borrowed thoughts ... on hardship

[from Ruth Bell Graham's book, Legacy of a Pack Rat, a collection of quotes, anecdotes, original poetry & musings]

".... we who strangely went astray
Lost in a bright
meridian night
A darkness made of too much day." 

~ Richard Crashaw (1613-49)

"There is a story of the fishermen working in the North Sea off England bringing in their catch to the Billingsgate Wharf in the city of London.  The fish, many of which had been caught days previously, were flabby.  But one fisherman always had firm, fresh fish.  However, he would not divulge his secret.  After his death, his daughter passed it along.  He always kept catfish in the well of the ship where the fish were stored.  The catfish kept the other fish in such a constant state of irritation they did not have the opportunity to grow flabby."

"Many seem patient when they are not pricked."

~ Richard Rolle, 13th century

"Men strive for peace, but it is their enemies that give them strength, and I think if man no longer had enemies, he would have to invent them, for his strength only grows from struggle." 

~ Zachary Verne, The Lonesome Gods, by Louis L'Amour

"Hearty through hardship."

~ George MacDonald

                        Blinking
                        back the tears,
                        I'm thinking,
                        may just clear
                        the heart for sight;
                        as windshield wipers
                        help us on
                        a stormy, windswept
                        night.

"And when the storm is passed, the brightness for which He is preparing us will shine out unclouded, and it will be Himself." 

~ Mother Graham, to her companion, Rose Adams, on the death of Rose's husband

"As the years passed she was disturbed, almost alarmed, by the growing peace and serenity of her days.  Surely it was wrong to be so happy.  Then abruptly she knew it was not wrong.  This was the ending of her days on earth, the dawn of her heavenly days, and it had been given to her to feel the sun on her face." 

~ Miss Montague in The Dean's Watch, by Elizabeth A. Goudge

sacrifice of praise

Though the fig tree should not blossom

And there be no fruit on the vines,

Though the yield of the olive should fail

And the fields produce no food,

Though the flock should be cut off from the fold

And there be no cattle in the stalls,

Yet I will exult in the LORD,

I will rejoice in the God of my salvation.

The Lord GOD is my strength,

And He has made my feet like hinds' feet,

And makes me walk on my high places.

Habakkuk 3:17-19

promises for the crucible

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!

What more can He say than to you He hath said,

To you, who for refuge to Jesus have fled?

"Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed,

For I am thy God, I will still give thee aid;

I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by My gracious, omnipotent hand.

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow;

For I will be with thee thy trials to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

"When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,

My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;

The flames shall not hurt thee, I only design

Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine."

by George Keith

fake it till you make it

I lied to dozens of people at church, just three days ago.

I woke up that morning feeling as fine as I can at 5:42 a.m., with no intentions of being dishonest to anyone, least of all my church family.  But somehow as the morning unrolled, the fine feeling rolled off to somewhere dark and dusty and I (and my family) was left with a sharply fragile shell of my former self.

I was impatient, irritable, and desperately unhappy.  I felt my all failings instead of all His faithfulness, and believed every lie thrown my way.  Disorganized - yes.  Undisciplined - true.  Alone - always.  Ugly - yes.  Unlovable - that, too.

By the time I got to church I was in bad need of it, but too battered to ask for help.  I never answer "fine" to "how are you" but I did that morning, to everyone who asked.  Anything more truthful would have shaken out an overflowing I wasn't ready for.  I wore the churchy smile I so despise, hiding myself behind "Good morning" and a handshake.

The funny thing is, after two hours of church and another of the unexpected [forgotten] fellowship meal ... I was starting to believe my own act.

It was like a piano piece, played so often your fingers can play it in your sleep, that saves the day when your mind forgets.  Or kneading bread, or riding a bike, or dialing your sister's number, or any of those things that your body knows more deeply than your brain, and can carry on without your conscious thought, but if you stop to think about it, you lose your rhythm, your balance.  My act carried me.

