The Post That Really Isn't A Post

There are days that are happy and wonderful and you have an endless amount of potential blog topics.  Unfortunately, there are also days that are (for no one particular reason) exceedingly difficult and the thought of sitting down and writing makes you want to either pull your hair out or crawl under a blanket and hide.  Perhaps my Mr. is on to something and that's the folly of NaBloPoMo.  Why put so much pressure on oneself for thirty days out of the year when you don't generally blog for the other three hundred and thirty five?  At any rate, once I've committed to doing something I can't really quit.  So in the spirit of thankfulness that I've been working on this month, and in an effort to take the focus off of my negative thoughts, there are five things that I am thankful for right now.

Despite my grumpy attitude towards him earlier,
my husband is out back right now putting up my Christmas lights. 
(They won't go on, but they'll be ready.)

The smell of freshly baked oatmeal cookies
lingers in the house for a very long time.

I got a prime parking spot at Target today
and there were surprisingly few people there
for eleven o'clock on Sunday.

The weekend that we had in Santa Monica.
You saw the pictures of the date day,
a post about the real reason for the trip
will be coming later this week.
Phenomenal trip.

My eldest and his friends are hosting a
pancake party in their apartment tonight.

for some reason, that delights me.  

Sorry for not being witty or thought-provoking this year.  I've been on a weird personal journey lately.

The Worst Kind of Text

At the gym this morning, I almost cried.  I don’t mean that in a figurative way either; I literally had to pause and fight back tears.

The news story that was being reported was regarding the shooting that occurred last night at Florida State University.  They were describing what happened and showing photos that the students had taken with their cell phones as they were barricaded in their classrooms.   Tables, chairs, anything that they could find they had moved to block the doors.  You could see students huddled together and talking on their cell phones.  They mentioned that many of the students sent texts to their parents and loved ones.  They showed one in particular; a girl had texted the following to her mom:

“There’s a man with a gun in the library.  I love you.”

As soon as I read that, I immediately felt sick to my stomach; it took my breath away.  Stop for a second and think about that…imagine what it would be like if you were going about your evening and you received that text from your child.  It’s terrifying.  And it's becoming all to common. 

We as parents spend the greater part of two decades shepherding and watching over our children.  We keep them fed, clothed, and protected.  Mama (or Papa) Bear is never too far away and can be ready for battle at a moment’s notice if our children are endangered in any way.  And then we send them away.  We send our precious babies out into a big, scary world…alone.    

I had a small glimpse of it when John moved out last year.  It was very strange to see him (via Facebook) with people and in places that were foreign to me.  It was just such a new concept, not knowing what he was doing.  It was awful when he got sick.  It was bad enough when I thought he had the flu.  It was the first time he had been sick away from home and I wanted to jump in the car and take him some homemade soup!  It was magnified a hundredfold when we realized that it was a much more significant illness.  Not being there?  Not being able to immediately and practically help him through it?  The endless guessing game and hours of conversations with my Mr. trying to determine when was the appropriate time to step in?  Hearing pain in my son’s voice over the phone?  It was terrible.  I have never felt more helpless in my entire life.

I’ve heard people say over and over that you just have to “give them to the Lord,” and that “He’s got them in His hands.”  I know that in my head.  I believe that He loves them far more than I ever could, which really is beyond comprehension.  I believe that nothing is going to surprise Him.  But I also know that He quite routinely allows horrific things to happen to those He loves.  Therefore the whole “giving them to the Lord” idea feels a bit like a Sunday School answer to me.   I know that praying for them is what I’m supposed to do.  And I do.  I really do. But it just doesn’t feel like enough.  Knowing the evils of the world and the crap that life deals you sometimes, I find it very difficult to reconcile the hands-off approach with my mother’s heart.  

They’re grown.  One is gone and the other will be out of here in nine months.  They are independent.  And that’s how it should be.  But when my phone rings (or I get a text) and I see that it’s from one of them, the excitement of hearing from them is always momentarily delayed as I wonder what might be wrong.  I inadvertently cringe inside for a slit-second until I hear that everything is okay.   Maybe that will lessen in time; we’ll have to wait and see.  It's not like I"m going to love them any less or the world is going to suddenly get better.

Growing up is hard. 
Stepping aside to let them grow up?  That’s even harder.  

Convicted

This month, our pastors are giving a short series entitled Metamorphosis; we’re studying Romans 12.  Last week we studied the first two verses and looked at not being conformed to this world, but rather being transformed to be more like Christ.  Today our pastor spoke on verses three through eight.  

