Temporary

When I was in high school, our church had a revival.  A really great evangelist came to speak, though unfortunately now all I can remember is that his name was Tommy.  Tommy the super speaker was really inspirational to me and my favorite thing that I walked away with was the ‘temporary’ stamp.

I ordered one immediately.

Or maybe my parents ordered it for me since I was still sponging off of them at that point.

Either way, we went home and found a stamp-ordering place and ordered a lovely, self-inking rubber stamp.  I still have it to this day (of course I do, since high school was just a few short years ago. Ahem.) It bears only one word.

Tommy said that we should all have a ‘temporary’ stamp, and we should be marking everything we see with it.  Being right in the middle of my angst-y youth, that really had an impact on me.  And I’ve carried that with me into the, um, older years of my youth.  Or adulthood. Whatever.

I think it’s a good reminder that applies to everything in life.  Sort of a ‘this too shall pass’ but more succinct and less annoying.

When Carrie Underwood released her Temporary Home song, I was thrilled.  So glad to know that I’m not the only one with this philosophy.

That’s it – that’s all I’ve got.  Short, sweet, and simple today.

Have a good one.

Makeover Monday: Makeover My Heart

I’ve been reading a book called Crazy Love by Francis Chan. Re-reading, actually.  It’s a great book.

See that?  There in the bottom right?  If you ask me, it’s the most important, most revealing part of the title.

Overwhelmed by a Relentless God.

Heavy stuff.  Intimidating.

Overwhelming.

Relentless.

And as uncomfortable as that might make you – and it should make you squirm a little – it’s also comforting, isn’t it?  The idea of God loving you relentlessly, never giving up, never leaving.  Loving you so wholly that it’s overwhelming.

It is a great book.  But it’s not an easy read.  It’s very challenging.  Not because it’s theological and you need to be a biblical scholar to understand it – not at all.  It’s easy to read.  It’s just painful.  If you can read it and not feel uncomfortable, then I daresay you’re missing the point.  Chan writes, “God doesn’t call us to be comfortable. He calls us to trust Him so completely that we are unafraid to put ourselves in situations where we will be in trouble if He doesn’t come through.”

And yet, it’s easy to read a book like this, agree with it, feel inspired by it, vow to live your life in a better way, and then…not.  We let the fire fade.  We grow comfortable again.  I did it myself, after reading Same Kind of Different As Me.  [Another great read, BTW]

Annie Dillard once wrote that “How we live our days is how we live our lives.”  Chan takes that one step farther, writing “We each need to discover for ourselves how to live this day in faithful surrender to God as we ‘continue to work out [our] salvation with fear and trembling’” (Phil. 2:12). [This also happens to be my favorite scripture] Chan says we have to learn to listen to and obey God day to day “…in a society where it’s easy and expected to do what is most comfortable.”

I’ve been comfortable.

And I want to change that.

Coincidentally, we got a new issue of Thriving Family magazine last week, and the Chan family is profiled.  Specifically, the article is about their decision to sell their comfortable home and downsize, moving into a small home and even inviting the needy to live with them.  They are practicing what he calls ‘radical obedience’.  Giving up what would make them comfortable by worldly standards, and giving to the world until it hurts.

I want to practice radical obedience.

I want to be radical.

I want to have a heart that is so filled with passion, so consumed by love, so overwhelmed by a  relentless God, that there is no shadow of my former selfish, comfortable self.

I want to love my neighbor so fully that there is no room left for me.

Erma Bombeck once said that “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me’.”

Me too, Erma.  Me too.

I have a long way to go here.  My daughter is better at this than I am.  But today, I am [re]committing myself  to trying.

One day at a time.

How we live our days is how we live our lives.

Indeed.

Sunlight

1 John 1:5

This is the message we have heard from Him and declare to you: God is light; in Him there is no darkness at all.

Old like me

Old Soul – A spiritual person whom is wise beyond their years; people of strong emotional stability. Basically, someone whom has more understanding of the world around them.

