I have been having trouble sleeping lately. I don’t know why. Sleeping through the night just hasn’t been happening this week. Last night, I was so tired that I went to bed at 7. Managed to sleep until 2:30. Six and a half hours—Yay me!
So as I was lying in bed at 2:30 last night (this morning?) I started thinking. My thoughts went to a couple of people who, for different reasons, had my nerves on edge. Their behavior and comments rubbed me the wrong way. A part of me wanted to confront them over it. I didn’t—for the same reason I am not going to be specific about these annoyances today. It’s just not worth the arguing, fighting, and headaches that would result.
But for whatever reason, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Perhaps it was these frustrations that were keeping me from sleep. I still don’t know. But I did the only thing I could thing to do about it at 2:30 in the morning: I took it to God.
As I laid out my grievances to Him, I realized something. The traits that were bothering me about others can easily be found in my life. Does God get just as annoyed with me over these same things? Could it be that I am so annoyed about the actions of others because I am just like them?
I don’t like to make New Year’s Resolutions. They don’t last past January anyway. Who am I kidding? My resolutions often don’t last beyond the first week of January. So this year I am not making any. Instead, I am just working on me. Rather than complaining about the lives others live, I plan to spend time examining my own life.
I want to become the good person I find myself wishing others were. Not to say that I am a bad person! I just know that I have a long way to go before I am the woman God sees me as.
Tag Archives: Christianity
Praise and Purpose
I’ve been reading Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace In His Presence for over a year now. In case you’ve never heard of this little book, it’s a daily devotional written by Sarah Young. She writes from the perspective of Jesus Christ, as if He were speaking directly to the reader. I can’t even begin to imagine the thoughts that must have gone through her head as she wrote this book, the daily struggles she must have had in thinking of how unworthy she or any human is to take on the voice of Christ. But that is a topic for another time.
I started reading this book in April 2013, after hearing about it from my Uncle Kevin. See, he and his wife were reading this together early that year. Not that either of them bragged about it. Uncle Kevin and Aunt Janet would never brag about their relationship with Christ. They just lived it, every day. It was at Uncle Kevin’s funeral on April 5, 2013 that I first heard about this devotional book, though I had probably seen it in stores before then. One of the last daily readings my uncle had enjoyed was shared during the service.
At the time, I was going through a difficult patch in my relationship with Christ. I was so mad at Him. I was angry about my own health issues. There were things that I should have been able to do that I couldn’t. Chronic pain, a heart condition, nerve damage, and life walking on a cane—all at age 37—were hard for me to deal with, and I was so angry that God was allowing this issues into my life. And then He allowed cancer to take away my uncle. Uncle Kevin, who was always smiling and full of life, died a few months short of his 20th wedding anniversary, leaving behind a wife, two adult children, and three beautiful young grandchildren. He believed in God, lived his life for Christ, asked Him for healing, and yet on Easter Sunday left his family to join Heaven’s choir. One more thing for me to be bitter about.
And I was bitter. For a long time. I’m not proud of it. Uncle Kevin and I were not particularly close. But I was already mad at God, and his death gave me one more reason to be mad. So I used it as an excuse to fuel my anger.
At the same time, I was intrigued by his reading choice. The particular cancer my uncle had was very aggressive. It progressed rapidly. Some say that was a blessing, as Uncle Kevin would not have wanted to be a burden to anyone. I don’t know. I know only that even as he grew more and more physically ill, Uncle Kevin stayed focused on Christ. His spirit never wavered. In the days before his death, he continued with his daily devotions, reading from Jesus Calling with Aunt Janet. Shortly before he passed away, he found the strength to sing the hymn “Have Thine Own Way” with his wife and daughter. Even though I was angry at God about my situation, on some level I craved the clarity, the deep level of faith that Uncle Kevin had.
I’ll admit, I am not always as dedicated in my daily devotional reading as my uncle. But I am trying. And I think that God is trying to talk to me through it.
Yesterday, in the reading for October 20, I read the line, “Do not be anxious about the weakness of your body.” I hadn’t marked that line, but it sure grabbed my attention again this morning. As soon as I opened the book for today’s reading, my eyes fell on it. My body is weak. Some days it is much more so than others. They say you are only as old as you feel, and I feel old, oh so very old some days because of the pain and weakness in my body. The past few days have been like that. And it worries me. I try to give it over to God, but when nothing changes, I wonder if He is listening to me. Holding on to the worry doesn’t change anything. There isn’t much that I can do to strengthen it or bring back what has been lost. It seems like all I have is the worry. And when that is all I have, it’s hard to let it go. Does that make any sense?
