He was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping to a beat inaudible to rest of the house, unaware that a choice today would change a forever for some one he had not met, would never meet. At the hospital where he spends so many precious hours the mundane trickles in so slowly that before one realizes it they are flooded by impatience and hardened heart. He stands at this precipice this morning and doesn't even know it.
His wife walks in, hair tangled and yesterdays makeup smudged beneath half open eyes. He thinks she is cute and beautiful like this but forgets to tell her almost every day. As she sits down to the silence of sleeping children she asks what he is going to do about the patient he told her of yesterday. The one with the failing body, the one with a sudden cancer diagnosis and a fate so unpredictable that even he, with all of his training, can't put a time table to. In that moment while he sat shaking his head with doubt she said something simple, though monumental.
"I think you should pray with him. Maybe even with his family. From what you said they seem to feel pretty hopeless and prayer is what gives me hope, so...I mean. If you don't, who will? Right?"
Sitting in that chair hearing those words his immediate response resonates inside as a resounding, "Are you kidding me? No!" but he fights those dark whispers and says, "Maybe I will."
That was the end of it. The whole conversation. What would come of it mattered to so many...
--I'm just playing around with some thoughts I've had lately.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
filth
I can't stop thinking about this. I want to ignore it, but I can't. I'm going to use this space as a template for my confessions yet again, I want to expose this ugliness, I want to feel the deluge of grace powered change in my heart.
I have been beyond excited about my upcoming trip to Austin. I love knowing that the wedding of a dearly loved friend is bringing me there, that I get to be a part of a day that will seal her with her love for life and that as a bonus I get to be with family. I am enamored by how much Corey's parents love our children, I never had grandparents like them, it is a treat to see their adoration and hear their words of praise for the mother I am learning to be. I am trying so hard.
But in all my genuine excitement there is this really ugly, selfish, deceitful story playing out in my thoughts. Thoughts of wanting to have free time to myself, of leaving my children with my in-laws for countless hours so I can just be by myself, go shopping, buy things I can't afford and don't need just because my husband isn't around to maintain my accountability. I've thought of shoes and purses I want, expensive meals I want to eat and movies I want to see. Now, these things, in and of themselves and not entirely negative, but how I covet them, how I think of them often and devise ways in my mind to hide the spent money from my family is pure greed and pure sin. I had to write it here because with each day I felt my grip on reality passing and found these plans making ever more sense. So yes, I will probably eat at my favorite couple of spots, and yes, I might even do a tiny bit of shopping, but here and now I stand up against the prowling lion of deceit and declare that it will all be open, all be honest, I will not let him win.
The shame of these thoughts has been brought to light not entirely by my own conscious, but also by my recent exposure to Compassion International and their recent project of sending popular bloggers to impoverished countries that they might share their experiences with their readers and some how inspire them to sponsor a child. I also thought these things were shams, that somehow my $30 a month was going into a greedy pocket somewhere, but after reading this and this I am all the more aware of how backwards our American thinking is when looking at the scope of everywhere else. GOD. I'm wanting a new bag and purse and then wondering if we can afford $38 a month so some kids some where can have a meal a week. Yeah. A WEEK. We can afford it, we will, we have to. How could we face our own children and say that we refused? I have never done this before, because it seemed so trivial, it never seemed like enough, but I wonder what ever would? I think that is the greatest scheme against changing this world, the whispers that one small act of generosity won't go far enough so why even do anything?
But it's wrong. That prince of darkness is wrong.
How beautiful and good could it be if everyone on your street sponsored one child? That could be what? 6? 10 children going to school, eating, given a chance to change their life that they might turn around and change others?
One YES means a thousand nos.
It means saying no to complacency, to self doubt, to selfishness and greed.
If there is ANY way you can make this work with what you have, won't you? Isn't that what this life is all about...taking care of those who need it?
Pick one HERE.
I have been beyond excited about my upcoming trip to Austin. I love knowing that the wedding of a dearly loved friend is bringing me there, that I get to be a part of a day that will seal her with her love for life and that as a bonus I get to be with family. I am enamored by how much Corey's parents love our children, I never had grandparents like them, it is a treat to see their adoration and hear their words of praise for the mother I am learning to be. I am trying so hard.
