Small Graces Easter

It is Easter Sunday.

I was raised in a theatrical Christian faith. Prosperity gospel is founded on large miracles. Big Faith motivates everything. If you don’t have Big Faith, then God can’t work. God seemed to be this Giant Wizard sitting on a throne waiting for me to obey just the right command. Then and ONLY then could he bless me. For years, I strained against this yolk of Christianity. Wondering what was wrong with me. 

Jesus said, “My yolk is easy and my burden is light.”

I felt heavy and constantly failing. 

Then Easter would come. I would be reminded of the BIG miracles all over again. Around and around this faith Merry-go-round I rode.

Much has changed for me over the last 20 odd years.  My disillusionment with the Big Miracles revealed Small Graces.  

God reveals himself to me in fingerprints.

So when it comes to Easter. The biggest holiday of our religious year, it isn’t the rolling stone that excites me anymore. I don’t need the fainting Roman Soldiers or the Magic Jesus appearing in the room. 

The Jesus I’ve come to know and see in my life is the one who:

Came to Mary when she was alone and distraught in the garden. She sat next to the tomb wondering where He was. Agonizing over what she would do next. Jesus met her first. Alone. Before anyone else. In a small intimate, loving moment he says her name. Once Mary is comforted, I imagine Jesus smiles at her lovingly then disappears. In joy she rushes to the upper room to tell the Disciples in hiding that Jesus is alive.

The Jesus who walked along the Road to Emmaus talking with Cleophas and another Disciple. They were very discouraged and confused. Jesus joins them on the path, asks what’s troubling them then explains it all.  By the time they get to their destination the two men understand who Jesus is. All doubts and fears cleared away. In this small moment of walking and talking, Jesus revealed who he was, comforted them. I imagine Jesus just smiles at them lovingly and disappears. They in joy return to Jerusalem to tell the others.

The Jesus who sits patiently on the shore. Peter, wrapped inself-loathing, figured it was all over. Jesus was gone. No more changing theworld. Confused with his What’s Next, he returned to his original job. Fishing.  Peter, sitting on the boat, frustrated after a dark morning of no fish. 

Peter heard a familiar call from shore, “Throw the nets on the other side.:

Suddenly the nets were full of fish. Peter jumps out of the boat and runs to shore. Most people talk about the magic fish, or the usual Feed My Sheep redemption sermon. 

Not me. 

It’s the small miracle of Jesus, just sitting on the shore. With a basket of fish, cooking breakfast for Peter.over a fire.

In all three of these Easter moments, Jesus met them where they were. To me that is the Miracle of Easter. God, the Divine, an Unconditionally Loving Higher Power come to meet me right where I am.

The Small Graces

Mary in a garden. Distraught.

The Divine comes to say my name with reassurance and let me know I am not alone or forgotten at the mouth of death.

Cleophas and another walking, probably home, disillusioned.

The Divine comes to help me understand when I am confused at how life didn’t work out. I am granted guidance when I am lost in what to do next.

Peter back at his day job. Humiliated and confused.

Most of all, the Divine comes to nourish me when I am depleted. When I feel like an absolute and utter failure. The Divine comes to simply sit with me until I am restored.

*The first 10 who subscribe to my YouTube channel and leave a comment here on the blog are eligible to receive a free digital download of the Small Graces Tryptic. * Sunday April 12 only. Giveaway closed.

These works are available on my Etsy today.

Little Orphan Anne

From my earliest memory, flawless perfection was my goal. If I made a mistake, shame engulfed me. The God of my childhood loved me in spite of Them. I held a perception, IF a mistake was never made, then God’s ability to love me would be easier. My emotions, opinions and even my body were beyond my control. No matter how hard I tried to be good, obedient and flawless I would end up the same result: failure.

I would pray until sleep came, begging God to deliver me. I cried out:
Be my refuge.
Make me feel safe.
Save me.

Fear and chaos ruled my mind.

At 14 I stepped on a scale. It condemned me to 100 POUNDS.

100 marbles rolling across the floor.
100 people in a room.
100 pounds was heavy to pick up.
100 things was a lot of things

I looked in the mirror and elementary boy words from the many schools I'd transferred through, the pool, neighborhood, etc boys spoke in a Greek Chorus: You’re fat.

I pinched an inch and in the mirror I saw Lulu from HeeHaw.

The way I felt about myself and life up to that moment perceptively became true:
I was fat.
Fat was out of control.
Gluttony was a sin.

I couldn’t admit my chaos within. They told me the Bible said, to be anxious was worry. Worry was a sin. Therefore how I felt was a lack of faith.  If I could control fat, then I could control everything. I wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. I could be safe. I would have enough Faith.

Since Prayer hadn't fixed it, then Fasting would.

Jesus said so. If I could control what I put into my mouth, then Jesus could deliver me. Jesus would heal me. My sin wouldn't keep him away anymore. I spent the next 7 years controlling every thing I put in my mouth to keep my safe number of 98 lbs. When life became too chaotic, a blissful peace of a Fast would bring me peaceful sanity. I lived a lie of control and contrition: a false submission to God.

For me, truth of this dis-ease is Fear.

Fear of losing control
Fear of mistakes.
Fear of all the things that could go wrong.
Fear of what action to take when they do go wrong.
Fear of not being perfect.
Fear of….

I found abstinence by working the 12 Steps in Overeater's Anonymous. In recovery I work at letting go of  the god of my childhood. I learn to be available to a Higher Power who unconditionally loves me. He equips me with what I need to get through each day. I recognize what is within my control and what isn't. Higher Power gives me the wisdom to know the difference. I am led to people who counsel me in true grace. Mistakes and shortcomings are ways of redemption, not prisons.

I call that little voice’s name is Little Orphan Anne. When life gets stressful, Anne has ideas about control. I stop, remind myself that I am powerless over the situation and ask my Higher Power for Its will for me and the power to carry that out. I go to yoga to connect with my body and care for it. I meditate to learn how to be safe in the stillness.

When my clothes don’t fit right and Annie suggests how out of control I am. Higher Power reminds me how perfectly I am loved. The choice to believe the loving voice quiets my fear.

I often remind myself that thinking I was fat was only a symptom. It never was about being fat. For me, it was always about Fear. Anorexia was my medication for anxiety. In learning to face fears, deal with Life on Life's terms and accepting love from a Higher Power, One Day at a Time I find Serenity.

Escape From Wonderland: Punk Grace

Friend knew a little about my life in Wonderland. Her intent was for me to simply have fun. One February holiday I spent the night at her house then she revealed her plan.

