Trudging and Birthdays

Today I read the end of Nehemiah, and also part of the first chapter of John Piper's book Desiring God for my quiet time.  I can't say that I have been doing this on a daily basis lately, but I am working to get back to a place that I remember to fill my longing for joy with my heavenly Father before I fill it with other things.  This longing for joy, for happiness, is one of the main themes of Desiring God, and it is really very interesting to me.  Often we as Christians feel we need to suppress our desires to be happy and just "do without" or "push through" life.

This makes me think of the scene in one of my favorite films, A Knight's Tale, where the character of Chaucer's comes into the story.  He walks by the three main men, and they ask him what he is doing.  He says, "Trudging. You know, trudging? to trudge: the slow,weary, depressing yet determined walked of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simple soldier on." I think sometimes we think we are made to trudge and nothing else.  Just to "get it done."  But we are made to be happy, to seek happiness through the joy of Christ.  God is a God of joy--always.

There are parts in this book (Desiring God), even in the first chapter, that I am fighting against, but it is a good fight.  On page 41 it says, "Sin and pain he abhorred...sin-covering, death-conquering obedience he delighted in...so it is with all pain and sin: Grievous in itself, it does not thwart his plans, or diminish his deepest delight."  What I get from that is that God is deeply sad that we choose to inflict pain on one another, and that we are terribly hurt by things in this world, but that even through those things, his plans are not disturbed.  His plans will come to fruition whether we have cuts and scrapes, smelling like manure, or clean as a rose and well, and he delights in this--he has joy in this.  And that does give me a sense of calm.  A picture of that on this earth is a mother and father.  They raise their children well, keep them safe, teach them the things they need to know, and lead them out into the world.  Their children make mistakes, fall down, sometimes get put in jail, but that is their life to lead--though it saddens the parents when their children don't succeed, they are still able to live a joyful life even through knowing the children are bringing pain on themselves, and still able to reach out to give comfort and care and unending love to them.

Today is my daughter's second birthday.  Two years ago today I was just 3 hours shy of meeting this wonderful being God presented to Dave and I to help grow and nourish and love and respect--cherish.  Through that awful pain--the worst I have ever endured and hopefully will ever endure physically--a joy came into my life that I am daily surprised and delighted with.  Ever day has its tediums and hardships, but every day has its all encompassing joy.  I cannot accept God's joy without also accepting the pain.  I cannot gain strength without pushing into the hardship, like lifting weights and gaining muscles.  And through all the pain, I know that God is still happy; through the joy, God is happy--he is constant in his strength.  Praise be to God for birthdays.  Thank you God for this day to celebrate, and help me celebrate even when tears come, because you are good and your love endures forever.

Unsaid

We do no plan to not be here.  To say the things left unsaid.  And words are so extravagant, splendid, beautiful creatures.  So many of my hours have been spent with books, and so far I don’t regret those.  They are truly lovely.  Words are power and blessing.  These are words at this moment that I want to share, because I never want to not share them.

 To my husband: If I go first, make sure the family get-togethers are good and often.  Call our kids, still go on adventures, don’t make them do all the planning, don’t forget to ask them about them, always say “I love you.”  And know you are my greatest adventure—always have been.  My horizons have widen literally and figuratively because of you, as they never possibly could have without.  Do you not know I saw the world because of you?  I saw them through the places we saw, but also through the politics we talked, the books I read, the movies we discussed.  You pushed me to have a heart for it—this world God made and we broke.  You gave me a heart, just like the Tin Man ;).  You are my truest, best friend. 

Or to siblings: I notice you—I think about you—you’re important.  Don’t forget to have dreams for yourself, and embrace them, even if they change every day.  Be content to be where you are in the moment, but don’t just let the next one pass you by.  You are fantastic people, the lot of you.  Just know I talk about you more than I talk to you, and it is mostly good things ;).  I love you like crazy.  I’m so glad you belonged to me.  And you guys are crazy good parents; seriously.  You are fantasmic.  Be proud to be proud of those kids—they love you because you helped them be capable of love.  That’s a pretty cool thing.

