Oven Fire
A golden, flaky crust, baked to perfection. Cinnamon infused apples: not too hard, not too soft... perfect. The homemade filling... spilling over the pie, dripping over the metal rack, and burning on bottom of the oven. Sigh.
Overflowing pies. Cheese dripping from pizzas. Mostaccioli sauce exploding from it's noodles. Somehow food has a way of escaping it's container.
So yesterday I decided I would tackle the task of cleaning the beast. The Oven. I wore myself out... It takes a lot of effort to push the "self cleaning" button. It had been running for around twenty minutes when Rich came downstairs. He started to make himself breakfast while we chit-chatted. He glanced over his shoulder and said, "huh, look-it." I peered in the oven, and there was a fire!! To me, it was like the oven was encased in a raging inferno. What really existed was a fire mass that was four or five inches tall. But still! A fire! I stuttered, "w, w, will it burn itself out?" He kept fixing his eggs, raised his infamous eyebrow and said, "Well. We'll see." Um, we'll see? I nervously shifted my gaze from Rich to the stove, drumming my fingers together as if I had to keep time to "The Flight of the Bumblebee." All the while, he strolled about the kitchen, getting a plate, a fork, some salt, my sanity...not worried at all. I watched the flames lick the racks for a minute and then slowly die down. Geez. There's a year off my life. Scared the crap out of me. Stinkin' fireman. So calm.
"Honey, you put it out with your eyes." Nice. He's so hilarious.
Well, now I know my Thanksgiving won't turn out like this, now that my oven is nice and clean.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Gratitude Dance
The Gratitude Dance
The other side of the pillow. Fuzzy socks on a cold night. No socks on a hot day. Leave-in conditioner. The belly laugh of a toddler. The belly laugh of anyone. Icepacks to put on a fevered brow of my child. My children. My husband. My family. My Lord. These are just a few of the things I am grateful for.
The other side of the pillow. Fuzzy socks on a cold night. No socks on a hot day. Leave-in conditioner. The belly laugh of a toddler. The belly laugh of anyone. Icepacks to put on a fevered brow of my child. My children. My husband. My family. My Lord. These are just a few of the things I am grateful for.
Yesterday, Pastor Todd, in his sermon, reminded me to be thankful.
It's easy for me to say that "I am blessed" or "I'm thankful" or even "thank you" but do the words extend from my mouth to my heart? Do I take my blessings for granted? Am I ungrateful?
I live in a "blessed" country. Yes, America is blessed. She is full of all kinds of freedom. Freedom for us to speak our mind. To worship the way we want to. To vote. To be innocent until proven guilty instead of being guilty until proven innocent. A crap load of freedoms. Yet, just like my blessings... does America take them for granted?
I remember a lady who came to our church from City of Hope and talked about poverty. She said when teenagers come to the center to volunteer, to put things into perspective, she asks, "Who do you think is rich?" Inevitably they say people like Bill Gates, Beyonce', Michael Jordan, etc.
Then she says, "How many of you live in a house?" All of them raised their hands. "How many of your parents own a car." All raised their hands. How many have more than one pair of clothes and more than one pair of shoes." All raised their hands. "Then you are considered very rich by the worlds standards."
My husband and I have our own home, have two cars, have more clothes than we need, and I alone have so many shoes it's a sin. I am very blessed.
When I was growing up, my parents brought in every wayward child, person, animal and insect that you can imagine. Many were deformed, unhealthy, broken and abused. I have three children. All were born healthy, whole... perfect. I am blessed.
I am thankful. I am grateful.
As I stated in my previous post, our family has been through our share of storms. The Bible says to be thankful in all circumstances. Not for all circumstances, but in them. Hard to do.
I keep a journal that I write in on a consistent basis. A few years back I started a blessing journal. At the beginning of each entry, I would write five things I was grateful for, or five blessings in my life. It changed my perspective on life and how I looked at things...even changed my attitude.
Pastor Todd gave another tool. The Gratitude Dance. It's freakin' amazing. Do the dance everyday and see if it changes anything. I'm going to do it. There are two videos. The first one, Pastor Todd showed. The second one, I found online. It's ahhh-mazing. That guy has literally brought The Dance all around the world. See if you can bring it to your house. Be grateful I don't come over and do The Dance with you!
Friday, November 5, 2010
Hope
Hope
I watched my Father's chest rise and fall... his ribs really. I can't really call it a chest. He's mere bones. A man's chest is strong, muscular, firm, heavy. Not small, weak, frail... boney. His body looked like a holocaust victim. No grown man should weigh 90 pounds. It's not right. I shifted to his eyes. They seemed to have disappeared with his body. Not right at all. It was a depressing sight.
It seems all my growing up years were etched with sadness. As I was sitting with Dad, my Mother and I were reminiscing over the years.
When I was twelve, I came home from school and my sister, Sue, wasn't feeling well. I looked at one of my other sisters, Darla, and rolled my eyes. It seemed like Sue was always sick. Little did I know that this afternoon was a lot different. Mom told Darla to call the ambulance but for some reason, Dar couldn't get through, so Mom got on the phone. All of a sudden, Susie yelled out "I'm going to have a seizure!" then went limp in the chair. It obviously was not a seizure.
She stopped breathing and Mom cried out for Darla and I to start CPR. Darla was 15 and I was 12. It floors me to think of that. Micayla is 15 and Nikki will be 12 in a couple of weeks. Susie was just a little thing, but she was so heavy to Darla and I. It took everything within us to lift her to the floor. I start the ventilations and Darla was doing the chest compressions. The whole time was surreal to me. I couldn't believe this was happening. My mom got off the phone; the ambulance was on its way.
A few moments later, Sue vomited in my mouth. I completely broke down. Mom took over while I went to the bathroom to clean up. I told my Mom, for months I thought I had killed Sue. I thought it was my fault because I didn't have her head tilted back far enough, all the air got in her belly instead of her lungs. It was several months before I discovered it was a bleed in her brain stem that ruptured that caused her death. She died in the chair; there was no bringing her back. Yet, I carried that guilt with me for so long. I felt guilty because I rolled my eyes and didn't take her being sick seriously. She was always sick. Who knew she was really that sick?
Darla and I were so young. It baffles me now. She was 27, I was 12.
Then, the year after that the grandma that had lived with us for four years passed away. I helped take care of her. Helped bathe, feed, change, catheterize her... love her. She died at our home. I was 13.
Then the year after that, my other grandma died from cancer. I adored her. I was 14.
Then the year after that, my sister, Deanna died from breast cancer. She died in our living room. She was 30, was 15.
Then the year after that, my brother, Dave died from adrenal gland cancer. He died in our kitchen. He was 27, I was 16.
Then the year after that, my brother, Joey died from heart complications. He died in my Mother's arms. He was 4, I was 17.
Then the year after that, my sister, Angela died from complications in surgery. She was 13, I was 18.
It sucked. So much sadness. So much sorrow.
I was reading in Lamentations last night. What a sorrowful book. Basically this book of the Bible is five funeral poems. This dirge talks of how awful Jerusalem is; how much she's crying; how barren and left alone. How betrayed, forsaken and forgotten she is. Sad. But smack dab in the middle of this sad, miserable book, there is hope:
"Yet, this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is Your faithfulness.
"I say to myself 'The Lord is my portion therefore I will wait for Him.' The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.
"Let him sit along in silence, for the Lord has laid it on Him. Let him bury his face in the dust-there may yet be hope.
"For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is His unfailing love." Lamentations 3: 23-26, 28-33
There is hope. Although the storms may swell and rage, there is hope that the waters will be still and tranquil once again.
Although my family was dropping like flies on a window sill, I knew the Lord was going to be there every morning to hold my hand through the day. I knew He was the one constant in my life that wouldn't change.
Even though I was angry, hurt, frustrated, confused, lonely, guilt-ridden and just plain sad... after all the flowers had lost it's petals, the cards had been put away, the visitors had forgotten us...I laid in my bed and soaked my pillow with tears. It was the Lord who showed His compassion and love, looked at his heart broken daughter, picked me up, cradled me to His big, strong chest and rocked me back to healing.
Hope.
The Word tells us that the Lord "gives and takes away." (Job 1:21 Message) My Dad's journey will soon be ending here and beginning in heaven. My niece, Becky is about to give birth. God's giving a new life; bringing home another. He has cradled Becky's new child to His big, strong chest, and He will soon be welcoming my Father to His chest as well. There is hope in the Lord.
