A Follow Up to My Drunken, Weepy Post
I woke up this morning with this verse below on my lips; thank you Jesus for speaking to me even when I don't trust You and doubt Your promises.
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his mercy never fails. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22
And this one, which my Mom read to me this morning:
Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5
Showing posts with label Me n' Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me n' Jesus. Show all posts
Friday, May 20, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
A re-post from last year (April 2010) but one of my favorites and expressing some of my thoughts again this year.
Good Friday from a Mother's Eyes
Since I've had my own children I read the stories of Mary, the mother of Jesus, a little more keenly. I remember being 8 months pregnant with Emily during the Christmas season and thinking of how much Mary's hips must have ached as she made that long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey. I have a little more empathy for Mary since motherhood has given me new eyes.
Today I'm thinking of her again.
3 years ago this month my dear Uncle Bob was dying from pancreatic cancer. Every day he slipped further and further from this world and closer and closer to eternity. Our family circled around him except for one person--Gigi, his mother. Seeing him in such agony had become too physically hard for her own weakened condition and so she said her final goodbye to him 2 weeks before he died as he lingered in his last moments of consciousness.
I try not to think about that goodbye but when I do, tears spring to my eyes and my heart hurts and fear wells up inside of me at the thought of having to say goodbye to my own children. There is something very unnatural, something horribly cruel, about having to bury your children.
Today I'm thinking of Mary. Today I'm thinking about how horribly cruel it must have felt to see her son struggle under the weight of a cross, broken and bleeding, dying for sins He didn't commit.
I see her standing at the foot of the cross, arching her neck to see her son as he labors for breath, moaning from the pain and praying for those who torture him.
Can you see her? Her hair is probably more grey and her skin more wrinkled than the 3 decades earlier. She has become a woman, made a home, raised a family and now she stands just feet away from her dying son. I can imagine that as she stands there watching his clothing being gambled for she remembers his first grin, his first wobbly steps, the way her heart stopped when she first heard him say, "Mama." I imagine that as the blood drips from his torn body she remembers kissing skinned knees and singing lullabies goodnight.
I wonder if Mary bargained with God. I wonder if she silently pleaded, "To hell with all of them, that is my son." I have no doubt that as He gave His life for us she would have done anything to give her life for His.
Mary couldn't see in to the future; she was as bound to this earth as much as we are. We know her faith was strong, the early chapters of Luke leave us no doubt that it was, but at that moment in time, as her firstborn son hung on a cross like a criminal, I wonder if her mother's heart didn't break, beg and bargain for a different ending.
Today I'm thinking of Mary. Before He was ever her Savior He was her son.
Good Friday from a Mother's Eyes
Since I've had my own children I read the stories of Mary, the mother of Jesus, a little more keenly. I remember being 8 months pregnant with Emily during the Christmas season and thinking of how much Mary's hips must have ached as she made that long journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey. I have a little more empathy for Mary since motherhood has given me new eyes.
Today I'm thinking of her again.
3 years ago this month my dear Uncle Bob was dying from pancreatic cancer. Every day he slipped further and further from this world and closer and closer to eternity. Our family circled around him except for one person--Gigi, his mother. Seeing him in such agony had become too physically hard for her own weakened condition and so she said her final goodbye to him 2 weeks before he died as he lingered in his last moments of consciousness.
I try not to think about that goodbye but when I do, tears spring to my eyes and my heart hurts and fear wells up inside of me at the thought of having to say goodbye to my own children. There is something very unnatural, something horribly cruel, about having to bury your children.
Today I'm thinking of Mary. Today I'm thinking about how horribly cruel it must have felt to see her son struggle under the weight of a cross, broken and bleeding, dying for sins He didn't commit.
I see her standing at the foot of the cross, arching her neck to see her son as he labors for breath, moaning from the pain and praying for those who torture him.
Can you see her? Her hair is probably more grey and her skin more wrinkled than the 3 decades earlier. She has become a woman, made a home, raised a family and now she stands just feet away from her dying son. I can imagine that as she stands there watching his clothing being gambled for she remembers his first grin, his first wobbly steps, the way her heart stopped when she first heard him say, "Mama." I imagine that as the blood drips from his torn body she remembers kissing skinned knees and singing lullabies goodnight.
I wonder if Mary bargained with God. I wonder if she silently pleaded, "To hell with all of them, that is my son." I have no doubt that as He gave His life for us she would have done anything to give her life for His.
Mary couldn't see in to the future; she was as bound to this earth as much as we are. We know her faith was strong, the early chapters of Luke leave us no doubt that it was, but at that moment in time, as her firstborn son hung on a cross like a criminal, I wonder if her mother's heart didn't break, beg and bargain for a different ending.
Today I'm thinking of Mary. Before He was ever her Savior He was her son.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Dear Kind Father,It is so easy to call You good tonight. It is so easy to praise You. For tonight, in a hospital 50 miles North of me, my dear friend is holding her baby for the first time in 4 days. For the first time in 94 hours wee Maggie is being held. She is warm. She is hearing her Mama's heart beat. She is feeling the warmth of her Daddy's chest. It is easy to call You good tonight.
You, however, are always good. You are always kind. You are always sovereign. And while I don't understand Your ways and I question Your timing, I know You are always good. You are always kind. Your timing is always perfect.
The image of a limp baby being attended to by a team of doctors will never leave me. As I stood with a petrified Auntie Jana, peaking through a crack in a curtain, we declared Your Presence in that room. As I sat holding my precious friend, whispering Your promises to her I felt Your hand on her; loving her, infusing strength in to her, filling her with hope and peace. A peace that passes understanding. Your Word is true and You never go against Your Word. You are always good. You are always kind.
Tomorrow I will get to hold baby Maggie in my own arms. I will tell her how Samuel & Emily have prayed and prayed for her and can't wait to meet her. I will tell her how Uncle Jeff has stayed awake at night praying for her and her Mommy & Daddy. I will tell her that from the moment I found out she was growing in her Mama's belly to this very moment in time I have loved her. I will tell her (with a giggle in my voice) that I'm the one who sang the "Sound of Music" soundtrack to her when she had the hiccups and that it is oh so very good to finally meet her. I will tell her that the God that her Mommy, Daddy, Grammy & Grandpa love and serve is merciful. I will tell her that He is always good and that He is always kind.
Thank You Kind Father for answering our prayers the way we wanted them answered. I know it doesn't always work that way and I trust You when that happens, but tonight, thank You. With more gratitude than I can express, thank You.
Amen.
Monday, July 19, 2010
NOT Praying for My Kids Monday
Yeah, you read that right. I don't feel much like praying for my kids right now.
In fact, I haven't felt much like praying for them all morning.
They have been acting entitled and spoiled and disrespectful. They are disobeying, making messes and generally acting as if they are out to get me. Or like typical 2 and 4 year olds; it just depends on what your perspective is.
