Rhythms of Grace

I’ve been gaining a new appreciation for authentic relationships lately. Today I got a taste of one and it made me smile inside for a long time. I have one sister. She’s four years older, but we’re pretty close. We’re a lot alike in some ways, but complete opposites in others. Even though we live in the same area, because of our work and family schedules, we rarely get to spend a lot of time together. She has three kids. Her oldest came along when I was first married. I was really close to her when she was little and still hold a place for her in my heart. Anyway…they came out for a visit today. They hadn’t seen our new puppy yet and immediately fell in love with her. There isn’t much not to love about the little angel – except for her new hobby – eating anything she can find. So we’re all sitting in the den just talking and admiring how adorable the little pup is when she starts heaving. Right in the middle of the floor she presents, in the most disgusting way possible, a dead bird. Apparently she had come across it on her last trip outside. So what made me smile inside about this you ask??? The way we all reacted made me smile. If it had been ANYONE else sitting in that room I would have been mortified, but I wasn’t. And if it would have been SOME people sitting in that room they would have been revolted, but they were totally cracking up laughing. I disposed of dead bird. We all mused about how gross it was and then they went right back to taking pictures of her and loving her. Relationships like this are like oxygen to me. That’s probably why I took a deep breath as they were leaving and sent a sincere thanks to the One who gave me these two – who love me despite my puking dog.

In keeping with the spirit of the new leaf I seemed to have turned over…I spent a chunk of money and made some reservations this week. In just a couple of weeks the three of us will be taking off for Tennessee and our own little cabin in the Smokies. Before you start envisioning me cooking over an open fire and fighting off bears with my iron skillet, let me assure you that this won’t be the case. This particular cabin is only 3 miles from down town Pigeon Forge and has more amenities than my own house. That is my idea of camping. Although I’ll miss the dogs, I can’t wait to get away with the guys. We haven’t taken a real family vacation in three years. We’re due. This one should be pretty relaxing. There is a lot to do in the cabin alone (pool table, air hockey, hot tub…) and there are a ton of attractions nearby. I’ve heard there’s some great shopping there too, so I’m ready to start packing.

A couple of weeks after we return from Tennessee, Ethan and I will be flying off to Atlanta to visit friends for a few days. Ethan has never flown before and I can’t wait to experience his first flight with him. He will think it is so cool. I even paid the extra to assure him a window seat. I feel bad that he’s almost eleven and has never set foot in an airport, but considering that I was a senior in high school before I did I suppose it’s not so bad.

I’m normally a homebody and prefer to spend my vacation time relaxing in my own surroundings or doing home improvement stuff. Not this year. This has been a rough year. Going far away sounds intoxicating. So my house sitter is scheduled and the non-refundable reservations are made and I’m realizing the value of spending a big chunk of change on something I used to consider frivolous. This year I’m considering it necessary. Having said that though, I still felt a twinge of guilt when I got the confirmations in my in box. Just minutes later I checked my bank account online and discovered that wonderful little unexpected tax refund (thanks President Bush) that I’ve been hearing about. The amount was more than enough to cover both trips.

I’m not one to think that every time some little good coincidence happens that it was all God and everything. But I’m choosing to believe that this one was. I think He was assuring me that this is necessary and right and that He’s still big enough to meet all my needs – including this one. I’m grateful and I’m looking forward to the stories these adventures will write.

I imagine from reading this blog it seems like I’m obsessed with the loss and the memory of my mom. I’m really not. I think I’ve managed quite well for the last 20 years considering. But as I’m getting older – closer to the age she was when she died – I am starting to wonder about some things. Anytime I have a new realization about her, I feel a little bit more like I’m figuring myself out. I had one last night.

