Sometimes when I'm angry I will slam cupboard doors and get in bed and feel sorry for myself.(I'm too mature to slam regular doors now that I'm months away from my 30th birthday.) Sometimes I do this with the intention of going to sleep, like I will pout my way out of this day and really show 'em. This happened recently and I laid in bed and wondered why I couldn't just go to sleep and forget about the world and the marriage and the family and the house and all of the things.
While laying there seething and justifying and calming down because the tantrum train was running low on reason and steam, I realized that my anger had jumped out of my brain and nestled right into the place where my neck meets my shoulders. I was so tense that I was holding my head off the pillow with the muscles that live in the neck-meets-the-shoulders place, and it turns out that a big stubborn head is very heavy to hold up. I've recently discovered there are a lot of heavy parts of me. I discovered this by exercising.
I write about this, not to impress you with the gentleness of my spirit, but once again to tell my story. My story, I hope, is always about my God who teaches me stuff, and then I try my best to use the English language to translate the lessons to my tiny group of people who might read my blog. Right now, in this season of my life - you are my people, and this is the place where I get to use my gifts. Gifts - the way I'm wired - like my temper, and what I hope is a teachable spirit, and words that help me sort it all out.
My wise and caring mother taught me a trick long ago about relaxing when I was very upset or tense. If you were raised by a wise and caring mother, you have her little voice in the back of your head all the time. She's terribly helpful, always reminding me to unplug my curling iron and wear my seatbelt; to switch the laundry so it doesn't get smelly and to pick the important battles with my children, and leave the lesser ones alone. And so it was this very helpful voice who came to me in the middle of the anger and I remembered a little of her story.
When she was a ten, she used to watch a TV show called Lillias Yoga & You. Lillias wore a pink leotard and leggings (you see why I love this story), and at the beginning of each program, she would instruct her pupils to lay down on the floor. Then she would tell them to relax every muscle, beginning with the tips of their toes all the way to the top of their heads. Ten-year-old Helen would relax every one of those muscles, and then go to bed fully relaxed, skipping the rest of the yoga. This approach to exercise she apparently passed on to me, which is why I pay $15 a month to go to Pilates and lay in child's pose. (Child's pose is called that because the people who lay in it have a child, but they are just trying to have a quiet moment of pretending to exercise while their precious and very intense preschooler is in the child center. Some people do...I've heard.)
So I laid in bed, and let go of all the stress and striving and effort that was trying to hold all the heaviest parts of me. My head is heavy. My anger is heavy. My expectations of myself are heaviest, heaviest of all. But intentionally and slowly and methodically, I can relax every single muscle and lay all those heavy things down.
A few days later, I reread the story about Joshua and the Battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho. When the walls came a tumblin' down. I reread this story because our church family is going through "The Story" in which you read the Bible in narrative form. And during a few quiet moments with God, in my guest room, I listened quietly to the Lover of my soul. If you are a Jesus follower, and you have taken time to just be quiet and listen, maybe you have experienced that what doesn't come in words, comes in pictures and ideas, or very clear convictions. He echoes through various sources and experiences, and draws memories from your brain to teach you about Himself. This particular day he clearly showed me that he wants me to relax everything and give it to Him. He wants me to intentionally lay down every wall and relax every muscle inside my heart, until He can move around freely in there. It wasn't a demand, but an assurance of what He is already doing. A statement about His character and how He is relentlessly pursuing me, and changing me into someone like Himself. Gently. Patiently. Lovingly. He is like that.
Surrender can be like that. The beginning of surrender can be like finding a rock-hard muscle in a neck-and-shoulder place. I don't even know how tightly I'm holding onto something until it starts to ache and I start losing sleep. I don't even know how big and important and scary something is to me until it wakes me up in the middle of the night and tries to run a quick 5k in the hamster brain wheel. And these are the warning signs...the growing pains before the growth.
Surrender can feel dramatic like Jericho. Sometimes it has to be a big march around, a determined trust and prayer and obedience process, and a big shout and trumpet blast and God just crushes that thing that I was so afraid of. I've had a few big surrenders - like at high school FCA camp when the music and the speakers and the puberty and the Spirit of the Living God all had me in tears and I went home different. Changed. Or like lying flat on my back when a pregnancy test had me scared senseless and I didn't really have any other ideas, so I told God he could just take it from here. The walls of this temple have sometimes been taken down by sledgehammer, and eventually by the Consuming Fire Himself...Sometimes He just starts over with ashes, just because He can.
