faith – Roasted Peanuts

Vintage

Death will not come a second before or after God ordained. (But statistically it’s getting closer.) Happy 50th Birthday

Wait, 50? That’s basically dead. “Happy”birthday.
-younger me

Congratulations. You are now older than 65% of the earth’s population. Happy 50th birthday.

50? Maybe cross becoming a professional ballet dancer off the list now. Happy Birthday.

You have your whole life ahead of you. There’s just less of it left now. Happy Birthday.

Half a century has passed since you were born. Read that again and then tell me you’re not old. Happy Birthday!

This is a sampling of my inappropriate “aging” greeting card line. My sister and I have developed several less than tactful but fully hilarious greeting cards for different occasions. We have a Hospice line that’s almost definitely offensive to everyone except us, but humor is how we’ve managed to survive some pretty intense storms.

Becoming older is not a curse, as our popular culture would have us believe. But it’s also fraught with some hardly ideal reality. Fortunately I have a great hairdresser and no one will ever see that cruel twist of gray fate.

To mark the beginning of my second half-century, let’s talk about some things I will never miss about being young (specifically regarding parenting):

I will not miss diaper blowouts-especially the ones that happen in a cloth car seat.

I will not miss being sharply awakened at 2am by vomiting episodes in small children.

I will not miss the last month of pregnancy.

I will also not miss the physical pain of the first month of postpartum. (But I definitely miss the tiny warm fuzzy human that created the pain)

I will not miss the constant struggle of finding childcare so I could work and the mom guilt associated with that whole ordeal.

I will not miss my van that had no heat or air conditioning for 18 months. Oh and no working driver side window.

I will not miss financial insecurity.

These are all things that I experienced when my skin was tight, my body bounced back and my hair was naturally brown, which are all things I have mourned the loss of as time marches on. But what I’ve traded in physically I have gained in every other category, most importantly my faith. He sees what’s inside, and He has walked me through some rugged terrain only to come out on the other side with perspective and wisdom that younger me was not able to discern. I’ll take it. And I look forward to gaining more and more of the attributes of my Creator. I am protected on all sides. I’m covered in the blood of Jesus, which is worth far more than any temporary vanity of this earth. (But also, thank you for the transformative power of hairstylists.)

Amy

Grief is such a strange thing. It’s like a thief waiting to ambush at the most unusual times. I could be having the most normal day and something completely off the wall will remind me of my mom and then my heart breaks all over again. I don’t enjoy that feeling, but it does put things in perspective for me. The big picture gets blurred sometimes as I hyper focus on one area of life, then when grief slips in uninvited it somehow helps me zoom out again and reset.

Many of the things I start to allow myself to be absorbed by are so trivial. Mom used to tell us that there was never a reason to be hateful to someone. Even if…fill in the blank…it didn’t matter. I’m grateful that her voice echoed the voice of my Father. I didn’t (and still don’t) always listen, but it guided me and helped me listen way more times than if it had not spoken.

I fight within me so often I don’t have the time or desire to fight with anyone else. You have an opinion that’s different from mine? Ok. We die on hills that are meaningless and silly. There’s no place for that kind of controversy in the life of a Christian (I’m lecturing myself, mostly). I’ve contributed to the idiocy quite enough. The battle is within and it urgently needs to be won. Sometimes we are what stands between someone walking toward Christ or walking away. I hate to think of the times I was so caught up in my anger that I misrepresented His name. Is the gravity I feel in this regard related to the wickedness of this current world? Is it a product of maturity? My guess is that it’s a little of both, mixed with the relative peace of life, which is in stark contrast to the chaos that has defined much of my adulthood.

One day many years ago my sister and I were on the phone; most cell phones had minutes and it was cheaper to talk after 9pm. Our combined 7 children were very young, and we were both in places of sustained crisis but we were growing in our faith as young adults. Both of us, surrounded by believers in our communities, were adamant that our children would make better choices than we had made. As we knew better we would do better, and we promised to be continuously improving so that our children would have us as role models.

If all you knew was part of the story then it may seem we were the most ridiculous excuses for role models there ever were. Sometimes I still walk back to that place, but these days I don’t pitch my tent and stay. I simply walk there, acknowledge the mistakes and then I turn around and come back. I will get to a point where I never return but until then I stand at that spot and remember the truth; I remember that God fights my battles for me and I point to my precious children. I may be slightly biased, but I do believe I have the cream of the crop as far as children go. God doesn’t think any of the negative things I can be guilty of thinking about myself. As I have grown closer to Him, the demeaning voice gets quieter and quieter. And it all started with my first step taken in obedience by a nudging of the Holy Spirit…and my mom.

My mom was as human as any of us, but her unwavering faith, misguided as it sometimes could be, was a legacy left by my grandma, who carried it forward from her mom, and so on. It created a space in me to see the truth, and experience how mightily God works through the most heinous situations. It gave me the strength to walk with Him, to offer up my children to Him and to understand I was a steward of those young people – they belong to Him, not to me.

