tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-131505152024-03-06T23:48:15.878-08:00SonkissedI do not at all understand the mystery of grace ...only that it meets
us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-90730263851626299592021-09-28T11:29:00.005-07:002021-09-28T12:23:47.151-07:00 What is Love? Baby, Please Herd Me!<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihek29CiJMHtCJKXr7RM3QTx9SUIT-3V5CDmtaqrRLKxwSyPavpMraXL62JrLkfrpaNsBrTu6AtT_skJjfwBYTQ7qqMx8NtbrPnJ85XmsswzdwOzPTa88tH2JjODvRV-neRbv2Fg/s320/curious-flock-of-sheep_u-L-F88X9D0.jpeg" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There are scriptures I memorized when I was a Christian toddler that have played on a loop in my mind at various times throughout my life. And though they have served to comfort as intended, I am now discovering that there is so much more beneath the surface. This insatiable desire to get to know my Jesus has me diving deeper and finding so much more than comfort in the red letters. Psalm 23 is one such passage. I’ve read and recited this passage so many times and yet, it’s only now begun to take root. What if I was actually a ewe? Isn’t that basically what this is about? I’ve always envisioned myself following the shepherd who leads me here and there, but never actually pictured myself as a sheep. After all, doesn’t the world we currently live in dictate that it is not a good thing to be a sheep? To be a sheep in this day and age carries with it negative connotations, to say the least. The memes are a plenty! Aren’t we to lead and not follow? Blaze our own trail? Go off the beaten path? Let’s explore, shall we?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidg1O5dnS0IVPKjETD8qVgKBhCA59SuKx859O-bJzCQL6dcapkWwZRkKOEsZYRs-I3zsb5pya07mUX7SR-JT9-hGTeREa4jJ9ISAIp8vdhXsx-iSYWt_zUckYiCxM6xxQjJTocaw/s320/psalm-23-scaled-e1584596959864.jpeg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">What does it mean to be a sheep - to live the life of a follower, part of a whole, one in many? Sheep are quite sensitive. I’ll begin there. The tiniest thing can cause an onset of fear and panic or at the very least, discomfort and unrest. If a sheep is afflicted with pests, she will torment herself until relief comes. If she is hungry, she cannot rest until she is fed. If something spooks her, she will find herself unable to eat or sleep. If there is any sort of conflict within the herd, again, she will not feed or rest. Her physical well-being and livelihood are directly tied to her mental health. And therein the shepherd finds his purpose. He is charged with maintaining the health and wellness of the entire group by meeting every need of the individual members. If one is lost, all will suffer. If one is fearful, sick or hungry, all will feel the disease. The parts are never greater than the whole. If a piece is missing, the whole tower crumbles. Enter the great shepherd…Jesus. He seeks out the hungry and feeds her from His hand. He restores her health, removes her afflictions and soothes her worried soul so that she might rest easy. He makes her to lie down in green pastures and leads her beside the still waters. He resolves the conflict within the group and unites them again so that they might thrive together. His rod and His staff comforts.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvu_C9divHyo9pxZ6v06H2bgvohu3AqpfkQg5Upt05teMmEETFUaO3WuqqFKAsVzgYkxibGVuoOTFm_TGZFxDjdyjdxaIgfcc-TgQonL8yfKBYX0psuqftTAFV_lS9DDVDo0ZUw/w279-h217/cast_sheep.jpeg" width="279" /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">A cast sheep is one that has fallen over and cannot right herself. She can lose blood circulation quickly and die as a result. She is susceptible to attack in this position and is helpless and powerless to save herself. The shepherd must find her, right her and restore her to health. Enter the great shepherd. When her legs are simply too short and her mental resolve does not match the physical, swiftly He comes to save the day. Even though she walks through the valley of the shadow of death, she shall fear no evil, for He is with her. He gently lifts her and sets her back on her feet, firmly planted and joined again with her flock.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8H-9g-yAPiw7kAw_tGvBAqG41lvBTzqoNDXH8WA1UL38eaVjFQCLdHZnSeFxSp3MjACOtdF06QXif1Yfzp525mI-qvNO2neOsMI077mCP2jHAWz6pt3AC7PEp_-U2sWbXd8NPww/s320/CvVzVxuUIAAWZpj.jpeg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There is one thing about the shepherd that sings sweetly to my soul. Every good shepherd is relentless and tireless in his pursuit of his sheep, every last one. He will not rest until he is certain all are within his grasp. As a wandering, lost sheep myself, it is not lost on me how determined He is to find me and bring me back to the flock. His watchful eye sees every step I take down paths that lead to destruction and every fleeting glance toward treasures that will one day rust. It is green pastures He desires for me, not withering, dry fields. It is still waters to which He leads me, not rushing rivers that cannot quench my thirst. And how He rejoices when He finds the one and carries her home on His shoulders! Ninety-nine will never be enough for Him and this prodigal’s daughter could not be more grateful.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-4nqMl69pnRtDXaw-NXEv4eTvFiEQYGdaN_ctafYtxi_MBpbLgebjS9RBBPIdvMqp-8AYG-K1w0G_b9rnzdPvBS3zOvMcwYYVa625iTdNC6BrMmoHdmOfeW1mjUrmp0leIUz8Q/s320/The-Shepherd.jpeg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So I ask myself, “Why then, is it such a bad thing to be a sheep?” In recognizing that I am merely a part of the whole, a member of a family that does not flourish unless we are all on the same page, a united front, a river flowing in one direction, I am acknowledging that I am ineffective and finite on my own. My ability to thrive is tied directly to the unity of my flock. It is considered laughable to be a sheep today. It is thought to be a sign of weakness, an inability to think for oneself, or worse, challenge authority. There might be a bit of truth to that reality, but I guess the question then becomes, “Which authority am I challenging?” If it be my shepherd, that’s a hard pass for me. A sheep I will forever be! Because if being a sheep means I get to follow a shepherd to greener pastures and still waters, want for nothing, and have my soul restored each time I wander, throw me in a field and call me Dolly! It is actually a well-developed skill sheep have mastered to ensure their survival. They have come to an enlightened understanding that they are stronger together and more likely to thrive when they remain united rather than seeking independence. Fancy that! Oh, that we could learn from the herd. Let the record show that though there be hundreds of thousands of wolves intent on devouring sheep daily and nightly, still they greatly outnumber the wolves. The shepherd is so faithful to tend to His flock. Make no mistake, they are His and He will uplift them for all eternity.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;">**Sidenote: I would argue that the goal of the greater good should be to affirm and appease the souls of all members, which may mean NOT reaching a collective agreement on a course of action, but rather, addressing the need for compassion and taming the anxiety within each of us. We need to be heard, not right. We need to be affirmed, not shamed. We need to be validated in our concerns, not dismissed. And we need to be cared for, not discarded. And when it comes to the course of action, we need only to defer to the shepherd for direction.</span></div>frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-74443704355676017572021-09-04T10:09:00.003-07:002021-09-04T10:24:21.343-07:00Get off the throne, Goldilocks! It wasn't meant for you.<p><span style="background-color: white;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3B5xCpFFsz0T1_SOlmrvKUqU5bKD1V6a5VHoqkegKb3v5JwKJUUXroWMWAPSwkuF7URYeY3M_Len3oXyNvJzvphLoH4BrMdcXIwLTaWA45B1G5z9Rh76dK22X6QoOLuOszezG5A/w266-h266/78d202e6575184cfc636cb2c8f180d18.jpeg" width="266" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />I sat down to write today for the first time in a very long time and I simply could not find the words…no, not one. I felt dejected in the best way possible, because the spirit interjected, a divine revelation quickly settled in and the words began to flow. Who am I to believe that I have anything more valuable to add to the conversation than the stranger sitting next to me at the DMV? Or the nurse at the end of the street? Or even the pastor at my church? Who do I think I am that I am privy to knowledge others are not? Why do I believe my opinion matters more, my insight will change minds and firmly held lifelong beliefs, that the information and data (science, if you will) that I have collected is somehow more accurate than that of the fifth ‘friend’ down my feed? How woefully presumptuous of me!<br /><br />Insert here a vision of Job issuing a gleeful high five and a note of encouragement. “Girl, welcome to my world. Read my book!” And so I did, but I skipped past all the tough stuff that I struggle to digest to this day (no, I am not omitting context) and landed right smack at the end of story. And the Lord spoke (to us all, like it or not - at least those of you reading).<br /><br />2“Who is this who darkens counsel by words without knowledge?<br />4-5Where were you when I laid the foundations of the Earth…Who determined its measurements?<br />8-9Or who shut in the sea with doors when it burst forth and issued from the womb; When I made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band?<br />12Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place?<br />17Have the gates of death been revealed to you? Or have you seen the doors of the shadow of death?<br />39-41Can you hunt the prey for the lion, or satisfy the appetite of the young lions, when they crouch in their dens, or lurk in their lairs to lie in wait? Who provides food for the raven, when its young ones cry to God, and wander about for lack of food?”<br /><br />Well, shoot! I can’t do any of those things. So maybe I don’t actually have all the answers or even some of them and frankly, not even one on most occasions. So perhaps I should leave well enough alone for the moment and recognize that we aren’t all meant to be teachers. Of course, we are entitled to our opinions, but we would do well to remember that they are just that and are typically shaped by worldview, life experience, occasionally nature and quite often, nurture. And others have opinions shaped by the very same things, but often land at a very different place. We’ve rolled the same dice and both passed go, but I’m paying luxury tax and my friend is sitting pretty on Park Place. And so I am learning these turbulent days that silence sometimes speaks louder than any words I can string together, any diatribe I feel compelled to deliver, and certainly any entitlement I might feel in the presence of others. And I believe this is where my story begins and ends. Entitlement. It seems to mark this current age - this generation - and truth be told, I am entitled to one thing only. I am entitled as the daughter of a King to point others in His direction, to ensure that my words, every last one of them, are His words, the Sword of the Spirit, unpolluted and devoid of spin and commentary. As Robert Murray M’Cheyne implores, “It is God’s Word, not man’s comment upon God’s Word that saves souls.”<br /><br />Spurgeon adds, “If ever we have a conversion at any time, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, the conversion is rather traceable to the text, or to some Scripture quoted in the sermon, than to any trite or original saying by the preacher…therefore let us bring everything to the touchstone.”<br /><br />The Bible. My touchstone. Thee touchstone. Am I bringing all things to it at every moment? My frustration? Doubts? Lingering questions? My brokenness? My wounds and scars? Successes and failures? Friends, neighbors and even enemies? Am I bringing them all to the touchstone where true healing is found and real progress is made? The sad reality is that no one is changing minds at this point, not those of others and certainly not our own. So why are we still trying? The divide is growing wider. The abyss, deeper. And the anger, increasingly more palpable. And my Jesus cuts through the chaos and gently whispers these words of encouragement.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsqgHeBBzgQBh9OvkgmIfn-eOShr0vg-sK6wnacbD2j_EPmxEvPml2aYlhzdXDA5jkDelylEaP4IQHZk0UZEaVdw2JIXdzkngEPGa0onkAWDiHk4UGZfgcU1ThwM5bMkpcW0SdOg/s320/IMG-9044.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Am I a peacemaker or a right-fighter? Am I justified in my opinion and beliefs or in Christ alone? If my truth claims lie solely in the Word of God, as they should, am I still a factor in the equation or is He - rightly - the alpha, omega, and everything in between? I fancy it a heart issue, as usual. Do I believe Him enough to remove myself from the equation and confidently assert that His ways are higher or am I holding on to a fraction of pride and seeking validation for my myself? <br /><br />If you force a child to give his toy to another and he might (begrudgingly) give it, but he might not actually believe the child is deserving of it. He might still believe he is the rightful owner and more entitled to it. A toddler through and through, I might give God the glory for my accomplishments and successes, but do I really believe He is deserving of it? Am I going through the motions or has this Goldilocks truly abandoned her claims to a throne and crown that will never fit quite right because it was never intended for me in the first place? Have I fully surrendered mind, body, heart and soul to His authority? <br /><br />And so my prayer is that the piece of me that still desires to be acknowledged, proven right and worse, praised and esteemed for my beliefs is cut out and thrown into the refiner’s fire where it rightly belongs. I believe we all want to be the one with the answer - the solution - to all of life’s problems, or at the very least, those on Capitol Hill, the media stage, or our local megachurch (the likes of which are surprisingly comparable). We want to be privy to a secret others are not, but the reality is that we are all privy to the same (not-so-secret) secret. Wait for it! Hold on to your granny panties, here it comes! He loves us all equally and gives us all the same answers before, during and after the test. Hit the books, friends. It’s right there in the Dewey Decimals between 200 and 299 (the Bible). <br /><br />A side note to consider. I believe our most miserable of failures in navigating this present darkness lies in our willingness to allow the enemy a seat at the table of every conversation. We are asking the wrong questions, arguing moot points and allowing pride to gain a foothold. It looks similar to this:<br /><br />Is gender reassignment wrong? <br />Yes<br />No<br />It’s a personal decision made by an individual, not society as a whole<br /><br />While we plead our case over the correct answer and even justify it with biblical references, the devil is distracting us from the real issue. Our identities are found in Christ alone. Make no mistake, the enemy will stop at nothing to fill quiet spaces with dissension and unrest, anger and pride, sin and shame. Will we let him or will we exercise our right to free speech and let that speech be colored with love and truth, beauty and humility, promise and hope, grace and peace - nothing more and nothing less than the Word of God?!<br /><br />I digress to the Godfather. “The Godfather is the sum of all wisdom. The Godfather is the answer to any question. What should I pack for my summer vacation? Leave the gun, take the cannoli. What day of the week is it? Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday. And the answer to your question is, go to the mattresses. You’re at war. It's not personal, it's business.” I’d like to confidently assert that the Godfather is not the sum of all wisdom. Indeed, it is God, the Father. And a small tweak on this ridiculous comparison that is probably amusing no one but myself, it actually IS personal with God. It is ALWAYS personal, because He has an interest in you that others do not. He is madly and passionately invested in your future and He is unabashedly pursuing your soul for all eternity.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyON7vTsgeXY5-4AXWQCkl4kg2h4o7pJ4u4cAcqvyfUA7WvfIbCqglI_et_d9snH7MtivpiesqVIYQVzP6sHio60B8mEUng5oyYK4YNXq_CUljVFrVvPlz5g9jQQxmzTwCs4XOvw/w259-h259/can-you-bind-the-chains-of-the-pleiades-or-loose-the-cords-of-orion-can-you-esv-43061.jpeg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />I cannot do any of these things, but I know someone who can, the creator of them all, the author and perfecter of my faith. He has penned a story that simply does not disappoint, intriguing, moving and impassioned, rich in authenticity and bursting with humanity. I strongly urge you to read the book. The ending is so good!<br /><br /><br /></span><br />frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-67745265669936042272020-09-12T15:56:00.002-07:002021-09-04T10:28:04.162-07:00This Land is My Land, This Land is Your Land<span style="font-family: arial;">Is it possible to confidently assert a belief or opinion these days based solely on merit alone or do we only know how to communicate and promote our position by demoting another’s. All I seem to be witnessing these days is the latter. But I don’t feel the need to unfriend on facebook or unfollow on Instagram. I do not subscribe to the cancel culture narrative and am proud to say so. Frankly, many of you are providing hours of entertainment and fodder for the blog. I am going to boldly make a claim here and open myself up to ridicule and discord. I truly do not care what you believe or where you cast your vote. I have my guy and you have yours and I don’t need validation, but if you need to elevate your position by tearing down mine, I’m pretty sure you don’t have a leg to stand on. Maybe shift your focus and tell me why I SHOULD consider your candidate. If you cannot do that, I’m afraid I have no interest in your politics. My posts are usually quite free of this commentary, but honestly, I do feel that we are all being called to speak our truth and though I find myself raging on the inside sometimes, now is not the time for silence. So the challenge then becomes, how do I share my truth in grace and build my platform on conviction and solid research, rather than poignant attacks and an incessant need to be heard or worse...liked? <br /><br />So here is my truth, asserted without attacking the other side or the current face of its party. (Insert politics here - feel free to jump to paragraph 4 if need be). I’m not a huge fan of Biden simply because I don’t feel his policies align with my ideals in many ways. I also don’t believe he is strong enough in the broken places. I am also not a huge fan of Trump and I do not at all support his communication skills in the public forum. And no, he is not a good example for my children, and so it is a very good thing that it is not his job to raise my children. That is my job! We elect a President to be a political figure, not a father figure. I don’t look to my political leaders to guide my children. I look to them to make decisions for the greater good and realize that sometimes they get it wrong. I direct my children to look to Jesus as an example and to their parents and can you believe, sometimes we aren’t a great example either, but do you know what we DO model? We model grace as often as possible. We model how to construct an apology and mean it. We model kindness and common sense. We fail, believe me, but we strive to get it right for their sake. We teach our children that our political leaders are finite and human and they fail just like the rest of us. We teach them to be free thinkers, to explore all options with an open mind and heart, to learn from others and stand up for their convictions, to speak up when necessary AFTER they have listened. We teach them there are always two sides to a story, different angles from which to see the same object or idea, and that compassion and understanding are at the heart of every good debate.<br /><br />I will be the first to acknowledge there is no great option this time around, but I am not choosing a soul mate. I am charged with selecting a candidate who aligns most closely with my ideas, policies and economic beliefs. I would love for my candidate to practice a bit of humility and compassion (publicly anyway - I’m not privy to his private life and so, cannot speak to that), but I’m not holding my breath. I can say that confidently for two reasons. One, I don’t look to my President as a moral compass or best friend. I look to him to further a political agenda, as he was elected to do. Second, I have no problem admitting the failures of my candidate because I realize he is human as are all of us and I, personally do not have to answer for his character. It’s a fascinating concept, isn’t it? So why do we hold political leaders to a higher standard than ourselves? We long for them to speak kindly and graciously, apologizing for weakness and flaws and yet, many of us are unable to do the same. We don’t begin our debates with admissions of our own shortcomings. If we did, we would see that humility has the ability to set the stage for a level playing field. Do I create defensiveness and divisiveness in my communications or am I willing to concede that I don’t know it all? If I allow room for improvement, others will be more inclined to engage in a respectful discussion with me. Let the conversation begin with, change my mind.<br /><br />I’ve heard the terms, “Joe Biden’s America” and “Donald Trump’s America” thrown around and used as ammunition to defend a particular political viewpoint on more than one occasion. This America does not belong to one man. If you believe it does, you are giving way too much power to one man and I am terrified for you. This America is OUR America...mine and yours. Remember, “This land is my land. This land is your land...” Wait, are we still allowed to sing that in schools? Not sure, but I digress. America is ours. Do with it what you will, but please, for the sake of all of us, stop veiling your fear and insecurity by assigning blame to one person. He is not that powerful and I am not that stupid. Also, if I look at your feed and all I see are re-tweets, memes and shares of someone else’s thoughts, I am even more scared for you. Original thoughts are highly encouraged in my world. I’m simply not sure many of us have those anymore. I implore you, log off and go have an actual conversation. You might actually be enlightened, rather than further frustrated.<br /><br />Right, left, middle, upside down or right-side up, sadly, I believe the intentions on both sides are good. The actual ideals and intended results of the policies we support are inherently virtuous and defensible. And comically, the underlying values are often the same on both sides. Unfortunately, what actually manifests when these policies are enacted is not at all what we seek. They do little to accomplish the values and results we intend and for which we hope. The result is disillusionment and frustration. And that, my friends, happens in life as much as it does in politics. All the more reason to consider alternate ideas and continue the conversation.<br /><br />Copied from a friend’s feed: “The reason conservative voters still support Trump is because they ARE him. They have the same morals, prejudices, hatreds, and insecurities that Trump has. Trump has given them permission to come out in the open and be who they really are. And, it’s ugly.” This is what I believe to be the most detrimental problem we are facing as a nation today. Who I am, really am, is ugly. Goodness, I better work on that right away! Here’s a thought. See if you can make a case for your candidate without attacking the other side. If you can’t, you’ve got a big problem. We’ve been charged with being the change we want to see in America, correct? Is the change you want to see to make sure you are ready at the helm to call out every misspoken word and every dip in the numbers. Is the change you want to see to assign blame, find fault, and point fingers every time a candidate stumbles over his or her words? Is that it, because that is exactly what I am seeing modeled on both sides. No candidate is perfect and do you know why? Because they are human, like you and I. Interesting concept, isn’t it? And again I say, if you cannot confidently assert your position without attacking the other side, you might be in a bit of a predicament and I strongly urge you to alter your approach.