After writing Monday’s post (found here), I stumbled across this one from March 2016, that uses some of the exact same language. This happens quite often — I find that I return to the same topics over and over again. I keep returning to the same lessons, the same messages, the same truths. So, here’s a message from 2016, brought forward to 2019…and I imagine, I’ll return again in the years to come.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been tempted to feel a little pessimistic lately. The presidential campaigns, acts of violence, international events, and their portrayal by the media could make a girl pretty cynical. Add to that the postings on Facebook and Twitter, and I might just walk around grumbling about the ‘terrible state of the world’. I might even be heard muttering things like, “this country is a mess,” “it’s only going to get worse,” etc.
I start, actually, to sound like someone who has no hope.
But I do! I do have hope. I have hope for our country in the midst of the current political climate. I have hope amidst senseless acts of violence. I have hope regardless of how afraid and desperate the media would like to encourage me to be.
Why? Why do I have hope? Because our God — the God who created the world out of nothing, the God who designed the intricacies of the human body and mind, the God who provided His own Son to suffer the consequences of our sin, the God who has provided for me every day of my life, the God who has blessed me and my family beyond what we ever could ask or imagine — is still on the throne.
And he is not aloof. No. He is actively involved in the lives of His creation. He has seen every political speech, and He can discern every lie from every truth. He knows already who will be elected, and He has the power to make any result work together for good. He has watched every mass shooting; He has stood amidst the chaos as lives were cut short. He sees the motives of the assailants and the fear of the victims. He alone can comfort those who mourn and intervene to prevent future devastation. He knows how much money each of us has in our savings account and in our pocket; He knows our needs even before we ask. Not one of us is forgotten by God.
We have hope. God’s people have faced worse — 400 years of slavery in Egypt, 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, persecution, division, war, famine — and God has been able to step into these circumstances and work miracles.
He is still able. He acts in spite of man’s foolishness, selfishness, and sinfulness. He acts because He loves us; He created us and calls us to His purposes.
I believe that one of those purposes is to be flag-bearers of hope in a world that is tempted to lose hope. I have been falling down on the job lately. I have not been communicating the hope that I have inside of me. So, today I turn.
Hope with me, will you?
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.
No, I did not fall off the planet. No, I did not abandon my blog. Yes, I did stay away from it fro the longest stretch of time since I started writing it two years ago. And, just like everything other discipline, the longer you stay away, the harder it is to get back on track.
When I was in high school, my band director said that we should practice every single day, even if only for 10-15 minutes. He impressed on me the idea that every day I did NOT practice would take two days to get back to my current level of skill. I think he wanted to scare me into consistent practice, and his method worked for a while. However, it had an unintended consequence. After I left the high school band, and didn’t play my flute for several months, I considered his math and decided that I didn’t have enough time in my life to get back to the level of skill I had currently enjoyed. I mean, if I hadn’t played for 180 days, it would take me 36o days of consecutive practice just to get back on track! I was exhausted just thinking about it! I haven’t played my flute in years.
Exercise is similar, isn’t it? I used to be a distance runner. I completed two half-marathons and several 5K and 10K races. It was typical for me to run 3-5 miles 5-6 days each week with occasional longer runs. In fact, at one point, three miles felt like an “off” day — like I hadn’t really run at all. I was in excellent physical condition. At that point, I could not run for several days in a row (although that rarely happened) and still have the capacity to easily run five miles. In fact, sometimes a break of three or four days would make me crave that run. When I finally had the time and opportunity to put on my running shoes, I would burst out the door with a ridiculous grin on my face, thrilled to be back at it. However, now that illness has limited my ability to run, and I haven’t run three miles in over three years, the idea of getting back to that level of fitness is a bit daunting.
I have a mixture of feelings as I sit here today. I am thrilled to be back at my blog after a long absence, but I don’t really know how to get back to where I was. What thread should I start with? health? work? teaching? writing? I’ve been wanting to post all week, but I keep finding other things to do — cook, clean, meet a friend for coffee, see a student, work on a puzzle, weed the garden. This morning, I determined that I would finally sit down and write, but I wandered around the house a bit first. What am I going to write about? Where do I begin?
It took me a moment to remember my practice — my routine. Drink smoothie. Check. Drink green tea. Check. Brew black tea. Check. Sit down, Kristin, sit down. Open your Bible study. That’s right. Read it. Turn to the Word. Psalm 107:20: “He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave.”
