If you've been following my story of this in-between time, you may remember this post, one of my first, about "expecting" versus "waiting," that I wrote back in September. I just thought that I was antsy about moving on, back then! The best analogy to how I feel is something other moms may understand--you know how you feel that last month of your pregnancy, or even the last week? Words like tired, anxious, achy, come to mind.
In addition, though, you're unable to focus on anything else besides the strong physical and emotional need to have the pregnancy over! Of course, you would never want it over prematurely, risking your health and the baby's, so you remind yourself you should be thankful for carrying the child full-term, but there is still that incredible restlessness, unease, angst that overshadows every thought.
That's how I feel, lately. But unlike pregnancy, there is no due date, due week, due month--no promises that this "transition time" will end anytime soon. And as summer approaches, I find myself grieving, in a way.
We'd planned to buy a porch swing for last summer, and we'd planted strawberries in the garden. We never got to buy our swing, though, and we at least hope someone else besides the squirrels enjoyed the berries we'd planted. Jonathan was going to build a swingset for the boys, too. Not only did he not get to do that last summer, but he won't get to do it this summer, either.
And we'll be moving again, because this apartment was a good choice for the short-term sublet, but not for the long-term. It's so hard to make wise choices while in "temporary mode." Just when the weather will be warmest, and I'll be wanting to take advantage of the pool that's in the complex, we'll be spending hours packing boxes once again, probably to a smaller place, instead.
I'm mailing out another intro. packet to a church tomorrow, and Jonathan's boss seems hopeful that he could get Jonathan in on a next-level-up position that would mean decent pay. A church with which he had a phone interview 4 weeks ago tomorrow still hasn't contacted him back, even though they said they would, either way--par for course.
The writing contest was a fun diversion, and I'm not ashamed of coming in 2nd out of 120 or so writers, even though it turned into more of a popularity contest than a writing contest. (I was encouraged, too, by how many friends helped me out, and I credit them with my placement, which doesn't make sense considering the winner had over 1,000 more FB friends than I!) Some other writing gigs seem to be coming through, though, so some extra funds are coming in. Just nothing regular like the Momsquawk position would be. But the issue isn't just financial.
In the mean time, we can't plan on any kind of vacation, even an inexpensive one, because Jonathan wants to save any vacation time he has in case a church asks him to visit.
I just want something to look forward to, some timeframe that gives me hope that this tunnel will end.
The Resurrection gives me hope, and I'm glad this world isn't all there is, but I can't help wanting something to change for now, today, this month, this year.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
The ER on Good Friday
Our first trip to the ER for one of our boys just happened to occur today, Good Friday. Caleb, our firstborn, just turned 2 last week and checked out just fine at his well-baby (or well-child?) appointment. This week, though, he's been running a temp, on and off, since Sunday. Nothing major, though. Probably teething, I thought, despite the medical community's insistence that teething does not cause fevers.
Anyhow, yesterday, he was so sleepy all day and miserable by evening. And warmer. I finally took his temp, and it registered at 103.7. I called the after-hours doctors' office number, mainly because that was easier than looking up the magic temperature for this particular age; the nurse on call said that if it went over 105 to take him in, right away. Otherwise, she suggested trying to get him in to his primary care physician the next day (today). After his second night waking, I resigned to sleeping on the couch, holding my precious boy. I missed the comfort of my own bed, but I delighted in comforting him--don't all parents?
Around our normal waking time, I checked his temp again: 105.4. Yikes! I called to see if I should take him in to the doctor's office or urgent care, and the nurse said to head to the ER. "If he has no other symptoms of influenza, he likely has a urinary tract infection, and they'll need to use a catheter on him. They'll probably have to sedate him for that, so you should just go straight to the hospital." Not words I wanted to hear. The idea of a sedative on one so young scared me, but I did as I was told.
It's bad enough to have to hold your happy, healthy child's arms down while he gets his innoculations, but to hold a sick kid still and in position for a poke, an X-ray, and then a catheter insertion is just miserable! (We were relieved that they did not sedate him, though.) The only reason my husband and I could do those things was because we knew that it was for his good, and it could lead to less pain and discomfort for him, later. Would I do it to ease your discomfort, or anyone else's? Probably not. I love my son more.
Between the pokes and other tests, Caleb wanted a "boo"; of course, I had brought a few of his favorite books. We read about bacon, ham, and pork (Jonathan's pet names for "The Three Little Pigs") and then read something more significant: a story about another Dad who let His Son suffer. Here's an excerpt:
"Papa?" Jesus cried, franticaly searching the sky. "Papa?" Where are you? Don't leave me!"
