So I watched the game on Sunday- 49ers vs. Saints. Awesome.
I was a 9er fan years ago, and now that my sweetheart likes them, my love has been rekindled. I watched the majority of the game with him, then had to get home for a kid sleepover commitment. To my chagrin, I watched the finish alone. I was uber excited and my little heart was pounding. I stood amazed.
How many 100's of thousands of text messages went out after that win? How many fans called to rib their Saints-loving cohorts? How much money was spent and how much camaraderie took place as a result of that ball game?
A few minutes later, still reeling from what I had just seen, it hit me. I never cheer on my Jesus. Never. I never text my non-believing friends to antagonize them when I hear about a miracle. I don't chest bump or fist pump my fellow believers. I just say boring, meaningless things like "I'm praying for you" or "Praise God". And I TRULY am praying for them. I never say that unless I have actually prayed. And I really AM praising God. I praise Him all the time. But does it change anyone's life? Is one single person better off because Jennie prayed for them? And if they are, does that just feed my ill gotten self worth, resulting in a deficit to my own character? I just don't know. I can't imagine NOT praying for the ones I love is the right solution. We are called to pray with pure hearts. How do I get one of those?
How is it possible that so much fellowship takes place over a football game and so little takes place in our own families? Why does the existence of Facebook allow us to actually believe that there are 482 people who care about us? Why do we need 482 friends?
I have read God's word. I know it inside and out. I know that He told me in John 15:18 that the world would hate me. And if it doesn't, then I belong to the world.
My heart is breaking.
When I read that verse, I feel as though the words leave God's lips and enter my heart. It weighs so heavily on me that more often then not, I belong to the world.
He knows it. I know it.
Every evening, I crawl into bed and turn on the tv, which is how I put myself to sleep. It never fails that the thought provoking documentary I fell asleep to has transitioned into the 3am infomercial for something made in a country I have an issue with, using 2 cents of plastic, selling for $19.99, buy one get 2 free (just pay seperate shipping and handling). AND I WANT IT. The tone inflection of the announcer piques my interest. The smile the Mom gives when the spices are labeled, or the cereal stays fresh for 3 months or every single stain comes out of the kids clothes- is addicting.
Like a sermon.
When the pastor finishes on Sunday, you want God. You want more and more God. You want to walk to Him, run to Him. You want to lay out all your dirty and be forgiven. You can open your wallet. Freely. Because it feels good to be good around good people. But everyone in church- almost everyone- is like me. With words that feel meaningless and secrets she hopes her Christian friends don't know. I danced in the car to "I'm sexy and I know it" on my way to service. I tithed less than I should have and I bought a new handbag. I walked by someone who was clearly in need because I was too selfish to invest the time in them to help when I easily could have. I hoarded all of the gifts God gave me instead of letting them bless others.
Of. This. World. Even though my bumper sticker says I'm not.
Sometimes I barely recognize myself. But He sees me. All of me. Not just what I confess in prayer, or what I tell my mother. I know he sees my heart and knows I long for Him and He must see all of the things that get in the way. And he must see me collecting these things that are in- the- way. And surely, He sees me choose to put them there. In the way.
And so my prayer is this.... Father, may the love I have for you in my heart overflow to my actions and pour out my lips. May my journey make others journeys richer. May one little life read these words and know that it's ok that they are broken because I am super broken and you love us anyway. May my eyes see what your eyes see. At they end of my days, may you look upon me and judge me faithful to You. Only. Please take my bold spirit and focus it on your works, instead of mine. And PLEASE, help me to stop refering to you as My Jesus and begin to call you Our Jesus.
Because fellowship matters.
I stand amazed.
Matthew 25:23.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Monday, November 28, 2011
I REALLY, TRULY love you. Still.
I have always secretly hoped that the calendars got it wrong by three days and my main man Jesus and I share a birthday. There are so many theories on His birth and biblical timing in general that I feel confident in declaring this as TRUTH. And, can we please be real- we're all just GUESSING, right? When it comes to Jesus, what do we know? What others have told us? What we read?
I used to think I knew God. I mean, I KNEW Him. Much more than you could ever know Him. Oi.
Knew what to expect, knew exactly what I had to do and say to be near Him and knew how I had to behave.
Had the right friends- the Godly ones.
Had the right clothes- the modest ones.
Had the right opinion- the judgemental one.
Why did I know God and still feel so sad? Why did I feel uptight and angry? Why were my relationships hard?
I was too busy following the "God rules" to see that God actually rules.
I spent years studying theology, yet sunrise is still all the proof I need that my God is indeed real. Consulted countless pastoral staff members for some factual data supporting creationism, yet I cannot see a new baby of any kind- human, canine, even a rodent, and not end up in tears.
I am amazed I spent even one minute in search of "proof".
Sweet Jesus must be looking down and saying "Sweet Jesus, Jennie! I placed the proof on your heart. You feel me all the time. I wrap my arms around you every morning and sing you to sleep at night. I really, truly love you. Still. "
I have come to embrace my non-believing friends. It didn't weaken me or make me stray. It didn't make me long for their lives. It made me love my God. More deeply. More often. More graciously. More.
It made me look all the way inside my heart to remember that once upon a time I didn't love Him.
It made me remember that someone who DID love Him, decided to love me. Even though I DIDN'T. And she wasn't perfect. She couldn't sing beautifully in church. She missed church sometimes. She didn't shove her Jesus down my throat. She just had a peace about her, that even as a dirty rotten sinner I recognized as being different. She appeared, even when her life seemed to be out of control, STILL.
I fell in love with a man who doesn't believe what I believe in the way that I believe it. I know this makes you want to caution me. I know you want to tell me to be careful. To think ahead. How will he lead your family if you get to that place in the future?
He believes in the way that he believes it. His life experience is not my life experience. His heart is not my heart.
His heart and my heart and your heart belong to the Creator.
Our Creator.
Mine and his.
Yours.
He sees Christians as hypocrites. So do I. So do you. He sees humans as the representitives of Jesus. As Christians, why doesn't this shake us to our holy cores?
I don't know alot of people who reject God.
I know alot of people who reject Christians.
I also know that it is not my job to save anyone. I lived a long time thinking it was. So full of Jennie, so barren of Jesus.
How many people did that self righteous heart push away from Jesus?