I watched my Father's chest rise and fall... his ribs really. I can't really call it a chest. He's mere bones. A man's chest is strong, muscular, firm, heavy. Not small, weak, frail... boney. His body looked like a holocaust victim. No grown man should weigh 90 pounds. It's not right. I shifted to his eyes. They seemed to have disappeared with his body. Not right at all. It was a depressing sight.
It seems all my growing up years were etched with sadness. As I was sitting with Dad, my Mother and I were reminiscing over the years.
When I was twelve, I came home from school and my sister, Sue, wasn't feeling well. I looked at one of my other sisters, Darla, and rolled my eyes. It seemed like Sue was always sick. Little did I know that this afternoon was a lot different. Mom told Darla to call the ambulance but for some reason, Dar couldn't get through, so Mom got on the phone. All of a sudden, Susie yelled out "I'm going to have a seizure!" then went limp in the chair. It obviously was not a seizure.
She stopped breathing and Mom cried out for Darla and I to start CPR. Darla was 15 and I was 12. It floors me to think of that. Micayla is 15 and Nikki will be 12 in a couple of weeks. Susie was just a little thing, but she was so heavy to Darla and I. It took everything within us to lift her to the floor. I start the ventilations and Darla was doing the chest compressions. The whole time was surreal to me. I couldn't believe this was happening. My mom got off the phone; the ambulance was on its way.
A few moments later, Sue vomited in my mouth. I completely broke down. Mom took over while I went to the bathroom to clean up. I told my Mom, for months I thought I had killed Sue. I thought it was my fault because I didn't have her head tilted back far enough, all the air got in her belly instead of her lungs. It was several months before I discovered it was a bleed in her brain stem that ruptured that caused her death. She died in the chair; there was no bringing her back. Yet, I carried that guilt with me for so long. I felt guilty because I rolled my eyes and didn't take her being sick seriously. She was always sick. Who knew she was really that sick?
Darla and I were so young. It baffles me now. She was 27, I was 12.
Then, the year after that the grandma that had lived with us for four years passed away. I helped take care of her. Helped bathe, feed, change, catheterize her... love her. She died at our home. I was 13.
Then the year after that, my other grandma died from cancer. I adored her. I was 14.
Then the year after that, my sister, Deanna died from breast cancer. She died in our living room. She was 30, was 15.
Then the year after that, my brother, Dave died from adrenal gland cancer. He died in our kitchen. He was 27, I was 16.
Then the year after that, my brother, Joey died from heart complications. He died in my Mother's arms. He was 4, I was 17.
Then the year after that, my sister, Angela died from complications in surgery. She was 13, I was 18.
It sucked. So much sadness. So much sorrow.
I was reading in Lamentations last night. What a sorrowful book. Basically this book of the Bible is five funeral poems. This dirge talks of how awful Jerusalem is; how much she's crying; how barren and left alone. How betrayed, forsaken and forgotten she is. Sad. But smack dab in the middle of this sad, miserable book, there is hope:
"Yet, this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is Your faithfulness.
"I say to myself 'The Lord is my portion therefore I will wait for Him.' The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him, to the one who seeks Him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.
"Let him sit along in silence, for the Lord has laid it on Him. Let him bury his face in the dust-there may yet be hope.
"For men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is His unfailing love." Lamentations 3: 23-26, 28-33
There is hope. Although the storms may swell and rage, there is hope that the waters will be still and tranquil once again.
Although my family was dropping like flies on a window sill, I knew the Lord was going to be there every morning to hold my hand through the day. I knew He was the one constant in my life that wouldn't change.
Even though I was angry, hurt, frustrated, confused, lonely, guilt-ridden and just plain sad... after all the flowers had lost it's petals, the cards had been put away, the visitors had forgotten us...I laid in my bed and soaked my pillow with tears. It was the Lord who showed His compassion and love, looked at his heart broken daughter, picked me up, cradled me to His big, strong chest and rocked me back to healing.
Hope.
The Word tells us that the Lord "gives and takes away." (Job 1:21 Message) My Dad's journey will soon be ending here and beginning in heaven. My niece, Becky is about to give birth. God's giving a new life; bringing home another. He has cradled Becky's new child to His big, strong chest, and He will soon be welcoming my Father to His chest as well. There is hope in the Lord.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Persecuted Church
November 14th is the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. My heart bleeds for these people that have given so much. Given their life. I’ve been trying to write this blog for over a week now. I just can’t seem to get the right words out.
When I worked at the church, I did a sermon with Pastor Mike on those that are suffering around the globe. One Sunday night, it was “interactive.” When the congregation came to the church, they were handed a slip of paper with an address on it. It was one of three locations. On it were directions and instructions. “When you arrive to your home church, park several blocks away so as not to draw attention to your church. Knock on the door three times (Father, Son & Holy Spirit), so they know it is a member in Christ they are letting in. Remember! It is very important that no one sees you!” They entered the home and were led into a typical underground church experience. They were given pages out of a Bible. A treasure! A rare treat in their part of the world. =) They were taught a lesson from it and then they sang worship songs ac-cappella. Remembering all the while to keep their voices down...so they aren’t discovered.
At some point, there was a “break in” by “rebels” and the church leader was “beaten.” He is told to deny Christ or go to prison. He doesn’t and is taken out of the home and back to the church to the jail house that I created just for them. It scared the crap out of some people. It was awesome. It was all very dramatic. All fictitious. All very real in another part of the world.
Over 200 million Christians a year in at least 60 countries are denied basic human rights solely because of their faith. 200 million! A year!
It is estimated that 176,000 Christians have been martyred from 2008-2009. That’s like annihilating the city of Janesville 3 times. It also means that there are 482 deaths per day...one Christian dies every three minutes.
There has been more martyrs for Christ the last 100 years than all the years put together since Christ’s resurrection. 26 million documented cases. Documented.
Christians around the world are persecuted because of what they think, say, believe and do. They are stripped of their homes, clothes and food. While I kiss my kids tonight, their children are drug in front of them, tortured, raped and killed. While Rich protects my home, their husband is being gagged and beaten while he is forced to watch his home burned with his family still inside.
Literally thousands of people today are murdered, brutalized, sold as slaves imprisoned, tortured, threatened, discriminated against and arrested just because they are Christians.
My heart aches for these people that bravely take a stand for Christ. I hold them in the utmost regard. I never had that kind of boldness when I was a kid or teenager. I think most of my classmates knew that I was a Christian, but if push came to shove, would I have denied Christ for a spot at the cool table? I would hope not.
As I came into adulthood, I became more aware of martyrdom. I remember telling my dad, “If my life meant nothing, I would want my death to mean something. If I could choose a way to die, I would want to die for Christ.” But man, what a way to go.
One Christian in India while being skinned alive, looked at his persecutors and said, “I thank you for this. Tear off my old garment, for I will soon put on Christ’s garment of righteousness.”
Geez. That’s amazing to me.
As I was looking for pictures to put on this blog, I came across some horrifying pictures and videos. I mean, seriously. There was a picture of a woman who was beheaded because she was a Christian. They showed it. Her head was lying beside her body...tongue grossly engorged. But what was even more appalling was that it was done by her husband. See, she was a Muslim, and if they convert to Christianity, it is punishable by death. It is an insult to a husband to have his wife “out of control.” So to prove that he is a loyal Islam, he beheaded her. Oh, man...sickening. I'll never get that image out of my mind. It will haunt me forever. I bet she was beautiful.
Then I stumbled on a video of Sudanese men.... if I can call them men. Torturing 5 men and women. They beat them and set them on fire in a ditch on the side of the road. One man was in a state of shock and just batted at the flames. Just sat there. Didn’t even fight or try to move. Just sat as the flames licked his flesh. Another woman tried to run away; her dress tried to move, but stuck to her skin as the flames danced away; only to be beaten down and thrown into the fire. Yet another man tried, ever so weakly, to crawl away, but he too was beaten mercilessly and tossed into the roaring flames. It enveloped them. All because they loved Jesus. I was stunned. Appalled. Frozen...too sick to turn it off. I sat here with my hands covering my mouth saying, “Oh Jesus, oh God...help them. Oh Jesus...” Knowing that it was too late for them. Too late...
There was a man this last September in Kenya who was part of an underground Christian movement who was murdered by Muslim insurgents in front of his wife and four kids for converting from Islam to Christianity and for teaching the gospel.
His wife was arrested and his four children were kidnapped and sold. He had three sons, 15, 10 and 5; and one daughter 7. Imagine what those poor kids are experiencing right now. Especially that little girl. My Abrieanna is 7. I can’t imagine her being sold into slavery. I can’t imagine her being sold into human trafficking. I can’t imagine her being raped, or beaten or hit, or... Stop. I just won’t imagine. But it’s happening to someone’s child.
