Fear Or Faith

There are three things in my life that I will never see as fair. #1 is spending my first 18 years surviving an abusive dad. The second is suddenly losing my beloved mother-in-law a week before my son was born. And lastly, experiencing the joy of new life within me only to have him stolen away in a bloody miscarriage.

I have no explanation for these questions we all ask at least once in our life.  “Why do bad things happen to the innocent? Why didn’t God save me from this pain?”

It is obvious that we live in a fallen world. Suffering is all around and fear tries to consume us. It can be debilitating at times.  How can I know that things are going to be all right at the end of my next storm with a past that seems to have been walked out in defeat and near destruction? Fear becomes the glasses in which I view life. It robs me of my joy. It isolates me. It holds me back. It keeps my bound tightly in a “safe” prison lifeless and impotent.

I decided to be real with God about my faithless thoughts instead of trying to hide behind some religious facade.  I have asked Him to show me His heart and to build my trust in Him. Because that is really what faith is all about. It’s about trust. My kids know I am going to pick them up if they fall. They know I am going to bandage their wounds. They know I will do anything to protect them. They know this and EXPECT it.  But even though I have believed God’s word is true in my head, it has not changed my heart until after I vulnerably prayed that prayer.

I began to meditate on scriptures about healing, deliverance, and all forms of provision until I realized that I had a choice to make. Am I going to take God at His word or am I going to be moved to fear by the circumstances around me? Chose fear or faith.  As I studied scripture I found that Jesus not only healed all who came to Him, but He WANTED to heal them because He had compassion on them, just like we have compassion for those we see suffering. The Bible is full of testimonies from front to back of God’s provision for finances, healing, salvation, safety, and deliverance. God reminded me that he is the same yesterday, today and forever. He never changes yet for some reason we think that we are the exception. We know that God has the power to move mightily, just not for us. Our Pastor pointed out so eloquently all the people that came to Jesus asking Him the same question that we are asking today, “ Lord if you are willing, you can heal me”. And each time Jesus responded, “I am willing”. These people weren’t extra special. They were just like me, lepers, sinners, desperate.

I am sure it seems strange to some, but when someone comes to me for prayer, I ask them two questions.  Do you believe that God is able?  And do you believe that He is willing? I now come before the Lord with full expectancy in who He is and in His love for me. I trust in His love and in His inability to change who He is from the God I read in the Bible. I still don’t have an answer for why I went through all of these things. I keep my eyes on truth and walk by faith not by sight. I am not talking about a religious façade. I am talking about transforming my mind with God’s word.  In other words, changing my mind by what I think upon or dwell on.  The scriptures that God gave me to meditate on months ago have become my revelation today. It started with an honest prayer and has become my passion.

Here are a couple resources and scriptures to get you started on changing your mind about God’s faithfulness.

Pastor Robert Morris message Jesus My Healer can be found on: gatewaypeople.com
Dutch Sheets Book: Authority In Prayer
Mark 16:17-18
The book of John
Is. 58:8-12
Exodus the whole Moses story

Let me know if you need more…

Isaac The Intimidator

Isn’t it funny how even personalities within the same family can be so different and interesting? You never know what “flavor” your going to get when you meet your new baby for the first time. They usually start out pretty much the same. They are cute and scrunchy and crying. You can’t blame them for being a little upset. Who wouldn’t feel a bit claustrophobic squeezing through a dark tunnel only to be grabbed by a scary looking person wearing a mask and rubber gloves.

It isn’t until you bring baby home that you begin to discover that she has such a sweet disposition and giggles at all of your jokes. Or that he is a natural born athlete wiggling constantly and trying desperately to get up and walk.

My firstborn doesn’t fit any of these descriptions. He has always been so intense. I remember taking him to a high school basketball game in his car seat. I sat him down next to me facing behind me so that I could keep an eye on him while watching the game. When it was over, a couple behind me commented on how my baby stares. They said he didn’t blink the whole game. They even used the word “intimidating” to describe him. I wrinkled my face a little, wondering what to say about that, but all that came to mind was, “he’s four months old!” I mean you have to wonder about a man’s self-confidence if a tiny baby is intimidating to him!