Her boyfriend had a friend who had horses. Friend knew how much I loved horses and arranged for us to go horseback riding. Friend assured me this was NOT a date. I didn’t even know the guy and he defiantly didn’t like me. Anyway; she had a plan to keep me safe from trouble in Wonderland.

So, not wanting to disappoint my friend or having to explain why I was home early to Wonderland; I went along.

Her boyfriend and friend picked us up after breakfast.

We were simply friends.
Riding horses.
Then having lunch.

My heart found bliss with the horses. The morning adventure complete, we stopped for a simple lunch of pizza was seasoned with laughter. All piled into her boyfriend’s car they decided to drive me home.

That is when everything fell apart.

The Parentals were in the front yard. I ran into the house to keep them all safe. Before my mouth even opened, the verdict:

It was a date.
I was in rebellion.
It was as bad to God as the sin of witchcraft.

The yelling and screaming became phone calls to validate their verdict. I was put into the car and driven over to Friend’s house to “confront” her Mom. I felt ashamed. My poor friend who tried to create a safe place for me to have fun watched it blow up in her face. I sat in her living room with a bruised cheek as a Parental’s voice railed on about lies, rebellion and inappropriate behavior.

My eyes barely lifted from the carpet.

Then the real discipline happened. I was grounded until the end of the school year-four months. No phone, friends, television and only church activities they approved of.

Within the church’s youth group-The Garden-were subgroups called Seeds Groups. For two years I participated in West Seeds. The group filled with upper middle class popular kids. Part of my punishment was to be sent to the newly formed South Seeds.

With a broken will, I moved to that group. Richard-the Seeds Pastor-led the small rag tag group on the furthest corner of the church campus, away from the youth building.

Then I saw grace.

Richard welcomed everyone. Most of the people in the group were high school dropouts, or at least in the continuation high school. Those Punks-with army surplus combat boots, mohawks, safety pins pierced through parts of their bodies-talked about the Dead Boys, Sex Pistols, Agent Orange and others. I sat and listened as they explained what the music meant to them. Richard simply loved them. He never asked them to wear something different to church. He laughed with them and through his example I saw Jesus.

We all gathered and sang worship songs. Paul, still to this day my favorite guitar player, led worship. He taught me to sing, listening between the notes to find the harmony. It didn't matter if the not was not perfect; dissonance could always be resolved.

We studied the Word and struggled to figure out how to apply it in our lives. In that Seeds group of Misfits I began to feel normal. I wasn't the only one living in a Wonderland.

There was a way of hope.
A way of peace.
A way of escape.

In our own CBGB we found hope and purpose. Our own Hilly opened a way of purpose and redemption. Those Punks taught me what grace looks like.

Gentle Lent-A Good Friday

This year's great plans for Gentle Lent have fallen short. In my failure to complete them, truth emerges.

Outward Focus: Open to Divine Appointments and Kindness Risks I feel less isolated. Each and every time I pause to talk to a person, I feel a little more open. The whole house is not cleaned and decluttered, but I have a great start for the summer.

Inward Focus: The getting up on time, abstaining from social media right when I wake up did not go so well. That plan was interrupted when Counting Mutant took himself to the ER.  However, I am more mindful of the time I spend, a quick glance then my feet hit the floor.

I’ve done well in the “no cheats.” So well it uncovered a bigger problem, I have to keep it. This last monthly cycle I had no PMDD triggered anxiety. The few days of food cravings were curbed by asking this question:

Will future me appreciate the present me indulging in this?

However, my first day experience was much less than ideal. My conclusion is: I need to keep clean eating regularly and cheat only once a month and investigate supplements.

Upward Focus: The quiet meditation for five minutes hasn’t worked out. My daily devotionals were hit and miss. I attended Lenten services. I still feel nervous going to the Lutheran church but anxiety is waning. The boundary of liturgy during the service melts away my fear.

The result is, found myself not wanting to rush to Sunday.

I want to savor this Friday. Participating in Maundy Thursday’s communion and watching the altar be cleared by women. The emptiness the building we call church without its focus. My own emptiness.

That cross held a priest I could identify with:

False accusations have been thrown at me. My role in Wonderland was a scapegoat. There is no redemption for a scapegoat. If something went wrong, it was my fault. It was my responsibility to fix it. People believe false testimony about me and chose to cut tie, rejecting a relationship with me.

I have been abused and wounded. Whether by family members who needed to feel in control of their own reality, an icky uncle, a lost boy looking for meaning, each left a deep and lasting wound.

In turn, wrapped in a cloak of my own brokenness I gave root to that seed of wickedness within myself. Unforgiveness and resentments are a deceptive shield. In moments of anger I falsely accused, lied and attempted to control. I repaid evil for evil.

But by His stripes I am healed.

All of these are placed on him. As I kneel near that Cross today my shame melts. I see my wounds on him and weep with Mary, her sister,  Mary of Clopas, Mary Magdalene and I am not alone. My sin did not put him there. It did not kill him. Kneeling at the foot of that Cross my burden of shame is lifted. Love put him there because God desired my freedom. My Creator saw my suffering.

Divine Love made a way: a transfusion of Holy blood to wash away my own tainted nature. Through faith I can cry and grieve the wrong done to me and the wrong I have done. I imagine myself sitting with them as they gathered in that upper room sitting Shiva as they facing life without him.

I feel humble. I feel grateful.

Walk with Dogs: Fear In The Wilderness

I am terrified.

Standing on a precipice, my toes clench its lip. My throat closes. My breath strains. Vision begins to blur as thoughts scream:

What if you fall?
What if people throw rocks and laugh as you descend?
What if flying in grace is a lie?

It is these times I walk away. Close the blank page and check twitter, facebook, pinterest, instagram, and in complete desperation; clean a toilet.

Yet, my feet find themselves again on that edge. If my journey of experience, strength and hope isn’t shared; then there was no purpose to the experience. No seeds of encouragement can scatter into other wounded hearts. Others may never be introduced to the deep and abiding Divine Love. The thought of wounded souls trapped in a Try Hard Faith drops me to my knees.

A Still Small Voice calls.

The terror begins with my Family of Origin. When we were called back to this Central Valley town, I understood the cost. My own Wilderness in a land of Egypt where much of myself could never be free. The Parentals and, for a time, three sisters live here- I am the oldest of four girls.

Parentals are still very active in ministry: Mom is a talented organist and Dad works within their church, with the disabled and veterans.

The relationship with sisters Two and Four is strained. In a town where “family” is the norm, the nature of our relational acquaintance makes people uncomfortable. Often I will meet people who know them. My guard goes up because my first concern is their reputation. Their integrity.