My Jesus spent His precious few days on earth with prostitutes and tax collectors. Non believers. He blew off the invitations of kings and noblemen. He spent every minute of His life loving the unlovable. Healing. Teaching. Preparing the way.
I believe the gift we were meant to give- and at the same time are being given- is to be able to look into the eyes of every person we encounter and see what He sees.
Really look at them. Look. Past the fear. Anger. Betrayal. Misconceptions. Past all the things that pulled us away from God. When we rejected Christians.
If we are to be His hands and feet, the message has to be "I really, truly love you."
Still.
I used to think I knew God. I mean, I KNEW Him. Much more than you could ever know Him. Oi.
Knew what to expect, knew exactly what I had to do and say to be near Him and knew how I had to behave.
Had the right friends- the Godly ones.
Had the right clothes- the modest ones.
Had the right opinion- the judgemental one.
Why did I know God and still feel so sad? Why did I feel uptight and angry? Why were my relationships hard?
I was too busy following the "God rules" to see that God actually rules.
I spent years studying theology, yet sunrise is still all the proof I need that my God is indeed real. Consulted countless pastoral staff members for some factual data supporting creationism, yet I cannot see a new baby of any kind- human, canine, even a rodent, and not end up in tears.
I am amazed I spent even one minute in search of "proof".
Sweet Jesus must be looking down and saying "Sweet Jesus, Jennie! I placed the proof on your heart. You feel me all the time. I wrap my arms around you every morning and sing you to sleep at night. I really, truly love you. Still. "
I have come to embrace my non-believing friends. It didn't weaken me or make me stray. It didn't make me long for their lives. It made me love my God. More deeply. More often. More graciously. More.
It made me look all the way inside my heart to remember that once upon a time I didn't love Him.
It made me remember that someone who DID love Him, decided to love me. Even though I DIDN'T. And she wasn't perfect. She couldn't sing beautifully in church. She missed church sometimes. She didn't shove her Jesus down my throat. She just had a peace about her, that even as a dirty rotten sinner I recognized as being different. She appeared, even when her life seemed to be out of control, STILL.
I fell in love with a man who doesn't believe what I believe in the way that I believe it. I know this makes you want to caution me. I know you want to tell me to be careful. To think ahead. How will he lead your family if you get to that place in the future?
He believes in the way that he believes it. His life experience is not my life experience. His heart is not my heart.
His heart and my heart and your heart belong to the Creator.
Our Creator.
Mine and his.
Yours.
He sees Christians as hypocrites. So do I. So do you. He sees humans as the representitives of Jesus. As Christians, why doesn't this shake us to our holy cores?
I don't know alot of people who reject God.
I know alot of people who reject Christians.
I also know that it is not my job to save anyone. I lived a long time thinking it was. So full of Jennie, so barren of Jesus.
How many people did that self righteous heart push away from Jesus?
My Jesus spent His precious few days on earth with prostitutes and tax collectors. Non believers. He blew off the invitations of kings and noblemen. He spent every minute of His life loving the unlovable. Healing. Teaching. Preparing the way.
I believe the gift we were meant to give- and at the same time are being given- is to be able to look into the eyes of every person we encounter and see what He sees.
Really look at them. Look. Past the fear. Anger. Betrayal. Misconceptions. Past all the things that pulled us away from God. When we rejected Christians.
If we are to be His hands and feet, the message has to be "I really, truly love you."
Still.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Absence makes the heart grow fonder....
The last 6 months has brought me to the reality that the old adage is, in fact Truth.
The move to Davis was a blessing.
I wasn't sure of that when I made it. Was full of doubt. Gracie was heartbroken and furious at me for taking her away from her friends. She punished me, consistently and without reprieve, until just a few weeks ago. I was probably her willing accomplice in that endeavor. Felt like I deserved it. Failing on every front.
I will simply say, this summer was the hardest and most challenging time I have ever experienced in a relationship with someone that I love. So deeply. So totally and completely in love with that girl. Gracie is my baby- my last baby. Who just started 7th grade and has no desire to be my baby. At least not that she's willing to admit to. She just knows that she doesn't want anyone ELSE to be my baby.
The balance of attentive parenting and nourishing my own desire for fellowship and companionship has been difficult to achieve. My children have such wildly different personalities, I find myself in awe of how different their needs are.
Sarah is a sweet, mature beyond her years, loving child who truly loves people. She loves to love people. She has no difficulty putting herself last to ensure someone else's needs are met. She loves her Dad, her Step Mom (ugly word, sorry, just for logistical purposes) and me equally. My relationship with Sarah has zero drama. She is content and her relationships reflect that. Sarah has had the benefit of being totally and completely loved her entire life. Her Father is her hero and they are extremely close. He is remarried, they have a son, so Sarah has a brother, too. They are a beautiful, well rounded family. I adore her and I make sure she knows it.
Sarah's life is.. charmed.
My Gracie's life experience has not been the same. She lost her Dad at a very early age. Regardless of the circumstances, it left her feeling abandoned. Her Grandpa on her Dad's side stepped in, but then she lost him, too. I remarried, that failed. She lost again- a Step Dad and 3 sisters she was completely in love with.
Gracie has learned that everyone leaves.
I know how she feels.
My little heart is a mirror image of Gracie's little heart. I am afraid to love. I am afraid to invite anyone in. I am sure that once I become vulnerable you'll take advantage of me. I am broken and I lost some of the pieces somewhere along the way, so the best I'll ever be is incomplete.
At least that would have been the case, if a Man hadn't died on the cross for me.
The Man who loves me. Perfectly. Consistently. Regardless of my weight or mood.
I haven't been doing my part in that relationship as of late and it caught up with me this morning as I took communion.
I pray everyday, but I stopped praying on my knees. I stopped tithing. I stopped small group and bible study... and for longer than I want to admit, I quit big church. Before August, I went to church 5x in 5 months. Not a great record. Not enough to give love or receive it. Not enough to make a friend or share a hug. Not enough to show my girls what my priorities are. Or maybe it was. I'm so sorry.
Just enough to earn my least favorite title "hypocrite".
I spent a few months living for Jennie and it was awful. It was awful on the first day, I have no idea how it even turned into two days, much less months. I missed Him. I was embarrassed and ashamed, so I quit including confession as part of my prayer life.
