Job Moments

Our church is doing a reading plan together on a Bible App. We are reading through the Old Testament. Every day it gives you your chapters to read and at the end there is a place you can make comments and see what everyone has to say about the daily reading.

On Sunday morning I followed my normal routine of laying in bed, checking my email, the news, and then going to see what the daily Bible reading was for the day. We were starting the book of Job and I groaned and shut off my phone. I did not feel like reading Job. My husband was out of town and I was feeling physically sick. There was a bug running through the house and I had not escaped it. Job felt a little too close to home at the moment.

By lunchtime on Sunday I couldn’t pretend I was Ok any more. I climbed into bed and proceeded to have a fever and nausea and horrible sore throat for the next 24 hrs. My oldest took care of the household and everyone was fine, but I was miserable. Then the next day, my oldest got sick and I had to pass on responsibility to the next kids in line as I was still too sick to get out of bed.

Plans that we had made weeks in advance had to be canceled. Disappointment had to be dealt with. Groceries had to be ordered for delivery, as there was no one well enough to drive. And on the edge of all that was Job waiting to be read.

I’ve read Job many times before and each time I come away with something different. This time, I lay in bed, set my App to read aloud the passages for me and lay there kind of listening as my body ached, my throat was in agony, and I tried to fight off nausea.

For me, I think my simplest explanation of the book of Job is of a man who suffers horrible things, wants to know why he is suffering, has a bunch of friends give him a bunch of reasons for why he’s suffering, and then he finally talks to God, and walks away knowing that the “why” is not what he’s supposed to focus on. The focus is God and who He is. God’s ways are not our ways and we are not Big enough to comprehend it all. We are simply asked to trust him.

Reading Job while sick has been helpful. A good reminder to not sink into gloom and despair as all my carefully laid plans got unraveled with a rather horrible virus. My daughter was very upset about her special events having to be canceled and she wanted to know WHY DID I HAVE TO GET SICK NOW??? And of course there is no answer for that question. Rather, we can rest in knowing that our God is good and we can trust our lives in his hands.

You are Loved

One week ago I was at the end of myself. My self-loathing was high and I felt hopeless. I lay in bed Saturday night and talked to God about it. Essentially the conversation was, Lord, you gave me this wonderful body and I have not taken care of it. I have broken it. And no matter how many times I swear I’m going to do better, in my own strength I cannot change. I’ve tried and failed so many times I’ve lost count. I can not fix this in my own strength. And as I lay there, exposing my sin to God, I just wanted him to do something. Yell at me. Tell me how disappointed you are in me, agree that I’ve really messed things up. Punish me. Anything. Just do anything to get me out of this horrible place of stuckness and failure. As I lay there I was exhausted and feeling so low. I started to drift off to sleep and there was a whisper in my mind, “You are Loved” and a peace came over me and I fell asleep. In the morning, those words came right back to me and I repeated them over and over again in my head as I got ready to head to church. Maybe there would be some answers for me in the service.

We had a guest speaker, Clem Ferris, and his sermon had me sitting on the edge of my seat, as it felt like God was speaking directly to me through his words. He was talking about grace. And there were two things he said that have stuck with me all week. First, he told a story about how his dad let him “drive the car” when he was seven. He sat on his dad’s lap, held the steering wheel and “drove” the car into the garage from the driveway. He was so excited about his big accomplishment. But the truth was, his Dad had his hand firmly on the bottom of the steering wheel and it had been his father who actually drove the car. He pointed out that our sanctification is like that. We think that we are doing everything in our own strength, but God is the one that is making the changes in us, it’s his strength that accomplishes things in our lives, not our own. Second, he told about how his perspective changed on the story in the Bible where a woman caught in adultery is brought before Jesus. The crowd is ready to stone her and Jesus says, whoever has never stoned, throw the first stone. The crowd slowly leaves without throwing any stones. Jesus asks the woman where her accusers are, didn’t even one of them condemn you? She says no and he says, Neither do I, go and sin no more. Clem said that his interpretation before used to be, Jesus not condemning her was grace. And then of course, she needed to go and work hard at not sinning any more. But now, his view was, Jesus didn’t condemn her because of the work he was about to do on the cross which would cover all of her sins. The grace in the story was telling her to go and sin no more. That is something that is accomplished with the help of the Holy Spirit. God doing the work in us. After the sermon, our church always has a prayer team at the front of the church so you can get special prayer for whatever you need. As the service was over and people were starting to stand up to leave, one of the pastors reminded everyone about the prayer team and said they felt like there was a special call for those who were needing freedom. I went up. And was met by two dear ladies that I know and I trust. I talked to them about my inability and seeming undesire to care for my body in the way that I know I should and my inability to fix the problem. They prayed over me. And while I can’t remember all that they said, the theme was love. You are loved. There is no condemnation. God is the one steering the boat, not you. I went home and ended up having most of the day to myself as my family scattered all over the place. I took a really long walk, thinking about the sermon. I went to bed several hours earlier than normal and slept a lot. In the morning, I was still thinking. I ate my normal, not so great for me, bowl of cereal. Not sure what to do now. And then somewhere around lunch time I felt a surge of hope and suddenly had a plan.