This morning, I read something else that felt like God talking directly to me. “Remember that all good things—your possessions, your family and friends, your health and abilities, your time—are gifts from Me. Instead of feeling entitled to these blessings, respond to them with gratitude.” Wow. And if that was not enough of a punch, the verse to go along with the reading was Job 1:21—“He said, ‘I came naked from my mother’s womb, and I will be naked when I leave. The Lord gave me what I had and the Lord has taken it away. Praise the name of the Lord!’”
Not only have I not praised the Lord for what He was taken away from me, I have not praised Him for the things He has given me to replace those things. I don’t think I have fully praised Him or thanked Him for the things He has allowed me to keep. And I am quite certain that I never bothered to praise Him for the things that are gone when I had them. I just sort of took them for granted. I can’t promise never to do that again, but at least for today, I am praising God for the things He has given me, thanking Him for taking away the things I don’t need, and trusting Him to use the things I have left for His glory.
Uncle Kevin was fond of saying, “If you have a pulse, you have a purpose.” His pulse may have stopped, but so long as his life is still touching others, his purpose goes on.
Thorny Flesh
I am having back issues again. Not that again is really the most accurate term for it. The issues have never really gone away. The surgery I had in 2011 to repair a severely herniated disc in my lower back relieved a lot of pain but did not clear up everything. I’ve dealt with balance problems, nerve damage, and pain that comes and goes.
This summer the pain has come and forgotten to go away. It has gotten progressively worse, to the point where I have an appointment with my back surgeon in 7 days.
Now, back surgery is not something I am particularly looking forward to. Though I do remember how immediate the relief was last time. Sure my skin and muscle tissue hurt where it had been cut apart and sewn back together, but that was nothing compared to what I’d felt before. That almost instant relief sounds so good at times. At the same time I remember how difficult the recovery was. The physical therapy. The driving restrictions. The weeks of being homebound, except church and doctor appointments. The relying on others to help with just about everything while I recovered. The no chore restriction-oh wait I actually enjoyed that one! My point is I’m not very sure that I want to have another back surgery. I only know I want this intense back pain to go away. If my surgeon thinks surgery will be the best way for that to happen than OK. God brought me through the last one and I have faith He will carry me through this one as well.
For the last 2½ years I’ve dealt with nerve damage caused by that herniated disc. While praying over the current situation, I asked God again, as I have a few times since those nerves were damaged to please heal them. “Lord,” I prayed, “I know the doctors say nothing can be done and that that this latest problem has nothing to do with the nerves that don’t work right. But could You do something for me? If I do need surgery to repair the disc, could You somehow regenerate those nerves? Can You please wake them up so they can work correctly and the problems they have caused just go away?””
Shortly after my prayer, I opened my Bible study book to a section about health. I read there the following words from the apostle Paul: “I was given a thorn in my flesh…. Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said ‘my grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness’” (2 Corinthians 12:7-9)
I said I asked God to heal those nerves, but as I read over the conversation, it sure sounds a lot more like begging than simply requesting. And I know this was much more than just the third time I brought it up. Has God flat-out refused to heal me? I don’t think so. There is always a chance that He will restore complete use of the lower portions of my body. For now, though He is asking me to lean on Him, to trust in His grace, to believe that what the world sees as my weakness could be a beautiful conduit for His power.
I don’t know if the physical healing I desire will ever come. But do you know what is even better than physical healing? The spiritual healing I am experiencing. Day by day my hunger for God is satisfied as my thirst for Him intensifies. If it takes a thorn in my flesh- or a handful of damaged nerve in my back-in order for me to experience that, I gladly embrace it!
It Could Have Been Me
Robin Williams played Genie in my favorite ever Disney film, Aladdin
Robin Williams died yesterday.
When I heard the news, I was at a wedding reception. My immediate reaction was to make light of it. Not because I found even a shred of humor in his death, but because of where I was. I did not want anything to dim the newlyweds’ joy. Yet the happiness of the young couple was not the only reason I tried to shrug off the sadness of Mr. Williams’ death. I just did not want to admit, even to myself right then, how deeply the news was affecting me. I did not want to make room for the thought pushing to the front of my mind.