If you have ever done this, you understand the spiral that quickly takes place when you don't confess your sins to God. The lying to yourself until you forget the sin. The guilt when you remember it again. Like a never ending game of sin Hot Potato. Except you're the tosser and the catcher. And all of a sudden the potato is the size of a watermelon and feels like lead when it hits your fingers.
So today I apologized. Begged forgiveness. Gave thanks. Came home.
The building is different, but my Jesus was there.
Father God, I missed you.
I understand the difference between Happiness and Joy.
I understand that you picked up every little piece of my brokenness and I am whole again. I understand that you died for me. Me. Me. ME!!
And Gracie.
And Sarah.
And everyone I blame for breaking my heart and making me incomplete.
And everyone who's heart I broke and conveniently forgot about.
And I understand that You want me to stop blaming. And stop judging. And stop controlling. And today I did.
And that is amazing.
And that had nothing to do with me.
Because I am a blamer and a judger and a controller.
AND THERE IS NO PEACE IN THAT PLACE.
And today, I had communion with You.
And so did Grace, and Sarah as well.
And your Mercy and Love and Grace poured out and my little heart was completely full, longing for nothing.
And I cannot remember the last time I longed for nothing.
And I never want to leave Home again, ever.
Amen.
The move to Davis was a blessing.
I wasn't sure of that when I made it. Was full of doubt. Gracie was heartbroken and furious at me for taking her away from her friends. She punished me, consistently and without reprieve, until just a few weeks ago. I was probably her willing accomplice in that endeavor. Felt like I deserved it. Failing on every front.
I will simply say, this summer was the hardest and most challenging time I have ever experienced in a relationship with someone that I love. So deeply. So totally and completely in love with that girl. Gracie is my baby- my last baby. Who just started 7th grade and has no desire to be my baby. At least not that she's willing to admit to. She just knows that she doesn't want anyone ELSE to be my baby.
The balance of attentive parenting and nourishing my own desire for fellowship and companionship has been difficult to achieve. My children have such wildly different personalities, I find myself in awe of how different their needs are.
Sarah is a sweet, mature beyond her years, loving child who truly loves people. She loves to love people. She has no difficulty putting herself last to ensure someone else's needs are met. She loves her Dad, her Step Mom (ugly word, sorry, just for logistical purposes) and me equally. My relationship with Sarah has zero drama. She is content and her relationships reflect that. Sarah has had the benefit of being totally and completely loved her entire life. Her Father is her hero and they are extremely close. He is remarried, they have a son, so Sarah has a brother, too. They are a beautiful, well rounded family. I adore her and I make sure she knows it.
Sarah's life is.. charmed.
My Gracie's life experience has not been the same. She lost her Dad at a very early age. Regardless of the circumstances, it left her feeling abandoned. Her Grandpa on her Dad's side stepped in, but then she lost him, too. I remarried, that failed. She lost again- a Step Dad and 3 sisters she was completely in love with.
Gracie has learned that everyone leaves.
I know how she feels.
My little heart is a mirror image of Gracie's little heart. I am afraid to love. I am afraid to invite anyone in. I am sure that once I become vulnerable you'll take advantage of me. I am broken and I lost some of the pieces somewhere along the way, so the best I'll ever be is incomplete.
At least that would have been the case, if a Man hadn't died on the cross for me.
The Man who loves me. Perfectly. Consistently. Regardless of my weight or mood.
I haven't been doing my part in that relationship as of late and it caught up with me this morning as I took communion.
I pray everyday, but I stopped praying on my knees. I stopped tithing. I stopped small group and bible study... and for longer than I want to admit, I quit big church. Before August, I went to church 5x in 5 months. Not a great record. Not enough to give love or receive it. Not enough to make a friend or share a hug. Not enough to show my girls what my priorities are. Or maybe it was. I'm so sorry.
Just enough to earn my least favorite title "hypocrite".
I spent a few months living for Jennie and it was awful. It was awful on the first day, I have no idea how it even turned into two days, much less months. I missed Him. I was embarrassed and ashamed, so I quit including confession as part of my prayer life.
If you have ever done this, you understand the spiral that quickly takes place when you don't confess your sins to God. The lying to yourself until you forget the sin. The guilt when you remember it again. Like a never ending game of sin Hot Potato. Except you're the tosser and the catcher. And all of a sudden the potato is the size of a watermelon and feels like lead when it hits your fingers.
So today I apologized. Begged forgiveness. Gave thanks. Came home.
The building is different, but my Jesus was there.
Father God, I missed you.
I understand the difference between Happiness and Joy.
I understand that you picked up every little piece of my brokenness and I am whole again. I understand that you died for me. Me. Me. ME!!
And Gracie.
And Sarah.
And everyone I blame for breaking my heart and making me incomplete.
And everyone who's heart I broke and conveniently forgot about.
And I understand that You want me to stop blaming. And stop judging. And stop controlling. And today I did.
And that is amazing.
And that had nothing to do with me.
Because I am a blamer and a judger and a controller.
AND THERE IS NO PEACE IN THAT PLACE.
And today, I had communion with You.
And so did Grace, and Sarah as well.
And your Mercy and Love and Grace poured out and my little heart was completely full, longing for nothing.
And I cannot remember the last time I longed for nothing.
And I never want to leave Home again, ever.
Amen.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A Constant Heart
And so it goes.
Time marches on.
Sometimes we march along at the same pace, in perfect harmony.
Sometimes we run ahead because we LOVE that season and want MORE.
And sometimes we dig in our heels trying to stop whatever is happening
from happening.
In the last two years, I have marched, run and dug in until it hurt. I have had precious, precious friends run along side.... and sometimes carry me when I felt like quitting, which is simply not in my nature. I have also belly laughed harder than I thought was possible and learned the bittersweet lesson that ends something like this: "you find out who your friends are".
Often times, when a relationship ends, a family ends. That is the tragedy. I no longer grieve the relationship, I will always grieve the family. He brought the kids, so he got to take them. They have a mother. End of story.
I was MADE for family, it's just who I am. It is easy for me to love people. All kinds of people. Big, small, old, young. A rainbow of colors and ethnicities is just my cup of tea. I can count on one hand the number of people I don't like.
When I was married, my vows included the vow of family.
The vow of raising children and providing a nest for them, forever. Not for as long as it was easy, or felt good or was convenient, but forever.
Those vows were broken. That is out of my control- and irreversable.