I have a working relationship with sister Three. They often call her the Black Sheep because of her fall from grace. We both wrestle with attending church. Both of us avoid knowing people in our community because of the relational overlap.

So…

In this third tour of deployment in the Wilderness, I’ve warily vetted friendships. Conversations are carefully measured out. Each word is weighed when spoken in public. It is with protective armor on that I run errands, have lunch with a girlfriend or simply walk around the neighborhood.

It is with all this weight that I stand on the precipice of a deep healing. My heart bursts with the hope of Divine Love’s grace. In secret I began a journey of walking away from that Try Hard faith. With dancing Divine Love revealed what Identity in Christ really means. Over tear stained long distance phone calls with a Soul Sister, we worked out how to love,  stay married and mother.

It is these and many more stories I long to tell. Today is the day. Here is the place where I can sow the seeds of Experience, Strength and hope. I lean over the abyss, allowing the wind to sweep my face. My breath catches and I let myself go.

I am still filled with doubts:

Will I fall?
Or
Will I fly?

Here begins a series of my Escape from Wonderland.

An Ode to Poo

They’re cute, right?

Ase just into a toddler bed and Zany in a crib shared the master bedroom. With space to play and a huge window to watch the traffic drive by, they thought it was perfect.

Ase would wake up early, grab a few toys and give them to Zany in his crib. They would quietly play until I came in to get their day started. Ase would be changed and dressed first. Then Ase continued to play, but with one eye on me while I got Zany ready.

Then… the flu.

Ase got it first, then Zany. Both still in diapers. Carefully holding my breath I would peal back to reveal toxic waste.

After a few days, I went to the doctor. He told me about BRAT foods: Bananas, Rice, Applesauce and Toast. Doctor said it worked the same as Amodium and was better for them.

Ase responded quickly. Within a day he was solid and back on regular foods. Zany was slow to improve, but as they were tucked in that night I expected he would be fine by morning.

Their quiet murmurs greeted me as I walked down the hallway next morning. With a spring in my step and the hope of a poop free day in my heart, I opened their bedroom door.

Zany looked at me with dreamy blue eyes from the floor. Diaper gaping open. Brown goo smeared all over his legs and belly. Ase sat next to him: with a clean diaper and a hand full of wipes, his golden brown eyes met mine with pride:

“Mommy! I help Zany!”

I looked over at the crib. Sheets were spotted with caramel. What could I do? With a heart filled with love for his best friend, Ase gathered all the cleaning supplies, then somehow lifted Zany out of his crib. I couldn’t get mad. This was what we were working toward.

Brothers that worked together.
Brothers who would help each other out, no matter the cost.
Brothers who would work out differences.

So… I got down on my knees and helped him clean his brother. We talked about the mess. I told him how proud I was of him. That poop cleaning really is a Mommy and Daddy job, but I really appreciate him trying. It was a very loving thing to do.

THEN I cleaned every surface of that room. Praying nothing was left behind. What happened next was Legen...dary.

They traded that crap for the next six weeks.

I began to hate BRAT foods. They weren’t a savior, they were bondage. Just when things would get solid and they would try regular food, all went loose. In a fit of desperate crazy after Oprah one day, I made up the preschool germ nuking formula-1 part bleach/10 parts water- and cleaned the shit out of that room.

God often whispers this memory to my heart when I reach out to help someone. Ase was too small, to immature to effectively help Zany. How many times do I walk into someone’s life to help them but, instead make it worse? Many times the answer is simply to love the sinner and let Holy Spirit do his job. God is much better at cleaning up shit and getting the job done.

Gentle Lent: Wrestling in the Mud

Each time the Body of Christ gets into a tussle, I groan. It hurts my heart. I was grateful earlier this week when God lifted the burden of grief. 

Yet, I still wrestled with the scar it left behind. In Lenten service a few weeks ago Jacob wrestling with a Man on the shores of a river was the topic.

Jacob chased from what was comfortable and into uncertainty. He had cheated his brother and lied to his father. Alone, in the middle of wilderness, on that desperate night, with a stone for a pillow, God met him in a dream: on a ladder from heaven to earth, angels walked.

God spoke to Jacob the promise of Abraham and Isaac. Then God said something personal, “Look, I am with you. I will guard you wherever you go, and I will bring you back into this land, because I won't leave you until I have done what I have promised you.” Genesis 28:15

Jacob’s response is this: “Truly, ADONAI is in this place - and I didn't know it!... This place is fearsome! This has to be the house of God! This is the gate of heaven!...”

Jacob saw that small corner of the wilderness as something magical: a physical place where God was: Bethel-House of God.

Years later, Jacob sat on the banks of the lower Jordan. He was again on the run, the “victim” of deceit and cheating from his father in law. Then God showed up and Jacob wrestled with him. Jacob spent the entire night, grappling and struggling with a piece of God.

Then the Man touches Jacob and injures him. Jacob hangs on. The Man tells Jacob to let him go. Jacob says, “I won't let you go unless you bless me.”

As I sat in that Lent Service and Holy Spirit whispered to me: That’s what you do.

Since my 20s, I keep coming to that river-The Body of Christ. I keep showing up in either a church or bible study. As I sit on that bank sometimes my thirst is quenched.

Other times I dig through the mud for a handful of water for my dehydrated soul.

BUT each and every time it is to meet Jesus. To feel the breath of Holy Spirit. To experience that Perfect Parent, Creator and Divine Love.

I wrestle with Jesus and refuse to let go until I am blessed. It is not a platform for my political views, or to complete some kind of super hero agenda. I simply come to share what I have learned. The more I become acquainted with God’s love , the more I cannot resist giving Love and Grace to others.

As a child I saw the church as God’s place: a specific refuge for my battered and frightened mind, soul and spirit.

Now that I am an adult I see God has never left me. Divine Love has been with me as I wrestle in the mud.

So, I cannot walk away. I cannot abandon Christianity or the Church

No matter how dry the wilderness is
No matter how fierce the enemies
No matter how bitter the words of others might be

because Jesus hasn't.

I want to join Him as a table is set for us in the presence of enemies.

April Truth Set Me Free

It happens every time.

In high school, it was rock music. The debate about whether the subliminal messages or the ruckus beat interfered with a Christian’s spiritual growth. In junior high I watched as my mom smashed her Beatles, Monkeys, The Carpenters and a few miscellaneous others all for our spiritual protection.

