Mittens. Mitts. Hand warmers. Snowball makers. Whatever you call them, they get lost. And if you have young children, they get lost a lot. And if you have more than one child and you are overwhelmed and feel like you are woefully ill equipped at mothering then you lose your perspective at lost mittens. That's it. Apparently, lost mitts are the threshold for sanity in my world.
Well, yesterday the threshold was lost mittens.
Today it's a whiny 2 year old.
Tomorrow...? who knows. Maybe something else completely predictable like a potty accident, or burnt toast.
Back in November I bought Carlon a pair of gloves and a pair of mitts. $20 in total. one month in the gloves were lost. Two days ago then go the mitts. Brad decided to let Carlon use Noah's mitts, which are 30% smaller, and I made a big deal about it.
"These belong to your brother.... DO NOT take them off outside"
Then back to arguing with Brad about what to do about it and Carlon, fighting tears, says, "it's ok, I won't use his mitts"
Cut to mom feeling like a jerk.
and she cried about it most of the day.
I don't remember my mom having these moments. Is is because she had three girls? Is it a gender issue? Or was she just better equipped at handling such attrocities? Or maybe she did have them and I don't remember, I hope for the last of those three. It gives me comfort to think my mom found mothering to be as hard as I do. And even more comforting to think that if I can't remember her losing it then hopefully my kids won't remember either.
But, when it comes down to brass tacks, I don't think that is the point. I mean to say that my reaction to the mitts has more to do with me and where I am at than how Carlon takes care of his belongings.
The reality is we have had a hard week here in superhero land. Brad has been carrying around a mountain of stress on his shoulders and it is wearing him down. He managed to take two days off this week which is good for him. I, on the other hand, have been an emotional train wreck since Christmas time, and have not found the pressure release valve.
90 percent of the time I feel like I have screwed up because I let my emotions get in the way of rational parenting. And lately, my emotions are about as stable as a souffle during an earthquake.
I have prayed. Believe me. I can see myself losing it and I say "God help!" and sometimes it works and sometimes it delays and sometimes it does nothing. This morning I was still burying myself in guilt over it that my day was trashed before it even started. And my two year old, Iain, is losing it. Like LOHOOHOOHOOSING IT. It was 10 am and I asked him if he wanted a nap? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! What's the colour of scream?
So, by 10:30, I was losing it. I tried shoving food in him, I tried carrying him around, I tried everything but he wanted it all and nothing at the same time. He was inconsolable. And I was ready to run.
But, I'm the adult here. I should be able to get a grip. shouldn't I?
.... I'm out of words. Maybe I'll be able to accept God's grace tomorrow and we'll have a better day.
Wednesday, 21 January 2015
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
selfish protection
Have you ever had that moment when you realize you are selfish? I think we are all selfish, but we don't like to admit it or accept it. But then there is that event that happens and it smacks you in the face and you look at yourself and say "dammit, what a selfish jerk I am"
Well, today... sucked. The night with the boys was hard, the morning was hard and as the day wore on, I was blind sided by a depression/lonliness/homesickness. It was overwhelming. Like, crying at nothing. laying on my bed trying to convince myself that the boys need me. It was not good.
Cut to me and the boys picking up a friend at the airport and being late to boot... Then the hammer falls... Brad has to go to the hospital because a former member is dying. This is the seventh person in three months. My husband is tired. Really tired. So much so, that when he told me about this new person he was fighting the tears. My husband is getting a crash course in death ministry. So let me add my selfish voice in here. Ministry is hard. Don't kid yourself, don't romanticize it. It is beat your ass hard. It is heavy yoke hard, people broken hard. And being married to ministry is even harder. You would probably take issue with that statement. Let me remind you, this is my selfish voice coming through but let me also explain. I can't take any of that burden from him. I can't visit those people dying, I can't run those funerals. I can't meet with those broken people. I can only watch. Watch as his shoulders droop, as he loses sleep... so my default is to protect him but keeping him to myself.
It doesn't always work... in fact, it never works.
If you don't like sharing then don't marry a pastor.
I have to share him with everybody and I hate it. His heart is big and he loves the people he serves and sometimes... all times his job comes first. We don't like to admit it but it's true. His job pays the bills and is a big part of our lives. As much as we would like to think that our family, or I come first, it's really not the case.
So here we are. This afternoon, We have our friend staying with us, it's the chaos of post school, pre-supper and Brad gets the call that death has come and he needs to go care for the family.
What?! No, They can wait. You are tired, you need rest. I need you to stay. My day was crap and our friend is here and the boys are crazy and I need you here. I need you here.
He looked at me and looked at his phone, and looked at me. He looks worn. He doesn't want to have to go but he's pulled. And instead of marrying a wife who would take him in her arms and pray God's strength over him and send him off commissioned and loved, he married a crazy lady who pulls on him to stay home. And she harbours jealousy towards these people that take them away from her.
And she hates herself for it.
And he comes home and tells her that the next of kin has mental issues and was rude to him. The family is broken and I was mad because I had a bad day and wanted my man home.... ..... geez
Where is the line? how do I support and protect my husband. And how do do that without being a selfish "B"?
So I pulled him aside. My Hawkeye, my straight shooter, cheeky, honest, big hearted love. I looked in his soft blue eyes and told him I was sorry, I was selfish, and I was wrong.
I love him and I love that he has the pastor's heart I just wish sometimes that he wasn't always so giving with that heart.
Selfish, protect, hard, burden, weary, tired....
Not romantic
Well, today... sucked. The night with the boys was hard, the morning was hard and as the day wore on, I was blind sided by a depression/lonliness/homesickness. It was overwhelming. Like, crying at nothing. laying on my bed trying to convince myself that the boys need me. It was not good.