It made me think that maybe, for all the value I place on honest vulnerability, perhaps there is value, too, in acting on what's true, even when your heart can't see it.  Not to deceive, but to stand witness to what really is, instead of what really isn't.

What do you say to this?  Truth?  A fake escape?  Courage or cop-out?

[And if you're tempted to say "I told you so" (as I'm sure at least one of you is), forebear.  Lessons do not come to us all in the same order, else what would we need grace for?]

coward?

[looking back, today....]

According to wikipedia (sorry, Webster) a coward is someone who "is perceived to fail to demonstrate sufficient robustness and courage in the face of a challenge."  Hmmm..... I find life to be vastly challenging, and some days I'd love to be rescued from it all.  

I think I might be a coward. 

Parenting, for starters, feels like driving in a high-speed race – the smallest actions fraught with peril & significance; one false move and you total the car. Marriage, and friendships in general, are likewise complex and easily injured.  Thanks to psychology, even cleaning and eating and simple pleasures are redolent of internal neuroses.  

If I have a finite task in front of me – change this diaper, say, or clean out this closet, or navigate with love this one conversation about mother-daughter relationships or welfare or faith vs. works – difficult or messy though it may be, a single task feels doable. The challenge in life's difficulties is not knowing their boundaries, how long they'll last.

I just read something recently on the subject of difficulty, and escape.  I've been worrying it in my mind, trying to find out the truth of it:

"The Christian walk is not a quiet escape to a garden where we can walk and talk uninterruptedly with our Lord ... The Christian life is going to God. In going to God Christians travel the same ground that everyone else walks on, breathe the same air, drink the same water, ... pay the same prices for groceries and gasoline, fear the same dangers, are subject to the same pressures, get the same distresses, are buried in the same ground.

"The difference is that each step we walk, each breath we breathe, we know we are preserved by God, we know we are accompanied by God, we know we are ruled by God; and therefore no matter what doubts we endure or what accidents we experience, the Lord will preserve us from evil, he will keep our life." [from A Long Obedience in the Same Direction by Eugene Peterson]

I guess I've thought that "the Christian walk" could (or should) be a "quiet escape to the garden" ... in fact, that's what I'd like some days - deliverance from difficulty, not merely help as I walk through it.  (You could say that I appear to lack sufficient "robustness and courage in the face of life's challenges".)  But, lacking a viable escape, I bluster on.

I wonder if this lack of robustness could stem from inaccurate expectations.  

Elsewhere in his book, Peterson says, 

"The world, in fact, is not as it has been represented to us.  Things are not all right as they are, and they are not getting any better.

"We have been told the lie ever since we can remember:  that human beings are basically nice and good. ... The world is a pleasant, harmless place.  ... If we are in chains now, it is someone's fault, and we can correct it with just a little more intelligence or effort or time.

"How we can keep on believing this after so many centuries of evidence to the contrary is difficult to comprehend, but nothing we do or nothing anyone else does to us seems to disenchant us from the spell of the lie.  We keep expecting things to get better, somehow. ... Convinced by the lie that what we are experiencing is unnatural, an exception, we devise ways to escape"

There's the rub.  If "life is good", if I alone in all the world am suffering, then the injustice, the loneliness of it burns more sharply than the suffering itself.  If all the world is wounded, though, then those around me are fellows in my grief, understanding sojourners helping and being helped in turn.

The optimist in me (despite it all) does not want to believe in a wounded world.  I want to see the blessings, choose to look at life with wonder and gratitude.  So is life good?  Or is it "but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage"?  [Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5]

Where to turn?  How to reconcile these two conflicting views?

The Master Potter, He who wields the clay to fit his will, reminds me of a verse I read this morning (the answer's always there):  

"let us draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith ....  Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds.  Let us not give up meeting together, ... but let us encourage one another ..."  [Hebrews 10:22, 24-25]

The world is wounded, but life - together - nevertheless is good.  We have God's grace, equipping us to love in the face of libel, do good despite our weariness and lack of trust.  We have God, and we have each other.

Courage! then, my fellow cowards - onward and upward!  Let us link arms and spur each other on, and be "robustness" for each other, filling in the gaps.