But most surrender is slower, and calmer, and quieter. It's like Lillias and Helen, in routine, regular moments. It's more like Jesus just stretching me a little bit at a time out of my preconceived notions of Him and out of my little bitty comfort zone. Little by little, Yahweh told the Israelites,(Ex. 23) He would deliver them from their enemies and help them come home into Promised Land. Little by little, he is remodeling my heart. Little by little, I relax the muscles that are holding up all the things I think I need to control, and just rest in Him. Little by little I can say no to food choices, or gossip or slander or embellishing a story to make it better. Little by little, I can say yes to unexpected house guests (without FREAKING OUT!), feeding another family or babysitting for a mom who needs a little help from time to time, or subbing in 1st grade Sunday school. These things might seem mundane, but look closely- they are loosening chains of injustice, feeding orphans and widows, clothing those that need clothes and sheltering those who need shelter.
There will be seasons of Jericho surrender, and seasons of Yoga surrender. I trust Him with both. He might ask me to do some big time surrenders and give up some big things. Like maybe my house. Or maybe my favorite piece of Nebraska that I live and breathe and walk on. Right now, though, He is letting me hang out in child's pose, which literally is how I pray many mornings, forehead to the floor; and figuratively - being in the season of raising boys. Mostly, He is asking me to have an open-concept floor plan when it comes to my heart, and with moment-to-moment, little-by-little yes's and no's, follow and emulate His heart.
Turns out the things that I wanted to control were really heavy, and I'm so much happier and healthier when I let God heft the heavy for me. He knows what I need before I ask, yet I spend more time than I'd like to admit slamming cupboard doors and lying in bed worrying problems to death.
Tenderly, though, gently, lovingly - He stretches me and relaxes all the neck-and-shoulder places. He takes it on His own neck and shoulders. He already carried it all to Calvary, and best news - He won.
Matthew 11:28-30
Come to me all you weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
1 Peter 5:6-7
Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
Stop slamming cupboards and holding heavy things, and come.
December 30, 2015
December 3, 2015
Three Gifts
It's December 3rd, 2015 and the crazy has already begun. Because I'm a stubborn and unorganized nonconformist, I refused to buy anything on black Friday or cyber Monday that would save me money, but I have bought a few gifts online here and there for my people. I have mental lists that fly around my brain like the golden snitch and good intentions chasing them around…they will make it to a piece of paper eventually. Might be Christmas Eve, but they will be written down, and then the triage will begin and I will remember that I'm not superwoman, and no one really cares if there are random socks and dust bunnies under the beds, and that the junk drawer isn't cleaned out in case Santa looks in there.
It's December 3rd, and the crazy has begun. My husband's job is to the keep track of every dollar that goes in and out of our family business, and so December and January means month-end, quarter-end and year-end tasks that all come at once. The only kind of comparison I can make is from my college and limited teaching experience - it is kind of like having to read the syllabus, write all the papers and take all the midterms & finals all in one month. Or like the two weeks leading up to parent teacher conferences, but it lasts eight weeks instead of two. He goes to work every morning thinking about the mountain of work ahead of him. He comes home thinking about the mountain tomorrow. He spends all day every day working through meals trying to stay ahead of the avalanche of work behind him, and the one that's coming. As he says, these are the two months he makes up for all the Wednesday and Friday afternoons in the summer he plays golf. He is overwhelmed, but managing it. He is drained in the evenings. He is on a weird meal schedule. He is trying to also cram in Christmas shopping, school programs, shoveling snow & every other December-y thing. His 30th birthday is on the 21st. I wonder if he will notice.
It's December 3rd, and the crazy has begun. This week is mild, but starting next week, the madness ensues. There are three field trips of caroling at nursing homes, a preschool gift exchange, a PTO meeting, Luke's special day at school, his actual birthday, and his birthday party (which deserves all the fanfare that the August & May birthdays get!), two after school clubs, two Christmas music programs, three classroom parties, our office Christmas party, one hair appointment for me, and finally - nearly the most exciting thing for the boys - the Star Wars movie is coming out and we get to go to a special screening thanks to some generous friends. (Do not look back at that run-on sentence, and do not call Mrs. Mensing or Mrs. Bolzer, because they would surely shake their heads and feel like they'd wasted their lives trying and failing to teach grammar to children.) Those are just the things that I remembered to write on my calendar! and I cannot escape a creeping self-awareness that I have missed a few notes home and forgotten a few conversations and I'm going to miss some stuff. If I flip through my contacts, and think about my friends and their kids and the activities they've mentioned, we are the least busy of all of them.