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />I’m sharing this next part because I believe there is much to learn from the “other side” and what a hypocrite I would be if I discounted every idea they espoused. I love this musing from a former President and would be remiss to not share. <br /><br />“Maybe the critics are right. Maybe there's no escaping our great political divide...Or maybe the trivialization of politics has reached a point of no return, so that most people see it as just one more diversion, a sport, with politicians our paunch-bellied gladiators and those who bother to pay attention just fans on the sidelines: We paint our faces red or blue and cheer our side and boo their side, and if it takes a late hit or cheap shot to beat the other team, so be it, for winning is all that matters.<br /><br />But I don't think so. They are out there, I think to myself, those ordinary citizens who have grown up in the midst of all the political and cultural battles, but who have found a way-in their own lives, at least- to make peace with their neighbors, and themselves.<br /><br />...I imagine they are waiting for a politics with the maturity to balance idealism and realism, to distinguish between what can and cannot be compromised, to admit the possibility that the other side might sometimes have a point. They don't always understand the arguments between right and left, conservative and liberal, but they recognize the difference between dogma and common sense, responsibility and irresponsibility, between those things that last and those that are fleeting. They are out there, waiting for Republicans and Democrats to catch up with them.”<br /><br />― Barack Obama, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/#">The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream</a><br /><br />Spot on, Mr. Obama. If Republicans and Democrats could just get out of the way, the people might actually get the politics they so desire. <br /><br />A final thought. Matthew 7:2 reminds us, “For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.” I sincerely hope you do NOT have someone ready to call you out every time you stumble. I hope you do NOT get cancelled for an error in judgment, a poor choice, or a flawed belief. I hope you find grace and forgiveness for your shortcomings and not judgment and ridicule. I hope you do not find yourself out of a job, unfriended, or irrelevant because you make a mistake. I hope among hope that you are not judged with the same measure you are currently judging others. Amazing, isn’t it? The “other side” actually has the audacity to hope as well. <br /></span><br /></div>frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-57313400294541137612020-08-05T21:43:00.009-07:002020-08-05T21:51:50.741-07:00To the Know-it-All Who Doesn'tIt is entirely possible I am a dichotomy of epic proportions. It is also entirely possible I just like the way the word sounds when it is spoken with vigor and conviction and the intriguing, mysterious undercurrent it carries. <br /><br />My thoughts are fleeting and fragmented, a road map weathered and worn at the creases, always headed in one direction or the next, pausing to recalculate and often changing course. I am likely not the one to lead a weary traveler home, but the journey will be ours together, for I am the constant companion. I am predictable in volatility, erratic in consistency. My words often have the tendency to make others uneasy, as they are raw and shrouded in weakness and doubt, but oddly comforting when an ear is tuned and a soul is poised.<br /><br />I am an unplanned adventure, accidental, wildly emotional and impulsive. I am danger with intention, an inferno at the water’s edge, a tantrum riddled with grace and fear tangled with determination. I am weary with passion and desperate with hope. I war with peace and triumph in loss. I am a prisoner shackled to the past but beautifully unchained in the present. I am many things that seem to contradict each other, but above all, I am made in HIS image and I am HIS for all eternity. <br /><br />I wondered as I ran downhill on the cusp of a runner’s high what it was that made the faces in the passing cars hold their gaze for longer than the standard split second. I can say with certainty that it had little to do with outward appearance, as my time in lockdown has not been kind to my once-slender frame. Could they sense the mounting joy within me and were hoping beyond hope that transference would somehow work its magic and ignite a spark of elation in their own discontent existence? Was I radiating outwardly the inward exhilaration I felt? And then it hit me and actually forced a brief LOL. I had forgotten that I was wearing my Led Zeppelin tank top, the one that seems to draw the envy of classic rock fans everywhere. I fancy myself quite lucky to have stumbled across it a year ago. Also, it is the only one that affords even an ounce of forgiveness of the Covid-20 these days. And then I wondered, are these passers-by curious as to what lies beneath this Zeppelin lover and what other familiarities, oddities and convictions make her tick? Are there layers upon layers that deem her fascinating and worthy of a second look? I know, I know, I am not that powerful and they probably could not have cared less about the inner workings of my soul, let alone my favorite pasttime on a typical Saturday afternoon. In fact, it is more likely their gaze was not fixed on me at all, but indulge me further if you would, as these chronicles fall flat without a bit of embellishment. I wondered that if they put all certainty and matter of opinion in the outward appearance and presumed to have figured me out based solely on my choice of music, would it surprise them to know I was actually listening to Nichole Nordeman and modern hymns? Would it shock them to hear that I call myself a Christian, but expound that I’m not a very good one? And what if they discovered that I am fascinated with true crime podcasts and forensic psychology, have Dateline on an endless loop and that interviews with serial killers nurture my incessant need to understand the human psyche? How does that component of my persona coincide with the part of me that longs for joy and not-so-secretly roots for the poor do-gooder who cannot ever seem to catch a break? The part that praises itself for giving in to the princess’s undeserved request for a hamster and now shamelessly adores Vanilla and her late night antics? The part that weeps incessantly when the wind kicks up just so, when the right lyric strikes the right chord at the right time, or when one of the two doves perched on her fence each morning nuzzles its tiny head in the neck of the other? Can the dichotomies in me not live in harmony with each other, my interests not cover a multitude of genres and my thoughts not take their place in different schools? And further, can the multi-faceted parts of my whole not actually be something to celebrate rather than be a source of confusion to those who seek to understand me?<br /><br />It begs the question, what do we do when someone does not fit into the mold we have cut for them and their ideas and opinions befuddle us to the point of anger and frustration? How do we make sense of the senseless actions (as we deem them) of others? If we have an inherent need to label someone based on their job, beliefs, interests, companions, etc., how then can we comprehend or even simply accept them when they do or say something in stark contrast to who we believe them to be? And furthermore, how can we possibly be expected to gauge how to respond appropriately when faced with an uncomfortable realization about their very being or an idea that does not align with our expectations? Just when we can confidently assert that we have figured each other out, we find our assumptions challenged and our expectations ruined. Should we not be able to count on those we count on and rely on those we rely on? Should they not behave true to fashion at all times so that we might find comfort in the consistency and security in the standard? There seems to be no room for deviation, no allowance for the dichotomies within each of us that I find, frankly, truly fascinating. <br /><br />Here is the devastating truth. When we attempt to make sense of the inherent contradictions in our ourselves and those around us, we lose something sacred. We lose something vital to our ultimate happiness, the thing for which our very souls thirst and our hearts demand. We lose the wonder, mystery and beauty of the unknown, the pure, innocent, blissful naivety that is all but impossible to reclaim (hear me when I say, “all but impossible” - insert copious amounts of hope here). We lose the childlike exuberance found in simplicity, find it mistakenly in hollow endeavors and pine for it until we breathe our last finite breath. We strive to hold back a roaring, untamed river by professing intellect and maintaining order, but in actuality, should strive to demolish the dam and dance upon the broken timbers with an unapologetic awareness of our limitations. But I am confident in this and cling desperately to this notion, because truth be told, it’s all I’ve got. It is never to late to rediscover what now eludes us and return, pure in spirit and mind, enthusiastically to the lover of our souls and the one true constant...never changing, never ceasing, everlasting alpha and omega. Spoiler alert...He is not a dichotomy. He is that He is. What you see is what you get and That.Is.Enough.<div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzUIZqkzAVC6Ad7WWDUGBzp9npeUQmEJrhOMZUm5uKLcAZI9COFHm2pO_Qbcn51xjnbwnN5NWSIyobaNdcFNct0pc-7mVQVAMcUZvPWSV7s3WMcxAcbbTfycgLaBxrgPptYyYKjA/s0/IMG-4943.JPG" /></div><br />Ready? This might be difficult for some to hear. To recapture the wonder and awe we so desire, we must accept that we simply do not have - AND DO NOT NEED - all the answers. Sometimes clarity veils its face and mocks our arrogance. Some hopes and aspirations never materialize (ugh). We are passed by for the promotion to which we feel rightly entitled. We are ghosted and left to wonder, abandoned and charged with picking up the pieces, afflicted with a disease for which their is no cure. We are wrongfully convicted, unjustly accused, falsely labeled and harshly judged. Or maybe we are simply, misunderstood. And in these moments and many, many more, we might have to acknowledge that there is no blessed assurance to make the pain melt away and the black fade to grey, no answer to complete the equation and no piece that fits tightly into the puzzle, no method to the madness and no immediate shelter from the storm.<br /><br />Oftentimes I am comforted in a way that surprises me. Sometimes it’s secular in nature (yikes...fear not, my dear Christians, God speaks in many languages). For the record, Jon Bellion is a devout Christian, but he chose a secular label and produces much of his own music, which hit the airwaves primarily on secular stations. This little gem is called Maybe IDK.<br /><br /><i>I wonder why I get paranoid when I'm high.<br />I wonder why I say yes to everyone in my life.<br />I wonder why I feel short when I know my money's tall.<br />I wonder why I miss everyone and I still don't call.<br /></i><i>I wonder why I feel emptiness and I sing these blues.<br />I wonder why I feel hopelessness when I watch the news.<br />I wonder why I can't find my voice in my dreams.<br />I wonder why they say hate your brother and hide your gold.<br />I wonder why we all fear the things that we might not know.<br /><br />Although I guess if I knew tomorrow, I guess I wouldn't need faith.<br />I guess if I never fell, I guess I wouldn't need grace.<br />I guess if I knew His plans, I guess He wouldn't be God.<br /><br />So maybe I don't know. But maybe that's okay.</i><br /><br />Take a breath. I’ve seen the future and it all works out in the end! If there is a certainty you can rely on and a hope you can cling to, it is this. There is a freedom in not needing all the answers. There is a beauty in the absence of the desire to figure it all out, a release of power and control that frightens many, but I implore you to consider this. Just because we are not in control does not mean life has no order or meaning. It simply means there is another force at work, bigger than the confines of our earthly understanding, higher than the enlightenment we proudly boast to possess, greater than the limitations of our own minds. Their is one who does have all the answers, is privy to a fairytale ending we can only imagine, and lays claim to a road map unweathered and unworn. He knew this day before it arrived. He knew your name before your parents whispered it into being. He knows the poverty of your past and the affluence of your future. And He is unabashedly singing your praises at any given moment. Take heart, all you weary travelers. Hit the next rest stop and take a ten minute power nap. He’s got this! Say it with me people, “I don’t know and it’s okay!”<br /><br />“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” ~Philippians 1:6<br /></div>frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-10062827701184766052020-06-12T11:13:00.001-07:002020-06-12T14:50:13.452-07:00I Once Was Lost (and Google Maps just wasn't cutting it)<div class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: 12px;">We are all being heavily influenced these days, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. </span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 12px;">Have you not heard, “You should follow this person and this advocate and this athlete and this average Joe on Instagram?” And that’s okay, because we are actually called to be able to defend our beliefs and our positions. Enlightenment is not a bad thing. But might I assert that some of these so called “influencers” change their stance faster than I change my underwear. They are like waves of the sea blown and tossed by the wind, quite literally going where the money trail leads them. So do your research and please know who exactly it is you are following. I, for one, in my despair and exhaustion have decided to return to the road less traveled and follow Jesus above all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 12px;">Sadly, I can follow thousands of like-minded people, but if I don’t first follow Christ, I fear I might already be lost. Where do I garner support for my beliefs? Affirmation on my position? Where does my faith lie? In a social media influencer? in a party leader? A blogger? An activist? Or in one whose influence can truly turn a life around and affect change on the deepest level? Who is my staunchest supporter? Is it the one who supports me despite my actions, words, faults and insecurities and did so from the beginning? He is actually the greatest activist of all times, past, present and future. He is actively pursuing us and make no mistake, He definitely wants to use us...to further His agenda, His cause, promote His message. And that message is one of love. Unity. Equality. We are all equally entitled whether you choose to see it or not. We are all entitled to be called sons and daughters. We are all heirs to the throne. We don't need to change the national anthem or a ride at Disneyland or the name of our band. We need to change our focus - our direction - right back to calvary, to the foot of the cross, where real persecution met its inception. Back to where sacrifice truly changed lives. Back to where love abounded and will forever. I will not claim I don't see color. I do see color. I see words written in red. Words that matter. Words that unite. Words that scream, “Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.” ~Matthew 11:28</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue"; font-size: 12px;">The only person with an agenda I can get on board with presently is Jesus, because His is the only agenda with the sole purpose of saving my soul and that matters more to me than white, black, blue, red, green, purple, rainbow, left, right, liberal, conservative, mask, no mask, vax, anti-vax, country, hip hop, taste great or less filling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: 12px;">“Follow no man further than he follows Christ.” ~John Collins</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: 12px;">Choose wisely, my friends. There is indeed, a war going on and from where I sit, only one suit of armor will protect you. (Ephesians 6:10-18)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="font-size: 12px;">My name is Julie Sharp and I approve this message.</span></span></div>
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frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-90871137968660404002020-06-12T11:05:00.001-07:002020-06-12T11:11:16.525-07:00The Enemy Within<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">So I had a thought you may choose to disregard as you see fit, but you’re here, so I assume you will indulge for a minute. Scrolling through my facebook feed to see nothing but politic posts, us-versus-them memes, and Black Lives Matter diatribes (sadly, gone are the days of cute puppies and family photos), it suddenly occurred to me as I clicked on the ‘like’ option of one particular post, not to like the post itself, but to see others who had. How many of us - upon allowing a particular post to fire us up in agreement or dismay - click on said icon simply to see who is ‘with’ or ‘against’ us? Yikes! I will preface this one by confidently asserting that I am guilty! Hence the desire to blog. You see, dear friends in my camp and those who unabashedly take an opposing stance, it is my firm belief that change, REAL change can only occur when we whole-heartedly lay down arms and open our ears and our hearts to the plight and insight of others. And so that is where this post begins, with a desire to look within and affect change, not a desire to find fault in the actions and beliefs of others.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">I will begin by saying that your beliefs matter to you and rightly so. And my beliefs matter to me as well. This post is not about either. This post is strictly about our inherent need to validate our position, garner attention, assign blame and identify an enemy when we are faced with conflicting ideals and issues that at this present moment, seem to be causing a rift that might just prove insurmountable. I’ve been struggling on a soul-searching level as of late and I may have scratched the surface. How is it possible that people on both sides of these ongoing debates are reading the same articles, privy to the same interviews, viewing the same videos and yet doubling down on their positions respectively? How can the other side not see what I see? How can the divide be spreading and the hurt be deepening and the hate be growing so exponentially on a minute-by-minute basis?</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Cognitive dissonance. My new best friend and ally in understanding. The mental conflict that occurs when a person’s behaviors and beliefs do not align. It may happen when a person holds two beliefs that contradict one another. It causes feelings of unease and tension, and people attempt to relieve this discomfort in different ways. Examples include “explaining things away” or rejecting new information that conflicts with their existing beliefs. It may look like this:</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">So that explains a bit (in my mind anyway and this post is literally, the musings of MY mind). Now where do we go from here? If indeed, both sides are guilty of cognitive dissonance, how can we ever reach a place of enlightenment? How do we bridge the gap? How do we come to a place of agreement, though I’ll settle for an agreement to disagree and a little peace and quiet at this point? Why, do we as finite human beings, have to name an enemy when we cannot see eye to eye? And in my self-exploration, it hit me like a freight train. There IS an enemy and man, he is doing a superb job and sadly, we are allowing him to do so. You see, my brothers and sisters - those I hold near and dear to my heart AND those I don’t know personally, the enemy is not each other. It is not the conservatives and not the liberals. It is not those who tout “Black Lives Matter” or those who tout “All Lives Matter.” It is definitely not our boys (and girls) in blue. It’s not even the rioters, looters or mainstream media, but that is certainly an argument you can make and I will not challenge you. The enemy is alive and well and he is swiftly and effectively allowing us to destroy ourselves from the inside out. On THIS I will not remain silent.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">While you are name calling and throwing tantrums, he is moving around your neighborhood, whispering lies and dividing your relationships at the very core. How many have you “unfriended” this week? While you are fact checking and preparing to do battle, his army is already at the front lines. How many statistics did you discover today that support your position? While you sit on your soap box reciting the quote of the day (which I’ve done ad nauseam in the last few weeks), he sits silently in the midst of every conversation you have, planting seeds and sowing lies and celebrating small victories. Make no mistake, there is an enemy and he is not idle. Here’s a funny thought. He does not care one iota what your actual beliefs are and does not have an opinion on Covid, the BLM movement or police brutality. These things are merely a means to an end. And make no mistake, his ultimate goal is not to defund the police, end racism or ensure you are wearing your mask. His goal, his ONLY goal is to pry you from the hands of the only one who can truly unite, tear down walls, end suffering and bring ultimate peace. Can you hear me now? I can hear you, but this is my blog. Get your own blog (she says with a light-hearted humor, true to her nature). It takes only the smallest fracture to create the greatest divide. Given the right amount of pressure and circumstance, the chip in the windshield<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>that once was barely noticeable is now a gaping hole that is completely obstructing our view. Let’s be clear (pun intended), there are absolutes and their are grey areas, but let’s assign blame where blame is due. If you truly seek to start a revolution, I pray that you begin with a simple acknowledgement. You are not the enemy of your neighbor. You are being deceived if you believe this to be true. We may disagree. We may hurt each other - intentionally and unintentionally. We may look, feel and conform to different ideology, but WE are not enemies. There is one true enemy and to allow him a foothold is to the detriment of us all. Lord, help us! No really, sweet baby Jesus, Heavenly Father and lover of our souls - ALL OF OUR SOULS, please help us! We are a nation in need of healing. We are a nation in need of understanding and of patience. We are a nation falling prey to a ruthless enemy who seeks to divide and in so doing, conquer. We are a nation lost and he is winning simply because we are rolling out the red carpet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">If we suffer in our marriages and our relationships are faltering, what do we do? When we lose the ability to listen and HEAR each other, to allow the perspective of another to matter more than our own, where do we find solace? When we have simply come to the end of ourselves and are ready to throw in the towel, where does our help come from? We may often seek mediation, counseling, an unbiased middle man with an unfiltered eye and no dog in the fight. Why then, should today be any different. From where I sit, it seems we are all at an impasse. If indeed, we feel unheard, misunderstood and frankly, crazy frustrated, isn’t it time for a mediator? And more importantly, what is the message that mediator would bring? Let me start and end here. The message is that of every good mediator, counselor, friend and ally. Open your ears and hear each other. See the good in each other. Be kind. Be humble. Be willing and able to admit your shortcomings. Seek peace. Use.Your.Words. And let your words be few. Let them be as few as this. “I love you.” Because my counselor, my mediator, my ally and my protector is nothing short of love and grace and I will accept and expect no less from myself and those around me. Justice is not JUST US. Justice is all of us. We are all entitled to the same privileges and what a privilege it is to be loved, adored and championed by a God </span><span class="s2" style="font-kerning: none;">who is able (and willing) to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”</span></div>