And that’s the best definition I could find via Google – the rest all involve ‘many lifetimes’ and the like.  Hogwash.

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My entire life I’ve been told I’m an old soul.  I now have Annie, and my eldest is most certainly an old soul.  Is it nature?  Nurture?  I’m not sure, but either way, it is.

I know it, and I’ve never tried to deny it.  I’m an old woman in a youngish woman’s body.

I was reminded of this fact last week when I heard someone state that ‘old’ people often think children should sit down and be quiet in church.  I bit my tongue at the time (quite a feat, as those who know me can attest) but later reflected on how once again, I am old.

And I’m okay with that, truly.  I have always enjoyed the company of those much older than myself.  I’ve always related better to the elderly than to my own peers.  I would far rather spend an afternoon with someone who has really lived life, than a young person who has done little living but much posturing.

I aspire to be the old woman described in the Bible in Titus 2:3-5:

Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.

I’m not there yet.  Submission is not easy, but I’m working on it.

So yes, I’m an old person.  And I like other old people.  Of all ages.

Annie is only 7, yet I marvel daily at her deep and profound understanding of God and the real world.  Real meaning that which is truly important.

Because she is a child, she thinks like a child.  She only recently realized that Mickey Mouse at Disney World is somewhat less than, um, real.  But because she is an old soul, she also once said that she’s not sure Christian women should be wearing makeup, because it sends a conflicting message about what is really important.

I love that kid.

And I pray that we will have many, many more years in which to grow old, together.

PS) I readily admit, I do believe that children should sit down and be quiet in church.  Certainly I don’t mind to hear the occasional peep, but more than that is disruptive to your fellow worshipers and disrespectful to the God we are there to honor.  They must learn to sit still and be quiet.  It’s a good lesson.

Or so says my inner old lady.

True Love

My young daughters have already begun to choose their future husbands.  I find it a bit odd since who I was going to marry was pretty much the farthest thing from my mind in  preschool, but this seems to be a common practice now.  I’ve found it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it might, likely because I breathe a sigh of relief at all of their choices.

Lilly proudly declares, “I get married with Luke.”  Luke being a boy from our church.  He’s a very appropriate 2 years older, one of the cutest little boys I’ve ever seen, and just the right amount of ornery.  He makes me laugh just to look at him, and he comes from a good family.  And it just so happens that the girls are all good friends with his twin sister, so the families could just merge seamlessly.  Good choice Lilly.  Please remember this in high school.

Catie picked Carter, the son of some friends of ours.  Or possibly Isaac, their other son.  Either way, I’m good with it.  Another great family, great kids, super cute.  She & Isaac might be too similar to make it work, but thankfully they have a few years to iron out the details.  Thumbs up.

And then there’s Annie.  She is 7 and going into 2nd grade, and she wants to marry her best friend.  So far, a very solid plan.

What makes Annie’s choice so special is who her best friend is – a little boy from her class who is severely autistic.  They sit beside each other, and from day one Annie has adored him.

She never noticed that their skin is a different color.  She never cared that he is largely non-verbal.  Instead, she began checking books out of the library on sign language.  It wasn’t for 5 months that I realized she was doing this so she could learn to communicate with him.

She never cared that he throws fits of frustration.  She didn’t mind recently when he hit her on one such occasion.  In fact, she dismissed it immediately when I asked her about it, afraid he would get into trouble.  “It’s okay mom, he didn’t mean it!”

She carries tissues in her backpack so that she can use one of those if the need arises, because he doesn’t like everyone to use the tissue box.  He wants it to be his personal tissue box, and Annie is happy to comply.

She’s even gone so far as to re-arrange her bathroom schedule, because he doesn’t like it when she goes to the bathroom right after lunch.  She never questioned why this bothered him, she just accepted it.  And she loves him enough to change even that, just to ensure his happiness.

The first week of school, she told Catie about her new best friend.  “He has autism” I heard her say, and my ears perked up. 

“What’s that?” Catie asked.