Two years ago, when I had been working really hard to get healthy again, I had used a personal trainer app where a personal trainer gives you a workout to do every day and you record everything you eat on the app and the trainer is available to give dietary advice. I still had the contact info for my old trainer and I texted her, telling her I’d like to get started again. Within half an hour I was all signed up and already had a workout assigned to me. I went ahead and did it. Then I decided I might as well record what I was eating, so I put my info in, then I decided that I should probably start checking my blood sugar with my glucometer (something my doctor told me to do but I’ve been avoiding for over half a year) and I might as well record my numbers on the fitness app so my trainer could help keep me accountable. So I did that. Which was an unpleasant reality check, but it was also motivating. Ok. What can I change so I can get those numbers lower? In the past week I have been exercising a lot, made major changes in my diet, and I’m already seeing improvement in my blood sugar numbers. I have been filled with hope and peace and I haven’t felt once like cheating or stopping. And that is a miracle. A week ago I truly felt dead in my sins, completely unable to help myself. And today I feel alive in Christ, set free from bondage.

I think the takeaway point I want to make is that this has come about from a fresh revelation of God’s love for me. His love for me now, as a broken person who doesn’t have the strength to help herself. Not as a perfect person who is doing everything right. There are two things I’ve been repeating to myself all week. You are loved. And Jesus is the one driving the car, not you.

Comments on “The Good Place”

I find it really interesting when pop culture lines up with a Biblical worldview. I just started watching the show “The Good Place” on Netflix. I’ve only seen two episodes. (Because I decided that this show was going to be my exercise show that I would only watch when I go on my elliptical. So far I’ve seen two episodes. 🙂 But, I’m planning on being a lot more consistent now!) Ok, lots of spoiler alerts. I’m about to talk indepth about those two episodes… 

The premise of the show is that when people die they either go to the “good place” or the “bad place”. We don’t get any details about the bad place except that we hear a short sound bite of people screaming in agony. The good place on the other hand is a paradise with everyone getting a home that suits their personality and likes and dislikes, and everyone gets introduced to their soul mate so they can have harmonious romance for the rest of eternity. The way you get into the good place is to have all your good deeds and bad deeds measured. (This brings to mind all kinds of world religions.) If you’ve done enough good things and are a morally good person, then you get to be in the good place. Only problem is, due to some kind of clerical error, a bad person is accidentally allowed in. Someone who shares the same name as a morally good person, but they brought the wrong one. Her presence immediately causes things to start going wrong. She is desperate to stay and trys to get the help of her supposed soulmate to help her learn how to be a good person so she can stay. 

Up front, none of this lines up with a Biblical worldview. But you start digging a little deeper and suddenly it does. First of all, the people who are morally good, are actually not all that great. Some are very condescending, back biting, two faced. Romans 3 talks about how everyone is a sinner. Everyone. “…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…” Romans 3:23. 

Second, the bad person seems pretty helpless in her efforts to turn herself into a good person. Ephesians 2:1 says, “As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins…”  Dead means you do not have the power to fix the problem. The lady in the show tries to make better choices, but it is a very surface change. 

Now, I have no idea how the show is going to progress. I imagine they will have her go through a character change where she will eventually, by sheer willpower, turn herself into a morally good person. And maybe some people do manage to do that. Change their actions. But there are two problems with that. First, if you do morally good things, but your heart is still full of anger, bad motives, pride, etc, are you actually a good person? Second, what about all the things that you did in your past? Do they just slowly cancel out, one by one? Each good thing you do knocks one bad thing off your record? 