“That could have been me.”
Every newscast talks about the addictions he battled throughout his life. Most talk about the deep, consuming depression that marked the final months of his life. Some even suggested that Robin Williams was able to use the humor that entertained fans for decades to hide the depth of his family and friends.
I’ve been there. I don’t have the acting chops or comedic timing of Mr. Williams. But I have faced depression and addiction, even suicidal thoughts. I’ve hidden these things from my family and friends. Sometimes I’ve been very successful at hiding, sometimes I haven’t. For years I have lived with the fear that these demons would be the end of me. Even now, when it may appear to others that I have my life together and my issues under control, I am scared that one of those monsters might jump out and grab hold of me.
My addiction is what concerns me most. I don’t do any illegal drugs and I very rarely drink. My drug of choice is food. I am an emotional eater, using food to celebrate victories or mourn losses. Sometimes I crave sweet and creamy; sometimes I crave salty and crunchy. The problem with food addiction is that I can’t stop eating. God designed my body to require food in order to survive. The types and amounts that I shovel into my mouth, though, are not a requirement. Even knowing that, I can’t make myself stop. And that depresses me more. Which makes me reach for more food I should not eat. Which adds to depression. Which….
You get the picture.
I am relatively sure that depression won’t “get me.” Difficult as it has been, I have accepted that this depression is a part of who I am and the treatment for it will always be a part of my life. Those closet to me have learned the signs of an untreated me- because I have made the choices in the past to stop treatment. They know what to look for and for the most part they know what to say to make me choose to get back to treatment. At this point, in time, I feel confident that depression will not bring an end to my life.
I can’t say the same about food.
Robin WIlliams as Peter Pan in Hook in my second favorite of his films.
My sons like the movie Spaceballs. There is a scene where a newscaster says Pizza the Hut got locked in a car and ate himself to death. Now, I don’t think I will literally eat myself to death, but I worry about y food choices could be doing to my body. 1 Corinthians 6:19 says that my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. I am not hurting only me, I am hurting God when I allow my addiction to control me.
Yesterday, the dual demons of addiction and depression ended the life of Robin Williams. His legacy of laughter will live on through films and internet clips, though the laughter might be a little bittersweet as the world mourns his loss. Today, I vow to fight those same demons in my life. I don’t know yet what my legacy will be or how many lives I may touch. But with God’s help, I won’t let mental issues keep me from finding out.
Rest in peace, Robin. Enjoy Neverland.
Get Your Praise On!!
Because of a reaction to the medication for my back pain, I had to miss church this week. We were able to set up a Skype link (a rather temperamental one) so I could still be a part of the morning worship service. What I experienced moved me to tears.
Normally, being moved to tears during a worship service is a good thing. There is nothing quite like the spine-tingling thrill of feeling God move through a group of believers. But it wasn’t His movement that caused my tears. These tears were brought on by a broken heart.
The worship portion of the service consisted of four wonderful, upbeat songs about what God has done for us–Hello My Name Is, I Am Free, God’s Not Dead and Oh Happy Day . Despite my pain I was taping my feet and clapping, dancing as much as I was able, as I smiled and sang along. Halfway through God’s Not Dead, I looked at the Skype window. No one else was dancing or swaying. I saw no evidence of clapping or foot tapping. Since my view was from the back, I don’t know if anyone was smiling. The only singing I could hear, though, came from the praise and the worship track and our worship team. It broke my heart to think my church didn’t care about the words they were singing. I wanted to shout at them through my computer, “God’s not dead- but you sure look like you are!”
That is a harsh thing to say about anyone, I know, especially my own church family. I know these people, and I know how they love Jesus. But would a visitor know that? What I witnessed on Sunday was not a warm, welcoming worship service. It was not the kind of thing that would make a person think, “These people know and worship a living God who set them free.”
If it had been my first service, if I didn’t know the people in those seats, I cannot honestly say I would be back.
The Bible tells us to sing praises to God. In Psalms, we are told to come together to sing praises. Psalm 149:1 says, “Praise the Lord! Sing to the Lord a new song. Sing his praises in the assembly of the faithful.” Psalm 100:1 tells us to “Shout with joy to the Lord.” There are at least two places in Psalms where we are told to “Praise His name with dancing” (149:3 and 150:4.)