And for the first time--and the last--when he spoke, nothing happened. Just a horrible, endless silence. God didn't answer. He turned away from his Boy.
Tears rolled down Jesus' face. The face of the One who would wipe away every tear from every eye. . . .
The full force of the storm of God's fierce anger at sin was coming down. On his own Son. Instead of his people. It was the only way God could destroy sin, and not destroy his children whose hearts were filled with sin.
The comparison is weak, but for me, as I read that story today in the ER, I seemed to understand and appreciate God's sacrifice for me a little more. As much as any dad hates seeing his boy suffer, God had to hate it, too. He just loved something even more than He hated that, and that "something" is me, and you.
Well, our story has a somewhat happy ending. By the time we left the ER, Caleb's fever was down, and we had been assured that it was nothing serious. Daddy even got him laughing at the trash can that mysteriously opened on its own--and talked! (The link is to a quite amateurish--and wrongly positioned--video, but I think it's sweet!)
On the 10-minute drive home, Caleb fell peacefully asleep. His dad and I smiled at each other when we noticed the long eyelashes of our sweet boy resting on his cooled cheeks. The pain was over. I imagined God's relief when Jesus said,"It's finished." Their story has a happy ending, too. Will yours?
Anyhow, yesterday, he was so sleepy all day and miserable by evening. And warmer. I finally took his temp, and it registered at 103.7. I called the after-hours doctors' office number, mainly because that was easier than looking up the magic temperature for this particular age; the nurse on call said that if it went over 105 to take him in, right away. Otherwise, she suggested trying to get him in to his primary care physician the next day (today). After his second night waking, I resigned to sleeping on the couch, holding my precious boy. I missed the comfort of my own bed, but I delighted in comforting him--don't all parents?
Around our normal waking time, I checked his temp again: 105.4. Yikes! I called to see if I should take him in to the doctor's office or urgent care, and the nurse said to head to the ER. "If he has no other symptoms of influenza, he likely has a urinary tract infection, and they'll need to use a catheter on him. They'll probably have to sedate him for that, so you should just go straight to the hospital." Not words I wanted to hear. The idea of a sedative on one so young scared me, but I did as I was told.
It's bad enough to have to hold your happy, healthy child's arms down while he gets his innoculations, but to hold a sick kid still and in position for a poke, an X-ray, and then a catheter insertion is just miserable! (We were relieved that they did not sedate him, though.) The only reason my husband and I could do those things was because we knew that it was for his good, and it could lead to less pain and discomfort for him, later. Would I do it to ease your discomfort, or anyone else's? Probably not. I love my son more.
Between the pokes and other tests, Caleb wanted a "boo"; of course, I had brought a few of his favorite books. We read about bacon, ham, and pork (Jonathan's pet names for "The Three Little Pigs") and then read something more significant: a story about another Dad who let His Son suffer. Here's an excerpt:
"Papa?" Jesus cried, franticaly searching the sky. "Papa?" Where are you? Don't leave me!"
And for the first time--and the last--when he spoke, nothing happened. Just a horrible, endless silence. God didn't answer. He turned away from his Boy.
Tears rolled down Jesus' face. The face of the One who would wipe away every tear from every eye. . . .
The full force of the storm of God's fierce anger at sin was coming down. On his own Son. Instead of his people. It was the only way God could destroy sin, and not destroy his children whose hearts were filled with sin.
The comparison is weak, but for me, as I read that story today in the ER, I seemed to understand and appreciate God's sacrifice for me a little more. As much as any dad hates seeing his boy suffer, God had to hate it, too. He just loved something even more than He hated that, and that "something" is me, and you.
Well, our story has a somewhat happy ending. By the time we left the ER, Caleb's fever was down, and we had been assured that it was nothing serious. Daddy even got him laughing at the trash can that mysteriously opened on its own--and talked! (The link is to a quite amateurish--and wrongly positioned--video, but I think it's sweet!)
On the 10-minute drive home, Caleb fell peacefully asleep. His dad and I smiled at each other when we noticed the long eyelashes of our sweet boy resting on his cooled cheeks. The pain was over. I imagined God's relief when Jesus said,"It's finished." Their story has a happy ending, too. Will yours?
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Soon Spring Will Come
I've been so crazy with this contest that I haven't spent much time in reflection on this most holy of weeks. Or blogging. So I'm taking a little break here, to praise the One who gives us hope, even on icy days, both literal and not.