Cut to me and the boys picking up a friend at the airport and being late to boot... Then the hammer falls... Brad has to go to the hospital because a former member is dying. This is the seventh person in three months. My husband is tired. Really tired. So much so, that when he told me about this new person he was fighting the tears. My husband is getting a crash course in death ministry. So let me add my selfish voice in here. Ministry is hard. Don't kid yourself, don't romanticize it. It is beat your ass hard. It is heavy yoke hard, people broken hard. And being married to ministry is even harder. You would probably take issue with that statement. Let me remind you, this is my selfish voice coming through but let me also explain. I can't take any of that burden from him. I can't visit those people dying, I can't run those funerals. I can't meet with those broken people. I can only watch. Watch as his shoulders droop, as he loses sleep... so my default is to protect him but keeping him to myself.
It doesn't always work... in fact, it never works.
If you don't like sharing then don't marry a pastor.
I have to share him with everybody and I hate it. His heart is big and he loves the people he serves and sometimes... all times his job comes first. We don't like to admit it but it's true. His job pays the bills and is a big part of our lives. As much as we would like to think that our family, or I come first, it's really not the case.
So here we are. This afternoon, We have our friend staying with us, it's the chaos of post school, pre-supper and Brad gets the call that death has come and he needs to go care for the family.
What?! No, They can wait. You are tired, you need rest. I need you to stay. My day was crap and our friend is here and the boys are crazy and I need you here. I need you here.
He looked at me and looked at his phone, and looked at me. He looks worn. He doesn't want to have to go but he's pulled. And instead of marrying a wife who would take him in her arms and pray God's strength over him and send him off commissioned and loved, he married a crazy lady who pulls on him to stay home. And she harbours jealousy towards these people that take them away from her.
And she hates herself for it.
And he comes home and tells her that the next of kin has mental issues and was rude to him. The family is broken and I was mad because I had a bad day and wanted my man home.... ..... geez
Where is the line? how do I support and protect my husband. And how do do that without being a selfish "B"?
So I pulled him aside. My Hawkeye, my straight shooter, cheeky, honest, big hearted love. I looked in his soft blue eyes and told him I was sorry, I was selfish, and I was wrong.
I love him and I love that he has the pastor's heart I just wish sometimes that he wasn't always so giving with that heart.
Selfish, protect, hard, burden, weary, tired....
Not romantic
Friday, 2 January 2015
Hard Grace..
So, I was on facebook a couple days ago, feeling sorry for myself as I had suffered the fate all iphone users fear; my phone fell in the toilet, and as it sat in a bowl of rice on the top of the fridge, and as I held my breath at the hope of it's rescue it all seemed like the appropriate final close to my year. 2014.
On December 30 I went to bed seething at myself at the stupidity of it all. I know you shouldn't keep your phone in your back pocket, I know people have dropped their phones in the toilet. I knew better but figured it wouldn't happen to me because I was aware of the risks. So, I didn't sleep well that night, and the next morning I had no interest in doing what Brad and I had planned, which was a romantic dinner at home after the boys had gone to bed. I wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there. My day went on and as I was having a shower the boys coloured each other with red marker *sigh* and it just furthered my disgust with myself over this dumb phone and the stupid toilet and just everything else that had gone wrong for me this year.
Getting back to being on facebook... I was on my newsfeed and a question came up from an author I follow. "What word or phrase would you use to describe your 2014?"
Now I don't normally respond to people I don't know. I follow this author because she wrote an amazing book and it's the easiest way for me to access her blog. But this time, for whatever reason, I was compelled, or rather, propelled - as if I was being pushed to do it. And I responded that if I could take two words I'd say 2014 was hard grace. And not just 2014. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have had three hard years. Part of this roots in the fact that I am easily affected by the trials of the people I love and so things that were happening to my close friends and family were deeply affecting me to the point were frustration took hold, and weariness bore deep, my faith was thin and my patience short. I felt I was not given the opportunity to breathe and so frustrations from one day bled into the next and so on... Three years of feeling like I was barely keeping my head above water. From two near deaths, to cancer, to a best friend moving away, to undetermined tumours, and paralyzing anxiety attacks, high risk pregnancy, infections, eye surgery, unemployment... Everyone That was close to me was dealing with something intense and we were right in the thick of our own steaming pile.
Tell me, how would you find breath? When you start attacking each other, and your love for your children feels thread bare? You are so overwhelmed with it all that when you see that text come in from someone you just can't bear to look at it because you just can't handle one more thing. And you find yourself praying for just six months of peace. Please God, just six months where everything is ok.
On go the days, and weeks, and months, and years and people are recovering. No more near deaths, surgeries have happened and been successful, no more infections, the battle over anxiety is won. The people closest to me are healing, being repaired, and being restored. But me. Here I sit, still reeling from the years. These have been hard years. And yes, I know, there are harder times for other people, but this is where I am at. Still questioning why, still doubting myself, still refusing to let any roots dig in.
Hard grace seems like such a strange concept, it's an oxymoron isn't it? This author I wrote to responded to my comment recalling a book she'd read called Severe Mercy. Another oxymoron but in the lives of the faithful it is not so strange.
God hath not promised skies always blue,
flower strewn pathways all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain
But God hath promised strength for the day
Rest for the labour, light for the way
Grace for the trials help from above
Unfailing sympathy undying love
(Annie Johnson Flint)
So, Yes. I know this, like KNOW it. However, when you are drowning... when you can't breathe. In coming up with those two words I was forced to look back at those years and try to find God in the midst of it all. He was there. I know it. But truly seeing him, or at least admitting that he was there because when you are angry and resentful and regretful, you don't want to admit God was with you. It feels better to tell yourself that you had to do it on your own. But how heretical is that? We know he is with us He came to earth to DIE so he could be with us. Immanuel - God with us. That is his name.