That wasn’t the last time I heard about the intensity of my son. Every time we took him to restaurants, our waitpeople would try their darndest to make him smile. It was actually pretty awkward and embarrassing to see how hard they were trying only to deliver the check and admit defeat. If only they had listened to our forewarning, they might not need psychological help to overcome their rejection issues after their encounter with Isaac.

Now that Isaac is in school his intensity is expressed in other ways, like his personal mission to destroy Santa Claus. We never really celebrated Santa and have always been very honest about who he is, but my black and white son just doesn’t get the idea of live and let live. We try to tell him that it’s okay if other families and children believe in Santa to which he replies, “ how can their parents LIE to them”! “Besides”, he continues, “Christmas is about everyone giving not just Santa.”

So when the issue of the Tooth Fairy arose, Travis didn’t even bother to put up a fight. Now Isaac tells everyone at school that their mom is the Tooth Fairy and I continue to be the secretly hated mother, the killjoy of the school.

My friend and I were enjoying some time together while our passionate 5 year-old boys played together. We were interrupted by their intense theological debate. Isaac refused to back down from his belief that God loves everyone even bad guys. I don’t think he would even hear his friend out to detect a possible misunderstanding. I guess that is a lot like many full-grown Bible Scholars. Next time you hear one arguing piously, you can tell him he sounds like a 5 year-old!

I don’t mean to imply that Isaac doesn’t have the biggest heart of any kid I know. He stands up for his friends, he cries if he thinks I am sad, he gives his money to the poor, he always considers others and values their feelings. He tells children at the park about Jesus’ love without thought of being rejected or teased. He grows very attached to people and to his surroundings. I know I am raising a mighty warrior who is going to change the world for God. His intensity and passion no doubt intimidates the enemy of this world. This knowledge is sobering to me everyday as I mother him. I think carefully about passing on my values to him and teaching him to have a faith in God of his own to carry him through the “war” of life.

Babies come in all kinds of flavors. Some are sweet and easy. Others are stronger in their flavor but still filled with the same sugar and potential for enjoyment. They are all different, but they are all called to greatness in their future. God has a plan for each of them. It’s our job to appreciate who they are now as we labor tirelessly over diapers, or messy rooms, or smart mouths each day to refine their character. Our reward may not come for many years, like around twenty. But what an honor it will be when our children rise up and call us blessed; when we see them making a difference in the world. Seems like an eternity away today, but in an in an instant we will soon realize just how worth it each day was.

Time To Scratch The Nails

For the last 35 years I have wanted long, beautiful nails that I can paint. No matter what I tried, they would break as soon as the were long enough to peek past my finger tip. Maybe 35 is the magical age for nails, because I have stopped trying and yet they are finally growing strong. In fact, I was just admiring them the other day while applying my new OPI “Don’t Know…Beets Me” shade of pink. Yes that is really the name. I love this brand mostly for their fun and random names.

I have been contemplating how to begin my story so that it is actually believable. It really is true that I scratched my face with my new, beautiful nails last Thursday. It was so small, it didn’t even bleed. No big deal, right? Well, by Friday night it began to hurt during the early Easter service we attended. I’m not sure why I still thought I could ignore it. It doesn’t take long to apply a little Polysporin (Neosporin can cause a serious rash). I woke up on Saturday morning with what looked like a giant zit on my face only ten times more disgusting! This little scratch refused to be ignored, so it took over half of my face. My lips were swollen and were drooping off. This made drinking my iced coffee with a straw almost impossible! My lymphoid began to protrude like a second chin. I immediately gave it my full attention in hopes of looking half way normal before the Easter party we were to attend the next day.

