooled to the salon in the morning to have our hair beautified. Until then, I didn't know my hair could look so way cool. It's a drab shade of dish water. And when it's not tied up for cooking, cleaning, or Play-doh, it hangs heavily down in a very boring, frizzy, no-layer-type fashion. But in its up-do, it had shrieks of highlights and twistiness. Very fun.
Then I had makeup applied to my face (since I don't wear it otherwise, and can't tell eyeliner from lip liner) with a subtle but flattering look. I was of course wearing a fun, pretty dress and had AMAZING Converse All Star shoes to complete the look of "Glam Meets Fun."
Adding all those things together should have granted me a sense royalty. And part of me did feel cute and wonderfully beautiful. But the few times my eyes met a mirror, my heart heaved a deep sigh if disapproval. Every bit of beauty that could be accentuated WAS, and it still wasn't enough. I observed attributes like the weird shape of my nose, wrinkles creasing my face, and other "flaws" that I've come to hate.
I found it impossible to give myself permission to just feel pretty. Even for the day.
The truth is that we have an enemy (and it's not Society :) ). There's a blanket of shame that he somehow gets us to hide behind. We can never get to a place where we feel truly beautiful. And if we ever do brush against the feeling of beauty, we dismiss the idea as fantasy or vanity. "Who am I to say I'm pretty?"
My encouragement to you today is to live like you're really His girl.
If my daughter has any "flaws," I truly don't know what they are. I love everything about her-- from her dimples to her moles and freckles to her little toenails. None of those things are imperfections to me. They're just things that are unique to her.
I myself need to stop looking at mirrors, and make the choice to look into His face and run to His arms instead. They are open, accepting, and will tell me I'm beautiful as much as I will hear it.
Psalm 45:10-11 "Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord."
Monday, May 2, 2011
God doesn't actually like you more.
God loves everyone, right? Red, yellow, black & white. Rich, poor, sick & healthy. Presidents, kings, dictators & terrorists. Prostitutes, rapists, murderers & child molesters. Oh wait, that's uncomfortable.
Some things in life we have no control over, like ethnic background or royal bloodlines. Some things we claim to have no control over. And sometimes, we just make bad decisions. It's this last category that I'm addressing today.
God hand-crafts every baby. The Bible says He "knits" them together in their mother's womb. As a mom myself, this is an absolutely beautiful truth. I love being pregnant for many reasons, but one is knowing that God is literally, physically working His art in my body. So mysterious and incomprehensible.
When I think about my children, I feel overwhelming, unexplainable love. Even my newborn. They do nothing to earn my love, and could do nothing to squirm out of its grasp. I simply love them because they're mine. They mess up. They hurt each other. They even hurt my heart sometimes. But on the days when I'm most irritated with them, my passion for them is no less than when they wrap their tiny arms around my neck and whisper "I love you Momma."
When I consider that analogy, it's easy for me to make the connection with God's feelings toward us. Actually accepting it is still difficult, but I'm better able to sort the intellectual knowledge of His unfading love.
He loves me. He loves all of us. We're all His.
But what about Adolph Hitler or Osama Bin Laden? There are people we naturally hate. Surely God has left a clause in there that if someone is "bad" enough, they're worthy of death, hell, and torture more than I. He couldn't have "knitted" them in their mother's womb. God has hated "those kinds of people" their whole lives, right?
What a contradiction to wrestle with.
Think once about Osama as God's created being. He crafted him with the same loving care that He did you and me. With excitement for the new life and hopes of one more human friend to share relationship with.
Think of the sadness the had to have wrenched God's heart as He watched His creation take turn after turn in the wrong direction. He watched him take the free will he was granted to hurt and kill others. I cannot begin to imagine the pain He deals with on a "daily," continual basis. I'd rather not think about it, to be honest.
The hard part is that we don't understand "bad" in the same way God does.