But in all my genuine excitement there is this really ugly, selfish, deceitful story playing out in my thoughts. Thoughts of wanting to have free time to myself, of leaving my children with my in-laws for countless hours so I can just be by myself, go shopping, buy things I can't afford and don't need just because my husband isn't around to maintain my accountability. I've thought of shoes and purses I want, expensive meals I want to eat and movies I want to see. Now, these things, in and of themselves and not entirely negative, but how I covet them, how I think of them often and devise ways in my mind to hide the spent money from my family is pure greed and pure sin. I had to write it here because with each day I felt my grip on reality passing and found these plans making ever more sense. So yes, I will probably eat at my favorite couple of spots, and yes, I might even do a tiny bit of shopping, but here and now I stand up against the prowling lion of deceit and declare that it will all be open, all be honest, I will not let him win.
The shame of these thoughts has been brought to light not entirely by my own conscious, but also by my recent exposure to Compassion International and their recent project of sending popular bloggers to impoverished countries that they might share their experiences with their readers and some how inspire them to sponsor a child. I also thought these things were shams, that somehow my $30 a month was going into a greedy pocket somewhere, but after reading this and this I am all the more aware of how backwards our American thinking is when looking at the scope of everywhere else. GOD. I'm wanting a new bag and purse and then wondering if we can afford $38 a month so some kids some where can have a meal a week. Yeah. A WEEK. We can afford it, we will, we have to. How could we face our own children and say that we refused? I have never done this before, because it seemed so trivial, it never seemed like enough, but I wonder what ever would? I think that is the greatest scheme against changing this world, the whispers that one small act of generosity won't go far enough so why even do anything?
But it's wrong. That prince of darkness is wrong.
How beautiful and good could it be if everyone on your street sponsored one child? That could be what? 6? 10 children going to school, eating, given a chance to change their life that they might turn around and change others?
One YES means a thousand nos.
It means saying no to complacency, to self doubt, to selfishness and greed.
If there is ANY way you can make this work with what you have, won't you? Isn't that what this life is all about...taking care of those who need it?
Pick one HERE.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
married
Ok so it stewed a really long time.
I, in my college naivety, never expected to find myself nearly 5 years married with two children in 2010.
I never thought I would love a job with no paycheck and no glamour.
I couldn't have imagined that teaching my little boy to pee pee in the toilet would bring so much joy.
Or that being selfless with my soulmate would take so much work.
So I didn't grow up knowing much about marriage except that my mom didn't seem to care for it much. She had a rough time with it, so I pretty much abandoned the idea all together. But now I am married to this incredible man, a man who has worked so hard for 8 years to be at this place where his childhood dream of being a doctor is finally realized. A man who loved me enough to save his touch, his kisses, until our wedding day. A man who is a better father than I ever imagined. In this day it seems that women have this issue with supporting their husbands, that somehow the act of having dinner ready when your man comes home is some sign of weakness, that putting on makeup and attractive clothes that only he will see is some form of chauvinism, that washing all the clothes and dishes without expectation of an even share of said workload indicates imbalance.
I. LOVE. supporting. my. husband.
This is a great job and one that I believe in whole heartedly. A man needs to feel respected, he needs his home to be a safe place, a haven and sanctuary from the harrowing forces of negativity out in the dark workplace; he needs his wife to be his helper. I'm no expect, I have only 5 years of experience, but I'm confident in these truths.
I've been praying and studying this a lot as of late and am coming to find that the more I deny my selfish impulses, the more I choose to love and give to Corey WITHOUT expectation of some other favor in return, as I choose to hold grudges less and show grace more, the more love he shows me, the more appreciative are his words, the more affectionate are his embraces. All my life I thought I needed some high profile title to matter, but I see now that what I do for Corey, the smile I put on every day for his arrival home, the effort I put into cooking him healthy meals, having the children clean and in good moods, budgeting our money appropriately, keeping no secrets, I see how all of these things are noble and grand in a secret way. Corey's strength and integrity at work are tied to me, intertwined in who I am to him at home and that is a great privilege.
I see so often in the grocery store parking lots and restaurant booths the wife who is sending her marriage down a pitiful spiral by her snide words. I hear them, those knives of "Why would you do that, are you stupid?" The short spoken directions. The woman who walks 10 paces ahead while her husband is left behind wondering what he did wrong, where he went wrong. I don't want to be that. I want to walk hand in hand with my man, even if his pace is a little slower. I want to be so much that his eyes dare not wander. I want to be the grace he receives when failure meets him at work, at home, anywhere.
This isn't easy. Ever. It's a choice EVERYday for me to put him first and trust that he has a good heart that will not take for granted the things I do. Even when he IS taking me for granted, I have to choose to trust that he will see it, that I don't have to point out ALL the things I do for him because our love is such that truth is always at the surface, gratitude the buoy keeping us afloat together.