I know that worship, true worship, comes from the heart in a different way for each person. And it is God we should be striving to please as we worship. Yet we are also called to reach others for Him. What does it say to the unchurched traveler when our songs speak the joy of the freedom found in life with a God who is not dead while our body language suggests we are preparing for a funeral?
I can’t change the actions of everyone in the church. In fact, I can’t change the actions of anyone in the church– except me. When the music plays next Sunday morning, I plan to let it move me. I pray that the spirit of God washes over me in ways I can’t contain and the Pentecostal girl inside of me that has been silent for years comes out in full force!
I have prayed that my church would be set on fire for Jesus. If I can be the spark that starts that fire, I say “Bring it!”
So much sadness
Have you ever had a week that seemed to be defined by the emotions around you? That’s what this past week was.
Last Sunday morning, I awoke thinking it would be a week full of bittersweet moments. The week was to start off with an impromptu picnic with some church friends. Our town has an annual parade celebrating the beginning of summer, and my house is only a few blocks from the parade route. In fact, the street right outside our house, including the space where my husband normally parks his truck, is part of the parade staging area. A family from church was planning to attend the parade, so we invited them to join us for lunch before walking to view the Rose Parade. It was a great afternoon, and something that I thought would be a good way of bracing myself for what was coming. After all, in the coming days I would have to attend two functions at the elementary school that would be “lasts” for my 5th grader—his last student of the month celebration and his last music concert. I was prepared for those emotions, for the pride of seeing the wonderful, intelligent young man he has become, mixed with the sadness of knowing the little preschooler I sent off to Hunt in the fall of 2007 would be entering middle school in just a few short months. Oh, where has that time gone?
And what mother would not be choked up at hearing her son introduce his classmates rendition of Disney’s A Whole New World by saying something along the lines of, “We are looking forward to the whole new world that is opening up to us as we prepare to enter middle school in the fall”?
Those bittersweet emotions associated with celebrating my middle son’s last moments of elementary school, as well as all of the other “normal” end of the year emotions and celebrations with his brothers…those are what I expected this last week to be filled with. What I didn’t expect was the deep sadness of loss that washed over me in waves.
Lost hope, lost life, lost love. It hit me more than once during the past seven days. I can’t be more specific than that, because in no case was the loss specifically mine. Not my loss means it’s not my news to share. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t affect me at all. It’s left my head spinning and my heart broken. There’s an old Carman song from the late 1980’s or early 1990’s that contained the line, “It’s as if you’re sitting there in that stunned moment while your faith gets violated and all you feel is weak, powerless and lame.” That is kind of how I have felt. Not so much that my faith has been violated, though I will admit that one of these sad events did have me turning to God and asking, “Why is this happening? Why are You allowing this?” I questioned not really God’s goodness or His existence this week; rather I questioned His methods.
But “weak, powerless and lame.” That is a pretty apt description. As I have felt sadness sweep over me, I’ve thought about those more directly affected by these events. I’ve wanted—more than once—to gather my hurting friends and family in arms, to shelter them from the pain, to put all the pieces back together for them, to make the things that feel so wrong right again.
But I can’t.
I can’t fix this. Some of this can’t be fixed, not by me. Some can’t be fixed by human means at all. Even the parts that can be fixed by human hands require God’s intervention first.
God, You the situations and the people who are on my heart. Be with them all. Give them Your strength and peace. Even those who are acting strong now are hurting. Show them that You understand, that You are there, and that You love them all, even—maybe especially—in the midst of this storm. Don’t let them lose sight of You. If they have already been blown off course, Lord, help them find a beacon back to You. It is only in Your arms, in Your presence that they will find true healing and peace, no matter how their situations play out.
Mary’s Memories
It’s Good Friday. My sons, husband and I are watching The Passion of the Christ. As I watch Mary follow her son on his way to Golgotha, I wonder what was in her mind. Surely she knew that her son was The Son of God, that He was fulfilling the purpose for which He had been born. (In the film, as Jesus is being beaten by Pilate’s men, Mary says, “My son, when, where, how will you deliver yourself from this?” I may have the words slightly wrong, but that is close.) Still, how horrible it must have been for her to watch that. It had to have broken her heart to not only see each lash He was given but to hear the hatred and disgust those in the crowd–the same people who had welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem a few days before, were not hurling at Him. Did she ever question her part in God’s plan? As her son was tortured and her heart was breaking, did Mary ever regret having agreed to become the mother of Jesus?