Because I've never stabbed someone in the heart and taken their life, it feels like I'm better than an imprisoned murderer. But He says in 1 John 3:15, "Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer." I personally know a child molester, and the child he molested. And I can tell you that until I was able to come to terms with real forgiveness, "hate" wasn't a strong enough word for my emotions toward him.
So the whole "I'm a pretty good person" thing? Yeah, that's out.
God's standard is perfection. One thing wrong equals failure. We all hit that before we could even talk. I heard it put this way once. In school, anything below a 70% gaves you an "F." So if you got a 69%, you failed. If you got a 69% and I got a 39%, would your F be any better than my F? Of course not. WE'RE BOTH FAILING. It doesn't matter that you're failing "less" than I'm failing.
We were invited to join a champagne/sparking juice "Osama is dead" celebration this evening. I thought that was an awesome, fun idea. But this morning, I was presented with this verse, posted by a Facebook friend:
Ezekiel 33:11
"As I live, declares the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live."
It's sobering enough to jolt me from my selfish place of small understanding and force me to see people just a little more like God might. I thought I'd send the challenge your way too :)
Some things in life we have no control over, like ethnic background or royal bloodlines. Some things we claim to have no control over. And sometimes, we just make bad decisions. It's this last category that I'm addressing today.
God hand-crafts every baby. The Bible says He "knits" them together in their mother's womb. As a mom myself, this is an absolutely beautiful truth. I love being pregnant for many reasons, but one is knowing that God is literally, physically working His art in my body. So mysterious and incomprehensible.
When I think about my children, I feel overwhelming, unexplainable love. Even my newborn. They do nothing to earn my love, and could do nothing to squirm out of its grasp. I simply love them because they're mine. They mess up. They hurt each other. They even hurt my heart sometimes. But on the days when I'm most irritated with them, my passion for them is no less than when they wrap their tiny arms around my neck and whisper "I love you Momma."
When I consider that analogy, it's easy for me to make the connection with God's feelings toward us. Actually accepting it is still difficult, but I'm better able to sort the intellectual knowledge of His unfading love.
He loves me. He loves all of us. We're all His.
But what about Adolph Hitler or Osama Bin Laden? There are people we naturally hate. Surely God has left a clause in there that if someone is "bad" enough, they're worthy of death, hell, and torture more than I. He couldn't have "knitted" them in their mother's womb. God has hated "those kinds of people" their whole lives, right?
What a contradiction to wrestle with.
Think once about Osama as God's created being. He crafted him with the same loving care that He did you and me. With excitement for the new life and hopes of one more human friend to share relationship with.
Think of the sadness the had to have wrenched God's heart as He watched His creation take turn after turn in the wrong direction. He watched him take the free will he was granted to hurt and kill others. I cannot begin to imagine the pain He deals with on a "daily," continual basis. I'd rather not think about it, to be honest.
The hard part is that we don't understand "bad" in the same way God does.
Because I've never stabbed someone in the heart and taken their life, it feels like I'm better than an imprisoned murderer. But He says in 1 John 3:15, "Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer." I personally know a child molester, and the child he molested. And I can tell you that until I was able to come to terms with real forgiveness, "hate" wasn't a strong enough word for my emotions toward him.
So the whole "I'm a pretty good person" thing? Yeah, that's out.
God's standard is perfection. One thing wrong equals failure. We all hit that before we could even talk. I heard it put this way once. In school, anything below a 70% gaves you an "F." So if you got a 69%, you failed. If you got a 69% and I got a 39%, would your F be any better than my F? Of course not. WE'RE BOTH FAILING. It doesn't matter that you're failing "less" than I'm failing.
We were invited to join a champagne/sparking juice "Osama is dead" celebration this evening. I thought that was an awesome, fun idea. But this morning, I was presented with this verse, posted by a Facebook friend:
Ezekiel 33:11
"As I live, declares the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live."