Yes, yes He did. He sent forth his Word and rescued me from the grave. Let’s start there today. It’s not difficult to go back to God’s Word, even after a long absence. You don’t have to build stamina. You don’t have to get back to a former level of performance. “Behold, He makes all things new.” He breathes His breath of life into us each moment that we turn to Him.
We give ourselves all kinds of laws and expectations, don’t we? I’m going to eat healthfully, exercise five times a week, blog every day, etc. Our intentions are good, but often, when we don’t meet our expectations, we beat ourselves up with the shoulda coulda woulda messages. These messages have unintended consequences. Instead of propelling us back to positive disciplines, they bury us in shame and prevent us from doing what we want to do most.
So, today I turn. I turn back to His Word. I turn away from self-blame and self-shame and embrace the God who healed me and rescued me from the grave. “His mercies are new every morning,” and my mercies can be, too.
Just under two years ago, as I said goodbye to teaching in St. Louis so that I could move to Michigan with my husband, I imagined that I would take four to six months to rest and recover and then I would find a job and get back to some kind of ‘normal’ life. My limited view couldn’t see what God had planned for me. I couldn’t imagine how He would allow me to experiment with different types and levels of employment so that I could see for myself what would be fulfilling, draining, energizing, depleting… I couldn’t envision a life where I would have so much freedom to learn and grow. I couldn’t see how He could provide for us financially, so He had to show me.
In the past two years I have worked for Reuters as an election agent, tutored students in English, writing, reading, study skills and test preparation, participated in intensive reading and writing instruction, edited everything from a young adult novel to a Master’s thesis on cancer-treating drugs, scored standardized math assessments, and taught college-level writing and literature courses.
And though that sounds like a lot, I’ve had the luxury of making new friends, participating in a regular Bible study, joining a new church family, working out consistently at a local gym, reading dozens of books, visiting family across the state, exploring Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti with my husband, and providing a refuge for my daughters as they navigated some difficult life situations. Not only that, I’ve had time to experiment with medical strategies — discarding some, embracing others — to find ways to feel better both physically and emotionally.
Much of that journey has been chronicled in this blog. I think I started writing imagining that I would arrive at a destination — that I would someday get to “The Next Chapter.” However, I think the theme of this chapter is learning to live in the process, to trust that God knows what is coming next and He is preparing me for it. I’m learning to not look too far ahead, but to enjoy each moment.
This morning, I was supposed to be doing some online scoring, but ETS contacted me and said that due to reduced volume, I was not needed and would still receive half of my pay for the morning. So, I stayed in bed reading a great book a little longer than usual. I got up, straightened the kitchen, made my tea, and picked up my old faithful devotional, Whispers of Hope by Beth Moore. After having set it down for a while to study Hosea and Breathe, I turned to the first page to start my third journey through this book.
Was I surprised that the message applied directly to my life? Not really. I’m starting to expect it. I no longer get stunned when I see a message like this: “What God is doing in your life right now may not make sense to you, but it’s not because He’s nonsensical. It’s because He’s creative…In His wisdom God knew [His creation] was good because He knew what was coming next. He knows what’s coming next for you…Give God room to be completely creative.”
Two years ago, I had no idea what was coming next. It was pure obedience (plus exhaustion and a touch of desperation) to move here with no plan. Granted, He had made it quite obvious that we should take this leap of faith by providing a position that was custom-crafted for my husband in Michigan, which we both call home, but still, for a chronic planner and do-er, it was a totally new experience.
What God was doing in our lives did not make sense to me, but it wasn’t because He was nonsensical. It was because He had a creative response to my self-destructive soldiering ways. He had information that was beyond my scope. He knew what was coming next. And in my exhaustion, I was willing to allow him the room to be completely creative.
Guess how creative He is — He’s giving me the opportunity to teach high school students from across the country and around the world this summer at the University of Michigan. I’ll get to speak into their writing process and, hopefully, into their lives. He’s allowing me to lead three sections of writing at Concordia in the fall — a three-minute walk from my kitchen to my classroom. And – gasp – He’s orchestrated an opportunity for my husband and me to chaperone a group of students to Israel for two weeks in January!
Could I have imagined all of that two short years ago? Not in a million years. I was picturing myself shelving books at the public library. Not that that would’ve been a bad gig; perhaps that’ll be the next Next Chapter. For now, I’m pretty content in this chapter and grateful to its Author.
