“But God doesn't call us to be comfortable. He calls us to trust Him so completely that we are unafraid to put ourselves in situations where we will be in trouble if He doesn't come through.”
-- Francis Chan
Monday, November 19, 2012
Monday, September 24, 2012
Confused
Tried, really tried, to convey how I'm feeling to Tim Friday night, but I'm not sure he really gets it. I am still being bombarded by the same message over and over again: Trust God. Honestly, I am so bombarded with this theme that I am beginning to feel a little paranoid, so for the record: I hear you, Lord. I do. I am just not sure what you want me to do about it.
What's really stunning to me is that Tim sits through many of the same things and doesn't detect the theme. Until Sunday. Sunday he really couldn't ignore. Sunday, the pastor (and it's his favorite pastor, the one he truly respects and admires) got up and preached an entire sermon on trusting God -- even if what you're being called to do seems crazy, even if you aren't sure where it will end up. Bonus: the Sunday School lessons we were teaching were also about trusting God.
Now do you see the theme? Oh yes, there it is. Thankyouverymuch.
Still, I am left in limbo. I am just hanging here, wondering what God wants me to do with this. I know we blew it a few weeks ago, I know our inaction was a sin. I know this, like I know my own name. I also know what I think we should do, but my husband doesn't agree. His take? He says the "sign" that we shouldmove forward would be if the little boy we were considering would appear on the list we were watching again. Again. This is tantamount to a miracle, because once they're gone, that's usually it. I think maybe if he appeared on any list at all that would qualify, but again, so unlikely as to require divine intervention.
This is where I am murky. Can God do this? Absolutely. Will he? Not sure. I know he is abounding in mercy and slow to anger, but let's face it: we blew it twice on this same issue. How many chances do we get? Do I even dare ask for one more? I asked for a second chance and we got it and failed. Miserably, spectacularly. I am of the opinion that if by some miracle we were afforded a third chance, I would have to push the issue. I think -- and this is really just a hunch -- that Tim is avoiding looking this whole thing in the eye because he really doesn't want to act. He'd rather feign ignorance than commit.
And I am trapped in my grief, my guilt, my two-pronged worry over disobeying God and turning our backs on a child in need. Depraved indifference, I think it's called.
God, we are so pathetic. We are so guilty of promoting our own agendas, of exalting our petty, selfish desires over your greater good. Of substituting the things of the world for the higher things of your kingdom. I am so sorry, Lord. How aware I am right now of my need for forgiveness, of my essential brokeness. Father, forgive. Father, heal. Father, help. I don't want to fail You again.
What's really stunning to me is that Tim sits through many of the same things and doesn't detect the theme. Until Sunday. Sunday he really couldn't ignore. Sunday, the pastor (and it's his favorite pastor, the one he truly respects and admires) got up and preached an entire sermon on trusting God -- even if what you're being called to do seems crazy, even if you aren't sure where it will end up. Bonus: the Sunday School lessons we were teaching were also about trusting God.
Now do you see the theme? Oh yes, there it is. Thankyouverymuch.
Still, I am left in limbo. I am just hanging here, wondering what God wants me to do with this. I know we blew it a few weeks ago, I know our inaction was a sin. I know this, like I know my own name. I also know what I think we should do, but my husband doesn't agree. His take? He says the "sign" that we shouldmove forward would be if the little boy we were considering would appear on the list we were watching again. Again. This is tantamount to a miracle, because once they're gone, that's usually it. I think maybe if he appeared on any list at all that would qualify, but again, so unlikely as to require divine intervention.
This is where I am murky. Can God do this? Absolutely. Will he? Not sure. I know he is abounding in mercy and slow to anger, but let's face it: we blew it twice on this same issue. How many chances do we get? Do I even dare ask for one more? I asked for a second chance and we got it and failed. Miserably, spectacularly. I am of the opinion that if by some miracle we were afforded a third chance, I would have to push the issue. I think -- and this is really just a hunch -- that Tim is avoiding looking this whole thing in the eye because he really doesn't want to act. He'd rather feign ignorance than commit.
And I am trapped in my grief, my guilt, my two-pronged worry over disobeying God and turning our backs on a child in need. Depraved indifference, I think it's called.
God, we are so pathetic. We are so guilty of promoting our own agendas, of exalting our petty, selfish desires over your greater good. Of substituting the things of the world for the higher things of your kingdom. I am so sorry, Lord. How aware I am right now of my need for forgiveness, of my essential brokeness. Father, forgive. Father, heal. Father, help. I don't want to fail You again.
Friday, August 31, 2012
And Along with Entropy Came
guilt, pain, and sorrow. The perfect trifecta of failure.
Hindsight is 20/20, my mother always says, and in this case she is so very right. I know -- I knew -- God was speaking to us. I couldn't pick up a devotional or hear a sermon that didn't reiterate over and over "trust ME." I could barely read a blog that didn't hammer home the same point. Again and again and again.
How arrogant of me, how wilfully obtuse, to say I wasn't sure what God wanted me to do. I might as well have stuck my fingers in my ears and sung 'La la la, I Can't Hear You."
Most galling, most humiliating, is that this is the second time I've done this.
But, you say, God is loving and kind, his mercies are new every morning. True dat. But I am wallowing a bit right now and not ready to cut myself any slack. I need to really feel this; grieve it, even. I am broken right now over my sin. And I think being broken in this way is not necessarily a bad thing. And yes, God knew how I (we) would react in this situation. This hasn't caught him off guard. Me it walloped upside the head, but God already knew about the fault lines in my character, my faith, my heart.
San Andreas, baby. So big, and so unstable.
But there is hope. It's buried right now, but I know it's there, even though I can't see it or feel it. God promises he will "redeem the years the locust has eaten." Ha (and you can make that a bitter, cynical 'ha' if you like). I thought that verse, which has been swimming around in my head for about a month now, was about adoption. Turns out it was about me. God knew I was going to need some assurance that I am not entirely ready for the scrap heap just yet.
Will we adopt? I don't know. I am really murky on this one, mainly because I was more invested in this one particular child than I realized or wanted to admit. The question has really been "will you adopt him?" And now that door appears to be firmly shut. If you wait long enough, if you waffle and procrastinate and fail to decide, God will find someone to fulfill his purposes in your place. So take that, Sir Lather of Indecision - you've been punked.
So where do I go now? Nowhere. I am going to sit with my sackcloth and ashes for a while yet. For whatever reason, I have to fully experience this. Maybe it's necessary so I can die to my self-life all over again. I see now, really see with sharp, painful clarity, that this is a process I am going to struggle with until I am with Him.
Hindsight is 20/20, my mother always says, and in this case she is so very right. I know -- I knew -- God was speaking to us. I couldn't pick up a devotional or hear a sermon that didn't reiterate over and over "trust ME." I could barely read a blog that didn't hammer home the same point. Again and again and again.
How arrogant of me, how wilfully obtuse, to say I wasn't sure what God wanted me to do. I might as well have stuck my fingers in my ears and sung 'La la la, I Can't Hear You."
Most galling, most humiliating, is that this is the second time I've done this.
But, you say, God is loving and kind, his mercies are new every morning. True dat. But I am wallowing a bit right now and not ready to cut myself any slack. I need to really feel this; grieve it, even. I am broken right now over my sin. And I think being broken in this way is not necessarily a bad thing. And yes, God knew how I (we) would react in this situation. This hasn't caught him off guard. Me it walloped upside the head, but God already knew about the fault lines in my character, my faith, my heart.
San Andreas, baby. So big, and so unstable.
But there is hope. It's buried right now, but I know it's there, even though I can't see it or feel it. God promises he will "redeem the years the locust has eaten." Ha (and you can make that a bitter, cynical 'ha' if you like). I thought that verse, which has been swimming around in my head for about a month now, was about adoption. Turns out it was about me. God knew I was going to need some assurance that I am not entirely ready for the scrap heap just yet.
Will we adopt? I don't know. I am really murky on this one, mainly because I was more invested in this one particular child than I realized or wanted to admit. The question has really been "will you adopt him?" And now that door appears to be firmly shut. If you wait long enough, if you waffle and procrastinate and fail to decide, God will find someone to fulfill his purposes in your place. So take that, Sir Lather of Indecision - you've been punked.
So where do I go now? Nowhere. I am going to sit with my sackcloth and ashes for a while yet. For whatever reason, I have to fully experience this. Maybe it's necessary so I can die to my self-life all over again. I see now, really see with sharp, painful clarity, that this is a process I am going to struggle with until I am with Him.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Entropy
Confused emotions right now. Second chances have evaporated because we couldn't get on the same page long enough to do anything. Instead we did what I hate about us most: we dithered around, talked it all sideways, hemmed, hawed, extrapolated, worried, waffled and did nothing.
We looked at this opportunity and instead of taking it, we slid back into the homogenous mass that is the rest of the world. We refused to stand out, to be different, to do what most people wouldn't dream of doing. Instead we played it safe, chose the easy road; when in doubt, we didn't.
All I have in my cup right now is anger and shame. Oh, and frustration. Lots of that.
We looked at this opportunity and instead of taking it, we slid back into the homogenous mass that is the rest of the world. We refused to stand out, to be different, to do what most people wouldn't dream of doing. Instead we played it safe, chose the easy road; when in doubt, we didn't.
All I have in my cup right now is anger and shame. Oh, and frustration. Lots of that.
Monday, August 6, 2012
For Posterity
Last week was a week of struggle. I wrestled with some things that I needed to see about myself. Some ugly things that did not increase my self esteem.
My fear.
My obsessive need for security and control.
My lukewarm attitude toward God.
And of course, how connected these things are. A leads to B, which leads to C. I had to really face a crossroads: knowing these things about myself, was I going to continue on, giving God my leftovers, or was I going to step out and take a risk for God, do something that demanded a level of faith and trust that I wasn't at all sure I could handle?
Now, normally I cannot spout Bible verses, particularly when I need them, but last week God started throwing verses in my face. So many verses that I started writing them down because they were utterly relevant and I did not want to miss what God was saying to me. Here's what they said:
"Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room for it." Malachi 3:10 (When was the last time you read Malachi? Right. Me too.)
"Blessed is the man
My fear.
My obsessive need for security and control.
My lukewarm attitude toward God.
And of course, how connected these things are. A leads to B, which leads to C. I had to really face a crossroads: knowing these things about myself, was I going to continue on, giving God my leftovers, or was I going to step out and take a risk for God, do something that demanded a level of faith and trust that I wasn't at all sure I could handle?
