What made me who I am today

You've often heard the saying, "That's what made me who I am today, so I wouldn't change a thing."  Usually that is in reference to our own hardships due to poor decisions we have made, or things that have happened because we live in a sinful, cruel world.  I used to agree wholeheartedly with that statement--that my past made me who I am today, so I wouldn't change it...but then I started thinking a little more critically, looking around a bit more closely.  I realized my past wasn't what made me who I am, but how I received it.  Let me explain.

When something in life happens to us, or because of us, we have only a limited amount of options: A) We can accept what has happened, and look for the growing in it/the good or B) we can blame someone--whether it is actually someone else's fault or not, and often become bitter and angry.  If we choose A, we may become a different person, "better," stronger.  If we choose B, we generally get stuck, thinking of the past, what has happened to us, and how we could have avoided it, or how wrong someone else is.  My question in relation to the oft heard statement is this: How do we choose which option to take?  If we look at it objectively, we may take option A, but if we look at it from inside our own shoes, we will most likely choose B.  So what makes us choose A?

I have come to realize, in my life, the only reason I have ever chosen A, is God.  The only reason I can look back at my life and see any difference in the girl from 2002 is that God has shown me amazing grace.  Shuddering to think where I would be without his grace, and the ability to receive it, I realize that I was putting myself first when I thought that my past decisions/events are what made me who I am today.  No.  It was only by the grace of God that I chose growth when all was not well, that I am who I am today.  It was only ONLY by the grace of God that I stepped out of my shame to allow Christ to show me I was worth something more, instead of successfully ending any chance at a life to come.  Only by the grace of God, that I grew closer to my God and my husband during my miscarriage, and can look back knowing He transformed that terrible pain into something beautiful.  Only by the grace of God, the incredible gift of mercy--the cross--that I am able to boast in Him who sits on the throne, that I can see one spec of His glory shining through my life.

Nothing I have done, or ever will do, could make me who I would ever want to be.  It is only by God's love that I change for the better--that he grows me into this woman who can cry easily, laugh lightly and not maliciously, attempt controlling my anger, serve others, be a mom/wife/sister/daughter/granddaughter of any merit.  The person who I am, that's all God's doing--and thank God for that!  I definitely would have chosen bitterness and anger--hands down.

Lifting the fog

I'm sitting with my feet propped up, in a cushy chair, in front of a crackling fire.  Fiona is supposed to be sleeping, but she's not (I can hear her in her bed, alternately playing & whining).  As I look out the window to my right, two hills rise, crisscrossed with low stone walls to mark territories and keep the sheep from wandering.  The hill on the left is dusted with snow, mostly covered in a low fog.

In the other room the washing machine is taking off (or at least that's what it sounds like).  This is only the second load of laundry I've done in it, and I don't think I have it quite right.  I don't have a dryer--which is normal over here as most people just don't think the cost of the electricity is worth it.  So, once the laundry is done washing, I will put in on a drying rack in the hot water closet--allowing the heat from the water heater to slowly dry the clothes.  Of course, since we are trying to save electricity, the water heater is only warm if the fire is warming it, so I have to remember to keep the fire going if I want the clothes to dry.  The water heater heats very quickly though, and I have to remember that the water gets V E R Y hot when warmed by the fire--scalding actually...I've burnt myself a couple of times already.

I can order groceries online and have them delivered here, for 5 pounds--which is about $7--which is awesome considering the closest grocery is at least 20 mins away, and that one wouldn't have everything I ordered online, or at that price. I put in a big order last night, and arranged for it to be delivered on Tuesday between 1-2 (yes they ACTUALLY come during that time).  So if you want to come visit soon we will have lots of groceries :).

The dogs love the fireplace.  It's their favorite place to nap in front of now.  Gertie's eyes are slowly closing as I type this. .....Aaaand...Fiona has decided she is done with this "nap" and is ready for some late morning milk and a snack.  More soon...hopefully

"home"

We've been back in North Carolina for a week and a half now, but not home.  Though the word home evokes many memories of family and friends here, there, and everywhere, even in the mountains where we lived for five years, we are not yet there.  I think back to California and The Oaks, our most recent home.  The song, "It Feel Like Home to Me," just popped into my head--laughter, sarcasm, general loud-ness, kids running in and out, coffee, food, sisters, brothers, nephews & niece, friends, sitting on the carpet--all these things are something that word remembers...but no specific place encloses them all the time.