Jeremiah 29:11
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord
Am I “more consumed with conserving and accumulating manna than in honoring the manna-Giver”? That’s the question that stopped me in my tracks this morning.
Let’s take a stroll back to Exodus 16. The Israelites, newly emancipated from Egypt, fresh from their crossing of the Red Sea, quickly forget these miraculous works of God and start complaining because they are thirsty and hungry. They don’t say, “God, you brought us out of Egypt; you’re amazing! You parted the Red Sea; you’re incredible! We know you will provide food and drink!” No, they say, “He should’ve left us to die in Egypt, at least there we would’ve had food.”
Stupid ungrateful Israelites.
But God, being God, casually brings fresh water from a rock and rains down manna from the sky. You know, casually. And He tells Moses that they should only gather what they need for each day because God will gladly provide them enough. They don’t have to horde or worry. God, who got them out of Egypt, who parted a whole sea, who brought water from a rock, who made bread fall from the sky, said He would provide enough each day. But, the Israelites decided to, you know, just grab a little extra to make sure.
Stupid untrusting Israelites.
So, my (your?) story is not too different. I wasn’t exactly a slave in Egypt, but I have been a slave to many things — my eating disorder way back in the 80s, my fears about money, my need to control, …. and as the king said, “etcetera, etcetera…” I didn’t walk across the dry bed of an ocean or anything, but I did witness the freeing words of Christ come out of the mouth of an agnostic therapist, I have witnessed over and over God’s financial provision when it didn’t make any sense at all, I have been taken away from my life of soldiering into a time of rest…Etcetera, Etcetera. And still, like the Israelites, I complain and fret…
Stupid ungrateful me.
For some reason I look back on my life of slavery and remember how proud I was to be so thin, forgetting that I couldn’t think/remember/drive/communicate. I look longingly at the times that I kicked butts and took names, forgetting that my self-sufficiency felt lonely and isolated. I long for financial security and try to store away extra, forgetting how God has consistently and faithfully provided for all of my needs.
Stupid untrusting me.
The manna-Giver has rained down bread from heaven so many times in our married life. When we had young children and seemingly un-payable medical bills, He provided. When we went to the seminary, people we didn’t even know provided for our tuition and even Christmas gifts for our children. When an error in withholding resulted in a tax bill that we couldn’t imagine ever paying, He met that need. When, just this week, one of our children didn’t know how to find the money to pay for summer tuition, within hours, a scholarship was provided to pay the bill in full. Etcetera, Etcetera.
And yet I am tempted, just like the Israelites to, instead of praising and thanking the manna-Giver, become “consumed with conserving and accumulating manna.”
This is one more area where I need to “resist the urge to continue”. When I am “bent on turning” to go back to those days of slavery, I need stop, dead in my tracks, and remember the mighty works of God who has freed me, fed me, and provided for me in every way.
I can trust that His character does not change.
I can trust that He holds me in the palm of His hand.
Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, 21 to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.
This post was written in April 2016 — after the first period on the couch and before the second. I was in motion, and I chose to reduce the amount of time I spent on the phone to put more margin into my life. However, my recent stay on the couch may have returned me to some old habits, so I am re-visiting this post in October 2019 to inspire a return to that practice as get back of the couch.
Sometimes when God nudges us to make a change, we make that change and then slowly over time notice the benefits. Other times, we get an immediate indicator that we are heading in the right direction. That happened for me this week.
If you read my recent post, Margin, you know that I decidedto turn off my phone from 8pm to 8am every day. I made that decision just two days ago while sitting right here on this futon doing my Bible study. I blogged about it then went through my day. I got home Tuesday night, played all my turns on Words With Friends, checked Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, then turned off my phone a bit before 8.
I wasn’t quite ready to go to bed, so I sat next to my husband, crocheting and watching Bizarre Foods. We watched and laughed at its ridiculousness, then I crawled into bed and settled in to read.
Typically after an evening of watching TV and constantly checking my phone, I can read for thirty to sixty minutes before falling asleep. Not Tuesday. Nope. I got into my comfortable position, opened my book, and made it through two or three pages before I had to surrender to sleep. I slept hard.