It sounds like a very stressful way to live. Every day wondering if you’ve done enough good things to make it. The truth is that every single one of us are sinners. Even the most holy people or morally good people you can think of. God is Holy and his standard is perfection. The show, without even realizing it,  gives a nod to God and his goodness. Where does morality come from? How do we determine what is good and what is bad? It’s pretty apparent that the show has decided to follow a Biblical definition of good as it defines good deeds in the terms of helping others and being self-sacrificing. The Bible actually spells out a much more detailed version of what Good is. God gave the law to Moses and it was a very detailed list of how to live. Follow the law, you are good. Don’t follow the law, you are bad. Romans 3:20 explains the purpose of the law.

“Therefore no one will be declared righteous in God’s sight by the works of the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of our sin.”

Another words, the law didn’t really turn people into Good People. It just acted as a mirror to show people just how bad they were. 

It all sounds rather depressing. We’re all sinners. The law just shows us how badly we mess up. Even if we start acting perfect from here on out, we still have all our past sins to deal with. So what do we do? 

Enter Jesus. Jesus was perfect, never sinned. He was the Son of God. He came and paid the price for all our sins by dying on the cross. All those past sins we’ve committed, now covered, taken care of. When we repent of our sins and put our faith in Jesus, believe he is who says he is, believe he died on the cross for us, we become new people. Our sins are now forgiven and we are covered in Jesus’ goodness. He changes our heart and makes us like him. When we die, we go to heaven, the BEST place, where he has prepared a place for us, and we are there, not on the strength of our own goodness but because of God’s goodness. His forgiveness, his mercy, his grace. 

I imagine the tv show I’m watching will eventually get on my nerves as they try to solve their multitude of problems in their own strength. It seems like a great show to get hijacked by the Gospel. Can you see the story play out with all the crazy machinations of people trying to be good in their own strength, and then in the end, Jesus walks in and says, hey there’s a better way. Come to me, Rest. Let me change your heart, not just your actions. 

I’d love to see that on Netflix!

It’s Been a While

Hello Everyone. It’s been a while. I hope you all are well. I know I’ve not been consistently writing since January. I needed a break, and now I’m excited to have a place to share again. 

It’s summer here and school is out for a couple months. I purposefully did not make a lot of plans for the summer, but despite that, our schedule has still filled up so that my monthly calendar on the kitchen wall is filled with writing. 

This is the first summer in four years that it’s just our family. No foster kids. No other people staying with us. Just us. My oldest daughter came home for the summer which is an added bonus. My son who is in the army is now in Washington State and my seventeen year old is about to launch from the house for a summer of outreach all over the world. But, everyone else is close. It feels decadent. Rich. Luxurious. Just me and my family. It’s not a place I want to stay. I want to be someone who has a heart for people and is always helping in some way. But right now, this feels like a very necessary and very wonderful step in healing and recovering to just have a summer to breathe deeply, move slowly, and enjoy my family. 

This past year was kind of a double whammy for me. My youngest child entered school for the first time, and then after three years, at Christmas, my foster daughter returned to her own home. Two of the big things that identified me, stay-at-home mom of young children, and foster mom, were suddenly gone. Looking back, I can say that I have been mourning the loss of those roles. But, while I was in the middle of it, I wasn’t able to think clearly enough to say, YOU ARE MOURNING, and it’s normal, and you’ll be ok. Instead I just felt a bewildering combination of anger, sadness, depression, and numbness. Lost. 

I hope I can write more about that journey in the future. Right now I still feel like I’m in a discovery phase where I’ve got to figure out what this next stage of life looks like. Still a stay-at-home mom, but the kids need different things now. Not a foster mom any more, but still in contact with my foster daughter. My family still needs me, but I now have bigger chunks of time where I could do other things too. I’m praying for direction. But also feeling that right now I’m still in the resting stage. I’ve signed up to teach piano lessons one day a week at my church’s homeschooling Co-op and that will start in the fall. I’m excited about that. Something to look forward to. But I’m glad I’ve still got summer to enjoy before that begins. 

So, consider this the catch-up blog. I tell you why I’ve been gone and that I plan to start writing again. And then next time, I can just jump back into all the things I’ve thought about sharing with you all over the past months. I’ve read some good books I’d love to rant about. God has been gracious and merciful in so many ways. My kids have been up to the normal funny kid antics. I can’t wait to share! See you again soon. 