It's sobering enough to jolt me from my selfish place of small understanding and force me to see people just a little more like God might. I thought I'd send the challenge your way too :)
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
The Blanket
I had a baby last week. My third. Grocery shopping has now become a fear of mine. Not because I'm afraid of germs or crabby cashiers, but because I don't know how to transfer three wiggly, rambunctious, disruptive kids through a store with only one butt-holder per cart.
But you have to do what you have to do. So today I "manned" up and went out while the oldest one was in school. We left later than I wanted to. So in a rush, I buckled my little ones in their car seats and drove off, worried that the baby would NEED to eat in the slot of time we were there. Of course I can't modestly accomplish that task while walking the aisles. So the alternative is to let her cry it out while all the non-parents in the store glare us down like we're Iraqi rebels.
Regardless, we needed cereal. And milk. And other obnoxious things that shouldn't run out as fast as they do.
So we arrive. I haul the 97-pound infant carrier and guide the reluctant, wandering-sheep-of-a-two-year-old across the parking lot and into the doors where we're greeted by Ray.
Ray is a half-toothless, short, stocky, white-haired man who never fails to shout out his usual, "And how are the three of you today?" Of course the number in his greeting fluctuates based on the number of children tagging along. Sometimes the question is followed by a comment about the weather, and sometimes the conversation dies, leaving an awkwardness while kids get situated for their trip through the store.
Today I snapped the baby into the cart, plopped the toddler into the basket (with a firm warning about staying seated) and brushed past Ray, as he squeaked out a "May I?" We jerked to a stop. I peeled my mind from its focus on speed, precise efficiency, the list, and getting the heck out of there before the baby woke up. And since I was already nearly through the doors, I rewound my steps until I was standing by Ray. I was feeling a bit impatient, but everyone deserves to take a gander at my perfect baby, right?
He started pulling back on the crocheted blanket I had draped over her. And as her face became easier to see, I heard a lady behind me let out the typical "Awe," and I knew she was in on the peep show. I proudly declared that she was "one week old today." It was at that point I realized that he wasn't really looking at the baby at all, but at the blanket.
"Oh, my mom made that for her."
He nodded his head in affirmation. He said he could tell by the skill that it was hand made by someone who loved her. He said it's the colors that were chosen and the stitches that were sewn that tipped him off. His wife used to make things like that all the time, he said.
"I just lost my wife."
Suddenly all my cares about the shopping trip or the potential to have a screaming baby in the store completely dissipated. It didn't matter if my baby was one week old or five years old.
His eyes were glazed with a sad fondness. My expression must have given away more than I was intending because he quickly reassured me that it's a good memory and something great to be reminded of. His compliments to my mom.
But you have to do what you have to do. So today I "manned" up and went out while the oldest one was in school. We left later than I wanted to. So in a rush, I buckled my little ones in their car seats and drove off, worried that the baby would NEED to eat in the slot of time we were there. Of course I can't modestly accomplish that task while walking the aisles. So the alternative is to let her cry it out while all the non-parents in the store glare us down like we're Iraqi rebels.
Regardless, we needed cereal. And milk. And other obnoxious things that shouldn't run out as fast as they do.
So we arrive. I haul the 97-pound infant carrier and guide the reluctant, wandering-sheep-of-a-two-year-old across the parking lot and into the doors where we're greeted by Ray.
Ray is a half-toothless, short, stocky, white-haired man who never fails to shout out his usual, "And how are the three of you today?" Of course the number in his greeting fluctuates based on the number of children tagging along. Sometimes the question is followed by a comment about the weather, and sometimes the conversation dies, leaving an awkwardness while kids get situated for their trip through the store.
Today I snapped the baby into the cart, plopped the toddler into the basket (with a firm warning about staying seated) and brushed past Ray, as he squeaked out a "May I?" We jerked to a stop. I peeled my mind from its focus on speed, precise efficiency, the list, and getting the heck out of there before the baby woke up. And since I was already nearly through the doors, I rewound my steps until I was standing by Ray. I was feeling a bit impatient, but everyone deserves to take a gander at my perfect baby, right?