There are days, weeks even, when I've done every inch of everything for our home. Cared for our children, laundered, washed, swept, mopped, dusted, mowed, repaired, made special meals, baked special treats, bought special gifts, left love notes, offered myself. There are weeks when I get a lot of thank yous and weeks when they are few, but it doesn't matter because Corey is a gift and a privilege and in the end what would I rather have said of me? That I fought for fairness? Or that I gave my all selflessly and, unexpectedly, gained so much in return.
I, in my college naivety, never expected to find myself nearly 5 years married with two children in 2010.
I never thought I would love a job with no paycheck and no glamour.
I couldn't have imagined that teaching my little boy to pee pee in the toilet would bring so much joy.
Or that being selfless with my soulmate would take so much work.
So I didn't grow up knowing much about marriage except that my mom didn't seem to care for it much. She had a rough time with it, so I pretty much abandoned the idea all together. But now I am married to this incredible man, a man who has worked so hard for 8 years to be at this place where his childhood dream of being a doctor is finally realized. A man who loved me enough to save his touch, his kisses, until our wedding day. A man who is a better father than I ever imagined. In this day it seems that women have this issue with supporting their husbands, that somehow the act of having dinner ready when your man comes home is some sign of weakness, that putting on makeup and attractive clothes that only he will see is some form of chauvinism, that washing all the clothes and dishes without expectation of an even share of said workload indicates imbalance.
I. LOVE. supporting. my. husband.
This is a great job and one that I believe in whole heartedly. A man needs to feel respected, he needs his home to be a safe place, a haven and sanctuary from the harrowing forces of negativity out in the dark workplace; he needs his wife to be his helper. I'm no expect, I have only 5 years of experience, but I'm confident in these truths.
I've been praying and studying this a lot as of late and am coming to find that the more I deny my selfish impulses, the more I choose to love and give to Corey WITHOUT expectation of some other favor in return, as I choose to hold grudges less and show grace more, the more love he shows me, the more appreciative are his words, the more affectionate are his embraces. All my life I thought I needed some high profile title to matter, but I see now that what I do for Corey, the smile I put on every day for his arrival home, the effort I put into cooking him healthy meals, having the children clean and in good moods, budgeting our money appropriately, keeping no secrets, I see how all of these things are noble and grand in a secret way. Corey's strength and integrity at work are tied to me, intertwined in who I am to him at home and that is a great privilege.
I see so often in the grocery store parking lots and restaurant booths the wife who is sending her marriage down a pitiful spiral by her snide words. I hear them, those knives of "Why would you do that, are you stupid?" The short spoken directions. The woman who walks 10 paces ahead while her husband is left behind wondering what he did wrong, where he went wrong. I don't want to be that. I want to walk hand in hand with my man, even if his pace is a little slower. I want to be so much that his eyes dare not wander. I want to be the grace he receives when failure meets him at work, at home, anywhere.
This isn't easy. Ever. It's a choice EVERYday for me to put him first and trust that he has a good heart that will not take for granted the things I do. Even when he IS taking me for granted, I have to choose to trust that he will see it, that I don't have to point out ALL the things I do for him because our love is such that truth is always at the surface, gratitude the buoy keeping us afloat together.
There are days, weeks even, when I've done every inch of everything for our home. Cared for our children, laundered, washed, swept, mopped, dusted, mowed, repaired, made special meals, baked special treats, bought special gifts, left love notes, offered myself. There are weeks when I get a lot of thank yous and weeks when they are few, but it doesn't matter because Corey is a gift and a privilege and in the end what would I rather have said of me? That I fought for fairness? Or that I gave my all selflessly and, unexpectedly, gained so much in return.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
jumbles
I've been jotting down ideas on this imaginary notepad in my mind for a long time. Ideas for things to write here, things I want to tell people but don't have the guts, things I'll never tell anyone, and mostly ideas for a book. Corey pokes me in the ribs about writing a book anytime we read a new one that is particularly engaging or watch a movie about some aspiring writer. Last night we finished "Julie & Julia" which I found surprisingly lovely. My problem is, I think I'm subconsciously coming up with ideas for everyone else. I want to write something that will please people, but nothing genuine ever comes from that so I always end up stuck and not believing in myself. I also wonder if I should write something completely fictional or stick to what I know and add a little of myself to the mix. It just seems so daunting, like a project I'll start and then stick in the corner hoping to finish if I keep it in sight, the one that just gets junk stacked on it. If only I could find a story deep within me that I could write just for myself...I think that would be the one worth reading.
I have another post I really want to write about my odd view of my role in this marriage of mine, but I need to get some rest. I'll let it stew a bit before I open the lid here.
I have another post I really want to write about my odd view of my role in this marriage of mine, but I need to get some rest. I'll let it stew a bit before I open the lid here.