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| An Indian girl who had acid poured on her face by attackers |
North Korea is reportedly the worst persecutor of Christians. Just being accused of being one will land you in prison for endless months. They use Christians as guinea pigs to test chemical and biological weapons. It has become today’s version of Auschwitz for Christians.
There was a Korean officer that talked about a time when he was in the North Korean Army. His unit was helping to demolish a vacated house when in the basement, between two bricks, they found a Bible and a small notebook that contained 25 names. One identified a pastor, 2 assistant pastors, 2 elders and 20 other names...presumably parishioners.
They tracked the 25 people down, and without formal arrest or trial, were picked up and sent to prison. In November of 1996 the 25 were brought to a road construction site where the five leaders were to be executed. They were bound hand and foot and made to lie down in front of a steamroller. According to this officer, this steamroller was a large construction vehicle imported from Japan with a heavy, huge and wide steel roller mounted on the front to crush and level the roadway prior to pouring concrete.
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| Palestinian Church Destroyed |
The other 20 were held just to the side. The condemned were accused of being Christian spies and conspiring to engage in subversive activities. Nevertheless they were told, “If you abandon religion and serve only Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il, you will not be killed.” None of the five said a word. As the steamroller went forward, some of the fellow parishioners that were forced to watch the execution cried, screamed out, or fainted when the skulls made a popping sound as they were crushed beneath the weight. They were then sent to work in the prison camp.
Persecution is EVERYWHERE!
In Pakistan, while a family walked into their church, Muslim militants surrounded the building, locked it and set it on fire. Two men, four women and a child was burnt alive.
Instanbul, three Christians were bound and tortured before they were murdered at the Christian publishing house, where they worked, for speaking to people about their faith.
On April 2009, two Christian men were shot dead and another was injured by Muslim men after an Easter vigil in the south of Egypt.
Back in 2002 an unidentified gunman killed Bonnie Penner Witherall at a prenatal clinic in Sidon, Lebanon. She had been attempting to convert Muslims to Christianity.
Islamists looted and burned to the ground a Pentecostal Church in Tizi Ouzou, Algeria on January 9, 2010. The pastor said that worshippers fled when local police left a gang of local rioters unchecked.
The last story I’m going to share is about a 15 year old boy in Indonesia named Roy Pontoh. He was leaving Bible camp and the theme that year was “God’s Army.”
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| Roy Pontoh |
One of the parents heard noises coming up out of the jungle; the Muslims and Jihad were coming. This wasn’t good for the Christians. They ran throughout the camp trying to hide the children and women; placing them in classrooms, bathrooms and cupboards. They hid, and then they prayed. Hard.
A short time later, the mob burst through the complex with machetes, spears, knives and clubs. They killed the youth pastor and several of the leaders. They hunted down everyone out of their hiding places and started beating them mercilessly. Man, woman, teenager, and child.
Roy was one of the teenagers. He was beaten several times. He was dragged from the group and asked, “Who are you?”
Roy was extremely frightened. Though trembling lips, he answered, "I am a soldier of God!"
The man who asked him the question struck Roy with his machete and almost severed his left arm.
Again, he asked Roy the same the question Roy said, “I am a solider of God!” a little bolder this time.
The man struck Roy with his machete a second time and made a very big gash in his right shoulder. This time, the man asked, "What is God's soldier?"
In much agony, Roy answered, "A soldier of God is ready to die for Christ."
The next swing of the man's machete ripped open Roy's stomach and he shouted, "Jesus!"
As Roy dropped to his knees, the killer sliced the teenager’s throat open. The mob dragged Roy's body out and threw it into a ditch, along with many other victims of the massacre that day.
Roy's parents heard of their son's last testimony of bravery from eyewitnesses. Even wracked with grief, they are proud of their son, who stood strong in his faith to the end. He was truly a light in the darkness.
A light in the darkness. I guess that’s what this is all about. Being a light.
A couple years ago, on Christmas Eve, we had a candle light service. Just before we lit the candles, Pastor Mike had every light turned off in the sanctuary. The windows were darkened. The lights up in the sound room were off. Even the cell phones were unlit. It was pitch black. Blacker than 100 midnights. There was no presence of light anywhere. I’m not gonna lie, it was a little creepy. You couldn’t see, you’re senses were thrown off. You didn't know if something was going to jump out at you. Of course it didn’t help when your husband grabbed your ribs and made you jump. =) Darkness can be scary.
That’s what I imagine the persecuted church must feel like. They’re shrouded in this darkness. This ever-present, icy-fingered, wickedness. It’s terrifying. They feel alone, hopeless, helpless...scared. You never know when someone will snatch you, grab you, hit, harm, stab, rape, beat, torture... hurt you.
But then, Pastor Mike lit his candle. Just that one flame made a difference in that big sanctuary. The dark fear that we had experienced just moments before gave way to hope. We could see the darkness fall away as more candles were lit. Soon, the whole sanctuary was filled with light. Every shadow dissipated. There was no darkness left. Just. Light.
That is what the persecuted church is. Light. They are the light in this world of darkness. Where there is no hope, they bring Hope. Where there is inky darkness, they shine brighter than any jewel. It is the Light that is within them that does this.
I am amazed at their brilliance. I’m in awe of their beauty, and stand in their shadow.
Tertullian said, “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” Meaning, that if there was no one willing to give up their life for the sake of Christ, the Church wouldn’t grow. Hmm. Sad, yet powerful.
I read a life-changing book a few years ago called “The Heavenly Man” by Brother Yun. He was a persecuted man out of China. His story is short of fiction. Filled with gut wrenching tales of murder, prison, starvation and torture. He has long escaped the horrors of China and now gives his testimony around the world. After one of his meetings a man came up to him and said, “I will pray that the persecution will end in China.” Brother Yun replied, “No! Do not pray for it to end! Pray that we will have stronger backs to endure for another day.” It amazes me to think that they are willing to suffer for Jesus. Be tortured for Jesus. Die for Jesus.
It inspired me to co-write a song based on those words: "Another Day"
"I've known all along this wouldn't be easy
The pain lasts so long
And my strength grows weak
Just send down a little more faith, Lord
"I don't want to give up hope, Lord
I wanna see this thing through
I know your word is true
"I'll hold my hands up higher
Lord, it's my desire to live my life for you
Just give me the strength to endure all of this
For another day
"Move in this place
Take away all the darkness
Heal all these wounds
Take away the chains
Just send down a little more faith, Lord
One day I'll worship You in glory and I'll be free, free from all this hurt I've known."
You can listen to it here if you want.
I’m forever changed by my brothers and sisters in chains. International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church Novermber 14th? Yes, that day and every day.
Oh. While you have read this blog, 3 Christians have died for the sake of the cross. They're my heroes.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Firsts & Lasts
Firsts & Lasts
Tiny, pudgy feet skipped across my hardwood kitchen floors. She tilted her head to the side and her long brown hair slipped off her shoulders. She smiled liked her mother did when she was three, her eyes danced around my heart, then in a soft, high voice, "Aunt Becka? You sure are getting old!" Awesome.
My Friday was filled with little Miss Ellie Mé. She entered my home and announced, "Aunt Becka, can you paint my nails? Because my nails are ruined. So can you paint them? They're just ruined" Well, a girl can't go through life with ruined nails. So after mommy's instructions, a big kiss and a last glance over the shoulder from mama, we went and checked out the nail paint. Neon pink, neon yellow and white. Subtle.
In case you're wondering, my day was not void of conversation. "Aunt Becka? Does Kayla like this color? Uncle Tyler saw a rainbow. There was purple and wellow, and red and... I like pink... and wellow... and purple... (insert every color) How much longer is this going to be? How long is a few minuths? No, Aunt Becka, I want pink dots on the wellow. <giggle> That wooks pwetty. Thank you Aunt Becka for doing this." (You're welcome, Ellie) "Now you should say thank you to me." She cracked me up!
We had a healthy snack of powdered donuts and chocolate milk as we watched Strawberry Shortcake. She was sure to tell me who the villain was. She had the theme song down pretty well too. Oh, that little girl loved to sing. Even on the potty she was singing. "On the first day, God made light..." Why that was appropriate bathroom music, I'm not sure. When we went to pick up the girls at school, "Don't stop, don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying. Don't stop, Don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying...." Over and over. And over. Did I mention it takes me 45 minutes to get the girls?