The Old Trailer

When I was a child, my grandparents owned a forty acre farm in Eastern Kentucky. It was in Knipp Hollow (prounounced hollar). Morehead was the closest town. My grandparents owned the old farmhouse that was down by the main road, at the mouth of the Hollar. My Uncle had been given a piece of land on top of the mountain (just a large hill, but as a child, walking up the gravel driveway to the top in the summer, it was a mountain), and my parents had carved out a terrace a little ways up the hill and also had access to a large field down by the creek where we planted a big vegetable garden every summer. 

Our family came and went from the missionfield, but two different times, when we were stateside, we lived in the little trailer perched on the side of the mountain, surrounded by pine trees. There were giant pine trees that grew all over the hillside in front of our home, so tall you strained your neck to see all the way to the top. I was told that my great grandfather had planted those trees. Then the hillside behind our home was covered with smaller pinetrees, all about the size of beautiful Christmas trees. My parents told me they planted those trees the year I was born and I felt the kinship of being the same age, having the same birthday as those beautiful trees. I would often scurry up the embankment behind our trailer and burrow myself in the trees. Invisible to the world, in my own little nest. 

Our trailer was a singlewide (none of those bourgeois doublewides for us). It was white and yellow and green. Old. Creaky. A stove pipe stuck up from the roof and there was alo a large onion-shaped oscillating vent, meant to keep things cooler in the summer, but far too inadequate for the job. In the winter my dad would stuff insulation up in the vent in order to make everything as air tight as possible. He would cover the old one-pane windows with thick plastic sheeting, held in place with silver duct tape, and our dear old Ben Franklin wood stove would work tirelessly all winter to keep us warm. To this day, when I smell woodsmoke, I’m instantly transported back to that old trailer. 

When I was a baby my parents had built a large covered porch that ran almost the entire length of the trailer. It was made with two by fours, and thin logs I presume my dad had taken from the woods. The roof was made out of green fiberglass roof panels. Translucent enough that a beautiful green light came through. There was a railing around the entire porch that was filled in with what looked a bit like plastic coated chicken wire. All the spaces were filled with wire because apparently, when I was a baby, the porch was my favorite place to play. Because the trailer was on the side of a steep hill, the porch hung out into the air and there was room under the porch for kids to play if they felt like it. Many a summer day found me under that porch, digging around in the cool dirt, making fancy mud pies with my little tin dishes. 

The trailer had three bedrooms. A separate room each for me and my brother on one end of the trailer and a room for my parents on the other end of the trailer. The rooms were so small. My brother and I each had a bunk bed and a dresser in our rooms. I had enough space to open my drawers and a narrow path from the doorway to my little corner closet, and that was it. It was truly a bed-room. A room for my bed. Nothing else. When I played in my room, I sat on top of my bright patchwork quilt on my bed to play. There was no floor room. I had one window that looked out onto the hill rising almost straight up behind us, only feet away, covered with all my pine trees. Not much of a view, but it felt cozy to me.

The walls of the trailer were all dark, fake wood paneling. Just google images of “wood paneling 70s and 80s” and you will see exactly what I mean. The old shag green carpet had been torn up and replaced with a beautiful beige, but really you could hardly see the carpet because the furniture covered everything. The living room was tiny but it had a large couch, a buffet with a large tv covering half of it, a big bookshelf that sat on top of a small cupboard, a dining room table and four chairs. The next room was the kitchen. Yellow linoleum. Yellow fridge. Brown wooden cabinets and yellow formica counters. The woodstove took up half of the floor space of the kitchen. Then down a narrow hallway, made even more narrow by all the coats hanging up on hooks on one side, a bathroom just big enough to hold a yellow tub, more yellow formica, yellow linoleum, and an old washer and dryer. You could only access the washer if you went all the way into the bathroom and closed the door. Then finally my parents room at the end. 

During my childhood I lived in twelve different homes. The trailer was probably the most humble one, but it’s the home I remember the fondest. Cozy, warm, bright and cheerful. Tucked safely in the woods, deep in the hollar, surrounded by tall hills and trees, a creek at the bottom of the hill. I count myself a rich woman to have had that as part of my childhood. 

The Old Brown Buffet

When I was going into second grade, my family moved back to Eastern Kentucky from the missionfield. We moved back into an old trailer my parents owned, sitting on a mountainside lot on my grandparents’ farm. 