This is not the first time I’ve wondered about that. A few years back, I wrote a little something from Mary’s perspective, examining just those questions. I’d like to share that with you tonight. Here is how I think Mary would have looked on her life after the death and resurrection of Jesus.
MARY’S MEMORIES
I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. That’s how it often works with God. He asks you to do something and you choose to say yes or no. He always gives you that option—that’s the wonderful part. He’s not going to force you to do something you are really not comfortable with. Of course, if you say no, there’s no guarantee He will ask you to do something else. The bad part is that He doesn’t always explain exactly what is going to happen.
That’s how it happened with me. I had a general idea of how this was going to work. Scripture told us what to expect.
But I didn’t have a clue just what would be involved. All I knew is that God was asking me to do something special. He could have chosen someone prettier or smarter or older. But He chose me. I didn’t understand why at the time and I can’t say I fully understand why now. But He asked.
All my life, I had wanted to do something for God. I hoped that He would find some way to use me. I just never dreamed it would be in such a big way.
I still remember that day so clearly. Or should I say that night. I had prayed before bed as usual. My friends thought I was too old to keep praying like that. They reminded me that my father had found a good husband for me. So what if we still needed to wait a while before the wedding? My friends said I should “stop bothering God and just be happy as Joseph’s wife.”
I wasn’t unhappy at the thought of being his wife. Joseph was a good man, a godly man. And he was always such a hard worker. He was a carpenter, which meant we would probably never be rich. I didn’t mind. He would be a good husband and I would work hard to be a good wife. Together, we would be good parents. Truly, I could be content with that. But if God wanted me for something more, I wanted Him to know that I was willing.
I can’t tell you how many times my friends said I was wasting my time. “God never uses women,” they said. I reminded them of Deborah, of Ruth, and of Queen Esther. Maybe there were more stories about the men, but God could use a woman, too. If she was willing to be used.
It was an ordinary night. I kissed my father, helped my mother put the younger children down, and then headed to bed. But the light that woke me was anything but ordinary.
It was so bright. I had to shield my eyes. I was able to make out the outline of a tall man standing there. How had he gotten into my home? I was scared.
And then he spoke. “Greetings!” he said. “The Lord has blessed you and is with you.”
He said that I shouldn’t be scared, and for some reason I wasn’t anymore. Instead, I was excited. My prayers had been heard. God had a place for me in His plan.
And what a plan! For years we had looked forward to God’s promised Messiah. This man—this angel—was telling me that God wanted me to give birth to that Messiah.
For a moment, I did consider saying no. I wasn’t much more than a child myself. I wasn’t married and could only imagine what Joseph’s reaction to this would be.
Yet, I didn’t know how to say no. I’d prayed for years to be used by God. Now that He was showing me how He wanted to use me, it seemed unfair to tell Him no. If I did say no, would He ask me anything again? There was nothing more to say than, “May it be as you say.”
Joseph was very supportive—which in a lot of ways surprised me. He was so good about it. I wonder if he ever regretted it. Jesus was one of the best tempered children. Still, being his parent was not always easy. Joseph never complained but it must have been even harder on him than on me.
We did have to spend some time hiding while Jesus was very young. The only real trouble He gave us, though, was when He was 12. Though I can’t really fault Him for that. What kind of parents take a full day to notice their child is missing?
Missing isn’t exactly the right word for it. We didn’t know where Jesus was, but He was right where He needed to be. I remember Him telling me not to worry, that He was in His Father’s house. I didn’t know what He meant at the time. I only knew that I was relieved to see Him safe and sound.
Maybe it was foolish of me to be so concerned. I just had a small part to play in God’s plan. My son WAS the plan. He wasn’t going to be hurt, not until the time came for the Plan to fully go into action.
I was in Jerusalem the day he entered the city for the last time. I remember the crowds and oh how glad they were to see Him! For a moment, I thought the time for God’s plan was still years in the future. And to be honest, that is what I was hoping. I knew why my son was born—and to keep Him with me was selfish. But as His mother, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted my son to live—on Earth, where I could see Him and hug Him—for a few more years.