He started pulling back on the crocheted blanket I had draped over her. And as her face became easier to see, I heard a lady behind me let out the typical "Awe," and I knew she was in on the peep show. I proudly declared that she was "one week old today." It was at that point I realized that he wasn't really looking at the baby at all, but at the blanket.
"Oh, my mom made that for her."
He nodded his head in affirmation. He said he could tell by the skill that it was hand made by someone who loved her. He said it's the colors that were chosen and the stitches that were sewn that tipped him off. His wife used to make things like that all the time, he said.
"I just lost my wife."
Suddenly all my cares about the shopping trip or the potential to have a screaming baby in the store completely dissipated. It didn't matter if my baby was one week old or five years old.
His eyes were glazed with a sad fondness. My expression must have given away more than I was intending because he quickly reassured me that it's a good memory and something great to be reminded of. His compliments to my mom.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
GKB Folder
I hate when I have hang-ups with God. I already know who's right and how it's going to end. I wish sometimes He would just hit me upside the head with some baseball bat of acceptance, replacing emotional turmoil with healing, physical pain. But He doesn't work that way. Boo.
It's been about a year now that I've been unable to put a certain issue to rest with God. It's something I was never personally faced with until then. For the most part, I had accepted it and tucked it away under the file "God knows best" (GKB) and moved on.
It resurfaced itself last weekend, and I was surprised at the amount of emotion and bitterness it pulled from my heart. Usually things in the GKB folder are safe and laid completely to rest. They're matters I've encountered, dealt with, and identified as being out of my control and simply in His hands. People can challenge my thinking, but if it's there, it's sealed.
Sometimes I wonder even, if I can credit myself with the gift of faith/trust because it comes so easily to me. I don't have trouble believing God will pull me through anything. I know my plans aren't His. I know that He knows (and wants) what's best for me. He's proven His love and trustworthiness to me over and over again. So even if I don't understand why or how things happen, why doubt? He's got my back.
This morning, while we were singing in church, I was reminded of another thing I wrestled Him on several years ago. I pined over it, but He continually told me to wait, rest, and trust Him. He never did give me an answer or a reason for His decline of my request. It too had been sorted into the GKB section of my life. And when it crossed my mind today, I became confused all over again, and asked the dangerous (and often un-answerable) question "Why?"
I began to think more about that GKB folder. How many things could I really fit into there without it tearing or bleeding out? Did I really trust Him?
Can I really trust Him?
Why would He hide things from me? I am His bride, His love. I have given my life to Him, and He gave His for me. Would He really just demand that I "suck it up" when I don't like what He's doing? As His beloved, that seems cruel.
While I was scanning these thoughts (and consequently crying like a child), they sang one of my favorite songs: "How He Loves." And nothing, no trace, of my mind doubts His enduring love for me. How can I believe so solidly in His love and yet deny its truth all in one breath of emotion? I'm still stumped.
Then I thought about how He's also my Father, which opens a completely new perspective. My 4-year-old doesn't necessarily deserve to know (nor would she understand) my reasons for every thing I do or don't allow. That concept resonates easily with me.
THEN I remembered that He's majestic and holy. And what business do I have demanding answers from Him? That concept always shuts me up.
Add to all that the grace He has extended to me. My friends, house, life, kids, health, marriage, talents, on and on. All that in addition to my forgiveness and eternity promised with Him?
"And all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory."
That is a line from "How He Loves." The song also talks about Him being a hurricane, and "I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His love and mercy." It reminds me of the conversation Rodney and I had with our valet driver in Puerto Rico about the ocean being analogous with God's love-- always, constantly coming at us, leaving us powerless to stop it.
I wish I could say that today's encounter cured me of the big hang-up I'm shoveling through. That my mind and hurt have been super-naturally healed. In fact, facing these thoughts surfaced more issues that I have placed with trust into the GKB slot. I have a feeling that's the enemy though.