It did not change the longing of my heart. I still want to raise babies, and feather my nest. I still want to see my own reflection in the eyes of a man who loves me. I still want to take care of a partner and nurture a loving, Godly relationship.
For the rest of my life.
My season changed, but my heart remains constant.
THANK YOU GOD THAT MY HEART REMAINS CONSTANT.
I am thankful it is not so hard that the scab can't be picked off. I am blessed that my experience didn't lead to a crisis of faith, or a desire to be alone...where sadness could corner me and keep me. Could have gone either way.
I hope, that wherever we are, whatever the season- or the crisis- or the broken promise- or the amazing blessing- that we remember. That we remember God chose that season for us before He breathed life into us. That the season is a blessing, or a lesson, or more likely -both.
That we remember the measure of GRACE that has been poured out on us.
That we offer that same measure of grace to others consistently.
That we remember time does not belong to us, but to Him.
That emotional or physical healing can take years, or an instant.
We don't get to decide for each other, or for ourselves. That today may be our last day and the decision to love is always the right one.
Even if the decision is to love AGAIN. or STILL.
or IN SPITE OF a broken promise. Because there is no limit to the number of promises that may be broken. No lifetime cap.
It takes a little bit of chutzpah to put one foot in front of the other after being kicked in the knee cap. I think God LOVES chutzpah. I think He honors it. I think He looks at us the same way we look at our kid who was picked last for a team but plays as hard as they can every game, no matter what. I think He rejoices when hearts bond- through friendship or love.
Wasn't that His purpose in it's entirety?
Simply, for us to LOVE. I fully intend to honor the season that was given to me. I appreciate that He thinks enough of me to trust me with these days. Through the experience of being unloved and rejected, I have ended up feeling MORE LOVED and ACCEPTED. My capacity for empathy has grown exponentially. Not my plan, His.
I have always thought that I would raise more children. I can't give birth to them and I have a feeling I won't even give them their names. I'm not sure if I'll find them happy, or broken. Not sure if they'll find me happy, or broken. I'm not sure if they will live with me or I will live with them. Not sure where or when or how. I absolutely don't care. I'm just praying that I am aware when the opportunity arises that it is an opportunity.
I feel the exact same way about a partner. I believe that core longing for a best friend and companion lives on for a reason. I think it has been decided for me, for all of us and we simply need to behave with integrity and love and let it play itself out.
I'm just praying.
And so it goes.
Time marches on.
Sometimes we march along at the same pace, in perfect harmony.
Sometimes we run ahead because we LOVE that season and want MORE.
And sometimes we dig in our heels trying to stop whatever is happening
from happening.
In the last two years, I have marched, run and dug in until it hurt. I have had precious, precious friends run along side.... and sometimes carry me when I felt like quitting, which is simply not in my nature. I have also belly laughed harder than I thought was possible and learned the bittersweet lesson that ends something like this: "you find out who your friends are".
Often times, when a relationship ends, a family ends. That is the tragedy. I no longer grieve the relationship, I will always grieve the family. He brought the kids, so he got to take them. They have a mother. End of story.
I was MADE for family, it's just who I am. It is easy for me to love people. All kinds of people. Big, small, old, young. A rainbow of colors and ethnicities is just my cup of tea. I can count on one hand the number of people I don't like.
When I was married, my vows included the vow of family.
The vow of raising children and providing a nest for them, forever. Not for as long as it was easy, or felt good or was convenient, but forever.
Those vows were broken. That is out of my control- and irreversable.
It did not change the longing of my heart. I still want to raise babies, and feather my nest. I still want to see my own reflection in the eyes of a man who loves me. I still want to take care of a partner and nurture a loving, Godly relationship.
For the rest of my life.
My season changed, but my heart remains constant.
THANK YOU GOD THAT MY HEART REMAINS CONSTANT.
I am thankful it is not so hard that the scab can't be picked off. I am blessed that my experience didn't lead to a crisis of faith, or a desire to be alone...where sadness could corner me and keep me. Could have gone either way.
I hope, that wherever we are, whatever the season- or the crisis- or the broken promise- or the amazing blessing- that we remember. That we remember God chose that season for us before He breathed life into us. That the season is a blessing, or a lesson, or more likely -both.
That we remember the measure of GRACE that has been poured out on us.
That we offer that same measure of grace to others consistently.
That we remember time does not belong to us, but to Him.
That emotional or physical healing can take years, or an instant.
We don't get to decide for each other, or for ourselves. That today may be our last day and the decision to love is always the right one.
Even if the decision is to love AGAIN. or STILL.
or IN SPITE OF a broken promise. Because there is no limit to the number of promises that may be broken. No lifetime cap.
It takes a little bit of chutzpah to put one foot in front of the other after being kicked in the knee cap. I think God LOVES chutzpah. I think He honors it. I think He looks at us the same way we look at our kid who was picked last for a team but plays as hard as they can every game, no matter what. I think He rejoices when hearts bond- through friendship or love.
Wasn't that His purpose in it's entirety?
Simply, for us to LOVE. I fully intend to honor the season that was given to me. I appreciate that He thinks enough of me to trust me with these days. Through the experience of being unloved and rejected, I have ended up feeling MORE LOVED and ACCEPTED. My capacity for empathy has grown exponentially. Not my plan, His.
I have always thought that I would raise more children. I can't give birth to them and I have a feeling I won't even give them their names. I'm not sure if I'll find them happy, or broken. Not sure if they'll find me happy, or broken. I'm not sure if they will live with me or I will live with them. Not sure where or when or how. I absolutely don't care. I'm just praying that I am aware when the opportunity arises that it is an opportunity.
I feel the exact same way about a partner. I believe that core longing for a best friend and companion lives on for a reason. I think it has been decided for me, for all of us and we simply need to behave with integrity and love and let it play itself out.
I'm just praying.
And so it goes.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Pruned!
God never ceases to amaze me. That sounds so cliche', but truly- I live like a 2 year old, in constant wonder. When we have our eyes on fixed Him I just feel that we see what we were meant to see, instead of what the world has manipulated us to see. We are so bombarded with images that the media has taught us to believe are beautiful and good- and they are neither. In truth, they are usually sad and distorted... and inviting us to lust or sin... or both. I hate that my girlies see over 50 images of nudity/sexuality between our home in Davis and our church in Sacramento. That's over 100 every Sunday. Certainly not what He intended for us.