Here's a little piece I wrote as part of an application for another writing gig:
Here's a little piece I wrote as part of an application for another writing gig:
The first day nature hints that spring is on its way sends energizing sunlight through my veins! Deep down, I know I’ll have to clear snow off patio chairs and cover my brightly colored toe nails with socks and boots again, but I still celebrate spring’s first appearance each year. Why do I love spring so much? It’s the anticipation, the promise that soon summer will come; soon I’ll feel warmth smiling on my shoulders and taste fresh -picked berries. Spring’s first glimpse offers hope for life: It may be cold and dark right now, but soon the sun will shine.
And here's a few more eloquent lines from one of my favorite non-canonical writers:Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Dancing Like No One Is Watching
 I love teaching my son Caleb new words and activities! I never knew that watching a child climb up stairs or make an animal sound could bring me so much joy! He loves books, and favorites are "Three Little Pigs" and "Alice in Wonderland." (Here's a picture of his famous "Cheshire Cat grin"! I love it!)Helping develop his character (yes, already!) is quite rewarding, too. I love it when he obeys at times when he does not want to do so. And not just because it trips my ego, but because he's learning something valuable. Maybe you already saw this video I posted to my Facebook wall a couple months ago, but I just love opportunities like this one! However, I never thought about all that he'd teach me. You know the phrase "dance like no one is watching"? Well, he's teaching me to do just that. I love the lack of self-consciousness he has! When he's excited, he makes all kinds of loud, happy sounds and flails his arms and runs all around. He doesn't care if people see him or what they think. He just expresses himself. He also dances. Now, I know that may not be a winsome quality for a conservative Baptist preacher's son, but he just does it naturally, when he hears music. (Trust me, this kind of dance isn't likely to elicit any kind of lust!) I can be in the most uptight, frustrated mood, and he'll gesture toward my iPod dock to let me know he wants to hear some music. Wether it's VeggieTales, Patch the Pirate, Sara Groves, the Steve Pettit Evangelistic Team, the Cosby Show intro., or Dean Martin, that kid just smiles and moves to the music and has a blast! (The Pettit Team, you ask? Seriously, one of my favorite times of seeing him dance was at Northland's Freedom Celebration last summer. If you've been there, you know how they keep the driveway to campus clear. Well, we had our seats right behind that, as you face the stage, and it seemed to him that he was on stage, as he danced in the driveway to the bluegrass rhythms. Priceless!) Anyhow, my son is teaching me to take time to enjoy life and, yes, even to dance. Maybe we look silly, but we have a lot of fun and even get some exercise. I just make sure to close the blinds. |
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Standing Up (When You Should Just Sit Down)
We hear it all the time, don't we--"Stand up for yourself," "Stand up for what you believe in," and "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything." We see "standing up" as a show of strength and character but "sitting down" as giving up, resigning to a lesser fate. And that message of our society resonates with our sinful, selfish hearts, doesn't it? It sure does, mine. I HATE to give in! What about you?
And yet God calls us to submit--to His Word, the government, employers, church leaders, husbands, parents, and even one another. This kind of submission sometimes requires us to simply sit down. If someone's opinion crosses yours, you don't have to let them know. Really. (I'm trying to convince myself of this--I know it's hard!)
In my reflections of growing up in the church, family, school, etc., in which I did, I sometimes feel like the emphasis was much more on the externals than truly having the right heart attitude inside. However, at times I'm more inclined to think maybe they tried, and I just didn't get it. One example is the illustration I heard dozens of times from the pastor of my church; to fully appreciate it, you must imagine a hard-faced preacher with a deep southern drawl:
"The boy's father kept telling him to sit down, and finally, the boy folded his arms, set his jaw, and plunked down onto the chair. He looked up at his dad and said, 'I may be sittin' down on the outside, but I'm standin' up on the inside!'"
Is that you? So many times, that truly is me. And the saddest part is, that most times, I feel like I'm good! After all, I am sitting down on the outside, aren't I?
Tuesday night was such an example. For the past couple weeks, I've been privileged to have some freelance writing gigs to bring in some extra money. (And if you've been following my posts at all, you know that finances have been a struggle for our family, particularly this past year.) The pay isn't great, to be honest, although I hope it will improve as I prove myself and get offered higher paying jobs and as I get faster at this kind of writing. Anyhow, it's taken up a lot of my time, and my family has suffered. House work has been lacking, since I've used nap time and after bedtime hours to do my writing instead of laundry and other tasks. But with my first deadline looming over me this week, I started working in the mornings, too, holing myself in our bedroom/baby nursery/office until lunch.