I asked her if she wanted to make cookies with me. I think when any three year old has an opportunity to make a mess, they jump in with both feet...or hands. We pulled back her hair like they do in fancy bakeries and washed our hands. As I was getting all the ingredients ready, she was paging through my cookbook. "Aunt Becka, you have a cool Bible!"
She gave me a play by play as we made the cookies, telling me what each ingredient was as we poured it in. Then told me how noisy the mixer was. We laughed. I forgot how silly three year olds were.
It's easy to forget how little my kids were. How thick and pudgy their feet were. The small and tiny hands that fit just right in yours. Silky, soft skin. Such innocence. The thirst for knowledge. The belly laughs. The way they turn and snuggle into you. Love it. Miss it.
Now I look at my 15 year old and think, man how quickly the time has flown by. Time is a thief.
Micayla was my independent one. Couldn't wait to do things on her own. I remember when Micayla was around Ellie's age and wanted me to paint her nails too. Only, she didn't wait for me. I came in the bathroom and found her sitting in her undies. She had painted her nails herself... well, her nails, her fingers and her legs... BRIGHT red. Awesome.
Dale was my content one. He rarely fussed or cried. He smiled and cooed at everyone. He was the one that in the midst of the chaos of the house, was my little puddle of peace. We had moved into a new home when Dale was around two months old. I had a "johnny-jump-up" that was in the shape of a duck. He was content to kick his tiny legs that barely touched the ground and smile at the endless river of boxes that floated by. It dawned on me that I had taken this little guy's good-naturedness for granted for a little too long and checked on him. He had cuddled against the duck and fallen asleep with all the commotion of the move. My little peacemaker.
Abrieanna. Well, ask anyone in the family and we'll all come up with different adjective to describe her. Maybe because she's the baby of the family. She loves to be the center of attention. All of my kids make me laugh consistently. Abrieanna makes me laugh hysterically. When she was around 4, I bought her a skunk costume for Halloween. She put it on, jumped down the stairs, turned around, wiggled her butt and farted! Well, she plays a part and sticks to it! She keeps us all laughing "Mom, can you hand me my pie? I'm too lazy." "Mom, you know what is crap? *honey, don't say crap* Why? Dale says crap. Well, that fan is crap!" "Mom, we have a lost and fountain at our school. It's where all the lost stuff goes." And my favorite... at Christmas time, "Mom, why do people kiss under missing toes?"
The baby and toddler stage is over. The cribs, baby gates, rattles and pacifiers have disappeared a long time ago. There are no diaper bags, potty chairs or baby socks hiding in my house. I get a little nostalgic when I see a baby or if I'm around a toddler. It's easy to forget...
Yet I remember. I remember how exhausted I was when I had to get up four times a night to nurse Micayla. And I was the only one who was able to do it. I remember the nurse calling me when she was like two or three days old and asking how I was. I burst into a thousand tears while she asked me what was wrong. I had no clue. I had a beautiful baby girl, what could possibly be wrong? She said, do you think you may have the baby blues. Umm <sob> maybe. Haha. You think?
I remember my skin glowing while I was pregnant, my hair being thick and glossy. People told me how beautiful I was. Then, after I had my baby, every pimple that was hiding for nine months came out, as well as my hair, and people were still asking me if I was pregnant as I held the baby.
I remember my oldest being a perfect child until my second child was born. They were 17 months apart. And we planned it that way. I would sit down to nurse Dale, and she would decide at that moment to stand on top of the table and not get down. Or pull out all the embroidery floss one by one. Or pull all the toilet paper off the roll.
I remember I had to go into Target and a certain little girl refused to get out of the car. I had a little boy on my hip and was gritting my teeth and doing the mom-pinch-under-the-arm-thing on this toddler when she took off her shoe, threw it at me and it bonked me in the forehead. This whole time a lady was getting into her car next to me and was witnessing this precious scene. She backed up and rolled down her window and said, "You have the patience of Job. While that one is throwing a fit, the other one is blowing me kisses!" Oh, if she only knew!
But then someone gave me the best advice a young mom could get: Don't wish away the years.
It's so easy to get so frustrated in the moment that you can't wait for the next stage to come. "I can't wait until they sleep through the night." "I can't wait until they walk." "I can't wait until they're in school." "I can't wait..." Oh, it goes by so fast! Time is a thief.
When Micayla turned 10 it was so profound to me. The first ten years had gone by so quickly for me, and if they went by that fast, then the next eight would go by even quicker. I wrote in my journal that night about all the firsts that I could remember. First night she was born, first time she spoke, first birthday, etc. But this is what I want to share with you:
"We've celebrated every first, but what I haven't counted on was the last. They go by unnoticed, barely acknowledge or cared about. But things I desperately long for.
"I never celebrated the last day I nursed her. The last time I was up with her through the night. The last time I shampooed her hair for her. The last time I held her on my hip. The last time I checked her closet and under her bed 'just to be safe, Mommy.' The last time she called me Mommy. The last time she gave me a fist full of dandelions. The last time she came running to me and jumped in my arms. The last time I rocked her.
"We don't celebrate them because most of the time we don't know it is the last time."
It is impossible for me to believe that my daughter is now 15, a sophomore in high school and in drivers ed. I can't believe that I have a son who is going to be 14 in three months and likes girls. It's crazy. We now have our niece living with us...Nikki. She is going to be twelve in just a few weeks. Seems like she was just born. The baby that I nearly lost in utero, is now a healthy seven year old who is incredibly sassy, and in second grade. I'm blessed.
I know that there will be many more firsts for my kids as well as many more lasts. But I think the key in celebrating the lasts is to enjoy the moment. Stop fretting; make every moment count. What if today was your last?
Tiny, pudgy feet skipped across my hardwood kitchen floors. She tilted her head to the side and her long brown hair slipped off her shoulders. She smiled liked her mother did when she was three, her eyes danced around my heart, then in a soft, high voice, "Aunt Becka? You sure are getting old!" Awesome.
My Friday was filled with little Miss Ellie Mé. She entered my home and announced, "Aunt Becka, can you paint my nails? Because my nails are ruined. So can you paint them? They're just ruined" Well, a girl can't go through life with ruined nails. So after mommy's instructions, a big kiss and a last glance over the shoulder from mama, we went and checked out the nail paint. Neon pink, neon yellow and white. Subtle.
In case you're wondering, my day was not void of conversation. "Aunt Becka? Does Kayla like this color? Uncle Tyler saw a rainbow. There was purple and wellow, and red and... I like pink... and wellow... and purple... (insert every color) How much longer is this going to be? How long is a few minuths? No, Aunt Becka, I want pink dots on the wellow. <giggle> That wooks pwetty. Thank you Aunt Becka for doing this." (You're welcome, Ellie) "Now you should say thank you to me." She cracked me up!
We had a healthy snack of powdered donuts and chocolate milk as we watched Strawberry Shortcake. She was sure to tell me who the villain was. She had the theme song down pretty well too. Oh, that little girl loved to sing. Even on the potty she was singing. "On the first day, God made light..." Why that was appropriate bathroom music, I'm not sure. When we went to pick up the girls at school, "Don't stop, don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying. Don't stop, Don't stop, keep tryyyying, keep tryyyying...." Over and over. And over. Did I mention it takes me 45 minutes to get the girls?
I asked her if she wanted to make cookies with me. I think when any three year old has an opportunity to make a mess, they jump in with both feet...or hands. We pulled back her hair like they do in fancy bakeries and washed our hands. As I was getting all the ingredients ready, she was paging through my cookbook. "Aunt Becka, you have a cool Bible!"
She gave me a play by play as we made the cookies, telling me what each ingredient was as we poured it in. Then told me how noisy the mixer was. We laughed. I forgot how silly three year olds were.
It's easy to forget how little my kids were. How thick and pudgy their feet were. The small and tiny hands that fit just right in yours. Silky, soft skin. Such innocence. The thirst for knowledge. The belly laughs. The way they turn and snuggle into you. Love it. Miss it.
Now I look at my 15 year old and think, man how quickly the time has flown by. Time is a thief.
Micayla was my independent one. Couldn't wait to do things on her own. I remember when Micayla was around Ellie's age and wanted me to paint her nails too. Only, she didn't wait for me. I came in the bathroom and found her sitting in her undies. She had painted her nails herself... well, her nails, her fingers and her legs... BRIGHT red. Awesome.
