Archives for 2010

Fear is a great motivator, eh?

I figure that fear, for me, drives the majority of my behavior. My greatest fear must, then, also determine my sin.

I’m not afraid of being alone, of being unloved, or of being exposed.

No. I’m afraid of not being in control.

I crave control. Control of my stuff, my possessions, my home. My life, my schedule, my bank account. My hair, my dinner menu, my laundry.

My day can be chaotic. My weight can climb higher and higher. But if the outcome (any outcome) is part of my doing—even if it’s ultimately sabotaging—it’s OK with me. I was DELIBERATE when I ate that Big Mac. I’ll eat it if I want and I’ll put on 5 pounds if I want, by golly.

Being in control trumps the dysfunction of the bad decision/bad result cycle for me. 

Why in the world is this so important for me? Why would I settle for control and dysfunction rather than freedom and health?

I don’t know. But I’m hoping to find out this summer. I’m studying the Enneagram with a group of Christian friends. We’re going through the book, The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective. (Disclosure: I am an Amazon affiliate and receive a small commission based on sales I refer.) I want to confront my sin head-on (I think! That’s scary!), and I’m hoping this study will bring me to that point.

Ultimately, I want to repent of it. Providentially, my friend Jennifer has posted about the role of repentance in her life. Her post—plus the inner work and reflection of the Enneagram exercises—brought me to ask the question today, “What is my greatest fear?”

Repentance and seeking God—not control—are my my heart’s cries right now.

photo: orchid at morguefile.com

I am an introvert.

People drain me. Suck the life out of me. Make me tired and crabby. Make my head hurt and my knees buckle.

Really, just leave me alone. And I’ll be fine.

So, then, is it any wonder that I’m BARELY FUNCTIONING after a week at home with the kids? My kids have to be the most extroverted, entertainment-seeking, fight-starting, snack-begging children on the planet.

And they got me for a mom.

So, when I’ve had enough and my pulse races at the sound of “MOOOOOOOOOOOM! MOOOOOOMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEE! MOOOOOOOOOM!” for the 8 billioneth time, I retreat. I retreat both physically (leave the room) and mentally (block it out; ignore it, which only makes it louder and longer; stupid strategy, I know).

And, here they come.

Today, I had one boy saying every 10 seconds, “I want PEETZA PERFECT for dinner. Mom! I want PEEEET-ZA! If I don’t have PEETZA, it’s going to be the worst day of my life!”

The other boy was finding random sticky notes throughout the house and bringing to shred them in the paper shredder.

“Mom! Can I put this piece in? PUH-LEEZE????!!!! Mom! This piece? What about this one?”

Honestly, I just got to a place of paralysis. I was so overwhelmed with the noise and constancy that I just zoned out.

Thankfully, I managed to keep it together enough to ensure everyone’s safety and sanity AND I got dinner on the table in a timely fashion.

But reflecting on this day, I just wonder why I do that? It’s as if I can only absorb so much, and like a sponge when it’s saturated, I just can’t take anymore. I’m a big, sloppy blob of yellow and of no use for my intended purpose until I can be wrung out.

Then the guilt sets in. I think, If only we’d been making crafts, taking a nature walk, or reciting all those Bible verses we haven’t memorized, then my kids would be properly stimulated and appropriately edified and would have no opportunity for dangerous antics with office machines.

I’m not really sure what to do with all of this.

A few weeks ago, I heard a speaker with a really profound message. He said that if one is searching for his or her “purpose” in life, one needs to look no further than the next task.

In other words, your purpose in life is your family, your job, your relationships. In the living of the basics, God ultimately reveals the bigger picture.

I loved this perspective. Mainly because I’m a “big picture” thinker and have often begged God for dramatic revelations and exciting happenings.

Somehow, in my mind, vacuuming, coupon-clipping, and folding laundry could never fit in with that romantic, idealized version of my “grand purpose” in life. But according this speaker, those things are my purpose. Why? Because that’s what God has me doing right NOW.