Now, normally I cannot spout Bible verses, particularly when I need them, but last week God started throwing verses in my face. So many verses that I started writing them down because they were utterly relevant and I did not want to miss what God was saying to me. Here's what they said:
"Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have room for it." Malachi 3:10 (When was the last time you read Malachi? Right. Me too.)
"Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in
the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree
planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers." Psalm 1:1-3
"Anyone, then, who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." James 4:17
"I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you." John 14:18
"Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it." Psalm 127
"If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?" 1 John 3:17
"I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
"Nothing is impossible with God." Luke 1:37
"The Lord will restore the years the locust has eaten" Joel 2:25 (this last one seems to have been specifically designed to counter my fears about coping with a child who has suffered so much loss)
The last piece of the puzzle for me was this blog entry by Shannan Martin, which absolutely laid bare my argument about "not having peace," -- which was really code for: scared to death and looking for an out. If God doesn't speak to us through fear, then all this brouhaha churning around in my soul has only two possible sources: me and my own frail humanity, or the enemy. Take your pick. I am certainly flawed enough to be entirely at fault, and I am certainly weak enough to be vulnerable to attack. Drat my overactive imagination...my worst-case-scenario-extrapolate-to-doomsday mentality.
My feeling now is that we need to go forward until God stops us. Tonight, Tim and I will hammer this thing out and see if we can reach some kind of consensus. I see so many ways -- opportunities -- to trust God in this: for finances, for travel, for transitions, for parenting skills, for the growth and faith of our current children...it's all just out there, out of our control. If we do this, we will have to rely on Him, because it's totally beyond our experience and expertise to do any of this. We will be living out our trust in God in a visible, tangible way. I think there could be great power in this, for us and more importantly for our kids.
Not to mention the huge difference it would make for one small boy in Chin@.
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Second Chances??
Let's be extremely honest. I have not blogged in a while -- a long while -- because I have been running away from things. Blogging - writing, really -- is one way I process stuff and therefore doing it would be facing the things I have been trying to avoid. So I have spent the last 2.4 months hiding from myself, my husband, and most especially my God.
This does not work out as well as you might expect.
What, exactly, have I been hiding from, you might ask? Adoption, I would have to answer. And no one would fault you for wondering what the heck I mean by hiding from something that all my previous writing would indicate that I have yearned for for several years. Why, then, when everything seemed in train to get the proverbial ball rolling, would I suddenly flee in the opposite direction as though pursued by rabid wolves?
Indeed.
In my arrogance, I thought I could step up and do this thing. I had a very "Go Big or Go Home" mentality. But when it came down to it, when an actual child was in front of us, when the question wasn't "will you adopt," but "will you adopt him?" I did not "go big." And part of what I've been hiding from is the realization that I am much, much weaker than I would like to admit and that as much as I would like to blithely tell everyone to "just trust God," I appear to have a long way to go in this department.
The other part of this shindig that I've run away from is God. Hiding always seems like a good idea when you are afraid you will be asked to do what you are not sure you can do. I did not want to see or hear from God, just in case He was a little too clear on what he wanted me to do.
Then there was my husband, who finally got on the bandwagon only to find a wife who quite literally lost it. That does a little number on your confidence, let me tell you, and doesn't exactly build up the confidence destroyer, either.
It all came to a head about 2 weeks ago. I had been hiding so efficiently that my husband didn't even know what was going on. For some odd reason, I got on the photolisting page of the agency we'd been working with and discovered that the little boy we'd been considering was gone. This meant he had probably been matched with someone else. I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt annihilated. All the failure, the spiritual duplicity, the ugly facets of my personality that I had been trying to hard not to see, burst wide open on me and I knew, without a doubt, that I had failed God utterly. With all the clarity of hindsight, I looked back over the whole situation and saw a child whose medical needs were negligible at best, who was as close to perfect as we could ask for, and who I had rejected out of fear and a pathological need to control things in my life.
Epic fail.
The dam burst one evening and I sobbed to my husband all the crap I'd been holding inside, the failure, the knowledge of my own weakness and fear, the smallness of my faith, I told him I felt like I'd failed a major test -- that God had called me and I turned away, indifferent to the plight of His children, consumed with my own selfish junk, afraid to step out in faith into what was patently not my comfort zone.
For I week I lived like this, bowed down under the weight of my failure. In the midst of this, I prayed for a second chance. I knew the child we'd been considering was lost to us, but I thought maybe in a few months we might find another child that we could commit to. I wasn't terribly hopeful -- I just hoped God wouldn't give up on us, on me.
Then, a chance peek at the photo listing again and there he was -- our boy. Back on the list for who knows what reason. A second chance? It sure feels like it.
But now I can't get my husband to even consider it -- and this may be where the real damage lies. My sin may have submarined everything. This I know: God doesn't need us to carry out His purposes. But what a privilege it would be if we could be part of them.
So here I am, in limbo again.
This does not work out as well as you might expect.
What, exactly, have I been hiding from, you might ask? Adoption, I would have to answer. And no one would fault you for wondering what the heck I mean by hiding from something that all my previous writing would indicate that I have yearned for for several years. Why, then, when everything seemed in train to get the proverbial ball rolling, would I suddenly flee in the opposite direction as though pursued by rabid wolves?
Indeed.
In my arrogance, I thought I could step up and do this thing. I had a very "Go Big or Go Home" mentality. But when it came down to it, when an actual child was in front of us, when the question wasn't "will you adopt," but "will you adopt him?" I did not "go big." And part of what I've been hiding from is the realization that I am much, much weaker than I would like to admit and that as much as I would like to blithely tell everyone to "just trust God," I appear to have a long way to go in this department.
The other part of this shindig that I've run away from is God. Hiding always seems like a good idea when you are afraid you will be asked to do what you are not sure you can do. I did not want to see or hear from God, just in case He was a little too clear on what he wanted me to do.
Then there was my husband, who finally got on the bandwagon only to find a wife who quite literally lost it. That does a little number on your confidence, let me tell you, and doesn't exactly build up the confidence destroyer, either.
It all came to a head about 2 weeks ago. I had been hiding so efficiently that my husband didn't even know what was going on. For some odd reason, I got on the photolisting page of the agency we'd been working with and discovered that the little boy we'd been considering was gone. This meant he had probably been matched with someone else. I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I felt annihilated. All the failure, the spiritual duplicity, the ugly facets of my personality that I had been trying to hard not to see, burst wide open on me and I knew, without a doubt, that I had failed God utterly. With all the clarity of hindsight, I looked back over the whole situation and saw a child whose medical needs were negligible at best, who was as close to perfect as we could ask for, and who I had rejected out of fear and a pathological need to control things in my life.
Epic fail.
The dam burst one evening and I sobbed to my husband all the crap I'd been holding inside, the failure, the knowledge of my own weakness and fear, the smallness of my faith, I told him I felt like I'd failed a major test -- that God had called me and I turned away, indifferent to the plight of His children, consumed with my own selfish junk, afraid to step out in faith into what was patently not my comfort zone.
For I week I lived like this, bowed down under the weight of my failure. In the midst of this, I prayed for a second chance. I knew the child we'd been considering was lost to us, but I thought maybe in a few months we might find another child that we could commit to. I wasn't terribly hopeful -- I just hoped God wouldn't give up on us, on me.
Then, a chance peek at the photo listing again and there he was -- our boy. Back on the list for who knows what reason. A second chance? It sure feels like it.
But now I can't get my husband to even consider it -- and this may be where the real damage lies. My sin may have submarined everything. This I know: God doesn't need us to carry out His purposes. But what a privilege it would be if we could be part of them.
So here I am, in limbo again.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Gut Twister
After my prayer/letter/vent yesterday, I actually felt a certain calmness overtake me. For most of the day I felt okay -- lighter and even slightly happy. I also felt a rising confidence that we could actually pull this thing off.
Then, the email.
It was short -- an update that had recently come through, just translated, and it said essentially 2 things: 1. he is not interested in studying and 2. usually a steady temperament, but occasionally tantrums to the point of "convulsions."
I got cold all over.
The first part is just confusing. I know nothing of the expectations in a Chinese kindergarten. We are talking about a 4 year old, after all, and I have no clue whether this means he can't sit for 2 hours and copy characters or he would prefer to play, or what...? I wouldn't expect many 4 year olds to "study." But my over-thinking brain immediately began throwing up alarming possibilities: ADD? Delay? Oppositional/Defiant Disorder? Impairment? (see? I am really good at this). WHAT COULD IT MEAN? I mean, really: what a weird thing to say about a 4 year old.
The second part was frankly disturbing. The agency said the translator says the word is not the one used for seizures. So I guess that's good, but they are going to try to get some clarification on that because even the translator wasn't sure what they meant. And certainly all kids have tantrums from time to time. But again, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? Everything up to this point said "quiet child, shy child, good learner, sweet disposition, etc." Now this. And of course, no context to help fill in details. Has he been removed from the foster family? Are the tantrums as a result of a major transition? Are violent tantrums something new? Is there another trigger for this behavior?
All my peace, all my courage, blown to smithereens. Because the truth is, it could mean something, or it could mean nothing. And I am VERY uncomfortable with ambiguity. I like surety, accuracy, definitive statements, verified facts.
Not much of that here. We're operating off about 8 minutes of video and one written report dated nearly 2 years ago. And of course, the update. That's all we have on which to base our decision. My stomach has been in a knot since yesterday evening.
The truth is, I don't know how this will play out. And I am on tenterhooks. Undertake, Lord. Your servant is weak and I can't see my hand before my face. I need you, your insight, your assurance, your guidance. I really really really can't do this alone.
Intervene, Lord Jesus. Be a light in this situation so that we know what to do.
Then, the email.
It was short -- an update that had recently come through, just translated, and it said essentially 2 things: 1. he is not interested in studying and 2. usually a steady temperament, but occasionally tantrums to the point of "convulsions."
I got cold all over.
The first part is just confusing. I know nothing of the expectations in a Chinese kindergarten. We are talking about a 4 year old, after all, and I have no clue whether this means he can't sit for 2 hours and copy characters or he would prefer to play, or what...? I wouldn't expect many 4 year olds to "study." But my over-thinking brain immediately began throwing up alarming possibilities: ADD? Delay? Oppositional/Defiant Disorder? Impairment? (see? I am really good at this). WHAT COULD IT MEAN? I mean, really: what a weird thing to say about a 4 year old.