Jonathan and I had decided that pushing myself for these first projects was a wise idea, but it was clearly wearing on us both. I knew he liked the living area and kitchen tidy when he got home each night, but that just wasn't happening. And my new-found coupon habit was overtaking our kitchen table, which is an area he specifically likes kept neat.
Well, Tuesday, after lunch, I put the boys down for their naps and chose that brief, just-us time of day to mention that I had another longer gig come up, if I wanted it. But I needed his help a little more, with some housework, to make it all make sense. I thought this was reasonable, and it would be unwise to say no to extra work. But he said no! I sat down on the outside, meaning that I didn't argue with him or go against his wishes, but boy, was I standing up on the inside!
I didn't talk to him again before he left, and I'm sure he knew that I was fuming! The thoughts that ran through my head, the arguments for why his choice was foolish, just begged to be let out. I didn't let them, though, and I felt proud of myself for that. I tried repenting, but God and I both knew I wasn't sorry. How could I be--I was right! I finally got calmed down enough to straighten up before Jonathan came home. Still standing up on the inside, though, and hoping for a chance to state my case.
Before I had a chance, he said,"I've been thinking more about you taking on that work, and it's fine." He looked at me, the rims around his eyes growing red. "It's just that you have to spread it out more. I miss my best friend."
My heart just melted! What love!
He went on to explain,"I love our boys, and I don't mind doing more to help out, but I want to do it with you, not to have you gone the whole time that I'm home."
Okay, I was wanting him to be reasonable, but he was reasoning with his heart. To him, this issue was about our relationship, and he missed it. Why would I resist that kind of love?
How like our Heavenly Father! When we "sit down" to his will on the outside, but insist on our own way, we are so foolish! He doesn't just want outward submission; that isn't part of a close relationship. We have to truly sit down.
(Now I have to stand up and clear off this table, though, before my hubby gets home!)
And yet God calls us to submit--to His Word, the government, employers, church leaders, husbands, parents, and even one another. This kind of submission sometimes requires us to simply sit down. If someone's opinion crosses yours, you don't have to let them know. Really. (I'm trying to convince myself of this--I know it's hard!)
In my reflections of growing up in the church, family, school, etc., in which I did, I sometimes feel like the emphasis was much more on the externals than truly having the right heart attitude inside. However, at times I'm more inclined to think maybe they tried, and I just didn't get it. One example is the illustration I heard dozens of times from the pastor of my church; to fully appreciate it, you must imagine a hard-faced preacher with a deep southern drawl:
"The boy's father kept telling him to sit down, and finally, the boy folded his arms, set his jaw, and plunked down onto the chair. He looked up at his dad and said, 'I may be sittin' down on the outside, but I'm standin' up on the inside!'"
Is that you? So many times, that truly is me. And the saddest part is, that most times, I feel like I'm good! After all, I am sitting down on the outside, aren't I?
Tuesday night was such an example. For the past couple weeks, I've been privileged to have some freelance writing gigs to bring in some extra money. (And if you've been following my posts at all, you know that finances have been a struggle for our family, particularly this past year.) The pay isn't great, to be honest, although I hope it will improve as I prove myself and get offered higher paying jobs and as I get faster at this kind of writing. Anyhow, it's taken up a lot of my time, and my family has suffered. House work has been lacking, since I've used nap time and after bedtime hours to do my writing instead of laundry and other tasks. But with my first deadline looming over me this week, I started working in the mornings, too, holing myself in our bedroom/baby nursery/office until lunch.
Jonathan and I had decided that pushing myself for these first projects was a wise idea, but it was clearly wearing on us both. I knew he liked the living area and kitchen tidy when he got home each night, but that just wasn't happening. And my new-found coupon habit was overtaking our kitchen table, which is an area he specifically likes kept neat.
Well, Tuesday, after lunch, I put the boys down for their naps and chose that brief, just-us time of day to mention that I had another longer gig come up, if I wanted it. But I needed his help a little more, with some housework, to make it all make sense. I thought this was reasonable, and it would be unwise to say no to extra work. But he said no! I sat down on the outside, meaning that I didn't argue with him or go against his wishes, but boy, was I standing up on the inside!
I didn't talk to him again before he left, and I'm sure he knew that I was fuming! The thoughts that ran through my head, the arguments for why his choice was foolish, just begged to be let out. I didn't let them, though, and I felt proud of myself for that. I tried repenting, but God and I both knew I wasn't sorry. How could I be--I was right! I finally got calmed down enough to straighten up before Jonathan came home. Still standing up on the inside, though, and hoping for a chance to state my case.
Before I had a chance, he said,"I've been thinking more about you taking on that work, and it's fine." He looked at me, the rims around his eyes growing red. "It's just that you have to spread it out more. I miss my best friend."