The funny part is that this was all throughout communion. The time in my life where I thoroughly and honestly search my heart for resentment or bitterness toward anyone. Never would I have thought He was the one I would need to hash things out with.
It was interesting to me to learn that while I'm His love, I'm also His daughter, and I'm also simply part of His total creation. It's almost like a trinity of my own existence. They're all part of me, but they serve different roles in my communication with God. Maybe the next leg of this journey is to see how they can and do all work together. We'll see what kind of blog post THAT turns out to be :)
It's been about a year now that I've been unable to put a certain issue to rest with God. It's something I was never personally faced with until then. For the most part, I had accepted it and tucked it away under the file "God knows best" (GKB) and moved on.
It resurfaced itself last weekend, and I was surprised at the amount of emotion and bitterness it pulled from my heart. Usually things in the GKB folder are safe and laid completely to rest. They're matters I've encountered, dealt with, and identified as being out of my control and simply in His hands. People can challenge my thinking, but if it's there, it's sealed.
Sometimes I wonder even, if I can credit myself with the gift of faith/trust because it comes so easily to me. I don't have trouble believing God will pull me through anything. I know my plans aren't His. I know that He knows (and wants) what's best for me. He's proven His love and trustworthiness to me over and over again. So even if I don't understand why or how things happen, why doubt? He's got my back.
This morning, while we were singing in church, I was reminded of another thing I wrestled Him on several years ago. I pined over it, but He continually told me to wait, rest, and trust Him. He never did give me an answer or a reason for His decline of my request. It too had been sorted into the GKB section of my life. And when it crossed my mind today, I became confused all over again, and asked the dangerous (and often un-answerable) question "Why?"
I began to think more about that GKB folder. How many things could I really fit into there without it tearing or bleeding out? Did I really trust Him?
Can I really trust Him?
Why would He hide things from me? I am His bride, His love. I have given my life to Him, and He gave His for me. Would He really just demand that I "suck it up" when I don't like what He's doing? As His beloved, that seems cruel.
While I was scanning these thoughts (and consequently crying like a child), they sang one of my favorite songs: "How He Loves." And nothing, no trace, of my mind doubts His enduring love for me. How can I believe so solidly in His love and yet deny its truth all in one breath of emotion? I'm still stumped.
Then I thought about how He's also my Father, which opens a completely new perspective. My 4-year-old doesn't necessarily deserve to know (nor would she understand) my reasons for every thing I do or don't allow. That concept resonates easily with me.
THEN I remembered that He's majestic and holy. And what business do I have demanding answers from Him? That concept always shuts me up.
Add to all that the grace He has extended to me. My friends, house, life, kids, health, marriage, talents, on and on. All that in addition to my forgiveness and eternity promised with Him?
"And all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory."
That is a line from "How He Loves." The song also talks about Him being a hurricane, and "I am a tree bending beneath the weight of His love and mercy." It reminds me of the conversation Rodney and I had with our valet driver in Puerto Rico about the ocean being analogous with God's love-- always, constantly coming at us, leaving us powerless to stop it.
I wish I could say that today's encounter cured me of the big hang-up I'm shoveling through. That my mind and hurt have been super-naturally healed. In fact, facing these thoughts surfaced more issues that I have placed with trust into the GKB slot. I have a feeling that's the enemy though.
The funny part is that this was all throughout communion. The time in my life where I thoroughly and honestly search my heart for resentment or bitterness toward anyone. Never would I have thought He was the one I would need to hash things out with.
It was interesting to me to learn that while I'm His love, I'm also His daughter, and I'm also simply part of His total creation. It's almost like a trinity of my own existence. They're all part of me, but they serve different roles in my communication with God. Maybe the next leg of this journey is to see how they can and do all work together. We'll see what kind of blog post THAT turns out to be :)
Friday, April 1, 2011
April Fool's Blessing
April 1st. The nemesis of my happiness. The only day of the year that is intentionally set up to ruin peoples' day and make them feel stupid. And by "them" I'm referring to myself. I like being tricked, or "fooled," like a momma bear likes people messing with her cubs.