To my parents:  thank you.  You were good ones.  I’m sorry for all the complaining as a kid; I have nothing to complain about.  I had adventures, love, and security galore.  I had freedom, thought, God.  I’m sorry it took so long to realize that.  I love you.  I’m proud of you—I tell everybody that will listen about my parents, their job history, their family life, their hope, their mission (I’m pretty sure a doctor wouldn’t need any more info that what I share, oops).  I’m so excited for you guys.  What a story! 

To my kid(s): You are awesome.  I have been giddy with just looking at you, watching your world unfold.  I have l o v e d it.  You have brought me joy that I would not have experienced had it not been for you, just you—I revel in it.   My hope for you is that you will experience the joy of Our Maker, Creator, Friend, and Savior more closely than anything else in your life.  You are divine—a child of the King, and don’t forget it! Love it!  Live it!  Your smile and laughter has brightened countless days, far far more than any sadness or madness or “hurtness” has darkened them—never feel guilty for those moments of “hurtness.”  I have hurt others as you have hurt me, and that is all taken over by God’s grace, His immaculate grace and mercy.  Thank Him for his forgiveness and move on—I did. 

To my friends:  Oh you have brought me so much good heart hurt.  I ache to have you spread all over God’s green, and not so green, earth!  But what a joy it’s been to know you!  To listen, and probably mostly talk, to you.  To have coffee with you.  To love you—sometimes selfishly want you to myself, ok almost always want you to myself.  I love triumphing with you!!! I love making butter with milk from your very on cow with you (because I will never do that on my own).  I love loving brown babies with you—knowing their stories, sharing their sorrows.  I love gardening and crafting with you (even though I can’t do any of that stuff, when you do it, I know it’s possible, and that makes me proud).  I love seeing your babies grow, and I love how proud of them you are—it makes me proud too.  I love how I can still remember silly things from childhood with you (remember memorizing the Winnie the Pooh song on that weird beach trip?).  Or how you used to buy CD’s with pennies just to give that poor cashier a hard time (I still think you “suck as a person” because of that).  And, this is a secret I keep from you, I am MUCH better than you at hating people who have hurt you—I rarely forgive them; thankfully, you are a better person than I am, and you do. 

To you: thanks for observing my life.  Though facebook is terribly impersonal, I do actually know who has “liked” what I post.  Friends of friends of sibling’s/parent’s friends—that tells me you love me, even if it’s through them, and that means you love me because you love them.  What an amazing blessing—to be able to observe someone’s life.  Don’t stop; it is sometimes all that matters.

ps-if you wonder where all this came from, other than “out of the blue,” I am reading The End of Life Book Club, and though a bit sad, it is wonderfully thought provoking.  And the writer’s mother an inspiration of what God created us to be.

Glump

A teacher once instructed the class not ever to start off a presentation or speech with an apology or a self-detrimental statement—things like “I’m really nervous, so bear with me” or “Not feeling very well today, but I’ll do my best.”  I wanted to start off this writing with, “I really don’t know what to write,” but then, why bother making you read it, it obviously isn’t important.  I know that writing is something I need to do, a creative outlet that usually makes me feel accomplished, but some days I don’t feel accomplished.  I feel sluggish.  I feel like a failure—mainly because I got up with no plans and fully followed them.  It’s just a day ticked off the calendar of life—how wasted.  Have I encouraged anyone today?  Have I paid more attention to my daughter—loved her well?  Have I been active (well no, it’s rain/sun every 5 minutes, if the weather can’t make up its mind, how am I supposed to)?  I’m in a glump (that’s glum & grump together—yeah, I know it’s awesome; no need to thank me).  In this mood I just wanna binge watch American TV (which I can’t do), eat good chocolate, and maybe open a bottle of my favorite Trader Joes peach wine (too bad TJ’s hasn’t made it to the UK yet).  Even my quiet time is depressing me.  I am reading in 2 Samuel right now, and it’s the part where all David’s son’s are dying and doing awful things, it just makes me realize humanity has sucked since then and makes me feel hopeless (see—glump).  I’m also reading another non-fiction depressing book about a woman who has cancer and is most definitely going to die, as her son is the one writing the book, so I’m already assuming she’s dead by now (it’s not really a downer book, but the subject is just not that sunny).  Dangit, now the sun is out again—jeez this weather is so weird.  Also I’ve been trying to plan what to do with my parents when they visit in a couple of weeks, and I just want them to see everything they want to see, but I don’t know what that is.  And then Fiona’s 2^nd birthday is coming up,  and I’m thinking of planning a party for that—but it all depends on the weather, and it’s not making up its mind very far in advance (case in point today—oh it’s now cloudy again).  Well now Fiona’s awake from her nap, so I better just get over myself and get her milk and snack ready.  