[first published 8-4-11]

focus

I've had a sore throat for over a week.  I'd had enough by day three, when I lost my voice.  Waking myself up at night coughing did nothing to improve my attitude.  Despite leading a talk on home remedies at our moms' group earlier this winter, I could not kick this cold.

It's Monday, after a full Easter.  My throat still hurts, and I'm drowning in hormones and breaking the yoke in my egg brought the tears this morning and boy, do I want to wallow.

But it's sunny outside, a glorious 50 degrees, and the Brandenburg concertos chirp exhortingly from the livingroom.  My son is bringing me Lego cars, and towers he's built for me.

It's time to re-focus.


Count them with me?

1- daffodils

2- bluebells!!

3 - sunshine & WARMTH

4 - in his own words:  "My stuffy nose is getting better, Mommy!"

5 - a flat tire, noticed close to home instead of halfway there

6 - that a cancelled meeting means a nap for me

7 - the first day of our spring break!!

8 - a filmy scarf from Italy (handed-down)

9 - my husband, calling from work

10 - hot tea for my throat

11 - a prayer for me

12 - one for a friend

13 - courage to ask about crowns

14 - a line-up of Lego creations, all made for me!

15 - his precision in naming colors, already

16 - that color exists!

17 - Glennon being brave on the Today show

18 - anticipating a "drop-in"  :)

19 - curly garlic

20 - tiny bare toes

21 - a boy who asks for snuggles

22 - sisters

23 - laughter

24 - Southern Comfort for a cold (?)

25 - colored glass

26 - shoes for all their feet

27 - wool yarn

28 - crayon art

29 - embroidered tea towels

30 - wooden cutting board

31 - brilliant smile of a cancer-fighting friend

32 - indigo, aquamarine, teal, cobalt, french navy - all the blues

33 - buttercup, sunshine, tangerine, Kubota - all the yellowy oranges

34 - Isaiah, running pell-mell toward the trashcan:  

"I've a fuzzy!! Catch 'im, catch 'im!!"

Well, my throat still hurts, but my heart is happier for the hunting.  God always does show up.

"You will seek me and find me 

when you seek me with all your heart."  

Jeremiah 29:13

weary & worn

{courtesy of Tenth Avenue North}

I’m tired, I’m worn;
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing.
I’ve made mistakes,
I’ve let my hope fail;
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world.

And I know that you can give me rest,
So I cry out with all that I have left:

Let me see redemption win!
Let me know the struggle ends;That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn!
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life,
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn ...
Cause I’m worn ...

I know I need to lift my eyes up -
But I'm too weak;
Life just won’t let up.

And I know that you can give me rest,
So I cry out with all that I have left:

Let me see redemption win!
Let me know the struggle ends;That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn!
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life,
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn ...
Cause I’m worn ...

My prayers are wearing thin ...
(Yeah, I’m worn)
Even before the day begins ...
(Yeah, I’m worn)
I’ve lost my will to fight ...
(I’m worn)
So, heaven come and flood my eyes!!

Let me see redemption win!
Let me know the struggle ends;That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn!
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life,
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn ...
Cause all that’s dead inside will be reborn!

Though I’m worn,
Yeah I’m worn ...

homesick

My Farmer taught from 1 Peter this morning in Sunday School.  We are sojourners, aliens, Peter reminds us.  This world is not our home.  We come from Heaven and everything here falls short.

"Write a letter home," my Farmer suggested, and handed paper around.  "Have you ever lived in another culture," he asked us, "even for a couple of weeks?  Pretend this, here, is that other culture, and write home to your Daddy about it."

I've lived in other cultures.  A winter in Baltimore, on the wrong side of town.  Eight months in Guatemala City.  Several semesters in a southern college town.  A summer in Georgia.  Two lonely years in Japan.