So there I was, flipping through old cookbooks on the shelf. There was one of those compilation-for-a- fund-raiser cookbooks put together by the Daviess County Extension Homemakers in 1976. (I would have been 6 in case you’re wondering) As I paged through it I recognized lots of the names as women from my old neck of the woods. They were women my mom knew well and talked of often. I was surprised that my mom was never in the Homemaker’s Club – and then it hit me. I don’t think I should be surprised at all. I think it explains a lot…

My mom was the most awesome cook. I realize most people think their mom was a good cook, but mine really was, and everyone in the community knew it. She got asked to cook for things all the time and hers were always the first dishes to be empty at any potluck. I still remember the big gaudy trophy that sat in a place of honor on top of our refrigerator. She won it in high school for her domestic genius. Not only could she cook, but she could sew and garden and all the other things you would expect from an extension homemaker. But she wasn’t one. Realizing this last night made me feel a lot better about my own hesitation to “join”. It also made me feel a little better about my reluctance to associate with anything labeled “girly”. I don’t think I’m weird. I think I’m like my mom. She was feminine in the strongest sense of the word. She took pride in her appearance. She liked dresses and heels. (she didn’t wear make up or jewelry, but that’s a whole other post…) She did all the woman things like the ones I mentioned before, but she wasn’t afraid to get dirty either. She could work circles around most men. When I say she gardened, I mean it. She did it all. She also slopped pigs, cleaned cow manure out of the barn, bottle fed calves, killed snakes with the hoe, and various other un-girly things. She was the only girl in her family growing up with three brothers. It’s amazing that she had any feminine side at all really. When it came to socializing, she could really take it or leave it. I remember her fretting about upcoming Tupperware parties or women’s banquets at church. They made her very uncomfortable. She wasn’t one for small talk, but she was as friendly as could be and had few if any enemies.

And then there’s me. Much like Mom, I like to look nice. I obsess over my hair and clothes like most other women. But I’m also just as comfortable in no makeup, ponytail & grubby jeans in my backyard. I kill bugs with my bare hand, I get dirt under my fingernails and I’ve even been known to spit when no one’s looking. I too am not a big fan of small talk. I’m terrible at it and going to a gathering where I know I’ll be meeting new people and be expected to talk to them freaks me out. The older I get the more I’m seeing a non-conformist side to me. I’m not sure where it’s coming from or why it’s there, but I think that remembering this latest detail about my mom could probably shed some light on it. I totally believe that we’re all unique creations of God and that we’re shaped by our environments. As I begin to get a grasp on that, I think I’m starting to feel a little less guilty about being the odd one out.

As I kept thinking about this last night I started to think about all the deep friendships I have today. I don’t have LOTS of friends, but I have great friends. I can be me and feel secure about it with them and they in turn are comfortable talking about anything with me. Nothing is off limits in our conversations and even when our views are different, we still enjoy the banter. I am profoundly grateful for the relationships that I have and I am convinced that God orchestrated each and every one of them for a reason. I’m not sure my mom had friends like that. Perhaps she did and I missed it, but I don’t think so. That makes me hurt for her. I wonder if in her reluctance to socialize on the surface that she also gave up on the possibility of finding anything deeper. I also wonder if that’s why she encouraged me to get involved in things when I was younger. It’s sort of ironic that now that I’m grown, I too shy away from the surface stuff. But somehow she managed to teach me to look for the more significant opportunities, and because of that I’m not alone in her absence. I’m surrounded by exactly the people I need.

Was Mother’s Day really just two days ago? Really??? Given the past two days I’ve had, it’s sort of hard to believe. I’ve been less than Mother of the Year to say the least. I got the most touching little homemade card from my angelic ten year old which said (and I really am quoting) “I will be great today. Just like you are as a perfect mom…well most of the time anyway.” Wow. Now that’s brutal honesty. I don’t think Hallmark will be calling him anytime soon. But I loved it. It’s definitely a keeper.

The sermon on Mother’s Day was all about how a mother’s role is to be the peacemaker in her home. She’s supposed to have this calming effect in each situation and know how to recognize the positive in the midst of negative. It was a good sermon. I left, however, feeling like a complete failure. I know that being a mom is the most important role I’ll ever play, but unfortunately it isn’t the one I play the best. Maybe every mom feels this way from time to time…but I think I stink at it actually.