The second part was frankly disturbing. The agency said the translator says the word is not the one used for seizures. So I guess that's good, but they are going to try to get some clarification on that because even the translator wasn't sure what they meant. And certainly all kids have tantrums from time to time. But again, WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? Everything up to this point said "quiet child, shy child, good learner, sweet disposition, etc." Now this. And of course, no context to help fill in details. Has he been removed from the foster family? Are the tantrums as a result of a major transition? Are violent tantrums something new? Is there another trigger for this behavior?
All my peace, all my courage, blown to smithereens. Because the truth is, it could mean something, or it could mean nothing. And I am VERY uncomfortable with ambiguity. I like surety, accuracy, definitive statements, verified facts.
Not much of that here. We're operating off about 8 minutes of video and one written report dated nearly 2 years ago. And of course, the update. That's all we have on which to base our decision. My stomach has been in a knot since yesterday evening.
The truth is, I don't know how this will play out. And I am on tenterhooks. Undertake, Lord. Your servant is weak and I can't see my hand before my face. I need you, your insight, your assurance, your guidance. I really really really can't do this alone.
Intervene, Lord Jesus. Be a light in this situation so that we know what to do.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Wrestling, Part Deux
Irony: You pray about adopting a little person for literally years and when your husband finally comes around, gets so on-board with the idea that he is looking for a local instructor so he can learn Chinese to communicate with his new son, and you suddenly fall prey to a huge, paralyzing case of the I-Can'ts.
Oh yes. I did. Please understand, God, that I don't like being this way. I hate this over-developed Fight-or-Flight response that I seem to have, the one that makes it almost impossible to sleep at night, the one that is giving me both heartburn and diarrhea (TMI? sorry.) The one that makes me feel like I can't quite breathe right and may break into a bout of hyperventilation at any moment. The one that has driven me to the treadmill every day for the last 9 days in a desperate attempt to simply exercise myself into some kind of Zen.
God, you know my heart is in the right place. I so want to do this, but ACTUALLY DOING IT is looming very huge right now. I can't even explain why I am suddenly wracked with fear. Here, though, are some of the highlights:
Conflict. I cringe in the face of conflict. Loud voices and unhappy people make me want to curl up in a ball. This is not my invariable response, but it is in my repertoire. God, I am most afraid of how our children will react. I am most afraid of how our son will react since he is most likely the one getting a roommate and he can have an explosive temper and he is the one most like me -- not at all down with change. He is often deeply suspicious of anything different or new. As am I.
Change. Oh Lord, I fear change. If I sit down and lay it out I can sort of see how it would be overcomeable, but change of this magnitude frightens me. I can't form a picture in my head of how it will all be, once the ship has sailed. How will our family dynamic be altered? And you know, Lord, that this is not just an adoption thing. I went through this every time I discovered I was pregnant and every time I brought home a new baby. And some of those changes were cataclysmic. How I envied people who just gave birth and went right back to their normal lives with barely a hiccup. Why did/does it always have to be like an F5 tornado for me? I am afraid of this blowing-apart of our family and the corresponding era of reconstruction which can (and has) taken upwards of a year to complete. I am afraid of being in flux for so long, of that devastating disequilibrium.
Conspicuousness. We are going to look different, this I know. Mostly I am okay with this, but I am having bizarre flashbacks to high school where I simultaneously and somewhat desperately wanted both the spotlight and complete invisibility. I am fearful of how I will handle the looks, the inevitable questions, the possibly-not-intentionally-rude comments. I am somewhat fearful of how I will handle a child who has (as yet) no history with us. Those nights when I tell my children about their baby years will not include him -- I don't know anything about how he liked his first taste of baby food, or what silly things he might have done in the middle of a store, or how potty training went for him. What will I say? How can I help him be all right with that vacuum?
Lord, last night I felt you were talking to me through Ephesians. You spoke of reconciliation, of creating one heavenly family in the church, of breaking down walls that separate people. I so much want to move forward here, God. I want to be obedient. I want to be joyfully obedient. I badly need your peace, and with your peace, some courage. And joy too, Father, would not come amiss, but I will settle for peace and courage and be content to wait for joy.
And then there's this: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9
I do not want to suffer from depraved indifference. There's a little boy -- a baby, really -- in China who needs us. He needs a mama and a daddy. He needs people to pray for him, to bring him to Jesus, to train him up in the way he should go. Who will go, if not us? Lord I am claiming Joshua 1:9: be with us here. Be obviously with us here, because your servant is weak and small and fearful. Because I think you have designed this whole thing to underscore the fact that I cannot do this life alone, though I certainly act sometimes like I can. Well now, I totally can't and I am falling at your feet every day, every hour, to tell you I need courage, I need peace. I need you.
Amen.
Oh yes. I did. Please understand, God, that I don't like being this way. I hate this over-developed Fight-or-Flight response that I seem to have, the one that makes it almost impossible to sleep at night, the one that is giving me both heartburn and diarrhea (TMI? sorry.) The one that makes me feel like I can't quite breathe right and may break into a bout of hyperventilation at any moment. The one that has driven me to the treadmill every day for the last 9 days in a desperate attempt to simply exercise myself into some kind of Zen.
God, you know my heart is in the right place. I so want to do this, but ACTUALLY DOING IT is looming very huge right now. I can't even explain why I am suddenly wracked with fear. Here, though, are some of the highlights:
Conflict. I cringe in the face of conflict. Loud voices and unhappy people make me want to curl up in a ball. This is not my invariable response, but it is in my repertoire. God, I am most afraid of how our children will react. I am most afraid of how our son will react since he is most likely the one getting a roommate and he can have an explosive temper and he is the one most like me -- not at all down with change. He is often deeply suspicious of anything different or new. As am I.
Change. Oh Lord, I fear change. If I sit down and lay it out I can sort of see how it would be overcomeable, but change of this magnitude frightens me. I can't form a picture in my head of how it will all be, once the ship has sailed. How will our family dynamic be altered? And you know, Lord, that this is not just an adoption thing. I went through this every time I discovered I was pregnant and every time I brought home a new baby. And some of those changes were cataclysmic. How I envied people who just gave birth and went right back to their normal lives with barely a hiccup. Why did/does it always have to be like an F5 tornado for me? I am afraid of this blowing-apart of our family and the corresponding era of reconstruction which can (and has) taken upwards of a year to complete. I am afraid of being in flux for so long, of that devastating disequilibrium.
Conspicuousness. We are going to look different, this I know. Mostly I am okay with this, but I am having bizarre flashbacks to high school where I simultaneously and somewhat desperately wanted both the spotlight and complete invisibility. I am fearful of how I will handle the looks, the inevitable questions, the possibly-not-intentionally-rude comments. I am somewhat fearful of how I will handle a child who has (as yet) no history with us. Those nights when I tell my children about their baby years will not include him -- I don't know anything about how he liked his first taste of baby food, or what silly things he might have done in the middle of a store, or how potty training went for him. What will I say? How can I help him be all right with that vacuum?
Lord, last night I felt you were talking to me through Ephesians. You spoke of reconciliation, of creating one heavenly family in the church, of breaking down walls that separate people. I so much want to move forward here, God. I want to be obedient. I want to be joyfully obedient. I badly need your peace, and with your peace, some courage. And joy too, Father, would not come amiss, but I will settle for peace and courage and be content to wait for joy.
And then there's this: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9
I do not want to suffer from depraved indifference. There's a little boy -- a baby, really -- in China who needs us. He needs a mama and a daddy. He needs people to pray for him, to bring him to Jesus, to train him up in the way he should go. Who will go, if not us? Lord I am claiming Joshua 1:9: be with us here. Be obviously with us here, because your servant is weak and small and fearful. Because I think you have designed this whole thing to underscore the fact that I cannot do this life alone, though I certainly act sometimes like I can. Well now, I totally can't and I am falling at your feet every day, every hour, to tell you I need courage, I need peace. I need you.
Amen.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
In the Balance
Reviewing some files this past week. Children's files. Actual people. I do not know why this feels so weird, but it does. Looking at kids' histories and pictures, weighing needs and potentialities, trying to get a feel for the long term.
But these aren't used cars, they're kids. This is part of the process, no matter how you approach it. At some point, someone is going to make you nail down what you are willing to deal with. What you believe you are capable of handling. And this part, to me anyway, is ugly.
Not, let me be clear, because of the kids. The kids inspire nothing in me but compassion. A tearing, anxious compassion that wants to sweep them all into my embrace and volunteer to raise everyone, Every. Last. One.
The ugly part is what this process exposes in me. It lays bare all my pettiness, my insecurities, the things that pollute my heart. The part of me that wonders if I can handle a child with a very visible need, a need that may never be totally fixable. Club feet are ugly, but fixable to the point that you'd never know they were there. Heart conditions are often fixable, the scar hidden unless you go to the pool, where I have it on good authority that a truly wicked scar is not actually a handicap. But what about the more obvious things? Missing fingers? Limbs? A pronounced limp? I don't know. I am trying to feel this out, imagine myself with a child like this. Imagine being even more conspicuous as a family than we would be anyway with an Asian child.
I am unsure. Not rejecting outright, you understand, just unsure. And anxious.
It's just that I have always taken my children's physical health for granted. I have never wondered whether they would be able to play any sport they felt like trying. Never worried that others might make fun of them for the way they walk. Never contemplated the stares, the possibly rude and intrusive questions or comments that might arise. Never ever, not once, had to consider how I would help my child cope with all these things.
And now I am being called to do this. And it is hard.
And the craven, cowardly part of me wants to bury my head in the sand and say "no way, God. This...this is more than I can do. I am not actually this big of a person. Look at me, Lord!...I am very shallow and small and weak. I don't tolerate embarassment well, I mostly like people to not notice me, I have a deeply private streak in me that really resents intrusion. I am not the one for this job."
But if I'm not the one for this job, then who is?
And let me add this little tidbit: two nights ago these children invaded my dreams. And in my dream I was chasing a child. Not just any child, but one of the little boys we are considering. One who is so darling, and yet whose needs cause some anxiety (see? -- more anxiety. It's a theme). In the dream, he was walking along the sidewalk and he turned and this deep, booming voice (not my voice) said "He's perfect." And some other part of me, the watching part, agreed -- "perfect."