I have loved all the houses we have lived in--even the first apartment Dave and I had, which flooded several times and gave me the worst allergic reaction to mold I have ever had to anything.  But the people I know from those places are what I think of when I think of home.  In Bryson City, NC it is playing Settlers with Erin and Beth, and even Kerby, breakfasts and books with Sophie, drinking coffee in Mountain Perks--knowing most of the people that walk in (and it being the only place I have ever frequented where someone knew I had a "usual"), NOC's River's End Restaurant with my friend Hazel--thinking of the first time we met and literally "learning the ropes," The Grove Church on Sunday morning.  In California "home" is long walks on the beach with Ben King (lol)--him helping Dave and I discover the wonders of Ventura, sitting in the soccer field at The Oaks--with Sam & lil Mel, coffee with Heather--pouring our hearts out on each other's couches, Olive Garden with my three ladies, book club, game nights, our community church, desert sunsets.  Here in Richfield, "home" almost always revolves around holidays--putting up Grandmama's Christmas tree...and everything else (ps thanks for all the help on that other Fisher kids), seeing the Eddy's & talking about football & beer & politics, watching all my nephews & 1 niece run around, playing Catch Phrase with my siblings--and laughing hysterically, BBQ and sweet tea, my friends Heather & Jake--talking movies & watching our kids be weird....and on and on and on it goes...and will keep going. 

Home.  It brings a lump to my throat.  So sweet, tender, yet tough and adventurous--pulsing brightly with each ring it adds, like tree growth each year its circle gets wider, with each person added to our hearts.  Home is not so far away as it seems at the moment.  Living in a borrowed room, but aren't we always living on "borrowed time" in a "borrowed world?"  "This world is not my home, I'm only passing through"...home: it is eternity with these people.  It is a campfire in the back yard that never goes out.  There are no walls that can contain it.

Faith of our Fathers

I'm continuing my reading in 2 Kings, slowly working my way through the Old Testament.  Something I have started to notice with the introduction of each new king, which is every chapter basically, is that it doesn't seem to matter whether their father was a good or bad king.  What I mean by that is, it doesn't seem to affect the new king--in the way that he would follow the example of his father--whether or not his father was a God-fearing king or followed the local customs for worshiping false gods.  Now, most of that may be cultural.  If you had hundreds of siblings from many many different moms, you probably wouldn't be that close to your dad either, considering you probably don't see him very much and have very little to do with his ruling.  And maybe that's just it!

 If each father had focused on being a family man--a SMALL family man, one or so wives, then he probably could have really devoted a large enough chunk of his time to have left a legacy to his family that they would care about--as opposed to a couple of them trying to kill him for his kingdom.  And it's that the same way today?  If our fathers were involved in a positive way in our lives, even a little bit, we generally have an ok outlook on dads, and maybe we even think it's possible to be a good dad.  But if we had absent fathers, or fathers who were always a very negative presence in our lives, then we struggle with our identity and what we are capable of.  Even as women, we struggle with having positive interactions with guys, trying to figure out what a "good" guy looks like, and how to have a life that doesn't follow a desperate path of dating disasters.

Wow, I'm really glad I'm not a man right now.  I mean, that's a lot of pressure.  But, I guess if you're thinking about that pressure as a man, and how you don't want to let your kid down, then you are probably ok.  I don't mean we as parents don't make mistakes, I mean if we are truly seeking God as to how to be good, godly parents, that He will help us towards that goal.  Anyway--all that to say--keep your chin up dads--you are having a huge affect on your kids, and other peoples kids too--so keep doing your best, it makes a difference!

All We Like Sheep

I love sheep.  It’s true—though maybe if I got to know them better I might not, people are always saying they are smelly (or maybe that’s just something I heard in a Veggie Tales episode…hmmm).  My husband is from Ireland, so every time we go back to visit family there, I look forward to being around all the sheep.  Whenever you go out walking through the countryside, you are bound to wind up in a sheep field at some point.  I keep trying to “pet” one. Dave thinks it’s hilarious, watching me stalk these sheep.  He has quite a few pictures of me trying to sneak up on them.  I will slowly walk towards what I think is an unsuspecting sheep, and try and get close enough to touch it.  But sheep are not trusting animals really, and they usually scamper away just before I can get there.