At church our youth group was filled with musicians. Some even became professional in adulthood. They listened to rock music and played it during jam sessions. When I worshiped alongside them, I felt Holy Spirit’s presence. It was just as strong as when I listened to my Mother play and lead worship in corporate service.

To say I was confused was an understatement.

Then came:

Abortion.
Sex before marriage.
Cohabitation.
Divorce.
Dress codes.
The correct way to pray.
Interpretations of Revelation.

I could go on…

Each and every time a culture war erupted, my heart would grieve. Like a black hole in my chest, I could feel God cry.

Mourning the hate.
Lamentening for those who were the focus of the anger.
Angry about how God was being portrayed.

AND most important, how God’s redemptive story compromised for absolute rules.

Last week was no different. World Vision and the Noah movie left me feeling like I had been kicked in the chest.

Monday I woke up under a cloud of depression. I forced myself to walk the dogs. To eat. To fulfill my chores around the house, then that afternoon, a cry for help.

Molley at A Mother Life began sharing a potential injustice. She, an immigrant, was facing investigation from Homeland Security. It consumed my afternoon. Checking her Facebook and Twitter, my heart found a new focus of lament.

My imaginary interweb friend faced being ripped from her family. I began to pray. With breathless hope I prayed,

For justice.
For mercy.
For our divine Mediator to bring peace.
For confusion to become clear.

With these prayers in my heart I fell asleep. My night filled with nightmares of myself being abducted by aliens. The Mutant standing by helplessly as my kids were ripped from my arms. Aliens taking me in their ship to Ayers’ Rock and depositing me in the middle of that wilderness. The rest of the dream was filled with my crawling back to my family and home.

Throughout the whole dream I knew it wasn’t about me, it was about Molley. I continued to pray through the whole night.

Next morning first thing I did was message her to tell her about my prayers for her. Not something I usually do.

She messaged me back right away with a Thanks and a link: The Truth Shall Set Me Free.

It did.

In ways she never intended.

You see, the whole thing was a rouse. An April Fool’s prank.

I sat on my bedroom floor and felt: angry, relief, exhaustion and finally JOY. With tears I laughed. I giggled all day long. The cloud of depression was cleared away by my tears of relief and laughter. I realized it all works for good. God’s Good.

If I focus on my calling-to love my neighbor-God takes care of the rest. 

Gentle Lent: When Life Interrupts

It was going so well. With only one more day to complete Week One’s Lenten cleaning when…

WHAM. Tuesday took a hard left.

Not simply a fast left where the tires squeal a little. NOPE, a hard left with my two metaphorical tires spinning in the air, the other two leaving a trail of rubber.


It started with a text from Counting Mutant.

I am at the ER. Just to be safe. Testing me now.

He did mention that the area around his appendix hurt last night. But that was in passing.

Scrolling down, phone had four more texts, which finished with:

They are going to give me some pain med… Won’t be able to drive home. Maybe should come on down.

The fact I checked my phone upon waking up was an broke part of my Lent fast. It is on my no cheats list. I loved curling up under covers for a few more minutes of rest while checking what the world was doing, but the habit began to sabotage my morning's routine.

NOW.. Feet launched out of bed. I raced through the morning chores, set GirlyK up with her school for the day and off to the hospital I went.

33 hours later Mutant came home. The short of it was, his diverticulitis spread to the right side of his colon, next to his appendix. 24 hours of IV antibiotics for him while I shuffled GirlyK between her brothers so she could make her commitments and a night of fitful sleep for me. My Fibro so overtaxed that emotions blocked much of my logical thinking.  A few tearful meltdowns and a broken broom cleared the way for logic to function.

The rest of the week spent tending to Mutant’s need for quiet rest, GirlyK’s school and me staring blankly at a wall. I work hard to avoid unnecessary intensity, so I was ill prepared for it.

Monday-my favorite day of the week-meant a fresh start. But, I looked at the devotions I had missed. The moments of meditation I passed by. The list of Lenten cleaning days left unattended.

Overwhelming failure flooded my soul.
Monday’s devotion was on the Rugged Cross. That it is at the foot of this Cross, I can lay all my shortcomings and failures. As I walked the dogs after and pondered Gentle Lent, Holy Spirit whispered,

“The Cross is not a place of  Do-Overs. It is a place of beginning.”

Burdens are not put down only to be rearranged. Burdens are put there to stay. I can pick up where I left off. No catch-up is necessary. In Divine Love’s redemption, I can let go of last week’s To-Dos and start fresh. There is no hurry in my recovery and rest from last week. In peace I can heal. Achieve balance and renewed energy and on Thursday, move on in my Lenten Cleaning list.

Gentle Lent: Singing Redeemer

My mind focused on Gentle Lent and a pounding heart, I made it to Ash Wednesday service last night.  I was five minutes late. All had ashes on their forehead, but I sat bravely. Choosing to be open.

The service was set in a different part of the church campus. We usually attend the contemporary service on Sunday. This was the traditional service sanctuary. Taking a deep breath, I sat down. A pipe organ began to play. I turned to see a beautiful facade of pipes. As all began to sing an older hymn, I glanced around the room. The ceiling was wrapped in the arms of pipe rooms.

The tightness in my lungs eased. I grew up listening to my Mom practice the organ for Sunday service as a child. There is something about a room made into an instrument that grounds me.

Tears began to fall. I was able to worship.

Corporate readings and the pastor’s message had words in them like:

Sin
Judgment
God’s Wrath

YET, I felt no shame. The word Love was said more. All of us, equally, sat in that room as sinners. We all had offense to confess. But it didn't stop there. The focus was that we all were to receive forgiveness. For where there is forgiveness of sin there is love, life and redemption.

Tears leaked as I felt a burden ease. I didn't need to wade through Spiritual Abuse in some form of a list to check off. Healing wasn't going to come with me digging holes into my psyche.

It was Freedom. Healing would come as I walked in the freedom I received. Freedom celebrated last year with a tattoo of a bird sitting on a branch. This Lent is not a start something new, but a continuation. Divine Love will correct the Bad Theology my flesh holds so dear. New Life will be the fount from where my Kindness Risks flow.

I met with Him today through an emailed devotional from that church titled: I Sing of My Redeemer. The author used a few verses, but this one struck me:

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing. Zephaniah 3:17

I grabbed my Praying In Color sheet and wrote:

Singing Redeemer

For three minutes, I doodled within the boundaries of that small square. It flavored my though as I attended today’s Lenten Cleaning chore.

I sing because I’m happy
I sing because I’m free
For his eye is on the sparrow
And I know He watches me.

Finding Good Enough

I am a perfectionist.