I do like seeing other people get it though. Like the year my sister-in-law handed a positive pregnancy test to my I'd-rather-cut-off-my-member-than-have-another-baby brother. *evil snicker* Or the year Google said they'd print off all our pictures for free with the "catch" of including ads on the back. Those stinkers.
Well I had an idea this year. I don't remember who came up with it, but it was several months ago, and I've been very excited to do it.
If you don't know, I'm due to have a baby tomorrow. I set my alarm to wake up at 2:30 this morning so I could post this on Facebook:
It's the ultimate "misplace your keys circumstance." Long story short, we didn't make it to the hospital. Baby was in a HURRY. And not a girl either! Healthy, hardy, Beck Hannity Holum was born at 1:12 am-- at home. We measure him at 23-1/4 inches. We're going to get some rest before heading to the clinic for weight and all that jazz. Please no phone calls for a bit :)
I even typed it up last night so all I would have to do is copy and paste it into my status and head back to bed. Did I mention I was excited? :)
But I laid in bed, restless. For one thing, I know how much I hate being duped. Secondly, have you ever heard the line from the movie Big Daddy, "We wasted the good 'surprise' on you!"?
In addition to that, I know my friends and family. And they're awesome. They'd be praying. They'd be planning meals. They would offer to help. They would look at sacrificially rearranging their schedules so my family could be cared for.
Around 1:30, I shut my alarm off.
God has put some incredible people in my life. I'm undeserving and selfish. Thank you all for sticking by me despite my quirks and junk :) I am SO very loved-- which isn't at all how I expected to feel on April Fool's day.
I do like seeing other people get it though. Like the year my sister-in-law handed a positive pregnancy test to my I'd-rather-cut-off-my-member-than-have-another-baby brother. *evil snicker* Or the year Google said they'd print off all our pictures for free with the "catch" of including ads on the back. Those stinkers.
Well I had an idea this year. I don't remember who came up with it, but it was several months ago, and I've been very excited to do it.
If you don't know, I'm due to have a baby tomorrow. I set my alarm to wake up at 2:30 this morning so I could post this on Facebook:
It's the ultimate "misplace your keys circumstance." Long story short, we didn't make it to the hospital. Baby was in a HURRY. And not a girl either! Healthy, hardy, Beck Hannity Holum was born at 1:12 am-- at home. We measure him at 23-1/4 inches. We're going to get some rest before heading to the clinic for weight and all that jazz. Please no phone calls for a bit :)
I even typed it up last night so all I would have to do is copy and paste it into my status and head back to bed. Did I mention I was excited? :)
But I laid in bed, restless. For one thing, I know how much I hate being duped. Secondly, have you ever heard the line from the movie Big Daddy, "We wasted the good 'surprise' on you!"?
In addition to that, I know my friends and family. And they're awesome. They'd be praying. They'd be planning meals. They would offer to help. They would look at sacrificially rearranging their schedules so my family could be cared for.
Around 1:30, I shut my alarm off.
God has put some incredible people in my life. I'm undeserving and selfish. Thank you all for sticking by me despite my quirks and junk :) I am SO very loved-- which isn't at all how I expected to feel on April Fool's day.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Sunday Mornings
I live in "Central" time zone. That leaves me 6th from the end. When my clock displayed 12:00 to start today, part of the world had already been in this day for 18 hours.
I could go on a deep tangent about how people there have made mistakes today. Mistakes I could learn from and change my day to fix. A "turn your destiny" kind of thing. But it's irrelevant, and so I won't. But it's interesting. To me :)
Anyway, each day runs pretty much the same. By the time I start my job, other people have gone to work, come home, and are back in bed. Granted, some people are vacationing or traveling or at home sick. But for the most part, people are working the entire 24 hours-- somewhere. Yes, yes, there are factories and hospitals and 24-hour places just here in the US. It only adds to my point that people are constantly working.