A Letter to My Mother

Sometimes I judge myself by what I am not, and realize maybe I could have been—a gardener, a baker, even a candlestick maker, or some sort of art to profess.

But my drawing consists, so like yours, of stick men and rarely straight lines, and I think to myself, “If she had been thus, I would have had a craft to pass.” 

I am stuck, I must admit, with pictures of 50’s wives and Mother Hen types in my head, rendering me quite out of place.  I was asked, “What are you good at,” and I replied, “I don’t know.”

Though, now that I think of it, I do have quite a few talents, brought to be by you.  They are not the stick and glue types, needle points and rising bread types, confidences in the blooms.

Here are a few things gleaned from you, and I think you should take heed (For though you think you passed so little, it really was a great deed):

I am not fussed by glam or sparkles, they’re pretty, but not much help.  Because you were not so good with hair, well, God gave me hair that doesn’t need much—and I must say I have still had quite a few compliments. 

I speak, (that could just stop there, do the women in our family ever stop speaking?) with confidence, even sometimes eloquence, and find joy in being able to do so.  For you taught us to speak up, and maybe we have done so even more than you at times wanted.  But you also taught us for whom to speak up, and created a fierceness in us—to protect those that can’t, and stand for what is right, and though we often do not show it, we can be quite tender.

I love simple joys of handwritten notes, and home-picked flowers, of dandelions & daffodils sprinkling my windowsills.  You always put them in a jar, middle of the table to show off, and how that filled my small child’s heart, to be lifted to such high esteem.  Now when my girl picks dandelions, I smile, and love them too.

I love to read; that statement is much too simple.  It is a burning passion that could take my life to fill.  My favorite rooms have always been libraries like in Beauty & the Beast, or the one from Biltmore house, grand rooms where books never cease.  Our weekly trips to the library, but also the shelves full at home.  Never a book denied me, thank you for that love alone. 

I do not back down from leading if it is a thing that’s needing done.  I see the usefulness in it, the guidance that it gives.  You taught and led and danced up front, and it taught me I could too.  You said, “Stand up straight, don’t slouch, don’t slump,” and it’s what I’ve tried to do.

This may not seem a strength, but listen to the end.  I can get rather blustery, my temperature rising, red in the face mad—I can rage with the best of them, yes, I almost “like” to get mad.  But this, this very thing, has taught me self-control.  I feel the steam coming on, and have to breath real slow.  I have not mastered this task just yet, but I’m learning, maybe patience too?  All that Momma, that came from you.

Mom, there really are a plethora (see how that reading came in handy? I couldn’t spell it, but thankfully Spell Check could—since you were my teacher I guess I got that from you too ;) of things that you taught me.  I can’t list them all, you see, I’m still finding them all over.  Their popping up, hidden like the Easter eggs I used to love finding, all colorful, and wonderful, and in the most random places.

So thank you, for this and that, and the stuff that will continue to come.  Thank you for the tears you shed, the time you gave, the anger you choked on, the breaths you took, the smiles you gave, the “righteous anger” you showed for me.  Thank you for giving me talents that are priceless, and don’t involve a pan, a spade, or a needle.  You gave me things that can’t be taught, or bought, and those are the most important anyway.  