At church this last Sunday, the visiting pastor gave a message on how God pursues us.  He used Psalm 23, specifically the last verse where it says, “Surely, goodness, and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  The pastor said the word there, translated “follow,” is really a poor translation.  That it is better translated “pursue or chase down.”  He talked about how God compares us to sheep in this passage, and how sheep cannot survive without a shepherd.  That they are one of the only species of animals that he can think of that will literally die without taken care of by a shepherd. 

I wondered if God made sheep just for me.  Well, not just me, but ya know, humans.  If sheep were created by God to show us just how much we need a shepherd, THE Good Shepherd to be exact, or we will just die—purposeless, scared, and alone.  And that brought me back to being in Ireland, and the Sheep Scaring laws.  Yes, there are laws against scaring sheep—they have weak hearts, so I’m told—to scare them to death is pretty easy.  So if you, or your dog, scare a sheep to death, you have to pay compensation or go to jail (they are serious about their sheep over there). 

Another thing the pastor mentioned about sheep was their love for the “known” things.  He said they would rather stay in a field where the grass is not good anymore, than move on to a new, lush field of grass.  They have to be prodded and rounded up by the sheep dogs just to be pushed out of their comfort zones and into a better, healthier place.  Wow, does that ever sound familiar.  I mean—I would say I’m a rather “adventurous” person, but once it gets down to the time to actually go on said adventure, I start dragging my feet.  For example, I recently went to Australia with my one-year-old daughter to visit my parents who were there on medical furlough for a couple of weeks.  I was very excited to go to a place I hadn’t been before, and get to spend some time with my family.  But as the trip started to draw nearer, I commenced panicking.  How would my toddler do on a 13-hour flight?  What if it was awful!?  What if she never adjusted to the time difference and we both were stuck inside a dazed haze of sleep deprivation for 2 weeks?  My fears of the unknown became so overwhelming, I considered canceling the trip. 

Sheep—cute, cuddly looking creatures who like the ‘creature comforts’ of home, need CONSTANT guidance and protection, cannot direct themselves without peril, need to be shorn at least once a year, are fearful of most things, and are prey to almost anything (my definition).  “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned--every one--to his own way, and The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all,” Isaiah 53:6.  Thank you Jesus, for being our Shepherd.

Rocks...and King Ahab

When I was younger, I went camping pretty frequently with my family.  The first thing we would do when we got to our campsite was to set up our tents.  The easiest way to hammer the tent stakes into the ground was to try and find a rock as a make-shift hammer, and beat the tent stake into the ground.  Even though the rock wasn't as good as a hammer, it could be used anyway.

As I was reading in 1 Kings today, I read something about King Ahab I hadn't remembered.  The story most people remember about him is of him wrongfully accusing and killing a man so he could steal his vineyard, then God killing him and his wife, Jezebel, and the dogs eating her.  Yeah, gruesome story.  But the one I hadn't remembered about Ahab was of the Lord giving him victory is several wars with other nations--specifically having a prophet tell him that Israel would win.  And I thought, why would God use this man--this man who tried to kill all the prophets of God, who tried to kill Elijah, and worshiped Baal, this selfish, ugly-hearted man?  And then I thought of my prayers lately--my urgent prayers to be used wholly by God, and I realized something.  If God can use this man who never really believed in him, who did such evil things, he can use me.  Simple as that.  If I am a willing, serving, faith-filled vessel, I will be used by God.  So, in turn, I have to stop just asking God to use me, and start moving.  It doesn't mean I don't seek God, it just means I have to step out in faith that He loves me and IS using me to his glory!  Anyway--my thoughts on 1 Kings today :).  It's pretty interesting!  You should give it a read!

Wednesday morning poem

There's a book in my hand,
a cup of coffee in my lap,
and friends--just this morning--that have made me laugh.
There are toys and books strewn about the floor,
cloth diapers in the washer,
and, because it's Wednesday, the lawnmowers roar.
Today my hair curled, naturally, as it should,
my favorite sweats were pulled out of the wood (closet that is).
The air is a crisp Californian 65,
time for a sweater before we drive.
Fiona is slumbering in her bed,
her recently favorite bunny pulled close to her head.
The dogs snooze in the sunny spot on the rug,
as I read The Word, hoping on my heart He will tug.

Expecting.....an answer

Sorry about the ambiguous first word--you know how I like to play.  I'm not expecting...a baby :), nor do I plan on expecting any time in the near future, I'll leave that to my younger siblings.