We all went outside so I could prune and fertilize my hanging basket and they could ride bikes. I knew it was a little too quiet and I didn't see their little bikes riding in circles in my driveway so I gave it a few more minutes and then went looking for them.
When I found them they were sitting in the garage eating rice krispies and spreading them EVERYWHERE in the garage. Like hanging a "welcome" sign for all the mice in the neighborhood, cereal was spread from door to door.
I sighed. And started counting to 100 trying to keep from yelling at them.
I didn't even speak to them; just snatched the box from their grubby little hands and walked in to the house. Samuel asked if I was mad. I simply replied that they should go play in the bonus room until I decided on what the consequence was for 1) climbing on the cupboards to get the cereal and 2) dumping it all over the garage.
I sighed. Again.
I grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and sat down to read my email and try to compose a PYKM. My email filtered in and I saw my weekly Up Words had arrived with a devotion from my favorite author, Max Lucado. The subject line of the email read, When God Sighed.
Maybe you've done your fair share of sighing today. Maybe this month has brought more sighs, tears and confusion than you'd like to count. Maybe you just need a reminder that you have a Savior who knows your pain. Maybe you just need a good read. I'm going to reprint this today because it.is.that.good. Be encouraged.
When God Sighed
by Max Lucado
Two days ago I read a word in the Bible that has since taken up residence in my heart.
To be honest, I didn’t quite know what to do with it. It’s only one word, and not a very big one at that. When I ran across the word, (which, by the way, is exactly what happened; I was running through the passage and this word came out of nowhere and bounced me like a speed bump) I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t have any hook to hang it on or category to file it under.
It was an enigmatic word in an enigmatic passage.
But now, forty-eight hours later, I have found a place for it, a place all its own. My, what a word it is. Don’t read it unless you don’t mind changing your mind, because this little word might move your spiritual furniture around a bit.
Look at the passage with me.
Then Jesus left the vicinity of Tyre and went through Sidon, down to the Sea of Galilee and into the region of the Decapolis. There some people brought a man to him who was deaf and could hardly talk, and they begged him to place his hand on the man.
After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue. He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means, “Be opened!”). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly. (Mark 7:31-35)
Quite a passage, isn’t it?
Jesus is presented with a man who is deaf and has a speech impediment. Perhaps he stammered. Maybe he spoke with a lisp. Perhaps, because of his deafness, he never learned to articulate words properly.
Jesus, refusing to exploit the situation, took the man aside. He looked him in the face. Knowing it would be useless to talk, he explained what he was about to do through gestures. He spat and touched the man’s tongue, telling him that whatever restricted his speech was about to be removed. He touched his ears. They, for the first time, were about to hear.
But before the man said a word or heard a sound, Jesus did something I never would have anticipated.
He sighed.
I might have expected a clap or a song or a prayer. Even a “Hallelujah!” or a brief lesson might have been appropriate. But the Son of God did none of these. Instead, he paused, looked into heaven, and sighed. From the depths of his being came a rush of emotion that said more than words.
Sigh. The word seemed out of place.
I’d never thought of God as one who sighs. I’d thought of God as one who commands. I’d thought of God as one who weeps. I’d thought of God as one who called forth the dead with a command or created the universe with a word … but a God who sighs?
Perhaps this phrase caught my eye because I do my share of sighing.
I sighed yesterday when I visited a lady whose invalid husband had deteriorated so much he didn’t recognize me. He thought I was trying to sell him something.
I sighed when the dirty-faced, scantily dressed, six-year-old girl in the grocery store asked me for some change.
And I sighed today listening to a husband tell how his wife won’t forgive him.
No doubt you’ve done your share of sighing.
If you have teenagers [toddlers], you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve tried to resist temptation, you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve had your motives questioned or your best acts of love rejected, you have been forced to take a deep breath and let escape a painful sigh.
I realize there exists a sigh of relief, a sigh of expectancy, and even a sigh of joy. But that isn’t the sigh described in Mark 7. The sigh described is a hybrid of frustration and sadness. It lies somewhere between a fit of anger and a burst of tears.
The apostle Paul spoke of this sighing. Twice he said that Christians will sigh as long as we are on earth and long for heaven. The creation sighs as if she were giving birth. Even the Spirit sighs as he interprets our prayers. (Romans 8:22-27)
All these sighs come from the same anxiety; a recognition of pain that was never intended, or of hope deferred.
Man was not created to be separated from his creator; hence he sighs, longing for home. The creation was never intended to be inhabited by evil; hence she sighs, yearning for the Garden. And conversations with God were never intended to depend on a translator; hence the Spirit groans on our behalf, looking to a day when humans will see God face to face.
And when Jesus looked into the eyes of Satan’s victim, the only appropriate thing to do was sigh. “It was never intended to be this way,” the sigh said. “Your ears weren’t made to be deaf, your tongue wasn’t made to stumble.” The imbalance of it all caused the Master to languish.
So, I found a place for the word. You might think it strange, but I placed it beside the word comfort, for in an indirect way, God’s pain is our comfort.
And in the agony of Jesus lies our hope. Had he not sighed, had he not felt the burden for what was not intended, we would be in a pitiful condition. Had he simply chalked it all up to the inevitable or washed his hands of the whole stinking mess, what hope would we have?
But he didn’t. That holy sigh assures us that God still groans for his people. He groans for the day when all sighs will cease, when what was intended to be will be.
Yeah, you read that right. I don't feel much like praying for my kids right now.
In fact, I haven't felt much like praying for them all morning.
They have been acting entitled and spoiled and disrespectful. They are disobeying, making messes and generally acting as if they are out to get me. Or like typical 2 and 4 year olds; it just depends on what your perspective is.
We all went outside so I could prune and fertilize my hanging basket and they could ride bikes. I knew it was a little too quiet and I didn't see their little bikes riding in circles in my driveway so I gave it a few more minutes and then went looking for them.
When I found them they were sitting in the garage eating rice krispies and spreading them EVERYWHERE in the garage. Like hanging a "welcome" sign for all the mice in the neighborhood, cereal was spread from door to door.
I sighed. And started counting to 100 trying to keep from yelling at them.
I didn't even speak to them; just snatched the box from their grubby little hands and walked in to the house. Samuel asked if I was mad. I simply replied that they should go play in the bonus room until I decided on what the consequence was for 1) climbing on the cupboards to get the cereal and 2) dumping it all over the garage.
I sighed. Again.
I grabbed a diet coke from the fridge and sat down to read my email and try to compose a PYKM. My email filtered in and I saw my weekly Up Words had arrived with a devotion from my favorite author, Max Lucado. The subject line of the email read, When God Sighed.
Maybe you've done your fair share of sighing today. Maybe this month has brought more sighs, tears and confusion than you'd like to count. Maybe you just need a reminder that you have a Savior who knows your pain. Maybe you just need a good read. I'm going to reprint this today because it.is.that.good. Be encouraged.
When God Sighed
by Max Lucado
Two days ago I read a word in the Bible that has since taken up residence in my heart.