Southern Fried Kindness

I've been reading a lot of Fannie Flagg books lately (ie Fried Green Tomatoes, I still Dream About You, Can't Wait to Get to Heaven).  I think it probably has a lot to do with me being a bit homesick.  Sitting here this morning, thinking of those books, I can so relate to the grumpy old women characters in almost every one of those books.  Those southern women miss the gentility and niceties of people, and I get it!  Sometimes I just wonder how come everybody has to be so angry?!  And goodness knows, I'm one to talk about getting all blustery, but I sure am working on it.  Looking out the window as it rains this morning, I think, "Man I sure wish Christ would come back, I'm tired of all this anger and awfulness!"  At the very least can't we just all remember we're human and have frailties and care for each other?!  It doesn't take everyone "getting along" or being all the same mind or having the same beliefs to see that kindness and grace are something to be favoured.  I know, I sound like a crotchety old woman at the moment, and in my head I am saying all this with a southern accent so thick you could spread it on a piece of Bunny bread (though unfortunately I don't sound like that over here, even though I try to keep my southern accent, it just won't stick--maybe when Mom and Dad come over at the end of June I'll get it back).  Well anyway--there's my rant for the day.  I told myself I would stop doing that, ranting, but there it came.  Ugh.  Maybe it just came with my "womanhood" that decided to show up yesterday normally for the first time since Fi was born; it sure took it's sweet time.  Now I want some sweet tea (though I'm not sure you can make it with hot tea bags here...maybe i'll try anyway).  Hmph.  "Bless my heart," I'm having a grumpy day, but if I see you I'll try to smile and bless you with kindness anyway, cause that's what I wanna do.

It's all about the confidence

Heb. 10:23 & 35 "Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful...So do not throw away your confidence, it will be richly rewarded."  I have greatly dragged my feet as I memorised this passage, Heb. 10:23-39, but I am getting much from it.  I was struck today, as I was making my coffee and looking over this passage, saying it aloud to cement it in my memory.  The first and last verses I worked on, verses 23 and 35, both sandwich the other verses perfectly, and they focus on something I forget daily, and therefore must be reminded.  It is my hope and confidence in Christ and his promises that I will be held responsible for in eternity--my heart actions seeking him again and again and again; when I am downtrodden, dirty, ashamed, pale, weakhearted, angry, lazy, thoughtless OR happy, clean, invigorated, desirous, joyful, full of pursuit, and thoughtful.  If I maintain my hope and confidence in Christ crucified, and I turn to him with all that am, wherever I am in mind or body, I will be rewarded.

I had read that verse dozens of times over that last months--and each time thought, "What would I ever do to be deserving of a reward?!"  But it is not the "thing," the "doing," but the hope and confidence that there is a God who has done everything already, and therefore deserves my every praise and hope in him.

What a thought!  And he already made me quite a confident person, so there's a boost already! :)  Thank you Lord for giving me every opportunity to love you, to be loved by you, and to shine your love to others.  I could ask for nothing greater.  Oh thank you Father.

Inward Struggle

A few years back our church in NC challenged us to start actually connecting with one another in our community, especially with our tendency to say "good" or "fine" every time someone asks how we're doing.  I still battle with it.  I have to purposely stop myself, and be real with people when they ask me how I'm doing, or how i'm "liking it here" in Scotland.  I like to struggle inwardly, meaning the harder I'm struggling the more I want to push it down into myself and "make it work."  I say, "Great!  It's so beautiful!"  And it is...beautiful that is, but it is not always great.  I am partially hyperventilating typing this.  I am in a community of Christians, once again living among them, but it is different still than the last time.  They are younger, or single, or not parents, or haven't been married long, or I just haven't known them long enough...to burden them with my struggles.  Or how about that my husband is the director of the centre where we live and he works.  And how would that look, to confess my/our struggles to his employees?  But I am no good at nodding, smiling, and saying, "Great!" for a long time--maybe it's a weakness, but I think God is showing me that living well is living lovingly showing my weaknesses.  So here goes.