By the end of the night it was looking better, so I didn’t mind when my husband asked me to run to Chipotle for him. Though I didn’t expect it to be packed out. Immediately I became aware of the other patrons’ stares. I tried to keep my head down so as not to make eye contact. I learned form Austin (3 years old) that if I cover my eyes and can’t see you, than you can’t see me.

When I got home I made a new embarrassing discovery. I had walked through Chipotle with my zipper down! I told you this was going to be hard to believe. So now I wondered if people were staring at my wardrobe malfunction or the volcano on my face. I guess if I had looked up to find their eyes I could have known what part of me they were scrutinizing. But, I was “hiding”. Who knows, they were probably enthralled by the whole package and wondering why I was also so aloof.
Easter morning I awaken to find that the “egg” on my face is definitely not hiding! Trav brings me breakfast in bed. Oh how sweet, right? Until, he begins declaring, “What’s wrong with your face! You need to take better care of yourself. You look like a crazy person!” At that point I had to remind him that I would be writing a blog on my whole experience, so unless he wanted me to make him look like a crazy person, he better stop now! He tends to get really intense when his family is hurt and he can’t fix it. I get that, but in a few hours I was to meet the families for the first time of several of my friends. I didn’t want to be remembered by them as the “the crazy person”. I was feeling a bit sensitive.

Fortunately, the dinner went well. Children weren’t running away in horror from me or anything. I was just a little quiet in hopes of not being noticed.

My doctor is usually really good about getting me in asap on Monday morning if I have suffered all weekend. I had missed my work out sheerly out of pride. I couldn’t show up to an environment where we are all focusing on looking good and being healthy with this thing on my face. I knew people would think it was adult acne. So, I called the office as soon as they opened, but the doctor’s phone was not working! Oh the agony of being patient! I decide to take my chances in the waiting room. Austin and I arrive and are fortunate enough to get right in. Now the real fun begins. I was asked to pull my pants down so that a stranger could give me an antibiotic shot in my butt. This was painful and humiliating! I was then given instructions to take two more doses of antibiotics that day in pill form and for nine days after that which I dutifully began as soon as I left the office. No one said anything about a full stomach or waiting a couple hours after the shot. I had some kind of allergic reaction as I drove home sneezing all the way. By the time I got home I was shaking so bad that I could barely fix myself something to eat. The doctors office was closed for lunch and my heart was racing as I tried to call the doctor on call only to be abused by a condescending answering service representative.

The good news is this, when I woke up the next morning it was way better. I made it to Wednesday’s work out where I kept sweating my band aids off along with the rest of my pride and hopefully some fat too. It’s pretty much life as usual for me now. No more band aids, no more hiding.

I scratched myself again yesterday and immediately applied Polysporin.

The Great Ride

I was just listening to an old song called We will Ride. I’ve always loved that song even when I couldn’t grasp it’s meaning.  It was popular back in my newly saved days when I thought that everything was going to be great as long as I could stay away from drinking, drugs, and boys.  Life has taught me that just because I am a changed woman and a Christian doesn’t mean that I am exempt from experiencing some bruises in this brutal world I live in.

Today the song had new meaning for me as I imagined my Lord sitting upon His horse ,holding out His hand, and beckoning me, “will you ride with me?”

I said yes to Him once years ago when my life was a mess and I had no other hope. But, knowing now what He really meant, would I do it all over again?

Would I still be willing to open my heart to love people who in tern stab me in the back? Would I be willing to lay down all of my dreams to be consumed by fire and blown away like ashes in the wind? Would I be willing submit my life and all that is important to me once again to a storm so strong it wipes away everything that is not eternal?

I closed my eyes tightly as I imagined myself reaching out my hand to His. Just like in my favorite love story, in an instant His strong arm swept me to the back of His horse and against His back. I held on tightly through the trees, up the mountain tops and swiftly down again. There were creeks to jump over and rivers to wade through. Sometimes it was light and warm and other times it was dark and cold and I  felt I needed to hold on tighter.