Whaddaya think? Voice of God? Might be. I don't discount these things lightly.
But these aren't used cars, they're kids. This is part of the process, no matter how you approach it. At some point, someone is going to make you nail down what you are willing to deal with. What you believe you are capable of handling. And this part, to me anyway, is ugly.
Not, let me be clear, because of the kids. The kids inspire nothing in me but compassion. A tearing, anxious compassion that wants to sweep them all into my embrace and volunteer to raise everyone, Every. Last. One.
The ugly part is what this process exposes in me. It lays bare all my pettiness, my insecurities, the things that pollute my heart. The part of me that wonders if I can handle a child with a very visible need, a need that may never be totally fixable. Club feet are ugly, but fixable to the point that you'd never know they were there. Heart conditions are often fixable, the scar hidden unless you go to the pool, where I have it on good authority that a truly wicked scar is not actually a handicap. But what about the more obvious things? Missing fingers? Limbs? A pronounced limp? I don't know. I am trying to feel this out, imagine myself with a child like this. Imagine being even more conspicuous as a family than we would be anyway with an Asian child.
I am unsure. Not rejecting outright, you understand, just unsure. And anxious.
It's just that I have always taken my children's physical health for granted. I have never wondered whether they would be able to play any sport they felt like trying. Never worried that others might make fun of them for the way they walk. Never contemplated the stares, the possibly rude and intrusive questions or comments that might arise. Never ever, not once, had to consider how I would help my child cope with all these things.
And now I am being called to do this. And it is hard.
And the craven, cowardly part of me wants to bury my head in the sand and say "no way, God. This...this is more than I can do. I am not actually this big of a person. Look at me, Lord!...I am very shallow and small and weak. I don't tolerate embarassment well, I mostly like people to not notice me, I have a deeply private streak in me that really resents intrusion. I am not the one for this job."
But if I'm not the one for this job, then who is?
And let me add this little tidbit: two nights ago these children invaded my dreams. And in my dream I was chasing a child. Not just any child, but one of the little boys we are considering. One who is so darling, and yet whose needs cause some anxiety (see? -- more anxiety. It's a theme). In the dream, he was walking along the sidewalk and he turned and this deep, booming voice (not my voice) said "He's perfect." And some other part of me, the watching part, agreed -- "perfect."
Whaddaya think? Voice of God? Might be. I don't discount these things lightly.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Full Plate
The musical is over and I thought my week would relax a bit, but the crazy, hot mess that is my life continues to steamroll ahead, dragging me along with it.
Gack. I am so tired of feeling one step behind myself.
All conversations with my better half are on the fly. A maximum of 5 minutes, sometimes quite intense but always very short, is what we've been reduced to. He managed to pick a fight with me at bedtime last night, so that took care of any pillow talk.
Stony silence ensued.
I hate it when we are like this. I always feel like part of me has been severed, or has ceased functioning. Like having an arm you can see, but can't get to work. I suppose this is a good trait if you're going to be in a marriage, this very low tolerance for disharmony.
Ultimately, I think this is what Satan wants -- discord in the body, any part of the body. It all contributes to breakdown, to misunderstanding, to entropy. We get so bogged down in our petty crap, we stop moving forward, stop praying, stop looking out and turn our eyes on our own junk which is naturally so much more important than anyone else's critical issues.
And I move so slowly anyway, for heaven's sake. I'm not what you'd call a barnburner. I have to think, and meditate, and consider, and rethink. So today I am even slower than my normal slow crawl.
Unfortunately, today has a lot of demands that are going to require a little more zip than "slow crawl."
Sigh.
Gack. I am so tired of feeling one step behind myself.
All conversations with my better half are on the fly. A maximum of 5 minutes, sometimes quite intense but always very short, is what we've been reduced to. He managed to pick a fight with me at bedtime last night, so that took care of any pillow talk.
Stony silence ensued.
I hate it when we are like this. I always feel like part of me has been severed, or has ceased functioning. Like having an arm you can see, but can't get to work. I suppose this is a good trait if you're going to be in a marriage, this very low tolerance for disharmony.
Ultimately, I think this is what Satan wants -- discord in the body, any part of the body. It all contributes to breakdown, to misunderstanding, to entropy. We get so bogged down in our petty crap, we stop moving forward, stop praying, stop looking out and turn our eyes on our own junk which is naturally so much more important than anyone else's critical issues.
And I move so slowly anyway, for heaven's sake. I'm not what you'd call a barnburner. I have to think, and meditate, and consider, and rethink. So today I am even slower than my normal slow crawl.
Unfortunately, today has a lot of demands that are going to require a little more zip than "slow crawl."
Sigh.
Friday, April 13, 2012
A Night and a Day
Bad night, really. Fell asleep but woke up 1.5 hours later and couldn't turn off the brain. Staggered downstairs to have my mild panic attack without disturbing Tim. Staggered back upstairs an hour later, sure that I could now rest, and spent the next half hour telling myself to relax everytime my shoulders tensed up. Finally asleep by 2 or so. Tim woke me at 5:40 for who knows what reason. Awake another 1/2 hour. Maggie bounced in at 7. Even with a LARGE cup of coffee, I still feel a little groggy.
Weather is not helping today -- it's so cloudy, even with all the lights on it feels a little like I'm underwater. So much to do, more errands to run, places to go. No desire to go anywhere at all. No time to TALK with my husband, just talk. Am seriously thinking of hiring a babysitter for Saturday night so I can have time alone with Tim.
Some kind of virus is messing with me, but not enough for me to curl up in bed and be truly sick. Just enough to make everything more of an effort than usual. And to make frequent swallowing both necessary and unpleasant. Really trying to get on top of the cleaning, but just found out that my dad co-opted my husband's time tomorrow (cleaning day) and the really awful trouble spots (which are his) will probably not get cleaned.
Troubled in a vague way by the multitude of undone projects around the house. From where I sit, I can see two of them. Three more (mostly painting) are waiting for completion upstairs. Bleah. Stunning what an absence of sun and a lousy night's sleep will do to me. I think a little more coffee is in order, but this is always a deal with the devil. I will feel better for a little while, but the crash will be spectacular.
Is it wrong to want to just curl up with a book and ignore everything?
Weather is not helping today -- it's so cloudy, even with all the lights on it feels a little like I'm underwater. So much to do, more errands to run, places to go. No desire to go anywhere at all. No time to TALK with my husband, just talk. Am seriously thinking of hiring a babysitter for Saturday night so I can have time alone with Tim.
Some kind of virus is messing with me, but not enough for me to curl up in bed and be truly sick. Just enough to make everything more of an effort than usual. And to make frequent swallowing both necessary and unpleasant. Really trying to get on top of the cleaning, but just found out that my dad co-opted my husband's time tomorrow (cleaning day) and the really awful trouble spots (which are his) will probably not get cleaned.
Troubled in a vague way by the multitude of undone projects around the house. From where I sit, I can see two of them. Three more (mostly painting) are waiting for completion upstairs. Bleah. Stunning what an absence of sun and a lousy night's sleep will do to me. I think a little more coffee is in order, but this is always a deal with the devil. I will feel better for a little while, but the crash will be spectacular.
Is it wrong to want to just curl up with a book and ignore everything?
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Swamped
I am drowning in kids' activities this month. This week alone, I have 7 separate scheduled activities for my children. If you add in allergy shots and a costume fitting which positively must take place, the total rises to 9. We have had one day -- one short, blessed evening -- with no activities. That was yesterday. Today I fully anticipate some sort of implosion around 6 pm. That will be my head, caving in from all the pressure of trying to be 3 places at once.
In the midst of all this chaos -- and let me tell you, next week is looking even hairier than this one -- we are trying to pull our heads together to get this adoption ball rolling. But there is hardly a spare minute in the day to really talk about it, so I am faced with the prospect of acting unilaterally or not acting at all.
I am finding it hard (understatement) to make these decisions by myself. The two biggies we have to deal with immediately are a) which agency? and b) which special needs?
These are not small issues.
The agency decision is tough -- it's hard to get a 'feel' for an agency over the Internet or even in phone conversation with someone. I've read surveys, haunted web groups, stalked various adopter's blogs, but I still don't feel a pull toward any particular agency. Since this is kind of fundamental to the process, we kind of need to get on it. Tim is of no help in this area at all. His response? "You've done the research, just make a decision."
Um, what?
The second big deal is going through the list of special needs we would be willing to consider. This is just daunting. There's really no other word for it. It's one thing to look at kids and another thing to look at labels. Labels are way scarier. And while it's responsible to Google these things to get a bead on what they are, the information that throws up ranges from nerve-wracking to earth-shattering, in about equal measure. It all boils down to this: nearly every need could be no big deal or a Very Big Deal Indeed. It all depends. So confronting this list of needs is a mind blower. My knee-jerk reaction is "none of them -- they're all more than I can cope with." I think about things like how well I would deal with a lot of needles and blood and procedures. Could I handle surgeries? Is it in me to deal with something long-term -- maybe forever-long-term? I just don't know.
This is where the rubber meets the road. Because living for Christ means I have to die to me. And my secret identity? -- is Much Afraid. Much Afraid doesn't think she can do anything. She has a very narrow range of what she feels she can handle and she is so busy burying her head in the sand that she can't see her savior's hand held out to her, beckoning her into the wider world (or rather, she is pretending not to see it). All Much Afraid ever wanted was to be married, to be a mom, to have a house and a little garden. She would have these things and live happily ever after, the end. But then Jesus started messing with her heart. He was so subtle about it -- a news story way back in the early '90s about abandoned babies in China; a flyer in a church bulletin about adoption in 2000; a little difficulty getting pregnant with #1 -- just enough to make adopting a definite option; a Steven Curtis Chapman concert in 2005; a giant billboard right on the way to preschool where she had to see it every single day for 8 months; sobering statistics that floated in from who-knows-where about children alone, in need of families; a little boy's face on a waiting child list a few years ago; the desperate need for families for boys just because they're boys. And now she's here, unable to turn away from the reality that is the orphan crisis, knowing that this is the path to take, but shaking in her shoes nonetheless.
The thing is, Much Afraid is still fearful. She is mostly fearful of making a mistake, especially as she begins this whole process. What if I choose the wrong agency? What if we say yes to a need that's more than we can handle? What if we are referred a child and we don't like him? (don't judge -- just keepin' it real). What if ....what if...what if. What if God doesn't show up? What if He drops the ball on this one and we are left hanging out to dry?