I woke up the next morning around 7:15am. Usually, the first thirty to sixty minutes of my day are spent in bed checking email, messages, Facebook, etc. But it was 7:15, and I had made a commitment to keep the phone off until 8am, so I crawled out of bed, showered, made my breakfast beverages, and dressed for a day of Bible study, teaching and tutoring. Around 8, I checked messages and emails and noticed that I had missed a call, so I messaged the friend who had rang me, talked to my husband for a few minutes before he left for work, then settled in to prepare for Bible study.
The phone rang. The same friend called to explain why she had called — to talk through the fact that her day was not going the way that she had planned. She’d had an interruption that was causing her to spend an extra two hours on the road to retrieve an item that had been left on our campus. I commiserated with her then hung up to go back to my Bible study about margins.
I started reading then thought to myself, “You’re dressed.” Yes, that’s right, I was dressed and ready to leave for Bible study, and I didn’t have to leave for another 30 or 40 minutes. I turned back to my reading.
“You know, you could get that item and meet your friend half way.”
That one wasn’t me.
How do I know? Because I argued back, “but I’m supposed to be at Bible study in half in hour.” I went back to my reading.
“What would happen if you were late?”
“Well, I’m always late.”
Sigh.
I picked up my phone, made arrangements, and started driving.
So, here’s my analysis of what happened. If I had not decided to add in a margin to my life — some white space — by turning off my phone from 8p to 8a, I might have still been lying in bed when the friend called. I would not have been dressed. I would have been reading Facebook posts and playing WWF. I wouldn’t have had the space in my day to drive twenty minutes to help her out. But, I did make that decision. I did put the margin in my life.
And the very next morning after making that decision, God provided a tangible reward — an opportunity to use that same time, the time I’d been filling up, to help a friend.
You might think that my friend is the only one who benefitted. Not true. The whole time I was driving I was thinking out loud, “Really? You’re gonna respond to my decision that quickly? You want to affirm this decision that strongly?” I was flabbergasted. I was stunned to notice God working in my life in such a way.
And here’s the nugget, guys. I noticed because I wasn’t face-down into my phone. Yes, this is hugely convicting and embarrassing. I have spent far too much time in my phone. I’ve known this. I just didn’t want to make a change.
And, I’ve got to be real honest here and say that it’s been just as hard as I thought it would be. After 8pm last night, I kept mentally reaching for my phone to check for messages, see if everyone was ok, or if I’d missed anything. I had to continue to remind myself that I had already turned it off for the night and that everyone would be ok without me for twelve hours.
The hardest part, however, wasn’t the lack of checking in, it was the awareness of all the thoughts I have routinely shoved down by occupying myself with my phone. With my phone turned off, lots of ugliness creeps to the surface — regrets and questions about the past, worries about finances, personal insecurities, and all sorts of stuff I have chosen not to think about. With my phone down, I can not ignore these nagging concerns. I am forced to look them in the face. It’s not pleasant, guys, to look at all that stuff. It makes me feel yucky. I don’t like feeling yucky.
Last night after I put my book down, I closed my eyes because I thought I was ready for sleep. I was tired, but as I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, the ugliness started playing out on my mind screen. “Ugh,” I thought, “why!?!?!?” I felt overwhelmed. In desperation I said to God, “Is this real? Is my memory real? Please replace these images with what is true!”
Did you see that? I didn’t shove the images down. I held them up to God and asked for His reality check. Why was I able to do that? Because I’ve put a margin into my life. I’ve left some white space, expecting that He will step in and fill it. I am acknowledging that the story I am writing is rough and needs the hand of the Master. I need Him to speak into my life — to offer encouragement, correction, and guidance. I haven’t been leaving room for that. I’ve been writing all the way to the edge of the paper.
I’m a mere two days in, guys, but this change is so important that God is already dramatically stepping in. It’s like He’s been standing by waiting for the opportunity.
I’m still behind on my new Bible study, Breathe: making room for sabbath by Priscilla Shirer, but I’m not feeling the need to rush. I’m trying to drink in the ideas and let them tumble around inside my head for a little while.
What I’m tossing around today is the idea of boundaries. Priscilla Shirer uses the terms ‘margin’ and ‘boundary’ almost interchangeably. The idea is to leave space in our lives — to not plan ourselves out to the edges. When I think of the term ‘margin’ , as a writer, I think of the edge of the page. My students are required to double-space their papers and to leave a one-inch margin around their text. Why? Well, for one thing, it makes the page look nice. But more importantly is the fact that they are leaving room for me. They are leaving space on the page for me to engage with their ideas, to comment, “nice job!” or “I see what you mean!” They are leaving a place for me to give guidance, “I am wondering if you could clarify this a bit for me” or “Say this more concisely.” They are planning for the actuality that I will be joining them on this page.