To be honest, I didn’t quite know what to do with it. It’s only one word, and not a very big one at that. When I ran across the word, (which, by the way, is exactly what happened; I was running through the passage and this word came out of nowhere and bounced me like a speed bump) I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t have any hook to hang it on or category to file it under.
It was an enigmatic word in an enigmatic passage.
But now, forty-eight hours later, I have found a place for it, a place all its own. My, what a word it is. Don’t read it unless you don’t mind changing your mind, because this little word might move your spiritual furniture around a bit.
Look at the passage with me.
Then Jesus left the vicinity of Tyre and went through Sidon, down to the Sea of Galilee and into the region of the Decapolis. There some people brought a man to him who was deaf and could hardly talk, and they begged him to place his hand on the man.
After he took him aside, away from the crowd, Jesus put his fingers into the man’s ears. Then he spit and touched the man’s tongue. He looked up to heaven and with a deep sigh said to him, “Ephphatha!” (which means, “Be opened!”). At this, the man’s ears were opened, his tongue was loosened and he began to speak plainly. (Mark 7:31-35)
Quite a passage, isn’t it?
Jesus is presented with a man who is deaf and has a speech impediment. Perhaps he stammered. Maybe he spoke with a lisp. Perhaps, because of his deafness, he never learned to articulate words properly.
Jesus, refusing to exploit the situation, took the man aside. He looked him in the face. Knowing it would be useless to talk, he explained what he was about to do through gestures. He spat and touched the man’s tongue, telling him that whatever restricted his speech was about to be removed. He touched his ears. They, for the first time, were about to hear.
But before the man said a word or heard a sound, Jesus did something I never would have anticipated.
He sighed.
I might have expected a clap or a song or a prayer. Even a “Hallelujah!” or a brief lesson might have been appropriate. But the Son of God did none of these. Instead, he paused, looked into heaven, and sighed. From the depths of his being came a rush of emotion that said more than words.
Sigh. The word seemed out of place.
I’d never thought of God as one who sighs. I’d thought of God as one who commands. I’d thought of God as one who weeps. I’d thought of God as one who called forth the dead with a command or created the universe with a word … but a God who sighs?
Perhaps this phrase caught my eye because I do my share of sighing.
I sighed yesterday when I visited a lady whose invalid husband had deteriorated so much he didn’t recognize me. He thought I was trying to sell him something.
I sighed when the dirty-faced, scantily dressed, six-year-old girl in the grocery store asked me for some change.
And I sighed today listening to a husband tell how his wife won’t forgive him.
No doubt you’ve done your share of sighing.
If you have teenagers [toddlers], you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve tried to resist temptation, you’ve probably sighed. If you’ve had your motives questioned or your best acts of love rejected, you have been forced to take a deep breath and let escape a painful sigh.
I realize there exists a sigh of relief, a sigh of expectancy, and even a sigh of joy. But that isn’t the sigh described in Mark 7. The sigh described is a hybrid of frustration and sadness. It lies somewhere between a fit of anger and a burst of tears.
The apostle Paul spoke of this sighing. Twice he said that Christians will sigh as long as we are on earth and long for heaven. The creation sighs as if she were giving birth. Even the Spirit sighs as he interprets our prayers. (Romans 8:22-27)
All these sighs come from the same anxiety; a recognition of pain that was never intended, or of hope deferred.
Man was not created to be separated from his creator; hence he sighs, longing for home. The creation was never intended to be inhabited by evil; hence she sighs, yearning for the Garden. And conversations with God were never intended to depend on a translator; hence the Spirit groans on our behalf, looking to a day when humans will see God face to face.
And when Jesus looked into the eyes of Satan’s victim, the only appropriate thing to do was sigh. “It was never intended to be this way,” the sigh said. “Your ears weren’t made to be deaf, your tongue wasn’t made to stumble.” The imbalance of it all caused the Master to languish.
So, I found a place for the word. You might think it strange, but I placed it beside the word comfort, for in an indirect way, God’s pain is our comfort.
And in the agony of Jesus lies our hope. Had he not sighed, had he not felt the burden for what was not intended, we would be in a pitiful condition. Had he simply chalked it all up to the inevitable or washed his hands of the whole stinking mess, what hope would we have?
But he didn’t. That holy sigh assures us that God still groans for his people. He groans for the day when all sighs will cease, when what was intended to be will be.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Its Not You, Its Me
I never, ever, ever, ever thought I would be a blogger who would "take a break". And then yesterday it just happened...I meant to get PYKM up early in the wee hours while the kids were still sleeping but I decided to do one of Bex's tricks and reward myself with blogging after I unloaded the dishwasher. And I felt so good when the dishwasher was unloaded at 7:00am that I decided to do a few other little things around the house. And then the kids got up. And did I mention Hot Jeff took the day off? And I found it was like almost 3:00 BEFORE I EVEN TURNED THE COMPUTER ON and I was simply amazed at how much I had gotten done.
It was like those people who say the computer is a time sucker were right all along.
One thing the Shrink and I talked about last week were rewards. I told her about Bex's genius little concept and she told me she thinks I don't operate very well without structure and being a SAHM is the epitome of no structure. So I bought myself a day planner with the hours built in and I have started scheduling things like time with Jesus, laundry, dishes, exercise, playdates, drinking margaritas at the pool with Shannon, blogging, Facebook, etc. Anything that has to do with the internet is a reward and I am only going to do it if I feel the kids, the house, dinner plans, etc are in a place where I can take a break. Trust me, I'm not becoming some rigid neat-nick or anything (haha, I shutter at the thought) but just trying to add some balance and hygiene.
I AM NOT STOPPING BLOGGING. I WILL STILL BLOG. THIS BLOG IS STILL ALIVE AND WELL. I am however, going to take the rest of this week off. And that surprises me because I have 2 posts waiting in the wings to be posted. They just need to be edited. And one is funny too (my favorite!). Please still come by and read some of the archives--that's what Fan Favorite Christene does. Some of my favorites are here, here, and here.
I do just need to take one week and focus on my home and family and making some healthy choices regarding them and my lifestyle. Check back this week because I may surprise you and me with a post but don't have any expectations until Monday when PYKM resumes. Also, if I post something I'll throw an update on FB so you don't miss it. OR you cold become a follower and never miss a post! Hooie!
Ok, I'll catch you next Monday! In the meantime, enjoy the archives (feel free to leave me a comment of what your favorite posts are) and tell me what your time suckers are and how you avoid them.
I never, ever, ever, ever thought I would be a blogger who would "take a break". And then yesterday it just happened...I meant to get PYKM up early in the wee hours while the kids were still sleeping but I decided to do one of Bex's tricks and reward myself with blogging after I unloaded the dishwasher. And I felt so good when the dishwasher was unloaded at 7:00am that I decided to do a few other little things around the house. And then the kids got up. And did I mention Hot Jeff took the day off? And I found it was like almost 3:00 BEFORE I EVEN TURNED THE COMPUTER ON and I was simply amazed at how much I had gotten done.