Scotland is not the US, though it speaks English (not American), and I can understand (most) people, there is still a cultural barrier (I have to say trousers instead of pants, figure out the coinage and currency, and spell things differently, to name just a few).  It doesn't yet feel like home--and that sometimes makes me sad and homesick and often just out of the loop on what is normal.  I am cautious too, because I feel, maybe mistakenly, that British culture is more subdued and isolated with its intimate sharings of self.  How do I tell someone that marriage is hard right now, especially with having been in moving transition for the last 6+ months, that I'm struggling to find my friend and confidant in the husband that I have and desperately love?  How do I say that motherhood is isolating, in that I'm not used to being the only full-time stay-at-home-mom I know here (though I am so enjoying the new friendships I am building)?  How do I jump in to a culture and community (which I'm so used to doing in normal circumstances, just jumping in and getting to know it and doing everything I can to make it home) where I don't know the rules or "etiquettesies" or even know who to ask, as my husband has never officially lived in the UK as an adult?  My vision seems to be blurring even now, just trying to figure out how to push myself, how to grow myself....and here is where I have been learning lately.

It is in this tragic earnest bending that I am failing, that all seems so heavy and impossible.  As the rain taps on the windows, as Fiona sleeps in her bed, as toys lay scattered around me, and an empty coffee mug by my side, he is helping me finally get it.  I'm sure I'll have to "get it" a thousand more times, but here it is: stop. bending. the. wrong. directions.  I can only break from bending in every direction, the creases getting more pronounced the harder I bear down with the grit and sweat of trying.  But if I bend towards Him, I can't possibly go wrong.  Even as I type that worries pop into my head--how do I just stop caring? Or trying too hard? Do I stop trying at all?  What does that mean?  But I know that I'm at least headed in the right direction, even if I don't fully understand it yet.  Ever opening and bending to Him, his joy will be my strength in weakness.  And somewhere in my heart I'm wondering if God has something greater for me in this season, just around the corner, just through these woods I am wandering through, if he is preparing me for somehow serving his glory.  I hope so.

Why We Can't Just Leave You Alone

A short answer to why people who believe in Jesus Christ can't just keep it to themselves.

If what I believe is true--mainly that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that he came to earth and died and rose again for everyone so that they could be forgiven of all their wrongdoing, and join him in eternity, and that his Spirit guides those who believe in him to their fullest potential life on this earth, then not sharing this belief with you is wrong.  Not only wrong, but cowardice, and unfortunately I have been guilty of this countless times--mainly because I'm worried you won't like me for sharing my faith (as it is now generally looked down on to do).  If you don't share your beliefs or lack thereof with me, it doesn't harm anyone, but if I do the same, and I'm right, it could damn you to hell.  So take it as a compliment--that someone, as crazy as he/she may seem, as odd and sometimes quite weird as they look would even approach you, they didn't have to.  Next time they say, "Jesus loves you," just remember that they are trying to show what they believe is love.

The Irish' Ability to Suffer

It seems Scotland has been on my case since I arrived--from a hurt back, to colds and headaches, even pushing into migraine territory.  Dave and I have had plenty of discussions about what he calls, "The Irish' ability to suffer," and I call, well, stubbornness.  See, when Dave gets sick, he does nothing.  And therefore, from my point of view, the sickness drags out for much longer than it would have being treated.  When I get sick, I start shoving vit. C down my throat like it's going out of style, along with anything else I can think of that may help boost my immune system back into normalcy (mostly thanks to Heather Currado for showing me what that looks like, though I still refuse to swallow garlic like a pill; there are lines i do draw).  But when I look at my daily life, my God-filled life, I realize I need a bit more of the Irish' ability to suffer.

I'm weak.  I like comfort, friendship, my things, going out for coffee, etc.  But when it rains for days on end, or when I'm lonely, or when the shipment of our stuff we shipped in November still hasn't arrived, I get frustrated.  I don't automatically look start using the supplements of my faith in Christ to bolster me.  And there are so many!  If I only would, I could look around at the friendships God is forming in my heart in this new place, I could thank him for the rays of sunshine (no matter how brief), for the delight on my daughter's face as she encounters the local animals, or the TWO new coffee mugs Dave bought me to enjoy my morning coffee in.  And even more than that, SO much greater, is my ability to sit down with the Word of God whenever I wish.  To actually read and memorize this amazing piece of literature he left to encourage and guide me is a blessing beyond words.