“It’s just part of him, like you have blue eyes, and Lilly has big feet.  It’s part of what makes him him.  He’s really cool Catie, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

And that was all she ever said about it – she’s never mentioned his autism since.  But him?  He gets discussed every day.

Their desks are together.  They line up together.  She holds his hand in the hallway, and she likes to sit with him at lunch so she can open his milk.  Sometimes they make swaps with their food, which works out particularly well for him since Annie eats like a bird.

She loves him with a heart that is pure, and she loves him from a place that is deeper than most adults I know. 

She has a completely normal, ordinary, everyday friendship with him, and I love this about her.  That she overlooks all that is different and notices only what is alike.

Recently I accompanied her class on a field trip, and I was pleased to see how kind she was to him.  She didn’t run off and leave him because things were new and exciting and he couldn’t keep up.  She still held his hand.  She still opened his drink.  She still looked after her buddy.

In fact she ditched me on the bus so she could ride with him instead, and she helped him do Mad Libs on the way.  That he didn’t understand ‘adjective’ or ‘adverb’ was no deterrent at all – she just found a way to make it work.  When he got out of his seat, she showed him the sign for ‘sit’.  When he was restless, she gave him my phone to watch cartoons.  And mostly, she gave him hugs.  Lots and lots of hugs.

I was so proud of her, and I told her that evening that I was happy to see how nicely she treated him, and what a good friend she was being.  At this she screwed up her little face, gave me a strange look and said, “I’m not his friend to be nice to him.  I just love him.”

And she does.  She just loves him.

I wonder how many times in his life he will experience that kind of blind, unconditional love.  I wonder how many times I will. 

I wonder how many times I offer that same selfless love to others.  Especially to those who aren’t family, to those who are different, to those who lash out at me in frustration. 

How often do I love purely, without expectation? 

How often do I overlook everything that makes someone different or difficult, and just. love. them.?

My daughter has the most amazing spirit I believe I have ever encountered, and praise God for it, because certainly it comes in spite of all the ways I fail her.  I very often feel she is the one setting the example for me. 

Today, I will strive to love like Annie.  It’s a lofty goal, but I have a great Teacher – in more ways than one.

Singing in the rain

“Sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving; sing praise upon the harp unto our God: Who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth, who maketh grass to grow upon the mountains.”   Psalms 147:7-8

Project Hope

In case you ever wondered, my blog title is a line stolen from Louisa May Alcott.  In Little Women, Jo March ponders her direction in life and says “I fear I am hopelessly flawed.” 

I love Ms. Alcott, I love Little Women, and I simply adore Jo March.  I connect with her.  As a girl, I, too, struggled with feeling I didn’t fit in anywhere, and didn’t know where I was headed.  I, too, was a tomboy.  I, too, was (am) a writer. 

And I, too, am Hopelessly Flawed.

An imperfect specimen. 

But my Redeemer is perfect, and it is through Him that I have hope.

Generally, I try to stay on neutral ground here.  I have strong beliefs, but I don’t want to alienate anyone.  I am not ashamed!  But I cannot share anything if I chase someone away, either.  So mostly I try not to put my beliefs ‘out there’ in a way that would be a turn off, but occasionally I do have to fly my Jesus flag.

Something has been on my heart for a while now, and it’s time to put my money where my mouth is.  Find a need and fill it.

You may have noticed the button to the right over there.  [Feel free to snag, please, if you'd like to help spread the word.]

The idea is simple – no pressure, no preaching, just a book.  I’m offering to send a Bible to anyone who would like one but cannot afford it. 

You can click the logo above to read more about the Project (or there is a link in my header), and if you feel led to pray for it, I would appreciate that as well.

“Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.” Norman B. Rice

On my heart today

If you need prayer, I might not be your girl.

Sounds terrible, right?

I don’t mean it to, honestly.  I would be happy to pray for you, whatever burden you are carrying.  The problem with me is, chances are, I’m not praying the way you’d like me to be praying.

On Wednesday nights, our church has ‘Go! night’, where folks break off into different teams.  Some go out on home visits, some send cards to shut-ins, some have a bible study, and some pray for the prayer requests we have received.  I’ve been going to the prayer group, but every week I first find myself praying about whether or not I belong there. 