However, I HAVE been reading 2 Samuel recently, and have been noticing a few things.  The part I am reading right now is about when David is slowly becoming king of Israel.  Every time David has an issue, a battle or war, or just familial strife, he asks God what he should do.  And then he expects an answer.  Funnily enough he always gets one!  And then I think about myself.  How often do I ask God about something, and then actually expect him to answer me?  Or for that matter, how often do I actually WAIT patiently, attentively more importantly, for one?  I mostly just ask, or tell God what I'm feeling or wanting, and then lean towards whatever feels good to me--like that is God's answer--my feeling.  Time and time again I learn concretely that God does not work solely through how I feel--and thank Him for that!
---On a side note----have you ever seen a mustard seed?  I have not--and I often wonder how tiny it is and if there is any seed smaller--like how, on a faith scale, my faith compares.  I would say it's pretty darn almost invisible to the human eye.  And that sucks.
I LOVE my God--but do I believe in him?  Do I expect him to come through?  Do I WAIT for him, knowing he WILL answer without a shadow of a doubt???  No.  I despise that that is the answer, but it's a true one.
I believe God chose me to be his child just as strongly as he chose David to be king of Israel, and yet, I don't act like he cares about me.  When my child wants something, I am attentive--I want to help her.  My God overabundantly wants to grow me, strengthen me, and help me prosper in Him, and I need to learn to cling to his hand as I unsteadily learn to walk in his way.

"Lord--I know you love me as your child.  Help me cling to you, incline my soul to look to you, and listen for your voice."

Side Effects

Dave and I often laugh after watching commercials for all sorts of drugs that will "revolutionize" your body or health, etc.  We laugh because of the long list of side effects that are always mentioned at the end, with the last one usually being "death."  After hearing all the things that "could" or "might" go wrong if you take the medicine, it seems a bit ridiculous to us that you actually would choose this medicine!  Is anything you're going through worse than death?  If the answer is "yes," then by all means, take the medicine.


Today I was reading 1 Samuel chapters 8-10.  In them, the Israelites really want Samuel, a highly respected leader and prophet in Israel, to tell them who would be a good king.  They have never had a king before, but they want to be like all the other nations, and have a king.  Samuel consults God with this information, and God gives him a list of side effects that the nation will endure if they decide to have a king rule over them instead of the Lord their God.  Samuel then takes this information back to Israel.  He tells them the king will put their sons into his army, take a tenth of everything they own and will also take their best lands and give them to his officials, make their daughters work for him, make them farm his land, and, in general, make them his slaves.  The nation basically says, "Great--give us a king."  Really?!?

And then I look at my life.  I often tell God what I want, and he tells me "no" because it's not the best thing for me--it will not turn out well.  But I tell him I want it anyway.  He relents, because he will let me make my own decisions, and lo and behold, things don't go well.  And then I get it.  I get why he asks us to read the Bible--to know it through and through.  He gives us these histories of mistakes that have been made before, so that we might see ourselves in it, and stop copying their mistakes!  God is just like our own parents.  Sure, we can learn the hard way, but who wants to see their children hurt themselves over and over again?  He loves us, and wants us to learn from previous mistakes, and turn to him before we get hurt.  God will never tell us, like our often nagging siblings when we were younger, "I told you so!"  He will pick us up, and dust us off, and put a bandaid on our wounds, even when we disregard his perfect will for our lives.  He wants the best for us, and unlike our earthly parents, who do their best but can't see the future, he knows and sees what that is and how it will work. I pray that I will trust God more daily; that I will seek him more daily.  Because, who doesn't want to live the best life that is out there for them?