This becomes even more obvious to me when I spend time with a particular friend of mine. She is the ultimate good mom in my opinion. She has four kids. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her raise her voice at any of them. They aren’t perfect kids, but they’re really good ones. They’re polite and smart and funny and respectful. Her household is peaceful. I’ve been with her & her kids before and one of them will say or do something and I’ll think, “Oh…THIS is going to make her yell for sure!” and then she’ll respond in this unbelievably wise way. She’ll be all soft & everything and point out what the kid did wrong and then she’s done with it. I usually sit there thinking that I would never have thought to respond that way. I would’ve yelled, thrown in a little sarcasm and then brought it up again a couple of times later. Granted, she is just genetically wired to be calmer than me in the first place, but still…I could do much better than what I do. When my kid laughs at me or lies to me, my brain just cannot think of anything positive to say. When he gets in trouble at school for the third day in a row, my patience wears thin. When he refuses to do anything around the house to help out, I don’t feel like positive reinforcement is in order.

I wish so badly that my mom was still around so I could pick her brain. My sister and I have had that conversation before. What was her secret? She obviously raised two close to perfect kids. (please note the sarcasm in that sentence…) I don’t remember my mom yelling much – but I certainly do. I DO remember her wielding a yard stick, a fly swatter and a wooden paddle, but I DON’T remember her using them on me that often. I remember her gift for guilt. She was a genius with this weapon and it worked like a charm on me. I remember having such respect for her that doing anything to disappoint her would just kill me. So I wonder where I went so terribly wrong with my son. Is it because I’ve always worked outside the home and he’s felt neglected? Is it because I’m too self-absorbed and he doesn’t feel special? Is it because my expectations are too high and he resents it? I could keep going with this, but you get the point…

For several years I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to have children, and I can’t have anymore. This one is a special gift and I know that. I feel a huge sense of responsibility for being a good steward of this gift. It’s overwhelming to me that who he becomes will be based largely on how his dad and I handle the years we have with him. And it scares me to death that I might have already screwed him up beyond repair. But then I remember that I’m not in this alone. God has a little to do with it too. That is comforting.

And there are the glimmers of hope. There’s the spontaneous squeezy hug. There’s the “good night mom. I love you.” after we’ve argued all day long. There’s the moment I catch him watching me type and then he asks me to show him how. I know they sound insignificant, but to me they’re golden. They remind me that he does still love me and maybe even respects me a tiny bit. He is a good boy. He’s smart and funny and has all the makings of a great leader someday.

So…there might be raised voices in my house and the occasional slamming door. We don’t say “I love you” to end every phone call or even “have a good day” on most mornings. (On MOST mornings we’re lucky to make it out the door at all) Ours is definitely not a textbook, perfect family. We are all learning as we go and mess up more than we get it right. But hopefully there is enough love in our family to compensate for the mistakes. I’m counting on it.

A few weeks ago a good friend of mine had a birthday. This turned out to be a really good thing for me because her present from her husband was a pair of tickets to see Lifehouse at the House of Blues in Chicago. Husband doesn’t like attending concerts and told her to invite a friend. I was the lucky winner of a child-free trip for two to downtown Chicago. We both looked forward to it for weeks. We made arrangements for child care, obsessed over just what one wears to a concert at the House of Blues and listened to every Lifehouse CD we could find. On a Tuesday morning after the kids were all safely tucked away at school and with grandparents we took off. Just the girls. No responsibilities for two days. Ahhhh….

Friend took me through the Purdue University campus on the drive up – her alma mater. I’d never seen it, so that was cool. She told me stories of her college days. We both marveled at how young everyone looked walking around and realized how old we are now. We took our time driving and arrived in downtown Chicago with time to spare before the concert. She booked a room in an old downtown hotel just blocks from the venue. The view was spectacular and the place oozed with character. We took a cab to HOB and ate a frantic, hurried dinner before the show. (long story…) When the doors opened we got great seats at a table on the second level. If you EVER get a chance to see a show there do it. The place is spectacular. Another couple we had never met before joined us at our table and we ended up having a great conversation with them. Both of us regretted not getting their email address after it was over.

The opening act completely sucked. I don’t even remember their names, which is good. The second act, however, did not disappoint. It was a guy named Matt Nathanson, and if you’ve never heard him you should. He was simply awesome. He was entertaining, had a great voice and wasn’t hard to look at either. He was so good in fact, that I wondered if Lifehouse could even follow. They did. They were great. The whole evening was great really. It was so relaxing and just plain fun. I never ever do things like that.