I don’t consider myself a prayer warrior.  I pray fervently, but I also pray differently. 

I question if different is better.

Many years ago, a tragedy struck our family.  The kind that shakes you to your very core, and changes who you are forever.  The kind of thing that is virtually unspeakable, because the words bring more pain than one can bear.

When we were in the midst of this, I cried.  I sobbed with the kind of gut-wrenching wails that sound inhuman, and I prayed more and prayed harder than I ever have in my life.  I was desperate, and terrified, and unable to do anything but pray.  I begged for a different outcome.  I begged for something to change.  I pleaded for a miracle.  As desperate people do, I asked that I be taken instead.

The outcome remained the same.

I was not taken. 

And although I now have three beautiful daughters who would not be here had my ‘deal’ been accepted – I still mourn that loss.

I still can’t talk about it.  Still can’t find the words to offer comfort to those who need it most.

I know that is selfish of me, and I am ashamed of that.

Hopelessly Flawed.

My faith was not shaken by this event.  They say when tragedy strikes, it either destroys faith or makes it stronger.  It made my faith stronger.  But it also made me realize that I need to change the way I pray.  Change the things that I pray for.

It isn’t easy to do.  It’s human nature to pray for what we want.

Please God, help me find a better job.

Please God, let us get that new house we want.

And there’s nothing wrong with that, per se.  The Bible does not tell you to keep your thoughts to yourself!  Scripture tells us that God knows your heart.  He knows your desires, your secrets, your burdens.  He wants a relationship with you.  He wants you to bring everything to Him – everything.

Yet I can’t seem to do that anymore.  I’m not trying to hold back, but I am trying to reshape my heart.

I’m trying to let go of what I want, and want what He wants instead.

I don’t pray for a specific outcome anymore – I pray for His will to be done.  I don’t pray for healing, I pray for courage.  I don’t pray for a lighter load, I pray for a stronger back.

I feel bad about this sometimes.  A friend will ask me to pray for something, and instead of praying for what they want, I pray for God’s hand to be in their situation.  That isn’t exactly the same, is it? 

I’m still weighing this, whether I should switch to a different team.  And I’m still praying about it.  And I’m still happy to pray for you, too.

Just as long as you can accept that we don’t always get what we want.

A very bad, very good day

Today is a day that brought me to my knees. 

A day that has been gut-wrenchingly painful, emotionally and financially. 

A day that has seen plans changed and dreams shattered. 

A day when it feels like much of my world is crumbling.

And on a day like this, what is there to do but hit your knees?

And as I did, something happened.

I thought of Judges. 

We’ve been having a series of sermons about the book of Judges, and they’ve been quite good.  If you are not familiar with the storyline, the basics are that the Israelites stray from God, bad things happen, they pray for Him to deliver them, He sends help, they are saved, rejoice, and then wander again.  Over and over this pattern repeats itself.  It is hard not to read this book and wonder how the Israelites themselves did not see this pattern and learn from it.

“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love”

Many times in my life I’ve felt that a sermon was speaking to me, that the message therein was one that I particularly needed to hear at that time.  But honestly I believe this is the first time I’ve heard a series of sermons that were preparing specifically me for something to come. 

Today as I prayed, this book and these sermons came to mind.  And I realized -

I am just like the Israelites.

How often do I wander on my own, taking my comfort for granted? 

How fervently do I pray when that comfort is threatened?

I’m sure you’ve heard that saying, There are no atheists in foxholes. 

True that.

How disappointing to realize this about myself, over and over again.  That no matter what I know, I still fail to implement it.  That no matter how hard I try, I fail.  Miserably.

I am ashamed that I don’t keep the same level of passion every day, because certainly God is deserving every day.  How it must hurt Him to be taken for granted.

And in the midst of my tears, I realized that today is a blessing.

This crisis is a blessing.

So often we have to be broken before we can be made whole.

It humbled me yet again, when I needed it yet again.