Dale was my content one. He rarely fussed or cried. He smiled and cooed at everyone. He was the one that in the midst of the chaos of the house, was my little puddle of peace. We had moved into a new home when Dale was around two months old. I had a "johnny-jump-up" that was in the shape of a duck. He was content to kick his tiny legs that barely touched the ground and smile at the endless river of boxes that floated by. It dawned on me that I had taken this little guy's good-naturedness for granted for a little too long and checked on him. He had cuddled against the duck and fallen asleep with all the commotion of the move. My little peacemaker.
Abrieanna. Well, ask anyone in the family and we'll all come up with different adjective to describe her. Maybe because she's the baby of the family. She loves to be the center of attention. All of my kids make me laugh consistently. Abrieanna makes me laugh hysterically. When she was around 4, I bought her a skunk costume for Halloween. She put it on, jumped down the stairs, turned around, wiggled her butt and farted! Well, she plays a part and sticks to it! She keeps us all laughing "Mom, can you hand me my pie? I'm too lazy." "Mom, you know what is crap? *honey, don't say crap* Why? Dale says crap. Well, that fan is crap!" "Mom, we have a lost and fountain at our school. It's where all the lost stuff goes." And my favorite... at Christmas time, "Mom, why do people kiss under missing toes?"
The baby and toddler stage is over. The cribs, baby gates, rattles and pacifiers have disappeared a long time ago. There are no diaper bags, potty chairs or baby socks hiding in my house. I get a little nostalgic when I see a baby or if I'm around a toddler. It's easy to forget...
Yet I remember. I remember how exhausted I was when I had to get up four times a night to nurse Micayla. And I was the only one who was able to do it. I remember the nurse calling me when she was like two or three days old and asking how I was. I burst into a thousand tears while she asked me what was wrong. I had no clue. I had a beautiful baby girl, what could possibly be wrong? She said, do you think you may have the baby blues. Umm <sob> maybe. Haha. You think?
I remember my skin glowing while I was pregnant, my hair being thick and glossy. People told me how beautiful I was. Then, after I had my baby, every pimple that was hiding for nine months came out, as well as my hair, and people were still asking me if I was pregnant as I held the baby.
I remember my oldest being a perfect child until my second child was born. They were 17 months apart. And we planned it that way. I would sit down to nurse Dale, and she would decide at that moment to stand on top of the table and not get down. Or pull out all the embroidery floss one by one. Or pull all the toilet paper off the roll.
I remember I had to go into Target and a certain little girl refused to get out of the car. I had a little boy on my hip and was gritting my teeth and doing the mom-pinch-under-the-arm-thing on this toddler when she took off her shoe, threw it at me and it bonked me in the forehead. This whole time a lady was getting into her car next to me and was witnessing this precious scene. She backed up and rolled down her window and said, "You have the patience of Job. While that one is throwing a fit, the other one is blowing me kisses!" Oh, if she only knew!
But then someone gave me the best advice a young mom could get: Don't wish away the years.
It's so easy to get so frustrated in the moment that you can't wait for the next stage to come. "I can't wait until they sleep through the night." "I can't wait until they walk." "I can't wait until they're in school." "I can't wait..." Oh, it goes by so fast! Time is a thief.
When Micayla turned 10 it was so profound to me. The first ten years had gone by so quickly for me, and if they went by that fast, then the next eight would go by even quicker. I wrote in my journal that night about all the firsts that I could remember. First night she was born, first time she spoke, first birthday, etc. But this is what I want to share with you:
"We've celebrated every first, but what I haven't counted on was the last. They go by unnoticed, barely acknowledge or cared about. But things I desperately long for.
"I never celebrated the last day I nursed her. The last time I was up with her through the night. The last time I shampooed her hair for her. The last time I held her on my hip. The last time I checked her closet and under her bed 'just to be safe, Mommy.' The last time she called me Mommy. The last time she gave me a fist full of dandelions. The last time she came running to me and jumped in my arms. The last time I rocked her.
"We don't celebrate them because most of the time we don't know it is the last time."
It is impossible for me to believe that my daughter is now 15, a sophomore in high school and in drivers ed. I can't believe that I have a son who is going to be 14 in three months and likes girls. It's crazy. We now have our niece living with us...Nikki. She is going to be twelve in just a few weeks. Seems like she was just born. The baby that I nearly lost in utero, is now a healthy seven year old who is incredibly sassy, and in second grade. I'm blessed.
I know that there will be many more firsts for my kids as well as many more lasts. But I think the key in celebrating the lasts is to enjoy the moment. Stop fretting; make every moment count. What if today was your last?
Monday, October 11, 2010
Whoops!
Whoops!
A few years ago Rich took me out so I could deliver Valentines to some friends of mine. My first stop was literally a block away. The way my friend's house is set up, the garage juts out with the sidewalk on the side; you can't see the driveway from the car. I was excited. I told Rich I'd be quick and hopped out of the car. I was quick alright. I quickly slipped on a patch of ice going in. Thankfully my back broke the fall. As I rubbed my backside, tried to find my footing in my slick, yet stylish high heels, and glanced behind me to make sure Rich truly couldn't see me, I proceeded to the door. No one answered but the dogs so I put my Valentine on the stoop. Apparently it takes me more than once to learn the same lesson. When I got to the exact same spot in the walk way, history repeated itself. It all happened so quickly. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but two things I am sure of: One, I landed with my leg underneath me in a position I had never accomplished before. Two: I heard a loud snap that sounded like a rat trap.
A few years ago Rich took me out so I could deliver Valentines to some friends of mine. My first stop was literally a block away. The way my friend's house is set up, the garage juts out with the sidewalk on the side; you can't see the driveway from the car. I was excited. I told Rich I'd be quick and hopped out of the car. I was quick alright. I quickly slipped on a patch of ice going in. Thankfully my back broke the fall. As I rubbed my backside, tried to find my footing in my slick, yet stylish high heels, and glanced behind me to make sure Rich truly couldn't see me, I proceeded to the door. No one answered but the dogs so I put my Valentine on the stoop. Apparently it takes me more than once to learn the same lesson. When I got to the exact same spot in the walk way, history repeated itself. It all happened so quickly. I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but two things I am sure of: One, I landed with my leg underneath me in a position I had never accomplished before. Two: I heard a loud snap that sounded like a rat trap.
I couldn't get up, and since I didn't have one of those things to call anyone, I had to crawl to the end of the sidewalk on all fours. After a few seconds of "honey, help. Look at me!" (sob, sob) "I fell...help me!" Rich finally saw me, had a look of "what the heck?", shook his head, then leapt to my rescue. He slipped my heel off and tugged to get my sock off. He said he'd go to the door to get me inside and check me out. I told him that she wasn't home, but she was. She had the flu; she was sicker than a grown man eating boogers. He carried me inside to see if anything was broken, you know, being a fireman and all, he could do that. My hero. =)
Come to find out, I did break my leg right above the ankle. They use to call me "grace" when I was a kid because I didn't have any.
The funny thing about this story is that whenever I talk about my spill on the sidewalk, everyone laughs. It friggin' hurt! What is it about someone else's spills, tumbles and falls that make us laugh?
Nikki got in the car the other day and told me about a couple of kids that were messing around. One had a pair of scissors and his hand got knocked and it nicked the other kid right under the eye. I know, that's what I said! Yet, after the collected gasp, when the nicked kid laughed, everyone laughed.
There's a viral video going around about the lady from "The Amazing Race" that got smacked in the face with a watermelon. She did it herself! My goodness! It's not funny at all...yet it's hysterical! Why is that?
From The Three Stooges, Laurel & Hardy and Tim Conway to Jim Carrey and Chris Farley they all provide that slap stick comedy. We laugh when they fall.
Yet it's not funny when we see serious falls like when the Twin Towers were falling on September 11th. We watched in horror as person after person plunged to their demise. It wasn't funny.
So what's the change?
I think it may be empathy. Putting ourself in the situation. It's not funny to see ourselves in the panic state of having to choose between an impossible rescue or the chance of a survival by jumping out of a collapsing building. Or to see the silly situation of someone tripping on the lip of a sidewalk, flailing around only to regain their composure and pretend nothing happened. That's funny because we've all done it!
I found this out online: "The reason we enjoy watching other people trip, fall down and hurt themselves, otherwise known as Schaderfreude, because it results in positive self-evaluation. Simply put, when others are made to look like fools, we subconsciously feel better about ourselves! We might think, 'I'm glad that wasn't me,' or 'Boy, those people are stupid!' Psychologists say that the positive feeling while watching is actually strong for people who have been through a recent failure or setback in their own lives." (http://www.ask-kimberly.com/2009/05/why-do-we-laugh-when-other-people.html)
Well, that's kind of sad. I like my theory a lot better. I like to believe in myself and my fellow man. I guess my glasses are kind of rosy.