It was like those people who say the computer is a time sucker were right all along.
One thing the Shrink and I talked about last week were rewards. I told her about Bex's genius little concept and she told me she thinks I don't operate very well without structure and being a SAHM is the epitome of no structure. So I bought myself a day planner with the hours built in and I have started scheduling things like time with Jesus, laundry, dishes, exercise, playdates, drinking margaritas at the pool with Shannon, blogging, Facebook, etc. Anything that has to do with the internet is a reward and I am only going to do it if I feel the kids, the house, dinner plans, etc are in a place where I can take a break. Trust me, I'm not becoming some rigid neat-nick or anything (haha, I shutter at the thought) but just trying to add some balance and hygiene.
I AM NOT STOPPING BLOGGING. I WILL STILL BLOG. THIS BLOG IS STILL ALIVE AND WELL. I am however, going to take the rest of this week off. And that surprises me because I have 2 posts waiting in the wings to be posted. They just need to be edited. And one is funny too (my favorite!). Please still come by and read some of the archives--that's what Fan Favorite Christene does. Some of my favorites are here, here, and here.
I do just need to take one week and focus on my home and family and making some healthy choices regarding them and my lifestyle. Check back this week because I may surprise you and me with a post but don't have any expectations until Monday when PYKM resumes. Also, if I post something I'll throw an update on FB so you don't miss it. OR you cold become a follower and never miss a post! Hooie!
Ok, I'll catch you next Monday! In the meantime, enjoy the archives (feel free to leave me a comment of what your favorite posts are) and tell me what your time suckers are and how you avoid them.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
I Got What I Deserved--I Hate It When That Happens
I want you to know I almost took Bex's advice and offered myself the reward of writing this blog post after I put the laundry away. And later this morning I would like to tell you that I will be waiting to apply sunless tanner until after I unload the dishes but that would be a lie. And while I do think Bex's idea has merit, I only read it like 5 minutes ago and so I feel like I need to let it sink in awhile. Like perhaps...all day.
I have a "when and then" saying with my kids. It goes like this, "When you ____________, then you may_____________." For example, "When you finish your dinner, then you may get down from the table". I think this is what Bex is telling me to do. Oh wise Bex...you will make a fabulous mother to Fatty. I can just see her (with her flawless skin, stylish clothing and flowing blond hair), "Jen, when you finish you household chores, then you can blog". Of course I didn't hear a word she was saying because I was wondering where she got those shoes.
Ok, where was I...oh yes, I got what I deserved.
So you may have read on Facebook this weekend (and if you didn't then you should either friend me or stop blocking my posts) that I got a speeding ticket. A ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DOLLAR SPEEDING TICKET. I think I'm going to start taking lactating vitamins and then pump and sell my breast milk to pay for it but that's neither here nor there. The thing about this ticket is that I deserved it. I was going 78 in a 60. (Lori DeBacker if you tell your husband that I will disown you. And if you don't' know who Lori is...Lori is my dear friend and her husband is my insurance agent. And former boss. But that's another story. That has to do with an evil woman who hated me for no good reason. But that's another story.)
So there I am, minding my own business on I-5 and traveling 78 mph hour in 60 mph zone when all of a sudden I got pulled over! And when he asked me if I had a reason for going 78 in a 60 I sheepishly said, "no". So he went back to his car and ran my plates and license, where he saw I have a clean-clean record for over 7+ years, and I sat in my car and prayed. I prayed fervently, "Oh Lord, please don't let me get a ticket. I'll never, ever speed again. Please, please, please don't let me get a ticket. Please let the officer have mercy and not give me a ticket. Please, please, please".
The officer came back to my window and gave me a ticket. And although I have said I would never be one of those women who cry when they get a ticket, I cried. Like a baby. Big, huge, crocodile tears fell from eyes and down my cheeks as he explained if I went to court on the appointed date the judge would see my record and most likely dismiss the ticket. More tears. And then a really slobbery, snotty, "I'm sorry I'm crying. I promise I'm not trying to manipulate you. I can't believe I'm crying". Oh how I would love to have his recording of that conversation. We could sit around and drink margaritas and laugh at what a buffoon I am.
As I drove off I thought about my earlier prayer and how God didn't answer it. I sort of smiled thinking how silly it was of me to pray to get out of what I really deserved. I broke the law but didn't have any remorse until it was time for me to face the consequence. Oh my though, when faced with the consequence I sure had a contrite heart!
If I'm being honest, I think I do that a lot. With my family, with my friends and especially with God. And here's the quirky thing: almost always I don't get what I deserve. When I'm pissy with my husband and he calls me out I say I'm sorry and we go on with our day. He doesn't get pissy in return. He doesn't read to me from 2 Corinthians about how love is kind. Nope, he just goes on loving me and not keeping a record of wrongs.
And oh my Heavenly Father...oh I haven't gotten what I deserve from Him. Max Lucado writes that if we never receive any other gift from God other than our eternal salvation that is enough for us to never cease praising Him, calling Him 'good' and thanking Him. I don't have the right to ask Him for anything else yet I do (because through the His Spirit and the blood shed of His Son He grants me access to Himself and even desires to hear my prayers). And day after day He pours blessings out on me, provides for me and my family in measurable and immeasurable ways and ever answers my prayers.
So there in my car, driving a smooth 60 mph, I thanked God for the ticket. Yes, I thanked God for the ticket because He could have reminded me to slow down through an awful accident but again, He was kind, gracious, slow to anger, compassionate, etc. etc. I thanked Him for the reminder that His grace isn't cheap and that His blessings aren't to be taken for granted. I thanked Him that, when it came to my heart and my salvation, I didn't get what I deserved.
********************************************************************************
p.s.
A big hearty thank you to those of you who commented yesterday. I appreciate the great advice, blended with "don't sweat the small stuff" regarding the house. Jen R., thanks for the encouragement regarding God's work in my heart.
I have great readers!
I want you to know I almost took Bex's advice and offered myself the reward of writing this blog post after I put the laundry away. And later this morning I would like to tell you that I will be waiting to apply sunless tanner until after I unload the dishes but that would be a lie. And while I do think Bex's idea has merit, I only read it like 5 minutes ago and so I feel like I need to let it sink in awhile. Like perhaps...all day.
I have a "when and then" saying with my kids. It goes like this, "When you ____________, then you may_____________." For example, "When you finish your dinner, then you may get down from the table". I think this is what Bex is telling me to do. Oh wise Bex...you will make a fabulous mother to Fatty. I can just see her (with her flawless skin, stylish clothing and flowing blond hair), "Jen, when you finish you household chores, then you can blog". Of course I didn't hear a word she was saying because I was wondering where she got those shoes.
Ok, where was I...oh yes, I got what I deserved.