But lately I've been feeling more homesick than ever before in my life.  I don't have a death-wish, exactly, but I yearn for heaven, for a closeness to my Father that is unimpeded by earthly distractions and my own sin.  To be with him, to enjoy him, to know for the first time in my life the true depth of his love for me.  To be done with tired, and with tears.  That's what I'm made for; that's what my Home is like - joy, peace, authentic worship, unfettered communion with the Lover of my soul.

So unlike life here.

It was easy to write my letter.

Dear Daddy,
   I want to go home.  The people here don't know how to love.  They judge, take offense, are selfish and fearful and arrogant.  No one smiles very much, not like you.  No one seems to notice all the beauty you've made for them.
   It's all rubbing off on me.  I miss you - but I'm distracted with trying to fit in here - trying to belong. I find myself competing, wanting to be like them instead of like you.  I forget what you're like, sometimes.  I know you said I could call anytime, and I haven't lately.  I don't write very often, either, and although I read your letters when they come (thank you!), when I put them away, I usually forget what you wrote.
   I don't want to become like them.  I'm tired and confused and forgetful of my mission.
   Can you help me?

I went down to the service a little more raw than usual.  "Soon we will be coming home", we sang, and I couldn't keep back the longing tears.  The pastor spoke of Jesus' agony in Gethsemane and I cried again, to know that he, too, wanted out.  Yes, he chose obedience, but he so intensely desired to avoid it that he cried aloud and sweated drops of blood.  My God was human, too.


I am here on assignment, like Jesus was.  My assignment might look easy to you, but I am so weak that it seems hard to me.  I want to choose obedience, like Jesus did, but I long, some days, to give up, to be able to go back home to my Daddy where all is right again.

A lady at the grocery store this week struck up a conversation with me.  She mentioned working with music and I asked what she does.  "I sing for the dying," she said.  I could not imagine more beautiful work to do.  I told her about the time my daughters sang for me, and we both got goosebumps.

I would love to be sung right into heaven, into my Daddy's waiting arms, to hear him say, "There, there - it's all over now, you're home again.  You did good; I'm proud of you."  (that last I can hardly type; it feels like heresy to claim that for myself.)

But for now, I'm still here.  So are you.  Maybe you're homesick, too.


Sugar asked me one time - or was it Spice? - why God put us on earth in the first place.  Not why he made us, but why he didn't just make us and plop us in heaven, where we belonged.  Why subject us to life on earth, first?  I told her I didn't know (and I still don't) but that maybe it was because we appreciate something so much more when we've felt its lack, longed for it, and worked hard for it.

Maybe we can help each other, while we wait ... and maybe in the helping, we'll see that that's why we're here.

When we arrive at eternity's shore,
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more,
We'll enter in as the wedding bells ring -
Your bride will come together and we'll sing ... You're beautiful!
           [by Phil Wickham]

making lemonade

Something is occurring to me:  I'm stuck with me.

Seeing that, you might feel the urge to exhort me that I'm not just "stuck", I'm fearfully and wonderfully made!!!  Or you might want to remind me that others are a lot worse off than me, and I should be grateful for what I have.  You might even want to warn me that I'm sinning in my audacious lack of acceptance for how my Creator designed me.

Maybe you'd be right.

All I know is, since not much has changed in the last 38 years with regard to my basic temperament and aptitude (despite my best efforts to the contrary), I am probably pretty much stuck with being myself, so I might as well make the best of it.  (Not to worry:  I'm not talking about accepting sin in my life, or giving up on God's power to transform me.)  

I'm talking about looking myself square in the face and admitting that although I wasn't given some of the talents that others have, God did give me my own portion of strengths, and I might as well admit it.  That way I can get on with the business of developing them and using them for good, instead of grovelling at the feet of the people I think I should be.

As long as I want to be (or think I should be) someone else [someone organized, say, or someone whose house is always immaculate, someone who plans ahead and actually carries it out, or someone who is always prepared at any moment for anything, someone who is confident and energetic and virtuous], the person God made me to be goes to waste.

So.  There.  It feels like a breakthrough, so I wanted to tell you, but you probably won't be surprised to hear that I have no idea what comes next.

And I think that just might be the point, actually.