Taking this trip made me realize how much I take life for granted. It is a rare day when I take the time to enjoy something. Granted, opportunities like this one don’t come around everyday, but other things do. I am such a creature of habit and very practical by nature. If something doesn’t serve a purpose I normally don’t give it any time, energy or attention. There are definite advantages to this lifestyle I suppose – my bills all get paid on time, the house stays clean, I don’t miss appointments, etc… But what am I missing along the way? My friend and I talked the entire time we were in the car together which was about 8 or 10 hours. We talked about God, husbands, our pasts, our dreams, our regrets, books, movies, music, our kids. There was little we didn’t talk about. It was therapy for both of us I think. We didn’t solve the world’s problems or make any money. (We spent some though.) We just took a couple of days and enjoyed a tiny slice of what life had to offer – and it was good. I’m beginning to realize that music and good food and deep conversations are just as important as work and cleanliness and saving for retirement. For far too long I’ve lived my life in preparation – as though I’m waiting for the good part to begin later. But that logic is screwed up. Jesus came so that we could have life – and have it to the full. I imagine that the next life will be glorious beyond my dreams, but this one could be a lot better too if I’d just slow down and enjoy it. There is so much good to be experienced and yet I give the majority of my attention to pro actively avoiding the bad. What a tragedy.

Today is Friday, my only day off. I always clean my house on Friday. I didn’t today. I slept late. I played with my dogs. I wrote a lot. I talked to a friend. I drank a cream soda. The house will still be dirty tomorrow, but since I won’t get another chance at today I don’t care.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Psalm 34:8a

If you know me, or if you read my “about” page, then you know I’m slightly insecure. I frequently worry that I’m not living up to the standards others have for me and of course I’m completely unrealistic about those standards in the first place. I know that my relationship with Jesus should be enough for me and I shouldn’t worry about pleasing people, but I often worry that if I let them down I’m being a poor example of Jesus, and thus I’m letting Him down too. Frequently I have these little no-win moral dilemmas that drive me crazy. They’re usually these crazy little insignificant things. In fact, if a friend came to me with the same dilemmas I would have no problem telling her to just make a choice because it won’t matter. But to me – it matters. Anyway – I’m having one.

I’m still sick. I feel like someone hit me with a car and filled my sinuses with cement. Then they shoved a tiny little feather down my throat – just deep enough I can’t cough it out. I keep trying though, which has made the aches even achier and has left me totally exhausted. The weather outside is so nice and I have a million things I should be and want to be doing, but I really can’t. Just typing this is wearing me out. John had this a few weeks ago. It lasted a long time. Until a few years ago I never got sick. I had the labor and delivery from hell and lived (proudly) to tell about it (over & over again…) Then I was diagnosed with cancer, had major surgery which led to another surgery a couple of years later and yet another major, life-threatening surgery a couple of years ago. Good times. But honestly, I haven’t had so much as a cold since then. So I’m pretty cocky when it comes to handling pain and discomfort and when John gets sick I’m less than sympathetic. I mean really – it can never be as bad as what I’ve gone through. I was very annoyed with him this last go around and now I feel the need to apologize. This is a bad kind of sick, and it seems to last forever. Now I know how he felt, and he never missed a day of work. I already have. Who’s cocky now???

So back to my dilemma…I’m supposed to be leaving for a ministry conference the day after tomorrow. The thought of riding in a van for 8 hours one way, standing in long lines for fast food I can’t even taste, sleeping in an uncomfortable hotel bed and sitting through three days of speakers is enough to make me cry. It’s bad enough being sick at home – but on the road??? I don’t know if I can do it. I’ve already had three people tell me not to go. I wish it was that easy. If I don’t go I’ll feel guilty for not going and I’ll worry that the others think I’m not that sick. But if I DO go I’m afraid they’ll all wish I wasn’t with them coughing & snorting & contaminating all of them too. I’m the kid that only missed 2 days of school – in twelve years. I’m the person who never uses her sick days. It feels like admitting defeat sort of. I told you – I’m insecure.