Let's let God work, my husband says. Let's do this and let him bless us in ways we would never see if we didn't step out in faith. Let's go, and let him undertake.
What this means, really, is take a step. Letting go, right now, means taking a step forward. Don't sit still, don't hide, don't choke, don't throw it into reverse. Go forward. The hand is held out to you. Take it.
Just take it.
In the midst of all this chaos -- and let me tell you, next week is looking even hairier than this one -- we are trying to pull our heads together to get this adoption ball rolling. But there is hardly a spare minute in the day to really talk about it, so I am faced with the prospect of acting unilaterally or not acting at all.
I am finding it hard (understatement) to make these decisions by myself. The two biggies we have to deal with immediately are a) which agency? and b) which special needs?
These are not small issues.
The agency decision is tough -- it's hard to get a 'feel' for an agency over the Internet or even in phone conversation with someone. I've read surveys, haunted web groups, stalked various adopter's blogs, but I still don't feel a pull toward any particular agency. Since this is kind of fundamental to the process, we kind of need to get on it. Tim is of no help in this area at all. His response? "You've done the research, just make a decision."
Um, what?
The second big deal is going through the list of special needs we would be willing to consider. This is just daunting. There's really no other word for it. It's one thing to look at kids and another thing to look at labels. Labels are way scarier. And while it's responsible to Google these things to get a bead on what they are, the information that throws up ranges from nerve-wracking to earth-shattering, in about equal measure. It all boils down to this: nearly every need could be no big deal or a Very Big Deal Indeed. It all depends. So confronting this list of needs is a mind blower. My knee-jerk reaction is "none of them -- they're all more than I can cope with." I think about things like how well I would deal with a lot of needles and blood and procedures. Could I handle surgeries? Is it in me to deal with something long-term -- maybe forever-long-term? I just don't know.
This is where the rubber meets the road. Because living for Christ means I have to die to me. And my secret identity? -- is Much Afraid. Much Afraid doesn't think she can do anything. She has a very narrow range of what she feels she can handle and she is so busy burying her head in the sand that she can't see her savior's hand held out to her, beckoning her into the wider world (or rather, she is pretending not to see it). All Much Afraid ever wanted was to be married, to be a mom, to have a house and a little garden. She would have these things and live happily ever after, the end. But then Jesus started messing with her heart. He was so subtle about it -- a news story way back in the early '90s about abandoned babies in China; a flyer in a church bulletin about adoption in 2000; a little difficulty getting pregnant with #1 -- just enough to make adopting a definite option; a Steven Curtis Chapman concert in 2005; a giant billboard right on the way to preschool where she had to see it every single day for 8 months; sobering statistics that floated in from who-knows-where about children alone, in need of families; a little boy's face on a waiting child list a few years ago; the desperate need for families for boys just because they're boys. And now she's here, unable to turn away from the reality that is the orphan crisis, knowing that this is the path to take, but shaking in her shoes nonetheless.
The thing is, Much Afraid is still fearful. She is mostly fearful of making a mistake, especially as she begins this whole process. What if I choose the wrong agency? What if we say yes to a need that's more than we can handle? What if we are referred a child and we don't like him? (don't judge -- just keepin' it real). What if ....what if...what if. What if God doesn't show up? What if He drops the ball on this one and we are left hanging out to dry?
Let's let God work, my husband says. Let's do this and let him bless us in ways we would never see if we didn't step out in faith. Let's go, and let him undertake.
What this means, really, is take a step. Letting go, right now, means taking a step forward. Don't sit still, don't hide, don't choke, don't throw it into reverse. Go forward. The hand is held out to you. Take it.
Just take it.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Getting My Head Straight
Trying, really trying, to sort through the stuff in my head regarding adoption.
We have prayed and prayed, we have asked God for the big arrow, the This Way Please sign, the DO THIS NOW pop-up, but nothing is there.
But nothing is NOT there, if you know what I mean.
A friend of my husband's said, "Just go until God stops you. If it's wrong, God will let you know."
This was interesting to me, in the same way that people landing in a spaceship in my front yard would be interesting. Normally, I do not operate like this. My mother instilled in us this principle: When in doubt, DON'T. And I have lived by it for pretty much ever.
This morning, the thought occurred to me: what if we're not hearing anything definitive from God because He has already spoken? What if God is tapping his fingers on some heavenly table, saying to himself: "When are they going to get it?" I know I do this with my kids all the time: I say it and it rolls off them like water off a duck's back. Ten minutes later they ask me the same question again and I roll my eyes and say "Hello?"
Maybe God is waiting for us to get a clue. Maybe this whole thing is such a gigantic yes, that there's really no need for Him to roll out the red carpet and send us an engraved invitation to get our butts in gear.
Check this:
And this:
We are.
There is absolutely no dodging this. We are the answer. We are the workers. We are the ones called to do something. And that something is not to sit in front of our TVs watching Dancing With the Stars. It's to engage with this problem. Engage with it. Not observe it. Not bemoan it. Not shake our heads about it and turn away with a sigh because it is just so big that what can we do? I'll tell you what we can't do. We can't do nothing.
And I don't think our convenience is an excuse. Jesus didn't say, "You fed me when you had extra money," or "you clothed me when you needed to get rid of all the crap in your basement." He didn't say "Fund your 401K first, then see how things look," or "Do what the Bible says as long as it doesn't interfere with your vacation plans."
Would another child be inconvenient? Heck yes; but keep in mind that the three I have are inconvenient on a daily basis. And this troubles them not at all -- they take it as their God-given right to have needs and demands that totally interrupt my needs and demands. And they feel not the tiniest iota of guilt when they a) wake us up too early, b) vomit on the furniture (or car upholstery, or carpeting, or whatever), c) have to be taken to Target at 8:30 p.m (right in the middle of Person of Interest) because they forgot about a project requiring a large piece of posterboard, some Model Magic, and a box of toothpicks. Believe me, I know from inconvenient.
My biggest fear here is being a role-model. I am very, very leery of this because I know what an epic failure I am at most things. I am purely incapable of keeping my house clean, of being consistent with discipline, of remembering to fill out school paperwork. I get tight when I have to check the online banking statement because WHAT IS MY PASSWORD AGAIN? So I am more than a little fearful of having other people watch me parent an adopted kid and think to themselves -- "wow, she sucks at this!" On the other hand, maybe someone watching would think "If she can do it, I certainly can." I cannot abide scrutiny. Maybe I should just get a sign that says, "Let's Agree I'm No Good at This and Move On." I do not want to be the poster family for international adoption. What if I can't represent?
These are the thoughts that I think may be what James means when he says "keep oneself from being polluted by the world." These are the things that chip away at my resolve, that wake me up at night. The nasty little thoughts that sneak up on you and simmer away in your head -- "You aren't good enough, you haven't got the mojo for this, you will be forever different, it will ruin your family, God will not provide..." and on and on it goes.
My sister once said, "service requires sacrifice." And this strikes me as very true -- if we only do what is convenient and safe, how are we different than anyone else? "Even the pagans..." Really, the money here is the smallest part of the sacrifice: the real sacrifice is time, and love, and support, and all the things you invest in your kids for the rest of your life because they are yours and you are theirs, you are family. Selah.
Engage with it. Engage. When you engage, you step in. You enter the mess. You connect. You cannot observe and connect at the same time. Observation implies -- demands, even -- a degree of distance. I think we are being called to close the gap. What if we were in the thick of the fight? How would that change us? How will it change the battle when we attach an actual human being to the problem? A person we can touch and smell and invite in and promise to love?
Now I have to go breathe into a paper bag because I have made myself lightheaded.
We have prayed and prayed, we have asked God for the big arrow, the This Way Please sign, the DO THIS NOW pop-up, but nothing is there.
But nothing is NOT there, if you know what I mean.
A friend of my husband's said, "Just go until God stops you. If it's wrong, God will let you know."
This was interesting to me, in the same way that people landing in a spaceship in my front yard would be interesting. Normally, I do not operate like this. My mother instilled in us this principle: When in doubt, DON'T. And I have lived by it for pretty much ever.
This morning, the thought occurred to me: what if we're not hearing anything definitive from God because He has already spoken? What if God is tapping his fingers on some heavenly table, saying to himself: "When are they going to get it?" I know I do this with my kids all the time: I say it and it rolls off them like water off a duck's back. Ten minutes later they ask me the same question again and I roll my eyes and say "Hello?"
Maybe God is waiting for us to get a clue. Maybe this whole thing is such a gigantic yes, that there's really no need for Him to roll out the red carpet and send us an engraved invitation to get our butts in gear.
Check this:
31 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. 33 He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
41 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
44 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
45 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
46 “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.” -- Matthew 25: 31-46
And this:
22 Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. 23 Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror 24 and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. 25 But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do. 26 Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. 27 Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. -- James 1:22-27So maybe the blinding clarity has already been provided. Who is supposed to help the orphan crisis?
We are.
There is absolutely no dodging this. We are the answer. We are the workers. We are the ones called to do something. And that something is not to sit in front of our TVs watching Dancing With the Stars. It's to engage with this problem. Engage with it. Not observe it. Not bemoan it. Not shake our heads about it and turn away with a sigh because it is just so big that what can we do? I'll tell you what we can't do. We can't do nothing.
And I don't think our convenience is an excuse. Jesus didn't say, "You fed me when you had extra money," or "you clothed me when you needed to get rid of all the crap in your basement." He didn't say "Fund your 401K first, then see how things look," or "Do what the Bible says as long as it doesn't interfere with your vacation plans."
Would another child be inconvenient? Heck yes; but keep in mind that the three I have are inconvenient on a daily basis. And this troubles them not at all -- they take it as their God-given right to have needs and demands that totally interrupt my needs and demands. And they feel not the tiniest iota of guilt when they a) wake us up too early, b) vomit on the furniture (or car upholstery, or carpeting, or whatever), c) have to be taken to Target at 8:30 p.m (right in the middle of Person of Interest) because they forgot about a project requiring a large piece of posterboard, some Model Magic, and a box of toothpicks. Believe me, I know from inconvenient.