So you may have read on Facebook this weekend (and if you didn't then you should either friend me or stop blocking my posts) that I got a speeding ticket. A ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DOLLAR SPEEDING TICKET. I think I'm going to start taking lactating vitamins and then pump and sell my breast milk to pay for it but that's neither here nor there. The thing about this ticket is that I deserved it. I was going 78 in a 60. (Lori DeBacker if you tell your husband that I will disown you. And if you don't' know who Lori is...Lori is my dear friend and her husband is my insurance agent. And former boss. But that's another story. That has to do with an evil woman who hated me for no good reason. But that's another story.)
So there I am, minding my own business on I-5 and traveling 78 mph hour in 60 mph zone when all of a sudden I got pulled over! And when he asked me if I had a reason for going 78 in a 60 I sheepishly said, "no". So he went back to his car and ran my plates and license, where he saw I have a clean-clean record for over 7+ years, and I sat in my car and prayed. I prayed fervently, "Oh Lord, please don't let me get a ticket. I'll never, ever speed again. Please, please, please don't let me get a ticket. Please let the officer have mercy and not give me a ticket. Please, please, please".
The officer came back to my window and gave me a ticket. And although I have said I would never be one of those women who cry when they get a ticket, I cried. Like a baby. Big, huge, crocodile tears fell from eyes and down my cheeks as he explained if I went to court on the appointed date the judge would see my record and most likely dismiss the ticket. More tears. And then a really slobbery, snotty, "I'm sorry I'm crying. I promise I'm not trying to manipulate you. I can't believe I'm crying". Oh how I would love to have his recording of that conversation. We could sit around and drink margaritas and laugh at what a buffoon I am.
As I drove off I thought about my earlier prayer and how God didn't answer it. I sort of smiled thinking how silly it was of me to pray to get out of what I really deserved. I broke the law but didn't have any remorse until it was time for me to face the consequence. Oh my though, when faced with the consequence I sure had a contrite heart!
If I'm being honest, I think I do that a lot. With my family, with my friends and especially with God. And here's the quirky thing: almost always I don't get what I deserve. When I'm pissy with my husband and he calls me out I say I'm sorry and we go on with our day. He doesn't get pissy in return. He doesn't read to me from 2 Corinthians about how love is kind. Nope, he just goes on loving me and not keeping a record of wrongs.
And oh my Heavenly Father...oh I haven't gotten what I deserve from Him. Max Lucado writes that if we never receive any other gift from God other than our eternal salvation that is enough for us to never cease praising Him, calling Him 'good' and thanking Him. I don't have the right to ask Him for anything else yet I do (because through the His Spirit and the blood shed of His Son He grants me access to Himself and even desires to hear my prayers). And day after day He pours blessings out on me, provides for me and my family in measurable and immeasurable ways and ever answers my prayers.
So there in my car, driving a smooth 60 mph, I thanked God for the ticket. Yes, I thanked God for the ticket because He could have reminded me to slow down through an awful accident but again, He was kind, gracious, slow to anger, compassionate, etc. etc. I thanked Him for the reminder that His grace isn't cheap and that His blessings aren't to be taken for granted. I thanked Him that, when it came to my heart and my salvation, I didn't get what I deserved.
********************************************************************************
p.s.
A big hearty thank you to those of you who commented yesterday. I appreciate the great advice, blended with "don't sweat the small stuff" regarding the house. Jen R., thanks for the encouragement regarding God's work in my heart.
I have great readers!
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Verbal Processing
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:
On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.
In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.
In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.
In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.
The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"
I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.
I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.
I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.
If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.
One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.
By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.
Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?
I'm not exactly sure what is going on with me lately but it seems everything I do I only do half way. And it appears my house is a microcosm of my life. Let me paint a picture:
On my night stand, next to my bed which I rarely make, is 5 books. FIVE BOOKS. All of them are started, underlined, being enjoyed but none of them are finished. It is ridiculous.
In my kitchen, everything is clean but there is clutter. There is a pile of mail that needs to be sorted, the kitchen aid mixer is on the counter and just needs to be put underneath in a cupboard, Emily's lunch box is leaning on the back splash and I have seriously no idea how long its been there--it just needs to be put in a cupboard that is 2 feet away but I just keep looking at it and wiping around it.
In my family room the laundry is clean, folded and waiting for me to put it away. We just keep grabbing clean clothes out of the pile and adding freshly washed clothes to it. A whole week its been stacked there on the back of the couch.
In my heart I feel the same way. I sit down in the mornings to spend time with Jesus and the phone rings or the kids need something or I think of something that has to be done right now and my Bible just sits open in my big, red chair waiting to be read.
The kids and I are in a disconnect. They are seriously pushing my buttons; I mean ganging up on me like nobody's business and taking me down. Lately it seems like a game of who can be more disobedient and it is totally my fault because I'm not following through with consistent (consistent, not constant) discipline. Again, just kind of half way. Insert funny story: earlier this week I told Samuel that if he didn't put his markers away I was going to take him down to China town. His reply: "Is China town a real place?"
I'm half way to the weight I want to lose by my birthday and I cannot, to save my life, get back on program. FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING HOLY PUT THE CARBS DOWN.
I know you're thinking it so let me go ahead and tell you: I'm in a good place mentally. My increased dosage of my crazy pills are doing the trick and I feel sane and balanced. With that said, I am having some motivation problems and am not sure if the root lies with my struggle with depression and anxiety or something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty quick to label things "Due to Depression" but I sense in my heart that this is something more. I sense this is a Me n' Jesus thing--in a good way. In a "hold your horses" way. I'm not trying to imply Jesus is telling me to not to clean out the fridge, although THAT WOULD BE AWESOME IF HE DID, I'm just processing what's going on in my heart and I think it is kind of manifesting itself in my home. Either that or I am getting incredibly lazy with age.
I feel a stirring. Does that make sense? And how ironic is it that the stirring is zapping me of any energy, vision or follow through yet I still think its a stirring? I'm not sure. I'm hoping the wise Jen Roth will read this post and shed some light on it. Good ol' Bex Mann appears to have the perfect Scripture verse for anything and is spiritually strong beyond her years so I'm hoping she'll leave a comment that spurns direction. No pressure ladies.
If all else fails, Shannon got home last night from vacation and she will at a minimum tell me to get off the computer and go get my house picked up. Shannon is a firm believer that house clutter equates mind and heart clutter and I think she may be on to something. If I'm really lucky she will come over with a bottle of something red and sand my dresser.
One final thought, clutter is clutter and its not hurting anything but I know it is not God's intention to work in my heart and while He does so me get lazy with my parenting. I do know that so will you please pray for me that I will have a good discussion with the kids about some ground rules and then have the patience and desire to follow through. Samuel and Emily deserve that and I need to give that to them instead of the short tempered, quick to swat version I've been giving them for the past couple of weeks.
By the way, the 5th book that is on my night stand..."Grace Based Parenting". A wonderful book by Ted Kimmel that changed my view on discipline and how I want my kids' hearts to look at and realized last night I need a refresher. I lost my cool on them after they dumped water out of the bathtub and while Jeff brushed their teeth I went and got it off the bookshelf. I managed to get a few chapters in last night.
