Face to the sun *Emended Version

I know I've said this a million times, to anyone who reads any of my blog posts, Facebook statuses or talks to me in person, but I LOVE love love perspective. I love it when I see things in a new way, have them explained to me so I get a fresh understanding, a revelation. Something clicks. A light bulb goes off. Ordinary becomes extraordinary.

As often happens, one thing led to another and I ended up reading this. 

So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out*. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.

*Haven't I heard those words before somewhere?

That's Roman's 12:1-2. A fairly well known set of scripture verses. And while some people may argue the validity of The Message translation, it's a guy who has taken scripture and explained it to you and me as if we were having a conversation about it, in real today language. Conversation about what God is saying is always good.

So today, I can take the laundry, bill-keeping / budget balancing, parenting, cooking, conversations with friends, tv watching and Facebooking, and place it at God's feet. What parts of that do I not feel worthy of being an offering? Was what I cooked for my family the best, or even the medium of what I could have done? How about forgetting to pay the gas bill for the 8th day in a row? The hugs and kisses and encouragement I gave to my children certainly are good and worthy, but the grumbling and shouting could probably be trimmed off the "fatted calf." Did I spend too much time on the computer today, brushing my children away in favor of some mildly interesting story about someone else's life that I don't even know? Or did I grant my full attention to the skinned knee, the requests for play doh? Does it feel like God has done something amazing by giving me a strong willed, highly independent, curious stinker butt of a son who lets me rest not one moment of his waking hours? Not so much. But I know this child is a blessing, and that what grows out of my struggle to be a good parent to him is something "God is doing for me." (Gee, thanks. *snicker* *sarcasm*) How about interactions with my spouse? Did I say or do something for him today that made him feel loved? made his day brighter or easier? Or did I chose to get easily offended at some thing he said (or didn't say)?  Did I fall prey to some pointless argument or discussion, lambasting or judging or criticizing another? Or did I contribute only helpful, truthful, grace-filled, loving commentary? Did I offer prayer? How about my thoughts? Did I dwell on the negative? Wallow in self pity? Listen to satan's lies? Beat myself up? Did I bask in His glory? Contemplate His goodness? Count my blessings? Offer my thanksgiving? Receive His Mercy and Grace? Accept forgiveness? Offer forgiveness?

So many interactions, so many actions that we don't consider. Every. single. minute. So many opportunities to tune into what God is doing or saying. So many times (like every minute of the day) I need to lean on Him for strength, wisdom and guidance. It's too easy to get caught up in all that I should do, beat myself up for my failings. Instead, I need to remember to continually turn my face to Him. Like a daisy towards the sun.

If my face is turned to him, I will worry less about all the big and small things. He's got them in his care.
If my face is turned to him, change will come, change I long for. My inside out will be made new.
If my face is turned to him, I will change, my family will change, my marriage will change.
If my face is turned to him, maybe others will look to see what I'm looking at.
That would be awesome.

Deep breath.

Look to the Son.

Bask.

Rest.

Surrender.

Dear Lord, Part 2

I just got the mail. This came:

I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or flip you the bird.

You clearly have a sense of humor. Too bad I'm not in the mood to laugh. Especially since I  "won" this but it feels like ill-gotten booty. And, you know, seeing as my butt is wet with someone else's urine. But thanks.

Next time, send spa certificates.

Seriously.

Me.

Dear Lord,

Please send angels quick. I'm about to strangle my son.

Yes, I am writing this letter to you out of extreme frustration. Yes, I realize this seems to be a pattern. But I fully believe that you should completely understand and be most empathetic to my cries for YOU ARE THE ONE WHO MADE THE LITTLE MONSTER.

I realize this may sound harsh, however, you may not think so if you were to tally up all the things this child does, things he gets into, ways he frustrates the freakin' daylights out of me. I can only take so much of major messes, uncontrollable peeing (and occasional pooping) on carpets and furniture (like the peed computer chair I am sitting on and despite the towel I have wadded up that it's still seeping through), the chewed on, broken, stabbed, or dismantled multitude of items that are scattered about. Thankfully he has not thrown any electronic device of real value in the tub. Yet. 

I'm at a loss. I don't know what to do. I can only beat him so much, Time Out's are pretty much a joke, spending more time with him doesn't seem to help, "ignoring bad behavior" is tantamount to just letting him get away with it, and I just can't lock every damned thing up.