This Old Mess

I've just put Fi down for her morning nap--she cried for all of three minutes, and is now solidly off to sleep--my little trooper.  As I walked away from her room, I meandered through the house looking at the things that were strewn about.  Blocks and board books in the living room, rubber ducks and bracelets in the hallway, and broken down cardboard boxes in the kitchen--her new favorite thing to pull out from behind the trashcan and play with.  The yes's of this beautiful mess.  Yes, you can play with the cardboard, yes you can play with my bracelets, yes you can play with your books--I've been released to the "yes's" of life.  I started thinking about being able to say "yes" more often when I talked to a friend a few months before Fi was born.  She has two boys and a foster girl under four, and another one on the way.  I admire the way her and her husband parent very much.  She told me that they try to say yes more often; that they try to make sure they say yes when there is no good reason to say no.  I liked it.  I feel myself sometimes telling Fiona "no" to playing with the cardboard, because I don't want to clean it up later, but it only takes 10 seconds really.  There is no reason to say no then, other than my own selfishness.  I want to say "yes" when I can say yes, where it won't harm her, or tear down her growing character.  I want her to have adventures in cardboard boxes, and play dress-up with regular things, and even eat some sand every once in awhile.  Saying "yes" isn't always easy for me--I am a stickler for having rules--but if there isn't a reason to have a rule, then there's no reason to enforce it either.  And she does SO love playing with that cardboard.  Now I shall say "yes" to coffee on the couch with my Bible.  Good morning!

low, but thankful for you

With receiving really hard, heart-shattering news about the death of a friend first thing Monday morning, it has not been an easy week so far.  I have to admit I have either given in to tv therapy--mindless blocks of time when I don't think at all, or remember, "He's gone," or I have just hugged Fiona hard, and grasped on to every moment I have with her and loving her.  I have prayed so much for his mother, for how she must feel, for his father and siblings.  I can't imagine the pain--I truly cannot.  I only want them to know peace, and hope and pray that he found some too at some point.  I could get angry at the way in which he was taken out of this world, but all I feel is desperate sadness for the state of those people, and what misery they, like him, must have been in to do the things they did.  I pray that some lost, currently messed up others see the terrible headlines of this tragedy, and reconsider how they're living, what they're doing with their lives.    One thing that I have cherished this week is how our group of friends from our younger years have reconnected over this terribleness.  We have remembered the good; remember how much we meant to each other--remembered things that still matter.  I'm so grateful for that.  I'm so grateful for the conversations I've had with my best buddy Jake, and how easy it has been for us to just fall back into our old patterns of speech and friendship.  These people meant the world to me 10 years ago, and now I'm remembering why.  I'm so happy to still know some of them, and to be reconnecting with the others--to see where they are and how they've grown and changed--it makes my heart swell.  That may be the only thing that has given me peace this week.  Thank you friends--for being you--for being "here"--for loving.

failure of a friend

I feel I failed you friend.  We lost you long ago before we lost you short away.  I remember you buying cds with pennies, and laughing in your deep man laugh, and always those blue blue eyes twinkling away.  And yet each time I saw you since our adolescence that twinkle has dwindled, and I didn't know what was causing its ceasing.  Less of a laugh, a bit of a smile, and grimacing through life's hard stumbles.  Oh the crush I had on those big blue eyes in their boyhood--what I wouldn't have done for them--and me being one of many whose allure they drew.  What fantasy of other world's numbness intoxicated you so? Throwing pillows and watching James Bond, and eating much too much of Taco Bell.  Did we not love you well--enough--soon enough?  Could I have caught you and clung and hung on enough for two?  I know I failed you by being a dull and dingy mirror of True Love--I could have showed you how much you meant to Him, but how I failed you friend.  I think of--your terrible cleaning habits and always the self-depricating, over my head humor--you were much to smart for us.  I wish that twinkle had turned into a spark and sparked a fire that blazed brighter than those eyes.  I wish I had heard that voice and knew exactly what to say to make it turn out the right way.  I wish I could have healed it all away.  I miss you friend--I miss you truly--I miss you sadly--I miss you guiltily wondering if I could have changed the ending to a beginning...i'm sorry...so forever endlessly sorry...

Writer's ramble

I feel like I should write today--but honestly nothing is on my mind.  I'm always told to be a better writer I need to write every day, which I don't do really, but here I am, trying to write on a day I've got nothing to say.  The dryer is humming in the background, and the puppies are laying in the streaks of sun coming in from the high windows in our living room.  As I think through my schedule for the next week, my mind blurs slightly.  We have a wedding this weekend, which Dave is in (which means it will be my job to keep the baby quiet for the duration of the service), and Dave's cousin is coming in on Monday to visit for a few days.  I immediately want to jump up and scour the house clean, as that is always my reaction to visits.  Then I want to run to the grocery store (well, obviously not literally run, because I hate running), and stock up the house to make sure they like what they eat while they're here.  Also, I am thinking...I am just a tiny bit nervous that his cousin AND his wife are both doctors, and wonder if they will be silently critiquing my parenting skills.  They are both lovely people, and I'm sure it will be great, but that is in the back of my mind nonetheless (also I think that it is crazy that nonetheless is all one word--it looks weird).