So, he was with me the whole time. I know it, but I couldn't feel it the way I wanted, because I wanted to not have to feel anything. I wanted things to go smooth. It hurts to be torn up, it hurts to not be able to breathe. I shake my head when I think back to my days as a single woman and the group of people I would spend time with. Once a month I would gather with these people for a devotional, singing, fellowship time and one song we almost always sang was "Refiner's fire" When I think about those lyrics now I want to shout at my younger self. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SINGING!?" If we could all understand what that meant, being refined, knowing it would hurt, knowing it would tear and burn, even though we would know it means being closer to God, would we sing it? Would we?
So, I look back on these years and see God. And how do I see him? I see him as patient, sooo patient, and forgiving, and loving. I have been a total jerk. I know this. I have been a big baby. I know this too. And yet he is still there. I am thinking of Paul and the Romans and being more than conquerors, and if God is for us, and nothing can separate us... except maybe ourselves. I got in the way of my relationship with him and it's not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last time. Continuing to die to self. It takes hard grace to learn this I guess. And God knows I have a lot to learn and maybe I'm the kind of person that needs to be hit over the head with it, or put in the corner to stew about it. Hard grace, severe mercy. The faithful take them both and praise God with them. I believe I will get there, I have to because I can't imagine my life without him.
On December 30 I went to bed seething at myself at the stupidity of it all. I know you shouldn't keep your phone in your back pocket, I know people have dropped their phones in the toilet. I knew better but figured it wouldn't happen to me because I was aware of the risks. So, I didn't sleep well that night, and the next morning I had no interest in doing what Brad and I had planned, which was a romantic dinner at home after the boys had gone to bed. I wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there. My day went on and as I was having a shower the boys coloured each other with red marker *sigh* and it just furthered my disgust with myself over this dumb phone and the stupid toilet and just everything else that had gone wrong for me this year.
Getting back to being on facebook... I was on my newsfeed and a question came up from an author I follow. "What word or phrase would you use to describe your 2014?"
Now I don't normally respond to people I don't know. I follow this author because she wrote an amazing book and it's the easiest way for me to access her blog. But this time, for whatever reason, I was compelled, or rather, propelled - as if I was being pushed to do it. And I responded that if I could take two words I'd say 2014 was hard grace. And not just 2014. Anyone who knows me well knows that I have had three hard years. Part of this roots in the fact that I am easily affected by the trials of the people I love and so things that were happening to my close friends and family were deeply affecting me to the point were frustration took hold, and weariness bore deep, my faith was thin and my patience short. I felt I was not given the opportunity to breathe and so frustrations from one day bled into the next and so on... Three years of feeling like I was barely keeping my head above water. From two near deaths, to cancer, to a best friend moving away, to undetermined tumours, and paralyzing anxiety attacks, high risk pregnancy, infections, eye surgery, unemployment... Everyone That was close to me was dealing with something intense and we were right in the thick of our own steaming pile.
Tell me, how would you find breath? When you start attacking each other, and your love for your children feels thread bare? You are so overwhelmed with it all that when you see that text come in from someone you just can't bear to look at it because you just can't handle one more thing. And you find yourself praying for just six months of peace. Please God, just six months where everything is ok.
On go the days, and weeks, and months, and years and people are recovering. No more near deaths, surgeries have happened and been successful, no more infections, the battle over anxiety is won. The people closest to me are healing, being repaired, and being restored. But me. Here I sit, still reeling from the years. These have been hard years. And yes, I know, there are harder times for other people, but this is where I am at. Still questioning why, still doubting myself, still refusing to let any roots dig in.
Hard grace seems like such a strange concept, it's an oxymoron isn't it? This author I wrote to responded to my comment recalling a book she'd read called Severe Mercy. Another oxymoron but in the lives of the faithful it is not so strange.
God hath not promised skies always blue,
flower strewn pathways all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain
But God hath promised strength for the day
Rest for the labour, light for the way
Grace for the trials help from above
Unfailing sympathy undying love
(Annie Johnson Flint)
So, Yes. I know this, like KNOW it. However, when you are drowning... when you can't breathe. In coming up with those two words I was forced to look back at those years and try to find God in the midst of it all. He was there. I know it. But truly seeing him, or at least admitting that he was there because when you are angry and resentful and regretful, you don't want to admit God was with you. It feels better to tell yourself that you had to do it on your own. But how heretical is that? We know he is with us He came to earth to DIE so he could be with us. Immanuel - God with us. That is his name.
So, he was with me the whole time. I know it, but I couldn't feel it the way I wanted, because I wanted to not have to feel anything. I wanted things to go smooth. It hurts to be torn up, it hurts to not be able to breathe. I shake my head when I think back to my days as a single woman and the group of people I would spend time with. Once a month I would gather with these people for a devotional, singing, fellowship time and one song we almost always sang was "Refiner's fire" When I think about those lyrics now I want to shout at my younger self. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SINGING!?" If we could all understand what that meant, being refined, knowing it would hurt, knowing it would tear and burn, even though we would know it means being closer to God, would we sing it? Would we?
So, I look back on these years and see God. And how do I see him? I see him as patient, sooo patient, and forgiving, and loving. I have been a total jerk. I know this. I have been a big baby. I know this too. And yet he is still there. I am thinking of Paul and the Romans and being more than conquerors, and if God is for us, and nothing can separate us... except maybe ourselves. I got in the way of my relationship with him and it's not the first time and I'm sure it won't be the last time. Continuing to die to self. It takes hard grace to learn this I guess. And God knows I have a lot to learn and maybe I'm the kind of person that needs to be hit over the head with it, or put in the corner to stew about it. Hard grace, severe mercy. The faithful take them both and praise God with them. I believe I will get there, I have to because I can't imagine my life without him.
Wednesday, 22 October 2014
when you pray for joy...
Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. It's cheesy, I know. It is from a soap opera after all. I mean, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't know which soap opera that is from. I was a big fan of soaps for a time. There was a point where I was watching 3-4 different shows and even knew what was going on in many of the other shows because I read the soap magazines. In my early teens Days of our Lives and Another World were my faves. So much drama. Perfect for a teenage girl right? And I was so unhappy with my real life that living vicariously through the characters on the soaps was so much better. Oh the teen years, the angst, the sweat, the hormones, not fitting in, not understanding life, awkward relationships, failing at generally everything. And I didn't care because most the people close to me didn't seem to care much either. I wasn't aware of it at the time but, looking back at my high school years I should have been diagnosed with depression.
It wasn't until I got out from the trap of high school that I really started to learn who I was. Even now, I'm still learning about myself. My mom always said I was a late bloomer. she's not wrong about that. Just like dahlias don't bloom until the heat from the summer sun has waned, the pressure and confusion and loneliness of school was gone and I could breathe and move.
I was always amazed at the girls that "got it". They seemed to have it all figured out. A guy on one arm and "A's" or "B's" on their tests and papers in their other arm. Ready to shoot off to UBC or SFU or TWU and here I was, barely getting "P's" and as for boys?? forget it. They were nice to me but I certainly was not the girl boys were into.
And I hated my teachers. None of them, except one, seemed to really give a damn about my education and I went to a private school so it's not like they were burdened with high needs students. No FAS, no ADHD, no Autism or anything undiagnosed. So instead of trying to help me learn algebra I was shunted off to stupid math. And instead of helping me conjugate my french verbs I was told in French 10 "well, you don't have to take french in gr. 11". We had a head teacher who cared more about what the kids were wearing (fyi: we had school uniforms) than helping students to succeed. And a gym teacher who acted more like a high schooler than a teacher. Not the most positive experience a girl can have.
When I graduated, I came within inches of burning my uniform and yearbooks. High school left nothing but a bitter caustic taste in the back of my mouth. And I left it there for anytime the subject of high school came up. I was glad to voice my distaste. frustrated. challenged. abandoned.
So how is it that 20 years later I am excited to go to my reunion? To see some of the teachers, to walk through the doors that held such a bad experience for me?
You know, I still haven't figured out why I was so excited. I have had the opportunity to connect with a few classmates over facebook and that has been rewarding and so I was glad to be seeing those people. But to revisit the place and the memories.... I was a little paralyzed in the car in the school parking lot. Anxiety overtook me. I made it in though and was the better for it.
God is good
It was as though it had never happened, yet it did. Those horrible five years were washed clean. I was finally able to fold them up and put them away. The bitterness in my mouth was gone, the caustic spirit fled. I mean.... 20 years is a frickin long time. How do you carry that torture with you? I've got better things to do with my time.
A friend recently told me how much she appreciates how real I am. I said "are you kidding me? I don't have time for phony bull shit". Give me real. Don't insult me with an act.
When the reunion evening was over and we were all leaving I felt free. Free from the burden of hate, the burden of regret. God had given me his spirit of forgiveness. His spirit of peace. It is beautiful and it is helping me to look upon other times in my life where I carry regret and work towards letting them go too.
If there is any advice I could pass on from my life to this point is this:
Let go of your burdens. They are like slow poison leaching your joy. You don't have time for that crap. Set it aside and stomp it into the dirt where it belongs. Let God replace it with His spirit of joy, fruitfulness, peace, light, love, forgiveness, compassion.
Keep on asking and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find it. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Matt 7:7-8
Over the summer I was begging God to give me his joy. I did not think that this would be the avenue it would come but, I'll take it. To be in joy with the Lord rather than burdened with dismay... what is better?
It wasn't until I got out from the trap of high school that I really started to learn who I was. Even now, I'm still learning about myself. My mom always said I was a late bloomer. she's not wrong about that. Just like dahlias don't bloom until the heat from the summer sun has waned, the pressure and confusion and loneliness of school was gone and I could breathe and move.
I was always amazed at the girls that "got it". They seemed to have it all figured out. A guy on one arm and "A's" or "B's" on their tests and papers in their other arm. Ready to shoot off to UBC or SFU or TWU and here I was, barely getting "P's" and as for boys?? forget it. They were nice to me but I certainly was not the girl boys were into.
And I hated my teachers. None of them, except one, seemed to really give a damn about my education and I went to a private school so it's not like they were burdened with high needs students. No FAS, no ADHD, no Autism or anything undiagnosed. So instead of trying to help me learn algebra I was shunted off to stupid math. And instead of helping me conjugate my french verbs I was told in French 10 "well, you don't have to take french in gr. 11". We had a head teacher who cared more about what the kids were wearing (fyi: we had school uniforms) than helping students to succeed. And a gym teacher who acted more like a high schooler than a teacher. Not the most positive experience a girl can have.
When I graduated, I came within inches of burning my uniform and yearbooks. High school left nothing but a bitter caustic taste in the back of my mouth. And I left it there for anytime the subject of high school came up. I was glad to voice my distaste. frustrated. challenged. abandoned.
So how is it that 20 years later I am excited to go to my reunion? To see some of the teachers, to walk through the doors that held such a bad experience for me?
You know, I still haven't figured out why I was so excited. I have had the opportunity to connect with a few classmates over facebook and that has been rewarding and so I was glad to be seeing those people. But to revisit the place and the memories.... I was a little paralyzed in the car in the school parking lot. Anxiety overtook me. I made it in though and was the better for it.
God is good
It was as though it had never happened, yet it did. Those horrible five years were washed clean. I was finally able to fold them up and put them away. The bitterness in my mouth was gone, the caustic spirit fled. I mean.... 20 years is a frickin long time. How do you carry that torture with you? I've got better things to do with my time.
A friend recently told me how much she appreciates how real I am. I said "are you kidding me? I don't have time for phony bull shit". Give me real. Don't insult me with an act.
