I set aside The Control Freak for an hour this week and helped the kids sign and assemble their Valentines. This is a fun age full of independence and exploration. I need to remember moments like this in the midst of the screaming, hair pulling, door slamming moments.
Thomas: “Are we going to see no one today?”
Me: “We’re going to see Noah!”
“Nooooooo! I’m talking about if we’re going to see NO ONE!”
“Yes, we’re seeing someone.”
“STOP IT! I’M ASKING IF WE’RE GOING TO SEE NO ONE TODAY!”
[deep breath] “No, we’re not seeing No One today.”
“Who are we going to see?”
“Noah!”
[giggles] “I fought you said we won’t going to see no one. Siwwy mommy.”
To clarify, the fall came as she was arguing with me about quitting her task. When she’s got her wits about her, she’s a very careful kid. I’ve never had to worry about her on play equipment or anything – she’s always had a steady foot.
But on this particular occasion she whined about quitting her task, and I insisted she finish the job she started. She screamed at me and tried to quickly get down (read: run away in mid air), and ended up bouncing off a few drawers on her way down.
She managed to bruise only her ego, and I had the opportunity to explain why things don’t always go well for her.
A truly remarkable performance by Jennifer Hudson at The Grammy’s – both in talent and bravery – in her second public appearance since the shooting death of her mother, brother, and nephew.
I applaud her song choice for The Grammy’s. It seemed a very intentional one that told her story of grief and healing, punctuated by her slight emotional faltering toward the end. When I searched for the song on iTunes later I almost couldn’t find it because it wasn’t her most popular song at the time. I suspect it will be now.
She obviously finds healing in music, and that is something I can relate to.
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Update: Opps, looks like the Grammy’s pulled that video. Try this one.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence I’m reading through the book of Job during a time when we find ourselves without steady income – it lends itself to having clear perspective on what we do have.
We are healthy. Our children are adorable and well adjusted. We are wealthy in our friends.
It’s a funny thing about seasons that end – all those things you’ve been dreaming about doing but have been too tied down to explore, they suddenly seem possible.
We’re notorious for having 3am conversations after the dog or our bladder wakes us up and our minds are too wired to sleep again. These conversations ebb and flow between endless possibilities and the fear of losing our house. But so far we keep each other afloat, avoiding a mutual downward spiral.
Last night as I went to bed I felt heavy and emotionally exhausted. The weight of an unknown future was settling in on me, and I lamented over the seemingly endless cycle of grieving over the years – the death, burial, and resurrection of my will that occurs when Things Change and People Go.
But the light that appears in my tunnel reminds me I’m not the same woman as when I grieved the death of someone dear to me four years ago.
Since then I’ve grieved the loss of my emotional stability, my marital harmony, an outrageous income, failed expectations, missed connections, a dog, friends, and now, the loss of community we once had through a job. I’ve seen loss restored before, and it gives me hope. But I’ve also seen loss remain lost, and while technically I survived it, I carry around the weight of something not there.
I write this at 2am. Bryan and I woke an hour ago, and we assessed where we are in the emotional cycle of ebb and flow as we tried to get back to sleep. And where I’m at is this: whenever I experience loss it reminds me how much I rely on things staying the same. Why couldn’t Lucy be more like Scout? Why did Thomas have to learn to say “ganoga bar” and “bacado” correctly? Why can’t I get Ruthie’s hair quite the same way it was when she was three?
These creature comforts reveal my loss of identity – I am a second generation immigrant with one foot in the world I came to and another in the world I’m from. Job did not have this identity crisis – at least not from what I can tell in nineteen chapters. Job understood he belonged to God, and while he may have wished for death to relieve him of his suffering, he never cursed God for his loss. In chapter 12 beginning at verse 13 he says,
True wisdom and real power belong to God;
from him we learn how to live,
and also what to live for.
If he tears something down, it’s down for good;
if he locks people up, they’re locked up for good.
If he holds back the rain, there’s a drought;
if he lets it loose, there’s a flood.