I read recently on a friend's facebook page:  

God is radically changing the way we depend on him.  God has been saying, "Stay behind me." I protested, "But God, don't you always tell your friends what you are doing?"  He said, "Yes, and I am telling you that you will not be able to know what I'm doing.  You know nothing about trusting me.  Stay behind me.  And don't peek!" 

We must be convinced in the deepest places that we can trust him.  We will depend on him fully only when we come to the end of ourselves.  [God] won't let any person or any thing on earth meet my needs but him, so that I won't trust in them.

"Stay behind me - and don't peek!"  He says.  

Huh.  

Looks like it might be time to learn to like surprises.

"deactivated"

Well, I did it:  I deactivated my facebook account.

And then I snuck back in on my Farmer's account to see if it worked.  It did.  I am really gone.  As in, even comments that I made yesterday on other people's statuses are just vanished into thin air.  As if I never really did exist.

I feel like a "disappeared" character from George Orwell's 1984 (which I keep saying I want to re-read; now that I'm deactivated maybe I'll have the time to do it).  I kind of expect to hear that someone's read my obituary in a very small newspaper somewhere.

Already I miss the interaction.  Pathetic, I know.  I thought, in the meantime, that I'd keep a record of things that I'm doing during time I might otherwise have spent on facebook, sort of by way of rationalizing my absence (or keeping myself from going back ASAP).

Today, so far, I have weeded flowerbeds, cleared the driveway of sticks with my children, with my son watched a tractor aerate the field, taken a nap, and rearranged my blog layout (moved "what's for supper" down a smidge and got rid of the "one thousand gifts" ongoing list at the bottom since I got to # 999 and quit recording).  And it's not even 3pm yet.....

See, it's good.  I can do this ....


..... right?

a leap!

I just watched someone jump this afternoon, and I must say it was inspiring.  Best wishes, my friend, and I look forward to regularly delivered installments of your cup of tea.

Smile, my readers:  life is not over - oh, not by a long shot - when you near the end of your fourth decade.  In fact, it may just be beginning ... again!  There are always new corners to be rounded, new rocks to be turned over, new pages to be flipped.

Hope is contagious.  May you catch some today!

blasphemy again

If you're a journal-er (like I used to be before blogging, before babies, before marriage), you probably go back from time to time to read about what was going on in your heart in months past.  Sometimes you get to cheer for yourself because you've conquered something, and sometimes you get to sigh because what you wrote three years ago, you need again.

I wrote this post about six months ago and already I need the reminder again, although not so much about blogging as about simplicity in life, and focusing on love.

Humility.    And courage.

: : :


[from the archives]


I was reading a great parenting book (well, “great” in that I learned some new tricks, not “great” in that I agreed with everything I read) by John Rosemond called Parent Power. Along with stage-by-stage general advice and some spot-on reminders of what life looks like from three feet tall, he addresses various “reader questions.” One of these is from a mom driving herself crazy worrying about a schooling decision for her four children. In his answer, he never actually addresses the schooling question, but he tells her that she has given herself the assignment of “Perfect Mom” and that that approaches blasphemy.

His statement jolted me. I thought we moms were supposed to aim for perfection – especially in anything having to do with our children!! I mean, I know, I know – “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) - but c'mon, how about “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48)?!

Hmmm..... so I've been chewing on that......and wondering how pervasive that "Perfect Mom" syndrome is in other areas of my life ….. say, blogging.....

I started my life: in short because I enjoy having a written record of my life (and, honestly, because so many of my facebook statuses exceed the 420-character limit). But after a few entries, I stop. Why?

It wasn't for a lack of ideas.

It was for a lack of polished ideas. I would have been okay writing daily to the faceless void of the internet whatever popped into my head …. except that I went and checked to see if anyone was reading it – and you were!! Scared, I popped back into my hole and only peeped out to check if the interest had died down yet.

In the meantime, I read Mike Yaconelli's book, Dangerous Wonder, and started on Brennan Manning's book, The Ragamuffin Gospel. Safety, both these men claim, is over-rated. Dare, they urge. Risk. Jump! God loves you.  He's got your back.