Not the kind that does everything perfectly, but the kind that gets anxiety when things aren't perfect. 

When I see a flaw I feel shame. I feel the need to repent. I want to crawl into a hole and lament.

It is the perfect first ingredient in making an anorexic. When I was eating only one meal a day, I felt in control. The little mistakes didn’t hurt as much because my body was in perfect discipline. The best days were when I never even felt hungry. I took Jesus’ words, “Deny yourself and follow me” a little too literally.

Then I found recovery.

First on the agenda was acceptance. I was not perfect. I would make mistakes. I had flaws. The point was to grow from mistakes and strengthen my weaknesses. Jesus knew I was filled with shortcomings. That is why God sent him.

To fulfill the Law.

To make me free.

He was perfect so I didn’t have to be.

The most important application of this new flaw filled life was the need to accept “good enough.” Often I wouldn’t start a project because I knew mistakes would be made. I would measure once and then cut twice. In painting, the outside of my hand would pick up a dollop of wet color and smear it outside the lines. I would panic. Wanting to throw it all away and try again I would hear Holy Spirit’s sweet words:

“It’s an opportunity.”

The blob of paint became a flower.

See, the point was not a perfect project. The point was showing up. Starting, working through the middle and then finishing.

So armed with this new discipline, I began to manage life.

Housework- good enough.

Cooking-good enough.

Relationships…

Now, marriage is not perfect. In fact, it is the opposite of perfect. Marriage is exasperating, refining, puzzling and laughter filled. One of my major snags with Counting Mutant is this:

He’s an accountant.

 An auditor to be precise. He loves to look at a pattern and find the flaw, then point it out so it can be fixed. Then… perfection. With his wisdom and logic, short comings can easily be rectified. Mistakes can be fixed. All of the columns add up.

Earlier this week I talked about my new found freedom of falling. He lovingly messaged me a few errors I might like to rectify. Of course I immediately felt hurt. Vulnerable.  Then I walked through the mantras:

I need to take criticism well.

It is for my own good.

It’s not personal.

He loves me, that’s why he points out my flaws.

Then Holy Spirit turned on that light of understanding:

A Perfectionist married an Auditor.

I realized it wasn’t personal. It was simply a clash of perfectionism. I looked at the critique again. Fixed what I thought was important. Not every mistake needs to be fixed. Sometimes they are left to remind us of grace.

To teach us about Good Enough.

The Unlovely Around My Heart

“Be angry, but don't sin - don't let the sun go down before you have dealt with the cause of your anger; otherwise you leave room for the Adversary.” Ephesians 4:26-27

I thought I was over it. But my brain has a mind of its own and every holiday season I am reminded of what is missing.

I want to be done.

More tears have been spent on making myself be peace about the circumstances. I have forgiven those who misrepresented me. In my own strength extended grace to those who choose to believe gossip. I understand that who I am will never be accepted. I don’t hold it against them. They have their own pain to deal with. I cannot judge them because I did have a part to play.

I have owned my part. Offered amends for my shortcomings and accepted that the damage is irreversible. No longer do I feel the need to be understood or validated. I only wish them well on their life journey.

Yet…something irritates.

I re-examine Forgiveness: analyze it from their point of view. Where were my expectations unrealistic? What life experience motivated the choices they made. I feel empathy. I understand. I check to see if I hold any expectations of justice or reconciliation with them. I almost feel peace.

Then… something burns under the surface of my soul.

Anger is checked and I filter through all its definitions:

Anger is a secondary emotion, find out the primary source and resolve it. Then anger will diffuse-check. Did that.

Anger is a messenger. Ask her what the question is, answer it and then anger will be satisfied- check. Did that.

Then GirlyK and I were watching Bones. Sweets interrogating someone said, “Anger is triggered by unmet expectations.”

A glowing hot spear stabs my heart. I missed my own feelings. I never allowed myself to simply feel. Every examination has focused on them. Empathy, sympathy, forgiveness and grace extended to them, but never for myself.

My brain recoils: that’s selfish. That’s not Christlike. Indulging my sin nature gives room to all kinds of evil. I am not supposed to think about me in this situation for it to be resolved. They were the ones wronged. Not me…

But I must. I must filter through it all again this time granting permission to feel. The tools of recovery have taught me only through truth in love can real healing occur.

I awaken at 3:00 with the realization of this unlovely truth: I feel resentful. As I try to fall back asleep, Holy Spirit gently unravels the thick black wire shield which encases my beautiful pink heart. Looking closer I see barbs which point outward, intending to protect my heart from harm. The Still Small Voice calls them resentment. On the inside of the wire are smaller, sharper spines. Still Small Voice calls them bitterness.

In the hands of Divine Love I understand that while I protected myself with frustrated resentment, each time my heart encountered those people, the shield pressed into my heart. Those little spines of bitterness added pain which triggered a landslide of anxiety. Longing for freedom I submit to the Healer. As I release my own feelings, a healthy prettypicket fence will surround my heart. With healthy boundaries I will have clarity.  True grace will I finally be able to extend

And the best gift of all: Shalom.

Quitting

Originally posted on December 9, 2010

I am always the last one to leave. A party, a theme park, church. An argument isn't over unless true harmony exists for all involved, much to The Counting Mutant’s irritation. A decision is weighted upon all collectible options. In all situations, affirming and confrontational, I do not quit.

Some consider this diligence a personality flaw. 

My soul screams this mantra to my head: to quit in the face difficulty, cheapens the experience of life. 

When in conflict with person or situation; first comes the talking. There is an echo inside my head, so the only way to hear myself think is out loud. Unfortunately that means someone has to listen until a piece of solution reveals itself. Only when I have exhausted all avenues of resolution will I resign.

“Just as iron sharpens iron, a person sharpens the character of his friend” Proverbs 27:17

What people don’t recall when they throw around this cliché is:

You can’t have sharp iron without sparks.

Within interaction there will be controversy. To end a relationship or an experience because of difficulty, compromises the value of the life we have been given. To work through these differences creates a better life story.

The Counting Mutant took part in a business philosophy course. Close to the end, he was invited to continue in an advanced level. He said yes. At the end of the course, life happened which complicated his ability to continue. During the final conference the offer to continue was extended. This time he declined.  The instructor of the course spoke to the many that changed their answer. He challenged them to examine their behavior.  Was this a common practice in business or their personal life where an agreement was made and then broken?  The instructor introduced the word reneging: to break a promise or go back on an agreement. The consequences of reneging of reneging are; people become leery of  your word and question the reliability of it.