My biggest fear here is being a role-model. I am very, very leery of this because I know what an epic failure I am at most things. I am purely incapable of keeping my house clean, of being consistent with discipline, of remembering to fill out school paperwork. I get tight when I have to check the online banking statement because WHAT IS MY PASSWORD AGAIN? So I am more than a little fearful of having other people watch me parent an adopted kid and think to themselves -- "wow, she sucks at this!" On the other hand, maybe someone watching would think "If she can do it, I certainly can." I cannot abide scrutiny. Maybe I should just get a sign that says, "Let's Agree I'm No Good at This and Move On." I do not want to be the poster family for international adoption. What if I can't represent?
These are the thoughts that I think may be what James means when he says "keep oneself from being polluted by the world." These are the things that chip away at my resolve, that wake me up at night. The nasty little thoughts that sneak up on you and simmer away in your head -- "You aren't good enough, you haven't got the mojo for this, you will be forever different, it will ruin your family, God will not provide..." and on and on it goes.
My sister once said, "service requires sacrifice." And this strikes me as very true -- if we only do what is convenient and safe, how are we different than anyone else? "Even the pagans..." Really, the money here is the smallest part of the sacrifice: the real sacrifice is time, and love, and support, and all the things you invest in your kids for the rest of your life because they are yours and you are theirs, you are family. Selah.
Engage with it. Engage. When you engage, you step in. You enter the mess. You connect. You cannot observe and connect at the same time. Observation implies -- demands, even -- a degree of distance. I think we are being called to close the gap. What if we were in the thick of the fight? How would that change us? How will it change the battle when we attach an actual human being to the problem? A person we can touch and smell and invite in and promise to love?
Now I have to go breathe into a paper bag because I have made myself lightheaded.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Out of Control
Yesterday's sermon was interesting. Interesting if you like being pinned to a corkboard like a helpless butterfly.
Well, maybe not that bad.
But have you ever sat through a sermon and suddenly recognized yourself? Suddenly realized, right down to the core of your being, that this is me? Have you ever discovered the true meaning of blinding clarity?
I did.
The sermon was on anger. Now, I have heard many sermons on anger. Sermons where the pastor unpacked the whole episode in the temple, the righteous anger of Jesus, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera (say that slowly, with a British accent. Better?) I didn't really think I was going to get much new info. In fact, I was preparing to enter that zen-like state of receptiveness in which I look attentitive and can even take notes, but in which nothing really "sticks," if you know what I mean.
I know. I am not all I should be.
But then the pastor started talking and inside -- inside, I started squirming. I had that sort of "get that light out of my eyes!" feeling. But I hung in there and was given a whole plateful of stuff to chew on. Stuff I am still chewing on 24 hours later. Stuff I may be chewing on for weeks.
I am an angry person. You wouldn't know this if you met me. I don't foam at the mouth or tear my hair out. I don't throw chairs or purchase assault rifles. But I have this well of frustration in me that can errupt without warning. KABOOM. Mount St. Mom. I have always regarded this in two ways: 1) as a product of my upbringing, having been raised by an angry parent (but also by a non-angry parent) and 2) as a deep-seated and shameful character flaw. And #2 explains #1 -- I had both models and, being weak, tend to lapse toward the bad.
But I have a new insight into this anger deal: what if my anger has to do with my very deep need for control? What if anger is my response to things which are out of control, or even just out of my mental picture of how things should be? What if my anger is an expression of selfishness, of protecting my interests? What if it's an expression of my inability to be on top of every little detail, every eventuality, every possible permutation of every situtation that I may ever be in ever?
Maybe you're laughing and thinking, "Jeez, who wants that much control?"
I do.
Maybe not every day, but basically, yes, I want to manage all the little strings of my life. And the fact that I can't make the actual people and situations in my life match the pictures in my head often makes me feel like I am going to implode. Except that I don't. I EXplode instead. And I make myself nuts, feeling like I am responsible for the WHOLE WORLD AND WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE LISTEN TO ME YOU HORRID ROTTEN PEOPLE?
I am exhausted, playing Atlas. So why, then, can't I just lay it down? Why can't I give it to the One who actually can manage all the details?
Because being out of control, placing that control in someone else's hands, is the scariest thing I can imagine. Even though I know that person loves me and knows me so much better than I even know myself, it is excruciating to contemplate peeling my bent, crabbed fingers away. And yet, can I tell you how much I crave rest? To just lay it down and lay down. To go off duty. To really understand the limits of my role and the all-encompassing role of God in my life.
I feel like I just got a peek into my psyche, but it's the same message: the Christ-life wants to kill the Self-life. KILL IT DEAD. But to step out of the self life is hard --- it wants to live and it's not going down without a fight.
I have a lot of chewing to do.
Well, maybe not that bad.
But have you ever sat through a sermon and suddenly recognized yourself? Suddenly realized, right down to the core of your being, that this is me? Have you ever discovered the true meaning of blinding clarity?
I did.
The sermon was on anger. Now, I have heard many sermons on anger. Sermons where the pastor unpacked the whole episode in the temple, the righteous anger of Jesus, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera (say that slowly, with a British accent. Better?) I didn't really think I was going to get much new info. In fact, I was preparing to enter that zen-like state of receptiveness in which I look attentitive and can even take notes, but in which nothing really "sticks," if you know what I mean.
I know. I am not all I should be.
But then the pastor started talking and inside -- inside, I started squirming. I had that sort of "get that light out of my eyes!" feeling. But I hung in there and was given a whole plateful of stuff to chew on. Stuff I am still chewing on 24 hours later. Stuff I may be chewing on for weeks.
I am an angry person. You wouldn't know this if you met me. I don't foam at the mouth or tear my hair out. I don't throw chairs or purchase assault rifles. But I have this well of frustration in me that can errupt without warning. KABOOM. Mount St. Mom. I have always regarded this in two ways: 1) as a product of my upbringing, having been raised by an angry parent (but also by a non-angry parent) and 2) as a deep-seated and shameful character flaw. And #2 explains #1 -- I had both models and, being weak, tend to lapse toward the bad.
But I have a new insight into this anger deal: what if my anger has to do with my very deep need for control? What if anger is my response to things which are out of control, or even just out of my mental picture of how things should be? What if my anger is an expression of selfishness, of protecting my interests? What if it's an expression of my inability to be on top of every little detail, every eventuality, every possible permutation of every situtation that I may ever be in ever?
Maybe you're laughing and thinking, "Jeez, who wants that much control?"
I do.
Maybe not every day, but basically, yes, I want to manage all the little strings of my life. And the fact that I can't make the actual people and situations in my life match the pictures in my head often makes me feel like I am going to implode. Except that I don't. I EXplode instead. And I make myself nuts, feeling like I am responsible for the WHOLE WORLD AND WHY DOESN'T EVERYONE LISTEN TO ME YOU HORRID ROTTEN PEOPLE?
I am exhausted, playing Atlas. So why, then, can't I just lay it down? Why can't I give it to the One who actually can manage all the details?
Because being out of control, placing that control in someone else's hands, is the scariest thing I can imagine. Even though I know that person loves me and knows me so much better than I even know myself, it is excruciating to contemplate peeling my bent, crabbed fingers away. And yet, can I tell you how much I crave rest? To just lay it down and lay down. To go off duty. To really understand the limits of my role and the all-encompassing role of God in my life.
I feel like I just got a peek into my psyche, but it's the same message: the Christ-life wants to kill the Self-life. KILL IT DEAD. But to step out of the self life is hard --- it wants to live and it's not going down without a fight.
I have a lot of chewing to do.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Sometimes I Don't Want What I Want...
My husband came home for lunch yesterday and we had a lovely hour where we could talk without having to listen for short people torturing each other in the other room. Nobody had to push back from the conversation saying, "Those kids are gonna fry!" No one put her head in her hands and said "Please tell me we are not raising axe murderers. Or republicans."
It was so quiet, we were almost nervous.
After we got the small talk out of the way ("Hey, I lost the dog for 20 minutes today!") we sat down to discuss the whole adoption thing. I have to say, that compared to my expectations of this conversation, it came off a lot better than I had hoped. And let me be clear here, I wasn't hoping for much. In fact, I was dreading whatever answer my husband came up with, because a 'yes' would be profoundly scary and a 'no' would feel like an epic fail.
Instead, my husband started talking about something they discussed in his bible study this week -- namely, whether you're going to choose to live the Christ-life, or the Self-life. Without getting overly complicated, it boils down to this: are we going to choose to depend on God for what we need, or are we going to depend on ourselves? Will we choose a path that allows us to see His blessings, or will we choose a path that allows us to pat ourselves on the back for being so forward-thinking that we planned for every eventuality thankyouverymuch. Because when we're busy taking care of all our needs, God is prevented from blessing us the way He wants to. But if we step out in faith, not really knowing how we're going to pull this off, we've set the stage for God to show up big time. And that raises a second point: Do we believe that He will, indeed, show up? Do we believe that He is master of the details, in charge of the outcomes, already ahead of us with whatever we need to accomplish His purposes? How much, really, do we trust Him?
Tim's take on it was this: God already knows what decision we'll make. The decision does not, in fact, affect whether we're saved, but it may represent a choice of either Him or Self. No matter what we choose, He has already made provision for everything we need. We can continue to live the Self life and we will still go to heaven, but the ultimate goal of the Christ life is to kill the Self life -- KILL IT DEAD. So if we say no, are we saying no because we don't trust God enough, because ultimately we don't believe He can come through in the clinch? Because while he might provide us with the funds to do this thing up front, the long term stuff is beyond Him? This isn't really a case of putting your money where your mouth is, but more of a case of laying your life on the line. Adopting a child is forever and ever, world without end, amen. This is not a one-and-done deal, but rather a relationship that is going to be there for the rest of our lives, both with that child and with the One who may be sending us on this journey.
So, my Spiritual Leader says (and let me just say here that I am forever saying "you need to be the Spiritual Leader" so then when he actually leads I'm all "What? That's how you're leading? Are you sure that's right? Do you reeeeaaaalllllyy know what you're doing? Do it this way...") we need to pray that God makes it clear that this is what he wants. We need to Gideon this thing. I am not sure how this is to be accomplished, but that's Tim's take on it. And honestly, it would be nice to get some Go-Do-This-Or-Be-Watching-For-The-Lightning-Bolt confirmation.