I recently re-joined a church with a congregation around 1,000. I have thought many times about what it's like to sing with that kind of number and about the kind of glorified freight train-ish roar heaven will sound like. I've also considered how many other churches are full of people singing worshipful praise to our King at the same time.
I think about how that makes God smile. For Him to see us proclaiming the love we feel all week but keep to ourselves. I don't know about you, but I don't walk around my house saying "Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me." But to be able to say those words and reflect on His goodness and how undeserving I am of it is a healthy sort of searching. And declaring things aloud like "You're beautiful," or "I adore You," pushes me to channel further into my heart and immerse myself in truths I'm usually too busy overlooking. AND it's singing! In a quick search of just the words "music, song, sing, and instrument," over 400 references pop up. God LOVES music.
And God loves people. So put together His people making music just to thank Him for being Him (some peoples' singing may be a stretch to deem "music" to our ears :) ), and I really think we've got a good thing going Sunday morning.
Here's the kicker.
By the time I start work any given weekday, people around the globe have been working for 18 hours. So by the time I'm sitting in my first service Sunday morning at 8:30. . . people around the globe have been singing praise for 18 hours. Eighteen straight hours of praise to the King of Kings!!! People complimenting my Daddy :) And it continues for 6 more!
People in China risk sacrificing everything to meet together in secret for His Name and the spread of His love. What higher honor could we give our King?
It's like Father's Day every Sunday for Him.
So this Sunday, whether your alarm goes off or your kids jolt you from sleep or the dog drapes his leash across your face, try to wake up thinking about how God's day is going. Know that you have the opportunity to join in heaven's eternal song to Him and earth's one, ongoing day of praise.
I could go on a deep tangent about how people there have made mistakes today. Mistakes I could learn from and change my day to fix. A "turn your destiny" kind of thing. But it's irrelevant, and so I won't. But it's interesting. To me :)
Anyway, each day runs pretty much the same. By the time I start my job, other people have gone to work, come home, and are back in bed. Granted, some people are vacationing or traveling or at home sick. But for the most part, people are working the entire 24 hours-- somewhere. Yes, yes, there are factories and hospitals and 24-hour places just here in the US. It only adds to my point that people are constantly working.
I recently re-joined a church with a congregation around 1,000. I have thought many times about what it's like to sing with that kind of number and about the kind of glorified freight train-ish roar heaven will sound like. I've also considered how many other churches are full of people singing worshipful praise to our King at the same time.
I think about how that makes God smile. For Him to see us proclaiming the love we feel all week but keep to ourselves. I don't know about you, but I don't walk around my house saying "Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me." But to be able to say those words and reflect on His goodness and how undeserving I am of it is a healthy sort of searching. And declaring things aloud like "You're beautiful," or "I adore You," pushes me to channel further into my heart and immerse myself in truths I'm usually too busy overlooking. AND it's singing! In a quick search of just the words "music, song, sing, and instrument," over 400 references pop up. God LOVES music.
And God loves people. So put together His people making music just to thank Him for being Him (some peoples' singing may be a stretch to deem "music" to our ears :) ), and I really think we've got a good thing going Sunday morning.
Here's the kicker.
By the time I start work any given weekday, people around the globe have been working for 18 hours. So by the time I'm sitting in my first service Sunday morning at 8:30. . . people around the globe have been singing praise for 18 hours. Eighteen straight hours of praise to the King of Kings!!! People complimenting my Daddy :) And it continues for 6 more!
People in China risk sacrificing everything to meet together in secret for His Name and the spread of His love. What higher honor could we give our King?
It's like Father's Day every Sunday for Him.
So this Sunday, whether your alarm goes off or your kids jolt you from sleep or the dog drapes his leash across your face, try to wake up thinking about how God's day is going. Know that you have the opportunity to join in heaven's eternal song to Him and earth's one, ongoing day of praise.
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