My heart just melted! What love!
He went on to explain,"I love our boys, and I don't mind doing more to help out, but I want to do it with you, not to have you gone the whole time that I'm home."
Okay, I was wanting him to be reasonable, but he was reasoning with his heart. To him, this issue was about our relationship, and he missed it. Why would I resist that kind of love?
How like our Heavenly Father! When we "sit down" to his will on the outside, but insist on our own way, we are so foolish! He doesn't just want outward submission; that isn't part of a close relationship. We have to truly sit down.
(Now I have to stand up and clear off this table, though, before my hubby gets home!)
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
He Meets Our Needs
Did any of you grow up hearing heart-warming stories about people in financial distress who had mysterious bags of groceries arrive just as they bowed their heads to "say grace" over a meal they didn't have? Or countless tales of anonymous donors putting "just enough money" on someone's school bill to let them come back another semester?
Growing up in an upper middle class home, as I heard those stories, a part of me ached to be in such desparate straits simply so I could see God's hand provide for me that way. Well, financial difficulties aren't as exciting as I once imagined, even when God does provide. But He is faithful.
I started this blog entry last night, not knowing what God would do today, but I'll leave you in suspense on that one--for now. :)
I don't want to get awkwardly personal here, so I won't mention amounts, just portions of my husband's pre-tax weekly income, so you at least understand the significance of the amounts. But to give you somewhat of an idea, we thought money was tight when Jonathan was a pastor, but he actually made the same amount (or close to it) that he does now, while also having a home and utilities provided. Amazing!
I've mentioned previously how God provided a job for me last spring that helped us buy our minivan for cash, so I won't go into details about that, here. Those blessings are still fresh in my mind, but since we left Gillet last June, here are some of the main ups and downs we've experienced, financially:
Growing up in an upper middle class home, as I heard those stories, a part of me ached to be in such desparate straits simply so I could see God's hand provide for me that way. Well, financial difficulties aren't as exciting as I once imagined, even when God does provide. But He is faithful.
I started this blog entry last night, not knowing what God would do today, but I'll leave you in suspense on that one--for now. :)
I don't want to get awkwardly personal here, so I won't mention amounts, just portions of my husband's pre-tax weekly income, so you at least understand the significance of the amounts. But to give you somewhat of an idea, we thought money was tight when Jonathan was a pastor, but he actually made the same amount (or close to it) that he does now, while also having a home and utilities provided. Amazing!
I've mentioned previously how God provided a job for me last spring that helped us buy our minivan for cash, so I won't go into details about that, here. Those blessings are still fresh in my mind, but since we left Gillet last June, here are some of the main ups and downs we've experienced, financially:
- Jonathan found a job here in Madison within a week of looking in July.
- He was led to believe he'd get a raise, about the time Joshua was due in October, meaning about an extra week's pay, each month.
- With most apartments in Madison requiring a year's lease, we were glad to find a great sublet situation in which we got our first month's rent for free and only had to commit to a 5-month lease, starting in December. (We think God may have detoured us to Tucson just so we would wait for this apartment to come available!)
- When Jonathan's raise still hadn't gone through, we neared the end of January wondering how we could possibly make our budget (yes, we really have one and keep track of receipts!) work. We decided it was impossible and increased our energy going toward applying for jobs for him around Madison, in addition to the church search.
- We found a part-time nanny job listed on Craigslist, but that didn't turn out. We were asked to do some odd jobs for the family, though, which included clearing out a basement and removing many sallable goods. We were paid to do this and then sell the items and keep that money, too. (This amounted to an extra weeks' pay.)
- To end January, we received a surprise check from a family member for about a half week's pay.
- In February, Jonathan was able to put in some overtime, which was like getting another half week's pay.
- After many attempts at finding legitimate freelance writing jobs, I received two inquiries within two days, last week. In another week, with commitments already in place, I will have made an extra half-week's pay.
- The day after I received those jobs, we had to sign a 3-month lease extension, which would mean higher rent, starting in May (about 1/10 of a week's pay). That was discouraging, but less so with the writing jobs starting to come.
- This past Sunday, it seemed like my writing money would be used for something not-so-savory: someone smashed the window of our van, requiring about 75% of a week's pay to fix it.
- Monday we received notification in the mail that we would be receiving help for our utilities that would basically make up for the amount we paid to replace the window.
- Today (drum roll, please!) we found out that we'll be getting money back from taxes, to the tune of about 10x's a week's pay!