Verse three says (in part), “…Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought…” and our pastor spent some time talking about how we are not to be self-centered.  He pointed out how society leads us to an over-inflated sense of self.  Immediately, I sat there thinking, “Well I’m not self- centered.  I do have some less than desirable qualities, but self-centeredness isn’t really one of them.”  (That should have been a red flag right there.)  Then he said to consider this:  “You’re driving down the freeway; everyone who drives faster than you is a maniac, and everyone who drives slower than you is an idiot.  Right?  We become the standard and everything is measured against us.” 

Gulp.

It hit me like a ton of books just how very self-centered I am.  We probably all are, really.  At least I like to think that I’m not alone.  All of society, all of life, constantly bombards us with the idea that we need to be looking out for #1, that we know best, and that we can take care of ourselves.  We’re taught to always be thinking, “What can this do for me?”  The view is always inward and the focus is always on us.  It’s terrible really; I was willing to list my other short-comings but was so blinded, so prideful, that my first reaction was to deny that I have a bigger problem.  

Pastor Doug then shared the following quote by C.S. Lewis:
“…the utmost evil, is pride. Unchastity, anger, greed, drunkenness, and all that, are mere flea bites in comparison: it was through pride that the devil became the devil: pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind…”

Whoa.

I began thinking about how many things in my life are direct consequences of pride.  The annoyance that I am continually struggling with at work?  There’s a bit of validity there, but close examination reveals that there truly is some pride involved.  The argument that I had with my husband last night?  Definitely pride.  My tendency to look to be validated in my accomplishments, largely because of my low sense of self-worth?  Pride, and a completely incorrect view of myself as a child of God.     

Pastor Doug completed the sermon speaking about how we are instructed not to be self-centered, but we are to be self-aware.  He also brought up three ways that our faith can change the way that we see ourselves.  I’m planning to go back and listen to the sermon again, as clearly today’s words were words that I really needed to hear.  You could listen too if you’d like.  Click here and you have the option of listening to the audio, watching the video, and looking at the message outline.

So today I am thankful for our church, that it’s a place where we are safe and where we can grow and learn.  I am thankful for our pastoral staff; each and every one of them is amazing and we are so very blessed to be under their leadership.  And I’m thankful for the Holy Spirit’s conviction; it isn’t always pleasant and it most often doesn’t feel good, but it’s beautiful and necessary as we seek to be more like Him.  

Today, with absolute humility and in all sincerity, I accept our pastor’s challenge to pray these two simple words as we continue looking at Romans 12.

“Change me.”

Psalm 139:23-24 (NLT)

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.

Point out anything in me that offends you, and lead me along the path of everlasting life.

Betty and Judy

  

Today’s post isn’t full of wisdom and it’s not a witty story; today is just about being thankful. 
Thankful for one specific person.   

My sister.

Some of you may be thinking, “…but she’s an only child!”  Technically, yes, I’m an only child.  One day I hope to meet my brothers and sisters in heaven (there are 4 of them).  Thankfully, the Lord knew (as He always does) that I would need a couple of people to fill the gap for me while I’m on this earth.  One of them is an incredible man who calls me sister; perhaps I’ll write about him one day.  Today, however, I choose to honor a woman who means the world to me.

I met her in 1992.  She was the girlfriend (soon-to-be wife) of a friend of mine.  We barely spoke the first few times that we saw each other.  There was some semi-awkward shared history there and when you’re a teenager (as we both were), you don’t always handle those sorts of situations very well.   After a few initial meetings, I didn’t see her or speak to her for a couple of years.  

In the spring of 1994, I found myself needing to communicate with her again.   I had fallen head over heels for the love of my life and we were planning to marry in less than a year.  The catch?  I was marrying the older brother of my friend…that friend that she married.  With a teeny bit of hesitation, my man and I called, told both of them that we would be getting married, and asked if they would be able to make the trip out from Colorado; we needed a best man!  They came, of course, and she and I became family.

True sisterhood didn’t happen overnight, nor can I pinpoint a specific time when our relationship shifted.  It seemed to happen naturally over time.  As our kids grew, they started spending more time with us when they were out here and we started making trips out there as we were able.  We started talking on the phone more which eventually (thanks to the invention of smart phones) led to texting.  Somewhere along the way, the conversations turned from the pleasantries of shared family to the nitty gritty of real life.  At some point, we started actually doing life together.  