Oh Ted Kimmel, can you move in?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Go Ahead and Take It Personal
Hi. I'm Jennifer and I'm an awfulizer.
Hi Jennifer.
If I have a stomach ache I assume its cancer and start thinking about who I want to speak at my funeral. If one of my kids complains they have a leg ache I think they have muscular dystrophy and I start planning my life around the Jerry Lewis telethon over Labor Day weekend. When I was pregnant with Samuel, but didn't know it yet, and was throwing up all the time and feeling terrible in the mornings I thought I had become diabetic.
I'm an awfulizer.
So a few nights ago when I read a friend's status update about getting lasik surgery I went to bed wondering if I should get lasik surgery. Of course I came to the conclusion that I should not get lasik surgery because most definitely something would go wrong and I would be blind and Jeff would have to be my full time caretaker and would hate being my full time caretaker and leave me for Ali, the new Bachelorette and I would be a blind old maid whose children are in love with fairy tale characters.
But then my little awfulizer, over-anxious brain began to think about all the possibilities out there that I could lose my contacts or have my glasses broken. Or worse: BOTH! And even though I'm not an end-of-the-world-go-buy-a-bunker-and-100-pounds-of-rice type of girl I began to imagine being in the End Times and on the brink of having my face melted off because I'm a Christ follower and not being able to see because I had lost my contacts or my glasses had broken. And trust me, there is just nothing worse than being as blind as me and not having my contacts or glasses. It is one of the things that get me the most anxious and worked up at any given time.
For example, when going in to surgery a few weeks ago I was neurotic about telling the nurses to have my glasses near by or to put them on me so I could see as I came to in recovery because without them I would never be able to orient. On many occasions I have told Jeff that if I am ever incapacitated and can't speak or move it his sole job to make sure I have my glasses.
Yep, I told you a was a little neurotic.
So...here I am in bed a few nights ago literally breaking in to a sweat thinking about not being able to see should Armageddon befall me. How would I care for my kids? How would I distinguish safety. On and on I went until I finally sat up, turned on the light and said to myself, "You are a lunatic. Go to sleep."
The next morning I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and sat down in my favorite, overstuffed red chair to spend some time with Jesus and read in His Word. I was reading through Isaiah and enjoying the quietness of the house and words before me. I was about to finish up when I flipped back through a couple chapters and randomly started reading in chapter 35. I sat astonished and in awe as I read these words,
Say to those with fearful hearts, "Be strong, do not fear. Your God will come, He will come with vengeance, with divine retribution He will come to save you. Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped". Isaiah 35: 4-5
The Creator of the Universe, the One who was in charge of making sure the sun rose that very morning was meeting me in my living room and letting me know He saw me and was bigger than my fears. He will come to save you. I don't need to fear not being able to see should the end of the world be upon me; the One who has already won the victory will come for me and open my blind eyes.
God could have very easily left me a note that morning that said, "Try leaving crazy in the bottle and perhaps you should bump your meds up to 60mg". I don't think He would have, but He could have. But instead, He sends me this little love note in the form of some random passage written a gajillion years ago by a smelly old prophet to let me know He loves me, He will not abandon me and He sees me. He is El Roi.
When I told my friend Cary the story later that day her voice cracked with tears as she said, "Oh, He is so personal". I hadn't thought of it like that and I absolutely loved that--yes, He is so personal and spoke to my heart and mind exactly in the way that I needed that very morning.
I went ahead and took it personal.
Hi. I'm Jennifer and I'm an awfulizer.
Hi Jennifer.
If I have a stomach ache I assume its cancer and start thinking about who I want to speak at my funeral. If one of my kids complains they have a leg ache I think they have muscular dystrophy and I start planning my life around the Jerry Lewis telethon over Labor Day weekend. When I was pregnant with Samuel, but didn't know it yet, and was throwing up all the time and feeling terrible in the mornings I thought I had become diabetic.
I'm an awfulizer.
So a few nights ago when I read a friend's status update about getting lasik surgery I went to bed wondering if I should get lasik surgery. Of course I came to the conclusion that I should not get lasik surgery because most definitely something would go wrong and I would be blind and Jeff would have to be my full time caretaker and would hate being my full time caretaker and leave me for Ali, the new Bachelorette and I would be a blind old maid whose children are in love with fairy tale characters.
But then my little awfulizer, over-anxious brain began to think about all the possibilities out there that I could lose my contacts or have my glasses broken. Or worse: BOTH! And even though I'm not an end-of-the-world-go-buy-a-bunker-and-100-pounds-of-rice type of girl I began to imagine being in the End Times and on the brink of having my face melted off because I'm a Christ follower and not being able to see because I had lost my contacts or my glasses had broken. And trust me, there is just nothing worse than being as blind as me and not having my contacts or glasses. It is one of the things that get me the most anxious and worked up at any given time.
For example, when going in to surgery a few weeks ago I was neurotic about telling the nurses to have my glasses near by or to put them on me so I could see as I came to in recovery because without them I would never be able to orient. On many occasions I have told Jeff that if I am ever incapacitated and can't speak or move it his sole job to make sure I have my glasses.
Yep, I told you a was a little neurotic.
So...here I am in bed a few nights ago literally breaking in to a sweat thinking about not being able to see should Armageddon befall me. How would I care for my kids? How would I distinguish safety. On and on I went until I finally sat up, turned on the light and said to myself, "You are a lunatic. Go to sleep."
The next morning I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and sat down in my favorite, overstuffed red chair to spend some time with Jesus and read in His Word. I was reading through Isaiah and enjoying the quietness of the house and words before me. I was about to finish up when I flipped back through a couple chapters and randomly started reading in chapter 35. I sat astonished and in awe as I read these words,
Say to those with fearful hearts, "Be strong, do not fear. Your God will come, He will come with vengeance, with divine retribution He will come to save you. Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped". Isaiah 35: 4-5
The Creator of the Universe, the One who was in charge of making sure the sun rose that very morning was meeting me in my living room and letting me know He saw me and was bigger than my fears. He will come to save you. I don't need to fear not being able to see should the end of the world be upon me; the One who has already won the victory will come for me and open my blind eyes.
God could have very easily left me a note that morning that said, "Try leaving crazy in the bottle and perhaps you should bump your meds up to 60mg". I don't think He would have, but He could have. But instead, He sends me this little love note in the form of some random passage written a gajillion years ago by a smelly old prophet to let me know He loves me, He will not abandon me and He sees me. He is El Roi.
When I told my friend Cary the story later that day her voice cracked with tears as she said, "Oh, He is so personal". I hadn't thought of it like that and I absolutely loved that--yes, He is so personal and spoke to my heart and mind exactly in the way that I needed that very morning.
I went ahead and took it personal.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Switching Gears
I'm pulling the ol' 180 on you and going from slightly inappropriate to Biblical commentary in one fell swoop. Hold on tight.