It doesn't make sense that we're not in debt, we're nearly making budget, and we're about to have more in the bank than we did when we left Gillett. I'm not saying that to brag on us, but to praise my God who truly does provide!
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Are We Crazy, or What?
I am totally sleep-deprived, but I just have to get this out of my head! I'd love to know your thoughts, as well, so please feel free to comment on here or FB or send me a message, kay?
Those of you who know me can pretty much hear my tone of voice as I utter the term "Hickville" with apparent disdain. After all, this is the "city girl" who relished her opportunity to work downtown Chicago, travel Europe, and leap at the chance of any other such adventure. But that was in another life. Or so it seems.
Jonathan and I have pictured our lives in various parts of the country and different types of areas, throughout the year in the all-too-familiar roller coaster of hoping, fearing, thinking this church will be the one and then ending up disappointed . . . again. Well, as we've gone through all of that, we seem to have arrived at some interesting (to me, anyway) conclusions about the kind of place we'd like to live and raise our sons. Now, of course, geography isn't the #1 consideration, and we really have no offers, as yet, but that is incredibly beside the point.
Here are some of our findings:
We'd prefer a church that does not have a Christian school (You see, if he's the pastor, and the church has a school attached to it, for better or for worse, we've lost our privilege of making decisions regarding our children's education.)
Those of you who know me can pretty much hear my tone of voice as I utter the term "Hickville" with apparent disdain. After all, this is the "city girl" who relished her opportunity to work downtown Chicago, travel Europe, and leap at the chance of any other such adventure. But that was in another life. Or so it seems.
Jonathan and I have pictured our lives in various parts of the country and different types of areas, throughout the year in the all-too-familiar roller coaster of hoping, fearing, thinking this church will be the one and then ending up disappointed . . . again. Well, as we've gone through all of that, we seem to have arrived at some interesting (to me, anyway) conclusions about the kind of place we'd like to live and raise our sons. Now, of course, geography isn't the #1 consideration, and we really have no offers, as yet, but that is incredibly beside the point.
Here are some of our findings:
We'd prefer a church that does not have a Christian school (You see, if he's the pastor, and the church has a school attached to it, for better or for worse, we've lost our privilege of making decisions regarding our children's education.)
We'd strongly prefer
someplace in the Midwest or Northeast part of the country, particularly where there are lots of trees and a significant amount of fluctuation in temperature throughout the year. And yes, snow. (I love that pink little nose!)
We'd like to find a somewhat quiet ministry and area, not one that would have us running the rat race. I strongly believe that many public servants and, yes, people in Christian ministry, often become workaholics to the detriment of their own families. And many ministries almost require that a person do so.
That last one has been startling to me. I mean, I want my kids to have opportunities and culture and all of that. I don't want them to be "hicks." But at the same time, I don't want to miss their growing up years or our chance to truly enjoy and influence them. I've been hearing so many people say (and even write, in Christmas letters and such) things like "well, like everyone else, we're busier than we'd like to be." I even know of one mom of teenagers who said she and her husband had always wanted to take a trip to the Grand Canyon, but their kids preferred to spend that money on fine arts and sports camps. Now they're all grown, and I wonder if she regrets not doing that kind of thing.
So many of my students' families, when I taught at a Christian school I still think is one of the very best, really had little to no family life. I don't want that. The rat race will be fine if we leave it. It's been fine for a while now, while we spend most of our hours trying to live "quiet, peaceful lives" (1 Timothy 2:2).
With our current financial situation, I'm also really learning to re-evaluate my definition of "need" and what is really important. I'm learning how materialistic I am and how unimportant most of what money can buy truly is. My boys don't care about "stuff" nearly as much as they desire my attention.
Now, my undivided attention would be easier to give them, if I wasn't constantly applying for jobs--mostly for Jonathan--and finding ways to earn and save a few bucks here and there on-line, but still! (On that note, a recipe I love will be featured on "Raining Hot Coupons" tomorrow, er, uh, later today--yikes! I need to go to bed! Anyhow, "Like" them on Facebook for great deals and to see yours truly--and vote for me at the end of the month, please! If I win, I'll get a rare $20 fun money!) Some money definitely makes life easier, but I digress.
Currently, I'm surprised at my "okayness" with a prospective church in Michigan's UP. It's literally 2 hours from a town of 20,000 people--the closest Super Wal-Mart, mall, etc. Really, I am. I guess I've changed. But if they don't have high-speed internet capabilities, that might be a little too far . . .
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Delusions of . . . Adequacy?