When the reunion evening was over and we were all leaving I felt free. Free from the burden of hate, the burden of regret. God had given me his spirit of forgiveness. His spirit of peace. It is beautiful and it is helping me to look upon other times in my life where I carry regret and work towards letting them go too.
If there is any advice I could pass on from my life to this point is this:
Let go of your burdens. They are like slow poison leaching your joy. You don't have time for that crap. Set it aside and stomp it into the dirt where it belongs. Let God replace it with His spirit of joy, fruitfulness, peace, light, love, forgiveness, compassion.
Keep on asking and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find it. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened. Matt 7:7-8
Over the summer I was begging God to give me his joy. I did not think that this would be the avenue it would come but, I'll take it. To be in joy with the Lord rather than burdened with dismay... what is better?
Friday, 26 September 2014
it's a dog eat dog...
The other day I was in my kitchen, it was morning, I was still in my robe. I looked out the window and saw one of the many neighbourhood dogs, that are never kept behind fences, in our backyard getting ready to dump a load. I ran out onto our deck and screamed at it to "Get lost! and GO SHIT IN YOUR OWN YARD!!" sigh... All I was missing was my hair in curlers and a rolling pin in my hand.
So, our church's vision statement is "...seeks to be a Christ centered family, who reaches people for Jesus, encourages growth and shows His love through action"
So, our church's vision statement is "...seeks to be a Christ centered family, who reaches people for Jesus, encourages growth and shows His love through action"
So in connection with that, Brad has prepared a missional community study/action plan for the church so it can "reach people for Jesus"
Guess what? There are people afraid to do it. They would rather just keep to themselves or just love on the people that are already involved in the church. How can this be? Haven't we been taught, since the beginning of our individual eternities that Christ hath commissioned us? We are to go out into all the world making disciples.
I'll be honest, meeting people is one of my big stresses. I am an introvert and shy and have been hurt in past relationships. I mean, come on, can it get much harder? The idea of walking up to someone and introducing myself has at times given me little anxiety attacks. And especially now as I am far from the land I called home for 37 years. I have had a hard time acclimating to the tendencies of the North. The attitudes here are different from what I grew up with and have grown accustomed to in the last 10 years as the lower mainland has exploded in population.
But all I have ever heard from people who have visited or lived "up north" is that it is so friendly and welcoming. However, I am finding that no place is immune to distractions and the "me" attitude. To be fair, I have succumbed to this attitude for a good chunk of my life. It's hard not to. We certainly are not bombarded with servant attitude tv, or music, or news, or books. What is king is looking out for ourselves. The other guy is only out for themselves so we have to look out for ourselves.
How did we get here? Or has it always, since the dawn of time, been this way?
How did the church become so monumentally self centered that we, as the earthly representation of the body of Christ, can't get off our asses and love and serve our neighbours? How is it that we have become hypnotized by what is slick and "effortless" where is the reward in letting your pastor/lay leader do it all? Where is the personal growth? Do we just sit and wait for God to grow us? I don't remember being taught that in Sunday school, or bible classes.
I have gone times in my life where I have felt like my relationship with God was stagnant water, only good for producing mosquitoes, and at times I didn't care, but the other times it left me feeling lost and empty so I would ask God to bring me closer to him, and then not long after that I would actually regret praying that because getting closer to God means sacrifice. It means obedience, it means self denial. And who wants to do that?
Well, if you profess to believe that Christ is the Son of God and died to save you and rose from the dead defeating death and sin then what the hell are you doing with your life?
I get it, it's hard. Believe me, I get it. We set up our lives and who has the 10 minutes (minimum time it would take) to read a scripture and pray. To put God forefront.
If you don't want to actually do what God is calling you to do.. what Christ died for you to do then maybe you should just drop the act. Stop pretending that you believe in Him, or that you take His words seriously.
"But don't just listen to God's word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves. For if you listen to the word and don't obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like..." James 1:22-25
I'm really glad the bible, as far as I know, doesn't say anything about what to do when your neighbours dogs are crapping on your lawn. I'm setting myself up for challenges in my neighbourhood. How does the "crazy lady that screams at dogs" minister and serve her community? God help me.. no, please God, seriously, help me. I can't do this by myself. I want people to know the same lunatic faith I know. I don't want to be the only person falling on her face.
I'll be honest, meeting people is one of my big stresses. I am an introvert and shy and have been hurt in past relationships. I mean, come on, can it get much harder? The idea of walking up to someone and introducing myself has at times given me little anxiety attacks. And especially now as I am far from the land I called home for 37 years. I have had a hard time acclimating to the tendencies of the North. The attitudes here are different from what I grew up with and have grown accustomed to in the last 10 years as the lower mainland has exploded in population.
But all I have ever heard from people who have visited or lived "up north" is that it is so friendly and welcoming. However, I am finding that no place is immune to distractions and the "me" attitude. To be fair, I have succumbed to this attitude for a good chunk of my life. It's hard not to. We certainly are not bombarded with servant attitude tv, or music, or news, or books. What is king is looking out for ourselves. The other guy is only out for themselves so we have to look out for ourselves.
How did we get here? Or has it always, since the dawn of time, been this way?
How did the church become so monumentally self centered that we, as the earthly representation of the body of Christ, can't get off our asses and love and serve our neighbours? How is it that we have become hypnotized by what is slick and "effortless" where is the reward in letting your pastor/lay leader do it all? Where is the personal growth? Do we just sit and wait for God to grow us? I don't remember being taught that in Sunday school, or bible classes.
I have gone times in my life where I have felt like my relationship with God was stagnant water, only good for producing mosquitoes, and at times I didn't care, but the other times it left me feeling lost and empty so I would ask God to bring me closer to him, and then not long after that I would actually regret praying that because getting closer to God means sacrifice. It means obedience, it means self denial. And who wants to do that?