The hours in prayer, the tears shed, the angry outbursts, the depression, the confusion, the agony, the denial, the acceptance and the joy – none of it was wasted. He has used every single circumstance for our good. Every single one.

When I look at it my life from the perspective of my Creator, I can be nothing less than grateful. The rest of my days will continue to be spent imperfectly loving, growing, serving and learning. If even one person falls in love with Jesus through my obedience, it will have been worth everything. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thank you for introducing me to Him. I’ll see you at Home.

Such a Time As This

“On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand…” Women of Faith, 2011…a stadium full of broken women yet somehow we became more than the sum of our parts. We became whole, woven together by the power of the Holy Spirit. We are meant to live in community. I got a powerful reminder of that truth this week.

“My parents make bad decisions.”

“My daddy touches my pee pee.”

“Is it bad if my dad lets my baby brother drink beer?”

“Daddy takes pictures of my privates.”

“If I tell he says I’m going to the devil.”

“Tell the court I don’t want to be his mother/father anymore.”

“Don’t leave me alone with him.”

“I’m scared.”

“Help me.”

There is unfathomable pain in this world. All the aforementioned quotes are only a fraction of the words I have personally heard over the years from tiny faces of innocent children and hopeless mothers and fathers. My reaction to these realities is such a dizzying feeling of complete helplessness. Emotionally I imagine myself trudging through a blizzard, frozen shards of snow whipping past my face, cutting my cheeks as I attempt to walk in snow up to my thighs, the wind pressing against me, impeding my progress and tempting me to sit down, give in and succumb to the counterfeit warmth of hypothermia.

When I think back to the amount of time and energy wasted on worrying it makes me sick. And crazy. Lately I have let my foolish need for control unravel me like a string inside a ball of yarn until all that is left of me is a haphazard pile of Summer Strands…frazzled, tangled and emotionally unstable. Information about things I wish I didn’t know bombards my heart almost daily and for some reason I take off the armor of God and attempt to handle the enormity of the brokenness alone in a pompous display of stupidity until I break and the people who love me are left to pick up the pieces, shaking their heads wondering why I tried to handle this alone when I’m a child of God surrounded by people who love me.

His hands are big enough to hold all of us – all the children whose lives are being negatively affected because of the decisions of the adults in their lives, all the adults who are hurting and making bad choices as a result, all the helpers, all the perpetrators, all of everyone. He is enough. So why do I fall for the lie that my strength is sufficient when it CLEARLY is not? In my need to protect the people I love I sometimes inadvertently cause more harm. It’s not up to me to fix the problems outside; it’s up to me to fix the problems from within, but I even need help with that. I was reminded today that needing help is not a weakness. In fact, knowing when to reach out is a sign of strength and maturity. We begin life dependent on others for everything. We do not then transition to independence, even though that makes sense logically. Instead we progress to interdependence. Who knew my brain science research for work would provide the exact light bulb moment I needed.

It’s not scary that I can’t fix everything. In fact, it would be scary if I could. It isn’t up to me. It never has been. It has always been up to Him. Every now and then I need a reminder. Eventually my brain will develop to the point where I can avoid a mental breakdown. But this is who I am, and God meets us where we are. I’m so glad that I don’t have to worry, and even better is the truth that when I find myself tangled up in a giant ball of my own absurdity He is right there to pluck me out, dry my tears and wind up my string.

I want nothing more than to be exactly where I am…this is where I belong. I was created for such a time as this.

Sister Sister

Once upon a time there was a darling little girl whose daddy bought her a pony and whose mama read her stories; she was blissfully singular. Then along came Alyssa, a precious little usurper. When the firstborn realized this tiny, bald, wrinkled person was for keeps, she made it her life’s mission to form a unique, unbreakable bond with her and live happily ever after in sibling harmony. But first she had to be hazed.

I really wasn’t that bad of a big sister. I may have occasionally broken something and blamed it on her. There could have been times I spit on her head from the top bunk, or told her she was impregnated with a watermelon after she ate a seed. There is a slight possibility I gave her a haircut that made her look like she was attacked by tiny lawnmowers. If she admits to an irrational fear of the Easter Bunny, it is definitely NOT because I hid outside the bathroom window and told her the Easter Bunny was actually an evil jackrabbit. (It made her cry and I got spanked – justice was served.) I’m sure I could go on with more heartwarming examples of sisterly love but suffice it to say it was a hit-and-miss relationship in its formative years.

It was during those years that I attended Vacation Bible School and learned about Jesus. I decided to ask Him to be the Lord of my life (see John 3:16). From that time until this I sometimes feel like Jesus is hazing me. He wasn’t/isn’t. At least not with the “Let’s do this and see what happens” kind of attitude I had when I put my little brother in the dryer or locked him in the toy box.

It has been through these trials, many that are senseless, self-made disasters and some that are not, that God has attempted to raise me up. I have a desire to cooperate, but I fall short every day. I, too, have skeletons just like everyone else. But instead of hiding them, I am using them to build a ladder – every day I reach higher ground until building-sized pieces of the past look like ants as I survey life from the clouds. It’s amazing up here, and nothing short of Jesus Himself will make me step down the ladder, and since He Himself placed me here, I only go up from this point.