This is going to get a little raw, and it is not my intent to offend, but this is my story- and I'm telling it. I saw God in a ratty pot of roses today, and it got a little ugly.
A friend came to visit yesterday and we took the kids to the Dixon May Fair. We saw beautiful exhibits, played my favorite whiffle-ball-into-the-colored-cup carnival game (AND WON!!!) and placed bets on which kid would puke after riding the Viper.
A good time had by all.
After the fair we all came back to my place. The kids wanted to swim and we wanted to not be around kids, so the plan was to run some errands for an hour while Sarah watched her sis at the pool- then we would figure out dinner. Before we left, my friend poked his head out the sliding glass door to peek at the soccer game that was echoing up to the 2nd story window from the park across the street. I cringed!
The patio had become a bit of a catch all after our move.
OK, it looked like "hoarders" alright! I also have the stinkiest freakin' cat on the planet, so her litter box has been moved out there, adding to the ambiance. Being a sweet friend, the only thing he could muster was..."your roses have aphids". He he. I know.
Let me tell you about my roses....
First of all, they've been forced to live on the patio, which would make anyone feel like crap. They are a product of their environment. They are also used to being 6 different roses. When I moved, they were all shoved, mostly willy nilly, some broken, into one big pot. They were all chopped to the same size and I can no longer tell them apart. One of them is a minature rose. Two are climbers and I think one is a bush. They are all so covered in creepy crawlers they look more like one giant garden pest than what they were just 3 months ago.... The stars of the garden.
I know, intimately, how they feel.
A little displaced, but putting down roots and just trying to breathe. Just breathe.
So, after church today I decided the next time someone is over I don't want to relive that slow motion moment of someone grabbing the patio door handle while I am dying of shame- so I tackled the patio. Took 2 hours and it's only 10 x 15. Getting the picture? I scrubbed the "fish pot" (a medium size planter with no hole in the bottom doing double duty as our pond- complete with goldfish and a trendy water plant) to my horror I pulled out as many dead fish as living ones, replanted and revived the half dead succulents that were interspersed with what must have been airborne weeds, polished up the glass on the sweet old vintage wrought iron table and plopped my new planter right in the center - a teapot shaped beauty painted with ladybugs in every color you can imagine. Unbelievable the transformation!! However- the nasty pot of roses was staring at me from the corner- all abuzz in green bugs. UUgggghh.
I have no pruners, no clippers and no gloves. This should be fun.
I started by standing over it and clipping off deadness with my kitchen shears. This seemed to take forever. After chopping these pathetic looking, thorn laden beasts for what seemed like hours I had created a huge mess. I was also barefoot and the huge mess hurt to step on. So, I sat down in the one spot that was open and got to work carefully reaching between the treacherous limbs to get the old dead leaves and branch clippings off the soil. And then I heard Him. And tears were streaming down my face uncontrolably. And I feel like I am losing my mind and then I remember that I already lost it and maybe I just found it? Maybe He just found it and gave it back.
My hands and wrists were stinging. I was so focused on the roses, I didn't notice that I was bleeding. My hands and wrists were bleeding. There were thorns all around me. I was covered in aphids- my eyes, my mouth. I can only tell you that God told me that shame is no way to live. It was not audible, but it was real. We are not supposed to have doors that people we care about can't open. We are not hiding anything- our hurt can be seen through the glass door. We have to clean it up and move on. Your friends want to enjoy the soccer game. And you want to enjoy your friends.
There was a person in church today that I will simply refer to as my aphid. A stumbling block. Someone who represents a whole lot of pain and a whole lot of hatred that was sent my way. She has been in my eyes and in my mouth for much too long. I do not know why God chose a pot of hodge podge half dead roses to reveal a message of love to me today, but I got it.
When you clean up the pot, the aphids go away.
When you get the rotting leaves and dead branches out, you remove the food source and they have to move on to survive.
And then the rose can recover. And sprout leaves. And eventually she blooms.
And then she remembers who she is... the climber, or the bush, or the minature.
And all of a sudden, she is the star of the garden.
And she LOVES that her garden now consists of six roses, all different shapes, colors and sizes, all sharing the same soil. Because now they look like community, instead of chaos. And she wonders why she ever had them so far apart to begin with, because clearly, they belong together.
And she forgot that they ever had aphids, because all they are and all she ever remembers them to be.... is lovely. All it took was a little pruning.
Amen.
This is going to get a little raw, and it is not my intent to offend, but this is my story- and I'm telling it. I saw God in a ratty pot of roses today, and it got a little ugly.
A friend came to visit yesterday and we took the kids to the Dixon May Fair. We saw beautiful exhibits, played my favorite whiffle-ball-into-the-colored-cup carnival game (AND WON!!!) and placed bets on which kid would puke after riding the Viper.
A good time had by all.
After the fair we all came back to my place. The kids wanted to swim and we wanted to not be around kids, so the plan was to run some errands for an hour while Sarah watched her sis at the pool- then we would figure out dinner. Before we left, my friend poked his head out the sliding glass door to peek at the soccer game that was echoing up to the 2nd story window from the park across the street. I cringed!
The patio had become a bit of a catch all after our move.
OK, it looked like "hoarders" alright! I also have the stinkiest freakin' cat on the planet, so her litter box has been moved out there, adding to the ambiance. Being a sweet friend, the only thing he could muster was..."your roses have aphids". He he. I know.
Let me tell you about my roses....
First of all, they've been forced to live on the patio, which would make anyone feel like crap. They are a product of their environment. They are also used to being 6 different roses. When I moved, they were all shoved, mostly willy nilly, some broken, into one big pot. They were all chopped to the same size and I can no longer tell them apart. One of them is a minature rose. Two are climbers and I think one is a bush. They are all so covered in creepy crawlers they look more like one giant garden pest than what they were just 3 months ago.... The stars of the garden.
I know, intimately, how they feel.
A little displaced, but putting down roots and just trying to breathe. Just breathe.
So, after church today I decided the next time someone is over I don't want to relive that slow motion moment of someone grabbing the patio door handle while I am dying of shame- so I tackled the patio. Took 2 hours and it's only 10 x 15. Getting the picture? I scrubbed the "fish pot" (a medium size planter with no hole in the bottom doing double duty as our pond- complete with goldfish and a trendy water plant) to my horror I pulled out as many dead fish as living ones, replanted and revived the half dead succulents that were interspersed with what must have been airborne weeds, polished up the glass on the sweet old vintage wrought iron table and plopped my new planter right in the center - a teapot shaped beauty painted with ladybugs in every color you can imagine. Unbelievable the transformation!! However- the nasty pot of roses was staring at me from the corner- all abuzz in green bugs. UUgggghh.