It helped to draw me back to where I belong.

It renewed my perspective and forced some changes.

They are painful, but they are progress.

Today, I am praising God for that.

I am thankful for my burdens.

I am thankful for the bad things that bring me to my knees, because that is where I belong anyway.

I’m thankful for a God who loves me enough to draw me back, every time I wander.

And I’m thankful for a day spent in intense prayer.  May they be more plentiful in my life, no matter how much rain it may take to bring them.

I will praise You in this storm.

Following My Bliss

I’ve been really bummed about not being able to go to Blissdom. I’ve actually never gone to a blogging conference (Although after hearing about BlogHer last summer, I wasn’t so disappointed that I missed out on all that drama).  Besides all of the learning opportunities (Getting Published workshop, I’m looking at you), Harry Connick, Jr. will be there.  Harry!  Y’all know how much I adore Harry.  And my dear friend Darcie will be there.  Since we live on opposite sides of the country, our chances to meet up are few and far between (Namely, WDW every October).  And on top of all of those good reasons to go, the conference is right in my backyard!  It’s in Nashville, city that I love, and oh-so-conveniently located for me.  So close, and yet so far. 

Alas, because of some unexpected bumps in the road of life, our disposable income is, um, less-than-plentiful these days.  We’re more in trip cancellation mode than trip planning mode.  I’m not bitter about it, but I am disappointed.  So when I heard that Mom in the City was giving away a Blissdom pass, I decided to give the dream of Blissdom one more shot.  As such, this is my entry in her giveaway – wish me luck!

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The theme of Blissdom 2010 is “Follow Your Bliss.”

2009 was a year full of challenges for me.  Unfortunately the year began with my beloved grandmother’s death.  We were very close – she was like a second mother to me – so this was an emotionally devastating event.  I am very fortunate to know that she was a Christian, and that she is in heaven with my grandfather right now, so my profound grief is also mingled with joy.  After her death I blogged about her, and about choosing happiness.  Because I do believe that happiness is a choice.  You don’t always feel it; sometimes you have to deliberately choose to be happy.  Over and over again. 

I spent a lot of last year choosing to be happy, in spite of my sense of loss.  In spite of the Grama shaped hole in my heart.  And then last fall, another devastating blow came in the form of a medical prognosis for my husband.  A very overwhelming diagnosis, and a future that is very uncertain. 

I will be happy, I will be happy. 

Fake it ’till you feel it.

I wish I could say that I’m feeling it.  That I’m not still faking.  But I’d be lying.

I’m an optimist by nature.  When I have a few pounds to lose, I appreciate living in a country where food is so plentiful.  When the kids are sick, I’m thankful that it’s pneumonia and not cancer.  As the medical bills pile up, I’m grateful that we are alive and here to worry about them. 

And worry isn’t the right word, really.  I’m not a worrier.  One of my favorites quotes is, “You can tell the size of your God by the length of your worry list.  The longer your list, the smaller your God.” 

I serve a big God.

And I know that God’s hand is in our situation, just as it always is.  I know that God is watching over us and providing for us, in good times and bad.  I know that others have it far worse than we do.

I am trying to be faithful.  But it’s hard not to be fearful.  It’s hard not to think about what the future might hold. This is a constant struggle.

2009 was largely spent choosing to be happy.  Choosing to find Bliss, even when it was lurking in the shadows.  Choosing to accept the flicker of candlelight, when a spotlight on my path would have been easier.  Choosing to believe that true Bliss will come again one day, and faking Bliss until it does.

I do not know what 2010 will hold.  I wish I could say that something has changed, but it hasn’t.  My husband’s medical condition remains the same.  I write this on the 1-year anniversary of my Grama’s passing.  Maybe that’s significant.  Maybe this is a day that, down the road, I will look back on as a turning point.  I hope so. 

For now, the future is uncertain.  I am grateful to know that whatever it holds, I have a Savior who will carry me through it all. 

And that’s enough. 

That’s where my Bliss lies.  Today and forever, in Him.

Jesus, bring the rain.