Strength and success belong to God;
both deceived and deceiver must answer to him.
So for now I take comfort in knowing this is not some sort of cosmic accident. I don’t necessarily believe God is on his throne directing events like an operatic orchestra, but I am reminded of the paradox of his star hanging awesomeness while counting the hairs on my head. He is big, and approachable. He is mighty and gentle. He is warrior and judge and redeemer and comforter.
And as I head back to bed, he fills my mind again with endless possibilities.
Ebb and flow.
Trusting God With Your Dreams – Conversion Diary
Oh, let me count the ways in which I love this post:
1. It’s about dreaming big, yet relinquishing control.
2. It’s about seizing the opportunities in front of you, yet relinquishing control.
3. It’s about finding joy in the unexpected and (say it with me) relinquishing control.
“…either I don’t really believe that God called me to do it, or I’m just not willing to truly trust and relinquish control and admit that it might not play out the exact way I wanted it to. I’ve realized recently that it’s the latter.”
Hope is precious during difficult seasons – Difficult Seasons
Jim found me first, though I can’t remember how. I think he commented on my blog. I really appreciate the theme of his blog, and the insights and encouragement it provides. For those just catching up, Bryan is currently between jobs. We’ve been here before, and I know we’ll be okay. Hope is alive, particularly in that spark that ignites our fire for each other. To me, maintaining that connection is second only to seeing the hope of Christ when traversing across the valley of an unknown future.
Me: “Thomas, you’re doing a great job coloring!”
Thomas: “Do you wike dis cowah mama?”
Me: “Yes, that’s a very pretty color.”
Thomas: “Okay. Then I’ll cowah ah of de pitchow in dis cowah.”
Me: [heart melting].
Last night in our community group the question was asked, Why did Jesus humble himself and come into human history? There are so many ways to answer this question, but as I read through Job this week I am surprised to find much of his lamenting is a plea for a Savior to spare him from the wrath of God. This is thousands of years before Jesus is born, and even before Isaiah prophesied of his coming.
Here are the passages I’ve come across so far:
Why don’t you just forgive my sins
and start me off with a clean slate?
(Job 7:21, The Message)
He is not a man like me that I might answer him,
that we might confront each other in court.
If only there were someone to arbitrate between us,
to lay his hand upon us both,
someone to remove God’s rod from me,
so that his terror would frighten me no more.
Then I would speak up without fear of him,
but as it now stands with me, I cannot.
(Job 9:32-35, NIV)
If we humans die, will we live again? That’s my question.
All through these difficult days I keep hoping,
waiting for the final change—for resurrection!
Homesick with longing for the creature you made,
you’ll call—and I’ll answer!
You’ll watch over every step I take,
but you won’t keep track of my missteps.
My sins will be stuffed in a sack
and thrown into the sea—sunk in deep ocean.
(Job 14:14-17, The Message)
I’m reading through the Bible chronologically for the first time since high school. The story of Jesus is woven through time, even before time began (In the beginning was the Word…). Man’s need for a Savior began the moment we tried to be like God, and throughout human history this longing is the seed that births all great stories – both fiction and non fiction.
Seeing the constancy of Jesus behind me is breathing life into my understanding of Jesus now and renewing my hope for Jesus in the future. The bottom may fall out from under me, the walls may cave in on all sides, but Jesus set the stars in the sky, defied death, and still calls me by name.
That is what I hang my hat on today.
Thomas: “Mommy, I’m vewy spwessed.”
Me: Stressed?”
“Spwessed.”
“Expressed?”
“SPWESSED!”
[deep breath]
“Spwessed about what?”
“I’m vewy spwessed about fouting.”
3-5 Time passed. Cain brought an offering to God from the produce of his farm. Abel also brought an offering, but from the firstborn animals of his herd, choice cuts of meat. God liked Abel and his offering, but Cain and his offering didn’t get his approval. Cain lost his temper and went into a sulk.