I have no pruners, no clippers and no gloves. This should be fun.
I started by standing over it and clipping off deadness with my kitchen shears. This seemed to take forever. After chopping these pathetic looking, thorn laden beasts for what seemed like hours I had created a huge mess. I was also barefoot and the huge mess hurt to step on. So, I sat down in the one spot that was open and got to work carefully reaching between the treacherous limbs to get the old dead leaves and branch clippings off the soil. And then I heard Him. And tears were streaming down my face uncontrolably. And I feel like I am losing my mind and then I remember that I already lost it and maybe I just found it? Maybe He just found it and gave it back.
My hands and wrists were stinging. I was so focused on the roses, I didn't notice that I was bleeding. My hands and wrists were bleeding. There were thorns all around me. I was covered in aphids- my eyes, my mouth. I can only tell you that God told me that shame is no way to live. It was not audible, but it was real. We are not supposed to have doors that people we care about can't open. We are not hiding anything- our hurt can be seen through the glass door. We have to clean it up and move on. Your friends want to enjoy the soccer game. And you want to enjoy your friends.
There was a person in church today that I will simply refer to as my aphid. A stumbling block. Someone who represents a whole lot of pain and a whole lot of hatred that was sent my way. She has been in my eyes and in my mouth for much too long. I do not know why God chose a pot of hodge podge half dead roses to reveal a message of love to me today, but I got it.
When you clean up the pot, the aphids go away.
When you get the rotting leaves and dead branches out, you remove the food source and they have to move on to survive.
And then the rose can recover. And sprout leaves. And eventually she blooms.
And then she remembers who she is... the climber, or the bush, or the minature.
And all of a sudden, she is the star of the garden.
And she LOVES that her garden now consists of six roses, all different shapes, colors and sizes, all sharing the same soil. Because now they look like community, instead of chaos. And she wonders why she ever had them so far apart to begin with, because clearly, they belong together.
And she forgot that they ever had aphids, because all they are and all she ever remembers them to be.... is lovely. All it took was a little pruning.
Amen.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Indeed!
He is Risen. He is Risen indeed. Such simple words.
In some ways this is everything I dislike about Christianity.
A Pastor preaching from the pulpit. He speaks, we all respond -like trained rats. This is the one time of the year, the only time of the year, that I traditionally feel a strange hierarchy in the church body. The Pastor is the leader and we are the followers. He is somehow closer to God, and we are just hoping to learn from the wise, wise man who will later report to God who responded the quickest and loudest.
My cynicism would have played out again today, on this beautiful Easter morning, except for I don't have that kind of Pastor. My theory was debunked. I have a Pastor- in fact 6 Pastors- that are full of humility, kindness, love, grace- and very true hearts for God.
Isn't that how we determine how we feel about God? If we really search our hearts...is our impression of God at least a little bit tied to the impression we have of the person relaying His word?
When we meet people who have fallen away from the church, it's never about God. Never heard anyone say they just fell out of love with God. Never heard them say they met a thinner, more charming God. It's never that God didn't love them enough or didn't do enough for them. IT'S ABOUT THE PEOPLE.
This concept horrifies me, actually. When I tell people about my Jesus, are they thinking "really, if He loves us how we are, why do you tan and bleach your teeth- aren't you good enough, just as God made you"? I worry alot about that actually. I worry that people will think I'm a hypocrite.
You know, come to think of it, I actually am.
I started boycotting Beth Moore bible studies a long time ago for just that reason. She is wearing 4lbs of makeup and two full cans of hairspray- but wants me to believe that I am perfect in God's eyes. I look around at these women that I love and respect, just oozing over the latest B.M. study and I'm thinking- don't you see what I see? Thankfully, they don't. They have risen above the superficial. Beth wears make up, I wear make up. Beth does her hair, I do my hair. Beth wants to be heard- me too! Where have I been? Seriously- I'm a curvy brunette Beth Moore! OMG!
Time to accept it - we are all flawed. If we each allowed our flaws to stop us from sharing the Gospel, it simply wouldn't be shared. Which is worse, to tell someone about God that thinks you're kind of a phony, or just to never tell them? It might be better for us, but it's never better for the person who didn't hear it.
So- go ahead and screw it up! Quote the wrong verse, mess up the timeline and credit the wrong disciple for good works. It's OK! God will use it, even when we screw it up. I think God honors obedience and KNOWS we are going to screw it up. He MADE us screw it up- to benefit the screwed up person who's going to receive it.
God loves us through our mistakes. While we fumble, consistently. He LOVES consistently.
And, isn't that the real story of Jesus?
Consistent love. Safety. A promise. A true Forever.
I think the next time I tell someone about my Saviour, I'll stick to the facts:
I am a hypocrite. I am insecure about my physical appearance and it has led to all kinds of heartache. I sometimes come home at lunch to vacuum. I cry when I see couples holding hands because it makes me feel alone. Then I feel guilty because I should feel happy for them, that makes me cry too. I visit the tanning bed 4x a week because tan fat looks better than white fat. My teeth are bleached to the point that they are sensitive to cold, so I tell everyone I don't like ice cream. I have been on every diet known to man, and I actually consider purchasing those $200 infomercial weight loss kits. I kiss my pets on the lips. I kiss strangers pets on the lips.
And yet-
This morning, when I awoke, God rejoiced over me. With singing! ME.
and my tan fat. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. In His image. I am His treasured possession. He is for me, not against me and He is not keeping a record of my wrongs.
ME!!! This is almost too much for me to accept. But, for I have LIVED it.
Because someone.. a flawed someone... with a laundry list of shameful behavior I hope to never mimic... decided that God mattered more.
More than pride or shame or fear.
Which really means that my salvation meant more than their comfort.
Which is EXACTLY what Jesus has been teaching us all along.
He is Risen indeed.
In some ways this is everything I dislike about Christianity.