So why don’t I apply this rule to my life? Why, so often, do I plan my life right out to the edge of the paper, single-spaced, in 10 pt. font! I’m not leaving room for anyone — not the people I pass throughout my day, not my kids, not my husband, not my own thoughts, not God. Nope. I’m filling it up, often well ahead of time. And I’m sitting here wondering if I do it so that I won’t have time for others, myself, or — gasp — God.
Let me pause for a minute and say that I have more freedom for boundaries in my life right now than I have had in a very long time. I am only working part-time and much of that is scheduled by me. We live in a very small home, which, except for the interior, is maintained by someone else. The only other beings who live with me are my husband and my dog — both of whom are extremely low maintenance. And still, still, I plan myself out to the edges of the page. And, when I don’t have anything planned, I fill my time with activity — crocheting, television, Words With Friends, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. I don’t often let my mind be still. And I’m starting to think I am doing this on purpose.
Why? Because when my mind is still, it wanders to things I don’t like it to think about — mistakes from the past, worries about the people I love, things I wish I could change. So, rather than looking those thoughts square in the face, I occupy myself, or at least my mind. It’s a way of avoiding reality, I suppose. But, you know, I think I am also avoiding something else.
By eliminating the margins in my life, I am eliminating the spaces where anyone else can enter in. I’m making myself so busy that I have little time to chat with a friend, to phone my sister, or to pray. And by not leaving much room for these others to engage with my life, I am limiting their ability to encourage me and to guide me.
The first chapter in this Bible study challenged me to identify specific areas that I let have too much control over my time. I identified two — working and social media. Let me explain.
The nature of my work right now is that I teach one class at the college where we live — three days a week for fifty minutes. That is very easy and do-able. Yes, it is an English class, yes I have papers to grade, but it is very manageable. However, in addition to that I am a private tutor/proofreader. I have an online profile through which potential students can contact me at any hour day or night. Sometimes I get a message at 9pm asking if I could proofread a 3-page document before midnight. I also get requests all day long for in-person tutoring. I can make my schedule as busy as I want it to be. I don’t always do a great job of maintaining a healthy boundary.
Social media is a great modern tool. It allows us to connect with people around the world. We can share photos, engage in political dialogue, or promote causes we care about. However…..we can also use it to fill in the white spaces in our lives. If I’ve got five minutes to wait in a line, instead of noticing my surroundings, I often check email, text a friend, or post on Facebook. If I’m in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, I play Words With Friends or read my Twitter feed. If I’m sitting next to my husband on the couch at night, I usually have my phone in my hand — checking messages, playing games, reading posts. I’m not allowing a margin that invites others to engage with me.
I’ve known this for a while. And, I’m a little hesitant to continue this paragraph because I know I am about to publicly commit to change. And change, my friends, is not always easy…especially when it relates to those behaviors that offer us some kind of protection from ourselves or the world around us. I’m thinking that one change I can choose to make that will allow me a little more white space, a little more opportunity to engage with others, including my own thoughts and God, would be to put my phone down. Every night. From 8pm to 8am. There it is. In print. It doesn’t sound like a big deal, does it? I think I’m going to actually turn it off during those times. Any messages I receive between 8p and 8a can wait. Right?
Are you like me? Does a decision like this raise a little anxiety? What if I get bored? What if someone needs me? What if I miss something? Yeah, the fact that I’m freaking out a little bit tells me that this decision is long overdue. I’m feeling very resolute at 2:35 pm, but I have a feeling that I might feel a little uncomfortable around 8:15. Nevertheless, I believe this is one small step God is calling me to in my quest for Sabbath.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
Hebrews 12: 1b
Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles.
This post was written days after Easter in March 2016. Since then, I’ve been on many mountaintops and into far more valleys than I ever saw coming. It’s the rhythm of life, and He continues to be faithful in April 2019.
Come, let us return to the Lord. He has torn us to pieces but he will heal us; he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds.
Hosea 6:1
Yesterday I celebrated my 50th birthday by going to the gym, shopping with my husband, and going out to dinner. All day long family and friends sent me their well-wishes. If ever I felt loved, yesterday was the day. I was flying high and enjoying every minute of celebration, but you know the saying, “what goes up, must come down.”