So I'm jumping.

Big deal, you say. It's just a blog. Everyone blogs. Well, okay. So my neuroses are as unique as the rest of me. I'm still having problems writing, knowing that people who know me might read it. (My husband, Farmer in the Dell, I think I'll call him, would tell me “simple – stop checking the stats page to see if anyone has read it.” Life is easy like that when you're my husband.)

Alright, catharsis finished for today. Off to check if the sheets on the line are dry, drop off a pack of night-time diapers for my son, Li'l Snip (who, with my three daughters, Sugar, Spice, & Everything Nice, is staying with my excellent in-laws this weekend!), and see if the discount grocery store has any dark chocolate to go with the surf-n-turf I promised my Farmer tonight. Anyone want to advise this chicken how to cook steak? (and no, we don't grill)..

5 minutes on growing

[the parameters:  gypsymama provides the topic; we write unedited for five minutes and stop no matter what when it is finished.  today's topic:  growing]

I'm thinking of that caterpillar again.  The one that, this morning, before we were up, cracked open the chrysalis and crawled into a new life.  I'm wondering, again, if its old caterpillar self was bewildered at the bright wet burden unfolding behind.  Did it rejoice in the color, the delicate unfurling proboscis it boasted, antennae fingering fresh air?

Can a caterpillar puzzle?

Can it count loss?  Did it dread the future, dragging those wings it wouldn't know could soar?  So slowly they dried.  Did they lighten, then, to spread for the first, unfolding finest velvety black and vermilion and cobalt?

I never saw it leave the leaf; the rain started and we left it, a windowscreen to shield it from the torrent.

[time's up.  is it cheating to add a picture now?  hope not].

why I love my body

[background:  reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts and being challenged to cultivate gratitude not just for life's warm fuzzies, but also for the very things that frustrate and disgruntle me.  Therefore, this post.]

I love my body ...

… because God made it, and what he makes is good.

… because my Farmer loves it.

… because four of the people I love most in the world have been nourished and given birth to by this body.

… for the hugs and smiles it can give to my children.

… because my “babies” need it, like a mother ship to which they return with regularity.

… for the interesting thoughts its brain can think.

… for the food that satisfies my family, made by these hands.

… because these arms have carried and comforted my little ones (not to mention given my Farmer a good run for his money, so he says, at arm-wrestling).

… for the bottoms wiped, knots untied, noses blown, toys mended, and tears dried by these fingers.

… for the songs this voice can sing.

… for these eyes that see so much, and take it in.

… for ears to hear the laughter, and the cries.

… for the strength in these legs, to walk, and walk, and walk – in the woods with my Farmer, at a park with my children, or in labor awaiting delivery.

… because without it, what would my soul wear?

refining

Does silver hurt, do you think, when its shape melts away in the crucible, and dross mars the mirror, twisted and black and ugly?

Does the caterpillar hurt as it hangs in a "J" and waits for the change coming under its skin, shrugged off to unveil chrysalis?

When it changes again, tight in shiny green, inexplicably growing wings, does it wonder and chafe at the change?  

When the chrysalis clears... 

...and the wings fall out new, does the butterfly, confounded, long for the old, the familiar worm?  I wonder.

Do autumn trees, losing glory a drop at a time, mourn for lost lushness of summer? 

Do they stumble on starkness and cold?  Do they sense any glimpse of the spring?

I wish I knew.

I wish I knew how silver endures the furnace it's in:  heat, and more heat, till purity reflects the face of the refiner himself.

"For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality."  I Corinthians 15:53

"to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds;

and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness."  Ephesians 4:22-24

"be transformed by the renewing of your mind."  Romans 12:2

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."  Galatians 6:9

"You removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. 

O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever."  Psalm 30:11-12

"Be still and know that I am God."

an ounce of prevention .... yet again

Am I preventing Joy?