A Pastor preaching from the pulpit. He speaks, we all respond -like trained rats. This is the one time of the year, the only time of the year, that I traditionally feel a strange hierarchy in the church body. The Pastor is the leader and we are the followers. He is somehow closer to God, and we are just hoping to learn from the wise, wise man who will later report to God who responded the quickest and loudest.
My cynicism would have played out again today, on this beautiful Easter morning, except for I don't have that kind of Pastor. My theory was debunked. I have a Pastor- in fact 6 Pastors- that are full of humility, kindness, love, grace- and very true hearts for God.
Isn't that how we determine how we feel about God? If we really search our hearts...is our impression of God at least a little bit tied to the impression we have of the person relaying His word?
When we meet people who have fallen away from the church, it's never about God. Never heard anyone say they just fell out of love with God. Never heard them say they met a thinner, more charming God. It's never that God didn't love them enough or didn't do enough for them. IT'S ABOUT THE PEOPLE.
This concept horrifies me, actually. When I tell people about my Jesus, are they thinking "really, if He loves us how we are, why do you tan and bleach your teeth- aren't you good enough, just as God made you"? I worry alot about that actually. I worry that people will think I'm a hypocrite.
You know, come to think of it, I actually am.
I started boycotting Beth Moore bible studies a long time ago for just that reason. She is wearing 4lbs of makeup and two full cans of hairspray- but wants me to believe that I am perfect in God's eyes. I look around at these women that I love and respect, just oozing over the latest B.M. study and I'm thinking- don't you see what I see? Thankfully, they don't. They have risen above the superficial. Beth wears make up, I wear make up. Beth does her hair, I do my hair. Beth wants to be heard- me too! Where have I been? Seriously- I'm a curvy brunette Beth Moore! OMG!
Time to accept it - we are all flawed. If we each allowed our flaws to stop us from sharing the Gospel, it simply wouldn't be shared. Which is worse, to tell someone about God that thinks you're kind of a phony, or just to never tell them? It might be better for us, but it's never better for the person who didn't hear it.
So- go ahead and screw it up! Quote the wrong verse, mess up the timeline and credit the wrong disciple for good works. It's OK! God will use it, even when we screw it up. I think God honors obedience and KNOWS we are going to screw it up. He MADE us screw it up- to benefit the screwed up person who's going to receive it.
God loves us through our mistakes. While we fumble, consistently. He LOVES consistently.
And, isn't that the real story of Jesus?
Consistent love. Safety. A promise. A true Forever.
I think the next time I tell someone about my Saviour, I'll stick to the facts:
I am a hypocrite. I am insecure about my physical appearance and it has led to all kinds of heartache. I sometimes come home at lunch to vacuum. I cry when I see couples holding hands because it makes me feel alone. Then I feel guilty because I should feel happy for them, that makes me cry too. I visit the tanning bed 4x a week because tan fat looks better than white fat. My teeth are bleached to the point that they are sensitive to cold, so I tell everyone I don't like ice cream. I have been on every diet known to man, and I actually consider purchasing those $200 infomercial weight loss kits. I kiss my pets on the lips. I kiss strangers pets on the lips.
And yet-
This morning, when I awoke, God rejoiced over me. With singing! ME.
and my tan fat. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. In His image. I am His treasured possession. He is for me, not against me and He is not keeping a record of my wrongs.
ME!!! This is almost too much for me to accept. But, for I have LIVED it.
Because someone.. a flawed someone... with a laundry list of shameful behavior I hope to never mimic... decided that God mattered more.
More than pride or shame or fear.
Which really means that my salvation meant more than their comfort.
Which is EXACTLY what Jesus has been teaching us all along.
He is Risen indeed.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
WARNING- THIS EDITION NOT FOR THE EASILY EMBARRASSED
So, I just got back from a run- and I must admit, I kicked some butt. Puppy butt to be exact. Charlie has finally been defeated.
To be fair, I guess I should start with my definition of running. I don't want anyone picturing me clad head to toe in lycra, planning out my route based on the maximum muscle burn. I don't use a heart monitor and (just our little secret) my water bottle is tainted with Coke Zero. Are you kind of getting the picture now? My "running" is kind of a fast walk, slow to medium jog thing. I'm just going to lay it out for you- due to a lapse of judgement fueled by low self esteem in my late 20's I'm now sporting a pair of coconuts that make Charo look like a prepubescent....... boy.
So, I'm not exactly built for speed.
Ok, so I just got back from a run... and, while running, my mind started to wander. I know that is shocking..but ...true. I wonder why it is that during my everyday normal life I notice things like puppies and old ladies and flowers. And I LOVE them. Truly, in my heart of hearts, I LOVE them. I imagine myself kissing the puppy and walking the old lady across the street with the flower perfectly poised in my hair.
But strap on some running shoes, a tank top and my iphone ...... I am a different woman. You better watch yourself if I am getting my Eminem on. I am like a beast.
I'm just saying.
The reason I run, in addition to trying to keep some perk in the hiney, is to clear my mind. I am totally and completely focused on the task at hand in every aspect of my life- except for this alone time. For me, it is a blessing and a form of expression that allows me to think randomly.
Today, on this run, I can't stop thinking about the little boy I wrote a motorcycle policy for at the very end of the day. He was adorable. 23 years old, just bought a 1984 Triumph 760cc bike. I have no idea what that means. I only know I am worried for him. While I am a girl-Mom, I have always wished I was a boy-Mom too. I have such a soft spot for the stinkier breed. :)
He walked into the office at 5:27 pm. Three minutes before I should have been walking out. He had his helmet in his hand. Decorated with that obnoxious booby girl symbol that is most often spotted on tractor trailer mudflaps. I know you know her. She may be partially to blame for my double D debacle. He saw my eyes looking at her and he put his jacket over the whole helmet and set it on the floor. He smiled a big cheesy grin and announced "I just bought this bike myself and I need to get insurance".
How sweet are you? You bought it yourself? Freaking adorable.
I was actually feeling proud of him- like it was my job as the Mom-of-the-minute to compliment him on being a big boy now. I just wanted to pinch his little cheek.
I resisted, as that could have been interpreted as creepy, and we went about the business of writing insurance. As I'm asking him the practical questions, he's interjecting- more about what a grown up he is- his job, his education...and his BIKE. I know that he was 23 because I had to ask his date of birth. I'm telling you, he looked like he was 14. He could have been my baby, for heaven's sake.
We got through the application and he took out his cash (he's getting a checking account next week- darling!) paid for his policy, signed on the dotted line...snatched up the booby girl and off they went.