Monday, February 22, 2010
late
It's 326am. By all means I should be sleeping, but a wicked cold, too much decongestant and lingering thoughts keep me diligent in my sleeplessness. I am thinking about today, about the ups and downs and bouts on inspiration. My son has decided to turn fit enamored on us and I am at a loss as to how to handle both it and his verbal defiance. It is a huge part of our day to day right now but somehow also seems so trivial as I know it is a season, that consistent discipline and an ability to hold my ground will, in time, change his ways. And even though I know this, I can't seem to stop complaining about it. I hear the words come from me, talk of his actions and my absent husband and it just disappoints me. I am content in my circumstances, I love this life and what I am able to do but for some reason I also tend toward attention seeking behavior, craving pity and sympathy that I really don't need. The grace of those around me abounds and I realize that maybe I should lend a little more to myself.
I keep thinking about my strengths and weaknesses, the chances I could take in my life to live bigger and bolder and have fewer regrets. I'm so safe right now, so afraid to let go of the simplicity of our life, so afraid to listen to the voice of nonsensical decisions that would likely lead to pure joy and less control. I feel a whisper that our family is not meant to stay small, that God has plans to prosper us, that he trusts us with many lives and many souls but that means less order, less outings, even less time to connect with Corey. But it also means more life, more love to give and receive. Corey and I hope to bring a new and fresh start to a little life somewhere, to take a child into our family who is wanting for one, but I feel a deep pull inside telling me that adoption will become a joyous addiction. When, where and how many children is vague. Our hearts are open.
The chance I know is begging to be taken lies in serving, in giving my all to this community, in being a shepherd of lost youths. The network of needy young people in the high schools of Southside Peoria beckon both Corey and I, but we feign to jump in and do something. The time commitment is petrifying in our world of limited togetherness, but I wonder too how choosing to save and impact these lives in our own small way might bring us closer in monumental ones. I doubt our ability to do enough with these small children in tow, instead of just stepping out on faith and trying, I hold back and wait for the pieces to be shown. I want clarity. What I need is trust.
"God doesn't require us to succeed; He only requires that you try." -Mother Teresa
I keep thinking about my strengths and weaknesses, the chances I could take in my life to live bigger and bolder and have fewer regrets. I'm so safe right now, so afraid to let go of the simplicity of our life, so afraid to listen to the voice of nonsensical decisions that would likely lead to pure joy and less control. I feel a whisper that our family is not meant to stay small, that God has plans to prosper us, that he trusts us with many lives and many souls but that means less order, less outings, even less time to connect with Corey. But it also means more life, more love to give and receive. Corey and I hope to bring a new and fresh start to a little life somewhere, to take a child into our family who is wanting for one, but I feel a deep pull inside telling me that adoption will become a joyous addiction. When, where and how many children is vague. Our hearts are open.
The chance I know is begging to be taken lies in serving, in giving my all to this community, in being a shepherd of lost youths. The network of needy young people in the high schools of Southside Peoria beckon both Corey and I, but we feign to jump in and do something. The time commitment is petrifying in our world of limited togetherness, but I wonder too how choosing to save and impact these lives in our own small way might bring us closer in monumental ones. I doubt our ability to do enough with these small children in tow, instead of just stepping out on faith and trying, I hold back and wait for the pieces to be shown. I want clarity. What I need is trust.
"God doesn't require us to succeed; He only requires that you try." -Mother Teresa
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Abba
I've heard people familiarize their relationship with God as a grander, more abstract paternal bond. It makes sense on one hand, that God, Abba, Father, would seem to us much like our earthly dads, but then it doesn't add up for me. I never knew my dad, don't have even one memory of him. Does that make God absent for me?
Lack of "religion" in my early years was really not a curse. Though many heart wrenching mistakes were made that may have been prevented with a stronger moral code, they are what brought me to a place of humility that God himself used to make His way in. In the same way, growing up without a father meant that the idea of Abba was new and fresh to me, I have no hurt feelings or regrets when it comes to Him because I have no real "daddy issues." To me, God is real, and strong and full of love and grace and openness. I can talk to him knowing that He is content just to know that I approach him with my whole self, that He doesn't judge or condemn my words but rather, is overjoyed that I took the time to bring them before Him. The only kink in this is that having an emotional bond with God is constantly trying, it nudges at me incessantly and I can't seem to make any headway.