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frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-59119291931570814632019-09-18T17:51:00.003-07:002020-06-12T11:23:59.761-07:00Use Your Words...Wisely Please<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1">So here we are. We have encouraged our children to speak up and “use their words.” Well kudos my friends, that is exactly what they are doing and unfortunately, they are not pretty. But today, I have no words. Well, actually I do, but putting them down on paper has proven quite a massive undertaking. I’m not sure why, but this week has been nothing short of mentally debilitating and my parental load-bearing beams have been all but<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>demolished. The train pulled into the rumination station for the nine thousand twenty-seventh day in a row at approximately 2:36am. Enter the deluge of deep thoughts and crippling fear. How in the hell am I supposed to teach my littles how to navigate a world spinning out of control and emerge healthy individuals on the other side? Did students (and parents...ugh) at my local high school really spew hateful racist comments at an opposing team, was the story embellished to garner attention, or were both sides guilty of misconduct? I’ve read hundreds, if not thousands of heated comments from passionate individuals claiming, “The truth will come out.” And the only retort running circles in my mind like a dog chasing it’s tail is this...does it really matter? I would like to believe the issue will be thoroughly investigated and addressed appropriately, but here’s the thing - maybe it will and maybe it won’t. At the end of the day, the only purpose that will serve is to vindicate one side. In my humble opinion, validation of position should never be the end goal. If it’s validation you seek, you will find it one way or another and likely stop at nothing to do so. May I be so bold as to claim the facts of the case are actually somewhat irrelevant, or better stated, less significant than other factors at play? And please do not assume I am mitigating culpability and ramifications for those involved. There must be a fitting punishment and acknowledgement of wrong-doing. But what if, instead of playing the blame game we simply shifted our focus inward? What an amazing opportunity we have...to start a conversation, to practice the art of forgiveness and empathy, to address the value of not just listening, but hearing. What a blessing to be presented with the possibility of truly affecting change - on even the tiniest scale - within this little town we call home. My town has been and will be better than this. It starts at home and we are talking for sure.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I am heart-sick and emotionally burdened by the actions and words of our youth and not simply this week alone. I wish I could say I am surprised by the events that unfolded, but I’m not a fan of duplicity. It is no wonder they are confused and misguided, blind sheep led astray by the slightest enticement. We are raising them in a world of conflicting ideas, blinding contradictions and blatant hypocrisies. How are they to make sense of messages that war amongst themselves? We tell them, “Silence is golden,” but also, “If you see something, say something.” We clutter the airwaves and elevate rappers who use racial slurs and epitaphs as if they were conjunctions but are dismayed when they parrot the very same phrases and terms to each other. We tell them to have hope and try to make the world a better place but with the same breath tell them all is lost and the world is in dire straits because we elected a president we don’t like. We emphasize gun control and that violence is never the answer and then the media sensationalizes the taking of innocent lives and floods them with images of violence in video games during Monday Night Football. As a society, we have done little to solidify in them a firm foundation. We have not fostered a safe and secure environment in which to thrive, but rather, have hurled them out into the great unknown with an empty tool box and a pat on the back.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We live in a society that has decided it is more important to gently redirect our children and give them alternatives to their pursuits rather than overtly tell them “no.” There is, however, on occasion, an absolute right or wrong way to act and behave and yet we fail to recognize it. Unfortunately, as they grow and struggle to become fully functioning adults, they will hear “no” quite often and while I strongly support not giving up on your dreams, the reality is that sometimes the answer truly is no and they must learn to accept it and move forward. We have regrettably bred in them an inability to function in these instances. We have failed to convey to them the value of the bigger picture, that there are moments when even teachers become students and sometimes having the last word will only widen, rather than bridge the gap between compassion and contempt, kindness and cruelty, consciousness and ignorance, humility and pride.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My husband and I have always believed our primary focus should be on building self-esteem in our children. The shoulds and should nots, behavioral and societal issues we address with them are secondary. When they make an unwise decision, we certainly rebuke them, but the focus is on building in them a framework from which to make their own well-informed decisions. We strive to empower them to test the narratives being fed to them, critically think for themselves, and rest on what they know and believe to be true. I think the same general principles apply here. The missing piece is discernment. We have failed to teach them the art of discernment so they can correctly apply the so-called wisdom we impart. Without discernment, wisdom is a violin with no strings. What beautiful music we might make, yet we continually fall one note short of a symphony! It is only in knowing your audience and being able to clearly determine the climate of a situation that you can correctly discern the wisdom to apply.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I've heard it said that when someone else is speaking we spend the first 17 seconds formulating our response rather than actually listening. We see it in Facebook posts. A post is made and within two seconds there are 20 comments being drawn up in response. Where is the listening or more accurately, hearing taking place? We immediately seek to defend, challenge or be heard when perhaps we haven’t actually received the message at all. We don’t give ourselves enough time to “hear” each other and consequently, misunderstanding and ultimately, polarization follows. It is not enough to simply shut your mouth and claim to listen. Real change occurs when we hear and further, validate each other. The sad reality is that we have been conditioned to prove our point. What we lose in so doing is the ability to see beyond the words to the intended meaning or at the very least, the worldview from which it comes - its inception, the filter and experiences that shaped it. The new mantra is, “Hurt people hurt people.” I hear it often. I see it reposted almost daily. We say it, yet we don’t actually believe it, because we continue to talk over each other in an effort to be right, to be justified. We are failing miserably, but I cannot simply sit back and accept defeat. The future of my children hinges on it. In fact, demands it.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Alas, what the world needs now is love. True, but I think what it needs more urgently is understanding. Because in this day and age, it goes something like this, “I love you and you love me, but I disagree with you and let me tell you why you’re wrong.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Me being the self-loather that I am, when someone takes issue with me, I immediately assume it is my fault. It is definitely a weakness, but I also see it as a strength, because at the end of the day, I would do anything to make it right - not to be right, but to find a resolution and some understanding as to how I hurt the other person so that it does not continue to happen. It forces me to look inward and question the validity of the accusation, to consider my actions and how they affect others. It may or may not hold water but at the very least, it warrants and begins a discussion wherein I have the unique privilege of delving into the mind of another, what makes him/her tick and this is what I love most about life - introspection. It defines who I am, affirms my character, and directs every step I take. I believe so many of us get hung up in the acknowledgement of our shortcomings. Simply engaging in a conversation that addresses your actions and encourages you to reflect upon how they affect others does not mean you are conceding defeat (although I don’t love that word here). It simply means you are open to understanding the position of another in a way that could positively affect change. Although I think our human nature would disagree, if I engage in a healthy debate, I’m not necessarily trying to convince the other person that my way is better, because maybe it’s not. When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong (yep, veiled Dirty Dancing reference). The point is, if both people approach the conversation from the same angle - understanding - everybody wins. Ultimately, you will both address the problem sincerely in an effort to make it better. At the very least, you are privy to a different perspective and will likely be a better person for it. Growth does not come in stagnancy. We are ever-changing, ever-evolving human beings, with boundless potential to do extraordinary things. In my mind, the purpose and meaning of life is relationship - with each other, with ourselves, and with a higher power, whatever name you choose to give it. I like to call mine Jesus, Lover of My Soul and Healer of My Heart. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I’m not quite sure how to end this post, so I’ll just say this...use your words is not a bad starting point, but how you use them will take you from conception to fruition and somewhere in the middle maturity, growth, understanding, (insert literally any positive word here) will rear its beautiful head. Maybe it’s time we give our littles a break and take a turn on the buddy bench ourselves. Pride comes before the fall. Perhaps it is time to do a safety check, skip the tightrope for a day and instead, make sure our feet are firmly planted. Maybe it is time to steady our resolve, polish our listening skills, practice understanding, and allow for the possibility that perchance we do not know it all.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This is neither here nor there, but it suddenly occurred to me after I commented on a post on a certain page that I had opened myself up to scrutiny. While I was proud that I didn’t get attacked as many on said page do, I realized that should someone choose to “investigate” my beliefs further, it would serve me well to revisit my own page and ensure all my ducks line up. Silly, but self-reflection is in order. Are my posts consistent? Do they all reflect the same ideology? Do they align with my initial comment or are they a myriad of contradictions? Do I change and waiver in my approach to fit a narrative? To gain a friend? To be liked or accepted? Or simply to avoid upsetting others? Just a thought. I digress, just shut up already and let someone else have the floor for a minute!</span></div>
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frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-45825671101378803212018-07-01T16:26:00.000-07:002020-06-12T10:26:29.936-07:00A Package, A Puppy and A Purse<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1">I believe I experienced my first runner's high today. It had absolutely nothing to do with the wind or the terrain or the distance to which I had traveled. It also had little to do with the fact that my asthma felt quite non-existent and my lungs had somehow taken a trip back to the days of my youth. I ran further and faster than I ever have and as I did, noticed a pattern beginning to emerge.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I fancy myself a writer. Writing has always been my outlet, my therapy and will always hold a very special place in my heart. But these days, I am beginning to fancy myself a runner as well and for entirely different purposes. I am a better person when I run and not merely because it brings me indescribable peace and contentment, although it does indeed. Running has literally made me a better person, if for no other reason than it has afforded me opportunities to be precisely that.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Since I took up running as an outlet for my anxiety and boredom less than a year ago, I have had three opportunities to prove that altruism is indeed alive and well. The first took a great deal of courage on my part, at least from my perspective. Passing through an industrial complex, I spotted a large box in the middle of the street. Considering the times we live in, I jumped straight to fear and apprehension and felt certain it was an explosive device not to be disturbed. Curiosity put my pessimistic self to bed almost immediately and tucked her in tight. I held my breath and gently nudged the box with my foot. Several tense seconds later and much to my astonishment, I found myself still standing, still breathing, all limbs intact. Upon further examination, I discovered that the box was merely a package from Urban Outfitters that had fallen off a delivery truck. I exhaled. Although I fancy myself a runner, I do not at all fancy myself an iron woman and therefore did not think it possible to haul the box the remaining four miles to my house. I promptly entered one of the nearby offices and requested the front desk staff hold it until I returned to retrieve and deliver it to its rightful owner. On I ran.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The second opportunity that arose to prove myself a do-gooder was the discovery of a wallet, or the contents therein alongside the road. It was a gorgeous day and though I am ordinarily lost in the lyrics and rhythm of my favorite songs and laser focused on my own thoughts, for some odd reason - perhaps not by chance - I was scanning the hillside as I passed. Something shiny caught my eye. Scattered amongst the bushes were several forms of identification, a gas card, frequent flyer card and yes, there was even a credit card among the debris. This quandary was much easier to navigate. There would be no shopping spree in my immediate future. Honesty and integrity prevailed and to say that I would be intrigued by my own actions would be the understatement of the year. I tucked the items into my pocket and on I ran. To my surprise, locating the owner online proved quite effortless and she was altogether pleased to be reunited with her belongings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The third opportunity I have had the privilege of stumbling upon transpired this morning as I passed a fellow runner. Trudging along behind her was an excited and highly spirited dog. I commented on how darling he was, but a brief conversation revealed that she was not his owner and seemed perplexed as to how to proceed. We both attempted to corral the little ball of energy but he proved quite elusive. She eventually went on her way and I cannot at all fault her, as the situation appeared quite challenging. Witnessing<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>him dart in and out of passing cars gave me pause and something inside simply would not allow me to abandon him. I waited for him to tire and when he found a shady spot, latched onto his collar and phoned the number on his tag. There was no answer but as luck would have it, a couple passing by recognized my new friend and gave us a proper introduction. They were unable to return Tsuki to his rightful owner, as they had several dogs of their own. I happily carried the pup and followed the couple back to Tsuki’s home where I secured him beyond the front gate. On I ran.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We are all capable of great things. Opportunities present themselves every day. It is how we approach and respond to these opportunities that defines our character. There were no accolades for the “good deeds” I have been blessed to bestow upon others during my runs. No one inquired as to my name and no rewards were offered, but altruism is its own reward if you allow it to be. I was simply given a chance to step outside myself and exercise a bit of kindness if only for a moment. Running has made me a better person. I can see it on the faces of the drivers passing by. There is a certain light that shines within you when you are given a choice to take the path less traveled - the one that is oftentimes, contrary to our human nature - and you heed the call. There is a certain beauty that transforms you from the inside out, a peace that captures your soul and cannot be likened or attributed to a physical act, but rather an inward change that occurs when you choose to do the “right” thing as opposed to the easy thing.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I fancy myself a runner these days, not one of elite stature but rather, one who has simply been changed by the road. These days it seems I cannot run home to the pen fast enough to share the journey, its many blessings and hopefully, restore or plant a new seed of faith in humanity. “A man with integrity walks safely, but those who follow crooked paths will slip and fall.” ~Proverbs 10:9</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-2005471595934265372018-06-21T10:23:00.001-07:002018-06-21T23:06:35.334-07:00Therapy Couches and Rose Colored Glasses (If it's broke, don't try to fix it)<style type="text/css">
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I was told recently by a somewhat new acquaintance that I’m too old to have young children. In disbelief, I asked for clarification and said, “Are you seriously calling me old?” Now mind you, he was several drinks in and perhaps in a slightly altered state, but nonetheless aggressively confirmed that was indeed, the intended meaning for which he would make no apologies. I was stunned for a moment, as I had spent a fair amount of time earlier in the evening engaged in what I deemed to be friendly conversation wherein we were getting to know each other a bit better and thus, felt a bit blindsided by what I took to be a blatant insult. Another friend who had been listening in saw my frustration and hurt and tried to reassure me that this “gentleman” would most certainly regret the statement in the morning and quite possibly in an hour or so. Perhaps he would. Perhaps he already did. But most conceivably, there would be no regret to come. I’d like to say I immediately dismissed the flippant comment as ignorant, insignificant and maybe even a misunderstanding of the inebriated kind, but such was not the case. I am a woman after all, and a professed self-loather - the deadliest of combinations and so, I let the comment marinate for a solid day or two and allowed it to pierce my soul on a level much deeper than I care to admit. The truth is that I barely know this man and his words should have carried no weight, yet still I allowed the insecurity to creep in and the pain to gain a foothold, if only for a moment. And then I went for a walk and the truth of our humanity steered me back in the right direction. Maybe he’s a sad, lonely soul like so many of us. Maybe he’s a bitter, angry soul hell bent on making sure others feel his pain. Or maybe he is simply one of those people who have chosen not to invest in me on anything other than surface level. Yep, I’m gonna go with that. Because at the end of the day, most people will not choose you over themselves - over their own insecurities and hurts - but those who do are the ones who deserve your time, affinity, presence and energy. "There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you." ~Author unknown</div>
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<span class="s1">I decided on that particular walk, with a clearer mind and in the absence of the insecurities and demons that grip me daily to make a promise to myself. I promised from that day forward to surround myself with people who uplift me, people who invest in me and genuinely care for me: not simply people who tolerate me. I promised to choose people who choose me. I believe the true meaning of life is, simply stated, to be in constant relationship - not solely with our inner selves - but with each other and whoever or whatever calls us to a higher power. For me it’s always been a Heavenly Father, thee Heavenly Father to be exact and I’d be doing He and myself a disservice if I did not acknowledge the current state of that relationship. Those who know me well and have read my musings as of late know that I’ve been on a journey, a soul-searching of sorts. I’ve affectionately named it a mid-life crisis, but that is neither here nor there. I believe it is, at its core, an authentic, honest, struggle with my demons and I have no delusions that I have chosen not to include my Heavenly Father in the crusade thus far. Sufficed to say, I am keenly aware that He has been along for the ride every step of the way and has chosen not to leave me - not for one fleeting moment, not for one second. I am His and He will not and has not quit on me. It is perhaps, the messiest, most exasperating, misunderstood relationship in my life (on my end anyway - to Him it makes perfect sense), but also the one I hold closest and dearest to my heart. Therefore, I am confident it will be brought to fruition in due time. I am grateful He has chosen not to forsake me and I am daily drawing closer to Him. So breathe my concerned friends and family. I am still here, in His loving arms and headed home, slowly albeit, but eager and optimistic. I digress. The meaning of life as I understand it...</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have learned considerable lessons on this journey and am confident there is much more to come, but what is permeating deep at the moment is how I interact with those around me and how I engage in relationships with those I care deeply for (and perhaps even those I don't). What I’m only just beginning to understand is that they aren’t actually meant to be perfect relationships and therein lies the virtue. I’ve formerly addressed them on therapy couches, believing myself to be a “fixer," wielding psychological duct tape and interpersonal super glue as if they were the holy grail! I’ve told myself lies such as, “If I can mend this bruised relationship, I’ll find peace and contentment and all will be right with the world once again - or at the very least, with my family and within my friendships.” I’ve approached them from the pulpit with a wild tenacity, believing myself to be righteous and finding no fault on my end. It’s always the other half of the equation who is to blame. The pain they have caused me takes precedence over any wrongs I may have done to them. And I've even viewed them through rose-colored glasses, deeming them fully functional in all facets, otherwise known as denial. Introspection aside, when all is said and done, it really does not matter, because it always seems when one struggle is resolved, another takes root. There will always be one more miscommunication, one more injustice, one more unintentional slight - or God forbid - an intentional one. At the end of the day, there will always be conflict and struggle, because I - and those I choose to engage with - will always be human and finite, flawed and imperfect, broken and bruised. And though it sounds hopeless, it isn’t at all if I can shift my perception a bit to the right - or more fittingly - heavenward. I tend to relish the struggles and to find beauty in the darkness, in the broken. It is, after all, through the cracks that the light shines in.</span></div>