Well, if you profess to believe that Christ is the Son of God and died to save you and rose from the dead defeating death and sin then what the hell are you doing with your life?
I get it, it's hard. Believe me, I get it. We set up our lives and who has the 10 minutes (minimum time it would take) to read a scripture and pray. To put God forefront.
If you don't want to actually do what God is calling you to do.. what Christ died for you to do then maybe you should just drop the act. Stop pretending that you believe in Him, or that you take His words seriously.
"But don't just listen to God's word. You must do what it says. Otherwise, you are only fooling yourselves. For if you listen to the word and don't obey, it is like glancing at your face in a mirror. You see yourself, walk away, and forget what you look like..." James 1:22-25
I'm really glad the bible, as far as I know, doesn't say anything about what to do when your neighbours dogs are crapping on your lawn. I'm setting myself up for challenges in my neighbourhood. How does the "crazy lady that screams at dogs" minister and serve her community? God help me.. no, please God, seriously, help me. I can't do this by myself. I want people to know the same lunatic faith I know. I don't want to be the only person falling on her face.
Friday, 8 August 2014
Wake up and say Thank You God
So, moving here has been hard. I've made no secret about that. I have been upfront mostly because I have a really hard time faking it but also, so that when I respond poorly to a situation people might give me a little more grace instead of a lot more judgement. I have talked and thought and prayed and cried and raged and stewed about the move here...about our last two years in total. The culmination of days has not been easy. Part of it is just having a brood of little boys, the other part is wired into my DNA upbringing. I do not like change or contradiction and my parents grew up poor so there was never any financial relaxing. One parent was afraid to spend money, the other was afraid to have money. It is amazing how much worth, and entitlement can be tied to something so fragile. I would overhear my parents discuss how money was tight so I would be afraid to tell them that I had outgrown my underwear. One parent would scold me for not finishing my school lunch and leaving it to rot in my bag, and the other parent would treat me to an ice cream cone... for no reason.
And I hated change.. still do. Every time I switched schools I cried for days. One time my dad was talking seriously about selling our house and I just about lost it. Even when I got married I was thrilled right down to my socks to be married to the man of my dreams but the change of living with someone was hard and I cried about a lot of those changes for the first few months of our marriage.
I have discovered that fear breeds discontentment. Even at my happiest in my life I can think back to moments of complaint.
In a conversation with Brad not too long ago we were discussing the last few months and how I am coping (or not) and what came out of that conversation was contentment. And that I am not. And as I dig deeper, maybe I have never been. Ever. So, as I have stewed on this idea the last little while I have noticed that dis)contentment has been the general theme in the conversations I am having with just about everyone in my life. There is a lot of discontentment in the world. Why is that? I mean from lifer Christians even. People that are supposed to exude the 'joy, joy, joy, joy down in their hearts' there is an unrest, a distrust, a wary faith, an emptiness, a not enough, a wanting more, a been let down, a never gonna forget the hurt they caused, a general "their grass is greener" kind of haunting.
There seems to be an unbalance as well in the dis)contentment idea. While I have friends that hold on to their hurts as if they are afraid to be happy, I also have friends that refuse to admit to any hurt at all. they never deal with the trauma they have experienced and so bury it because "I will not be defeated" is their battle cry, yet discontentment finds a way because inevitably it rears it's ugly head out another corridor.
How hard is it to say "I am ok in where I am at right at this moment." I have met Christians that are at peace when a loved one dies but can't handle day to day life. Aren't we supposed to be content? Isn't that part of our burden? That's a big contradiction for me. Contentment...our burden...
I can remember as a child singing in church "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot though hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul"
I didn't get it as a child, I sort of got it as a teenager but when that song really hit home was when our firstborn dream was unfulfilled. I tell you, "sorrows like sea billows" is woeful understatement. I stood in a shower till the water ran cold and I didn't notice, I almost collapsed into a heap on the floor when Brad was talking to the hospital about what to do with "the body". There was no "it is well" in those times for me. I am always in awe of someone who can experience that kind of loss and say "it's ok, it wasn't meant to be" and truly believe it and be at peace with it. Do they not understand that this is not how God intended for things to be? Death is not part of his original design. He submitted his own child to the ills of satan's destruction of God's original plan.
So when I started this post yesterday I was going about my day like every other day. Had some laughs with the boys, had some battles with the boys, refereed some battles between the boys. Noah crashed on the couch just before supper and I sat and had sleepy snuggles with him and soaked it in because those things you HAVE to soak in. Listen to them sleepy breathe, look at and hold their little pudgy hand and fingers in yours. Kiss their head, breathe it all in because it doesn't last. I tried to finish this post last night after the three were in bed but got distracted by the tv. So today, while I'm helping Brad get packed up for camping with Carlon and Noah, I am thinking about how to finish up this post. Questions like "So where does contentment fit in?" "How do I balance contentment and burden?" "Can we take God out of the equation?"
Then I saw it, I read about it, I wept about it....
Children being beheaded in Iraq for loving Jesus, or for their parents loving Jesus. And the children who manage to escape... these children who were probably told by their parents to run....their parents who were being raped and murdered.... were dying in the hills for starvation, dehydration, exhaustion. It is the most breath stealing, gut stomping, enraging act I have ever heard of. Babies... heads being chopped off and put on stakes.... women...mommies being raped and made into slaves.... men.. daddies being forced to renounce their faith and being killed anyways. Where is the contentment now. I have such unrest. My deep seeded mommy soul wants to run to Iraq and save all those wee ones, gather them up and protect them. I have wept in prayer today that God has them safe in his hands. That they felt no fear in their death, that they are reunited with their parents and Christ. I don't even know where to go from here.. I am losing words, my heart is crumbling.
So, where does contentment fit in?
I am not content with the ills of this world, and yet I let the ills seep in and unravel me. The little ills and the big ones. There is no discerning them except when ones so big make me lose my heart, the little ills don't have any hold.