Today is not my birthday. I woke to my typical aches and pains; maybe they were even a little worse than usual after all my merry-making yesterday. I went to the chiropractor for an adjustment, then traveled to meet my in-laws for a birthday lunch. It was one last glimpse at the mountaintop before I got a long look at the valley.
About a hour ago, a phone call signaled a continuing family conflict, the taxman affirmed what we thought would be bad news, and then the baking project I was working on didn’t yield as much as I was hoping it would. Three strikes and I plummeted off that mountain of Easter/birthday love into the valley of “how am I going to fix this mess?”
In frustration I cried out, looking “to the hills from whence cometh my help.” God, why do you seem so far from me when just yesterday you seemed so close? I mean, didn’t I celebrate Easter two days ago with shouts of “He is risen, He is risen indeed, Alleluia”? Didn’t I go straight from celebrating Your victory over sin, death, and the grave into a virtual love-fest? Why is my faithfulness so fleeting? Why Am I so quick to forget your goodness? Why do I think that the God of the Universe, who willingly sent His only Son to die for my sins, won’t also walk with me through family difficulties, financial trials, and a tiny little thing like mis-sized cinnamon rolls?
Because I am bent on turning. When the road gets a little rough, I assume I’ve got to get tough. I don’t often consider that God has placed a rough road in front of me so that He can assure me of His presence and provision. I forget that He has carried us through sickness, joblessness, tragedy, and loss to much better places than we ever thought possible.
Just this morning, a mere nine hours ago, I read in my Bible study of Hosea the words posted above, that “God has torn us to pieces, but He will heal us.” I read that way before the triple threat of a mere hour ago.
Jennifer Rothschild asks in the Hosea study, “What is the greatest affliction God has placed or allowed in your life?” I listed a few things that have been quite challenging. Her next question, “Can you see how that wounding has been part of greater healing?” My response? “Absolutely.”
Can I see how the situations placed before us right now might be part of greater healing? Yes. Do I wish that they weren’t happening? Yes. Do I trust God enough to watch and see how He works even in these difficult times? Obediently, at this moment, I say yes.
I refuse to lose hope just because I am sitting in the valley after a delightful trip to the mountaintop. I’m not going to fashion a golden calf. I’m going to trust that God is still working, just like He was Sunday and yesterday. I’m going to to believe that any bumps in our path have been crafted by Him to draw us closer to, not further from, Him. I’m going to believe that although right now we seem wounded, in just a little while He will heal us.
We spent last weekend with our sweet grand daughter. As many grandparents will attest, there is nothing quite like the love one feels for a grandchild. People had been telling me this for years, but it took gazing upon our own grandchild to give me the full picture. In the fifteen or so months since she was born, I have spent a lot of time just observing her. I’m starting to compile a list of lessons that this wee one is teaching me.
Play is important. And it’s fun! I’ve spent so many hours of my life being serious; I have sometimes forgotten to play. Not this little girl! She makes everything into play — eating blueberries, getting her diaper changed, taking a bath, riding in the car, and waiting in line at a restaurant. If she has a spare second, she’s playing peek-a-boo, chase-me, let’s-knock-it-down, splash your Oma, or anything that will make her, and me, laugh.
Fun is contagious. Every time this little one giggles, I giggle. If she makes a silly face, I make a silly face. I can’t hep myself. She draws me in. She walks right up to me, hands me a book, leans toward me with a smile, and I’ve just gotta smile back. I don’t think I was serious for a single second all weekend, unless you count that moment when she face-planted at the mall. At that moment she taught me another lesson.
If you’re hurting, you just gotta cry. In my almost fifty years of life, I have stuffed a lot of emotions. I have concealed fear, subdued laughter, and swallowed pain. Not my little girl; nope. When she feels something, she shows it. When she face-planted, she cried loud and hard — the kind of crying that loses its breath and gets silent. It was legitimate. She bruised the very fleshy part over her cheek bone. She hit hard. When she cried, no one tried to silence her; we let her cry. We had seen the injury. We felt her pain. And she taught us another lesson.
When you’re really hurting, Dad is the safest place to turn. Opa swooped her off the floor and rushed her right to her daddy who engulfed her in his extra-strong arms so that she could bury her face in his extra-large shoulder and wail. He just held her and held her while she cried. He kept her safe and secure while Mom checked out the injury, Opa found us a place to sit down, and Oma got some ice. When the pain ebbed a bit, and Dad placed her in a booster seat at a table, her tear-filled eyes watched him as she drank her drink and ate her fries. When he stood to get some ketchup, her eyes followed him to the restaurant counter and back. She checked that we were all still sitting near her, but she didn’t smile until he was headed back toward her. It wasn’t long before she regained her composure and reminded us of another lesson.