The shame of quitting evaporated. My real issue was about reneging. Whenever a commitment needs to be made, I am thoughtful and count the cost. I never want to jeopardize a person’s trust or faith in me. Through disagreements we learn about each other.  This is why the idea of quitting is unreasonable to me. Listening to another’s grievances I gain strength and wisdom. There is a certain power in admitting my weaknesses and face the conflict. It grants me an opportunity for a Reality Check. My focus turns to crafting those flaws into strengths.  Life is the greatest adventure. Being available for resolution makes my life story richer.

Rocky Horror Taught Me Divine Freedom

“I can’t wait for Friday!  It will be the coolest thing ever.” April said to Elysse at lunch.  We sat next to the chain link fence at the end of the corridor.  Brown bags crackled as we pulled out our lunch.  In 7th grade, these girls were the first school friends I made since moving to this California valley town in the 3rd grade.  They really wanted to sit and talk with me.  It was nice to feel accepted.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“THE Rocky Horror Picture Show! It’s playing at midnight and we get to go. It’s so cool!  You get to dress up and yell at the screen and throw food and spray people.  It’s so funny.” April gushed.  

Elysse giggled and nodded.

“Cool,” I faked.  It sounded fun, but I was sure it would be forbidden. 

At home I asked my parents about it. I received the typical lecture, explaining the demonic presence lurking and waiting to infuse my soul with chains of bondage. By the time it was over, I pictured demons sitting next to people, throwing food with them and entering their bodies to possess them. Fear overtook my thoughts.

The next few weeks I continued to sit with April and Elysse at lunch. Each day a looming presence weighed on my conscience. Thoughts of what might be controlling their minds and how it would affect my spirit, consumed me. I became afraid of them. Soon lunch was a lonely hour for me again.

My parents’ concern for our Christianity included the treatment of Halloween. Radio preachers who would urge listeners to avoid it altogether. Its origins seeped in deep mysterious magic and the occult. Participation would guarantee evil’s consumption, or at least interference, of a soul. God could not work if evil existed in
one’s life. Your Salvation could be compromised. My parents disallowed the night revelries. I could participate at school so that we wouldn't be mistaken for Jehovah’s Witnesses, but that was all. Some years the light was turned out when Trick or Treaters came through the neighborhood. Other years found my Mom passing out gospel tracts laced with candy. The pumpkins carved with a fish or a cross beamed from the front porch. Before the night was over, someone would take them and smash them to bits in the street. Mom said it was just the Devil trying to discourage us. 

As a young adult, I met people who had been subjected to Halloween worship ceremonies. Cats would go missing because of sacrifices. Tainted candy hurt children and I felt the pain of those victimized. The holiday became pure anxiety and dread for me. Continuing in the belief that it was acknowledged at all, something of my faith would be taken away. My connection with God would weaken and I would be all alone. The day came to represent my darkest fears and deepest nightmares.  

Yet Divine Love is the perfect teacher. Every prayer is answered and I learned to look at God as my loving Creator. My focus turned from what He couldn’t do to what He could.  I began to think of the message I wanted to share on the night. As a family we participated in different things; Harvest Festivals, family theater nights, pizza and movies. I met a woman who had the same struggles. She celebrated delight by decorating her house with lights, doors were open and candy handed out liberally. Through her example fear began to lose its hold.

In BoyA’s the class observed Dias de los Muertos. He learned the truth of how holiday was celebrated in Mexico: they do not celebrate death, haunting and evil. The belief is: loved one’s spirits come back and they have a night to celebrate with the living. BoyA created a memorial for his Uncle, who had committed suicide the previous April. For the first time he talked about his uncle’s death. As BoyA created his own story of Uncle, his soul was able to heal. This holiday no longer needed to be filled with horror and dread. It could be about celebration and remembering.

The cherry on the sundae was The Counting Mutant.

 “Do you want to go to Rocky Horror this Saturday at midnight?”  Mutant asked sheepishly.

My soul jumped with delight, “YES!” 

He arranged for tickets. We double dated with a friend and her husband. The Mutant and I spent the day on Saturday together collecting props and making kits. Giggling like kids, we shopped for our costume’s bits and pieces. I was amazed at the freedom I felt preparing for this seemingly forbidden thing.

Sitting in the theater, the four of us admired the bravery of many.  Peter Pan dressed in a vine covered Speedo won the costume contest. Anticipation rippled through the sold out crowd. The film started and we were united. All yelling, singing, and covering our heads with newspapers; the highlight was when everyone threw toilet paper.  The theater’s beautiful old ceiling covered with storms of arching toilet paper rolls unraveling. We were covered with tails of gentle white. I checked within myself. God still loved me.  I still felt close to Him.  He didn’t leave me. As the film came to its conclusion and I recognized a subtle morality within the film. Those who are evil ruled for a season yet in the end they are destroyed by their own. 

Exiting through the oddly dressed crowd into the cold breath of the night, I felt safe and warm. I was still me. Nothing was riding on my back or taking over my conscience. I still believed in God and He still loved me. I still need to be wise in choosing the influences in my life, yet I no longer need to be afraid of those influences being greater than the Creator I believe in.  I am loved.

Misperceptions

Originally Posted October 24, 2010

Thoughts never stop percolating in my consciousness.

The other day and I stumbled over this verse, “And you, who once were alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now He has reconciled..." Colossians 1:21

Thought tires squealed; the Enemy within MY mind?  I always heard God was my enemy because of sin. He cast humanity out of the garden over a piece of fruit!  I began to dig and to my surprise I found this cause and effect verse:

”But they rebelled and grieved His Holy Spirit; So He turned Himself against them as an enemy, And He fought against them."  Isaiah 63:10 

Considering my own relationships where a misunderstanding occurred, often the offended will treat me as an enemy. Anger sparks gossip. Words cut and damage other friendships around me like ripples in water. My response is to protect myself by stepping away. Not participating in a battle I cannot win. I cannot change the mind of the offended, so I leave them with their beliefs of me.

I considered the origin of this “God’s enemy” perception.

"And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, "Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die."  Genesis 2:16-17:  

Why would God do that?

Why would he give a tree that much power?  

This thought occurred: what if it wasn't the tree?

What if it was the choice?  

When it mattered, would they turn to God for their knowledge of what was good and evil?

We know the answer from Genesis 3:4-6; the Serpent hinted that God was lying to them. Adam and Eve decided to rely on themselves instead of the one who made them. An enemy keeps secrets in order to imprison the weak. Maybe they weren't free. Possibly Eden was an elaborate prison. Adam and Eve needed to act and think for themselves.