Am I making sense? I am so lost.
I prayed today that God would do something "old testament" worthy in Iraq. That he would show the world his wonders. Because it seems like that is the only thing that will get people to listen anymore. Nobody is listening for the whisper. We need him to give a sonic boom.
I think I have it now. The balance between contentment and burden...
Be thankful for the good He has given you.
Maybe your house needs repairs... at least you have a house.
Maybe your spouse drives you bonkers with how he does the laundry...Thank God you weren't married to a armed forces officer that was killed in action in Afghanistan.
Maybe your children fight more than you can handle.... millions of families around the world can't have children and even more children have no siblings or families to fight with or be hugged by.
You don't like the music that your church leads worship with.... millions of our brothers and sisters in Christ around the world literally risk their lives to sing any song that praises Christ.
Be content with your cushy safe life
Carry a burden for those that are dying for Christ. Truly. Dying. For. HIM
For me to live is Christ, to die is gain...
we have no idea...
none
And I hated change.. still do. Every time I switched schools I cried for days. One time my dad was talking seriously about selling our house and I just about lost it. Even when I got married I was thrilled right down to my socks to be married to the man of my dreams but the change of living with someone was hard and I cried about a lot of those changes for the first few months of our marriage.
I have discovered that fear breeds discontentment. Even at my happiest in my life I can think back to moments of complaint.
In a conversation with Brad not too long ago we were discussing the last few months and how I am coping (or not) and what came out of that conversation was contentment. And that I am not. And as I dig deeper, maybe I have never been. Ever. So, as I have stewed on this idea the last little while I have noticed that dis)contentment has been the general theme in the conversations I am having with just about everyone in my life. There is a lot of discontentment in the world. Why is that? I mean from lifer Christians even. People that are supposed to exude the 'joy, joy, joy, joy down in their hearts' there is an unrest, a distrust, a wary faith, an emptiness, a not enough, a wanting more, a been let down, a never gonna forget the hurt they caused, a general "their grass is greener" kind of haunting.
There seems to be an unbalance as well in the dis)contentment idea. While I have friends that hold on to their hurts as if they are afraid to be happy, I also have friends that refuse to admit to any hurt at all. they never deal with the trauma they have experienced and so bury it because "I will not be defeated" is their battle cry, yet discontentment finds a way because inevitably it rears it's ugly head out another corridor.
How hard is it to say "I am ok in where I am at right at this moment." I have met Christians that are at peace when a loved one dies but can't handle day to day life. Aren't we supposed to be content? Isn't that part of our burden? That's a big contradiction for me. Contentment...our burden...
I can remember as a child singing in church "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot though hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul"
I didn't get it as a child, I sort of got it as a teenager but when that song really hit home was when our firstborn dream was unfulfilled. I tell you, "sorrows like sea billows" is woeful understatement. I stood in a shower till the water ran cold and I didn't notice, I almost collapsed into a heap on the floor when Brad was talking to the hospital about what to do with "the body". There was no "it is well" in those times for me. I am always in awe of someone who can experience that kind of loss and say "it's ok, it wasn't meant to be" and truly believe it and be at peace with it. Do they not understand that this is not how God intended for things to be? Death is not part of his original design. He submitted his own child to the ills of satan's destruction of God's original plan.
So when I started this post yesterday I was going about my day like every other day. Had some laughs with the boys, had some battles with the boys, refereed some battles between the boys. Noah crashed on the couch just before supper and I sat and had sleepy snuggles with him and soaked it in because those things you HAVE to soak in. Listen to them sleepy breathe, look at and hold their little pudgy hand and fingers in yours. Kiss their head, breathe it all in because it doesn't last. I tried to finish this post last night after the three were in bed but got distracted by the tv. So today, while I'm helping Brad get packed up for camping with Carlon and Noah, I am thinking about how to finish up this post. Questions like "So where does contentment fit in?" "How do I balance contentment and burden?" "Can we take God out of the equation?"
Then I saw it, I read about it, I wept about it....
Children being beheaded in Iraq for loving Jesus, or for their parents loving Jesus. And the children who manage to escape... these children who were probably told by their parents to run....their parents who were being raped and murdered.... were dying in the hills for starvation, dehydration, exhaustion. It is the most breath stealing, gut stomping, enraging act I have ever heard of. Babies... heads being chopped off and put on stakes.... women...mommies being raped and made into slaves.... men.. daddies being forced to renounce their faith and being killed anyways. Where is the contentment now. I have such unrest. My deep seeded mommy soul wants to run to Iraq and save all those wee ones, gather them up and protect them. I have wept in prayer today that God has them safe in his hands. That they felt no fear in their death, that they are reunited with their parents and Christ. I don't even know where to go from here.. I am losing words, my heart is crumbling.
So, where does contentment fit in?
I am not content with the ills of this world, and yet I let the ills seep in and unravel me. The little ills and the big ones. There is no discerning them except when ones so big make me lose my heart, the little ills don't have any hold.
Am I making sense? I am so lost.
I prayed today that God would do something "old testament" worthy in Iraq. That he would show the world his wonders. Because it seems like that is the only thing that will get people to listen anymore. Nobody is listening for the whisper. We need him to give a sonic boom.
I think I have it now. The balance between contentment and burden...
Be thankful for the good He has given you.
Maybe your house needs repairs... at least you have a house.
Maybe your spouse drives you bonkers with how he does the laundry...Thank God you weren't married to a armed forces officer that was killed in action in Afghanistan.
Maybe your children fight more than you can handle.... millions of families around the world can't have children and even more children have no siblings or families to fight with or be hugged by.
You don't like the music that your church leads worship with.... millions of our brothers and sisters in Christ around the world literally risk their lives to sing any song that praises Christ.