When you fall down, you gotta get back up. After the spill and the fries, our girl cautiously entered the children’s area, observed what the big kids were doing, and then tried out some of the toys herself. Mom showed her how to push the buttons that lit up. She ran from one end of the play area to the other. She looked up at the towering climbing apparatus and then showed us another important lesson.
You’ve gotta know your limitations. She was clearly impressed by the kids who were climbing higher than their parents’ heads, but she recognized that she didn’t have the means, or perhaps the courage, to go where they were going. She walked under the looming structure, but when she realized that none of her people had gone with her, she turned around and walked back out. No one had told her she couldn’t go in there, she just knew that if we weren’t going with her, she wasn’t going to do it alone. In fact, at that point, she’d had enough of the play area and was ready to go walking for a bit.
Exploring is interesting. Our girl was happy to ride in the stroller as long as we were moving and changing her scenery. We walked through the crowded mall and she had plenty to look at, but when we went into a store and the stroller stopped moving, she voiced her protest. And there’s our next lesson.
Let your concerns be known. This little girl does not shy away from communicating. When she is ready to move, she makes some noise. When she’s hungry, she goes to the kitchen cupboard where her snacks are stored. When she wants up, she reaches; when she wants down, she leans. When she’s happy, she talks and laughs. When she’s sad, she cries. But my favorite of all is her way of communicating when she’s just tuckered out. She goes to her Daddy, the keeper of all things safe, and gives the signal.
Because when you need a recharge, you go to Daddy. She stands near him. She rubs her eyes. She might try to climb up in his lap. Since he’s her dad, he recognizes the signals. He lifts her up and holds her close. She puts her head on his shoulder and just submits to his embrace. She doesn’t necessarily sleep; often she just soaks up his love for five or ten minutes. He holds her, enjoying this mutual love fest. If she falls asleep, he lets her. If a brief charge is all that’s needed, he smiles, kisses her head, and lets her back down to go play and explore some more.
I probably don’t have to spell it out for you. You’re smarter than that. You can see what I saw, can’t you? You can learn from a toddler, too.
Have you felt the oppressive weight of hopelessness? It seems that everywhere I turn I hear the message of doom and gloom. Just this morning I heard reports of yet another devastating terror attack — this time in Brussels. For the past several months the political rhetoric has fostered fear and hatred. I myself have been troubled by the uncertainties in my life. It seems that people all over the world are feeling desperate — hopeless.
What kind of hopelessness drives a person to strap a bomb to himself and willingly die while taking out the lives of others? What kind of fear causes people to lash out at complete strangers? What kind of desperation keeps me awake at night?
It’s the kind of fear that has forgotten that God is God. It’s the kind of hopelessness that believes that our future is in our own hands. It’s the kind of desperation that wonders how life would’ve been different if I would’ve made different decisions along the way.
This kind of fear and hopelessness is not new; “there is nothing new under the sun.” The Israelites, standing at the base of Mount Sinai, while Moses was talking to God, started freaking out because he was taking too long. They were literally bearing witness to the presence of God and they forgot about Him! So, turning to their own resources, they fashioned a golden calf, yes, that’s right, a baby cow made out of their jewelry. And, they started to worship the freshly minted calf, saying that it had brought them out of Egypt.
Say what?
Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I mean much more ridiculous then strapping a bunch of explosives to one’s body and walking into a crowded subway thinking that that will solve the world’s problems. Much more ridiculous than thinking that my 401k will give me security. Much more ridiculous than imagining that I will be happy as soon as I drop twenty pounds. Way more crazy than staying up all night wondering if I made all the right parenting decisions.
Those Israelites, man, they were crazy.
But no crazier than me. They had merely turned their faces away from the mountain and, that quickly, had forgotten that their salvation was right in front of them. I’ve turned my face, too. Over and over again. I have taken my eyes off of God and looked instead to my own strength, or the strength of those around me, to be my salvation.
What was I thinking? That God was taking too long? Wasn’t I bearing witness to His presence and His power in my life?
Mm-hm. I was. And still, I turned.