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The truth is that I am not meant to have flawless, elementary relationships with the people I love and care for, although that would seem ideal in this present darkness. The sooner I learn to accept and even thrive within that reality, the more joy will find its rightful place in my soul (insert serenity prayer here). Make no mistake, I am in no way saying that I have chosen to opt out of my relationships and throw in the towel. They do indeed serve a purpose, as challenging as they may seem. I believe I am meant to use my relationships as a gauge of sorts, with the sole intention of bettering myself (and hopefully those around me) until I am one day fully transformed (or self-actualized, as some would say). The fractured, dysfunctional, cracked relationships I struggle with every day point me directly to the one perfect example of relationship, which is the one I share with my creator. I believe that is the only perfect, pure and authentic relationship I have the privilege of engaging in. And not because I am perfect; because He is perfect and all He desires is all I have to offer. These days it’s not much, but for Him, it’s more than enough. Oh that I could approach each of my relationships with the same love, grace, intimacy and enthusiasm he brings to ours!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Back to the promise I made to myself, back to the clarity I am blessed to receive during my daily walk (with thee). I am confident I will still feel slighted at times, still struggle with my insecurities and still fail to effectively communicate my love for my friends and family on more than one occasion. I am confident I will mince my words and proper articulation will elude me on more than a thousand occasions. I am confident damage control will always claim a bullet on my resume. But I am also confident of this. I will never stop trying. I will never stop investing in those who invest in me. I will recognize the failures and shortcomings of others and myself as opportunities to grow and learn. I will choose people who choose me and try my best to not concern myself with those who do not. And I will not run from the deficiencies and discord in my relationships, but will do my best to delight in them. And if I pass you on one of my walks, not only will I NOT do my best to avoid eye contact with you as most people I encounter do, but I will cross to your side of the street to look you square in the face as I say, “Good morning” to you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-43905455418713351982018-02-22T20:53:00.004-08:002020-06-12T11:41:17.041-07:00Light A New Fire and Give Me Desire<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m a terrible mother. No really, I am. I’m also a terrible wife. And a terrible friend for that matter. I try not to discriminate. I’m pretty much failing miserably across the board. All I can really hope for these days is that I don’t ruin my children for all eternity, that somehow they will survive my shortcomings and failures and manage to become well-rounded, kind, and fully functional adults...or at the very least, decent human beings. And maybe, if I’m just lucky enough, my marriage will not only survive this phase I find myself stuck in but will actually emerge stronger and more fruitful at its cessation. Perhaps I’ll even get lucky enough to have a few of you still standing by my side when I finally grow up and get my head screwed on straight and my life back on track (God willing). I’m going to pause now to wait for all of you who are silly enough to call me your friend to reassure me that I am not at all any of the afore-mentioned things, that I am indeed, a good mother, wife and friend. Go ahead, chime right in. No? I thought not. Then I will indulge my sorrows a bit further and invite a few more guests to my pity party. Here comes the brutal honesty. Fasten your seatbelts. This one might not sit well with some of you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am the chief of sinners. As Timothy so eloquently penned, “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners - of whom I am the worst.” And I do so often feel that I am and must indeed be, the worst of all sinners (insert a multitude of sins here, beginning with pride, ending with selfishness and basically everything in between). But I have decided it is futile to ask God to help me stop sinning or even to forgive me for my sins, although I do know I need copious amounts of forgiveness on a minute-to-minute basis. Make no mistake, I am aware that He desires us to seek forgiveness and I have many, many times in the past and will do so many, many times in the future, but what I genuinely crave and need above all else presently is simply, desire. I need a desire to turn away from my sinful desires, to choose the path less traveled, and to fulfill the roles God has called me to play in my life. I need a yearning to be a better version of myself - a better wife, mother and friend. I need a longing to choose virtue over sin. You see, the desire to walk the straight and narrow has been replaced as of late with an insatiable impulse to run, to escape, to be anywhere other than where I am at this moment. Call it a mid-life crisis (that’s what I’ve been calling it). Call it restlessness, this uneasiness that consumes me, this feeling I can only describe as crawling out of my skin. Call it boredom. Call it whatever you’d like, but to deny its existence would be catastrophic at best, because these things do not just fade away. These feelings do not resolve themselves. I look at most of my friends and neighbors, the moms at the school, on the baseball field and at the Girl Scout meetings and think, why do they not feel the need to flee? Why are they perfectly content to volunteer, engage, encourage, cuddle and step up where it matters most? Why are they so firmly planted and engaged in their children's lives and in their marriages, to their friendships and families? Why do I always feel so distant and disconnected? Why does wanderlust consume me? Why am I constantly listening for the sound of a passing freight train to carry me far, far away? Why have I not settled into motherhood after all these years? Why, oh why, do I always seem to be the only one fighting vehemently to contain my tears on the sidelines of the soccer field, unable to fulfill my halftime duties of sliced oranges and water distribution?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have many things at my disposal on a daily basis. I have plenty of guilt, shame and regret. I have exhaustion to boot. I have uncertainty at every turn, medication to stabilize my mood swings and counter the depression, and enough personalities to fill a large stadium. I have loads of heartache and suffering and an impressive accumulation of self-loathing that has been years in the making. I have disappointment and insurmountable feelings of inadequacy that tear through me like a hurricane. I have bitterness, insecurity and frustration. I have abandonment issues from childhood right up until today in my faith, or lack thereof. And I have so much accumulated rage and bitterness that it frightens me to the core. My life is abundant with all things stifling and oppressive. What I don’t have enough of is the desire to shake the stagnancy and move beyond the pain. I need desire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so I am making myself a promise. I am vowing from this day forward, with the tiniest seeds of strength and hope that remain within me, to ask daily now for desire alone. And though I don’t fancy myself anything remotely close to a prayer warrior these days (in fact it takes everything within me to even acknowledge the existence of my faith sometimes), my soul will cry out for nothing more and nothing less than a shred of longing to start anew. I will seek a hunger to feel warmth and affection toward my children when my very core wars against it and I find myself kicking against the goads with every breath. Pause for effect here. Inhale, exhale, don’t freak out. I love my children with every fiber of my being. I would take the same bullet for them that any mother would. They have my heart and soul forever. And I know how painful it sounds to say that being their mom is not always enough and the feelings of affection don't always come naturally, but if I am nothing else, I am a truth teller who values authenticity above all else and I will be the first to admit that the struggle is real. I need the desire to put their needs above my own, the desire to sacrifice on their behalf. I need the desire to work as hard as it takes to survive this phase of life and come out clean on the other side. I need the desire to make my marriage work despite the fact that the flame might have waned a bit and we are indeed two ships passing in the night. It’s not personal. The love is there. We have a good marriage and a solid foundation. We are good friends, committed to forever. We are, simply put, over-committed, weary and missing the mark on far too many occasions. I need the desire to start fresh and move forward, to cling to the thread I am hanging by and stay the course, however obscure it may seem. I need my thirst for adventure to be replaced by a thirst for contentment. I need my instinct to run to be overshadowed by a love of the present and an appreciation of the power of mindfulness and intentionality. I need so many things, but I can gather them all under the blanket of desire. And so it begins.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am confident of one thing alone. This storm will pass, as they always do. This hurricane will undoubtedly leave a wake, but will no doubt, flame out in due time. And when that time comes, I will welcome the next phase with open arms. When the apology tour has concluded, the tears have been bottled, and the seas have been calmed, I will lift my eyes heavenward and behold the beauty of a God who refuses to forsake me, a God who, in all things, works for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). I will say a silent prayer of gratitude to my savior for allowing me to feel what I need to feel when I need to feel it despite the grumblings and fear of those around me (I love you all dearly, but I do not need to be saved. That work was finished long ago as far as I know). I will weep tears of joy and relief that my God never allows me to fall too far from His grasp, too far from His loving arms, too far out of reach. Because just when I am certain I am beyond redemption and grace - at the very moment I am confident He cannot possibly continue to love me - it is then that He carries me and calls me home. It is then that He rescues me and reveals Himself to me. It is then that He reclaims my heart and breathes grace back into my life. And it is then that my soul sings, "How great thou art."</span><br />
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frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-14963458970098236612017-08-14T08:59:00.002-07:002017-08-14T09:18:59.431-07:00Not for the Faint of Heart<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Some people are afraid to be alone with their thoughts, afraid of what they might find in the dark places. They’re afraid to face the pain and demons of their past, to hold the mirror and confront what lies behind and what lies ahead. I’ve always celebrated the quiet times. I thrive. It’s been close to a year since I’ve put the pen to the paper (metaphorically) and alas, the time has come.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Fear not, dear friends, this is not a cry for help, just the honest musings of a girl unhinged. It’s time to tear down the walls and practice a bit of authenticity. Some people are simply drawn to the beauty in the dark places and I have always fancied myself one of them. I don’t long to dwell there, but appreciate the opportunity for growth that lies within. I’m not the girl with a thousand Facebook friends, but the few friends I do have are there because we share a desire to scratch more than the surface, an understanding that we all fall short. We have the intrinsic ability to extend a level of grace to each other not commonly found in this day and age.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Three people in the last week alluded to the fact that I have chosen to no longer walk the career path. I took that as a sign. Perhaps it’s time to explore what feeds my soul, the trappings that have greased the wheels thus far and where the path now finds me. I’ve been fortunate and blessed enough to be home with the littles for 10 years now. Oh that I could joyfully admit that I am a wife and mother fulfilled to the core! Call it a midlife crisis or mere restlessness. It almost pains me to admit that there is still a yearning, still a seed unplanted and in need of watering. Please don’t judge me. Being a mom is my greatest accomplishment to date and I would gladly trade all my wants, needs and desires for the sake of their happiness (insert literally any scene from Bad Moms here). Yet it somehow seems not enough to still this wandering heart. My greatest accomplishment falls painfully short and it literally destroys me to say that out loud. My soul aches. My spirit cries out for more. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Let’s get the elephant out of the room straight away. To say that I am distant in my faith would be the overstatement of the century. Truth be told, forsaken is the only word that comes to mind. No need to panic all my sweet Christian friends and family members - and definitely no need to try to fix me. If you believe it as you say you do, God will make a way and will go after the one. The Prodigal’s daughter will return in His timing. But the journey finds me here and I’ve never been one to feign contentment. Anyone who knows me well knows that I value honesty above all when it comes to my Abba Father. Pure exhaustion has set in and this girl has finally reached her breaking point. No longer do I have the desire to “cling to the truth,” to “walk the road less traveled,” or “store up my rewards in heaven.” Truth be told, I’m spent and threw in the towel quite some time ago. Again I say, don’t judge me. I’m fairly certain my God can handle yet another rebellious tantrum with the grace and patience that I wish I could extend to myself. Maybe I should start there. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Why is it so difficult for some of us to love ourselves? I am certain on levels beyond comprehension that it is my picture that appears beside the definition of self-loathing in the dictionary. Why do I continue to tread water until I’m literally gasping for breath when I’m standing in the shallows and need only to touch the bottom? How can others see the beauty in me when I can only see the deficiencies, limitations, shame and regret? Why is it so easy to forgive the ones who paved the road I attempt to navigate and yet I cannot forgive myself or deem myself worthy of such grace? Self-loathing can be a funny thing - a scary thing - and also a highly destructive thing. I assigned myself an identity when I was a very young child in the throws of an alcoholic family. I decided who I was to become and the storyline I would write for myself. And I penned every moment as it unfolded - from looking for love in all the wrong places to repeating patterns I swore I would not. I chose my truth and made the conscious decision to fit every event, moment, interaction and thought into that truth. My truth? That I am utterly and irrevocably unlovable, unworthy and beyond redemption. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Sometimes I feel as if I’m watching myself flail around trying to surmount insurmountable obstacles. I’m angry that I’m not one of those people who can use my adversity, rise above and emerge with a great story of redemption and glory - at least not yet. I’m angry that I have been so “blessed” with the ability to see the imperfections, destructive cycles and dysfunction in my life, but cannot seem to break free. I’m angry that the desire to be better, stronger and healthier is there, but the carrot is always dangling just out of reach. I have become comfortably numb.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">So I spent the day binge watching my top three faves. Not much to be said about Reservoir Dogs other than it’s beyond amazing!!! But there is no better flick to tap into the part of your soul that cries out for understanding than Almost Famous. Maybe it’s just me, but music speaks louder in my time of need than any friend, lover or family member can. Give me Zeppelin. Give me Floyd. Give me Free Bird when I’m running full speed ahead downhill trying to escape. So I replaced half the songs on my iPod and went back to my roots. Call it a rebirth. There is something profoundly cathartic about rediscovering a song that carried you through a difficult time in your life, something that has the power to awaken a sleeping soul and brings with it the promise of better days ahead. Almost Famous is pure gold.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">But the movie that spoke loudest in the silence of this night was Into the Wild. If you have not seen it, I highly recommend it. Based on a true story, it chronicles the life of Christopher McCandless, son of a wealthy couple who trades all the niceties of his well-constructed life to follow the longing for something more, something truthful, something real, something born into the very core of his being and never fully satisfied by the successes and accolades accumulated in his short life. He runs, escapes. He leaves the comforts of home and takes to the open road to find his truth. He meets people with stories, people with pasts and demons, people in need of truth. He sheds the knowledge instilled in him, the traditions bestowed, the ideals handed down as indisputable gospel. He trades it all to follow the yearning within. And in his many encounters he meets a hippie wanderer, a mother separated from her son for one reason or another and offers his insights into her agony. “Some people feel like they don’t deserve love. They walk away quietly into empty spaces trying to close the gaps of the past.” I fancy myself a loner. I am always walking away quietly into empty spaces. Oddly, I can be the life of the party in any given moment and in the next feel a burning desire to run like hell and escape everyone and everything in my life. In fact, the desire to get in my car and drive thousands of miles away on a minute-by-minute basis is so strong sometimes it’s all I can do to continue to inhale. I am the introverted extrovert, the dichotomy. I am wild and tame all at once, brave and fearful, truthful to a fault yet unknown. To say that I struggle with my demons would be a gross understatement. I can name them, recognize them, see them coming long before they catch up with me and yet somehow cannot flee from them, defeat them, or overcome them. Hence the current frustration and not-so-tame ambivalence. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Time to stop circling and bring this baby in a for a landing! How does one reconcile the wandering spirit within and the demands of family, faith and friendship? Oh that I could hit the road and follow the voice inside that cries out for freedom and space, the voice that whispers, “Just go. Leave it all behind and go.” But we all know you cannot escape your own demons. Wherever you go, there you are...right? And so the adventure begins, right here at home, right here in the quiet of this dark night. I’ve been asked why I don’t write every day and truth be told, I can only write when inspiration comes and so there’s that. Tonight I have no burning words of wisdom, no hopeful diatribe and frankly no humor to lavish on all you night owls. Tonight I write for me and hope you will indulge my selfishness. We’re all on a journey, right? Tonight mine begins. In the words of Henry David Thoreau, “Rather than love, than money, than faith, than fame, than fairness...give me truth.” </span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-32567685439802911822017-02-19T13:18:00.001-08:002017-02-19T15:49:33.747-08:00Who Are You to Me?<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The question was once posed to me, by a boyfriend I deemed “the love of my life” at the very tender age of 17, “Who are you to me?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">It came on the heels of him breaking up with me and me responding with a downpour of tears and anguish and a not-so-silent plea of, “How can you do this to me?” I didn’t understand how someone I cared so deeply for could care so little for me. It scarred me more than any physical or mental abuse I’ve suffered in my lifetime. It stung so deeply that I’d venture to guess it has since colored every relationship I’ve engaged in. It wounded me so completely that the gaping hole it blew in my heart has only grown wider and more painful and the patterns I’ve developed as a direct result have only grown more frequent and more disastrous. I’ve repeated his inquiry to myself at every crossroad and let it permeate my soul with every new loss that has come my way. And yet, I believe at the very tender age of 42, I am finally ready to part with the indictment once and for all.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I decided today to pose the question to myself one last time, but this time as if it were coming from a very different source and not the seventeen year old child who held my fragile teenage psyche in his unknowing hands. How would I respond if it were God himself asking the very same question, “Who are you to me?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">And though it’s difficult for me to confidently assert the answer I’ve heard time and again in various sermons and throughout the Bible, I would hope my response would be the resounding, “I am the one You love,” that He seeks. I AM the one God loves even when I am most rebellious and most unlovable. What a life-changing mantra that would be if I learned to accept, believe, and moreover, live as if it were true. I repeated it to myself about a hundred times in the mirror today hoping that somewhere along the way it would sink it. Oh to live in light of God’s truth and view of me as His creation! And so I will start here, with a different answer to the same accusatory question. I will whisper it to myself as long as I have breath to do so and I will slowly let it sink in until it thoroughly changes my perception of myself. I will one day believe it wholly and unabashedly and I will celebrate on that day a love that no earthly being can offer. I will rejoice in the love of a Father who is not satisfied with 99, but will always go after the 1! I am the 1 Jesus loves.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-29377420531084478412016-11-09T20:48:00.001-08:002016-11-09T20:48:16.825-08:00They are watching<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To say that I am sad today would be an enormous understatement. My heart is so, so heavy I can barely focus. I’ve cried more than a handful of times and truly, a gut-wrenching, soul-spearing mournful cry. I’m going to try to remain neutral as I share the contents of my heart on this historic and quite frankly, mind-blowing day. I left the house for all of twenty minutes this morning and met anxiety, bitterness and hostile words at every turn. I’m not ignorant of the severity and enormity of the situation. I’m not immune to the implications. I feel the desperation. I see the disbelief on the faces around me. I feel the anxiety more so than usual. Quite honestly, I feel it more than most and I am so sad. My soul aches for those who are hurting, those who expected a different outcome. I’ve heard it said many times that there was no good option. I’m not sure I disagree, but the frustration in that belief is that it leaves us where? Devoid of elation, excitement and confidence? Left alone with our collective conscience, our fleeting hopes and our best guesses? Isn’t that what life is for the most part anyway? Is there any certainty other than death? If there were, there would be no reason to debate, no difference of opinion, no diversity, no chance to learn and grow and better ourselves. Having said that, what happened this week happened and I will not be the first or the last to say, “it’s time to move on.” Enter my bleeding heart. Millions of Americans have a grim reality to deal with today, a letdown of epic proportions and a hurt that feels insurmountable and hangs in the air like a dark and foreboding cloud. This.Takes.Time. There may be a lengthy healing process and a period of mourning that hopefully will find its way to acceptance and hope and THAT is why I chose to enter into terrifying territory and write this post. I’m not excited about it. I don’t feel the need to disclose my preference for President of the United States. Frankly, I don’t care anymore about how it all played out. What led me to write today was an overwhelming urge to remind myself and hopefully others, that our littles are watching and we, as a nation are under a microscope. What a remarkable and magnificent opportunity we have!