I've decided to take the life guarding class here in a few weeks, which means I have to start swimming laps asap.  The pool just opened today, and I'm more than a little wary that it is going to be chilly--though the aquatics directors swears it's almost 75, or at least it will be while the cover is on.  Also I haven't swam proper laps in at least 10 years--so it is probably gonna suck big time with my lung capacity.  I'm not sure yoga has really kept me up to par on the lung expansion thing, even if my muscles are good.  Soreness is sure to ensue.

Well, that was rather rambling, but it's all I got I think.  Maybe I'll go read a book and be inspired to write something properly.  Adieu!

Forgotten God

Once again I am sitting on the couch with my coffee, Bible open to Judges.  I am reading the end of Gideon's story, the one not told in Sunday school, and I'm surprised by what I read.  When Gideon finishes off the cities that were thwarting him, and finally returns home, he brings all the golden earrings and jewelry worn by the conquered armies.  And then, he makes a statue out of it.  I immediately think, "Why did he do that?"  He knows his people, and even his own family, have struggled with idol worship, he has seen what mighty things God has done for him, and yet he makes a statue...that quickly becomes an idol.  And the craziest thing is, he and his family end up worshiping this idol too!!!  Then Gideon dies, and the whole nation goes back to forgetting God.

I read stories like this in the Bible all the time, and I am astonished at how quickly the people of God turn away from him, yet I don't see the connection in my own life.  I forget the amazing, miraculous things God has done in my life and heart, and I complain about the smallest things, and I argue with my husband in my own selfishness.  It's the same with current events isn't it?  We look at the evil in the world, the Boston bombings for instance, and wonder why someone would do these things.  And yet, didn't Jesus say that anyone who hates his brother or sister is a murderer too (1 John 3:15)?  Therefore--are we not on the same level as the Boston bombers?!?

We want to believe that we humans have evolved to a higher level of morality than we had, oh say, 100 years ago, or even yesterday, and yet, we haven't--we are still the sinful people that God kicked out of the garden because we wanted to be on the same level as Him who created us.  Every time we try to raise ourselves above even the "lowest level of humanity" (in the world's eyes), we are giving an inch to Satan.  Our pride says, "I'm not that bad," and therefore we allow ourselves some worth in and of ourselves, and outside of the only One who can make us worthy.

I can't say that I have given over my pride to God.  I pray repeatedly that He would help me give it over, be filled with more of him, and less of me--but I think a lot of myself.

          

"Thank you God, that you have given us the Bible to remind us of who we are, what we are capable of, and why we need you in every fiber of our being. Help me daily to seek you, to be filled with more of Your Spirit, and to become more of the person you would have me be.  Thank you Lord, for your mercy, unending.  For your kindness to this broken, fleshly body, that strives to be the redeemed child you have rescued.  Thank you Lord."

ps--I highly recommend Francis Chan's book Forgotten God about allowing the power of the Holy Spirit to be active in our every day hearts and lives.  Check it out!

Coffee with Jesus

I drowsily opened my eyes this morning, already filled with exhaustion.  Last night I woke up several times, the first being at eleven pm, only an hour after falling asleep, with a feeling more akin to a drugged haze, not knowing why I was awake or why I felt as I did.  Several times throughout the night I awoke in sweat and fear, praying to God to rid me of this familiar feeling of dread--heart thumping to every sound in the night.  Though I've struggled with night terrors in the past, this was not one of these--I was still aware of God's presence.  He brought verses to my mind.."I have not given you the spirit of fear..." and reminded me he was present, even amongst my fear.  And though it did not dissipate completely, I knew I could be present with God even among the lingerings of fear, and I was not paralyzed by it.

Dave slept poorly as well, though I think that may have had a lot to do with my tossing and turning, and also how many times I left the bed for one thing or another (too hot...too cold...what is that noise...is the baby ok?).  But this morning, he got up first, as usual.  He changed the baby, and, after she was done nursing, went and had breakfast with her--she eating her oatmeal while he had cereal.  I tried to sleep some more, but I also prayed.  I prayed that "The joy of the Lord [would be] my strength" in this tired day ahead of me.  That I would be a joyful servant of God to my wonderful baby and husband, even though I was out of coffee and had no time for a nap.  And then, as Fiona was eating a snack and getting ready to go down for her morning nap, my best friend calls and brightens my morning, and my husband walks in with a thermos of coffee from the office.  I didn't ask for those things--I asked for endurance and patience--but God gave me a physical blessing instead--how wonderful!