I remember some of the bustle as my parents tried to freshen up the trailer for living again. The old carpets were torn out. I remember going to a giant warehouse filled with giant rolls of carpet. Feeling each one as we walked past, wondering which one we were going to have. I remember the carpets getting laid down in the trailer, how clean and bright they made everything look. I didn’t want any furniture to ruin this perfect carpet. I remember rolling around and revelling in the softness and newness of it all. 

I remember visiting an auction held in a giant barn out in the middle of a field. I remember the auctioneer’s voice going through the call for bids and how wonderfully entertaining it was to just listen to him go on and on and on in his sing-songy voice. I remember that an old solid couch came home from that auction, took up one wall of the living room. 

We also had some new furniture. A shiny round glass top table with four square, modern looking wicker-type chairs with shiny chrome metal as their frame. 

And then there was an old brown buffet. I don’t know if we also got it at the auction or if my parents picked it up somewhere else. It was definitely not new. But it was warm, brown, solid. A cheerful addition to our mix of furniture. 

It sat in the corner of the living room. I think our TV sat on it. It had three drawers across the top and a long drawer underneath. We kept something in it that we used regularly. Maybe our cloth napkins and tablecloths? I can’t remember exactly, I just know that I had to open those drawers regularly, and they were always a pain to open. The drawers were stiff and if you didn’t pull it out exactly straight they would jam and stick. 

Once a week my mom would assign cleaning chores and I remember her handing me an old cloth and a can of “Pledge” cleaner that I would spray on that buffet and then wipe industriously with my cloth. Watching as the wood took on a soft shine.

I have a vague memory of perhaps being on top of the brown buffet when my parents weren’t home and my brother and I were playing some involved game that made it necessary to not touch the floor. (Ground is lava perhaps?)

The brown buffet did not necessarily play a significant  role in my childhood, I just remember it being there. When we moved back to Haiti the brown buffet went into my parents storage shed that sat on my grandparent’s farm. 

After I got married my husband and I eventually settled into Eastern Tennessee. When we purchased our first house we drove up to Kentucky and raided my parents storage shed. The brown buffet came home with us and settled into our dining room. That was about seventeen years ago. The brown buffet has sat in our dining room ever since. 

It is truly a buffet now. Every meal time, three times a day, I lay out the food on the brown buffet and serve the small children their plates from there and then the older kids serve themselves. In the mornings I lay out the bowels and the boxes of cereal on the brown buffet and kids serve themselves. Our silverware has a special container and it stays there permanently. 

Now that my dining room is also my kitchen, the brown buffet has become one of my counters. I lay my electric griddle on it so I can make pancakes. I set my various containers of food on it while I prepare a meal on the stove that sits right next to it. In the afternoons I put out bowels of fruit for the kids or plates of cookies. 

The drawers are still a pain to open so I try to only keep things in there that I don’t need to access regularly. I’ve got a drawer of old framed photos. A drawer of random decorating knick knacks I don’t use anymore. The bottom drawer holds all of the random odds and ends that my husband and I picked up on our international travels. Carved wooden statues from Haiti, tin cars from Nicaragua, pan flutes and a miniature chess set from Chile. Any time my kids need something international for school, the drawer opens and we dig around. I even have some things from my mom’s childhood in India. 

Today as I wiped off the brown buffet, clearing off dirty dishes, putting away random condiments that had been left out, I suddenly remembered myself as a small child, trying to open the drawers. And I had this thought. I wonder if this dear brown buffet ever thought, years ago, that it would come to live in my home one day. That the little girl who pushed and pulled on it, wiped it clean with pledge, and sometimes clambered all over it, would one day be the mom who was working to keep it clean and organized. And yes, you can say it’s just a piece of furniture. No thoughts or emotions. But I prefer to live in a world where maybe fairies really do exist, and maybe my old piece of furniture has fond thoughts about the family it lives with and maybe it smiles benevolently on us as it watches over our mealtimes. 

Rest is Hard

I am discovering that I am not good at resting. Resting feels like a guilty pleasure. Sinful. Lazy. Slothful. Not industrious. Not pulling your own weight. Slacking off. 

I’m in a weird in-between place right now. Our foster daughter went home after three years with us. I am finding that all the insanity of the last three years has not been processed and it is suddenly jumping up and down in my head. And I’m not just talking about fostering (which I’m going to say is the hardest thing I have ever done). How about a pandemic, family members being sick, big streak of violence in our neighborhood that turned my kids high school into a war zone, craziness in my little kids’ schools, someone close to me dealing with severe depression, discovering that one of my kids has some neurological differences, one of my kids growing up and leaving home, another one joining the army. And then quite a few other things that I’m not going to write about.