6-7 God spoke to Cain: “Why this tantrum? Why the sulking? If you do well, won’t you be accepted? And if you don’t do well, sin is lying in wait for you, ready to pounce; it’s out to get you, you’ve got to master it.”
(Genesis 4:3-7, The Message)
I’ve always read this passage with the emphasis on Cain’s inability to please God, wondering what hoops I have to jump through to make him happy. I still don’t understand why God rejected his offering, but today the emphasis strikes me differently. Today this phrase jumps off the page: Cain lost his temper and went into a sulk.
This completely changes the story for me.
How many times during the week do I lose my tempter and go into a sulk? I may not flop on the floor like a two year old, but my heart grows bitter and angry when circumstances prevent me from getting my way.
When my kids won’t leave me alone to read my book? Sulk. When my schedule fills up and I can’t write? Sulk. When my kids get sick and I have to cancel my plans? Sulk.
Enough sulk sessions in a row, and before you know it I’m spiraling into a depression.
When God speaks in verse 6-7, he does not address Cain’s offering and the reasons why he rejected it, he doesn’t address Cain’s actions. God addresses Cain’s attitude. He’s calling Cain out on his reaction. It seems the bigger issue to God is not what Cain does for him, but how he responds to him.
The NIV says it like this, “Then the LORD said to Cain, ‘Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.'”
Cain has a worship disfunction. Like me, he places a greater emphasis on what he wants the outcome to be, and when it doesn’t happen that way, he sulks. He does more than sulk, actually. He allowed his anger to master him.
Cain had words with his brother. They were out in the field; Cain came at Abel his brother and killed him (Genesis 4:8, The Message).
Anger gone mad.
What struck me as I read this, is God’s unfailing love toward me. He doesn’t say, If you don’t do well I will turn my back on you, or If you don’t do well I’ll stop loving you, or If you don’t do well I will make you suffer for it. He says, If you don’t do well, sin is lying in wait for you, ready to pounce.
God loves Cain, and he wants him to do the right thing. He knows if Cain steps outside of his “circle of safety,” he’ll be consumed by his own anger. I am loved by a God who looks through my actions and knows when my heart begins to grow bitter. I am loved by a God who doesn’t turn his back on me, but warns me when I’m putting myself in danger.
Truth be told, my heart’s been clenched, tight fisted, closed for a long time – the heart of Cain. But I feel sobered by this, the logical conclusion of Cain’s story, and I am motivated by God’s love as He continues to pursue me.
Motivated to change the way I react when circumstances don’t go my way: No more sulking!
Me: [hurling heavy items onto conveyor belt at Costco]
Costco check-out guy: Oh, these chicken wings will be awesome for your Superbowl party!
Me: [panic. There’s a Superbowl? I’m throwing a party? I don’t remember scheduling a party!] Uh…
Costco check-out guy: There’s a gal down there dressed all in [names colors of team I can’t recall].
Me: Wow.
Costco check-out guy: So who are you rooting for?
Me: [panic. I know there’s two teams, but WHICH ONES ARE THEY?] Actually, I’m a pretty big fan of the commercials.
Costco check-out guy: [stares at me like my third head just exploded.]
Me: Have a nice day!
Meditations on an Insulin Pump – Practical Theology for Women
“the greatness of the treasure isn’t marred by the fragility of the vessel”
The C-word – Finslippy
“why do we feel that in order for our opinion to be right, we have to make sure that everyone who feels differently is wrong? ”
In Defense of Conservative Blogging – Mandajuice
“First, and most important, is that you will never catch me in the business of trying to change someone’s mind about politics. The ONLY reason I even hazard to bring it up here on my boob-juice blog is because it bothers me that there are so few conservative mommy-bloggers out there. And then I hit myself upside the head and think DUH – there probably ARE at least some of us out there, we’re just so used to being the minority that we mostly shut up and play dead.”
Effective the first of this year our city’s solid waste contract renewed, making some improvements. Our trash can used to be as big as the can on the far right, and our recycling containers were three small stackable crates I needed to haul out from the back each week to put out for pickup – a huge pain in the neck, particularly during rainy season. The crates were always overflowing, and stuff would always fall out or blow away. Inevitably, we had to add more recycling containers of our own to hold all the recycling we had each week.