I have only been on one horse ride. It wasn’t at all like I had imagined with rolling hills, my hair bouncing in the wind and the feeling of freedom. Nope, I was in a long line of horses nose to butt slowly walking along a straight path. It was very safe, and very boring.

I have, however, owned a motorcycle in my teen years before the helmet law in California. Riders call it the iron horse.  I use to speed down the freeway weaving in and out of the traffic for and extra rush.

My husband use to like to go mountain biking and I am pretty sure he was always looking for some other terrain that had not yet been ridden. Hard core bikers don’t want to ride some nicely paved path. There’s no thrill in it. Sometimes, they will discover a place of great beauty and rest along the way, but they won’t linger there for long cause  there are more adventures to be discovered.

Jesus has called me to ride this ride with Him. When I said yes to Him he clothed me in white and promised that He would go before me. He would protect me always, but He never said it was going to
be easy.  There are bumps and bruises along the way, but I shall conquer this terrain. This is an adventure. It’s a thrill to be a part of what God is doing all over the earth. It’s time to take His hand and say, “yes Lord. I will ride with You”.

My Favorites

I know that I have some nice friends that come to look at my blogs just to encourage me, but are probably way to busy to read through them all. Can I just say that my favorites are Wiped Out, The Princess and the Warrior Housewife and I Give Up. I crack myself up every time I read them.

Also, I am still learning  the proper blog etiquette.  I am not sure if I am suppose to respond to comments and stuff like that. I plan to go to my friend’s house for a complete training session on this and how to add links to my friends blogs. But thank you for all of your comments and spending your precious time reading what I have to say. It is very special to me.

Weekend Worship

My countdown to the weekend began last Sunday night. My week has been spent tub dipping my toddler’s chapped butt after every new squirt of whatever he has digested in the last 20minutes to an hour. I have washed more sheets this week than a hotel maid service! Thank goodness for plastic mattresses.

Gearing up for my hot date on Friday night I head off to my workout at what I use to call the middle of the night. 5:30am has always been my favorite time to sleep until almost a year ago when I started going to a kick butt boot camp. Our coach challenges us to 7 days of no sugar and no bread. That’s going to put a bit of a damper on my wild night with my hubby, but fine. I’ll do it even though I have done it a million times before without any personal results. In fact, I already eat bread only about once or twice a month, but giving up sugar was going to be more difficult. There are times in a woman’s life when she NEEDs chocolate and my time was now.

The sitters arrive and I pray that they don’t notice the sewer tub in my bathroom. I secretly hope that Travis will decide to clean it up just because he loves me too much to let me tackle such an unladylike task. I watch him pass back and forth without so much as a glance at the bath. Darn! He’s going to play the denial game with me. Let’s see who will hold out the longest. I don’t even like baths Mr. Tub Taker! After 10 years, we know each other too well to ever win at these games. Deep down I know that he knows I won’t make it much longer. I wasn’t born for camping or missions. Bugs and dirty bathrooms are my kryptonite.

We have a low key, “let’s act like adults for a change” night out together. I enjoy the salmon salad at Central Market and devour the whole thing since I was starving! I had packed a lunch for myself to eat at the zoo, but had forgotten a fork. My friend is use to the mission field in India so, even though I do value her opinion of me, I decided it probably wouldn’t phase her much to watch me eat with my fingers. Unfortunately, I was to frustrated to finish, thus my ravenous appetite at dinner. I am just so glad we are past that I’ll pretend I am a dainty eater stage after all these years together. I honestly thought I was going to starve to death when I first got married.

Since this is about worship, I will take this moment for confession. I usually don’t get sweet coffee except for the occasional Cinnamon Dolce or the whole season of eggnog lattes. But you just don’t see Mexican Mocha’s much and it was so cold, and I justified that I was probably way under calories for the day, so YEAH! I had one. I’m not proud of my moment of weakness, but I enjoyed every last sip.