Be content with your cushy safe life
Carry a burden for those that are dying for Christ. Truly. Dying. For. HIM
For me to live is Christ, to die is gain...
we have no idea...
none
Saturday, 28 June 2014
losing at it all
You can't tell me you've never experienced loss. I wouldn't believe it. The removal of something? It happens to everyone. The degree of loss is different for the circumstance and even a positive experience that leads to change also leaves loss.
We lose our innocence, our toys, our feeling of security, our phone (gasp), our identity, our virginity, our home, our thoughts, our first love, our pride, the list goes on and on. Just insert your life altering loss here _____. Then, the things you lose that are mundane here _____.
My dad is forever losing his keys and my mom loses her patience.
June 13 was Carlon's last day of school. Two weeks too soon thanks to the strike/lock out. I went to his school that day to pick him up. He came outside and I wasn't there. This has happened before and it hasn't caused a problem but, this day, for whatever reason, he got scared and decided to walk home... BY HIMSELF!!
My sweet little 5 year old dream of a boy decided he could walk home the near 1 km to our house, crossing a busy street, taking the short cut we take, which leads beside a forested area. He said he was scared and sang 'Jesus loves me' to himself. I, meanwhile, am running around the school near crapping my pants because he is nowhere to be found and he never does this.
I was in a state of loss. My son was lost. My panic was in overload. 'Someone has taken him! He is lost, gone forever' THE most devastating feeling. Meanwhile he's walking home scared, feeling abandoned, alone, he has lost his security and trust that mommy would always be there.
When it finally came to light that the crossing guard saw him walk home I was livid. The principle, his teacher and the crossing guard asked if he had ever walked home alone before and I responded with great frustration, "NO! Because he is 5!!". My frustration was very evident and I was in tears at the panic that he still wasn't safe. It's a 15 minute walk between our house and the school.
When Hawk called that he was home safe I wept. He was safe, he was home. All I wanted was to hug him. He was no longer lost, but what had been lost?
My relationship with his teacher and the school. When he started at the school we were given an info sheet that informed us that kindergarten students were not allowed to leave the school without their guardian, and if no one came to get them they were to wait at the office.
So, how did this happen?!
I've lost a little in my relationship with Carlon. This experience is something he will never forget, and I will always, to the day I die, blame myself that it happened because I wasn't there when he came out. I've lost my trust in my ability as a mom. This trust was tenuous at best but now... it has been obliterated.
So what next? I have to talk to the school. I have been too angry to approach it but, for the safety of other children I have to. How do I forgive myself and move on? I mean this just piles on to all my feelings of doubt that we made the right decision to move here. My gut still wrenches when Carlon leaves the house to bike down our quiet, safe street to his friends house.
How do we accommodate loss? How do we overcome it? I have experienced a mountain of losses. i am climbing it and I want to see beyond it and yet another loss will happen and it either adds to the height of the mountain or causes a rock in my path and makes me stumble or it forces a rock slide and pushes me down the mountain.
Why can't I leap the mountain? Why does a loss knock me down so? I ask God to help me but I can't seem to get my footing strong. I am overwhelmed and out of breath.
Give me wings Lord, carry me over...
We lose our innocence, our toys, our feeling of security, our phone (gasp), our identity, our virginity, our home, our thoughts, our first love, our pride, the list goes on and on. Just insert your life altering loss here _____. Then, the things you lose that are mundane here _____.
My dad is forever losing his keys and my mom loses her patience.
June 13 was Carlon's last day of school. Two weeks too soon thanks to the strike/lock out. I went to his school that day to pick him up. He came outside and I wasn't there. This has happened before and it hasn't caused a problem but, this day, for whatever reason, he got scared and decided to walk home... BY HIMSELF!!
My sweet little 5 year old dream of a boy decided he could walk home the near 1 km to our house, crossing a busy street, taking the short cut we take, which leads beside a forested area. He said he was scared and sang 'Jesus loves me' to himself. I, meanwhile, am running around the school near crapping my pants because he is nowhere to be found and he never does this.
I was in a state of loss. My son was lost. My panic was in overload. 'Someone has taken him! He is lost, gone forever' THE most devastating feeling. Meanwhile he's walking home scared, feeling abandoned, alone, he has lost his security and trust that mommy would always be there.
When it finally came to light that the crossing guard saw him walk home I was livid. The principle, his teacher and the crossing guard asked if he had ever walked home alone before and I responded with great frustration, "NO! Because he is 5!!". My frustration was very evident and I was in tears at the panic that he still wasn't safe. It's a 15 minute walk between our house and the school.
When Hawk called that he was home safe I wept. He was safe, he was home. All I wanted was to hug him. He was no longer lost, but what had been lost?
My relationship with his teacher and the school. When he started at the school we were given an info sheet that informed us that kindergarten students were not allowed to leave the school without their guardian, and if no one came to get them they were to wait at the office.
So, how did this happen?!
I've lost a little in my relationship with Carlon. This experience is something he will never forget, and I will always, to the day I die, blame myself that it happened because I wasn't there when he came out. I've lost my trust in my ability as a mom. This trust was tenuous at best but now... it has been obliterated.
So what next? I have to talk to the school. I have been too angry to approach it but, for the safety of other children I have to. How do I forgive myself and move on? I mean this just piles on to all my feelings of doubt that we made the right decision to move here. My gut still wrenches when Carlon leaves the house to bike down our quiet, safe street to his friends house.
How do we accommodate loss? How do we overcome it? I have experienced a mountain of losses. i am climbing it and I want to see beyond it and yet another loss will happen and it either adds to the height of the mountain or causes a rock in my path and makes me stumble or it forces a rock slide and pushes me down the mountain.
Why can't I leap the mountain? Why does a loss knock me down so? I ask God to help me but I can't seem to get my footing strong. I am overwhelmed and out of breath.
Give me wings Lord, carry me over...
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