"A common but futile strategy for achieving joy is trying to eliminate things that hurt:  get rid of pain by numbing the nerve ends, get rid of insecurity by eliminating risks, get rid of disappointments by depersonalizing your relationships.  And then try to lighten the boredom of such a life by buying joy in the form of vacations and entertainment."  Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.

Oh, he cuts us so close.  We try to achieve joy by eliminating (or preventing?) pain, and then, Prozacked to dullness, we resort to buying disposable thrills.   To prevent dirty clothes, we miss the joy of playing in the puddles.  Empty, then - lacking the natural joys of life (messy though they sometimes be) - we turn to entertainment:  novels, movies, shopping, facebook.  We listen to music instead of making it, watch sports instead of playing, tune in to sitcoms instead of living, text instead of talking, :lol: instead of laughing.  

We give ourselves lousy gifts when we turn down those our Father offers.

"Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!"  Matthew 7:9-11

Our Father gives us life, from the air we breathe and the sun that lights our days to the landmark joys of life, and what He gives is good.  Joy comes not because of our circumstances, but in the midst of them.  It would be a small god indeed who could only make us happy by making us comfortable.  It takes a God who named the stars and threw them singing into place, the ultimate Source of Love, to well up joy in a cancer patient, an amputee, a sleep-deprived mom, a work-weary father. 

"Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete."  John 16:24

 "I am coming to [the Father] now, but I say these things while I am still in the world, so that they may have the full measure of my joy within them."  John 17:13 

Before Jesus goes to his death, he has a final heartfelt talk with his twelve closest followers, and prays for them.  What does he want to tell them one last time?  To abide in him, obeying his commands by loving each other.  How?  By the strength of his Spirit, who Jesus will send after his return to the Father.  Why?  For the completion of their joy.

"I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.  My command is this:  Love each other as I have loved you."  John 15:11-12

The key to our joy is our interactions with each other.  Perhaps this is the messiest gift our Father offers us.  Loving each other is dangerous, and often appears to blow up in our faces.  "Love is patient, love is kind..." and we are none of that!  Love anyway, because no matter what it looks like, "love never fails."

What it comes down to is this:  do I want to prevent pain ....?

Or .... (oh risky love) jump into joy?

(first two posts on this subject here and here)

an ounce of prevention .... again

Two nights in a row now, I've stayed up late doing unnecessary things (sitting in a parking lot with friends, painting a suncatcher, and watching a movie, if you must know).  I just felt like it.

Not that I want to base my life on what I feel like doing, but for someone who lives largely (or, more accurately, "small-ly") within the confines of her children's needs, staying up late was oddly liberating for me.  Normally I go to bed in good time to prevent feeling sleepy the next day.  A good habit and one I heartily recommend breaking from time to time.

Maybe conscientiousness is like exercise - if you do the same routine too frequently, your body falls into a rut and stops being trained by it, sort of develops an immunity.

In my post yesterday, I quoted The Princess Diaries' Eduard Christoff Philippe Gerard Renaldi, Crown Prince of Genovia:  "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.  The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."  In this recent season of my life, I have been living in the ranks of the cautious.  

What, then, is more important than prevention, that can propel me out of caution and into liberty living?

Letting the baby explore, no matter the dirt and (unlikely, after all) disease.
Staying up late sometimes, to see an eclipse, fireworks, or just the magic of lightening bugs.
On special occasions, serving sugar with enthusiasm!!
Allowing a margin for liberality in the spending plan.  Then, being liberal!
And sometimes, daring something big.  Pray, then leap!

(original post on this subject here; follow-up post here)

an ounce of prevention ....

.... is worth a pound of cure.  Right?

So I put rugs down by every major entrance into the farmhouse to catch the dirt as it comes in on our feet - before it gets to the carpets.  We walk shoeless inside and my Farmer brushes weedbits off his clothes after he's been taming the wilds with the string-trimmer.  We rinse each meal's dishes before stacking them so the food doesn't dry on.  Train the children from the first whine to use a nice voice.  Keep flora and fauna out of the baby's mouth in case of mysteriously transmitted feline diseases.  No waving sticks around in case you hit someone.  Wash your hands before meals.