Before he got to the door I said "You're going to be careful, right? No standing up, no popping wheelies? You won't ride between cars, or after you've had even one drink, right?" He giggled. Like little boys giggle.
"No, Maam, I won't".
"OK, because your Mom wants you to come home safely tonight- and there are people who love you that want you to be safe".
"Yes, Maam, I know".
"OK then- have a nice evening".
He went right to the parking lot in back and I followed him out going left to my car parked a few blocks away. I got to the crosswalk wondering - Did I say enough? Does he just think I'm a nutty insurance agent old lady? AM I a nutty insurance agent old lady? Then he rode up next to me on the street and lifted his little face flap.
"Um, hey, thanks for the reminder about being safe. 'Preciate it".
Yeah! I'm not nutty. Fruity, maybe :)
And it made me think.... we all want someone to watch over us. All need a little love. The human condition has us constantly seeking acceptance, but constantly denying that we need it. I decided a long time ago to say what is on my mind. To not get to the end of my life having regrets for holding back the things that fill people up or help them on their way- even if it makes me the oddball sometimes. For all I know that kid could be making fun of me at a frat party tonight.
Or maybe... he didn't take a risk he was going to take. Maybe he slowed down a little, or decided not to race a sportscar in traffic. I don't know. Maybe he forgot he even met me.
But I know I spoke up. I know I stood in for his Mama, who probably doesn't even know her son bought that bike.
It is my most sincere prayer that someone will do the same for me.
Jesus was in the business of standing in the gap. While we were but His enemies, he went to the cross for us.
It is possible, that the closest I will ever get to being a gap-stander is nagging a kid about obeying traffic laws. I'm Ok with that. God can and does work through anyone.
Even large breasted, reading glasses wearing, dog lip kissing insurance agents.
AKA- Runners. :)
To be fair, I guess I should start with my definition of running. I don't want anyone picturing me clad head to toe in lycra, planning out my route based on the maximum muscle burn. I don't use a heart monitor and (just our little secret) my water bottle is tainted with Coke Zero. Are you kind of getting the picture now? My "running" is kind of a fast walk, slow to medium jog thing. I'm just going to lay it out for you- due to a lapse of judgement fueled by low self esteem in my late 20's I'm now sporting a pair of coconuts that make Charo look like a prepubescent....... boy.
So, I'm not exactly built for speed.
Ok, so I just got back from a run... and, while running, my mind started to wander. I know that is shocking..but ...true. I wonder why it is that during my everyday normal life I notice things like puppies and old ladies and flowers. And I LOVE them. Truly, in my heart of hearts, I LOVE them. I imagine myself kissing the puppy and walking the old lady across the street with the flower perfectly poised in my hair.
But strap on some running shoes, a tank top and my iphone ...... I am a different woman. You better watch yourself if I am getting my Eminem on. I am like a beast.
I'm just saying.
The reason I run, in addition to trying to keep some perk in the hiney, is to clear my mind. I am totally and completely focused on the task at hand in every aspect of my life- except for this alone time. For me, it is a blessing and a form of expression that allows me to think randomly.
Today, on this run, I can't stop thinking about the little boy I wrote a motorcycle policy for at the very end of the day. He was adorable. 23 years old, just bought a 1984 Triumph 760cc bike. I have no idea what that means. I only know I am worried for him. While I am a girl-Mom, I have always wished I was a boy-Mom too. I have such a soft spot for the stinkier breed. :)
He walked into the office at 5:27 pm. Three minutes before I should have been walking out. He had his helmet in his hand. Decorated with that obnoxious booby girl symbol that is most often spotted on tractor trailer mudflaps. I know you know her. She may be partially to blame for my double D debacle. He saw my eyes looking at her and he put his jacket over the whole helmet and set it on the floor. He smiled a big cheesy grin and announced "I just bought this bike myself and I need to get insurance".
How sweet are you? You bought it yourself? Freaking adorable.
I was actually feeling proud of him- like it was my job as the Mom-of-the-minute to compliment him on being a big boy now. I just wanted to pinch his little cheek.
I resisted, as that could have been interpreted as creepy, and we went about the business of writing insurance. As I'm asking him the practical questions, he's interjecting- more about what a grown up he is- his job, his education...and his BIKE. I know that he was 23 because I had to ask his date of birth. I'm telling you, he looked like he was 14. He could have been my baby, for heaven's sake.
We got through the application and he took out his cash (he's getting a checking account next week- darling!) paid for his policy, signed on the dotted line...snatched up the booby girl and off they went.
Before he got to the door I said "You're going to be careful, right? No standing up, no popping wheelies? You won't ride between cars, or after you've had even one drink, right?" He giggled. Like little boys giggle.
"No, Maam, I won't".
"OK, because your Mom wants you to come home safely tonight- and there are people who love you that want you to be safe".
"Yes, Maam, I know".
"OK then- have a nice evening".
He went right to the parking lot in back and I followed him out going left to my car parked a few blocks away. I got to the crosswalk wondering - Did I say enough? Does he just think I'm a nutty insurance agent old lady? AM I a nutty insurance agent old lady? Then he rode up next to me on the street and lifted his little face flap.
"Um, hey, thanks for the reminder about being safe. 'Preciate it".
Yeah! I'm not nutty. Fruity, maybe :)
And it made me think.... we all want someone to watch over us. All need a little love. The human condition has us constantly seeking acceptance, but constantly denying that we need it. I decided a long time ago to say what is on my mind. To not get to the end of my life having regrets for holding back the things that fill people up or help them on their way- even if it makes me the oddball sometimes. For all I know that kid could be making fun of me at a frat party tonight.
Or maybe... he didn't take a risk he was going to take. Maybe he slowed down a little, or decided not to race a sportscar in traffic. I don't know. Maybe he forgot he even met me.
But I know I spoke up. I know I stood in for his Mama, who probably doesn't even know her son bought that bike.
It is my most sincere prayer that someone will do the same for me.
Jesus was in the business of standing in the gap. While we were but His enemies, he went to the cross for us.
It is possible, that the closest I will ever get to being a gap-stander is nagging a kid about obeying traffic laws. I'm Ok with that. God can and does work through anyone.
Even large breasted, reading glasses wearing, dog lip kissing insurance agents.
AKA- Runners. :)
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