I heard that phrase a few months ago, while watching a re-run of the 90s classic sitcom "Family Matters" (on hulu, I think). The classic teen nerd, Steve Urkel, is doing what he usually does--he's trying to impress his neighbor, Laura. He's waiting in the kitchen of her house for her to come downstairs, ready for "the big game." She struts down the stairs in her pristine cheerleader uniform, just in time for him to walk up to her with a tray of milkshakes, which--you guessed it!--he drops, spilling a cold, milky mess all over Laura and her outfit! In her frustration, Laura rhetorically asks him what would make him think he could walk across the room successfully, while carrying a tray of milkshakes? You just can't help feeling bad for Steve as he hangs his head and says,"Excuse me for having delusions of adequacy."
Ever been there? Ever felt like your expectations of yourself, your life, is far from far-fetched? We're not talking "delusions of grandeur," here, just hoping what you are or have to do will be "adequate" or enough, to get by, but even that seems like a stretch? Young motherhood has been like that for me. And just when I've about convinced myself that it's like that for everyone, I read about a college friend with six children (including an infant!) who homeschools, works a part-time job, and just published her first book! (And no, I am NOT exaggerating!) I used to think of myself as a Type-A overachiever, but now I feel like if life were an academic class, I'd be far from a 4.0 student.
Maybe you're sitting there reading, thinking,"Yeah, that's me too. Thanks for reminding me," and you're ready to drown your less-than-adequate self in a pint of Ben & Jerry's about now, please keep reading! (And if it's near your birthday, you can find some ways to sign up for free ice cream--and other yummy treats--here.)
I think that when we realize we can't quite make it on our own, we're actually in a good place. Maybe not a comfy place, but a good place, nonetheless. I mean, when we think we've arrived, that's really when we're most hopeless, right? (Never mind, hard to live with!)
I feel like I'm just touching the fringes of understanding my own pride, a trait God HATES, and how ridiculous I've been at times in my thinking. I tend to be very opinionated and sure of myself, but as my world and experiences expand, my level of conviction on many topics just doesn't hold up. And that's good. It's good for me, it's pleasant for those around me, and it forces me toward humility, a character trait that endears me to my Savior. It allows me to realize that I need Him. Not just that I needed Him, once upon a time, to die for me. But I need Him every day. For every diaper, every meal, every budget category I like to think I can meet.
This is getting longer than I'd planned, and I'm kind of figuring out my own thoughts as I go along here, so bear with me. That last phrase--"I think I can meet"--reminds me of a story told by Jim Berg, one of the people I think is most gifted at the modern parable or illustration to communicate biblical truth. He tells about a little boy whose father gave him the chance to earn a quarter for washing his car. Proud of his earnings, the boy told his dad he knew what he wanted to buy--a bike! His father humored him and accompanied him to the store. The boy picked out the bike, walked it up to the cashier, and proudly plunked down his quarter on the counter. The cashier looked up at his dad, who held up his wallet and motioned her to let him go ahead. The boy walked out proudly, bike in tow.
The next week, the boy earned another quarter and figured he'd save some of his earnings, but he'd go ahead and buy a small toy for now. He went to the same store and picked out a small rubber ball. He walked up to the same cashier and plunked his quarter down proudly, just like he had the week before. "I'm sorry, but you don't have enough," she told him.
"But last week I was able to get a bike," he said, confused.
"Yes, but this time you didn't bring your Dad along," she explained.
Still gives me goosebumps. How many times are we so proud of our quarter, totally discrediting the $99.75 provided by our Heavenly Dad? And that same God that provides the $99.75 some days can provide $99.99 on others. So if you're feeling inadequate, good. Go to the One who is more than adequate, more than enough. You need Him even when you think you don't, but when you know you do, that's something more for which to thank Him.
Ever been there? Ever felt like your expectations of yourself, your life, is far from far-fetched? We're not talking "delusions of grandeur," here, just hoping what you are or have to do will be "adequate" or enough, to get by, but even that seems like a stretch? Young motherhood has been like that for me. And just when I've about convinced myself that it's like that for everyone, I read about a college friend with six children (including an infant!) who homeschools, works a part-time job, and just published her first book! (And no, I am NOT exaggerating!) I used to think of myself as a Type-A overachiever, but now I feel like if life were an academic class, I'd be far from a 4.0 student.
Maybe you're sitting there reading, thinking,"Yeah, that's me too. Thanks for reminding me," and you're ready to drown your less-than-adequate self in a pint of Ben & Jerry's about now, please keep reading! (And if it's near your birthday, you can find some ways to sign up for free ice cream--and other yummy treats--here.)