Can I just say that I have trust issues? I am a huge committment-phobe on many many levels, most of them completely shallow (like furniture -- I can barely bring myself to buy furniture because the prospect of making a decision is very daunting and I do not roll with mistakes well at all. At. All. So instead, I live with half-furnished and even empty rooms, or I live with furniture I hate -- furniture I am actually plotting to kill -- for literally years because making a decision is just too much committment on my part. Life would be great if I could just date my furniture instead of marrying it.). I wasn't always like this, but as I've gotten older, I am frequently overwhelmed with the "if only" complex and its sister, the "what if" complex. As in, "if only we hadn't bought this house, our old neighbors wouldn't have died" (This actually happened, and I still think the two are related. And I am still occasionally blindsided by a lot of guilt about it.) or "what if we buy the car and then something happens to the house and we don't have the money to fix it because we spent it all on the car?" So this kind of thinking totally paralyzes me like a woodchuck in the middle of the road with a semi bearing down on it. I cannot move for fear of making some sort of unfixable mistake, for fear of being the cause of great misery. Instead, I become the author of great indecision. The Mighty Waffle, as it were.
This whole prospect of laying it on God is completely alien to me. And I have been a Christ follower since I was 12, so quite a long time; I thought I knew how to lay things on Him. But this feels different, like I'm approaching a new level, a different level that I've never quite been to before. Maybe all these years I've been at level C, and God wants me to move up to level B. Problem is, I want to scope out Level B first so I can see what's up. Then maybe just ease into the whole Level B experience a little bit at a time, like getting into a really cold pool. I am not a plunger, I'm a toes-feet-ankles-calves, etc. girl.
Tim says not to get mired down in details until we make a decision. This is not the time to even entertain thoughts about how we'll tell our families, how we'll put all these kids through college (Lottery!), how we'd even approach the whole adoption process -- this is just the time to ask ourselves which life we're going to live and find a way to "lay out a fleece" so we can see what God wants. Once we know what He wants, He'll have to step up and smooth the way for all the rest of it.
My spiritual leader is leading. I am in awe, and I am a little scared.
It was so quiet, we were almost nervous.
After we got the small talk out of the way ("Hey, I lost the dog for 20 minutes today!") we sat down to discuss the whole adoption thing. I have to say, that compared to my expectations of this conversation, it came off a lot better than I had hoped. And let me be clear here, I wasn't hoping for much. In fact, I was dreading whatever answer my husband came up with, because a 'yes' would be profoundly scary and a 'no' would feel like an epic fail.
Instead, my husband started talking about something they discussed in his bible study this week -- namely, whether you're going to choose to live the Christ-life, or the Self-life. Without getting overly complicated, it boils down to this: are we going to choose to depend on God for what we need, or are we going to depend on ourselves? Will we choose a path that allows us to see His blessings, or will we choose a path that allows us to pat ourselves on the back for being so forward-thinking that we planned for every eventuality thankyouverymuch. Because when we're busy taking care of all our needs, God is prevented from blessing us the way He wants to. But if we step out in faith, not really knowing how we're going to pull this off, we've set the stage for God to show up big time. And that raises a second point: Do we believe that He will, indeed, show up? Do we believe that He is master of the details, in charge of the outcomes, already ahead of us with whatever we need to accomplish His purposes? How much, really, do we trust Him?
Tim's take on it was this: God already knows what decision we'll make. The decision does not, in fact, affect whether we're saved, but it may represent a choice of either Him or Self. No matter what we choose, He has already made provision for everything we need. We can continue to live the Self life and we will still go to heaven, but the ultimate goal of the Christ life is to kill the Self life -- KILL IT DEAD. So if we say no, are we saying no because we don't trust God enough, because ultimately we don't believe He can come through in the clinch? Because while he might provide us with the funds to do this thing up front, the long term stuff is beyond Him? This isn't really a case of putting your money where your mouth is, but more of a case of laying your life on the line. Adopting a child is forever and ever, world without end, amen. This is not a one-and-done deal, but rather a relationship that is going to be there for the rest of our lives, both with that child and with the One who may be sending us on this journey.
So, my Spiritual Leader says (and let me just say here that I am forever saying "you need to be the Spiritual Leader" so then when he actually leads I'm all "What? That's how you're leading? Are you sure that's right? Do you reeeeaaaalllllyy know what you're doing? Do it this way...") we need to pray that God makes it clear that this is what he wants. We need to Gideon this thing. I am not sure how this is to be accomplished, but that's Tim's take on it. And honestly, it would be nice to get some Go-Do-This-Or-Be-Watching-For-The-Lightning-Bolt confirmation.
Can I just say that I have trust issues? I am a huge committment-phobe on many many levels, most of them completely shallow (like furniture -- I can barely bring myself to buy furniture because the prospect of making a decision is very daunting and I do not roll with mistakes well at all. At. All. So instead, I live with half-furnished and even empty rooms, or I live with furniture I hate -- furniture I am actually plotting to kill -- for literally years because making a decision is just too much committment on my part. Life would be great if I could just date my furniture instead of marrying it.). I wasn't always like this, but as I've gotten older, I am frequently overwhelmed with the "if only" complex and its sister, the "what if" complex. As in, "if only we hadn't bought this house, our old neighbors wouldn't have died" (This actually happened, and I still think the two are related. And I am still occasionally blindsided by a lot of guilt about it.) or "what if we buy the car and then something happens to the house and we don't have the money to fix it because we spent it all on the car?" So this kind of thinking totally paralyzes me like a woodchuck in the middle of the road with a semi bearing down on it. I cannot move for fear of making some sort of unfixable mistake, for fear of being the cause of great misery. Instead, I become the author of great indecision. The Mighty Waffle, as it were.
This whole prospect of laying it on God is completely alien to me. And I have been a Christ follower since I was 12, so quite a long time; I thought I knew how to lay things on Him. But this feels different, like I'm approaching a new level, a different level that I've never quite been to before. Maybe all these years I've been at level C, and God wants me to move up to level B. Problem is, I want to scope out Level B first so I can see what's up. Then maybe just ease into the whole Level B experience a little bit at a time, like getting into a really cold pool. I am not a plunger, I'm a toes-feet-ankles-calves, etc. girl.
Tim says not to get mired down in details until we make a decision. This is not the time to even entertain thoughts about how we'll tell our families, how we'll put all these kids through college (Lottery!), how we'd even approach the whole adoption process -- this is just the time to ask ourselves which life we're going to live and find a way to "lay out a fleece" so we can see what God wants. Once we know what He wants, He'll have to step up and smooth the way for all the rest of it.
My spiritual leader is leading. I am in awe, and I am a little scared.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Low
I am having another day where I just feel un-moored. Like a boat set adrift. I go through periods like this and I wonder -- what is it about my psychological makeup that predisposes me to sensations like this? I would so like to feel grounded, connected all the time.
It's not exactly depression. In fact, it's definitely not depression. It's just a feeling of ...of I don't know what. Emptiness? That doesn't quite describe it. Drifty-aimless-lack-of-purpose-shaky-oddness. With a dash of I've-lost-my-mojo thrown in for fun and a big spoonful of Nerves just to keep it all interesting.
If this were 100 years ago, I'd just say I had the vapors and go lie down.
And yet, lying down would feel like purgatory. Bleah. What IS it with me? It's not like I have nothing to do. Could it be the let down after the big project I just finished? I mean, as hard a slog as that was, it did give me tremendous focus for about 3 weeks. Focus and a big caffeine hangover. Now it's gone and there is kind of a vacuum there. And the change to daylight savings time always makes my brain wonky. So there we have it: a wonky vacuum.
And I wake up praying, "God, I'm such a failure. I have no big job for You, no huge purpose other than to feed my kids and keep my house clean and teach my little Sunday school class. And how often do I fail at those small tasks? A lot. I'm so sorry...so, so sorry."
And so it goes.
How do I just be? How can I just be in Him? I have always struggled with this. Grace, as a concept, has always been more graspable as an abstract than in practice for me. Always I am looking for the bar, the target, the list of to-dos. I am a master list-executor, with my little pencils and my checkmarks. Show me the little ticky-boxy things and I am all over it. But this isn't a to-do. It's a be. And being is something harder to wrap my head around. The security, the rest, the peace-thing. It's deep. You know, deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. And I am kind of shallow right now.
Part of my shallow, my lack of "be" right now is that everything frustrates me. Nothing is quite right, everything feels slightly skewed, and I am the only one who can see that the picture is tilted. The only one who hears the wrong notes. And here's what they're telling me -- "there should be MORE here." Something is MISSING. And that does seem to be something about DOING, rather than BEING. And it's certainly not something about having, because more stuff is totally not the answer.
What, God? What am I missing here?
It's not exactly depression. In fact, it's definitely not depression. It's just a feeling of ...of I don't know what. Emptiness? That doesn't quite describe it. Drifty-aimless-lack-of-purpose-shaky-oddness. With a dash of I've-lost-my-mojo thrown in for fun and a big spoonful of Nerves just to keep it all interesting.
If this were 100 years ago, I'd just say I had the vapors and go lie down.
And yet, lying down would feel like purgatory. Bleah. What IS it with me? It's not like I have nothing to do. Could it be the let down after the big project I just finished? I mean, as hard a slog as that was, it did give me tremendous focus for about 3 weeks. Focus and a big caffeine hangover. Now it's gone and there is kind of a vacuum there. And the change to daylight savings time always makes my brain wonky. So there we have it: a wonky vacuum.
And I wake up praying, "God, I'm such a failure. I have no big job for You, no huge purpose other than to feed my kids and keep my house clean and teach my little Sunday school class. And how often do I fail at those small tasks? A lot. I'm so sorry...so, so sorry."
And so it goes.
How do I just be? How can I just be in Him? I have always struggled with this. Grace, as a concept, has always been more graspable as an abstract than in practice for me. Always I am looking for the bar, the target, the list of to-dos. I am a master list-executor, with my little pencils and my checkmarks. Show me the little ticky-boxy things and I am all over it. But this isn't a to-do. It's a be. And being is something harder to wrap my head around. The security, the rest, the peace-thing. It's deep. You know, deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. And I am kind of shallow right now.
Part of my shallow, my lack of "be" right now is that everything frustrates me. Nothing is quite right, everything feels slightly skewed, and I am the only one who can see that the picture is tilted. The only one who hears the wrong notes. And here's what they're telling me -- "there should be MORE here." Something is MISSING. And that does seem to be something about DOING, rather than BEING. And it's certainly not something about having, because more stuff is totally not the answer.
What, God? What am I missing here?