For some reason, I have been on a few atheist facebook sites lately.  I have friends who would post atheist memes or links, and I find myself intrigued and click on them.  I usually spend most of my time looking at the comments below the link, and they selfishly make me sad.  A lot of them demean Christians' intelligence for believing in a god.  Most of the comments usually center on our insistence to base our faith and "rightness" on the Bible.  And yet, I try and think what would I be without it.  It's hard to think that way, since it's here, but I think I would believe in God anyway.  At this point in my life, I would say God is more real to me in my life and heart and the actions he has displayed in my life than in reading the Bible.  The Bible encourages me, teaches & guides me, but I know Christ is real in my heart, whether a piece of paper says it or not.  And historically, this must be true as well.  Were there not people that followed God before they could read his word, before it existed?  Of course there were.  Are there not still people that cannot read his word, either in their own language, or their own abilities, that believe anyway?  Still yes.  The Bible is my base, the thing that teaches me about my faith, but if no more existed, I would still believe.

As I sat this morning, with my coffee and my iphone--reading the Bible app (i really miss having my printed Bible, I didn't realize how much until I haven't had one in my hands for 4 months, but I do!), I was struck by one particular passage.  My friend Elli and I are memorizing Hebrews 10:23-31, and I'm working on verses 32 & 33 right now.  These verses are about times when persecution happened, and how they reacted to that persecution--how they stood strong in their faith and didn't waiver.  I can't say my faith has ever brought me to a place of true persecution.  My feelings have gotten hurt by callous words, my intelligence insulted, but my body and mind have never been beaten.  How can I truly call myself a Christian if I cannot stand in day to day life with the confidence of my Saviour?  I want to wear his name on my heart, his love on my sleeve, his truth on my lips, his smile of grace and mercy on my face.

Friends I need your encouragement to remember my Christ with every step.  To be content without "my things," to be helpful when I'm lazy, to be kind when others are not so (and all I want is to be sarcastic).  Will you challenge me?  Will you tell me, when I've stupidly posted of facebook about my bad day, that God, my ever-loving, ever-LIVING Christ, is by my side, waiting for me to step up?  Please do.  I need it.  I want to pursue Christ with a vengeance, not a whine.  And I step into the hope of Christ as he teaches me to "suffer" with a smile.

"It is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the living God" Heb. 10:31

My mentee (?--the girl I'm mentoring, what is the word for that anyway) and I are memorizing Hebrews chapter 10 verses 23-39.  It's a passage I chose to inspire and encourage us in our walk with Christ, but also to challenge.  The passage starts out by talking about how we should remember our hope in Christ who fulfils his promises, and encourage each other by meeting together and loving each other.  But later in the passage, it talks about how God is our judge, and will come down severely on those of us who have accepted Him as Saviour, but do not act like it.

I forget that part of God--that God who made mountains shake and appeared in a cloud to a sea of terrified Israelites.  My Heavenly Father is all loving, but he is also all powerful, and means to be respected.  I remember days in my childhood when I was goofing off from doing something I was supposed to be doing, and I would jump up and start looking productive every time I heard someone coming down the hall, thinking it may be Mom or Dad.  Looking at my every day life, I hang my head in shame that I don't tremble with the reverential fear of making sure I am about God's business.  I am happy to waste time on Facebook, scrolling through random articles on the internet.  And it is not that those things are bad, but how often I do them because I can think of nothing else to do--nothing more God-glorifying to do.

I am reading "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper at the moment, and I will tell you I did not like it at first.  It is a book that will flat jump down your throat if you are happy believing you are doing just fine staying at home, playing board games with your family, watching PG movies, and then going to work the next day while no one knows who you worship.  It does not glorify the safe western-centric life of an every day Christian.  What it does is challenge us to work with integrity at whatever job we have.  To seek opportunities to shine the love of Christ, and let people know what that light is, to seek to show people how Christ makes us glad, ESPECIALLY in the hard times, and that our hope is NOT in things of this world, and therefore cannot be taken away!  The book has challenged me to "be about my Father's business." It's not a nice book.  ~smile~ It pushes me...with a pitchfork.  But sometimes I need a sharp prod to get moving.