The past three years have been about surviving each blow and then running on to the next catastrophe. This is not to say I’ve been walking around in a horrible state of mind for three years. God is gracious and I have felt his love and peace with me throughout everything. But at some point in time you have to stop moving for a minute and just acknowledge that these things happened, allow yourself some time to work through the emotions, and then be able to lay it down and move forward. 

I feel like that is the place that God has put me in right now. And I don’t like it. It feels wrong. I’m not doing anything extra. Yeah, I’m taking care of my family, but nothing else. 

That “something else” is a tricky thing. We are saved by grace, not by works. But it’s really easy to fall into that “Grace Plus” mentality. I think I’ve written about this before. Probably because it’s one of the easiest traps for me to fall into. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I do this other ministry. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I’m a really moral, self-disciplined person. I’m saved by Grace PLUS I make no mistakes. I’m saved by Grace PLUS…you get the idea. 

When I reach these places where my ministry is over, some kind of transition has happened, I’m no longer doing all the things, I feel panicky. I can’t be pleasing to God when I’m just sitting here. God only likes me if I’m working. God only likes me if I’m producing. God only likes me if I’m doing all the extra stuff. 

I was in a church service several weeks ago and the minister said something about service to God and I cried out to God in my mind, Lord, what do you want me to do?? And he answered me. I’ll let you know when you need to know. Right now, just rest.

So, here I am trying to rest. And I’m not very good at it. I know that I am on empty right now. I really don’t have anything to give anyone at the moment. I’m trying to slowly rebuild habits of taking care of my body and mind and soul. Habits I used to have but which got thrown overboard when the storms of life got too crazy. 

And the hardest part is looking up at heaven and saying, Are you ok with this? I’m not doing anything. Are you sure this is ok? 

So, I grow in faith again.  Saved by grace. Not by works. It’s ok to rest. 

Crazy Brain

I’ve had a strange week. It’s been a good week. Good times with my kids. Lots of basketball games. Everything has been done that needs to be done. And then, it’s been a bad week. 

My brain has decided to pull up every bad memory it can think of from the entire span of my life and just flood my thoughts with them. I’m driving down the road and suddenly I’m remembering that one time in middle school where I was so embarrassed. Or I remember that long forgotten argument with my husband. Or I remember that horrible parenting I did years ago. Or I remember how that one time in college I acted like an idiot. And it just goes on and on. And it’s weird because I don’t feel emotionally connected to those memories. I feel very separate from myself, like I’m watching myself remember all this stuff and I’m making commentary, like, Oh yeah, that happened. Huh. Forgot about that happening. Yup, that was a thing. 

Yesterday I kind of hit bottom with it all. Found myself frozen on the couch again. Not wanting to move to do anything. And I finally kind of talked out loud to the whole situation. Ok, my body and brain seem to need to do this right now. I don’t know why. I’m just going to accept that today is a non-productive day. I’ll do all the “have tos” of the day, but nothing extra. And I did feel better after that. I stopped guilting myself for not being industrious and motivated and just went with it. 

Today I woke up feeling anxious. What kind of day is it going to be? Am I going to be energized, ready to tackle all kinds of extra projects or am I going to have to force myself just to do the basics. I set myself some goals. Must clean my room and the bathroom before lunch. Read my Bible. Sat and wasted time on Facebook. Then I think I had a shove from the Holy Spirit. You’re feeling emotional. Go play Beethoven. Beethoven is a great outlet for emotions. So, I sat down and played through an entire Sonata. And I felt a lot better. 

I decided to make a list of four goals for my year (learning that sonata properly is one of them). And then I went and cleaned my room. And while I sit in this little corner of order, I feel like yes, maybe I can accomplish things and life can be good. 

My kids’ bible verse for the week is Galations 2:20.

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

I’m human. I’ve collected my share of wounds, just like every other person on the planet. Sometimes I can walk through my days cheerfully, motivated, purposeful. Other days my brain is completely absorbed with processing, mourning, healing. But, over all of this is the fact that I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. I’m no longer trapped in my shame and guilt. Jesus’ work on the cross has covered all of that. I’m still here on this sinful earth. I still have my past hanging over my shoulder, but, the life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I am no longer alone. I have the Holy Spirit in me, comforting me, guiding me. Giving me wisdom. Loving me. 