So please. Please send angels. Or lightening bolts.

It really is too much. It's just not ok for a mother to not even like her child. And I'm afraid that is happening. So see, you really really need to listen to this plea. Because today, I would be utterly grateful if gypsies carried him off. And if given a chance, I may even have to arrange it.

Seriously.

Me.

Escape

Ever need an attitude adjustment and just can't seem to get there? Feeling stuck in your crappy mood/outlook on life. Even knowing that you're entertaining the devil and just decide to let him have at it, because you're too tired to change anything.

It's a pretty dumb place to be.

It's a pretty sad place to be.

It's a pretty bad place to be.

Is this my lifelong struggle - figuring out how to channel it, to deal with my crappy / pessimistic / negative / complaining self, my anger, my melancholic ways? I hate being the spreader of doom. I don't want to be known as "that girl" who people avoid because she always complains about how hard life is or crappy the day is, how challenging the children are, how ... totally wrapped up in his own mind the husband is.

What.  am  I   d o i n g ?

That's what I think just about every time I have a thought, say a word. I'm just ... so...

unloving.


It's gross.

I was doing bad. Really bad. Then I was doing better. Good even. Steady. Now ... bad again.

So what can I do to reset the game? Will a blueberry muffin cure all my woes? Will a shower and a nap change my outlook on life?

Ha. I wish.

I've started reading a couple new blogs (they're related - literally and figurative, offshoots of another). This was part of a comment:

When the ocean waves are crashing over you, 

quit fighting them and dive deeper.

Is that my answer in there somewhere?

What am I fighting? Who am I fighting? How do I quit fighting? Doesn't quit fighting mean simply 'quit'? I can't quit, can I? (Answer: no. I can't. I'm a mom. You don't quit mom. You don't quit life.)

Am I having a tantrum because I'm not getting my way? Can it be reduced to that? Do I just need to "suck it up? Buck up? Don't I say that, so do I need to follow my own advice? Am I being a brat?

What I wish, most of all, is that I could have a 2-week long Hawaiian vacation, sans kids, and come home to find that some amazing team of home organizers/decorators has come in, cleaned, organized, trimmed my windows, put up curtains and painted my walls.


Escapism. That's what I'm dreaming of. I think I need to go put on my happy music, which is all about escaping.

Orphan Dreams

**Sorry about the wonky text/spacing stuff going on. I don't know what happened. I tried to fix it and made it weirder. It's my bedtime so this is how it'll stay.**

I've had this dream. Twice. Not the same dream exactly, but still the same dream. Same theme, same location, similar series of events. The first time I don't think I told anyone, but I remembered it, which is noteworthy in itself. On Sunday morning, I had the dream for the second time, and told my husband because it was just so off the wall, and weird that I'd had it again.

Haha. "Weird."

In my dream,  people are gathering in my small town next to the fire station. In the parking lot, in the street, next to the grain elevator, in an empty lot. Someone, or some group of people, has brought all these orphaned children from Africa. It is announced, "These children need homes. Who will raise their hand to take one?" And they are handed out. 

(The children/babies may have been set on a trailer or something, I can't exactly recall, but I had this strange thought that is was like the auctioning off of slaves - and in fact my hubby said the same thing when I told him the dream. Not that it was cruel or debasing in any way, just the large group of humans, maybe it was because they were black. I don't know. It's not meant to be a racist element, and I don't honestly know that it has much importance, but it was part of the dream so I am including it here. For records sake, if anything.)

I know there were people who volunteered and took babies, but I was there without my spouse, and taking in a baby is not the kind of decision you would want to leave your spouse out of. So I didn't volunteer. I just went home.

The second time I had the dream, we, the town, knew that the babies were coming, though I'm not sure if they were there yet. I remember thinking that it was just like "last time," because I was remembering my previous dream. People gathered in the same place, and again it was said, "These babies need homes. Need love. Who wants one?" This time, however, I thought, "Well, maybe I could take one and just talk to my husband about it later." And this is where the dream ended.

HAHA. I think that's hilarious that I thought that, "just" take a baby home. I would never do that in real life. But anyway... 

Told my hubs, he made his comments, no weird vibes or expectations. Life just carried on as normal, and I left for church.