I knew the prophecies. Isaiah wrote that the Messiah would be wounded and bruised. Knowing that would happen to some random person and seeing it happen to my son were two completely different things. I wanted to protect Him. Each time they hit Him, I felt it. Every drop of blood He lost felt like it came from my own heart. I wanted to turn away, to run off and hide. And yet I couldn’t. He was the Messiah, the King of Kings. But He was still my son, my little baby boy.
When they led Him to that cross, I could see the little boy who used to follow Joseph around while he worked. As He hung on that cross, I saw Him as the sweet little baby I had rocked to sleep. I cried as He suffered. I wanted to stop His pain. Even though I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t turn away. I couldn’t miss a moment of His life.
At the same time, I couldn’t help feeling so proud. He was so strong. He cried out in pain, but he didn’t resist, didn’t fight back. And at the end, He had the strength to ask for forgiveness, not for himself but for those hurting Him. I’ll never forget the sound of His voice—the pain and anguish in it—as he gasped, “Father God, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
One of His last thoughts before He died was of me. He saw me there, weeping, and told His good friend John to look after me. As my son hung there, in pain and utterly humiliated, He was concerned about me being alone.
When He breathed His last breath, my heart stopped. There was an earthquake and the sky turned black. I’m told that there was no light at all. But all I remember was seeing His head drop to His chest and I knew my first born son was gone.
I was able to smile then, even through my tears. I know it sounds strange to some. Most mothers aren’t going to smile after watching her child die. Then again, most mothers didn’t raise the Son of God. At the moment He died, His pain was over. In that same moment, He was with the Father. With my eyes closed and face turned toward Heaven I could almost hear the angels welcoming Him back. There was no reason for me to be sad. His death was not the end. His death meant life for so many others. It meant that I would be able to spend eternity with Him.
No, I did not know what I was getting into. I did not know how much joy His life would bring and I did not know how much the end of His earthly life would hurt me. If I had known, if I had understood just what He would go through, would I have still said yes? Would I do it all over again? Knowing what I know now, if God were to send an angel to me in the night, would my answer still be the same?
Absolutely.
“May it be as you say, Lord.”
New Year, New Heart
Create in me a clean hear, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.
Psalm 51:10
It’s a new year. Resolutions are flying all over, with people taking this opportunity to try to better themselves.
I’ve made resolutions in the past. I’ve not been good at keeping them. Usually by the middle of January the good intentions of my resolution have flown out the window. I think the longest I’ve ever stuck with one is through my birthday, in mid-February.
That is why I have decided to not start of 2014 with a resolution. I want a better life. I want to be thinner, to make better choices, to be calmer, to be healthier, to be more content than I was in 2013. But resolving to be isn’t going to helping. Even taking action toward those things won’t change them. Not unless I understand the motivations behind them. So I have decided to start of this beautiful New Year with a prayer.
My prayer for this year comes right from the Bible, from the heart of King David. Funny how a man who lived thousands of years ago could write the words that so accurately describe my heart today…. The words are recorded in Psalm chapter 51.
Verse 3: “For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.” I am far from perfect. I make mistakes on a daily basis, mistakes I cannot hide from. Mistakes I no longer want to hide from. Lord, I know my anger and my attitudes are wrong. I see it, and I give it to You. Take this from me and turn it into something You can use for Your good.
Verse 10-12: “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation and uphold me with thy free spirit.” Cleanse my heart, Lord. I want it to be filled only with love—love for You and for all of the wonderful things You have created. I know I have messed up, but please don’t give up on me. Don’t push me away. I ask Your forgiveness for the times I have pushed You away. Being with You is the sweetest joy, and I want more of that joy in my life. I can feel You here now, in this moment. I pray that I feel this sweetness and joy every moment, only a little stronger each day.
I love You, Lord. I love You so much that the thought of hurting You, of disappointing You saddens me. This New Year, 2014, Lord, I am dedicating it to YOU. Everything I do is for You, for Your glory.
Who Am I?
“(I)t annoyed me that someone else would decide for me whether I could or couldn’t handle following a dream while being a wife. It was almost as if becoming a wife meant giving up any other part of me. But I really begged to disagree. And I was even more determined that it wouldn’t happen.”