It's December 3rd. And while December is special, it's also just full of Mondays and Thursdays and mundane routines. The dog still needs to be walked and fed and loved. The kids still need clean clothes and meals around the table and help with homework and reading. My husband still needs to unwind watching "Oak Island," or have popcorn and movie with his lady. Luke still needs to crank up music and have regular dance parties to be happy. So I have to step up my game a little bit to keep everything from falling apart.
A season that should be full of quiet moments of reflection, thanksgiving, worship, and awe has morphed into a season we all just have to survive without screaming or pulling our hair out. And on social media, we must maintain the illusion that we are really good at doubling our commitments and maintaining a calm and smiling and magical home where cookies are baked, presents are wrapped and trees are glistening.
Well I quit. Not doing it. Not holding myself to Pinterest-sized standards. Do you know what happens when I bake cookies? Oven fires. Do you know what happens when I decorate cookies? Frosting and food coloring stain the countertop. Do you know what happens when we get a Christmas tree before December 10th? I forget to water it, and it dies. Because I'm me. I'm not whining, not shame spiraling, not even disappointed in myself. I'm not worrying about outfits, or photos or the perfect plate of cookies for the class parties because I REFUSE TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN A PART OF ME THAT DOESN'T EXIST. I could be a mom that purchased coordinating Christmas outfits, but I know myself - I'm cheap and I'm practical. I go to Herbergers, look at the prices and think - why would I spend that much money on one outfit? They'll just outgrow it or wreck it. Hand me downs will work just fine for us. And then I've wasted another precious afternoon just remembering who I am and how I feel about things. If my boys' jeans don't have holes in the knees, and they've showered in the last 48 hours, that's good enough for me.
As I prepare an advent basket for my kids to dig into the Bible in the coming days, I have read the Christmas story about 37 times in three different resources, trying to pull out special lessons and qualities of God as they open a manger scene piece by piece. What I didn't find in the Christmas story was worry, or rushing, or clearance shopping, or a picturesque tree surrounded by perfection and gifts containing the fulfillment of all hopes and dreams.
What I do find is this: a couple being obedient to a big God at great personal cost, and in truly bizarre circumstances. I find an event on earth that completely disrupted everything in heaven because it was the most exciting beginning of anything that ever happened-something worth stopping and celebrating! I find some older men who dropped every important commitment, defied cultural norms and risking their lives, lied to a powerful king just so they could kneel at the chubby toddler feet of Jesus and bring him three gifts.
Gold, a gift fit for a King. Frankincense, an incense used by priests. Myrrh because it was used to prepare a body for death. Three quiet, prophetic gifts for a child who they believed with all their heart was the Messiah High Priest King who came to die.
As I check and double check the calendar, the wish lists and take stock in how much milk we have, the age-old, Sunday school question keeps nagging at the edge of my Spirit: "What will you bring the King?" When I give gifts, I want them to be an overflow of something that gave me joy, that I know will also bring the recipient joy- something that connects us. Something that says, "I know you, I've been listening - and if you really know me, then this will mean something to you too." This doesn't happen for every person I buy for on every holiday, but I like to send that message as often as I can. And especially, as I approach the manger, the cross & the throne at the right hand of God - I want Jesus to know: "I know you! I've been listening! and because you know me better than anyone, this will be a very meaningful and precious gift that I lay at your feet."
When I let the Holy Spirit lead me, His wish list looks much different than the one I've been working on. It looks a lot like Galatians 5 and the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. It looks like Micah 6:8- To act justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. It doesn't look anything like perfection, but a lot like grace. All of it is very simple, but also will require work and discipline and will not happen by accident. I want to be specific & intentional about my three gifts this year, and make the 21 days left until Christmas about giving them away again and again.
I want to be a calm & considerate wife. I want to wake up every day making a decision to filter stress through love and take responsibility for how that stress affects my family, and especially my husband. I want to own and unleash the power my attitude and mood has over my family. I want to be a good listener, a back rubber, to be available for his whimsy without any ugly backlash from my EVERYTHING-MUST-BE-PLANNED-IN-ADVANCE-OR-THE-END-OF-THE-WORLD-WILL-BEGIN mentality. I want to very intentionally encourage him every day so he knows how truly amazing I think he is. I want to be in his corner when he comes home, ready to help him knock out the things coming at him, instead of having a selfish pity party in my own corner that he doesn't have time or energy for me and my stuff.