And, then, today, I was reading in a new book, Turn It Around, by Frank Santora. (Disclosure: I am working on the publicity team for Frank and his book and am being compensated for hours I work on his social media campaign. I also received a copy of the book for review and work-related purposes. Additionally, I am an Amazon affiliate and receive a small commission on purchases based on my referrals.) I love the way Frank writes about this very idea.

Frank outlines David’s calling to King. David was the most unlikely candidate for King: the youngest, the shepherd. Yet his greater purpose from God was to lead God’s people. But how would he get from point A to point B?

Through the ordinariness of everyday life.

David’s father sent him to take lunch to his brothers who were preparing for battle with the Philistines. David complied, but when he got there, he discovered the Philistines had proposed a man-to-man challenge: their Goliath against Israel’s “strongest man.” David learned that the winner of the battle would be given great spoils by the King and one of his daughters in marriage. Perhaps David saw that defeating this giant would be a great way to get closer to the throne.

Interestingly, David put on Saul’s armor but took it off, saying he wasn’t comfortable. Instead, David picked up his tools of his trade: smooth stones and a slingshot. Frank explains the practice it would have taken (hours and hours) to become a perfect shot with a slingshot. Frank writes David, most likely, passed time watching the sheep with slingshot practice until he acheived deadly accuracy and caused even the wild animals to fear him.

Frank writes:

How many times have I thought, The only things I’m good at are packing the dishwasher to capacity and getting tomato sauce stains out of shirts. How’s that going to help me? Or, I can write stuff. But who cares about writing? Who’s reading? What difference does it make? Or, what about, I’m just a mom (and not a great one at that). Really, how does it all matter? 

Well, we know how David’s story ends. He does slay the giant with those daily honed skills—insignificant, perhaps, in isolation but monumental in God’s economy! He does take the throne. He does become key in the lineage of Christ and is called a man after God’s own heart.

How will your story end? How will my story end?

Not quite sure yet. But I know what my story says NOW.

Now, I’m doing the tasks before me, honing and practicing the seemingly mundane, offering them to God for his glory and his greater purpose.

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If you are a frequent reader here (and if not, why not? Subscribe now!), you may recall that I blogged everyday in the month of November. It was a lot of fun, kind of hectic, sometimes anxiety-producing, but also an effective exercise at growing me as a writer and a blogger.

I’ve decided to do it again (that’s a post every day in June, people) this month with the folks at NaBloPoMo (that stands for National Blog Posting Month). This time’s there no prize except my own super-sense of satisfaction.

A big influence in my deciding to participate was the topic for this month. It is “Now.” I absolutely love this topic. It really dovetails nicely with all my latest efforts at intentional living. It also ties in with my yet-to-be-posted part 2 of my observations on the Lost series finale.

Now. I soooo need to be living in the now. Here’s to June 2010. This moment in time.

I’m turning 40 this year, and I’ve been having a hard time with this reality.

I think I’m scared that my life is “over.” That somehow I’ve missed my “greater purpose.” That I’ve made my rut and now I’m doomed to tread it with bills and groceries and the carpool line.

And so, to the Lost series finale, I brought my pity party.

Loss and pain have been all around me.

What I found surprising as I watched the finale, though, was the way that God brought it to me as a deeply personal experience. God gave me useful insight into my own dealings with suffering and insufficiency. He gave me tools to deal with my own searching and trepidation.

Because of its treatment of life and death, pain and comfort, purpose and journey, I discovered some things about myself. While I acknowledge the show was not theologically sound, it was nonetheless effective in drawing me nearer to the heart of God. The artistry of the storytelling broke through some of my own questions and quandaries.

In the next post, I’ll talk more about my take on the theological nuances and symbolism of Lost.

I think I’m really having some writer’s paralysis lately—not just writer’s block.

Some of it is busyness and end-of-year happenings. Some of it is still trying to play catch-up from flood-related stuff and having some survivor’s guilt (for some reason, I feel that our family really “dodged a bullet” and I’m not sure why I feel that way?) and feeling so overwhelmed at the pain around me, that I don’t know what to write about. Serious post ideas seem to only brush over the surface of the gravity of the situation; funny post ideas (can we find humor in this situation?) seem offensive. I have one blogger friend who has encouraged us writers that “now” is our time; time to give voice to this tragedy. I agree. Only I can’t get my voice together enough to type it out.