Proverbs 17:22 says, "A happy heart is good medicine..." And an English proverb says "Laughter is the best medicine." I think they coincide. Basically: lighten up. Go watch the show "Wipe Out" and laugh a little...or a lot. See what you're empathy-meter reads. Or watch this video. Laughter is contagious.
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Friday, October 8, 2010
Appearances
Appearances
It's so easy to feel like a failure. So easy to be hard on ourselves. We go to church, put on our masks of perfection and inside feel like the biggest hypocrite that has ever graced the sanctuary. We run frantically around the house to get ready, are irritated when the juice gets spilled down the dress, yell for the kids to get in the car and screams for them to stop arguing all the way to church. Then the plastic smiles go on as soon as the car rolls onto the pavement. Appearances.
We hate the phrase, "you hurt the ones you love the most" because they are the ones that you want to be the most kind to. We don't want to be irritated, cross or frustated, but it seems like that's what's left over after the mask slips. It's exhausting. Appearances.
We talk to our unsaved friends and try not to let our guard down. We hold ourselves up to unrealistic expectations that are impossible to attain. Fearing that they will see our true selves and not Christ. Afraid that if we make a mistake, it will be the impardonable sin. Appearances.
But in the quietness of our room, we know exactly who we are. The mask comes off, the plastic grin is melted away, the mirror is held closely to our face and reveals every blemish.
Today is one of those days. It seems like the bills are piling up and the food is dwindling down. Anxiety is rising, money is quickly disintegrating. There's nothing like talking to a bill collector that makes you feel inadequate. It's depressing.
It's easy to sulk, wallow, stew...be content in that muck.
Then as I was sloshing about in the slime, Abrieanna popped her head in the living room. "Hey, Mom? What should I put in this container?"
"What is it for?" I asked as I brushed stupid, selfish tears away.
"I need to find a present. A birthday present." She said through a big, cheesy, toothy grin.
"Who's the present for?" I tried to think of any friends that had a birthday coming up, and I certainly wasn't going to let her pack it away in my Tupperware.
"It's for my invisible friend. She needs a gift. She told me it's her birthday and she needs a gift. Like now. I don't know what to give her, but she wants something...and a snack. I think she wants gum," she giggled. Hmm, I started to think this friend's name was Abrieanna.
"Oh really? What's your friend's name?"
"Uh, let me go ask," as she ran into the kitchen.
She came flying back, "Her name is Anna, and she wants gum, and a donut and a doll. Puleeez?" She stood there begging and dancing as if her bladder was holding five pounds of pee. I grinned. Well, who could ignore the plea of a birthday girl?
I know it's simple; it may sound silly and stupid to you, but I'm so thankful God brought that little conversation at that moment to bring me out of the muck and help me focus on something else. It reminded me a verse: Psalm 40:2 "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand." I forgot that He was my firm stepping stone.
It's easy to have Satan pee those 5 pounds that Abrieanna was dancing, into our ear. The filth and vile of unworthiness, shame and failure. It's so easy to believe the bad stuff rather than the good. Jesus said clearly in John 10:10 that Satan "comes to steal, kill and destroy..." Since "the joy of the Lord is our strength" (Psalm 28:7) then he certainly wants to steal our joy. Since I have a relationship with Christ and have "confessed with my mouth and said that 'Jesus is Lord' and believe that God raised him from the dead, I am saved" (Romans 10:9 paraphrased), then he wants to kill my salvation. He wants to destroy my life like he did the firstborn of Israel. He's The Destroyer. But Hebrews 2:14 tells me "...by His death <Christ> he might destroy the power of death--which is the devil." Yet Satan does everything he can to block that from my mind. My native language is English; his native language is lying.
Yet the last part of John 10:10 says, "...but I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance, to the full, till it overflows." I believe when we put masks and plastic smiles on, we are cheating ourselves of what God wants to give us; His promises for our life. The Scriptures that my parents engrained in me as a child are brought to the surface when I call upon the name of the Lord. My self worth, successes, failures, image...none of it is tied up in who I really am. What I need to remember is who I am in Christ when Satan is whispering in my ear and when I'm tempted to put that mask on my face. God wants His riches to bubble up and overflow my bathtub of life.
So, who am I?
I am alive with Christ (Ephesians 2:5)
I am free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:2)
I am far from oppression, and fear does not come near me (Isaiah 54:14)
I am born of God, and the evil one does not touch me (1 John 5:18)
I am holy and without blame before Him in love (1 Peter 1:16; Ephesians 1:4)
I have the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:5; 1 Corinthians 2:16)
I have the peace of God that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7)
I have the Greater One living in me; greater is He Who is in me than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4)
I have received the gift of righteousness and reign as a king in life by Jesus Christ (Romans 5:17)
I have received the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Jesus, the eyes of my understand being enlightened (Ephesians 1:17, 18)
I have received the power of the Holy Spirit to lay hands on the sick and see them recover, to cast out demons, to speak with new tongues. I have power over all the power of the enemy and nothing will harm me (Mark 16:17, 18; Luke 10:17,19)
I have given, and it is given to me; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over (Luke 6:38)
I have no lack for my God supplies all of my needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19)
I can quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one with my shield of faith (Ephesians 6:16)
I can do all things through Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:13)
I will do even greater works than Christ Jesus (John 14:12)
I am God's child-for I am born again of the incorruptible seed of the Word of God, which lives and abides forever (1 Peter 1:23)
I am God's workmanship, created in Christ unto good works (Ephesians 2:10)
I am a new creature in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17)
I am a spirit being; alive to God (1 Thessalonians 5:23; Romans 6:11)
I am a believer, and the light of the Gospel shines in my mind (2 Corinthians 4:4)
I am a doer of the Word and blessed in my actions (James 1:22,25)
I am a joint-heir with Christ (Romans 8:17)
I am more than a conqueror through Him Who loves me (Romans 8:37)
I am an ambassador for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20)
I am part of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a purchased people (1 Peter 2:9)
I am the righteousness of God in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21)
I am the temple of the Holy Spirit; I am not my own (1 Corinthians 6:19)
I am the head and not the tail; I am above only and not beneath (Deuteronomy 28:13)
I am His elect, full of mercy, kindness, humility, and longsuffering (Romans 8:33; Colossians 3:12)
I am forgiven of all my sins and washed in the Blood (Ephesians 1:17)
I am delivered from the power of darkness and translated into God's kingdom (Colossians 1:13)
I am redeemed from the curse of sin, sickness and poverty (Galatians 3:13; Deuteronomy 28:15-68)
I am firmly rooted, built up, established in my faith and overflowing with gratitude (Colossians 2:7)
I am called of God to be the voice of His praise (2 Timothy 1:9; Psalm 66:8)
I am healed by the stripes of Jesus (1 Peter 2:24; Isaiah 53:5)
I am raised up with Christ and seated in heavenly places (Colossians 2:12; Ephesians 2:6)
I am greatly loved by God (Colossians 3:12; Romans 1:7; 1 Thessalonians 1:4; Ephesians 2:4)
I am strengthened with all might according to His glorious power (Colossians 1:11)
I am submitted to God, and the devil flees from me because I resist him in the Name of Jesus (James 4:7)
I press on toward the goal to win the prize to which God in Christ Jesus is call us upward (Philippians 3:14)
For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, love, and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7)
It is not I who live, but Christ lives in me (Galations 2:20)
I am an overcomer by the blood of the Lamb and the word of my testimony (Revelation 12:11)
THAT'S who I am!
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It's so easy to feel like a failure. So easy to be hard on ourselves. We go to church, put on our masks of perfection and inside feel like the biggest hypocrite that has ever graced the sanctuary. We run frantically around the house to get ready, are irritated when the juice gets spilled down the dress, yell for the kids to get in the car and screams for them to stop arguing all the way to church. Then the plastic smiles go on as soon as the car rolls onto the pavement. Appearances.
We hate the phrase, "you hurt the ones you love the most" because they are the ones that you want to be the most kind to. We don't want to be irritated, cross or frustated, but it seems like that's what's left over after the mask slips. It's exhausting. Appearances.
We talk to our unsaved friends and try not to let our guard down. We hold ourselves up to unrealistic expectations that are impossible to attain. Fearing that they will see our true selves and not Christ. Afraid that if we make a mistake, it will be the impardonable sin. Appearances.