Generally, Saturday mornings are rather slow, but nothing a nice cup of coffee can’t handle. We lounge around until it’s time to get dressed for church. I especially love the sermon series right now and I couldn’t wait to go and absorb the message. Saturday services are a family saver! It’s better than any therapy that can be offered. It’s someone’s brilliant idea, probably a wife and mother who was tired of getting herself and all of her children ready and looking their Sunday best while growing more frustrated with each call out, “ get your shoes on”, “your not wearing that to church”, “HONEY, can you grab the diaper bag? “ She jumps in the car, now running late and realizes that “honey” accidentally grabbed the 7 year old’s backpack instead of the only item she had assigned for him to do. This continues the argument all the way to the church as the family slides in late to the pew and is now going to have to be accountable in the presence of God for all the angry words they shared on the way to worship service. So, she thought, let’s start a service on Saturday night to alleviate the stress from the morning rush. Pure genius! Now I have a few hours before I have to start getting everyone ready for church.

I pass by the pig tub and notice that the kids have thrown our toothpaste in the middle of the filth. Lovely! Now I will be forced to go on my Target/Starbucks reading date with Caleb and a foul mouth. I buy more paste while we are there and I stand away from all clerks in hope that no one will notice the fuzz on my teeth.

We were all feeling a little run down, probably because we refuse to take the flu shots and are fighting something off, so we decide to hit a Sunday morning service instead. I am now dreading Sunday morning.

My husband decides to do something nice for me and he brings me a hamburger…with the bun and tots. Because I love my husband and I like to encourage him to continue to do thoughtful things for me, I decide not to complain about sabotaging my 7-day carb challenge. Wives wonder why their husband have stopped the romance and yet they forget about all the times she has taught him that she doesn’t appreciate it with her complaints. That’s not going to be me! I will remind him later so it doesn’t take me to December to get through 7 straight carbless days.

Sunday morning I wake up to find that, yes, the tub still looks like something from my worst nightmare, the old toothpaste is still being digested by the monster, and now the boys have misplaced the new tube.

With no time to run to the store, we are forced to use the non-fluoride type for babies. The meet and greet your neighbors part of service was going to be a little more awkward with out the confidence of minty fresh breath.

Also, the yelling has begun already, we are running late and I suddenly feel like curling up in bed to watch the service online. Trav assures me it’s going to be a good day and getting away from our dirty house to forget that we just paid a housekeeper a week ago to have it spotless would be the best medicine. He’s right.

Sunday night I go to bed with my work cut out for me for the week. When will I ever learn that cleaning the house before the weekend so I can relax only makes me crankier as I watch the family destroy it? I have more sheets to wash now that another child has fallen prey to the big D., a bathtub to ignore as it tortures me, and a wonderful week ahead of as I have now learned to enjoy and appreciate the rest of the days of the week.

What Was I Thinking!

This is the first in a serious of blogs I have decided to call, “What Was I Thinking!” I have had these moments all throughout my life. They are times when all common sense or reason is brushed aside for the sake of an experience or even just pure laziness. I may decide it would be cool to jump off a really high bridge to impress my high school boyfriend only to pop out of the water gasping like an idiot for the breath that had been forced out of me upon impact. Or maybe, I think I can give the baby a sipy cup without the stopper so I don’t have to be troubled to find one in the drawer. Inevitably he will dump the milk all over my favorite irreplaceable chair. Another “What Was I Thinking Moment” occurred when I chose to let the baby run around without a diaper after his bath while I lay down for a moment of rest. I was rudely awakened by the aroma of baby poop and brown butt cheeks in my face. Going on a scavenger hunt for a smelly pile was not what I had planned for the day. Anyway, I think you get the idea.

The other morning I took my son to school in my pajamas as usual. No big deal, I don’t have to get out of the car or get near enough to anyone for them to discover I have not yet showered and brushed my teeth and hair. The extra 20 minutes of sleep are well worth the trade off…most days anyway.

On this particular day I decided that I should also stop by the grocery store to pick up soup for my sick boy at home. It was going to be a bit of a sacrifice if I happened to run into someone I knew, but I needed to do it before Travis left for work and I was forced to throw sick kids in the car.