As an only child herself, she “gets” me in ways that no one else does.  She knows the real me, both the good and the ugly, more than anyone else on the planet (with the exception of my husband).  We share many of the same crazy tendencies, yet we’re so very different.  We laugh together.  We cry together.  We annoy the crap out of each another.  We’re honest with each other, we keep each other accountable, and we give each other grace.  She makes me a better person.  I can’t imagine my life without her and I truly wish that I had more time to spend with her.  The mister and I are hoping to live out there in the not too distant future; I want to grow old with her.  She’s everything that I would have asked for if I were creating a sister.  Sisters by birth is pretty amazing, I’m sure – but sisters by choice…it’s a wonderful thing.

Thank you, Jaime, for calling me sister. 
And thank you for going to Canada, fetching my favorite candy bars, and sending them to me.   

Your Happy Day gifts are always perfect and they seem to arrive just when I need them the most.

Thank you for being you.

I love you.

A Season of Change

My parents came over for dinner tonight; we had lasagna, garlic bread, left-over Ding Dong Cake, Tillamook ice cream and Mega Stuf Oreos.  (Why is there only one "f" in Stuf?  It doesn't make sense.)  The candles made the house smell cozy and the Broncos are winning.  It's been a good evening.

Unfortunately, a bit of sadness and reality crept in and my heart started hurting just a little bit as I recalled a conversation that I had with my dad about a week ago...

Some of you may remember that two years ago I blogged about my mom's recent diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer's.   It came out of the blue, it hurt a lot, and it forever changed our lives.  Overall, she's done pretty well since then.  The medication that she's been taking seems to be helping some, but no one can deny the slow progression of the disease.  Due to the onset of some new neurological symptoms, they are toying with the idea of reclassifying her with a different degenerative disease, but at this point it's all word games.  We know where it is inevitably leading. 

With that in mind, my dad told me last week that my mom will no longer be cooking Thanksgiving dinner.  We will still be celebrating at their house, none of us are ready to give that up yet, but I will be doing the cooking.  My dad will help; he likes to and we'll have fun puttering in the kitchen together.  But she's progressed to the point where it would be very difficult for her to take on a big meal like that anymore. 

Before I continue, I would beg those of you who know her and who still see her to not look up on her with pity or to say anything about it.  The last thing she needs is for someone to come up to her at church and say, "I'm so sorry to hear that you're unable to tackle Thanksgiving dinner anymore. How sad that must be for you."  While it may be well intentioned, that wouldn't help her.  As hard as it is for us to accept these changes, it must be infinitely more frustrating and painful for her!  All she needs right now, and my dad as well, is encouragement and love, not pity or sorrow.  And prayer.  They could both always use prayer.

But for me, as I watched her hands shake this evening, it hit home to me that there's been a shift now and there's no going back.  And I don't like it.  I don't want my parents to decline.  I don't want my role to shift to more of a caretaker.  Not because I don't want to help them, heaven's no!  Of course I'll do whatever it takes, whenever it is called for and I'll never mind any of it.  But I really want them to be healthy and happy and for things to be like they used to be.   It hurts me to see the changes and be powerless to stop them.  And sometimes the weight of all that is to come, and the knowledge that without any siblings, it will all fall on my shoulders, well, it seems too heavy sometimes. 

We'll make it, I'm sure; one day, one year at a time.  But I'm afraid that there will be many tears along the way.  I've never been one to like change; I like this one even less.

He's Got This

While we were in the middle of Home Group last night, our leaders received a text that their (first) grand baby had arrived.  I don’t know that getting the news in the middle of Group was how they would have planned it, but since the action was taking place in Virginia, it was wonderful to be there and be able to celebrate with them.   What a joy to lift Baby James up to the Father just moments after he took his first breaths!

As we approached our time of prayer, the ugliness of this world was recognized as well.  A brother in our group shared that his father was gravely ill and wasn’t expected to make it through the night; it is likely that he is no longer with us.  While the mood certainly was not as joyful, it was still a blessing and a privilege to lift our brother and his family up before Christ, seeking His comfort throughout this time.

To be honest, I had a rough day yesterday; there’s some stuff going on that I’m having a difficult time with.  But in a way that only He can, the Lord reminded me last night that He’s got everything in His hands.  Nothing surprises Him.  We may be caught off guard every now and then, but He isn’t.  From the very first moment that we come into being, until our last breath, and every little thing in between, He controls it all.  He knew that James would be making his grand entrance last night, He knew that He would be calling another to Him, He knows what I’m dealing with and He knows where you’re at right now too.  

God’s got this, and what a comforting peace that brings!

“No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me.
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home,
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.”