But in the quietness of our room, we know exactly who we are. The mask comes off, the plastic grin is melted away, the mirror is held closely to our face and reveals every blemish.
Today is one of those days. It seems like the bills are piling up and the food is dwindling down. Anxiety is rising, money is quickly disintegrating. There's nothing like talking to a bill collector that makes you feel inadequate. It's depressing.
It's easy to sulk, wallow, stew...be content in that muck.
Then as I was sloshing about in the slime, Abrieanna popped her head in the living room. "Hey, Mom? What should I put in this container?"
"What is it for?" I asked as I brushed stupid, selfish tears away.
"I need to find a present. A birthday present." She said through a big, cheesy, toothy grin.
"Who's the present for?" I tried to think of any friends that had a birthday coming up, and I certainly wasn't going to let her pack it away in my Tupperware.
"It's for my invisible friend. She needs a gift. She told me it's her birthday and she needs a gift. Like now. I don't know what to give her, but she wants something...and a snack. I think she wants gum," she giggled. Hmm, I started to think this friend's name was Abrieanna.
"Oh really? What's your friend's name?"
"Uh, let me go ask," as she ran into the kitchen.
She came flying back, "Her name is Anna, and she wants gum, and a donut and a doll. Puleeez?" She stood there begging and dancing as if her bladder was holding five pounds of pee. I grinned. Well, who could ignore the plea of a birthday girl?
I know it's simple; it may sound silly and stupid to you, but I'm so thankful God brought that little conversation at that moment to bring me out of the muck and help me focus on something else. It reminded me a verse: Psalm 40:2 "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand." I forgot that He was my firm stepping stone.
It's easy to have Satan pee those 5 pounds that Abrieanna was dancing, into our ear. The filth and vile of unworthiness, shame and failure. It's so easy to believe the bad stuff rather than the good. Jesus said clearly in John 10:10 that Satan "comes to steal, kill and destroy..." Since "the joy of the Lord is our strength" (Psalm 28:7) then he certainly wants to steal our joy. Since I have a relationship with Christ and have "confessed with my mouth and said that 'Jesus is Lord' and believe that God raised him from the dead, I am saved" (Romans 10:9 paraphrased), then he wants to kill my salvation. He wants to destroy my life like he did the firstborn of Israel. He's The Destroyer. But Hebrews 2:14 tells me "...by His death <Christ> he might destroy the power of death--which is the devil." Yet Satan does everything he can to block that from my mind. My native language is English; his native language is lying.
Yet the last part of John 10:10 says, "...but I came that they may have and enjoy life, and have it in abundance, to the full, till it overflows." I believe when we put masks and plastic smiles on, we are cheating ourselves of what God wants to give us; His promises for our life. The Scriptures that my parents engrained in me as a child are brought to the surface when I call upon the name of the Lord. My self worth, successes, failures, image...none of it is tied up in who I really am. What I need to remember is who I am in Christ when Satan is whispering in my ear and when I'm tempted to put that mask on my face. God wants His riches to bubble up and overflow my bathtub of life.
So, who am I?
I am alive with Christ (Ephesians 2:5)
I am free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:2)
I am far from oppression, and fear does not come near me (Isaiah 54:14)
I am born of God, and the evil one does not touch me (1 John 5:18)
I am holy and without blame before Him in love (1 Peter 1:16; Ephesians 1:4)
I have the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:5; 1 Corinthians 2:16)
I have the peace of God that passes all understanding (Philippians 4:7)
I have the Greater One living in me; greater is He Who is in me than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4)
I have received the gift of righteousness and reign as a king in life by Jesus Christ (Romans 5:17)
I have received the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Jesus, the eyes of my understand being enlightened (Ephesians 1:17, 18)
I have received the power of the Holy Spirit to lay hands on the sick and see them recover, to cast out demons, to speak with new tongues. I have power over all the power of the enemy and nothing will harm me (Mark 16:17, 18; Luke 10:17,19)
I have given, and it is given to me; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over (Luke 6:38)
I have no lack for my God supplies all of my needs according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19)
I can quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one with my shield of faith (Ephesians 6:16)
I can do all things through Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:13)
I will do even greater works than Christ Jesus (John 14:12)
I am God's child-for I am born again of the incorruptible seed of the Word of God, which lives and abides forever (1 Peter 1:23)
I am God's workmanship, created in Christ unto good works (Ephesians 2:10)
I am a new creature in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17)
I am a spirit being; alive to God (1 Thessalonians 5:23; Romans 6:11)
I am a believer, and the light of the Gospel shines in my mind (2 Corinthians 4:4)
I am a doer of the Word and blessed in my actions (James 1:22,25)
I am a joint-heir with Christ (Romans 8:17)
I am more than a conqueror through Him Who loves me (Romans 8:37)
I am an ambassador for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20)
I am part of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a purchased people (1 Peter 2:9)
I am the righteousness of God in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21)
I am the temple of the Holy Spirit; I am not my own (1 Corinthians 6:19)
I am the head and not the tail; I am above only and not beneath (Deuteronomy 28:13)
I am His elect, full of mercy, kindness, humility, and longsuffering (Romans 8:33; Colossians 3:12)
I am forgiven of all my sins and washed in the Blood (Ephesians 1:17)
I am delivered from the power of darkness and translated into God's kingdom (Colossians 1:13)
I am redeemed from the curse of sin, sickness and poverty (Galatians 3:13; Deuteronomy 28:15-68)
I am firmly rooted, built up, established in my faith and overflowing with gratitude (Colossians 2:7)
I am called of God to be the voice of His praise (2 Timothy 1:9; Psalm 66:8)
I am healed by the stripes of Jesus (1 Peter 2:24; Isaiah 53:5)
I am raised up with Christ and seated in heavenly places (Colossians 2:12; Ephesians 2:6)
I am greatly loved by God (Colossians 3:12; Romans 1:7; 1 Thessalonians 1:4; Ephesians 2:4)
I am strengthened with all might according to His glorious power (Colossians 1:11)
I am submitted to God, and the devil flees from me because I resist him in the Name of Jesus (James 4:7)
I press on toward the goal to win the prize to which God in Christ Jesus is call us upward (Philippians 3:14)
For God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, love, and a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7)
It is not I who live, but Christ lives in me (Galations 2:20)
I am an overcomer by the blood of the Lamb and the word of my testimony (Revelation 12:11)
THAT'S who I am!
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Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Miss Sandi
Miss Sandi
A new cassette. Shiny, plastic covering. No cracks in the case. The artwork on the cover was beautiful. It was a photograph of a woman. She had feathered blonde hair, a soft smile and a robin blue shirt that matched her eyes. I remember suddenly wanting a pearl necklace that matched hers.
I grabbed my scissors and put the first scratch in the case trying to get that darn plastic from the store off. Dang it. I finally opened the case and popped the cassette into my boom box. I pulled the jacket out, unfolded it and followed the teeny print. Oh. My. Goodness. I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but God touched an angel's voice, threw it down and it fell into my bedroom and into my tape player. I had never heard anyone sing like that before. From the first song, "Give Him The Glory" to "The Stage Is Bare" my eyes and ears were transfixed and transfigured. Over and over I played it. I flipped it from A side to B side and back again, memorizing each word and note. Soon I was mimicking her as best I could; getting every nuance and high note down to near perfection.
My dad bought a concert video of hers. I loved how she performed. I hung on every word she spoke, every note she sang. I remember she did a spoof of "Jesus Loves Me," and mentioned how much she adored Barbara Streisand, then Karen Carpenter growing up, then proceeded to sing just like them. I thought, *gasp* "that's me!" I adored Amy Grant, sang just like her, copied her to the letter; and now this lady...Sandi Patty, to a t.
It was in that video that I saw her sign "We Shall Behold Him." By now, I was a die hard fan. I had all of her tapes to this point, nearly all of her background tapes, and now, Dad started collecting her concert videos. I loved her. Yet when I saw her sign this song, I adored her even more.
I remember sitting with my family to watch this video in the TV room. My sister, Sue, had passed away from lupus two years prior. Both of my grandmothers had just passed away and my sister, Deanna, was fighting very hard against breast/bone cancer. Her singing this song was a gift from the Holy Spirit; her signing it was her way of opening it.