Green Bean Stir Fry Rachel posted a challenge on her Facebook page to read the New Testament by Christmas and to not be deterred by the fact that it started with genealogy. I was really inspired by the way Rachel stated, "bringing a little sanctity in to the crazy holiday season" so I said I was in.
I'll be honest, when I sat down the first morning I was a little tempted to skip right over the genealogy but instead I asked God to show me something new in the litany of Jesus' lineage. And guess what? He did!
Matthew, chapter 1, verse 6b "David was the father of Solomon whose mother had been Uriah's wife". So I'm reading this and my first thought is "Why would God have Matthew write that Solomon was the son of "Uriah's wife"? Isn't that a little rude, bringing up David's past sins and all?
In case you're not familiar with the story, here's a really brief synopsis: David sees Bathsheba, who is married to Uriah, and wants her for his own. He has her husband killed so he can be with her, they have Solomon and the rest is history. So again, I wondered why God had Matthew write that Solomon's mom was "Uriah's wife" and not just "Bathsheba". I know when I sin I don't like people bringing it up and reminding me of it... And then it dawned on me that perhaps God had Matthew write it like this to remind us that even David, a man who committed adultery with another man's wife and then had that man killed, could be used to fulfill God's purpose and prophesy in the birth of the Messiah.
God has a wonderful knack of taking our nastiest sin, the one we most deeply want to bury and forget, and redeeming it. He is a Redeemer.
So there I sat in my favorite red chair, loving the quietness of my house and hearing God talk to me through His Word and I worshipped and prayed thanksgiving that not only was that baby, who was born in a smelly stable and laid in a feeding trough to sleep, Emmanuel but also a Redeemer.
I'm pulling the ol' 180 on you and going from slightly inappropriate to Biblical commentary in one fell swoop. Hold on tight.
Green Bean Stir Fry Rachel posted a challenge on her Facebook page to read the New Testament by Christmas and to not be deterred by the fact that it started with genealogy. I was really inspired by the way Rachel stated, "bringing a little sanctity in to the crazy holiday season" so I said I was in.
I'll be honest, when I sat down the first morning I was a little tempted to skip right over the genealogy but instead I asked God to show me something new in the litany of Jesus' lineage. And guess what? He did!
Matthew, chapter 1, verse 6b "David was the father of Solomon whose mother had been Uriah's wife". So I'm reading this and my first thought is "Why would God have Matthew write that Solomon was the son of "Uriah's wife"? Isn't that a little rude, bringing up David's past sins and all?
In case you're not familiar with the story, here's a really brief synopsis: David sees Bathsheba, who is married to Uriah, and wants her for his own. He has her husband killed so he can be with her, they have Solomon and the rest is history. So again, I wondered why God had Matthew write that Solomon's mom was "Uriah's wife" and not just "Bathsheba". I know when I sin I don't like people bringing it up and reminding me of it... And then it dawned on me that perhaps God had Matthew write it like this to remind us that even David, a man who committed adultery with another man's wife and then had that man killed, could be used to fulfill God's purpose and prophesy in the birth of the Messiah.
God has a wonderful knack of taking our nastiest sin, the one we most deeply want to bury and forget, and redeeming it. He is a Redeemer.
So there I sat in my favorite red chair, loving the quietness of my house and hearing God talk to me through His Word and I worshipped and prayed thanksgiving that not only was that baby, who was born in a smelly stable and laid in a feeding trough to sleep, Emmanuel but also a Redeemer.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Me n' Jesus Time
I want to clarify that as a woman with an English degree it has not been lost on me that the correct grammar is "Jesus n' me" not "Me n' Jesus", however, I like the sounds of the latter better and well you know I've said it before and I'll say it again: its my blog.
So you just never know when the Holy Spirit is going to get a hold of you and whisper and shout and nudge and shake until He gets your attention but yesterday I was in a leadership meeting, not typically known for their change-your-life-application moments but there I sat with an amazing group of ladies eating some sort of insane pumpkin crumb cake piece of heaven when my friend Deb spoke up.
Let me tangent here for a moment on my friend Deb. Deb is 50-somethin' and looks better at 50-somethin' than most of us do at 30-somethin'. She's gorgeous but what really makes her beautiful is that she makes everyone in the room feel like they are her favorite person. I'm not quite sure how she does that but my Uncle Bob could do it too and I'm convinced that those types of people must get a lot of Starbucks gift cards because people just really like them and like how they feel when they are around them and can't help but buy them coffee cards.
Um, ok, where was I? So Deb says to us ladies that her mentor challenged her to be in the Word everyday. And I mean IN IT. Like no messing around but seriously get your butt out of bed early and go get yo' self in the Word because God wants to change your life and He's just waiting for you to get serious about having a quiet time with Him so He can get busy. She talked for about 10 minutes about how her morning quiet times are rocking her world and changing her core and making her love Jesus like she's never loved Him before.
Now let me stop right here for a second. I've been a Christian a long time and I've been listening to other Christians tell me for 21 years that I should get up early and have a quiet time. And no matter how good they made it sound I never was convinced that a morning time was all that different than the bedtime quiet time I was owning. I love sleeping in; I'd sleep until noon everyday if I could. In my perfect world I would stay up really late blogging and writing and then I'd sleep late and get up just in time for lunch. I don't know that I can ever think of a time where my kids haven't been up before me; for over 3 years my kids have been greeted with, "5 more minutes. Just 5 more minutes." Poor little darlings.
So now you can imagine my surprise when I felt the Holy Spirit doing His Holy Spirit thing while I was listening to Deb. THEN, she pulled out the big guns: yep, that's right, a "challenge". As in, "Ladies, I challenge you to carve out some time to have some quiet time with God, away from the busyness of your lives and families. Any time of the day is better than none but there is something really sweet about doing it first thing in the morning". That last part, that first-thing-in-the-morning part? That's where I usually check out but man, she was passionate. I couldn't help but be interested. A little giddy actually.
I came home last night and set out "31 Days of Praise" a book I went through in '06 and LOVED. Its daily readings are short and totally focused on giving God our praise as an act of worship. I love how it shifts the focus from myself to Him. I set my alarm for 6:00 (gasp). I went to bed before 11:00 (gasp, gasp). I was ready.
The alarm went off this morning and I quickly hit the snooze but that's when something CRAZY happened. I didn't go back to sleep. I started praying, as Deb suggested, for God to wake me up. AND HE DID. Here's my favorite part of the story: I went downstairs to find Hot Jeff already showered, dressed and reading the paper with coffee (ugh, I married a morning person) and he looks up and sees me and says, "Are you sick?" Ha!
I realize this is getting long so I'm going to skip some of the details about my morning breath and thread-bare pajamas and skip to the good parts... As Deb suggested, as I settled in with a blanket and coffee I prayed that God would meet me and that our time together would be sweet. I prayed He would protect our time by letting my kids sleep until 6:45ish. I prayed He would keep my mind clear, focused and un-drowzy. Guess what? HE DID! Here's where I get all mushy on you...it was one of the sweetest times with God I can remember. Ever. The house was quiet, it was still dark out, I hadn't yet started to wrestle with kids, laundry, emails, phone calls, etc. It was just amazing.