As I sat on the couch, drinking my coffee, with the Bible splayed on my lap, I read of God's faithfulness in the small things with a man named Gideon.  You may know this story, but I'll give you a quick synopsis.  Gideon was called on by God to go into battle up against the powerful Midianites.  But God wants to make sure that the Israelites, whom Gideon will be leading into battle, know that HE, the One True God, is the one who is winning the battle for them.  So, God makes Gideon tell the majority of the Israelite army to go home, and tells Gideon to take a small number, hundreds against thousands of thousands, into battle.  "That same night the Lord said to him [Gideon], “Arise, go down against the camp, for I have given it into your hand. But if you are afraid to go down, go down to the camp with Purah your servant. And you shall hear what they say, and afterward your hands shall be strengthened to go down against the camp” (Judges 7:9-11).  Gideon is strengthened by what he hears when he goes down to the camp, he obeys God's plan to make them win the battle, and they do!  And everyone knows it is the Lord who won the battle.  Isn't that amazing!  God cares when we are afraid, even if it has no merit with the outcome.  God was going to win the battle for Gideon in fear or not, but he wanted him to be comforted.

Sometimes we don't feel comforted when we are in God's presence--he wants us to trust him through our fear, and walk through it with him anyway--but sometimes, like in Gideon's case, he comforts us for our own wellbeing.  Last night I did not feel comforted, but I knew God was with me, even in my discomfort.  That is a part of believing in Christ--trusting him in the uncomfortable places.  Do I like to be comfortable--of course!  But I know that my faith is grown even in the hard places, and I am glad God brings me through those.  Amen & amen!

*The reference in the title to "Coffee with Jesus" is an entity of Radio Free Babylon, and is a comic strip I highly recommend you check out on Radio Free Babylon's site on Facebook!

Undone

It's 10:30 in the morning, and tears have already drenched my face three times.  My sick little one sleeps in her crib, while, on the couch, tears run down my face.  I read my mom's e-mail about her missionary kids/students' trip to Lae, the things they do there, the work that opens their hearts, and I weep for those hearts.  I know that feeling, opening to this new thing, this new work God is doing in my heart, and yet not knowing exactly what it means, not yet.  I open the book we, women in our community, are studying, One Thousand Gifts, the book I am meant to be leading a discussion on today, but am sitting on the couch listening to see if my little one needs comfort instead.  I read one of the last two chapters in the book, and am undone not once, but twice.  My mind flits back to the chapters in Judges I read today, and I think about how many judges God sent the Israelites to help them defeat their oppressors, and how many times they forgot Him until they were in need again; I beg Him to help me not repeat their pattern of forgetfulness.  I feel my heart opening, my eyes brimming, and I don't know what it means, but I thank God for it--I ask for more, because I know he is bringing me somewhere, leading me to something I can't yet see.  My friends, I count them as friends even though I have only know them in person for mere days, are leaving the mission field of small town Mexico in December, and ask for others to come and fill their place.  I love that place, is God calling me there? Weeks ago, did I not dwell on the hard places God had brought me through these last few years, and ask him for more?  More hard place Lord, more hard blessings--I want them!  I don't know what this looks like, what these tears, these yearnings, are preparing me for--if it is to do dishes in service to The King, to fold laundry and clean, to care for my family in heart for His service--so be it--bring me to praise your name through the suds Lord Jesus!  I praise you Lord for these tears, for always softening my heart, for seeking me on the couch, for giving me your Word.  You are always good, and I am always loved by Love.