I fight with myself and my own judgment of those women whose love for the Lord is fierce and tearful. I, all in one breath, envy and doubt their passion. I ache for such a connection but just can't seem to let myself believe that theirs is true and genuine as opposed to a charade. This is one more brick from my wall of sin that seems mortared so deep as to be impenetrable. I find it true of so many relationships as well. Even in my marriage I go to bed feeling as if there is a deeper connection Corey and I are meant to have, would have, if I would just choose not to hold back. Maybe that is a whole other post in and of itself.
In writing this I empty the contents of my deepest pocket of regret. I also realize that to admit it is to begin to change, to look hard at myself and my shortcomings that I might one day pull out a victory rather than another coin for the fountain of who I'm not supposed to be. God doesn't want me to feel that I don't feel enough, He wants me to be free. God as my father. Wanting my happiness above all else, for in that state, I am of most value.
Lack of "religion" in my early years was really not a curse. Though many heart wrenching mistakes were made that may have been prevented with a stronger moral code, they are what brought me to a place of humility that God himself used to make His way in. In the same way, growing up without a father meant that the idea of Abba was new and fresh to me, I have no hurt feelings or regrets when it comes to Him because I have no real "daddy issues." To me, God is real, and strong and full of love and grace and openness. I can talk to him knowing that He is content just to know that I approach him with my whole self, that He doesn't judge or condemn my words but rather, is overjoyed that I took the time to bring them before Him. The only kink in this is that having an emotional bond with God is constantly trying, it nudges at me incessantly and I can't seem to make any headway.
I fight with myself and my own judgment of those women whose love for the Lord is fierce and tearful. I, all in one breath, envy and doubt their passion. I ache for such a connection but just can't seem to let myself believe that theirs is true and genuine as opposed to a charade. This is one more brick from my wall of sin that seems mortared so deep as to be impenetrable. I find it true of so many relationships as well. Even in my marriage I go to bed feeling as if there is a deeper connection Corey and I are meant to have, would have, if I would just choose not to hold back. Maybe that is a whole other post in and of itself.
In writing this I empty the contents of my deepest pocket of regret. I also realize that to admit it is to begin to change, to look hard at myself and my shortcomings that I might one day pull out a victory rather than another coin for the fountain of who I'm not supposed to be. God doesn't want me to feel that I don't feel enough, He wants me to be free. God as my father. Wanting my happiness above all else, for in that state, I am of most value.
Monday, February 15, 2010
closeness
I have a difficult time with relationships. Growing up close friends were lacking, I spent most of my time wandering from one group to another, desperate to fit in though aching to be different. I wanted to be beautiful yet mysterious, popular and chased after.
I never made it.
I got invited to a few of the "cool" parties only to make the most detrimental choices of my adolescence and secretly had the most fun hanging out with the "dorks," who accepted me for who I was even though I hardly knew myself at all. So these inconsistency created a void in me when it comes to letting people in, revealing the truth of who I am and what I feel and where I stand on things. I find it to be true in some form even now, even after God has been doing a powerful work in me for over 8 years.
There are friends here in this new place that I feel the Spirit speaking into my heart, friends that I am being called to let in, to be real and vulnerable with, to tell them the things I always hold back. But I'm AFRAID.
The three women in my life that I consider the closest of friends were all born of adversity. We struggled through things together, they told me the hard truths and I, in turn, denied my selfishness to speak truth into their lives. Why, then, do I find it so hard to try again? Why am I so afraid of rejection that I let loneliness take it's place instead of taking the risk? I'm tired of masking my shallowness with a smile, but where to begin is the true challenge. I guess you just dive in, knowing that the buoy of acceptance is just as close as the anchor of betrayal and that no matter the outcome, eventually you'll make your way back to the surface.
I never made it.
I got invited to a few of the "cool" parties only to make the most detrimental choices of my adolescence and secretly had the most fun hanging out with the "dorks," who accepted me for who I was even though I hardly knew myself at all. So these inconsistency created a void in me when it comes to letting people in, revealing the truth of who I am and what I feel and where I stand on things. I find it to be true in some form even now, even after God has been doing a powerful work in me for over 8 years.
There are friends here in this new place that I feel the Spirit speaking into my heart, friends that I am being called to let in, to be real and vulnerable with, to tell them the things I always hold back. But I'm AFRAID.
The three women in my life that I consider the closest of friends were all born of adversity. We struggled through things together, they told me the hard truths and I, in turn, denied my selfishness to speak truth into their lives. Why, then, do I find it so hard to try again? Why am I so afraid of rejection that I let loneliness take it's place instead of taking the risk? I'm tired of masking my shallowness with a smile, but where to begin is the true challenge. I guess you just dive in, knowing that the buoy of acceptance is just as close as the anchor of betrayal and that no matter the outcome, eventually you'll make your way back to the surface.
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