I want to be available for my kids. While Pinterest wants this to look like smiling-baking-crafting-wrapping-mommy, this really looks like sprawling-on-the-living-room-floor-playing-cribbage-with-boys-in-their-underwear mommy. It looks like reading Magic Treehouse for the 3rd time, and remembering to pause at the end of the page so my first grader can read the last paragraph. And it means that instead of hitting the treadmill or a nice quiet walk in the pasture, that my exercise this month will be dancing around to Daya and Pharrel Williams & Maroon 5, because, yes Luke, I do want to have a special dancing date with you again.
And finally, my third gift - has to be faithfulness. I have realized, about myself, especially this last week - that without a daily, quiet time that smells like coffee, and feels like a deep peace settling down into my soul, I am a selfish, crazy wreck of a person. Without reading God's word, even if it isn't flashy or some big revelation, I cannot give the first two gifts. The deeper I go into the heart of Jesus, the more desperately I need Him. And it has to be mornings, at least for me. There is no other time when I can be alone with Him in the quiet so He can pour out His love on me, and I can open up my heart and receive it.
Preparing and giving these gifts will wear me out this December, and I cannot escape the crazy. But I'd rather spend myself for the right reasons instead of the wrong ones. Help and encourage one another to give gifts that matter, and that bring a smile to the face of the King.
Merry Crazy December!
Becky
It's December 3rd, and the crazy has begun. My husband's job is to the keep track of every dollar that goes in and out of our family business, and so December and January means month-end, quarter-end and year-end tasks that all come at once. The only kind of comparison I can make is from my college and limited teaching experience - it is kind of like having to read the syllabus, write all the papers and take all the midterms & finals all in one month. Or like the two weeks leading up to parent teacher conferences, but it lasts eight weeks instead of two. He goes to work every morning thinking about the mountain of work ahead of him. He comes home thinking about the mountain tomorrow. He spends all day every day working through meals trying to stay ahead of the avalanche of work behind him, and the one that's coming. As he says, these are the two months he makes up for all the Wednesday and Friday afternoons in the summer he plays golf. He is overwhelmed, but managing it. He is drained in the evenings. He is on a weird meal schedule. He is trying to also cram in Christmas shopping, school programs, shoveling snow & every other December-y thing. His 30th birthday is on the 21st. I wonder if he will notice.
It's December 3rd, and the crazy has begun. This week is mild, but starting next week, the madness ensues. There are three field trips of caroling at nursing homes, a preschool gift exchange, a PTO meeting, Luke's special day at school, his actual birthday, and his birthday party (which deserves all the fanfare that the August & May birthdays get!), two after school clubs, two Christmas music programs, three classroom parties, our office Christmas party, one hair appointment for me, and finally - nearly the most exciting thing for the boys - the Star Wars movie is coming out and we get to go to a special screening thanks to some generous friends. (Do not look back at that run-on sentence, and do not call Mrs. Mensing or Mrs. Bolzer, because they would surely shake their heads and feel like they'd wasted their lives trying and failing to teach grammar to children.) Those are just the things that I remembered to write on my calendar! and I cannot escape a creeping self-awareness that I have missed a few notes home and forgotten a few conversations and I'm going to miss some stuff. If I flip through my contacts, and think about my friends and their kids and the activities they've mentioned, we are the least busy of all of them.
It's December 3rd. And while December is special, it's also just full of Mondays and Thursdays and mundane routines. The dog still needs to be walked and fed and loved. The kids still need clean clothes and meals around the table and help with homework and reading. My husband still needs to unwind watching "Oak Island," or have popcorn and movie with his lady. Luke still needs to crank up music and have regular dance parties to be happy. So I have to step up my game a little bit to keep everything from falling apart.
A season that should be full of quiet moments of reflection, thanksgiving, worship, and awe has morphed into a season we all just have to survive without screaming or pulling our hair out. And on social media, we must maintain the illusion that we are really good at doubling our commitments and maintaining a calm and smiling and magical home where cookies are baked, presents are wrapped and trees are glistening.
Well I quit. Not doing it. Not holding myself to Pinterest-sized standards. Do you know what happens when I bake cookies? Oven fires. Do you know what happens when I decorate cookies? Frosting and food coloring stain the countertop. Do you know what happens when we get a Christmas tree before December 10th? I forget to water it, and it dies. Because I'm me. I'm not whining, not shame spiraling, not even disappointed in myself. I'm not worrying about outfits, or photos or the perfect plate of cookies for the class parties because I REFUSE TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN A PART OF ME THAT DOESN'T EXIST. I could be a mom that purchased coordinating Christmas outfits, but I know myself - I'm cheap and I'm practical. I go to Herbergers, look at the prices and think - why would I spend that much money on one outfit? They'll just outgrow it or wreck it. Hand me downs will work just fine for us. And then I've wasted another precious afternoon just remembering who I am and how I feel about things. If my boys' jeans don't have holes in the knees, and they've showered in the last 48 hours, that's good enough for me.