I want life to look perfect. Problems and then instant solutions that wrap everything up neatly in a package. I want to wake up every day full of energy, on a mission, ready to change the world. I want my past to be touched with a magic wand so that all the consequences of sins done against me, and sins I have done against others will all disappear into the void, never to be seen or heard of again. I want to be full of faith, never wavering. I want each day to be me accomplishing great things and then ending with peaceful sleep. 

So far, I haven’t gotten any of those things. It seems so sporadic. So messy. One day good, the next day bad. One morning awesome, the afternoon messing everything up. One day I can conquer the world, the next day I can hardly get out of bed. So imperfect. 

But I am taking comfort in the fact that I am in Christ Jesus. He knows what he is doing with my life. And he does things in his own perfect time. His priorities and goals for my life are not the same as mine. And his are better. So me and my cluttered mind will move on with this imperfect day and I will rest in peace, knowing that I’m in Christ, he is in me, and nothing can separate me from that. Not even my crazy brain and fluctuating motivation. 

Basketball, Car Trouble, Faith

This past weekend I got to take my kids to their first basketball tournament. It was a lot of fun. Our teams played well. Our boy’s team got second place. Yay team! Our girls played hard. Our cheerleaders were awesome. I had a lot of fun getting to know other parents from our school. 

I did learn something about myself. I have never been a sports person. I’m not athletic and I’ve never particularly felt like watching other people play sports. Now, I’m wondering if I don’t watch sports because subconsciously I just know I can’t handle that level of excitement/stress/anxiety/emotional involvement. The girls championship game came first before our the boys championship game and I was watching and I did not know anyone on the court and I found myself getting so upset and yelling (it was a vicious game) and cheering and I felt ALL THESE EMOTIONS and I was thinking, good grief, I’m not cut out for this kind of excitement. And then I had to watch our team play right after that. Needless to say, by the time the tournament was over I was wiped out. 

We had to travel to North Carolina for the tournament which meant we had around a six hour drive back home. I made a joke to some of the other parents about hoping I didn’t break down on the way home (FORESHADOWING). I should have kept my mouth shut (FORESHADOWING). I really wasn’t worried though. My husband had just recently fixed some things and taken the same car for a road trip and had no problems.

Just a little information. Our family drives old cars. My husband buys them cheap and then fixes them up cause he’s got skills like that. If my car breaks down, I call him, he comes and rescues me, we move on. I don’t love it. It’s what we do to live on the budget we have. It works well enough. Also means I’ve got lots of crazy stories. 

So, I’m zipping along the interstate, already feeling a little stressed. I don’t like driving at night. I don’t like driving when I’m tired. I was keeping myself pumped up with loud praise music, caffeine and sugar. Then suddenly a bright yellow, CHECK ENGINE light starts flashing and I start losing power. My car slows down about 10 mph and then does a little kick and keeps going and then the whole car starts jerking so I pull over. In the dark, on the side of a mountain road. Nothing around us. I no longer need caffeine and sugar. I’ve got pure adrenaline pumping through my veins. 

I will tell you another thing about myself. When I am in a high stress situation, I start praying out loud. And maybe swearing a bit too. It’s a weird mix. My two middleschoolers sit silently and watch me. Unfortunately for them, they’ve been in this situation before. I call my husband who walks me through some things to check. I open the hood of the car like I know what I’m doing, while my son holds my cellphone/flashlight. Everything checks out. So now my husband knows what is NOT the problem. He finally tells me to start driving again, slow down, see what happens. I check my fuel gauge, I’ve got a quarter tank, I need to stop soon and get gas (FORESHADOWING). 

So I start driving again, out-loud praying has resumed. I quickly discover that when driving on flat stretches or going down hill, my car can go about 60mph before it starts jerking. Going up hill I have to slow down to around 40-45mph. Did I also mention that I’m just starting to head up the mountain pass through the Smokies? 

It’s dark. It’s late. I’m constantly having to slow way down, put on my hazard lights and crawl my way up the mountain. And I’m just trying to get home. I turn off the heater because that has caused problems in the past, so now I’m freezing, got my gloves on, gripping the steering wheel hard. Music is off because I was using my phone to listen to music and realized my battery is low, and I don’t have the proper adaptor to charge my phone in the car. 