Strict bedtimes avoid meltdowns.  Ration sweets for healthy teeth.  No running in the house.  Censor books to build good taste in literature.  Dose with elderberry when flu rumors start to fly.  Ginger before a road trip prevents motion headaches.

Budget strictly to avoid financial tension.  "Tell your money where to go."  Wait to launch the home business until the plan is detailed out on paper.  Dream big but start small.

Trust God, but have a backup plan.

Wait a minute.  Back up.  Somewhere in the continuum something valuable has been lost.  "Prevention" turns so quickly into "fear" and "control."

"An ounce of prevention..." but also "nothing ventured, nothing gained."

And how about that more important Proverb by far:  "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths."  (Proverbs 3:5-6)

Reminders of truth come in the unlikeliest of places.  Last night I laughed through "The Princess Diaries" and watched a 15-year-old learn a lesson I lack.  To quote her father, Eduard Christoff Philippe Gerard Renaldi, Crown Prince of Genovia, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something is more important than fear.  The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."  (part of this quote may have better-known origins, either Albert Einstein or Mark Twain; sources disagree)

It's one thing to "look before you leap" - it's a very sad, entirely different thing to never leap at all.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

[And that, my dear readers, is my string of platitudes for the day.  Truth lives even in the trite.]


(follow-up posts here and here)

cheerfully struggling on

I was encouraged today to let go the strange pleasure of self-pity, and reminded that we are all struggling - valiantly, it is hoped - to learn to love well, and to sing praise in the midst of trouble.

excerpted from A Long Obedience in the Same Direction by Eugene H. Peterson

"There are no easy tasks in the Christian way; there are only tasks which can be done faithfully or erratically, with joy or resentment.  And there is no room for any of us, pastors or grocers, accountants or engineers, typists or gardeners, physicians or teamsters, to speak in tones of self-pity of the terrible burdens of our work.

        .....

"There is nothing I am less good at than love.  I am far better in competition than in love.  I am far better at responding to my instincts and ambitions to get ahead and make my mark than I am at figuring out how to love another.  I am schooled and trained in acquisitive skills, in getting my own way.  And yet, I decide, every day, to set aside what I can do best and attempt what I do very clumsily - open myself to the frustrations and failures of loving, daring to believe that failing in love is better than succeeding in pride.

       .....

"I live on the edge of defeat all the time.  I have never done any one of those things to my (or anyone else's) satisfaction.  I live in the dragon's maw and at the flood's edge.

      .....

"....  Christians are not fatigued outcasts who carry righteousness as a burden in a world where the wicked flourish; Christians are people who sing "Blessed be the Lord, who has not given us as prey to their teeth!"  [Psalm 124]"

was it a morning like this? (irony)

Recipe for a bad morning:

Wake up several times during the night, preferably to the sound of your youngest child crying.  Sleep through your husband's alarm clock so that you can be disoriented when you hear your own.  Answer your husband's “good morning” with a sleepy (ok, growly) mumble.  Think dark thoughts in the shower.  Read James during your quiet time and feel inadequate and burdened.  Fight with your husband over whether or not he should wear an ill-fitting birthday present.  Make coffee without replacing the carafe completely, so that the coffee accumulates in the basket with the grounds and spills out into the carafe, the counter, and the coffeemaker's water reservoir.  Allow your children to come to you with problems they should be able to solve on their own.  Remember to check when those homeschool affidavits and educational objectives are due and discover that it was two weeks ago.

Recipe for recovering the rest of the day:

Remember that the world will not end over this, and that if it did, that would be a good thing!  Spend a couple of hours with a friend and her children (after first printing out generic objectives and affidavits and filling in all blanks preparatory to zipping in to the notary in the afternoon).  Get the crying out of the way first, then laugh as much as possible while solving the more complex of the world's problems.  Have a random lunch, just for comic relief.  Nap.  Plan frozen pizza for supper, even though it's not Friday.  Try not to think about those late affidavits........