So, always the one to analyze, I’m trying to see the bigger picture of what’s happening here. I think the ugly truth is that insecurity is just a manifestation of self-absorption. After all, if I wasn’t so self-absorbed then I wouldn’t care what others thought, right? And there’s something about being sick that brings out the self-pity in us all isn’t there? I’ll probably suck it up, over medicate myself and make the trip. Hopefully I’ll feel better in 36 hours anyway. But I’m a little sad to realize that long after the flu has finally left me, the nasty tendency to focus on myself will still be there. It’s the thing I battle the most. I can’t believe God hasn’t gotten totally fed up with it by now, but He hasn’t. He keeps getting my attention and teaching me stuff. He is persistent, that’s for sure. It really isn’t all about me – it’s about Him. And He’s all about others. I spend all of this time and energy trying to know God or “be like Jesus” and in the process make the whole thing about me. Crazy.

I think I’ll go cook dinner for my family (for the first time in four days) and write a letter to a friend who just got some really bad news. Maybe I’ll forget about being sick for a while…

I knew it would happen. As soon as I entered blogdom my creative juices dried up. Suddenly the insights aren’t in sight at all. I suppose I could simply write about my life, but that seems pretty boring and pointless. Here goes anyway:

I woke up feeling kind of sick this morning – sore throat, cough, raspy voice… Two cups of hot coffee later I felt a little better, but by lunch time the cough was back and it was accompanied by aches & chills. I managed to get through the afternoon at work and got through an hour of homework with Ethan. I sent him outside to play with the dogs and tried to rest, but although my body wants to shut down my mind won’t turn off.

My day was a mix of meetings, emails, phone calls, a little bit of creativity (I rediscovered a great old Chris Tomlin tune called “Kindness” thanks to Crystal) & a class at the jail. I volunteer to teach a class to female inmates with a terrific lady named Chris twice each week. We got a new group of girls today. I really like them. They were funny and amazingly upbeat considering their circumstances. Our last group was the exact opposite and it made for a long eight weeks. I always love meeting them and getting to know them over the span of several weeks. One girl that I became particularly fond of was in my class for over a year. She’s been released now and is married and expecting a baby. She called me tonight and she’s doing great. It blows me away that God led me into this serving opportunity because it’s so far out of my comfort zone. Now I can’t imagine not doing it and I’m the one who’s been blessed by being there.

So the emails and phone calls today were interesting. It seems I keep having conversations with people about Church. Not MY church or anyone else’s church, but Church with a big “C” – Church universal – God’s Church. I’ve been in a season of questions. What should it look like? What should it be doing? What SHOULDN’T it be doing? What is right with it? What is wrong? How do we fix it? Do WE fix it? And they go on & on… The conversations are endless really, but I don’t mind. They feel necessary and right and I learn something from each of them. Over the past few years I’ve attended countless ministry conferences – all of them proclaiming the secret to the next big movement of the Church. I’ve gleaned a lot of great knowledge and wisdom from this, but after a while I’ve realized that none of them have really had THE answer. I’m not sure there really is THE answer so much as we have to be continually seeking what is best for the time and place we’re in. What is God doing? Where is God moving? Are we working with Him or against Him? Those seem to be the bigger questions. Granted, the answers aren’t as simple as completing a slickly printed formula, but I think they’re the answers that will last. If life with Christ is actually a journey, and I believe it is, then why wouldn’t we expect the scenery to change from time to time? But we don’t. We keep looking for THE answer so we can do it, see it work, feel good about it, get comfortable with it and call it good. Then when it quits working we get discouraged, frustrated and usually start blaming one another, or better yet the people we’re trying to “reach”. We decide it was never right in the first place and are tempted to give up all together. But maybe it was right for a time and now it needs to be a little different. Maybe the problem isn’t the change in scenery but rather our refusal to keep walking. I’m beginning to think that comfort is Satan’s most powerful tool. He uses it a lot. And we let him, because well…it’s comfortable.

On most days I would keep turning the conversations over in my head and holding them up against scripture and reading books on the subject. But tonight I’m sick. I’m starting to ramble and I think I just need sleep. Hopefully I’ll wake tomorrow with my voice back in my throat and God’s voice in my head, but for now I think I’d better call it a day.