This was the choice they faced. The result, instead of trusting the one whom they walked in the cool of the garden with regularly and knew intimately; they chose the Tree. This tree became the source of Knowledge of Good and Evil, instead of the One who created it.  

This perception severed them from the life giving Creator. The struggle of humanity began in that moment with a perception: God lied.

God had to keep His promise of Free Will. God cannot lie. God cannot cause evil. From that point on humanity seeks themselves for their own Knowledge of Good and Evil instead of God. We stumble around in blind innocence, trying to make sense of it all. Doing what is right in our own eyes.

Therefore, he had to provide a way to restore the relationship. Jesus was that way. He brings us back to the garden in John 15:5, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing."   

Jesus creates a path for us to walk in the cool of the garden with, "If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also; and from now on you know Him and have seen Him" John 14:7.

We meditate on the horror of Jesus, praying in a garden. He was an innocent man, arrested, falsely accused then crucified as an enemy of Rome and the Jews. 

What if Jesus was portraying what Adam and Eve did in the Garden?  

They acted as if God was their enemy. In their understanding, he was hiding information from them. Maybe they needed to protect themselves, so they acted. The result was separation. That led to death of the relationship. This death was then laid upon Jesus. 

I stumbled upon a conclusion: through Jesus, I have the ability to seek God's knowledge of good and evil instead of my own knowledge.

Which brings me back to the original question:

How have I made God an enemy in my mind?  

Every time I blame Him for something that goes wrong or react to a situation instead of stopping to seek wisdom. Whenever I complain or tear myself apart over a mistake. God is not out to make my life miserable with unrealistic demands. Divine Love has not set me up to fail. It has set me free to make a choice. I need to set aside my inaccurate perception and believe in His intrinsic goodness. To ask for his direction, for his vantage point is clearer than mine. I can trust Him.

Peace of Mind

Originally posted May 26, 2009

With so many cultural distractions and stresses, it is almost impossible to find a place of peace.  Bookstores are filled tomes on how to find this allusive tranquility of mind.

I believe in a loving Creator God who has a plan for all human kind and created laws for us to follow. Paul wrote to the people in Philippi living in a metropolis filled with diversity. As these Philippians grew in faith, Paul encouraged the anxious believers in Christ by giving them a practical method of finding peace in their tumultuous culture.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Finally… whatever things are true … noble …just …pure … lovely … good report … virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy – meditate on these things.”   Philippians 4:6-8. 

Whatever I am anxious, worried, stressed, puzzled or disturbed about, that concern is taken and turned into a prayer through writing, praying aloud, meditation, the ways to express it are endless. The method doesn’t matter; the subject is laid before a Being Greater than myself.

Second is to focus on good things, anything wonderful, beautiful, or positive. God is the source of all things good. I allow the unpleasant thing to pass and focus on something else-the thoughts are captured and put in submission to Jesus. As I discipline my mind to change focus the Holy Spirit is allowed to move.  The sweet breath of Holy Spirit brings peace on my troubled soul. The Spirit counsels me on what to do next. Sometimes it is immediate. Sometimes it is later. Most of the time, my attitude changes but sometimes the situation will change.

I pray you will see God the Creator, Jesus the Word and Holy Spirit the Counselor in your lives today. 

Laughter At A Funeral

My brother in law died in April 2009. 

Tensions were high that morning as we prepared for the day filled with overwhelming emotion and numb brains. The Counting Mutant was the designated speaker of the eulogy. His brother had committed suicide. People filed into the small funeral chapel. Family seated together in the front rows all with tears creeping down, their faces filled with confusion.

Two decades before I sat in this very funeral home. In high school, a friends’ sister was killed in a boating accident. She was barely a teen. Not long after we again met to bury their mother killed in an automobile accident. Those memories invaded my mind as I sat next to my sweet Mutant. His stoic nature created a calm demeanor. I knew he was struggling though, deep within his introverted self. The last natural son of his father, the duty to speak had fallen to him.

Music started to play. The collective hearts in the room began to sink. On queue, the Mutant walked up to the podium. I braced myself. He shakily began his carefully crafted speech.

He was so brave. His voice quivered just a little, his gaze connecting to each person in the room as he spoke those first few sentences.

Then…

To my horror that sweet man drop his face and gazed at the podium. One of his hands flew up to cover his eyes as he shook his head. My friends grabbed my hands in comfort as we watched him shutter a little. I heard everyone supportively hold their breath as we waited for him to gather himself. After a few moments he lifted his face. With a changed expression on his face the eulogy was eloquently finished. Something happened in that moment to lighten his burden. I wasn't sure if it was resolve or…

The day was bittersweet. Tables decorated with flowers and butterflies lined our backyard. Ducks glided along the water of the lake. Hugs, Friends and family who hadn't seen each other in years softly laughed about my Brother In Law’s antics. His life was our focus. It didn't matter how he died.

Hours later The Mutant and I sat completely drained. For the first time in days we were alone. The task of the funeral completed. Sunset colored the lake in ethereal golds and reds. In the stillness we sat together outside at the empty tables littered with bits of dirty dishes yet to be cleared away.

A flicker of his hand covered face jogged my memory. I cautiously put my hand on his arm. Our hazel eyes met and I asked, "What happened during the eulogy?"

Frown lines melted and laughter filled his eyes, "As usual," he began laughing,” Just as I began to speak your parents walked through the door. Stood looking confused then quickly found a seat. I had to stop talking because I was laughing so hard. They will be late to their own funeral."

Counting Costs

Originally posted on February 4, 2012

Her eyes widened. Behind the swirl of olive, gold and brown her mind swam desperately for an answer. With frustration and twelve-year-old honesty she answered, "I don't know what it means."

I turned to her ten year old sister across the table. "So, if you had to choose Jesus over your Mom, would you do it?" Her jaw dropped and a rim of tears warmed the corners of her eyes.

We were studying Luke 14:25-33:

 "Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: 'If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters--yes, even his own life--he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it?  For if he lays the foundation and is not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' 

Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple."

I remember as a kid, listening to this passage and feeling terrified at the contradiction. Sunday School taught us the Colossians 3:20 words as the answer for everything, “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord." 

Now Luke was telling me that I was to love God above everything else, even if it meant hating my parents.

What is a good Christian kid to do?

When I asked adults in my life, the fumbled answer was: just ask Jesus into your heart and read the Bible. It will make sense if you don’t have any sin in your life. 

I think they were just as confused as I was about the whole thing.

In preparing for this Girls’ Bible Study breakfast, I knew the something better was required. As I prayed and pondered it hit me; maybe Jesus' words meant exactly what they meant. It was not a flippant arbitrary statement.