As I prepare an advent basket for my kids to dig into the Bible in the coming days, I have read the Christmas story about 37 times in three different resources, trying to pull out special lessons and qualities of God as they open a manger scene piece by piece. What I didn't find in the Christmas story was worry, or rushing, or clearance shopping, or a picturesque tree surrounded by perfection and gifts containing the fulfillment of all hopes and dreams.
What I do find is this: a couple being obedient to a big God at great personal cost, and in truly bizarre circumstances. I find an event on earth that completely disrupted everything in heaven because it was the most exciting beginning of anything that ever happened-something worth stopping and celebrating! I find some older men who dropped every important commitment, defied cultural norms and risking their lives, lied to a powerful king just so they could kneel at the chubby toddler feet of Jesus and bring him three gifts.
Gold, a gift fit for a King. Frankincense, an incense used by priests. Myrrh because it was used to prepare a body for death. Three quiet, prophetic gifts for a child who they believed with all their heart was the Messiah High Priest King who came to die.
As I check and double check the calendar, the wish lists and take stock in how much milk we have, the age-old, Sunday school question keeps nagging at the edge of my Spirit: "What will you bring the King?" When I give gifts, I want them to be an overflow of something that gave me joy, that I know will also bring the recipient joy- something that connects us. Something that says, "I know you, I've been listening - and if you really know me, then this will mean something to you too." This doesn't happen for every person I buy for on every holiday, but I like to send that message as often as I can. And especially, as I approach the manger, the cross & the throne at the right hand of God - I want Jesus to know: "I know you! I've been listening! and because you know me better than anyone, this will be a very meaningful and precious gift that I lay at your feet."
When I let the Holy Spirit lead me, His wish list looks much different than the one I've been working on. It looks a lot like Galatians 5 and the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. It looks like Micah 6:8- To act justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. It doesn't look anything like perfection, but a lot like grace. All of it is very simple, but also will require work and discipline and will not happen by accident. I want to be specific & intentional about my three gifts this year, and make the 21 days left until Christmas about giving them away again and again.
I want to be a calm & considerate wife. I want to wake up every day making a decision to filter stress through love and take responsibility for how that stress affects my family, and especially my husband. I want to own and unleash the power my attitude and mood has over my family. I want to be a good listener, a back rubber, to be available for his whimsy without any ugly backlash from my EVERYTHING-MUST-BE-PLANNED-IN-ADVANCE-OR-THE-END-OF-THE-WORLD-WILL-BEGIN mentality. I want to very intentionally encourage him every day so he knows how truly amazing I think he is. I want to be in his corner when he comes home, ready to help him knock out the things coming at him, instead of having a selfish pity party in my own corner that he doesn't have time or energy for me and my stuff.
I want to be available for my kids. While Pinterest wants this to look like smiling-baking-crafting-wrapping-mommy, this really looks like sprawling-on-the-living-room-floor-playing-cribbage-with-boys-in-their-underwear mommy. It looks like reading Magic Treehouse for the 3rd time, and remembering to pause at the end of the page so my first grader can read the last paragraph. And it means that instead of hitting the treadmill or a nice quiet walk in the pasture, that my exercise this month will be dancing around to Daya and Pharrel Williams & Maroon 5, because, yes Luke, I do want to have a special dancing date with you again.
And finally, my third gift - has to be faithfulness. I have realized, about myself, especially this last week - that without a daily, quiet time that smells like coffee, and feels like a deep peace settling down into my soul, I am a selfish, crazy wreck of a person. Without reading God's word, even if it isn't flashy or some big revelation, I cannot give the first two gifts. The deeper I go into the heart of Jesus, the more desperately I need Him. And it has to be mornings, at least for me. There is no other time when I can be alone with Him in the quiet so He can pour out His love on me, and I can open up my heart and receive it.
Preparing and giving these gifts will wear me out this December, and I cannot escape the crazy. But I'd rather spend myself for the right reasons instead of the wrong ones. Help and encourage one another to give gifts that matter, and that bring a smile to the face of the King.
Merry Crazy December!
Becky
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)