I’m driving along, we’ve passed all the cities and we are now smack in the middle of the mountains. Suddenly, no matter how much I slow down, my car won’t stop jerking. Out loud praying and swearing starts again. I look at my gas gauge, I’m below the E line. Way below. I forgot to get gas. I was so focused on trying to keep my car moving, I FORGOT GAS!! Y’all. I’m not cut out for the adventurous life. I don’t have the brain cells to keep track of everything when I’m stressed. I felt like such an idiot. And my prayer became, LORD, I’M AN IDIOT. PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON ME. And I almost fell apart. And it’s weird, but at that moment, I suddenly thought of a book I am reading. In the book the main character is a leader with people under him. And he really takes that responsibility to heart. They look to him for help and he knows it’s his job to help them. And I thought, there is no way an author can create a character who is better than God. God is the one charge of taking care of me, and he takes that responsibility a lot more seriously than some character in a book. He’s going to help me. And then my son quickly points out a rest area sign, Look MOM! A rest area! I debated with myself for a moment. There’s no gas at a rest area, but at least it’s a safe place, better than the side of the road and there will be people who can help me. 

We pulled in and there was a lady outside as part of the cleaning crew. I went up to her and explained my problem and she pulled out her phone and called the Highway Patrol. (*HP if you ever need to call them!). Highway patrol came about ten minutes later and gave me two gallons of gas. We got back on the road and had a little more stress trying to find a gas station out in the middle of nowhere that would be open at 11pm. But, I pulled into a closed gas station and their pumps were on. We got gas, and an hour later I finally got home. 

In the midst of all this, when everything started going crazy, my daughter asked in an uncertain voice, “Are we ok?” And I said, Listen, I’m going to get you home. I guarantee that. There might be some adventures between now and home, but we will get home eventually. And apparently her faith in me was strong because she wrapped herself up in a blanket and went to sleep and slept through all the rest of the craziness. My son even managed to sleep a bit once I got gas in the car. 

As I was getting close to home, I couldn’t help thinking, WHY??? And what came to my mind was that my two middleschoolers got to watch their mom handle a stressful situation. They listened to me pray and ask Jesus to help us and get us home safely and then they got to watch Jesus help us and get us home safely. And they also heard me acknowledge his help and thank him. Christian discipleship. I show you what the Christian walk looks like, and you learn from watching me. And you grow in your faith. And in the process I grow in my faith too. 

Next time though, I think I might rent a car. 

It’s January, Uggh.

Every year, somewhere around October I kind of give up. Ok. I’m not going to accomplish these goals this year. Time to just wait till January and then we’ll have a fresh start, “New Year, New Me!” I’ll start exercising again in January. I’ll work on our family eating habits in January. I’ll start thinking about new goals and projects in January. 

Now part of that is just practical. The holidays start revving up in November and it’s a lot of work to uphold all the traditions and make sure everything happens that we want to happen. On top of that, this last year our entire fall was devoted to working on transitioning our foster daughter back home and then she left a week into December. So it was definitely not the time to be trying to introduce more vegetables to the kids or start a new exercise regime. January was the first month when everything was going to settle down and get into a new normal routine. 

Every year I hit January with this weight of expectations of all the miraculous things I’m going to start doing, starting now. And every January I get frozen into immobility. Cause it’s the same me in January that was hanging around eating desserts in December. Somehow, I didn’t magically change into this new person as soon as the calendar flipped to the new year. If I want to change things about myself, acquire more discipline in some areas, acquire better habits etc, it means I’m going to have to kill off the old Me. It’s going to be painful. It’s going to mean doing things I don’t particularly like or enjoy with the hope that one day I will like and enjoy it. I have great memories of enjoying going for a run. But the current me does not think that sounds fun at all. 

And so I sit here and I think, it’s time to go take a walk. Uggh. You need to make yourself some vegetables for lunch. Uggh. You need to start doing some organizing cleaning in your house. Uggh. You need to seriously start working on this new project. Uggh. 

I don’t want to. 

And now comes the really hard part of January. Making yourself do things you don’t want to do because you know it’s good for you. 

I’m going to be realistic. It’s not all going to happen today. But maybe I can make at least one good choice today. Do at least one hard thing today. Give this ball a push and slowly get it moving. 

Yeah, the beginning of January is about facing reality, this is who I am and if I want change I’m going to have to be uncomfortable for a while. But it’s also a time of hope. Maybe I can do hard things after all. I’m going to at least try.