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ours was a house divided. Some of us were on the fence. Some of us were not confident even when we finally chose. And some of us did not waiver in their convictions from beginning to end. Let me first clear the elephant out of the room. I recognize that my littles are seven and nine and I am extremely careful not to weigh them down with things they cannot possibly comprehend. I temper my answers with age-appropriate phrases and less-is-more notions. Having said that, they are curious and ask a lot of loaded questions. I have done my best to indulge their curiosity without forcing my values on them. I have always shared my beliefs with them openly and honestly and always close the conversation with something along the lines of, “Please remember these are my beliefs. You will meet many people who value very different things and that is why it is most important to me that you treat them with kindness and grace. Be open minded and learn as much as you can about as many things as possible. And then make up your own mind.” The littles were split and when they “voted” at school their votes fell along different party lines (indulge me for a moment). That means, one or more of us did not emerge victorious. They have watched us over the last few years try to weed through the lies and the insults, try to rationalize our fears and justify our stance. They have seen us grapple with our own limitations and struggle to make sense of a seemingly senseless and broken system. They have traveled with us to an extent on an exhausting journey and they saw it end last night. So how do I compartmentalize the ultimate end to this journey? I wish I knew what the future held so I could assure them we are in good hands. I wish I could instill in them a confidence that defies explanation. I cannot. Truth is I am and will continue to pray fervently for this country that I love and for its leaders and for its youth. What I can do, however, at this very moment in time is to be an example and try to navigate these times with hope and optimism.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had a conversation before I dropped them off this morning. I told them that they would likely encounter angry, hurt and frustrated friends today (most of whom do not realize the words they are espousing were fed to them and actually make very little sense to their ever-evolving minds). What matters on a day like today is not who won the election. What matters is how we handle the victory and the defeat. I implored them quite honestly, to avoid the conversation at all costs, but if they were confronted, to be sensitive and patient, kind and compassionate, humble and gracious. What I hope to impart to my children is a lesson in humanity. I am seeking to raise my children with an absence of entitlement and an existence of dignity. I am hoping their foundation will be built on hard work, diligence, staying the course and a belief that nothing comes without cost and great responsibility. I hope they recognize that sacrifices are an unfortunate necessity and that there is a great and rewarding satisfaction when success is earned rather than inherited. I hope they are keenly and infinitely aware and thankful for both their blessings and their struggles. I pray they recognize that they are but one link on an endless chain and it is their duty and privilege to ensure that chain remain intact and not be broken. I’ve seen a hundred or so posts today about what to tell the children who are in tears, fearful of the next four years. My children did not wake up this morning weeping and fearful and if they had, I would fear that I had done them a great disservice. My job as a parent is to ensure a safe and secure environment for my children despite the circumstances around them. I am not delusional. They will learn in due time that the world is not a safe place. They will learn that life is not always fair and just and predictable. They learned the latter this morning. They will have many opportunities to confront fear, anxiety and uncertainty in their short lives, but home, MY home will be a haven. I will teach my children that hope is second to none, that compassion and grace are to be valued above all. That kindness is not a trait we exhibit intermittently and put into practice during anti-bullying week. Kindness counts every minute of every hour of every day.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have always fancied myself a realist and I love to talk ad nauseum. My poor babies! I don’t shy away from the tough talks. I am constantly questioning when it is acceptable to share my life experiences with them. I want them to have a firm grasp of what they are up against. I want to be the first to educate them on the realities of life. I never talked to my children in baby talk. I probably should have done more of that. Point being, I have never been one to sugar coat and I am not about to start now. I am fatally flawed, as we all are and as hard as I try, I fall short at every turn, but I will not give up. I owe my children that much. And I owe it to them to be as honest as I can when it comes to challenging matters such as the present state of our nation. I refuse to shy away from opportunities to teach them valuable lessons. So what is the takeaway this time? My children woke up this morning with an understanding that life goes on, that the hope and optimism they feel about their future is still there, and that we love them no less and no more than the day before. I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured out or that I’m doing any of this right. I’m doing the best I can and am a work in progress. I have tried diligently to focus more on the process and less on the people and I’ve actually learned along with them on this one. I want them to understand why it is critical to let your voice be heard (even in California where so many people feel their vote doesn’t count). I want them to believe they can affect change regardless of the obstacles. I am teaching them that there is no gloating and no bragging AND ALSO, no pouting and no shouting. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reality of life is that it is not fair. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. You will face adversity. You will be overlooked on occasion. You will have to work with people you don’t see eye-to-eye with and you will have to rise to the occasion on occasion. You will have minor and major differences with others. No matter how much unity we strive for, there will always be a divide because of two little things called free will and free thinking. That’s the beauty of America...we are free to believe whatever we choose. There will always be differences among us and if we can acknowledge those in a respectful and patient way, I believe we can find some form of common ground and put forth an effective, mutually beneficial society wherein no one feels they are being left behind. It is our interaction with each other, especially those we don’t agree with, that defines our character as individuals and as a nation. So how do we navigate this rise and fall roller coaster that is democracy? When others are hurting, you feel their pain and you seek to alleviate it. When others are gloating, you rise above it. You keep your head high and you press on. And when you find yourself on the short end of the stick, you do not pout, stomp your feet, take your ball and go home. You steady your resolve and cling to your beliefs. You hold your head high, stand firm in your convictions, and exude graciousness and humility. And if you find yourself at the head of the class, you do the same, because that is what my savior did. He humbled himself and did not consider himself greater than others. Philippians 2:7-8 “...rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I refuse to immerse myself in a sea of fear and anxiety, because I believe that perfect love cast out fear. And perfect love comes from one place only, one person, one great and loving Father. And when my children are fearful and disheartened - and they will be - they need only to look Heavenward, to put their trust in a great and powerful God. A God who can triumph over any adversity, any uncertainty. A god who transcends our understanding and defies our logic. A God who remains in control despite our best efforts to convince ourselves otherwise. A God who loves every one of us...Republican or Democrat, black or white, legal or illegal, man or woman. My God loves us all equally and unabashedly. To me, there really is no choice. He gets my vote every time. Let the healing begin!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Heavenly Father, hear our cries and heal our nation. Tend to our wounds, bottle our tears and bridge the gap. Remind us that you are in control and cast out our fear. Give us the strength, resolve and desire to put our faith and trust in you. Lead us not down a road of bitterness and hatred, but direct our paths toward your grace and mercy. We are your people and seek your counsel. We are one nation, under God and we thank you for your providence and sovereignty. And we hope in a bright and beautiful future. Amen.</span></span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-32771182813044122042015-06-11T11:27:00.002-07:002015-06-11T11:29:02.774-07:00Fear and Loathing in the OC<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This feels odd.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It’s been at least six months since I’ve taken the time to blog.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Why (she says humorously, presuming her audience has been waiting on bated breath for her re-appearance)?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To be honest, I am really only motivated to write when I am truly inspired, and by that, I mean overwhelmed, soaking up the beauty of rock bottom, basking in the glow of desperation, longing for better days ahead.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But...I’m.Just.Not.There.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Don’t get me wrong.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The princess is just as feisty as ever, minute-by-minute testing my patience and planting seeds of doubt in my parental soul on an hourly basis.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Yes, she’s still a handful, God love her more than life itself, and the golden child is still - and will forever be - an enigma.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But I, have somehow managed to navigate the chutes and ladders of motherhood without the need to lay it all out there for all to read.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">So where does that leave me presently?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Alone.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">With my thoughts.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Alone to circumnavigate the inner workings of my own soul, the deafening tones of my inner voice, which seem to be growing increasingly louder as the night wears on.</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And what, pray tell, would actually motivate me on yet another weary, late night to overcome the laziness and comfort of my Living Spaces Hide-A-Bed amidst the wonder and glory that is Criminal Minds to make the marathon trip to the bedroom to retrieve my laptop and pen the following diatribe?</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">What else but fear...and perhaps a shred of bitterness!</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s been said that fear is a great motivator. Hogwash! I’m waving the bullshit flag on that one. Fear does not motivate me. Fear debilitates me. Fear whispers to the most vulnerable parts of me, “It’s never gonna happen. You are never going to have the life you long for. You will never be the perfect wife. The perfect mother. You will never have enough hours in the day to meet the expectations of the masses.” Maybe fear does motivate some, but not this girl. I’m not one of those people who looks fear in the face and says, “Nope, not today. I got this!” I am the one who allows the years of chaos, insecurity, pain and self-loathing to quiet the voice of reason and hope. I am the one who succumbs. I am the one who allows fear to warm the water just enough for me to not notice that I am slowly hitting the boiling point. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If you haven’t guessed, I’m a huge Criminal Minds fan. I love all things dark, disturbing and just sinister enough to ensure that I never sleep soundly again (sorry, but it’s true). On tonight’s episode, the lovely JJ is confronted by a vision from her past. A vision that stole from her the most sacred part of her being, her peace, her security, her strength. She asks her “offender,” “Why am I not past you? For a year I’ve been fine...you’ve taken everything.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To which he responds, “Oh, Jennifer, there is so much more I’m going to take. First, I’m going to take your sleep. Then, your smile. I won’t let you feel safe anywhere. And finally, I will transform you so that your husband and your son won’t recognize you anymore.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And God love that sweet, feisty, gorgeous little BAU agent (and the writers who pen her life so eloquently) she defiantly responds, “No. No. No.” End scene.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Most people would call it a night, but me, of course not. Two glasses in and longing for some inspiration outside of my role as chauffeur, Red Ribbon Week guru, quesadilla and chicken nugget chef, I dove in and did some soul searching. All kidding aside, my goal in life is to tackle my fear and bitterness with the confident assurance of JJ. With a resounding, definitive, “No.” End scene. But what do I actually do? I question my decision to quit my anti-depressants. I drink too much wine. I fill my days with Etsy orders and elementary school drama and Bejeweled Blitz perfect party games. I lay my Bible on the kitchen counter at midnight promising to return to my first love first thing in the morning. And somehow the emptiness overshadows the busyness and the bitterness takes center stage. Ugh! So when does enough become enough? I suppose when the writers get it right and something strikes a chord...the perfect combination of NBC, and early bedtime for the kiddos, and a good Malbec. And I wonder, what will it take to ensure that the fear, hurt and bitterness from my past do not steal my sleep, my smile, my safety, and turn me into something my husband and children no longer recognize? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There’s a song that I love by Plumb that I shouldn’t love, but I do. It’s painful. It’s heartbreaking. It’s truth, at it’s finest. And I’ve had the lyrics in this document for about two years, waiting for the perfect blog, the right time to share them, waiting for inspiration to pull the trigger and let the words out of the gate. It brings me to tears every time. It speaks to my heart, at the deepest level. It strikes a chord. But there isn’t a resolve and I think that’s where I get stuck and the inspiration fades. For those of you who read my blog, you know that I like to end with a revelation, a new chapter, a glimmer of hope. I need to know there is a light at the end of the tunnel, a method to the madness, a happy ending. This song has none of that. There is only what is and it isn’t pretty. It’s called <i>Damaged</i> and it’s basically the anthem of my life. Here’s a snippet:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Dreaming comes so easily,</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>'cause it's all that I've known.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>True love is a fairy tale.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>I'm damaged, so how would I know?</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Healing comes so painfully,</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>And it chills to the bone.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Will anyone get close to me?</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>I'm damaged, as I'm sure you know.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>There's mending for my soul,</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>An ending to this fear.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Forgiveness for a man who was stronger.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>I was just a little girl, but I can't go back.</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It makes me sad for the life I should have had, or the life I believe I should have had. The pain that should not be there. But I can’t go back. I can’t undo what was done. And I certainly can’t cling to the bitterness and sense of entitlement if I intend to have any peace in the future. The dictionary defines broken (damaged) as this:</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">- separated into parts or pieces by being damaged, etc.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">- not working properly</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">- made weak or infirm</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">- subdued completely: crushed, sorrowful</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And to that, I issue a resounding, “No. No. No.” (Go JJ!) It’s time for a new definition. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Though I often feel I am a walking illustration of broken/damaged, I.Am.Not. I am a walking contradiction and it’s time I start living that way. The world says I am damaged. My God says I am a new creation. The world says I am broken. My God says I am whole. The world says I am weak. My God says I am strong in Him. The world says I am crushed. My God says I am “...hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed...So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.” ~2 Cor. 4:8-12</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I am not damaged. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So where does one go when they have for decades believed them self to be broken, beyond repair? I guess the real challenge is a constant awareness of the struggle between my limitations and my God’s limitless love. I must learn not to allow the pressure of daily demands, pain of the past, and spirit of bitterness that dwells within me to suffocate the spirit of hope, strength and perseverance my first love gave to me the day we met. The day he took my hand and said, “Fear not, for I am with you.” The day He promised that though the road would not always be smooth and the path would not always be clear, I would always find my way back to Him. “The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.” ~Isaiah 40:8</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Though the winds whip high and the waves be fierce, He will quiet the storm and calm the seas. When the voice inside says, “You are done,” I will find the voice inside to answer back with the truth planted in my soul years ago. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” ~Philippians 4:13</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-85586157699643770662014-10-05T09:56:00.003-07:002014-10-05T10:00:03.878-07:00I'm Rubber, You're Glue!<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m going to keep this one short and sweet, because honestly, I have worn out way too many people this week with my words, most importantly, the littlest little. It became abundantly clear to me yesterday that perhaps I am not a woman of few words as I had once suspected. Apparently, I’m quite the opposite. A brief history of the princess and I (the one we call Pookie): it’s possible we both like to control things. It’s more likely we both have an incessant, nagging, life-consuming need to control things, namely, each other. I find it odd, because typically, I’m more than happy to relinquish control over any situation at the expense of my needs. I value my sanity more. I find myself at the center of the color wheel, the middle of the road when it comes to personality tests. I am more often than not, the “hub,” the one who tries to ensure everything is copacetic and everyone is satisfied. But with the princess, all my feelings of inadequacy and failure seem to take center stage manifesting in the form of a crazy, ugly control freak of a monster akin to Jason Voorhees on Friday the 13th. Perhaps she is the only thing I can control in this world that seems to be spinning out of control. Let’s face it, I can’t even exercise my right to reign over the 17 pound feline, so I’ve set my sights on the next best thing! We fight like sworn enemies. We battle like General Custer and the Indians at Little Bighorn. We have mastered the art of name-calling and manipulation. And I am not proud. But I am tired. And I am ready to affect some serious change.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wednesday, October 1st, 2014, I picked the food battle once again. I decided it was time to get a handle on Pookie’s snack obsession, my ambivalence to it, and her Cheez-It-Lucky Charms-Nutella-filled destiny. The first three days left me feeling empty and disparate. There have been profanity-filled, insult rich, guilt-inducing “Oh-how-I-wish-I-could-take-that-back” knock down drag outs from sun up to sun down. We have redefined the term “low blow.” I have somehow managed to teach my five-year old how to fight like a 40-year old, bitter woman recently off her meds. My failed attempts to reason with her and explain the detriments of a bad attitude and the bleak, friendless future she faces are frequently met with, “Can we please not talk anymore? Please just stop talking.” I find myself walking a very familiar path of exhaustion once again, mustering up one last breath to utter the all-too-familiar mantra I’ve come to know and love, “I give. You win, pint-sized mini me!” I have fashioned a white flag out of some craft dowels and a wet wipe and I am waving it vehemently from the darkest corner of my closet, wherein I have chosen to take refuge for the time being. And yep, you guessed it, in the darkest recesses of my soul, in another of my darkest hours, in my silent escape (which also happens to house my winter sweaters and several faded pairs of jeans), the still, small voice speaks softly to my heart for the four-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-seventh time. “You’re on the same team. You’re much stronger together, a house united, not divided. You’re both drowning in a sea of “me me me” and there’s a life raft within reach. Get on board!”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I did a little research and it took all of five minutes to dig deep enough to pull up this little gem. It’s often used in marriage ceremonies to signify the bond between a husband and wife, but why not a mommy and her strong-willed peanut head? “Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.</span><span style="color: #001320; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” ~</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Ecclesiastes 4:9-12</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I lay next to Pookie tonight, stroking her hair, singing lullabies upon request and let the reality of our present dilemma sting my soul. My heart hurts. Why, oh, why have we decided to define our relationship by anger, frustration, anxiety and pride? Why have we chosen to be mortal enemies rather than forever friends? What if instead of fighting like cats and dogs we made a plan to go it together instead of alone? What if we choose to believe that together, we can accomplish immeasurably more to further the kingdom of God than we can ever hope to accomplish alone? What if instead of asserting our dominance over each other on an hourly basis we actually set our sights outward to where the real battle rages? While we’re arguing the validity of shorts under a too-short skirt and debating whose responsibility it is to ensure Barbie and Ken make it safely back to the car after an hour romp at the park, real problems exist in a real world that’s been screaming for salvation for years. Can we not look outside ourselves for a brief moment in time and recognize that we have the power to heal? To help? To model kindness and grace and unity to a world characterized by vanity, arrogance and self-sufficiency? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let’s do it, pint-sized warrior! Let’s show them what real beauty looks like. Let’s put down the weapons of manipulation and right-fighting and join forces. Let’s show them what teamwork looks like, or better yet, what love looks like. The kind of love that says, “I don’t mind if I don’t win this one. What do you need from <i>me </i>right at this moment? What can I do to make your heart happy and your soul sing?” The kind of love that recognizes that our parts are never greater than the sum. And sadly, the kind of love that is so incredibly contradictory in this day and age we live in, the kind of love that flies in the face of self-preservation, that finds no place in mainstream media and in our schools and on our playgrounds, the kind of love that is mocked and scorned by the so-called “role models” and “heroes” of our time. But the kind of love that will prevail, will show itself real, will reveal the face of a pure, loving and eternal God once and for all...in due time. “</span><span style="color: #001320; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It is written: 'As surely as I live,' says the Lord, 'every knee will bow before me; every tongue will acknowledge God.’” ~ Romans 14:11</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let’s do this, little angel! Let’s give ‘em Hell! (Or maybe Heaven. Let’s just let this one play out as it should, shall we?)!!! But for the love of all things furry, chocolate, pink and sparkly, let’s walk together down this crazy path we call life, hand-in-hand, under the banner of an awesome God. I’m on your side, baby girl, today, tomorrow and forever.</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-44236775174723015142014-08-29T09:38:00.002-07:002014-08-29T09:47:47.685-07:00Bugger Off<br />