I don’t per say keep track of what’s in my checking account. That may be why Trav has given me my own account so that I don’t end up spending ALL of the money or something. I was still quite surprised when my card was declined and the man in line behind me had to wait as they re-scanned each item and put it aside for me while I called my husband in a panic. Since our internet was down at home there was no way for him to bail me out by transferring money as he has done so many times before. I stood only a few small feet away from the examining eyes of the clerk as I explained I would have to come back later. I could see the judgment in her eyes as the traveled from my nappy hair, to my pink pj’s, and all the way down to my warm Roxy boots. All the way home I just kept asking myself, “what was I thinking”!!!

One Crazy Year

Some people surf, others post surveys, but when I am bored, I like to blog. I never knew it would become so addicting, yet here I sit going over the last year of my life trying to think of any interesting stories I have experienced. Usually my life is made up of crazy little tells not so funny in the moment, but when the embarrassment or frustration is gone, I love having a new story to laugh about and share with others. This year, however, has been very different for me for many reasons, but only one that I am able to speak of online. Never before have I seen visible evidence of aging appear on my face, but being a home school mom has accomplished much in the mirror.

My husband told me when our boys were very small that he wanted to wait an extra year before putting them in kindergarten. “Yeah, yeah, whatever”, I thought. So, I started my eldest as soon as he was of age, ignoring Trav’s warnings. Isaac had an awful year in public school with typical little boy set backs and an impatient, condescending teacher. I watched as his confidence diminished and his attitude towards school turned icy cold.

We got started home schooling as soon as Kindergarten was finished and then we spent our whole year together ending in one or both of us crying. I gave up my writers group, and cultivating new friendships, hobbies, even much time on the computer to invest my life in my wounded son. Isaac and the other boys sacrificed play dates, time at the pool, and the park; all the fun things we use to do together, in order to get Isaac through this difficult season in his life. 

Being responsible for instilling godly character and purpose in my son as well as being responsible to his education was sometimes more than I could bare. I spent many afternoons in my closet yelling at God and begging for a way out. Sometimes I just wanted to run away from it all. The lie that things would be better and easier if I was on my own was calling from the darkest corners of my mind. I had to cling to the truth I knew in order to silence the enemy’s attacks. God had a plan, His ways are higher than my ways, and the only relief I would ever see would come from Him.

Which brings me to the crazy little tell that began this blog. Travis had done something he does not do often in our marriage. He put his foot down and told me I had to find a new solution for next year. With that in mind, Isaac had pushed every one of my buttons on this particular day, but instead of getting angry I sternly explained to him that I was getting on the computer to find a school to send him too. There was screaming and crying and empty promises as I found Harvest Christian Academy and began to call from my home phone. When I was finished Isaac told me that I had better check the freezer. He said that he wiped his tears with my cell phone, dipped it in water, then stuck it in the freezer! He thought it would keep me from making the call. 

To make a long story not quite as long, my whole family is now looking forward to being a part of Harvest next year, maybe especially me. We are enjoying this summer at the pool and the library, and lunches together just like we use to. I get to be my son’s biggest cheerleader and focus more on bringing him through the issues of life while entrusting his education to an amazing tutor this summer. 

Today, I am giving myself a much needed day off and calling it “Mommy Day”. I am going to blog, talk on the phone, finish a magazine, and see if I can apply enough cream to erase some of this year from my face…all while in my pajamas. And while I have the mirror out, maybe I can uncover some other stubborn areas God is warning me about whether through the voice of my husband or one crying out in the wilderness to save myself some pain and wrinkles. LOL!

The Princess And The Warrior Housewife

This is kind of a Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde story except that it is all about my daily inner struggle. Some mornings I wake up feeling as though I could conquer the world or at least mine. Armed with my cleaning products, spanking spoon and my secret weapon, Starbucks, I start in the kitchen and I don’t stop until it sparkles. I have the whole house clean, dinner ready, and the boys whipped into shape by the time my bread winner walks through the door. I greet him in my pajamas with yesterday’s beauty supplies turned war paint under my eyes. I may not woo him with my appearance, but I feel like I have truly earned my position and title as Warrior Housewife on these days. 