The changes in our solid waste pickup did away with the small recycling crates, and we were given the gigantic blue bin in the middle. I heart this blue bin. It’s on wheels. It has a handle. It’s gigantic (did I mention that?). And with the blue bin we were given a list of new things we’re able to recycle, reducing our trash even more.
Which is a good thing, because do you see how tiny our green trash bin on the left is? I would say it’s about the size just right for a five year old to stand in comfortably – not that I’ve considered the pro’s/con’s of putting a five year old in my trash can. Nope. Haven’t considered that.
The tricky thing about this new contract, though, is our trash now gets picked up EVERY OTHER WEEK. So, a trash bin about half the size we’re used to now has to last twice as long. *Gulp.* But guess what? We’ve survived!
I was skeptical at first, and assumed we’d need to request (and pay extra for) a larger bin. But along with increasde recycling allowances, we’ve also been given the go-ahead to put all of our food waste in the yard bin on the right. Yay!
This has also made a drastic difference in our trash disposal. We used to empty our kitchen trash every day or two, but now we go several days before needing to empty it. And really, the only thing in it anymore are the plastic bread bags, cling wrap, and other plastics that aren’t recyclable.
I’m not sure I would have made these changes had they not been introduced by the city. First of all, the recycling bins we had were inconvenient. Secondly, There was a limit on the type of items we could recycle. But in general, I didn’t make much effort to recycle, and often threw recyclables in the trash out of laziness and convenience. But seeing the difference in size between the trash can and the recycling and yard waste bins was an eye opener to the amount of trash I was used to throwing away, and that kind of awareness works for me!
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To read more Works for Me ideas, visit Rocks in My Dryer!
Bryan: “Hey, I got a new iPhone app called iSteam.”
(he blows on his phone, it steams, he wipes it off).
Jen: “What does it do?”
“That. What it just did.”
“It steams up and you wipe it off?”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s it?”
[pause]
“It was free.”
After a summer of abnormal female issues I won’t get into except to say I took one pregnancy test (negative), I finally went to my Fabulous Doctor. I explained my female issues to her, and in passing conversation also mentioned I was tired all the time. Like, dragging all day, napping in the afternoon and still falling asleep early in the evening.
After taking my blood pressure, she was concerned. I’m normally low, but on that day I was 78/50. The low end of the normal range (I think) is 90/60. I’m used to doctors asking if I feel feint when I stand up or change positions, and I never am. I’m just normally low. But, I don’t recall ever being THIS low.
So she had my blood tested for hormone issues, adrenal gland issues, thyroid issues, iron issues, and a whole bunch of other issues. All came back normal, except that I’m anemic. For no apparent reason.
Since I prefer CLEARLY EXPLAINABLE diagnoses over Well, It Could Be’s, all the worst possible scenarios were running through my head.
But I’m sure it’s nothing.
Fast forward through the holidays to early January when I finally went by the Fabulous Doctor’s office to pick up all the little brown bottles full of magic liquids she set aside for me. After six months of lethargy, lost libido, and a particularly depressing December, I was feeling extra gloomy about the possibility of anything ever feeling good and happy ever again.
But after just a couple weeks of taking all of her magic potions I feel as invincible as Iron Man. I wake up early, I Get Things Done, I keep moving, I’m nice, I don’t crash in the afternoon, and I go to bed appropriately tired and feeling a sense of accomplishment.
Oh, and I’m really excited about … coloring… again (*cough*).
I’ve even gone so far as to wearing make-up and jewelry and shirts with actual buttons. This was largely unheard of even before all the strange symptoms set in, so apparently the potions in those little brown bottles also remedy slovenliness.
At any rate, I feel stellar. I’m catching up on things I’ve let go around the house, and I’m expecting to find more time to write.
Now, if only there were magic potions for potty training uninterested four year old boys…