Then words these words echoed: count the cost.

For my Grandmother, the cost of her becoming a Christian was disownment from her family. God brought my Grandfather, who introduced her to the Gospel. She spoke proudly of the Jesus who loved her enough to give her hope. She counted the cost and loved Jesus more.

I realized it doesn't mean expecting disownment or rejection because of a response to that holy call. It means to stop, and consider what I am willing to give up. The choice is not consequence free. Friendships may be lost. Family abandonment or employment may change.

How often have we prayed never pausing to consider the cost of the answer? Patience is prayed for and what follows is a difficult season. I hear friends respond with flippant sarcasm, “I prayed for patience and look what it got me. I won't pray for that again."

My response to those girls was this: Counting the cost is stopping to think. If I choose an action, am I ready for the result? If I ask to grow closer to God, am I ready for a season of dependence? Do I pray for someone's healing without pondering the possible damage from the metamorphosis?

Counting the cost looks like a conscious and purposeful prayer motivated by hunger to understand God better accepting whatever the consequences. When I pick up my cross, I am choosing his method of answer and laying down my own. This action grants me the grace to endure.  The result always is an unexpected answer: I fall deeper in love with Jesus.

More than anything I want to see him more clearly, love him more dearly and follow him more nearly, Day by Day.

Mommy Nugget: Flying the Coop

Kids.

Are they a gift?

Some call them a curse. A Mother’s saying is, “I hope you have a child just like yourself.”

Men are told they have daughters if they were unkind to girls in their teens-Karma.

Each time I held my new born child and felt the wonder of the moment I was aware of the weight. The power to influence this little person to change the world, or destroy it. Every word, action or intent will leave a fingerprint on their soul.

Filled with terror, I would get away within the first few weeks to cry out for help from the Divine. God knew this child. Within the secret place of my womb Divine Love knit together DNA, cells, synapses, muscles and skin. He knew the number of their days.

And… I was responsible. Would I give them roots and wings or a millstone around their neck? At the end of my days, standing at that beautiful throne, I would need to give an accounting of what I said or did.

God and I came to an understanding: I was a steward.

These little people were only moving through my life. I did not own them. Their visit would only last 18 years at least. After that, the relationship would become more of a mentoring than authoritative. I needed to remember that. God had a plan and a path for them. It probably would not agree with my visions of grandeur. God deposited talents and a calling into their heart. I realized that my job was to teach them how to hear that Still Small Voice and follow it.

The truth is, my voice will only carry them so far. Once they are out of earshot, the will be listening to something: a teacher, peers, their own grand schemes…

The terror assuaged, I focused on the end game. I was not raising children. I was raising adults. Personal responsibility, compassion and respect would motivate all of the rules and disciplines that were carried out.

When tattling occurred, we held court. The accuser and accused each had an opportunity to state their case. Then both would examine their part and judgment levied.

Personal property was held with the utmost respect. Sharing was not demanded from the authority, it was given. If BoyA broke BoyZ’s toy then it was replaced by BoyA with his own money or effort to earn the money.

Friendship and equality were heavily enforced. BoyA, BoyZ and GirlyK were best friends. That friendship came first, above everyone else, because someday The Mutant and I would be gone and they would need each other.

 

Today as I consider BoyA-a high school graduate and beginning his next move- and BoyZ-a high school senior-I feel peace. I am not sad because I like who they are. I have few regrets because I savored every moment I had with them.

They were God’s greatest gift of tangible redemption to me.

Walk with Dogs- Virtuous Sleep

I am reluctant to fall asleep at night. Cultural Christianity teaches Proverbs 31 as a Godly Woman litmus test.  According to King Lemuel’s Mother, a wife of noble character never sleeps. As a result, we women show up to church or Bible Study with perfect hair, make-up flawless, wearing fashionable yet modest clothes. A smile on our face and a twinkle in our eye we project flawless contentment.

We. Are. All. Liars.

Photo taken by loneangel

The Virtuous Woman starts out the day with the best of intentions. Shegets up while it is still dark for a Quiet Time of scripture and prayer. Family stirs and breakfast is cooked with a smile as ordered in Proverbs 31:15. She begins checking off the Virtuous Woman boxes.

The business of the day: house, work, kids, husband’s needs, community. The sun sets with the dawn of reality.  Over a sink full of dinner dishes, she pants with exhaustion.

Toys and clutter fill the living room. Laundry covers the bed, overwhelmed she musters her last bit of strength. In a sweet siren voice she sounds the call for bedtime.  

Kids’ shenanigans are the final strike. Pushed beyond her limit, her image of perfection slips away and she turns into a drill sergeant harpy. 

There is no fun in Mudville.

With the kids are tucked in she turns on her overdrive. The day is not over until she falls asleep. There is still time to complete the missed household chores while husband sleeps. When he wakes up, he will be amazed. She will hear the praises of her husband just like Proverbs 31 says. Dinner dishes neatly placed in the dishwasher. A whirlwind pick up in the living room. Fueled by a feeling of victory she walks through the bedroom door to attack the laundry monster. 

Photo taken by Alvimann

Husband is laying in repose upon the laundry. The dulcet sounds of a show waft from the laptop.

Does she wake him? Does she ask him for help?

No.

A deep sense of failure, with a chaser of shame, sets in as each piece of laundry is brought into submission, Husband’s comfy bed shifts. He awakens. Unaware of her Virtuous Woman burden, he turns off the computer.

“That can be finished tomorrow. Come to bed.” He moves to push the rest of the laundry onto the floor.

That wife looks into the eyes of her lover.

A Virtuous Woman demand rings in her ears:  “She sees that her business affairs go well;her lamp stays lit at night.”

Her defeated reply, “You go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I finish this.”

Proverbs 31 has been twisted into a burden of legalism. Within this Cultural Christianity application there is no room for grace, love or laughter. God does give us tasks to keep us occupied; but they are never to become a litmus test of worth. Ecclesiastes tells us that we are to eat, drink and enjoy the good that results from those tasks; it is a gift from God. Part of that good is rest and sleep. The Psalmist says that unless God is our center focus, we get up early and put off going to bed in vain, for God “provides for his beloved, even when they sleep.”  

Photo taken by hotblack

When I trust in divine rest, my soul is renewed. I am no longer weary; God clothes me with strength and dignity. I am able to be patient in the face of a determined child. My arms are strengthened for the day's tasks. I have energy to serve my won family along with attending Divine Appointments that interrupt my plans. I am able to laugh at the days to come.