One of the scriptures I read during my Me n' Jesus time (it was referenced in the reading of the 'Praise' book) was Psalm 23. How many times have we all read Psalm 23? 1 gajillion times, right? Me too but I tell you, my God is soooo cool because this just jumped out and got me, "He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul". Mmm. Good stuff eh? It was like God made Himself really tiny, met me in my living room and wrapped this verse up in a little box with a pretty satin bow. I could almost feel Him in the room, looking at me tenderly with love in His eyes saying, "Thank you for meeting Me here, I know its early but I got you something and I've been waiting until I could give it to you in person".
Maybe you have encounters like that with the God of the universe every day. If so, you're lucky. Its been a while since I have and it CHANGED MY DAY. Not much changes my day. I'm a mom of 2 little ones who like to eat and nap at pretty much the same time every day. I'm in a bit of a rut when it comes to who I see, who I talk to, what I think about, the words that come out of my mouth, the tone of my voice so when something changes my day I take notice.
I don't know why Deb's suggestion was any different than anyone else's in the last 21 years. Maybe its because I sensed she was doing this early morning routine out of relationship and not out of guilt. Maybe its because I'm at a point in my life where I'm desperate and I'll try anything, even something insane like getting up before anyone else. Maybe its because I'm finally realizing the Holy Spirit isn't something to be feared but Someone to be welcomed*.
Whatever. I'm hooked. He leads me by quiet waters, He restores my soul.
*quote from John Stumbo's sermon this weekend
I want to clarify that as a woman with an English degree it has not been lost on me that the correct grammar is "Jesus n' me" not "Me n' Jesus", however, I like the sounds of the latter better and well you know I've said it before and I'll say it again: its my blog.
So you just never know when the Holy Spirit is going to get a hold of you and whisper and shout and nudge and shake until He gets your attention but yesterday I was in a leadership meeting, not typically known for their change-your-life-application moments but there I sat with an amazing group of ladies eating some sort of insane pumpkin crumb cake piece of heaven when my friend Deb spoke up.
Let me tangent here for a moment on my friend Deb. Deb is 50-somethin' and looks better at 50-somethin' than most of us do at 30-somethin'. She's gorgeous but what really makes her beautiful is that she makes everyone in the room feel like they are her favorite person. I'm not quite sure how she does that but my Uncle Bob could do it too and I'm convinced that those types of people must get a lot of Starbucks gift cards because people just really like them and like how they feel when they are around them and can't help but buy them coffee cards.
Um, ok, where was I? So Deb says to us ladies that her mentor challenged her to be in the Word everyday. And I mean IN IT. Like no messing around but seriously get your butt out of bed early and go get yo' self in the Word because God wants to change your life and He's just waiting for you to get serious about having a quiet time with Him so He can get busy. She talked for about 10 minutes about how her morning quiet times are rocking her world and changing her core and making her love Jesus like she's never loved Him before.
Now let me stop right here for a second. I've been a Christian a long time and I've been listening to other Christians tell me for 21 years that I should get up early and have a quiet time. And no matter how good they made it sound I never was convinced that a morning time was all that different than the bedtime quiet time I was owning. I love sleeping in; I'd sleep until noon everyday if I could. In my perfect world I would stay up really late blogging and writing and then I'd sleep late and get up just in time for lunch. I don't know that I can ever think of a time where my kids haven't been up before me; for over 3 years my kids have been greeted with, "5 more minutes. Just 5 more minutes." Poor little darlings.
So now you can imagine my surprise when I felt the Holy Spirit doing His Holy Spirit thing while I was listening to Deb. THEN, she pulled out the big guns: yep, that's right, a "challenge". As in, "Ladies, I challenge you to carve out some time to have some quiet time with God, away from the busyness of your lives and families. Any time of the day is better than none but there is something really sweet about doing it first thing in the morning". That last part, that first-thing-in-the-morning part? That's where I usually check out but man, she was passionate. I couldn't help but be interested. A little giddy actually.
I came home last night and set out "31 Days of Praise" a book I went through in '06 and LOVED. Its daily readings are short and totally focused on giving God our praise as an act of worship. I love how it shifts the focus from myself to Him. I set my alarm for 6:00 (gasp). I went to bed before 11:00 (gasp, gasp). I was ready.
The alarm went off this morning and I quickly hit the snooze but that's when something CRAZY happened. I didn't go back to sleep. I started praying, as Deb suggested, for God to wake me up. AND HE DID. Here's my favorite part of the story: I went downstairs to find Hot Jeff already showered, dressed and reading the paper with coffee (ugh, I married a morning person) and he looks up and sees me and says, "Are you sick?" Ha!
I realize this is getting long so I'm going to skip some of the details about my morning breath and thread-bare pajamas and skip to the good parts... As Deb suggested, as I settled in with a blanket and coffee I prayed that God would meet me and that our time together would be sweet. I prayed He would protect our time by letting my kids sleep until 6:45ish. I prayed He would keep my mind clear, focused and un-drowzy. Guess what? HE DID! Here's where I get all mushy on you...it was one of the sweetest times with God I can remember. Ever. The house was quiet, it was still dark out, I hadn't yet started to wrestle with kids, laundry, emails, phone calls, etc. It was just amazing.
One of the scriptures I read during my Me n' Jesus time (it was referenced in the reading of the 'Praise' book) was Psalm 23. How many times have we all read Psalm 23? 1 gajillion times, right? Me too but I tell you, my God is soooo cool because this just jumped out and got me, "He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul". Mmm. Good stuff eh? It was like God made Himself really tiny, met me in my living room and wrapped this verse up in a little box with a pretty satin bow. I could almost feel Him in the room, looking at me tenderly with love in His eyes saying, "Thank you for meeting Me here, I know its early but I got you something and I've been waiting until I could give it to you in person".
Maybe you have encounters like that with the God of the universe every day. If so, you're lucky. Its been a while since I have and it CHANGED MY DAY. Not much changes my day. I'm a mom of 2 little ones who like to eat and nap at pretty much the same time every day. I'm in a bit of a rut when it comes to who I see, who I talk to, what I think about, the words that come out of my mouth, the tone of my voice so when something changes my day I take notice.
I don't know why Deb's suggestion was any different than anyone else's in the last 21 years. Maybe its because I sensed she was doing this early morning routine out of relationship and not out of guilt. Maybe its because I'm at a point in my life where I'm desperate and I'll try anything, even something insane like getting up before anyone else. Maybe its because I'm finally realizing the Holy Spirit isn't something to be feared but Someone to be welcomed*.
Whatever. I'm hooked. He leads me by quiet waters, He restores my soul.
*quote from John Stumbo's sermon this weekend
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