There are many other mornings, usually following several seemingly unappreciated Warrior Housewife days, when I wake up needing a me day. I feel like I deserve to find my inner princess. On these mornings, I role over and go back to bed. I hear all the commotion just outside of my bedroom. I realize that there are messes in progress, but I pretend that they are not my problem. Dreams of fairy godmothers waiving their magic wand to return order to my kingdom bring a sense of comfort as I lay in bed. As the Princess I get to spend time enjoying my shower, painting my toenails and sending my little jesters away to play in the outer corridors while I get myself ready to remind my Prince charming why he married me. I will admit, it takes a big imagination to pull a day like this off and denial is a huge part of that. When my prince walks through the door, never quite knowing which one of us will be waiting to greet him, he will find that the servants nor the Warrior Housewife showed up for work on this day. But he will find me sparkling and beautiful just like on our wedding day minus the big white dress. There is no dinner waiting for him, just me and my less stressed face, waiting for him to sweep me off my feet and off to Pei Wei for our royal dinner. 

There may come a day when I am able to bring balance to these two parts of my personality. One day Princess Me may be able to channel Warrior Housewife just in time for Bread Winner, er, Prince Charming to find his princess and the house in order. But that would require a real fairy godmother.

Life In The Fast Lane

I have always lived my life highly caffeinated and on an adrenaline rush. Even if I am not running late to start with, I somehow find a little something extra to throw in my my daily routine that sets me back and gets me moving faster. Since having kids, I don’t have to look too hard anymore. Years of this pattern has led me to believe that I am subconsciously addicted to adrenaline. Fortunately, I don’t have a pattern of tardiness to go along with my disfunction, but even still, I may have trouble on it’s way to my mail box. 

While running late on Monday to my prayer meeting on an empty gas tank, I may have been cutting it a little too close with the new stop light cameras. There were at least three questionable moments. And today I could not rush Caleb through his books fast enough before heading out to pick up Isaac from the tutor’s. “Sorry Caleb, no time to look at the pictures and actually enjoy our time together here at Starbucks.” Driving eighty on the freeway as I approached an officer facing me at a turnabout, I threw on the breaks knowing I had been caught. It’s all over, Travis is going to lecture me and I am going to have to take it like a woman cause I deserve it. I watched as he pulled around behind me but miraculously never pulled me over. I can just imagine getting too many points all in one week and losing my license. That is probably not the funniest thought I have ever had, but I laugh anyway. 

Next on the agenda, get gas and run to the library to begin our fun day together. I was so tired by the time we got there all I could do was slouch in the oversized chair forcing long deep breathes. Are we having fun yet? 

You get the idea. I know I am not the stop and smell the roses kind of person. I struggle with the here and now of enjoying my kids, my friends, and family. I am frustrated with the routines of life on my quest to get to the finish line. 

I once heard that the natural coincides with the spiritual and if that is true, what has all this meant for my spiritual life? I wonder how often I have prayed to be changed and then despised the process that God used to answer my prayer? How many times have I treated my “quiet times” like a drive thru service? Or, have I said, “here am I God, use me”, but then walked away from the testing he set before me. 

We all know in our head that life is short. Kids grow up too fast. The duties will all be there in the morning, but the people, the children’s giggles and their hearts may not. We know it, we just don’t always live like we believe it. 

I hope that I can put to rest the “beam me up Scotty” mindset in my spiritual life as well. The last few months I have enjoyed drawing my strength from lingering in God’s presence. I would not have made it through this year if it had not been for the wisdom imparted by the Holy Spirit through the school of Hard Knox. There is a depth that flows from a life who has had nothing else to cling to but God. I have learned not to despise the processes, the hard times. I have seen how they bring forth fullness of life.