It’s no coincidence that Alyssa and I are sisters. God’s been knocking on the door of our hearts for years, urging us to tell our story. We have messed up, but that isn’t the end of the story; it’s the part that invites you in to experience the grace and forgiveness that’s waiting for you. Let’s all be sisters together. I promise I won’t come to your junior high school and demand you take off the shoes you stole from me. Hypothetically. (Sorry, Alyssa)

E. Coli, Anyone?

Foreword – So much has changed during the 5 years since I wrote this, but one thing has not and never will, and for Him I am grateful beyond measure.

2014: We are currently living in a home with E. coli in our well water, rendering the concept of running water useless, at least here. There is a chance it can be fixed, but in the meantime, we are using grandma’s water supply. You can imagine how frustrated I am. The kids, however, have not complained once about having to brush their teeth with bottled water or cross the street to shower. But yesterday when we ran out of mustard, life came to a screeching halt.

Avery was in the middle of making a sandwich when the mustard breathed its last. He became angry and declared it inedible by reason of insufficient condiment accumulation. I politely disagreed. “You most certainly ARE eating your sandwich,” I said softly with an eerie calm and a glint of hysteria in my twitching eye.

Maybe as a parent I am doing a good job of sheltering the children from the harsher reality resulting from fecal matter in our water supply that may or may not be resolved. That is the only explanation I can think of to explain Avery’s disdain for my inability to provide an adequate mustard supply in the face of such trying circumstances. And trying they are. I have about 35 loads of laundry left to do and yet the kids still have clothes to wear. Miraculous. Either God is providing clothing for my multitude from a sock and a pair of underwear given in faith, or these people have too many clothes.

This situation has reminded me of some things about God, however. Isn’t it just like God to use trials to teach us things? I wish there was another way, God, truly I do. But here’s what I know that I know that I know. He will provide. We have a place to shower and get clean water right across the street. We still have electricity, and heat, and food. It could be worse. All those times I complained about this house feeling like a big, nicely decorated shed are coming back to bite me. I had no idea how much I appreciated the house He has provided us until this happened.

My natural tendency is to focus on what I don’t have. In reality, no matter how much we have, there’s always something we don’t have. Here’s another fact I forget about frequently. Even if we have absolutely nothing, if we are saved, we have everything we need. Talk about countercultural. So while we wait for the water situation to resolve, my confidence is in God and His provision, which includes many amazing friends and family that have offered to help carry the load, and that has a value that simply can’t be quantified. And now I’m off to get mustard…

Nucking Futs

August 25, 2013: Friday I had to take our dog and kitten to the vet. I thought it would be a great idea to just hold the kitten on my lap and drive there without a way to contain her. I had a box, but it was from a beer distributor. My other idea was a backpack, but then I worried someone might be offended if my backpack was meowing. In retrospect, I don’t particularly care what anyone may have thought. Holding an uncontained cat in your lap while driving in the rain borders on stupidity.

She was fine at first, but then it began to rain. So I turned on the windshield wipers and that was the beginning of the end. Apparently, windshield wipers are terrifying, because every time they wiped, she clawed her way further and further up my shirt until she was over my shoulder. The only part of her I had a grip on was her back hips. She dug in to my flesh with her tiny razor sharp claws and I ran off the road. If any of you were on the road while this was occurring, I apologize. I wasn’t drinking. Just bleeding.

When I arrived at the vet’s office, I had to calculate how I would get both the cat and the dog successfully to the waiting room. Luckily for me, I still had Avery’s fall jacket in there from last year, so I opened the van door and captured the kitten, wrapping her up like a mummy while I grabbed the dog’s leash. When we got inside the cat had shimmied her way up my collarbone and the dog had walked around my legs three times rendering me immobile. I was slightly more than mildly irritated when the vet noticed how dumb I am, came to my rescue and loaned me a cat carrier.

That one tool made the whole event go smoothly from that point forward. And it made me think. I can’t even successfully handle a dog and a cat without help. What makes me think parenting is any different? Sometimes I feel like I can handle it all myself. There are times when I’ve needed help and refused to ask. There have been times friends have offered to help but I like my way better, or I don’t want to seem needy (or worse…weak) so I refuse. Then something so far out of my plan happened and I had a choice: turn to my friends for help or sacrifice my kid’s best interest because I was terrified people would see my inadequacies.

We were not made to be afraid of authenticity – quite the opposite is true actually; we are made for relationship. Social media has the power to make everyone feel like complete failures, and there is a stigma to so many problems that makes being real very risky. But slinking away from an issue does not make it any less an issue. Many times the denial complicates the problem by refusing to address it at its core.

So while I am certainly no expert in absolutely anything, one thing I know is that we are better together. The smiles on Facebook may not be a lie, but they do not tell a complete story. Everyone needs support. Literally everyone. I invite you to be part of my journey, where I will celebrate God, make fun of my children and maybe expose some of my deepest insufficiencies. Why? Because we are ALL inadequate and none of us is immune from adversity, but it is nucking futs to try to do this life alone.