When I get to church, the sermon and theme was... get this... Orphan Sunday. I kid. you. not.

Ok, so now is when I'm feeling... weird. Not weirded out, but my ears are a bit perked.

Can I just point out that this is how God is so awesome. Even though I don't really take time to devote to God and study and proper Christian things these days, even though I'm going through whatever spiritual journey I'm on, even though it really sucks sometimes, GOD SPEAKS. And he speaks TO ME. It's also his way of inadvertently letting me know I'm in the right place. And that's a good feeling. At least I'm doing something right, if only to show up for church on Sunday.

Our current sermon series is on Isaiah. It's a big book. And God is talking a LOT to the people of Judah. He wants the people to trust Him, to look to Him, to protect them and to be their hope. They're having a hard time with this. (haha. What a unique problem they were having. :D) They need the security of  "flesh." And He keeps trying to persuade them, convince them, to trust Him. When we don't trust God, our religion becomes self-serving. In that, we sense our lack so we hoard and protect what little we have, and we blame others.

I feel that hoarding. As self-preservation, but hoarding nonetheless. And I'm ashamed by it. I also know that it comes from my lack.

We were meant to draw everything we need from God. (Hmmm... this seems to be a recurring theme for me. Wonder why?) We get what we need from Him by trusting. Trust = Faith.

And when we do this, we looooovvvve. We ooze gooey love. Think of a person newly in love. Like that. It comes from where we know not. Certainly not from ourselves. We give generously out of an endless supply (because He is our supplier - of love, too). We experience rest. Sabbath. Not because life slows down or demands are less, but because we trust in Him to take care of our needs and those that need us, and we just sit at His feet, resting and soaking Him in. 

And how does this relate to orphans, you ask? The answer is in Isaiah 58. While you should read the whole chapter (it's not long), I'll just point out this passage:

 ⁶ “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: 

to loose the chains of injustice 

   and untie the cords of the yoke, 

to set the oppressed free 

   and break every yoke? 

⁷ Is it not to share your food with the hungry 

   and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter— 

when you see the naked, to clothe them, 

   and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? 

At the end of the sermon, a few people shared about how they serve in our community. Big Brother Big Sister program, Refugee Assistance programs - teaching them about and how to live in our community, Royal Family Kids Camp and foster care. I was on prayer team but since no one had come up asking for prayer, I turned to my co-prayer team member. I told her the bit about the dream and just not understanding what it all means but that there's something here and that God would reveal it.

In praying, one of the things that really stood out for me, in a convicting sense, was the love bit. I'm a compassionate person, I have a heart for the lost, the lonely, the cast-aside, especially children. Growing up I knew I had it good, parent-wise. While it may be an easy thing to overlook or not understand it's value, I did. Even then I knew I was blessed. I didn't take that for granted and I see even more today what an impact family has on who we become. Now I'm a mom, a parent, and it's frickin' hard and I worry daily that I'm screwing my kids up beyond repair, wondering what raving lunatic of a mother they're going to remember. Some days, IIIIIII am not enough. IIIIIIIII do not have enough love. I feel like I run out; that I can't give even one more ounce and thank GOD it's bedtime. And I feel bad, ashamed, that as a mother I could say that. I know I could get hate mail for saying that. People would gasp and guffaw at that statement. I'm not shouting this from the rooftops, that's for sure.  

Recently I wrote a bucket list blog post on All My Monkeys. One of the things I wrote down was be a foster parent. (And that could be loosely defined as simply being a stable parent figure for my kids' friends that may come through the door, as I've already talked about too.)

So how does "an orphan" fit into my life, how could I love anyone else? I am lacking, and I know I need to put my trust and my whole life even more into His hands because HE is Enough. 

And finally, after the day was done and I was "resting" and reading some blogs, I clicked onto one that I don't normally read because it's just too much for me emotionally a lot of the time some times. But Sunday, I clicked. Even though I had heard mention somewhere in bloggyland that she might be on a missions trip, because I hate reading those blogger mission trip accounts of all the needy children and it feels like a big guilt session. My mission field currently is my own family and, as I've stated, that's more than I can handle some days. Not that I want it to stay that way, but that's how it is for now. But not even thinking of the earlier events of the day, I clicked to check in, see how it was going. 