I think I’m also kind of wondering what in the world I have to say that anyone would care about anyway. In light of this tragedy, so much seems trivial and unnecessary. That’s all the more true as I think about my getting older and the glitz of worldly possessions and pursuits seems to fade and tarnish with each passing year.

As I think on these things, I am compelled to dig more deeply into the meaning of my life, your life, this life, our lives. But that requires work. And thought. And analysis.

I know it’s work I’ve got to do, but it’s just going to take a little while. So, stay tuned, if you’re curious to read more.

And so, as I’m fighting heavy eyelids tonight with a “to-do” list longer than my arm, I’m fantasizing about having only one superhero power.

I would love the ability to stay awake (and feel NORMAL) for about three consecutive days. During this time, I would like to get caught up on every chore, project, and “to-do” list item.

I want to do this once a month. A standing catch-up session appointment.

I’m pretty sure this superhero power would solve all my problems.

At least, my blog would thrive.

(This photo was taken on Monday, May 3, 2010. It’s Old Harding Pike, between Morton Mill RD and Poplar Creek RD. The golf course is behind the trees on the right; the red sign belongs to the Active Learning Center on the left. Our house is within walking distance but at a higher elevation.)

I’ve been quiet for a week or so now. My Internet has been down because my phone line was down because the Nashville flood shut down our city for a few days.

We didn’t receive any damage to our home. Other than a ruined digital camera (that got some water damage when taken in the rain to capture some flood photos), our belongings and lives were left untouched.

So grateful. So. Grateful.

And honestly, I’m still processing all that I’ve seen around me during the last week.

Devastation and tears. Generosity and love.

But there’s so much to say. I’m sure I’ll be posting on this in bits and pieces for months, as the thoughts come. As the words form.

A few points I’ve been pondering:

• God is huge. Creator God—who formed the river and the hills and valleys—allowed peril and turmoil and material devastation, in just a few hours. Still, all that we have witnessed and endured is to be subservient to our salvation (see Heidelberg Catechism Question and Answer #1).

I’m so very glad that I worship, love, know, and am known by this God, rather than the opposite. His power is mighty. His ways are mysterious. His grace washes over us, just as the flood waters did a week ago.

• God is so concerned with the detail of our lives that it simply astounds me. I’ve been listening and reading to all of the important considerations about mold and mildew removal. It can be deadly! I had no idea. But God did.

In Leviticus, he gives explicit instruction for mold, mildew, and disease removal from homes. How many times have I read that passage, glassy-eyed and yawning, thinking, Yea, yea, yea. Whatever? Yet hearing these news reports (and apparently how easy it is to not remove mold properly), I am impressed more and more at the tender compassion of God, that he would not want his children to get sick or die from disease caused by mold.

Last week, my twins turned five years old.

There was a period of time when I absolutely, positively did not think we would all survive the night, much less the next five years.

But, we made it.

Without a doubt the most fascinating thing about being the mother of twins is to look at each of them and “see” the same person but know the intricacies and preferences of each personality. I only hope and pray I adequately nurture and encourage expression of those personalities.

Nothing about parenting twins has been easy. Nothing. I would gladly and willingly throw myself in front of train to rescue my children, but good gravy, those little boogers drive me to the brink of insanity most everyday. In their super-cute and so-adorable-you-could-gobble-them-up ways, of course.

They are funny and smart and love their mother fiercely. They are addicted to chocolate and ketchup (not together, but I know they’d try it if I suggested it).

Most of my memories of the first two years of their lives revolve around Prevacid and acid reflux and carrying a baby in each arm and crying.

Lots and lots of crying. Them and me.

Mostly me. 

I don’t remember first steps or first words. I sort of remember first teeth. I vividly remember first days at Mother’s Day Out. (Thank you, Lord, for Mother’s Day Out.)

The highlight of their first year for me (as was with Susanna) was their baptism. The most special act of God’s marking them as members of his family was—and is to this day—incredibly precious to me. I’m so glad I remember the events of that day.

The last three years’ memories are muddy, also. But potty training success in one week (by God’s grace) tops the list. (Thank you, Lord, for quick potty training success.)