Over and over I have found that I am not my own salvation. In fact, when I turn to myself, I unfailingly make my situation even worse than it was to begin with. Just like the Israelites.
You would think that God would get angry. You would think He would say, “That’s it. I am done with you. We’ve been over this. I’m not giving you another chance.” But He doesn’t. He pulls us close; He says, “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be ok. Remember, I’m God.”
One dichotomy of thinking that I have clung to in various ways for most of my life is a bit embarrassing to admit:
If I am thin, I am valuable; if I am fat, I am detestable.
This belief led to a certain degree of self-loathing in my adolescent and young adult years and then propelled me into the disordered thinking and distorted body image that supported an eating disorder and remnants of one for much longer than I would care to admit.
‘Thin’ as defined by me has meant a variety of things. Its worst definition was a denial of self — a refusal to care for my needs in favor of controlling my body to attain and maintain a particular size. Over the years, the definition morphed into something more socially acceptable — a particular dress size, for instance, that could be maintained through regular exercise, an aversion to excess, and a more private critical eye that was still always trying to find a way to weigh just a little bit less.
‘Fat’ as defined by me has meant anything over a particular number on a scale, laziness, apathy, and a refusal to take charge of one’s life. I had been ‘fat’ in my younger years. I didn’t like myself then, and I wasn’t going back. I had control over my body. Fat people were simply ‘less than’ me.
See why I am embarrassed? I had put myself into a category, ‘thin people’, and, in so doing, had positioned myself in opposition to those outside of that category. Now, in my defense, this was not conscious. I would have never admitted this out loud. I pride myself in treating people fairly, not judging a book by its cover, but looking on the inside to find value and worth.
But, I’m admitting here that I have been a hypocrite. And, as with almost every other judgment I have made in my life, my judgment of ‘non-thin’ people has had more to do with what is inside of me than what is inside of them.
I know this because in the last three and a half years that I have been dealing with health issues, I have been slowly putting on weight. It’s now up to twenty pounds. My clothing size has changed. The number on the scale has exceeded my ‘safe number’. I don’t like how I look. I don’t like how I feel.
I’ve been trying to accept it. I have bought some new clothes. I have done a lot of self-talk. I have continued to exercise. I have continued to watch what I eat. I keep telling myself, “this is not a failure; it is a disease.” Or, “you don’t have control over this, you will have to adapt.”
So last week when I went to see my doctor, I said, “My weight keeps climbing. It edged up again this time, didn’t it?” I think inside I was hoping she would say, “you don’t have control over this, you will have to adapt, it’s part of the disease.” But do you know what she said? She said, “I want you to keep track of everything you eat for a while, so that I can see what is causing this.”
Gasp. You mean it’s something I am doing? I might be able to control this?
Danger! Danger! Danger! All the alerts are going off in my head. Keeping track of what I eat was a gateway to anorexia over thirty years ago. Each day I tried to eat less and write down less. If I write down what I eat now, I will fall back into this disorder. I can’t do that! I have to let myself eat whatever I want.
Did you hear the dichotomy? Either I eat whatever I want, or I will have an eating disorder. It’s simply not true, but this is challenging territory.
Can I be attentive to what I eat without being restrictive? Can I assess what I am eating without the pressure to trim down? Can I trim down without dieting? Am I comfortable allowing my doctor to see everything I eat (or don’t eat)? Am I willing to let her speak into this?
Before I could go too far down the rabbit hole, I blurted out in her office, “I used to be anorexic….” Phew! I got it out. “Well,” she said, “we don’t want to get anywhere close to that, but we do want to make sure that what you are eating has a healthy ratio of fat to protein to carbohydrate.”
I didn’t initially want to follow her directions. And then, I wanted too badly to follow her directions. I started thinking, “well, I could lose those twenty pounds and get back into all of my old clothes….” That’s all it takes for me, really. Just a quick thought and I am off and restricting. Quietly. In private. Hiding my plans from others who might want to stand in my way.
For the first three days I recorded what I ate quietly on my phone app without telling anyone. And, of course, I limited what I was eating so as to ‘eat less’ than the prescribed number on the app. Sigh.
Then, I told my husband about the app. Now I am telling you. I am not going to believe the dichotomy any longer. I have value and purpose regardless of a number on a scale or a dress size. My weight does not define me. I can watch what I eat without being restrictive.
I can evolve past this dichotomous thinking. God has so much more for me.
Romans 12:2
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.
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