And this story laid. me. out. Big, loud, gulping, snotty sobs. Sobs of sorrowful love, love for someone who  has none. Or very little. It kills me. Even now. Cries of 'it's not fair,' and 'how can this be,' and feelings of guilt that I can muster up just a little more to cry for this kid but not to give my daughter 'goodnight hugs and kisses' some nights.

I just need to remember, HE is Enough.

Lots of little pieces of a puzzle. Two dreams, Orphan Sunday, a bucket list item, a blog post about a boy named Jonathan.

I don't know what it means, what the future holds, but I'm listening.

Squeezing

I'm having a squeezing.

And now that I've figured that out, I'm much better. haha

Confused yet?

I'm in a phase/stage of life where things are challenging. To my core. Not all facets of life, but some key ones, like being a mom, being a human. Just the basics.

I have issues, like every other person out there, and they seem to feel free to rear their ugly little head a LOT these days. Temper, anger, idol worship (aka Facebook). Among others. It's when I see that ugliness, feel that ugliness, I just become disgusted with myself, with my actions, my words, my heart, my sin. I don't want to be this way. I want to be better, healthier, happier, more self-controlled. I want the Fruit of the Spirit to flow out of my every pore, so that God's love would touch all who I come across. Which may sound lofty, or dreamy, but I want to be one of those people who people feel better after having come in contact with. I don't think that's weird.

My problem is, I don't really rely on God. I don't have the kind of (intimate) personal relationship with Him that I want. I still feel that call of Going Deeper, being changed from the Inside Out, and the frustration builds at seeing my icky fleshliness, knowing God can change it, but not actually getting to the point where it is changed. Past tense. Done with. 

I'm still waiting for that to be "old news."

In the meantime, I'm going through the crud, the squeezing. I have likened it to a birthing process, with hopefully something wonderful on the other side of all this anguish. It gives purpose to the pain.

Isaiah 40:27 (NLT) says: How can you say the Lord does not see your troubles?

That's often how we feel when he doesn't take us out of our situation or our pain, but He does see them. He's there, in the mess, with us, even in the trials. He has a purpose for that, too.

I have a quote on my fridge that reads:

Choosing joy is 

acknowledging that while I don't understand what's going on,

God does. 

Choosing joy is 

remembering that while life seems to be spiraling out of control, 

it is never out of God's control. 

Choosing joy is

remaining mindful that while my circumstances may feel anything but ideal, 

God still has my good and His glory in mind.

       - Alece Ronzino, Grit and Glory

So while life may all seem a mess, or pointless, or where is God, He's there in that, too. And that mess is not too big or too bad for Him.

Isaiah 40

v25. “To whom will you compare me?

      Who is my equal?” asks the Holy One.

 v28. Have you never heard?
      Have you never understood?
   The Lord is the everlasting God,
      the Creator of all the earth.
   He never grows weak or weary.
      No one can measure the depths of his understanding.

Catch

I can't seem to catch a break, catch a breath, catch a nap, catch a movie. Life is just piling on top of me like the leaves outside my door, only much heavier. Friend upsets, worries about church family and where have all the flowers gone, the fact that my house never stays clean, never gets clean, papers always lost, projects never finished, and we can't keep a frickin' pencil sharpened to save our lives. And God, well, he and I have a communication problem. As someone said to me, it's like we're both sitting there wearing helmets (you know, the motorcycle kind where the glass totally shields your face so you might as well be a spacemen for all the talking you could do in one of those things). Exactly! I still feel the calling, the yearning for Deeper, and to be changed from the Inside Out. And I need him. I need him for all that. Because my life as a human seems to be crushing me some days (not today, or, not yet) and I need a lifeline, a life preserver. A safety net for my kids who have gotten "crazy, bad mommy" way too many times in the last week, month, season, year. And when  you're failing at the most important job in the world, and just knowing you're screwing them up and probably scarring them for life, yeah, well that sucks.

"In Christ alone my hope is found." Yes. There's the hope of that. Some days, though, it seems out of reach. I can't seem to catch hold of it.

I'm so glad God has grace for all that.

The possibility that this all is God squeezing me, like in birthing, that this is all part of his process to bring about new life, is strangely calming. Purpose to pain. I can deal with that. After all, Lord knows I love childbirth.