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Have you ever noticed how we allow our present circumstances to define us? No? Just me? Well then, indulge me for a moment or two. This week, I am a mother struggling to defend our fortress against the mighty, mighty invasion of a cruel and relentless enemy known as head lice. How it infiltrated our home, MY precious cargo, and our every waking moment is insignificant. What matters is that it did. It’s here. It’s mortifying. And it is holding on for dear life with it’s 6 tiny legs and it’s uncanny ability to hold it’s breath for an ungodly amount of time. I have never fancied myself a germophobe, but this week and for the rest of my life, I find myself obsessed with all things unclean, unsavory and unwanted.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The first night kicked my ass. We discovered the little buggers at 10pm on a Friday night when the hubs was away surfing on a two-day excursion...yay! Flying solo in the hard times once again, I sent the ever-attentive and slightly grossed out mother out to find the mother load, a pharmacy still open AND in possession of a lice removal kit. We fared as well as can be expected...one kit. That meant one child. So while I diligently shampooed, oiled and strand-by-strand stroked the princesses tresses with a fine-toothed comb for three straight hours, the boy waited patiently on the couch, whereupon he eventually fell asleep. Being the ever-attentive mom, I whispered a silent “Good call” to myself as I remembered he was not entirely ready for bed and grabbed a Pull Up from his room. Riddled with frustration over the tedious task of removing tiny pests from our heads, let’s just say discovering that I was ten minutes too late did not add to my bragging rights. So I may have uttered a not-so-pleasant phrase or two as I proceeded to remove the cushions from the couch we purchased less than a year ago and was temporarily pleased to find that they didn’t appear to be beyond repair. And so as I carried them downstairs to the patio to air them out, I felt relief for the first time that night. Goooo me! And then I went back inside to continue the arduous process of debugging our home and our babies and myself and that is when I discovered the super welcome trail of pee leading from our patio throughout the condo back to it’s point of origin. You see, the cushions are actually covered with an insulation that doesn’t allow liquid to absorb into the actual cushion. It just drips off the covering...yay! So I began to clean up that mess and was met with the sweet, sweet sound of our washing machine, which I refer to as “the death of me,” not because I do a lot of laundry, but because the locking mechanism has been broken for almost a year and emits a very loud buzzing noise every ten minutes when the door loosens. And though the Angry Birds duct tape certainly adds a whimsical flair to the ordinary, I do not find it at all amusing when I have to remove it approximately 19 times an hour to complete One.Load.Of.Laundry. Now mind you, when you are attempting to remove lice from your home, you must wash every article of clothing worn for the last two to three days, every towel, every sheet, every pillow case and every blanket. In our home, this amounts to approximately 917, 322 loads of laundry. And then you must seal every stuffed animal, pillow and item that cannot be machine-washed in a garbage bag and tie it off for two weeks to allow the little suckers to suffocate and die, thus preventing them from multiplying. And then, you have to soak every comb, brush, hair clip, barrette, and headband in steaming hot water for 15 minutes. This was the point in the evening when I gave up. I threw them all away. I surrendered. The little buggers had won. This had officially become the worst night of my life since I had given birth. The next day, or week, I should say, was not much better. I thought I was a slave to the laundry before this little incident! I became obsessed...with everything! I prodded heads every two seconds like a mother chimp picking at the fur of her littles, washed everything that touched the carpet for even a fraction of a second (the five-second rule does NOT apply when you have a lice infestation), covered the furniture in sheets and freaked out when they budged even an inch. Oh, I was super fun to live with for approximately 16 seconds. My poor babies. And so it is that on this, the sixth night of our infestation, I have come to the realization that I often allow my circumstances to define my life at any given moment and ultimately, to drown me in a sea of my own self-pity and negativity. Simply stated, I allow them to overwhelm me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s like living with an alcoholic (trust me, I have experience with this one). You wake up in the morning unsure of how you feel, how your day is going to go until you determine their mood. How they feel dictates how you feel. And I do this with everything in my life. If my kiddos are happy and joyful, playing well together (like, for once in their lives), I am happy and joyful. If I have no pressing, urgent matter to address, no catastrophe to surmount, life is copacetic. I am productive, at peace, mother-of-the-year. Life is great. I am living in the moment. Everything is as it should be. Even the songs on the radio are predestined and every streetlight seems to be green. But if, by chance, life throws a teensy tiny wrench in the program, all is lost! Suddenly, I am a failure as a mother. I can do no right. The world is against me. And I allow myself to slip slowly back into the depression that I war against on a daily basis. Yes, I’m not afraid to admit it. I struggle daily with depression and it’s no fun. I’ve been free of my seven-year run with anti-depressants for several months now and though I’m terribly proud of that feat, I’m also terribly aware of my on-and-off again love affair with depression. It doesn’t take much to send me spiraling. And so it is that I find myself wrestling with the realization that I have allowed a tiny little obstacle such as head lice to nearly break me down to the point of defeat. No, really. I have actually felt defeated this week, physically and mentally exhausted, questioning whether I will every truly find peace in the midst of chaos. So here’s the thing. They say (or at least I believe) once you’ve been confronted with a weakness or the realization of a pattern of behavior, you no longer have an excuse to allow it to control you, to suffocate you, to define you, or to break your spirit for even a second. You see, I have a choice. I can allow my present circumstances to drag me down, define me, and carry me to a dark, pitiful place. Or I can choose to see them for what they are, fleeting and temporal, a bump in the road that may slow me down, but will not render me immobile, a bug on the windshield that I can wash off at the next service station (seemed appropriate). I can choose to rise above and view my life from the heights. I can recognize that who I am and how I feel is not dependent on what is happening to me, within me and around me. I can rise above and overcome, as God intended. “</span><span style="color: #001320; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights.” ~2 Samuel 22:34</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So where do I go from here? Well, tomorrow it’s to the salon to shorten this monstrosity to a manageable length should the enemy ever decide to grace these halls again. And then, to the shower. But eventually, to the depths of my being. To the core of my existence. To the heart of the matter and the deepest recesses of my soul where my sweet savior speaks, as He always does when I choose to listen. To the truth that’s been there all along. To the truth of who I am and who He is. To the part of me that knows that even when the going gets tough, I am tougher. He built me to withstand and to stand with Him. He formed me in His image and though that image may appear scarred and bruised and tattered at times, it remains so incredibly beautiful that He could not love me less and He could not love me more. And in that moment when I allow that truth to settle in and settle the restless, obsessive spirit within me that wants nothing more than to scream at the top of my lungs, “All is lost! All is lost!” I can see clearly that the little things will nearly always fade into the background of the big picture. What matters most when life is dragging me down is that I continue to look up, to the heights, to the author and perfecter of my faith.</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-82260473171845075852014-03-05T08:36:00.003-08:002014-03-05T09:03:56.879-08:00The Greatest Story Ever Told<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ok, so maybe, just maybe, I tend to be a bit of an extremist when it comes to my present struggles, whatever they may be. Perhaps I embellish a bit for the sake of ensuring the point gets across. Or maybe what I’m communicating in a dramatic, “woe is me, all is lost” sort of way really is how I’m feeling on the inside at any given moment and I just tend to hold back nothing when I share. Lack of filter rears its ugly head again. Whatever the case may be, these daily struggles and minor nuances I face as a mommy and wife that pale in comparison to the big picture, feel like anything other than a mole hill. Yep, I am constantly scaling an insurmountable, unforgiving, no-end-in-sight mountain range, on which I currently find myself stuck in a crevice, crying out for a lifeline. So for the second time in my short run as a parent, I have chosen to phone a friend. Enter, the child psychologist or as I like to call her, my last hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A little background: the princess has grown fond of the term, “Stupid mommy.” Though it runs a close second to, “I hate you!” I, in turn, have grow fond of turning her words back on her, which leads to guilt, which leads to self-loathing and eventually leads to a loss of about 3 hours of sleep and quiet moments of regret and fear of the irreparable damage I’ve done in a matter of moments. Her tantrums are characterized by nonsense and a complete absence of reason. My tantrums are characterized by Very.Loud.Screaming. I can’t seem to stop talking, ad nauseum nonetheless, which is very weird, because she does the same thing. A typical spat begins with a denial of something the princess wants, Oreos, a Barbie (it hurts my heart to say I blame Target on this one, though, after the whole security/identity theft breach, I’m sure I’ll get over it, thank you very much!), or some candy...and not even the good stuff I grew up with. I mean, I could understand a twenty minute meltdown over an Abba Zabba, but Pocky, really? I digress. Whatever it is, she wants it. I say, “No.” And thus begins the battle. I wear her out with my words, threats, and not-so-calm reasoning, which any four-year old would respond positively to, right? And she returns the favor with endless diatribes in some foreign language that stirs in me all things ugly and unwarranted and boils my blood to no end. Let me give you an example. She takes pride in dressing herself - usually 14 times a day - and skips joyfully to her dresser to retrieve her Lalaloopsy funderwear and Ariel jam jams after every bath. And so last night, somewhere in the midst of hour two of our most recent civil war, I was showering her against her will and I hoisted her out of the shower, toweled her off - oh, let’s just say, a bit enthusiastically, and not-so-gently nudged her toward her room to get dressed. There was no skipping. There were no Ariel jam jams. There was no funderwear. There was, however, a half hour of begging and pleading, moaning and wailing and insistent cries that she could not possibly dress herself because she was wet and the only solution was for me to dress her. And believe me, that is exactly what my servant heart and selfless soul desired right at that moment, to dress my little bundle of joy, wrap my loving arms around her, and snuggle with her under the cozy, cozy covers. In some parallel universe on some distant planet, somewhere far, far away, maybe. Or maybe in some sitcom of old (not the new ones where dysfunction is celebrated), wherein some small glitch in the story line seemed to always work itself out within a matter of thirty minutes, give or take a few commercials, and moms and dads had an uncanny ability to keep their cool and espouse some life lesson with patience, intelligence, and a sweet, sweet soothing tone. But not here on Earth. Not at that moment. And not if I had anything to say about it. And so the battle raged on. We both lost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Her need to control me and keep me engaged with her at all costs = my breaking point. It looks/sounds something like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Princess: “I need to ask you a question.” At this point, I’m usually ignoring her in an attempt to cling to some sort of sanity. And she continues, “Say, ‘What?’ Mommy, say, ‘What?’”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me: “What, Analeigh?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> The Princess: “Answer my question!!!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me: “You didn’t ask me a question.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Princess: “I’m talking nice. Why won’t you answer me? Mah-meeeeee?!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me: “You didn’t ask me a question, Analeigh. There isn’t anything to answer.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Princess: “I need you to come here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Me: “Where?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Princess: “Here. On this step. No, not that step, this one right here. To the middle stair, right here. I need you to hold my hand and walk me upstairs.” And of course, by this time, there is no way I am succumbing to her demands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This goes on for hours. And though I’ve tried to actually appease her from time to time, thinking that she really just needs me to prove my love for her, whatever request I’ve met is no longer good enough. And I have reached in to the mommy manual and exhausted what I believe to be all my resources. I have withheld toys and treats, doled out numerous time outs, spanked, hugged, tried to reason (this one works really well with a four-year old), ignored and removed myself from the situation. If I ignore her, she follows me and kicks my bedroom door or throws things at the walls. If I give in to her unreasonable requests, how is she learning respect, kindness and delayed gratification? If I spank her, who really wins? To be honest, that only hurts us both. And if I do somehow manage to mold her into whatever shape I’ve deemed acceptable that day, I’m still left with a feeling of emptiness and sadness. What have I created? Good Lord, it’s me, isn’t it? ISN”T IT?! I have created a mini-me and while that should be flattering, it saddens me to say that I have created in her all the things in me that I loathe and detest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I see in her the things in myself I would change in an instant were I to stumble upon a genie in a bottle who’s dying to grant my every wish. All is lost! All is lost! No, it’s really not. Well, maybe it’s hiding, but it’s not lost and so I began the arduous search and as usual, it ended on a park bench, in a pool of tears, drowning in a mountain of frustration and hopelessness. I am tired of my own voice, tired of the pity party and tired of the battle and if I feel that exhausted, I can only imagine how my husband, family and friends feel. And so I dug deep - way down into the archives of my cell phone contacts where first we met - and I made the call to Dr. Rad and waited. And waited. And waited. What seemed like an eternity was really only a day and a half and then the call came. I vented my frustration and received the much needed validation I had so longed for, as I always do. Indeed, I have a challenging child. So what? Who doesn’t? But I received the validation my fragile and insecure mommy-soul needed, along with my instructions. The princess and I will be conducting an experiment. She will emerge, no doubt, unscathed and better able to understand her behavior and feelings. I can only hope that I will emerge with all my limbs intact. It’s a tough one, for sure. Basically, I am to ignore her and not as I usually do, making sure she knows I am ignoring her, but for her own good. Literally, the moment she begins to act unreasonable or throw a tantrum, I am to cut off eye contact, no longer communicate verbally and wait her out. I am to become a virtual ghost. Wow, really? My heart hurts already. And when she is done hurling her insanities on me and barking her demands for love and attention, it is only then that I may give her the positive attention she deserves and affirm her with, “Now I will speak to you.” Now I am guessing that the idea is to cut off the emotional investment I have at that moment and shift the focus to the behavior alone. I’ve watched those videos where the mom ignores the baby for just one brief minute only to leave the baby confused and bewildered and it breaks my heart. Don’t get me wrong. I know the princess is four and she knows I love her, but the idea of cutting off my emotional connection with her even for an instant is not an easy pill to swallow. But I can do this. I will do this. And so I politely thanked Dr. Rad, not fully appreciating the gravity of the experiment I was about to perform, and hung up. And mulled it over. Can I really do this? I will do this. And I prayed, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (her), the courage to change the things I can (me) and the wisdom to know the difference.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And that’s when it dawned on me. The princess is not my project. She is not my latest challenge to overcome. She is not my problem to fix. She and I are a team. And as we undertake this experiment and learn how to surmount this speed bump on our road to a deeper, more fulfilling mother-daughter relationship, we will grow together AND individually. As I learn how to draw out of her the beautiful, soulful, soaring spirit I know is there, that same spirit will rise in me. As I learn what makes her tick, what ignites a fire within her, and what touches her heart, my heart will inevitably be moved as well. We are each others teachers. We are each other’s cheerleaders. We are each other’s mirrors. And while I don’t always love what I see looking back at me, I am so blessed to be able to catch a glimpse of the child that’s still there, deep within me. And I’m excited to set her free, excited to see what SHE will become, excited for her to grow in grace and wisdom. And I’m so thankful that it is my beautiful, undeserved, challenging and determined daughter who will be the one to teach me. When you make the decision to have a child, as difficult as it is, you almost have to wipe the slate clean, erase what’s been done to you and by you and start fresh, writing the book as you go. So here we go, Princess. Let’s pick up the pen, look to the one true author and perfecter of our faith (our Heavenly Father) for guidance, wisdom and grace, and write the sweetest, most exciting and magical tale ever told. The End.</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-66608023439951354422014-01-09T10:24:00.002-08:002014-01-09T10:24:33.248-08:00Chutes and Ladders - The Rise and Fall of A Mommy on Meds<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This one’s tough to write, believe it or not. But I’ve never felt more strongly about my desire to share and so, I’ll run with it and let the pieces fall where they may. Let me preface by saying this is more for me as a form of therapy than for my faithful readers, but maybe you can glean some tidbit of useful info in here somewhere. It’s actually hard to admit this. For a girl with no filter and an odd affection for brutal honesty in all circumstances, I’ve been a bit of a “liar, liar, pants on fire” for quite some time now and it’s time to come clean. I have a sneaking suspicion there is a distinct possibility, a slight chance - okay, I’m 99.99999999% certain - that I like to whine (that’s whine, with an ‘h’ kids, though the other might be addressed a bit later). Particularly when it comes to my relationship with the man upstairs, I tend to be a bit of a victim, always the martyr, certain my perfect devotion and commitment to His cause is worthy of reward, right? I’ve been so faithful for so long and so full of His grace. I’ve been so forgiving, so generous, so loyal despite my suffering. Doesn’t He owe me SOMEthing? An easier path? Help with my intimacy issues? A good night’s sleep? A hot cup of coffee and a shower free of tantrums, Spongebob shampoo and headless mermaids, at the very least?! Nope, not a thing. He does not owe me a thing. But He does desire to give me a thing or two or maybe ten thousand. And this is where it stings and where the rubber meets the road in my present circumstances. I’ve done some stuff and been a lot of things as I’ve tried to define my role as His daughter, but what I haven’t been is real. I haven’t been authentic. And I’ve certainly not been honest with myself or with Him. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The first week of my withdrawal from anti-depressants brought a lot of agitation, very little patience and a mountain of frustration and anger hurled on anyone within a 10-mile radius. I wasn’t much fun on the road, in parking lots, at home, or in the presence of anyone with a heartbeat and vocal chords. I was a bear to live with and God-willing, the little people have short memories on this one. But I expected this phase and tried my hardest to survive it. I even expected the second phase. Week two brought millions and millions of tears and if it’s true that our Heavenly Father bottles and keeps them, I’m pretty sure he had to clean out the glass aisle of every IKEA, Michaels and dollar store for miles and miles and miles. Talk about letting the river flow! Good Lord, everything made me cry (and still does). Commercials, movies, a kind word, a sad story, a mistake, a joke, the Chargers <i>finally</i> winning a playoff game, even the pretty, pretty Christmas lights caused the flood gates to open. There wasn’t enough Kleenex in the world that week and yes, I chose the holidays to kick the pills so that was a wise decision I might have done differently if given a chance. But I survived and I knew it was coming. What I didn’t expect was what came in week three...like a wrecking ball, for you pop culture gurus. I didn’t expect that the insomnia that plagued me from the sixth month of my first pregnancy would magnify tenfold. I didn’t expect the severe headaches that made my head feel like it was in a vice all day long. I didn’t anticipate twenty-four-seven chills, terrifying nightmares (the kind that are particularly excruciating because they involve people you know and love), constant nausea, intense panic attacks, gripping feelings of terror in the middle of the night, and feeling like I was climbing the walls, crawling out of my skin all.night.long. I was the star of a really bad Lifetime movie. You see, my dosage wasn’t terribly high and I really thought the withdrawal symptoms would be fairly mild and that is exactly what my doctor informed me when I called him on the verge of tears certain I was having a nervous breakdown. I filled him in on just how fun the previous three weeks had been and he politely, but more-or-less dismissed me as “having underlying issues” that may require medication and attention beyond his frame of reference. Awesome. So it wasn’t just post-partum. I am 100%, absolutely indisputably, certifiably crazy (ok, he didn’t say that, but that’s how I felt when the phone call ended) and need medication and a really good therapist to function properly. I had a good cry under a super cozy blanket and then made a decision that I am hoping will alter my relationship with my babies and with a holy, faithful and Heavenly Father for as long as I shall live.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I decided, right at that moment, that medication is not for me. I didn’t need it before I became a mother and I will learn to be a mother without it, facing these little people and their 4 and 6-year old fury (and sweetness) armed with nothing but my humor, my love for them, my Bible, my pen (or laptop), a community of selfless, extraordinary friends (who have shown up so big for me this time, I can never thank them enough), maybe a good Zinfandel, and a resolve to never, ever stop trying to be the best mommy I can be for them for the rest of my life. You see, it occurred to me that my life was fairly simple before I was diagnosed. I was a newlywed, free to come and go as I pleased. I made my own money and answered to very few people. Life was good and quite honestly, pretty easy. I was diagnosed with post-partum and prescribed anti-depressants immediately after the birth of the boy and have been on them literally, the entire time I’ve been a mommy. Life is not the same now and I am tasked with learning to parent, function and find happiness of my own accord. I’ve had a sidekick doing the driving for six years and now it’s time for little ole me to take the wheel and hit the road. I am learning to cope with life while my brain is learning to function again on its own. So fun! Please let me state, for the record, that I am more than keenly aware of the necessity of medication in the lives of many, many people and I would never dare to address those cases and I feel an enormous amount of empathy and admiration for their courage. I can only speak for myself, my experience with anti-depressants, and my journey. This is where the story begins. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The mental and physical state I’ve been in recently is immensely indescribable. I’ve been in an incredibly dark place. And at the heart of the matter, I’ve learned, are a thousand insecurities and fears that I am only beginning to address. I’m afraid to share because I don’t want to be a bummer all the time. I’m usually the sarcastic, funny one. I’m afraid I won’t be funny anymore. Will my friends get tired of hanging out with someone who’s down a lot and cries when the sun sneaks behind a cloud, when a stranger looks at me the wrong way, and when my DVR doesn’t record Parenthood because there were too many Phineas & Ferb recordings scheduled? What if I have a serious chemical imbalance and really do need to be on medication forever? What if my husband gets tired of dealing with my issues? It was on my couch at 1:00 in the morning for the third night in a row, sobbing uncontrollably and praying with every fiber of my being when it really hit me hard - so hard that I said it out loud. “I feel like I’m being broken down to nothing and torn to shreds from the inside out.” And then I heard it, the still, small voice in my head (and for once, in my heart). “I will tear this church down to its cornerstone and build it up again.” And <i>that </i>was a moment I will not soon forget. He.Has.Not.Abandoned.Me.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ve been distinctly aware of the enemy’s plans to ensure this little journey I’m on does not end well. He’s been awesome at keeping me busy, superb at filling my heart with doubt and near perfect with the fear factor. And I’ve been trying to remind myself of his presence around every corner. I quit my motherhood group at the church, feeling that it was another weekly commitment to fill another morning without filling my soul. I joined a Bible Study, feeling it was time to dust the cobwebs off my Bible yet again and listen to what my God has to say. I am profusely aware of the likelihood that I will have to withdraw from certain things in my life to draw nearer to Him. And I’ve been talking, man, have I been talking...to anyone who will listen. One thing stands out with perfect clarity to me these days, I cannot stop talking. I am so afraid that if I do, I might slip into a much darker place. I am keenly aware of the need to keep myself accountable to the people I trust, and ensure that I am keeping a watchful eye on my mental state, where my thoughts are, and that hope is always at the forefront. I <i>am</i> a born pessimist, after all. And though it pains me to say, I would love to respond frankly to the daily, “How are yous?” with a polite, “Fine.” But the reality is that I’m not fine and I cannot forget that, not even for a moment. But I will be. And so, I am currently taking every thought captive. I am searching the scriptures. I am trying to do more than feed and clothe my children. I am trying to show up for them, in any way I can muster on any given day. And in return, God, has shown up for me in ways I cannot comprehend, cannot repay and cannot say I have ever been a party to (or at least have never been willing to admit. I do so love to whine!). He has met me where I’m at every step of the way. I have never felt more loved than I do at this moment. I stopped counting the text messages today somewhere around nineteen. There were flowers, hand-delivered, a casserole, super yummy, and an influx of prayers and well-wishes from old and new friends. He has opened my eyes to the most beautiful, two-sided friendships that bless my heart so much I can hardly stand it. He has not forsaken me, as I so love to cry out whenever possible. And I, in my frail, crippled state, am finally ready to admit that I’ve been really far away, unwilling to let go of many things that don’t serve His purposes, unable to see how truly wondrous and abundant are the blessings He’s given me, uncertain that I can trust His promises, unruly, undisciplined, and unlovable. And still, He waits, unable to be anyone other than who He is, loving, pure and perfect. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There are a lot of cliches in the Christian community. Jesus, take the wheel. Let go and let God. Yada yada yada! Maybe some are not without some merit. But here is the moral in the midst of the madness. God does not walk ahead of us clearing a path. He comes alongside us as we work out our salvation with fear and trembling (Philippians 2:12). He is our help in times of trouble, not our escape from it. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have far, far to go. I have good days and bad and I always will. This journey called life is not an easy pilgrimage. It’s the road less traveled, for sure and the bumps and bends just keep coming. It’s going to be difficult. It’s going to be ugly at times. It’s going to hurt and it’s going to wound. But it’s going to get better. And for now, I am so lucky to be loved, so lucky to be found, so lucky to be called His daughter. Love you, daddy. Hold me close, as only you can. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My time to dance is just beyond the horizon. </span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-73548084593018543462013-12-21T00:06:00.002-08:002013-12-21T09:52:27.553-08:00The Great Balancing Act<br />
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I have a really good circle of friends these days. Well, three really good circles of friends. I have the group I met years ago at MOPS. The girls with whom I’ve forged honest, authentic relationships. The girls whose children my children adore. My BYOG girls...bring your own glue gun because many-a-girls’-night begins and ends with a quick trip to Pinterest. The girls who have my back on any given day. I have the “park mommy” group, as I affectionately refer to them. The girls who like to par-tay (in a very responsible, “I-am-a-mom-afterall” sort of way, of course). The girls who make me laugh on a daily basis. The girls who “get” me when I show up at the park with tear-stained cheeks and a bottle of jiggle juice (because it’s the holidays after all and <i>that</i> warrants a midday celebration, right?). The girls who have my back on any given day. And I have my lifelong friend group, my sisters. The girls I don’t speak to nearly as much as my heart yearns for me to, but the ones I can call on a moment’s notice bawling hysterically in need of a non-judgmental ear and I know - NO, I am 100% certain - they would walk through fire to mend my wounded heart. The girls who have my back on any given day. Each of my groups is so very, very different on so many levels and yet, I could never choose one over the other, because at the end of the day, they all have my back.</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s been said that life is a great balancing act. It’s been said that variety is the spice of life. It’s been said that most things are good...in moderation. I think I’ve proven each of these true at some point in my life, but currently, I’m focusing on the balancing act and so I’ve spent a great deal of time mulling over what it means to keep all the various parts of my life in balance and yep, once again, I’m falling miserably short. So before you go gettin’ all “She seriously needs an intervention” on me, hear me out. I am not self-loathing on this one. I’m not being too hard on myself...again! I simply want to explore what it truly means to find a healthy balance when it comes to all things mommy/wife/friend/Christian (insert any other role you currently fill here). Sooooooo...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ve taken those personality tests that identify your personality type, how you interact in a group situation and the role you fill in your circles. I am always the hub. I never aggressively lean one way or the other. I am a veritable rainbow on the personality test color wheel. I don’t love to organize, hence, I’m not a “blue.” I’m not great at the support and encouragement aspect, so apparently green is not my color. I’m definitely not a red. I can’t stand leading the charge. And yellow doesn’t suit me well either, because I am certainly not an eternal optimist, despite my best efforts. Yep, that’s me, right there in the center, trying to maintain the peace, keep the rhythm flowing smoothly, and ensuring everyone in the group is copacetic. Apparently I’m adaptable, flexible and coherent, depending on what the situation demands. I guess I’ve mastered that whole balancing act thing, right, so I’ll end this little diatribe now and chalk this one up to a little boredom and some insomnia, right? Hardly. You see, when I’m with the MOPS girls, I know that I can lay it all out there when it comes to my parenting skills (or lack thereof). When I’m with my park mommies, I know I can share just how deep my love for Zinfandel is and they share my enthusiasm. When I’m with my lifelong friends, I know I can vent for 2 hours straight and they’ll never tire of my human weaknesses and mommy struggles. I know that when my sarcasm rears it’s ugly head in some groups it will meet with disdain and in other groups it will meet with laughter. You see, when it comes to my circles of friends, I have struck a perfect balance. I take from each of them different things and they each serve different purposes at exactly the right time. The conversations are never one-sided and there is a consistent give AND take when it comes to our needs and the unique contributions we each add to the group. But when it comes to my children, I simply do not have a clue who I am supposed to be at any given moment. I am a bit confused and believe me, I am open to suggestions on this one. Wait, I suppose there’s a small chance I can figure this one out by the end of this blog, so please refrain from calling me with your words of wisdom just yet.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You see, as mommies, the guidance we are expected to provide and the values we are expected to impart to our children seem to contrast. We have been called to a higher purpose, to leave a legacy, and to impart life lessons that are a bit of a dichotomy. Balance does not seem to fit in. We are called to be fully present, but not hover (these fun mommies and daddies are called “helicopter parents”). We are to give our children roots, but wings as well. We are to set boundaries, but give them freedom to become who they are meant to be. We are to nurture in them self-confidence and self-awareness, but ensure they are others-centered in their approach to life. We are to give them a healthy dose of reality of the evil that exists in our world without instilling in them a spirit of fear that prevents them from living a joyful life. We are to teach them tolerance when it comes to the beliefs of others, but ensure they have an unwavering commitment and ability to stand their ground and firmly defend their own beliefs. Son of a motherless goat! Are you kidding me? If the middle ground escapes ME, how on God’s green Earth am I supposed to teach my littles how to strike a healthy work/life/family/friends/health/happiness balance??? </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The Bible has a little bit to say about this (she says with a mischievous, 4-year old smirk, when really she knows the Bible has a TON to say about this). What does it mean to be “in balance?” So let me lay the formula out for you like this: contentment = balance. And if I were to illustrate it for you in this common core world we are currently railing against, there would likely be a scale somewhere in there with a million little happy faces on each side.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What I’ve learned over the course of the last 56 minutes is this. We’re never truly going to master finding the balance in all areas of our lives. All we can do is make a conscious decision to be content with our present circumstances, keep our eyes fixed on the author and perfecter of our faith (uh, that would be God), and my hope is that the scales will somehow manage to even out in the long run. I think Paul was on the right track when he said in Philippians 4:11-13: “I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” You see, Paul was at some point or another, on both ends of the spectrum trying to find a middle ground and the only firm foundation he ever stumbled across was the truth and purity of God’s word. And simply put, THAT was enough to steady his uncertain feet, still his restless heart, and ease his anxious mind.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">At the end of the day, don’t we all really just want our children to be content? Maybe balance is a concept far too complex to settle our weary hearts. Maybe what we really need is rest, the deep, therapeutic rest that comes from contentment, from being okay with our present circumstances, from understanding that in God’s plan, the scales will never be balanced. Our sacrifices and offerings will never tip the scales in our favor. The price that was paid for our iniquities, the love that was poured forth to cover our shortcomings, the grace that was extended to secure our eternity cannot be matched. And one final note on balance. When it comes to finding contentment in the day-to-day and finding our footing, one thing that needs no balance is the love we have for our babies. We are to love them unabashedly, fervently, without excuse. Smother them with love and adoration. Be amazed by their presence in your life. They deserve no less. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ooooh, and here’s another fun one because I failed math and apparently I’m making up for lost time, plus I’m finally learning how to find special characters in the Pages/Word application on my Macbook...</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">NOTHING ≥ God’s love</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-86646209959645003802013-07-16T18:40:00.002-07:002013-07-16T18:56:23.823-07:00Spray It Don't Say It<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Is it really so wrong to use a water gun to shoot Bubba and the Princess in the face each time they misbehave? To stand my ground as a mommy and reclaim my rightful place as the head of the household (when hubby’s not around anyway), the keeper of the peace, and the supreme authority over all things pint-sized and mad as hell? I think not and before you go getting all wild and crazy on my Facebook page, let me elaborate. These days, I feel I have no other recourse. So first let me provide a bit of background for our current state of affairs. The PJ is quite collaborative and agreeable these days. He has officially “turned a corner” as we say in the world of toddlers and tiaras. But with the Princess, I have officially hit rock bottom. The lectures are no longer working. The time outs have run their course. I have banished each and every “favorite” toy to the top shelf of my closet. Even the “Here I am, on your level, looking at you eye-to-eye” hugs seem to have lost their healing power. I can no longer compete with the tantrums that come at 10 minute intervals and last 56 minutes. My attempts to reason have been met with a mountain of insults, no, a mountain range of insults. I’m an English major with an extensive vocabulary and no words. Are they too big for the five S’s? Can I still swaddle them (without a visit from the cops)? And let me be clear that I am NOT asking for advice. As it was with the colic that resolved only when it was damn good and ready to, I.Have.Tried.Everything. Or maybe not. And so it is that I am currently mulling over the idea of adding a blinged out holster which will house a very efficient and intimidating water gun to my wardrobe. I will let you know how I fare when my little experiment is well underway. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sometimes when I get so caught up in the daily battles I lose sight of just how significant the war is. I ought to be wearing fatigues, enlisting in training camps, and stockpiling supplies for the long haul. Parenting is no easy undertaking. I’m fighting for the future of my babies, for their health, their minds, and their souls. You see, for some wild reason my Heavenly Father has appointed me Commander and deemed me capable of giving them breath, life and a voice and teaching them how to use them in a way that not only glorifies Him but touches the lives of each and every soul they encounter along their journey into His arms for all eternity. The influences that will go before them, walk beside them and try to trip them up are not minor nuisances; they are tools and weapons of an enemy who fancies himself quite powerful and is not far off the mark. Woe to me if I fail at this challenge! And so it is that the task of suiting up my little soldiers, outlining for them the game plan, tending to their battle scars and inspiring them to press on until the war is over has fallen to me. What I do with it is entirely within my means. I can read books and educate myself on current parenting ideologies. I can consult Counselors and Behavioral Analysts. I can renew my subscription to Parenting Magazine. I can seek the advice of those who have gone before. I can fall to my knees and pray (which I have definitely not done enough). I can hide, check out, numb the pain any way possible, beg for a maternity test because clearly these cannot be MY children, and argue for the six thousandth time that they are not too old for the Safe Haven Act and most Firefighters would be thrilled to find them on the front steps of the Firehouse. But all kidding aside, what I cannot ever do is give up on these little creatures who have put their faith and trust in me as their mommy. Failure is not an option. You see, I DID ask for this. I signed up whole-heartedly to carry their little bodies for nine and a half months and their hearts forever. I made a choice to have them and I will now make a renewed choice to love them, guide them and lead them to the best of my ability. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So now that the sappy, heart warming stuff is out of the way, I must address the question, “What DO I do when the bombs are falling and the white flag is so far off in the distance I have a better view of the moon during a lunar eclipse?” Enter my current parenting work in progress, <i>Operation Spray It Don’t Say It 2013</i>. I am left with no other alternative than to laugh. I will find - no, create - humor where there is none to be found. I will steal moments of laughter at the most inappropriate, inopportune times and I will make no apologies for it. They have delighted in my downfall time and again and I might just, for once, have a giggle at their expense. I will give it a go first thing tomorrow morning when I will no doubt be awoken to the Princess’s sweet, sweet, voice as she greets me warmly with numerous requests to “Make my breakfast, stupid Momma!” in a decibel that puts Motorhead’s lead singer to shame. And I will let the masses know how it goes in hopes that they too, might glean a moment of laughter in an otherwise abysmal moment of misery.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thrive people, thrive! Go the distance (Target, water toys aisle). Do not be swayed by their Strawberry Shortcake undies, their </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">tiny little button noses and rosy red cheeks. Pay no attention to their pleas for mercy. They are meant only to weaken your defenses and level the playing field. The playing field is not level. Their physical size is merely a front for the mental Goliath that lives within each of them. Do not be afraid. Do not be swayed. Stay the course. Ready? Aim. Fire! </span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-6324285104334168932013-06-09T10:03:00.001-07:002013-06-09T10:05:06.257-07:00How Truly Sweet<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sing to me when the daylight fades like an old friend reminiscing.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A song that gently stirs in me a truth I've long been missing.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The beauty of your sacrifice that settles in my soul,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sweetness of your grace that whispers, "In me, you are whole."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bittersweet reminders of the price of being free.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The lengths that you would go to for the cost of loving me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The quiet resignation to your presence in each day.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fills my cup, lifts me up, gives me hope to find my way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How your mercy falls like Heaven's rain and washes clean my slate.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For the day when face to face we'll meet, my wandering heart can't wait.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now take this heart in need of mending,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All the wounds that I've been tending,</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Take away my selfish pride,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And find me when I run and hide.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Show me all that waits for me,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I return on bended knee.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I will seek you in the valleys, exalt you in the heights.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sing your praise when the sun shines bright, cling to you in the darkest nights.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And on that day when last we meet,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My soul will sing, "How truly sweet,"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To meet my Savior face to face,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And rest in His unfailing grace.</span><br />