Friday, March 9, 2012
Random Thots
Sometimes in the evening, my brain starts percolating and I have expansive, world-conquering ideas for the following day. I am going to organize, exercise, make firm decisions, shepherd my children with calm fortitude, paint something, clean a lot, and generally emerge as a beacon of strength and git 'er done-ness.
Then I wake up the next morning and all I can do is crawl into a large cup of coffee.
Why? Why does all this resolve, this determination, hit me when there are only 2 hours left in my day? Why doesn't productivity strike at 8 a.m.? Or, heck, 10 a.m.? I could work with 10 a.m.. I could get something done with 10 a.m..
Last night I was bubbling over with plans and ideas and thoughts, today my brain is groping around in a foggy, uncoordinated fashion -- the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat that isn't there. Out on the edges of my consciousness those late-night thoughts are swirling like some sort of nebula that I can see, but I can't quite pull the details from it -- it's just a pretty swoosh of color and light and little sparkly planet thingies.
Sigh.
Off I go toward my completely half-baked day.
Then I wake up the next morning and all I can do is crawl into a large cup of coffee.
Why? Why does all this resolve, this determination, hit me when there are only 2 hours left in my day? Why doesn't productivity strike at 8 a.m.? Or, heck, 10 a.m.? I could work with 10 a.m.. I could get something done with 10 a.m..
Last night I was bubbling over with plans and ideas and thoughts, today my brain is groping around in a foggy, uncoordinated fashion -- the blind man in the dark room looking for the black cat that isn't there. Out on the edges of my consciousness those late-night thoughts are swirling like some sort of nebula that I can see, but I can't quite pull the details from it -- it's just a pretty swoosh of color and light and little sparkly planet thingies.
Sigh.
Off I go toward my completely half-baked day.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Farm Fresh
The Egg Man is coming.
Eggs, straight from the farm, straight from some lovely hens that run around outside as God intended, leading happy chicken lives.
So I get yummy food, and I get to feel really virtuous at the same time. Can I get a Woot?
Hmmm...that sounds a little weird. But the truth is, I get excited when the Egg Man comes because he brings me these:
Thank you to the BBC for the use of this photo. I am not actually in the habit of photographing my eggs, so I had to borrow a pic. But mine look just like this, promise.
Eggs, straight from the farm, straight from some lovely hens that run around outside as God intended, leading happy chicken lives.
For a long time now I have felt like the way we do food in this country is a little off. For instance, why is it that I live in a part of the country that is so thick with farms you can't throw a rock without hitting one, yet most of my food is coming from hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away? Even in my urban paradise (about 1/2 a million people, give or take) I can still drive 15 minutes in 3 directions and hit a farm. The fourth direction would take me about 30 minutes before I hit farmland; maybe less. Yet try to track down a local source for, say, grass-fed beef, and you will meet a brick wall.
Imagine how happy I was when I found a farmer in my state who delivers to my city every 3 weeks. From him I get my lovely eggs, but also I can get cheese from grass-fed cows, grass-fed beef and lamb, and pastured broilers -- chickens who have been truly free-range, eating all the grasses and bugs and whatever else makes a chicken sublimely happy.
Here's what I love about the Egg Man:
- He re-uses my egg cartons. That makes me over the moon happy. Fresh food and less waste.
- My eggs are naturally higher in Omega-3s because the hens eat grass. Fresher and healthier food -- double bonus.
- I am supporting a local farm -- an actual person -- instead of the Industrial Food Conglomerate. I know my farmer is using humane, sustainable methods on a diversified farm. No chemically enhanced mono-cultures here.
- I have a short supply line between my food producer and me, which means a smaller carbon footprint.
So I get yummy food, and I get to feel really virtuous at the same time. Can I get a Woot?
Monday, January 9, 2012
New Year
Once again, I greeted the new year with a wicked cold. This is because I always get run down over Christmas and by the time New Year's rolls around, I have no immune function left and may as well just lie down with a sign that says "Viruses: Free Lodging!" Fortunately, the kids went back to school before (literally, 4 hours before) the bug hit and I was able to sniffle, and shiver, and moan all by myself. And if you've ever been sick while still having a small child to take care of, you know that this is a huge plus.
I'm better today, but the headache, the sniffles and the lack of energy are still hanging out around the edges, so I'm taking it easy. What I really should have done, though, is take it easier during the build-up to Christmas and avoid this whole shebang in the first place.
This year, I felt more than ever that something's gotta give. The pace of Christmas, the chaos, the constant messages from print and visual media to BUY BUY BUY! made me feel like my head was going to explode. There was such a lack of balance, such a skewed feeling to the whole month, I never felt like I could really catch my breath before the next wave threatened to pull me under. I felt a mild revulsion all month, particularly toward all the advertising aimed at getting me to spend more. I mean really, those Lexus commercials were downright repulsive -- the whole "What a poor schmuck you are if your loved ones don't get you a luxury automobile" vibe made my stomach hurt.
We always get the Sunday paper for the coupons, but the December Sundays were nothing but ads screaming "BEST DEALS EVER!" Every. Dang. Week. And then the badgering from family - "What do you want for Christmas? What do you want? What do you want, want WANT?"
You know what I want?
Nothing.
Really? Nothing? Well then, what do you need? Do you have a need? Is there anything you NEED?"
Nope.
Honestly, our income is such that we are a) never short of food, and b) able to meet our medical expenses, and c) able to keep sheets on the beds and shoes on our feet and gas in the car. We're good, thanks.
Can I tell you that I am tired of supplying ideas for people so they can get me the obligatory gifts? Does that make me a Scrooge? It's not that I don't appreciate it, but it no longer feels like anyone is trying to really suss out my personality and select something that will either delight me or make my life easier in ways heretofore unsuspected. It feels like we buy each other gifts because we have to. Because the starter pistol went off on Black Friday and we're all scrambling forward in a race not of our own making, that we call "the holidays" but which are really just a thinly disguised mass hysteria sponsored by retailers desperate to save their bottom lines (or maybe just their bottoms).
Gifts that are truly meaningful aren't purchased to fulfill some sort of quota. You know what I mean -- you get three gifts for Bill, you have to buy three for Jen. Or you spend $50 on Anna, you have to spend the same on Tyler. We all do this. It's the fair thing to do, after all. But don't you then find yourself buying more for someone because you overspent on someone else? Don't you find yourself buying gifts for the sake of buying gifts, not because the people you're giving them to either need or even particularly want them?
You know what I'm talking about. It's the same reason Christmas cards have devolved into a 4X8 picture of your kids slipped into an envelope and sent out with an exhausted gasp on December 23rd. We send them because we feel like we have to, not because we're trying to keep in contact with people we care about.
I don't want to do things at Christmas anymore because I feel like I have to do them. I no longer want to sacrifice the things I do want to do to complete the things I "have" to do (like wrapping presents -- can I get an amen?).
I want to give at Christmas -- really give -- in a way that impacts people who don't have my resources. We have done some of this in the past -- wells and floors and desks for Haiti -- but we can do more. We should do more. We have to do more.
The finish line for this crazy orgy of spending is a manger. A manger with a poor baby, born to an unwed mother in a dirty stable, visited by poor shepherds who stank of sheep. A baby who would grow up to hang out with the lowest elements of society and like it. A baby who fed people, and healed people, and forgave people.
All I'm saying is this: next year, I'm starting at the finish line.
I'm better today, but the headache, the sniffles and the lack of energy are still hanging out around the edges, so I'm taking it easy. What I really should have done, though, is take it easier during the build-up to Christmas and avoid this whole shebang in the first place.
This year, I felt more than ever that something's gotta give. The pace of Christmas, the chaos, the constant messages from print and visual media to BUY BUY BUY! made me feel like my head was going to explode. There was such a lack of balance, such a skewed feeling to the whole month, I never felt like I could really catch my breath before the next wave threatened to pull me under. I felt a mild revulsion all month, particularly toward all the advertising aimed at getting me to spend more. I mean really, those Lexus commercials were downright repulsive -- the whole "What a poor schmuck you are if your loved ones don't get you a luxury automobile" vibe made my stomach hurt.
We always get the Sunday paper for the coupons, but the December Sundays were nothing but ads screaming "BEST DEALS EVER!" Every. Dang. Week. And then the badgering from family - "What do you want for Christmas? What do you want? What do you want, want WANT?"
You know what I want?
Nothing.
Really? Nothing? Well then, what do you need? Do you have a need? Is there anything you NEED?"
Nope.
Honestly, our income is such that we are a) never short of food, and b) able to meet our medical expenses, and c) able to keep sheets on the beds and shoes on our feet and gas in the car. We're good, thanks.
Can I tell you that I am tired of supplying ideas for people so they can get me the obligatory gifts? Does that make me a Scrooge? It's not that I don't appreciate it, but it no longer feels like anyone is trying to really suss out my personality and select something that will either delight me or make my life easier in ways heretofore unsuspected. It feels like we buy each other gifts because we have to. Because the starter pistol went off on Black Friday and we're all scrambling forward in a race not of our own making, that we call "the holidays" but which are really just a thinly disguised mass hysteria sponsored by retailers desperate to save their bottom lines (or maybe just their bottoms).
Gifts that are truly meaningful aren't purchased to fulfill some sort of quota. You know what I mean -- you get three gifts for Bill, you have to buy three for Jen. Or you spend $50 on Anna, you have to spend the same on Tyler. We all do this. It's the fair thing to do, after all. But don't you then find yourself buying more for someone because you overspent on someone else? Don't you find yourself buying gifts for the sake of buying gifts, not because the people you're giving them to either need or even particularly want them?
You know what I'm talking about. It's the same reason Christmas cards have devolved into a 4X8 picture of your kids slipped into an envelope and sent out with an exhausted gasp on December 23rd. We send them because we feel like we have to, not because we're trying to keep in contact with people we care about.
I don't want to do things at Christmas anymore because I feel like I have to do them. I no longer want to sacrifice the things I do want to do to complete the things I "have" to do (like wrapping presents -- can I get an amen?).
I want to give at Christmas -- really give -- in a way that impacts people who don't have my resources. We have done some of this in the past -- wells and floors and desks for Haiti -- but we can do more. We should do more. We have to do more.
The finish line for this crazy orgy of spending is a manger. A manger with a poor baby, born to an unwed mother in a dirty stable, visited by poor shepherds who stank of sheep. A baby who would grow up to hang out with the lowest elements of society and like it. A baby who fed people, and healed people, and forgave people.
All I'm saying is this: next year, I'm starting at the finish line.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