My So-Called Life As A Proverbs 31 Wife
Sara Horn
This very accurately describes my life. Between being a wife and a mother, I feel like I have lost track of who I am. It’s not a decision anyone else made for me. Honestly, it’s not even a decision that I made for myself. Not consciously, anyway.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a Mom. Kind of strange, actually, because I am really not a big fan of kids. It’s not that I don’t like them. I just don’t want to be constantly surrounded by them. And a mom, unless she is able to afford nannies, is almost always “surrounded” by kids. I am not sorry that I have kids; these boys are the greatest blessings I could have ever imagined. Life without them is not something I even want to consider. I have to share them with school teachers, and that is bad enough. Last week, one of them asked when he can date—and he is only ten! My time with them is growing short. I’m not looking forward to the day when there is another girl who is more important to them than I am.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know who I am outside of being their mom. I went from Rob and Irma’s daughter, to John’s wife, to Andru, Robin, and Seth’s mom. There is nothing wrong with any of these roles in my life. My parents, my husband, my children, they are all very special people in my life, very special blessings that I would not want to live without. It’s just that I have spent so much time filling those roles that I don’t really know who I am.
Who is Lynn?
I wonder if this is a normal thing. Does every mom go through this? Does every woman go through it? What about men? Do they have an identity crisis, a time when they just don’t know who they are?
I am in the process of trying to figure out just who I am. The problem is, I feel selfish while doing it. This process requires putting a lot of attention on myself. It means thinking about my needs and my wants, my likes and my dislikes. I am trying my hardest to balance out what is good for me with what is good for my guys, but it is hard. Balancing is not something I’ve always been good at, but I am trying.
It’s important to me that I do figure it out. I want to be the best wife and mom I can be. My guys deserve that. To be that, I need to figure out who Lynn is. There has to be more to the woman I am than just wife and mother.
And I know that whoever it is that I am, God created me to be and do something special.
I just need to be patient while He works out just what that “special” thing is.
Well Done, Good and Faithful Servant
Elaine Taylor passed away Sunday evening.
You will be forever missed and loved, Elaine
You might not have heard the news. She was not a celebrity. Fame was not one of the goals of her 84-year-long life. At least not earthly fame. My guess would be that most of the people reading this post didn’t know her. That is a shame.
If you had ever met her, you would have loved her. At least I think you would have. I know for sure that Elaine would have loved you. Elaine loved everyone. I don’t think she ever met a stranger. Each new person in her life was a friend. Her smile, her laugh, her hug…. All three welcomed everyone she met, and no one who experienced them will ever forget them.
No one who ever experienced Elaine was ever forgotten by her.
I can’t tell you what her presence meant in my life. It’s hard to even describe the relationship we had. Elaine was a grandmother when I needed one. She was full of love and advice—giving the love at all times and the advice when she felt I needed it, which was not necessarily when I felt I needed it. She said she would pray for me. And you know what? She actually did it. A lot of today’s Christians—myself included, I am so sorry to say—are good at saying, “You’ll be in my prayers,” and then promptly forgetting the details of who needed prayer. Not Elaine. She might not have known what prayer was needed, but she prayed.
Much of my recent physical recovery I attribute to her prayers. I gave up. Not on God, exactly. Never once did I stop believing that He could heal my back pain and bring back the feeling my leg. I just gave up on the idea that He ever would. For whatever reason, I just felt like God intended for me to live with these physical limitations, and I started to look for the good that could come from them. If this was part of His plan, I wanted to be open to still making a difference for Him. Elaine never gave up on my healing. When I told her a few months ago that I knew God could heal me but I didn’t think that He would, she gave me that smile. You know what smile I mean…the one a mother gives her child when the child seems to be trying but not trying hard enough. Yeah, that’s the smile. She patted my hand and said, “I don’ believe that. It’s just not the right time. He will bring the healing when He is ready for it, not when you are.” And when she said she’d pray for me, I knew she was doing it. I wish I could tell her that she was right. I wish I’d had the chance to walk into her room, without my cane, and show her how God was working.
But I am sure she knows now. I have a feeling God has spent a lot of time in the last few days showing Elaine how her prayers have helped bring miracles to more people than we could ever count.
There is a party going on in Heaven this week, a “welcome to your reward” party, with Elaine Taylor as the guest of honor. From the reports I have been hearing all over Facebook this week, Elaine is just one of many guests of honor at this party. And you know what? I think that is how she would want it. Once she got her face-to-face moment with Jesus, once she was able to hug Him and kiss Him, she turned around to face the others coming behind her.
And with the same smile she used on Sunday mornings, she held out her hand and said, “Welcome to Heaven. You’ll like it here.”