"The sky shall unfold
Preparing His entrance
The stars shall applaud Him
With thunders of praise
The sweet light in His eyes,
Shall enhance those awaiting
And we shall behold Him
Then face to face
O, we shall behold Him
We shall behold him
Face to face, in all of His glory
We shall behold Him
Yes, we shall behold Him
Face to face, our Savior and Lord
The angel will shout
The shout of His coming
The sleeping will rise
From their slumbering place
And those who remain
Will be changed in a moment
And we shall behold Him,
Then face to face."
We all stared at the screen and cried. We rewound it and cried again. I studied the videotape and memorized every sign. My dad bought the background tape and soon added it to my repertoire of songs that I would sing at churches and concerts. My favorite audience was my sister, Deanna; the one fighting cancer. I'd sing that song over and over. She'd sit in the recliner, close her eyes, listen, worship, raise her hands, cry, and then at the end say, "that was very nice, Beckie. Except that last note." =) I sang it at her funeral a few months later.
My dad's third eye was a video camera. He had it at every concert, recital and goofball moment. He had that camera when I performed that song. My brother was in the audience. He liked to hear me sing as well.
Nearly a year after Deanne died, my brother, Dave was diagnosed with cancer. Every once in awhile he would ask me to sing "We Shall Behold Him." I think when you're lying in a hospital bed, knowing death is eminent, it's comforting to know that a grave will not hold you down. Even though I love singing for my family, I also feel weird because I don't know where to look. So I close my eyes. I remember singing for Dave one time and as the last note faded I looked up and saw a tear trickle down his cheek and seep into the pillow. I remember feeling so sorry for him. Wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how.
But this is what I have come to believe: death may have been banging his door down; he was just moments from eternity; but I believe this song brought comfort to him. I believe Dave imagined himself looking at his Savior and Lord for the first time face to face. Even though he would fall 'asleep', he would wake up in a glorified body, healthy, whole, and healed, and see his Jesus before I did. That tear was a tear of joy and happiness, not one of sorrow.
This last weekend I went to Women of Faith in Milwaukee. One of the speakers was Sandi Patty. Oh my goodness. When she appeared on that stage and the first notes drifted to my ears, I was suddenly twelve years old again. I found myself hugging my knees with a big dopey grin on my face. Her voice rose and fell, climbing over memories of my past. Between songs, she talked of her life, her children, her struggles. She ended with a song I knew well. She turned to a section in the arena and signed, "I will sign." Then the music started... Her voice rang out... The tears fell... "The sky shall unfold..."
There were so many emotions wrapped up in that one song. I was truly surprised at my reaction. You know the phrase, "tears trickled down my cheeks" well, the tears trickled, dripped, spilled, poured then gushed down my cheeks. My cheeks got a good washing. I thought of my sister, Deanne and my brother, Dave. My dad with his eye glued to the video camera...a dopey grin on his face. Then my mind rested on Dad. It won't be long before he will truly see Jesus face to face. It's so bittersweet.
I recorded her singing and could barely keep the camera steady. I could have sobbed. It's funny the emotions that bubble up to the surface when you hear a certain song.
They had autograph signings after the conference. When I finally saw this woman of faith, I hugged her and said, "you're my Karen Carpenter! You have no idea the impact you have had on my life." I told her one of the many stories I could have shared, gave her a final hug and nearly walked away without my picture with her. Silly me!
I am so blessed that she was a part of my youth. I'm so incredibly thankful that I was able to meet her as an adult. I love her.
A new cassette. Shiny, plastic covering. No cracks in the case. The artwork on the cover was beautiful. It was a photograph of a woman. She had feathered blonde hair, a soft smile and a robin blue shirt that matched her eyes. I remember suddenly wanting a pearl necklace that matched hers.
I grabbed my scissors and put the first scratch in the case trying to get that darn plastic from the store off. Dang it. I finally opened the case and popped the cassette into my boom box. I pulled the jacket out, unfolded it and followed the teeny print. Oh. My. Goodness. I'm not exactly sure how this happened, but God touched an angel's voice, threw it down and it fell into my bedroom and into my tape player. I had never heard anyone sing like that before. From the first song, "Give Him The Glory" to "The Stage Is Bare" my eyes and ears were transfixed and transfigured. Over and over I played it. I flipped it from A side to B side and back again, memorizing each word and note. Soon I was mimicking her as best I could; getting every nuance and high note down to near perfection.
My dad bought a concert video of hers. I loved how she performed. I hung on every word she spoke, every note she sang. I remember she did a spoof of "Jesus Loves Me," and mentioned how much she adored Barbara Streisand, then Karen Carpenter growing up, then proceeded to sing just like them. I thought, *gasp* "that's me!" I adored Amy Grant, sang just like her, copied her to the letter; and now this lady...Sandi Patty, to a t.
It was in that video that I saw her sign "We Shall Behold Him." By now, I was a die hard fan. I had all of her tapes to this point, nearly all of her background tapes, and now, Dad started collecting her concert videos. I loved her. Yet when I saw her sign this song, I adored her even more.
I remember sitting with my family to watch this video in the TV room. My sister, Sue, had passed away from lupus two years prior. Both of my grandmothers had just passed away and my sister, Deanna, was fighting very hard against breast/bone cancer. Her singing this song was a gift from the Holy Spirit; her signing it was her way of opening it.
"The sky shall unfold
Preparing His entrance
The stars shall applaud Him
With thunders of praise
The sweet light in His eyes,
Shall enhance those awaiting
And we shall behold Him
Then face to face
O, we shall behold Him
We shall behold him
Face to face, in all of His glory
We shall behold Him
Yes, we shall behold Him
Face to face, our Savior and Lord
The angel will shout
The shout of His coming
The sleeping will rise
From their slumbering place
And those who remain
Will be changed in a moment
And we shall behold Him,
Then face to face."
We all stared at the screen and cried. We rewound it and cried again. I studied the videotape and memorized every sign. My dad bought the background tape and soon added it to my repertoire of songs that I would sing at churches and concerts. My favorite audience was my sister, Deanna; the one fighting cancer. I'd sing that song over and over. She'd sit in the recliner, close her eyes, listen, worship, raise her hands, cry, and then at the end say, "that was very nice, Beckie. Except that last note." =) I sang it at her funeral a few months later.
My dad's third eye was a video camera. He had it at every concert, recital and goofball moment. He had that camera when I performed that song. My brother was in the audience. He liked to hear me sing as well.
Nearly a year after Deanne died, my brother, Dave was diagnosed with cancer. Every once in awhile he would ask me to sing "We Shall Behold Him." I think when you're lying in a hospital bed, knowing death is eminent, it's comforting to know that a grave will not hold you down. Even though I love singing for my family, I also feel weird because I don't know where to look. So I close my eyes. I remember singing for Dave one time and as the last note faded I looked up and saw a tear trickle down his cheek and seep into the pillow. I remember feeling so sorry for him. Wanting to comfort him, but not knowing how.
But this is what I have come to believe: death may have been banging his door down; he was just moments from eternity; but I believe this song brought comfort to him. I believe Dave imagined himself looking at his Savior and Lord for the first time face to face. Even though he would fall 'asleep', he would wake up in a glorified body, healthy, whole, and healed, and see his Jesus before I did. That tear was a tear of joy and happiness, not one of sorrow.
This last weekend I went to Women of Faith in Milwaukee. One of the speakers was Sandi Patty. Oh my goodness. When she appeared on that stage and the first notes drifted to my ears, I was suddenly twelve years old again. I found myself hugging my knees with a big dopey grin on my face. Her voice rose and fell, climbing over memories of my past. Between songs, she talked of her life, her children, her struggles. She ended with a song I knew well. She turned to a section in the arena and signed, "I will sign." Then the music started... Her voice rang out... The tears fell... "The sky shall unfold..."
There were so many emotions wrapped up in that one song. I was truly surprised at my reaction. You know the phrase, "tears trickled down my cheeks" well, the tears trickled, dripped, spilled, poured then gushed down my cheeks. My cheeks got a good washing. I thought of my sister, Deanne and my brother, Dave. My dad with his eye glued to the video camera...a dopey grin on his face. Then my mind rested on Dad. It won't be long before he will truly see Jesus face to face. It's so bittersweet.
I recorded her singing and could barely keep the camera steady. I could have sobbed. It's funny the emotions that bubble up to the surface when you hear a certain song.
They had autograph signings after the conference. When I finally saw this woman of faith, I hugged her and said, "you're my Karen Carpenter! You have no idea the impact you have had on my life." I told her one of the many stories I could have shared, gave her a final hug and nearly walked away without my picture with her. Silly me!
I am so blessed that she was a part of my youth. I'm so incredibly thankful that I was able to meet her as an adult. I love her.
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