Sometimes I will grab their little “lovies”—smooched and rubbed stuffed animals—and just cuddle them. The lovies in those really hard early days were great sources of comfort for them. For me, the lovies still serve that role: a constant, abiding, and unchanging presence, even though the boys are more and more frequently becoming less attached to their lovies.

I am simultaneously heartbroken and ecstatic about that.

Next year they go to kindergarten. While it’s a bittersweet milestone, I’m not terribly sad (at least not yet). I’ve always said I’m not really a “baby mom.” I’m excited to see my little babies grow into rugged boys and responsible young men. Call me crazy, but I think I’m looking forward to the next few years.

Happy birthday, boys. So glad we’ve made it.

Way back in 2001, I and a dear friend and awesome writer worked together on a dream of mine. We created a Christian women’s magazine.

I can’t remember exactly, but I think we wrote and edited five or six issues then put the magazine away. It turns out that writing, editing, laying out, designing, copying, distributing, and promoting a women’s magazine is really hard. Especially for one woman who had a full-time job outside the home (me) and the other who had a full-time job as mom at home (Jen).

It was also really expensive to do all of that on paper, so our church picked up printing and copying costs. But it eventually became cost-prohibitive and time-consuming. Jennifer had some more babies, and I became pregnant and had one kid and then three. And you know the rest of the story.

So, anyway, sometimes I sit around and think about “what could have been” had I heeded the suggestions of some who said, “You should do this online” or “You should send it out by email.” Hmmm. To think where the readership might be today—eight or nine years later—if we had carried on online.

I am reinspired, however, to pick up where we left off, in a sense. I am eager to give this “newsletter/magazine” format another go.

See that box to the right that says, Get My Newsletter! ? Well, go over there and sign up.

I promise not to bombard you with garbage. My goal is to give you fresh, relevant, and insightful articles no more than once a week, delivered to your email inbox. I’ll be honest: this is a bit of an experimentation on my part at this point, but I’ve got to start somewhere, right?

I would love it if you’d sign up for this little experiment and give me your feedback as it gets going. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Will you support me in this new endeavor and tell any interested friends, too?

Thanks!

image: Morgue File

I try super-hard to feed my family healthy food the majority of the time. Despite my best efforts, we occasionally slide off the wagon and wallow in the chicken nuggets and french fry soup a little longer than I’d like.

But I do know the problems. And I am trying to address them.

I just don’t have the time—nor the affinity—to make homemade yogurt, churn my own butter, or grind my own wheat. I applaud the women who do. And at one point in my life, I measured my own worth as a mother and homemaker by those women.

But I have been released from those chains of comparison because God had a little talk with me and told me that that’s not me. At least not now. Not here.

And I’m OK with that.

I think. 

Anyway.

There’s another thing standing in my way of total embrace of the natural and healthy lifestyle.

That would be my little addiction to Diet Mt. Dew.

I love the stuff. And I know it’s bad for me. And I won’t touch aspartame in any other food product because yes, I really do believe it’s a scary chemical.

But I’m still struggling with my Diet Mt. Dew.

So, Saturday, I had my cold Diet Mt. Dew in the car. Susanna and I were running errands in Green Hills. We were in Macy’s—almost to the door—when she said she was thirsty. We went back through the mobs of shoppers to the nearest restroom sign, but there was no water fountain there. I didn’t feel like going all the way back to the 3rd floor, so I told her she could finish off the Diet Mt. Dew in the car.

I felt guilty for a smidge of a second but concluded it was only a small amount. We got to the car and she started sipping.

Now, because I am the trying-to-be-healthier mom that I am, I decided we would also stop at Trader Joe’s for a few of my favorites from there. We hopped out of the car. Susanna had the Diet Mt. Dew in hand. We were headed in when I stopped.

“Susanna. Why don’t you finish that drink before we go in?”

I couldn’t let all those yogurt-making, mill-grinding, butter-churning, Trader Joe’s-shopping moms know that I had—on occasion—allowed my daughter to consume both caffeine and aspartame, now could I?

They just wouldn’t understand; I don’t care how far away that municipally contaminated water fountain was from the door.