Waves

Every day, during Fi's nap, I turn my ipod to a white noise app. so that she can hear waves while she's sleeping.  It seems to help her sleep longer, and drowns out the noise of the outside world--maintenance men on the roof, the squeals and shouts of kids in the soccer field outside, the ringing of the telephone, etc.  Early this morning, as I lay in bed, I awoke to the sounds of those waves, but slowly realized I hadn't turned on the machine.  In the fogginess of waking, I realized the "waves" were actually the slow and steady breathing of my beloved, and I smiled groggily.  I smile even now as I write this, because those same slightly loud breaths used to keep me awake.  Irritably I would tell him to turn over so the longer distance would muffle his "loud" breathing.  Now they sound like waves of slumber.  God's grace--the sounds we used to be discontent with now lull us to sleep; we embrace them with tenderness.  Fi just awoke from her morning nap, and on the monitor I hear her talking to her stuffed animals in her crib, and know she is likely tugging off her socks and attempting to pull up on the crib wall--my big girl.  Outside I hear the kids from a few apartments down, peals of delighted chatter and laughter as they ride as fast as they can down our little hill on their riding toys.  What a marvelous, blessed place I am in--what an amazing God that he allows me to enjoy these things.  But I know every day is not like today, and that is ok too--"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” ( John 16:33).

More like Him

Today, as I was sitting in a mom's Bible study group, I realized I am understanding God's heart more now, as a mom.  I see how much I love Fiona, how much watching her grow gives me joy, and how her sadness and pain brings my own sadness and pain.  I want good things for her, but I also want her to grow in wisdom and knowledge and, most of all, love of God.  Sometimes, to grow in those things, she will have to experience loss in big and small ways; she will have to feel disappointment.  When she reaches for things that she aren't good for her, I pull them away, even though it makes her sad to not be able to have them.  And I know that doing that is the good thing to do, to give her good gifts, not things that will hurt her.  But she doesn't always know what's good for her.  Aren't we the same way with God?  Don't we reach for things, time and time again, that can hurt us?  And when God pulls those things away for our own good, don't we often get mad at him, and throw a fit because he took it away? I often tell Fiona, "I'm sorry you're sad," but that doesn't mean I give her the thing she wants anyway, because I know it is not the best for her.  Amazing how God mirrors his relationship with us through so many things in life.  He tries to show us his love through almost every story in the Bible, but also through the church, through our marriages, and through our relationships with our children.  It's just like how he told so many parables in the Bible so that people could understand; he's now showing me a parable of how he feels about me, through how I feel about Fiona, and how I want to raise her.

Thank you God for your love stories to me; for reaching me in a place I am comfortable, and showing me your love in my every day life and decisions.

Review of "Forgetting the Fairy Tale" by Donya Dunlap

In this book, the urgency with which Dunlap yearns for women to know The Truth is evident.  At first, I questioned who this book was written for, but I quickly realized it was me: and every other woman who has lost, or possibly never found, the true reason she was put on this earth.  It is wonderful to see a writer point out that God does not promise us a fairy tale life with all the trappings, but he promises us, as she says, “Peace that passes all understanding, unspeakable joy, eternal security, boundless love, and His presence with us, always.”  What else could we want?  She weaves Bible stories seamlessly into the life of the "every woman,"showing them relevant in every word written, and how we can use them as our encouragement to pursue a relationship with Christ.  

Girl's day

Today Dave is off hiking some trails in preparation for Outdoor Ed season here at camp starting in the middle of March.  So, it's just us girls at home.  We had a pj party for a while this morning, then she went down for a nap for approximating 30 minutes of her hour to hour and a half nap.  But at least I got dinner in the crock pot before she woke up.  She's now quite happily playing on the floor on all her blankets, though not with all the toys I put out.  The coffee table seems to be very intriguing to her, with the different grains of wood (don't worry, it's quite sturdy, she can't hurt herself unless she bangs her head into it).  Her favorite toy as of late has been a rubber ducky I got in the $1 section of Target--the section Dave calls "cheap plastic crap."  It's always the cheap, or free, stuff they like huh?  At least we haven't really spent any money on things for her, so I don't have anything to feel guilty over :).  Almost all her stuff, from crib to stroller, along with toys & clothes, have come from friends or family.  It's been so wonderful to live in a community where sharing is the way of life!  The hiking pack we have for Fiona right now has already been passed through three families, and is still going strong!  As I look at the floor, and see three different small quilts, made lovingly by hand especially for Fiona (not mine mind you--I do not have that kind of artistic ability in me I don't believe), it makes my heart swell with the love showered on us.

Well--my little mohawk baby is getting hungry.  She's banging her feet on the floor and making long whiney noises with the occasionally screech thrown in--I think she's gonna start crawling any day now!  I will go feed her.  Hope you all have a great day!  I'm gonna spend this chilly S. Cali day inside with my little cuddler, possibly with a fire in the stove this afternoon.  Love to you all!