This is the day the Lord hath made

I had a Bible college teacher who always started out her class with a vigorous recital of that verse. "This is the day that the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it" (Ps 118:24)!  It was a nice thought, but at 7:20 in the morning, very rarely did I feel like I had the ability to rejoice.

This morning started as most my mornings do: Fiona wakes up, I nudge Dave, he lovingly gets up with her so I can sleep in a bit longer, and they eat breakfast and then come get me up.  This morning Fiona brought some books in to me while Dave got ready for work.  She climbed in bed with me, and I groggily read them to her.  Then Dave rushed out the door (because he always waits as long as possible before waking me), and Fiona and I went in the kitchen so I could eat breakfast, and she could eat second breakfast (yes, I'm raising a hobbit).

The sun was shining through the kitchen windows, which was so very welcome after all the rain we have had lately--blue sky visible over the hills.  After we ate our breakfast, Fiona happily sat at the table playing with puzzles, and I washed dishes.  I was filled with joy as this simple morning--and praise songs easily slipped through my lips as Fiona talked and sang along.  After dishes, she helped me with the laundry.  She helped take the dirty laundry out of the basket and put it in the washer, then climbed in and around the clothes horse to get the dry laundry and put it in the basket.  She then took the clean laundry out of the basket and put it on the bed so I could fold it--minimal bending for my back!  She did it so happily!  It was such a wonderful, blessed morning.

This reminded me that it is not how early I wake, but the attitude I choose as I wake in the morning.  Do I remember that God wants to bless my day with joy in the little things?  Do I accept His guidance as I work and play with my daughter?  Do I thank Him when my heart is filled with praise?

Fiona has just "woken" from her morning nap (aka is now done having her alone time in the crib), and I think I am going to get her dressed and take her to see her Daddy for morning tea time.

Thank you Heavenly Father for your comfort, joy, peace, and ability to worship.  I am so blessed by your love.  And thank you for the sheep too--they are fun to see walking up the hills and on the lane.

How to raise an achievement seeking, sharing on demand, moral pagan child...and other articles I've read lately

Over the past few months, I have read quite a few articles on how to parent properly-->from potty training to how to share to how to teach your kids about Christianity.  Let's not forget the one I read yesterday about how my child will turn out to be addicted to porn if I don't parent properly either. And here's something I've come to realise.  I turned out ok.  

My parents didn't have any of these online articles telling them how to do certain things or their children would turn out poorly.  They probably didn't watch me or my siblings as we were making stacks of blocks and think, "Am I only encouraging them to succeed, and not to work hard?  Should I help them celebrate when it falls and not when they build it correctly?!" (as I was thinking this morning watching my daughter with her stackers).  Or when we took a toy from another child, they probably didn't think, "Oh-I should help them to understand that's it's his/her turn at the moment, as opposed to just making them hand it back."  And on a whole nother level, I should, as a good Christian parent, be able to teach my kid that being good is not good enough--that being nice is not really the important part, but that God is--I should figure out how to do that with them...from birth.  

I've sat around and discussed all these things with other parents--parents who, for the most part, are highly-educated, love their children, a benefit to society, and well-rounded individuals.  How did we get to this point without our parents doing all that stuff in those articles?!?!?!?!  Because though those articles are well-meaning, interesting, mostly educated, and experienced based, they don't define how we are going to turn out.  My parents love(d) God, and they tried their best to show us kids what that looked like.  They taught us to share, even when we didn't want to, and that turned out ok too.  And they taught us home was a safe place to be, so thankfully I'm not addicted to porn.  They did all that because they wanted to be good parents, and in my experience thus far, that's what makes the difference---the wanting, trying, wrestling with how to go about being "good" parents.  That, that = love.  

And thank goodness for that.  Because, as much as all those articles are interesting, and I do get a lot of thoughts from them, sometimes they make me feel like I just can't win for trying, that I'm a failure at everything I "moming" do.  So next time you read one of those lovely articles, and then share it on facebook (like I usually do), don't beat yourself up for the choices you have made as a parent.  You are the parent God planned for your child--stand up and own it.

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."