<br />frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-39530608730977695952012-12-15T23:37:00.002-08:002012-12-15T23:37:33.316-08:00Home<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m not sure why I feel the need to hear every detail of every horrible tragedy, why I glue myself to CNN waiting on baited breath to hear the particulars of why, how and what next, and why I have to discuss it at length with those around me. And I’m not sure why, in the wake of the Connecticut shooting I cannot tear my thoughts away from those sweet angels and their grieving families even for an instant. I’m not sure if it’s healthy, normal, necessary or justified. Some say the media sensationalizes tragedies such as this. I wouldn’t disagree. Yet still I can’t seem to turn off the television. And so, in nothing more than mere curiosity, I pose this question to myself and ask for a bit of guidance from above. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Perhaps in my anger I want to ensure that justice somehow prevails. Or on a smaller scale, that we, as a country, learn some grand lesson, affect some sort of change, or alter the course of future tragedies. Perhaps I, as a mother of two small children myself, feel that if I can grieve just a little bit more it would somehow lessen the unbearable suffering of the ones who lost their babies. Let’s be honest, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to answer the question of why and so it may be more realistic to tackle the question of where. Where is God in a horrific tragedy like the massacre of 20 innocent first graders in Newtown, Connecticut and seven other innocent souls? I think if I can answer this question in a way that satisfies my restless soul, I may be able to sleep for an hour or two tonight. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s funny how I always tend to condense my feelings into four simple words. Every diatribe on suffering and loss begins with, “There are no words.” But the truth is there ARE words. There are words of anger, bitterness and frustration, though they most likely won’t surface until later in the grieving process. There are words of agony, torment and anguish. And though it’s tough to admit, there may even be words of desperation and hopelessness. “How can I go on? Can I go on?” I can only hope those words are met with quiet whispers from our Heavenly Father that gently offer solace and hope. In Psalm 22:24 we are reminded that <i>“...he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.” </i>There are words to describe how most of us view the shooter, none of which I can put down on paper. But if I’m honest with myself and can see beyond the anger to the word of God I cling to in these times, perhaps I can find some words of grace and understanding to deal with those. The reality is that even the most heinous and unimaginable crimes can be met with mercy and forgiveness in the Heavenly courts. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The truth is that when tragedy strikes, God is right there in the middle of it. We need only to call His name and open our eyes. And when we, in our finite, weakened state cannot find the words, it is then that He speaks to us and through us. 2 Corinthians 4:8-11 encourages us, <i>“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our mortal flesh.”</i></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So I must say that has always been one of my favorite scriptures, because I love the jars of clay analogy. It’s true, when we are cracked and broken, the light of Jesus shines through, but we have to choose to allow it to do so and that’s not always easy. As I typed that verse, the line “not driven to despair” really struck me, because as a mommy it is so easy for me to be driven to despair. When the innocence of children can be snatched in an instant, when I no longer feel safe sending my babies to school and I’m faced with the grim reality that the two sleeping darlings in the next room could easily have been among the 20 precious angels who lost their lives yesterday, when the fear and anxiety wells up within me to the point that I can barely breathe, despair seems to be the only emotion that fits. And I suppose the only way I can answer back is to trust in the divinity of a God who is bigger than my fleeting emotions, bigger than the ensuing debate over gun control, bigger than our need to understand and most certainly big enough to fill the hole that’s left behind. So as I grapple with the “Why” and “How” and “What Now?” and cannot help but picture the faces of those sweet, sweet angels, I’ll remind myself that my God lost a child also and did it willingly, for me. </span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We will rightly and eternally mourn the loss of all the victims. We will pray as a nation for the ones they left behind, for healing, for comfort, and for sweet memories to forever fill the halls of their homes. And as their mommies and daddies justifiably long for one last smile as they arrive home from school, their Heavenly Father will now greet them at the door. And I imagine as they gaze upon His lovely face, bursting at the seams they will excitedly announce, “Hi Daddy, I’m home!” And they are now...home in His presence, home in His tender embrace, home in His kingdom eternally, and home forever in our hearts.</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-31033297559945032752012-12-05T12:18:00.002-08:002012-12-05T12:18:18.422-08:00The View from the Middle<br />
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There are very few things I can actually control in this life. For instance, I can totally bypass the dollar section at the bullseye boutique (no thanks to those fabulous higher-ups whose strategic marketing landed it smack-dab at the front of the store!) and save myself $2,117. I can shut off the tele, spend some quality time with the kiddos, save them a brain cell or two, and let some other mommy keep the network afloat by allowing a super hyper, faithless yellow sponge to babysit her little darlings. I can even choose to forego a half hour argument over why it isn’t okay to flatten the kitty’s ears while he’s sleeping in exchange for five minutes of me-time. I cannot, however, manipulate the weather, affect real change on capitol hill (let’s face it, I am a Republican in the state of California after all), force the San Diego Chargers to actually finish a drive on any given Sunday, or convince the princess that the potty is a necessary evil. But there is one thing I have only recently come to recognize as entirely within my control. So today I wave my magic wand (which oddly resembles a spatula these days), snap my ponytail, twitch my nose, and wait for the magic to happen. Wait for it...wait for it...wait for it...sorry, I had to refill my wine glass. Here it is: <i>you</i>, actually have the ability to change the way you view your circumstances and consequently, tip the needle on your joy meter a bit to the right. And yes, I said joy meter. I can say it another way if you’d like. You can change the song that’s playing in the depths of your soul from “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” to “Here Comes the Sun.” Some call it a worldview or filter. I like to refer to it as the gift of perspective. And believe me, it is truly a gift that we have been given...the ability to look at any situation and process it any way we’d like. We can control our own capacity for joy based purely on how we choose to see things. So the next time your dolphin floaties spring a leak and you find yourself struggling to stay afloat, ask yourself, “How’s the view from down here?”</div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Is the mountain insurmountable, an obstacle so large to even contemplate tackling it would be physically exhausting? Or is it possible the view from the top is so breathtakingly gorgeous the journey to get there seems like a walk in the park? Are you a victim or a vessel? Do you view the challenges of life as suffocating and unbearable, believing the only way to avoid another heartbreak is to become fast friends with your pillow for 24 hours a day? Are you a seemingly innocent bystander, never quite able to crawl out from under the rock or find a solid footing in constantly shifting sand, always searching for the pity party around the corner in need of a guest of honor? Or are you a vessel, relishing the tough times as opportunities for spiritual, emotional and intellectual growth? It is quite possible that in these times, God has given you a rare opportunity to speak on His behalf, to sing praises in the rain - or perhaps, a torrential downpour at times - to send some glory His way and redefine faith. How do you see things?</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Are you certain the homeless man on the corner is really in it for the vodka or is there a distinct possibility he may actually possess enough humility to stand on a street corner with carefully chosen words that never seem to say enough scrawled on a cardboard sign and beg for help, soul exposed to ridicule and judgment from random passers-by who justify their ambivalence by telling themselves, “I don’t have any cash anyway.” How do you see things?</span></div>
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Have you arrived at the intersection of bitterness and ungrace, certain that the ones who have hurt you - intentionally and unintentionally - are forever undeserving of forgiveness? Have you hardened your heart so successfully not even the angriest bird can penetrate the fortress you’ve built? Or by some small miracle, have you seen beyond the betrayal to the hurt in the ones who have hurt you, knowing somewhere deep inside they too are wounded souls longing for someone or something to fill the void? How do you see things?<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Do you see things through filtered lenses, as the world wants you to see them? As the politicians want you to see them? As your family wants you to see them? Or do you see them through rose-colored glasses, tinted red as the blood of Jesus, holy and pure, true and unchanging, powerful and eternal? Might I suggest there is enough heartache and pain in this life without adding fuel to the fire. Next time the tendency to fan the flames kicks in, perhaps you should douse it with water instead. Trust me, there is enough to reduce it to a pile of smoldering ashes - the glass is <i>more</i> than half full in God’s house! For once, if not always, silence the critics and your own accusing voice and tune in to the sweet, sweet voice you hear when you find yourself falling. Let the words of a loving savior ring in your ears. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” ~Joshua 1:9</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And because I haven’t met my question mark quota in this little diatribe, I’ve got one more for you. When your pace slows and your doubt increases, ask yourself, “Am I a weary traveler on a road wrought with speed bumps and potholes or am I wounded warrior whose faith in something bigger simply will not allow me to believe life’s hurdles are meant to trip me up rather than build me up.” If only for a moment, allow yourself to believe you have a loving Father who desires nothing less than the best for His children, the most coveted glittering prize, a precious gift, an eternity in Heaven with you (yes, you). His grace is sufficient, His word is true, His love is extravagant, and the view from up there is always unfiltered.</span></div>
frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-66919754157728113902011-12-09T00:10:00.000-08:002011-12-09T00:11:07.535-08:00Let the River Flow<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 3:37pm yesterday when I began to ask myself if there is an age cut-off for the Safe Haven Act. I think the men in any given firehouse would gladly take the princess in if they knew how minuscule her chances of surviving another day in this house are with the attitude she’s been toting around this week - or my chances of survival, for that matter. Is there a slot large enough for me to surrender myself, I wonder? At the very least, THEY have access to very large fire extinguishers that may come in handy somewhere around the twelfth “snit” of the day, as my mother-in-law refers to it. Now that I think about it, is Safe Haven meant for her safety or mine? Because clearly I am the one in harm’s way these days.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 4:14pm yesterday when I realized there are no ear plugs large enough to drown out the wee voice that once was music to my ears. Wee.No.Longer. And with no hesitation my daily plea has become, “Turn down the main, Skid Row! Can’t you see I’m a woman on the edge???” Indeed calling her the princess has backfired immeasurably. Somehow, somewhere along the way she has come to believe she is no longer a princess, but rather, the queen. And I, a mere servant in her court, a hired hand, a peasant. And so it is from the depths of my weary, defeated, pitiful soul I cry, “Uncle, uncle, I give. Sweet Jesus, hear my pleas. Remove the pint-sized demon from my baby girl and give me back my angel!”</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 6:17pm yesterday when I found myself lying in the fetal position beneath a makeshift fort I had fashioned out of a Snuggie, patchwork quilt and Minnie Mouse fleece throw attempting futilely to keep the enemies at bay. I was playing my own version of hide and seek, whereupon I “accidentally” forget to tell them there is a game underway. So there I was, lying in a heap larger than the seven loads of unfolded laundry at the foot of the bed, feeling defeated for the seventeenth time that day, when it suddenly dawned on me. It had been a very long time since I’d had a good cry. Let me be clear. No soft whimpers shall ever grace these halls...or feebly constructed forts for that matter. There is only one cardinal sin in my eyes when it comes to living with a two-year old, self-professed diva. Show.No.Weakness. A true toddler can sense fear and let’s be honest, at this point in time, I am truly afraid of the princess. I am literally afraid that she will be waiting around the next corner with a two-by-four, brass knuckles, or worse, a bad attitude and an insatiable hunger for chocolate goldfish that will not be denied. But I digress. If I intend to show any amount of weakness in this house by doing something as ridiculous as crying, I better really make it count.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 6:23pm yesterday when the floodgates opened and the pent-up frustration and exhaustion of the last several weeks began to flow. It was one of those really freeing, drawn out, physically exhausting cries. And it was magical. I think I may have unknowingly signed up to cry on behalf of mommies everywhere who were feeling the same defeat as I in that very moment. And for one brief moment, nothing else mattered. I was just a girl with a box of tissue, mourning the loss of her freedom and sanity, and everything was right with the world for one brief moment.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 6:49pm yesterday when they found me (and yes, I was still alive - the epitaph will have to wait). And the battle raged on long into the night, but something had changed. I had changed. I was renewed, revitalized, ready to tackle whatever sippy cup came my way (at 97mph, mind you). And God saw what He had done and it was good. And He rested. I, on the other hand, could not sleep, as usual. But it was okay. I actually stole some quiet moments to do a little research on the cost of a share of stock in Kimberly-Clark, the company that manufactures Kleenex (it’s currently $69.82 by the way).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">It was around 12:34am this morning when it came to me. “Jesus wept.” ~John 11:35</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Man, that guy really was a genius. Even the most perfect man to ever walk this Earth knew that a good cry is worth it’s weight in gold. Hey, if our toddlers can do it and our Savior could do it, why can’t we? And so I leave you with this. Let it out, ladies. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, please don’t call me. I’ll be playing hide and seek with a box of Kleenex and a can of camouflage paint.</span></p>frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13150515.post-3927580149663838422011-10-23T17:48:00.000-07:002011-10-23T17:49:06.315-07:00Miss Matched<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Ok, so here’s the thing. It has become abundantly clear to me lately that the little 2-year old, self-professed heir-to-some-throne, somewhere in America I call my daughter really does believe she is a magical fairy princess. I see it in the attitude that daily screams (implicitly AND verbally), “I am here. Notice me! Bow down to me! Provide goldfish at my beckoned call! And do not even think of saying ‘no’ to me!” I see it in the sweet little, “Nooooo’s” that resound throughout our halls oh, let’s say, about every 6.3 seconds. And I see it in every outfit she meticulously chooses each morning. Oh wait, each hour, because yes, she MUST change clothes every hour, on the hour, as if her little pint-sized life depended on it. And I’m not talking about a new dress. I’m talking 4 new skirts, all at the same time, 3 pairs of underwear and the ONE tank top amidst the thousands that seems to scream her name every.moment.of.every.day. Why??? For the love of all that is holy (and most of her wardrobe is at this point), why can’t she let her mother pick an outfit for her? All kidding aside, let’s delve into this battle I call the Great Wardrobe Debate of 2011.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">What’s really at the heart of the matter here? I, being the super organized, ghetto fabulous, mother-of-the-year that I am, seek only to present to the world, a well-put-together, darling, proper, presentable child any mother would swoon over. An honorable intention, right? And she, being the strong-willed, simple minded, new at the way this whole mother-daughter relationship thing works, child, seeks only to destroy me and my good intentions. Sounds about right, doesn’t it? Sounds a bit nutty, if you ask me. Here it is, ladies. Wait for it...we’re nutty if we believe our little mini-me’s can see even a fraction of an inch beyond what we see. ‘Cause here’s how it plays out in our minds. “She is a reflection of me and the job I am doing with her. What will others think if she doesn’t match, look clean, and well put-together?” And here’s how it plays out in her mind. “Purple is pretty. Green is pretty. Put them together, twice as pretty!”</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">So I have no choice but to dig deep and try to fathom why the mixing of Play-doh colors does not bother me in the least, but an outfit that doesn’t match sends me so far over the edge no amount of therapy can bring me back. So I’ve been mulling it over incessantly and I think I’ve got it. It’s become increasingly obvious to me since I became a parent that the path I deem “appropriate” for my babies is actually the exact opposite of what God intends for them. Bear with me. I’m not calling myself a failure (not today anyway), just exploring and comparing a worldly point of view with God’s truth about the matter. You see, I see my babies as a reflection of me and so, I want them to look composed and presentable to the world. Sweet smelling babies = successful mother, right? The problem is, my view of presentable and God’s view are entirely different. I’ve been conditioned to think that I must appear as if I’ve got it all together, a Superwoman of sorts, able to leap tall-buildings in a single bound, or at the very least, get in and out of the dollar aisle at Target without running over another mommy’s toes with my cart. I must make it to the early soccer game, bring the best hot dish at MOPS and be on time, be met at the classroom door with cheers of, “Junior did an excellent job sharing today,” volunteer to host the weekly playdate, not raise my voice for more than 3 hours straight, have the cleanest toilet on the block, AND make a mean meatloaf. Right? Pause for effect.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Breathe. Here’s the good news. God laughs at my view of presentable. His view looks a little more like this. Are you comfortable and confident in my love for you? If you are, you’re ready to face the world. Go and make disciples of the nations - even if your shoes don’t match. You see, we view our children as reflections of us and God views us the very same way. Scary, but freeing. Ask yourself this...what exactly is it that you are reflecting of your Heavenly Father? Love? Compassion? Grace? And most of all, Need? Do you need Him? Because I truly believe THAT is what He cares about, so much more so than the color of our socks, though frankly, I think he prefers the frilly lace ones with the pom pom balls on the back!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The truth is that most of the time, my outfit looks great (please don’t hunt me down on Thursday to test this one out), but on the inside, my clothes are lying in a pile on the closet floor. And I believe the heart of God would beat so loudly if I let the world peek into my closet rather than glimpse at the false front I so often present to try to make myself feel worthy. Am I raising babies that look good or babies that look to God? You see, in her pint-sized, not yet scarred, 2-year old mind, the princess truly believes when she puts that 4th skirt over the 3rd she has crossed the threshold from little girl to magical fairy princess. What if I believed that whole-heartedly in the reflection God sees in me? That I am so passionately loved despite my appearance? That I am deeply accepted despite the way I feel on any given day? What if the world saw the blood of Jesus rather than the coffee stains on my tank top? </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; text-align: justify; font: 12.0px 'Trebuchet MS'"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Most days I have to break out the handcuffs to get the princess to let me brush her hair and so, it’s difficult for me to look at those darling little curls and not hear the words, “Child, what happened to your head?” ringing in my ears. Perhaps now I’ll look at her and see a crown of thorns beneath the faux-diamond tiara and remember that my Father does not care if hair number 4,214 was out of place. And when princess insists on her favorite dress (from 2009) and I’m struggling to button the top 3 buttons on the back that no longer close because she’s just had her seventeenth growth spurt, I’ll see the lashes my Jesus endured for me and remember that a perfectly buttoned shirt could never hide that. And when no amount of jelly beans can convince her that shoes are a necessity on the playground, I’ll think of the great sacrifice my loving savior made for me as I’m washing her feet at the end of the day and I’ll smile. Because I believe sometimes when we refuse to listen, our sweet, sweet Father has no choice but to find gentle reminders such as these to whisper in our defiant ears, “I do not care how the world sees you. I see you as flawless, clothed in righteousness, precious and holy, set apart for Me.” Now zip up your jacket and go tell them how much I love them. </span></p>frvrchangedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10462203511568653046noreply@blogger.com1