I think that when we realize we can't quite make it on our own, we're actually in a good place. Maybe not a comfy place, but a good place, nonetheless. I mean, when we think we've arrived, that's really when we're most hopeless, right? (Never mind, hard to live with!)
I feel like I'm just touching the fringes of understanding my own pride, a trait God HATES, and how ridiculous I've been at times in my thinking. I tend to be very opinionated and sure of myself, but as my world and experiences expand, my level of conviction on many topics just doesn't hold up. And that's good. It's good for me, it's pleasant for those around me, and it forces me toward humility, a character trait that endears me to my Savior. It allows me to realize that I need Him. Not just that I needed Him, once upon a time, to die for me. But I need Him every day. For every diaper, every meal, every budget category I like to think I can meet.
This is getting longer than I'd planned, and I'm kind of figuring out my own thoughts as I go along here, so bear with me. That last phrase--"I think I can meet"--reminds me of a story told by Jim Berg, one of the people I think is most gifted at the modern parable or illustration to communicate biblical truth. He tells about a little boy whose father gave him the chance to earn a quarter for washing his car. Proud of his earnings, the boy told his dad he knew what he wanted to buy--a bike! His father humored him and accompanied him to the store. The boy picked out the bike, walked it up to the cashier, and proudly plunked down his quarter on the counter. The cashier looked up at his dad, who held up his wallet and motioned her to let him go ahead. The boy walked out proudly, bike in tow.
The next week, the boy earned another quarter and figured he'd save some of his earnings, but he'd go ahead and buy a small toy for now. He went to the same store and picked out a small rubber ball. He walked up to the same cashier and plunked his quarter down proudly, just like he had the week before. "I'm sorry, but you don't have enough," she told him.
"But last week I was able to get a bike," he said, confused.
"Yes, but this time you didn't bring your Dad along," she explained.
Still gives me goosebumps. How many times are we so proud of our quarter, totally discrediting the $99.75 provided by our Heavenly Dad? And that same God that provides the $99.75 some days can provide $99.99 on others. So if you're feeling inadequate, good. Go to the One who is more than adequate, more than enough. You need Him even when you think you don't, but when you know you do, that's something more for which to thank Him.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Familiarity & Breeding Without Contempt
Home
. That word encompasses so much more than a mere dwelling place. In fact, it could refer to something other than a residence, but it definitely refers to something greater. Something less tangible. Sometimes people say a place feels "homey" (that's one of my favorite compliments I've received about one of my many abodes!) or makes them feel "at home." As I looked ahead at the December page of my 2010 Susan Branch calendar to record an upcoming appointment, tears welled up in my eyes (see pics from it throughout this post). We were living with my parents at the time, just aching to again form a "home" of our own, where we could re-establish our family rhythm (my own term, but I'm sure you'll understand its meaning) as a foursome. 
Funny story--when I was single, my roommate and I invited a family from church into our "home" (then, a make-shift apartment that was the second story of an old farm house--very first-place-esque). Commenting on many "found" pieces of decor, including a hand-painted pie plate made by my ceramics-loving grandmother, one of our guests said they didn't expect such pieces to be on display in our home. Why? Because we were single! As if marrying a man is what brings such touches to our tables!
By contrast, there was a man I dated some who described his taste in decor as consisting of "nothing organic." When I probed as to his meaning, he cited not liking furniture made of wood. Well, if any of you have been to my home, you know that we would have clashed royally! Can metal and glass furniture really feel as cozy and "homey" as wood? Not to me. But then, my long-time home was in the middle of a forest. (Besides, how can one build a nest without wood? Okay, that was a bad one!) That brings me to my main point, though: Home consists of the familiar. A month-and-a-half ago, we moved into this bare-walled apartment, and we have since made it "feel like home." That consists of more than stuff--it's our stuff, our favorite fragrances, our favorite foods in the refrigerator and cupboards, and our style of cooking--for better or for worse.
For worse, you ask? Sure. Can't you think of something distasteful about your home, your home town, or your home state, that makes it feel like home? I loved going to my grandmother's house, and there was a particular mixture of fragrances that accompanied those memories. I once found myself in a dreamy reverie in the storate aisle at Wal-mart, when I realized that one of those smells was that of moth balls! Admittedly not a pleasant odor, I associated it with the familiar and happy place where my now-deceased grandmother made me feel so special and loved!
For some reason, other things say "home" to me as well and just somehow resonate with my homesick heart--autumn and its colors, "Spiced Pumpkin" fragrance from Yankee Candle, the soundtrack to Anne of Green Gables by Hagwood Hardy, Susan Branch and her handwritten books with watercolor illustrations, and Jan Karon's heart-warming Mitford. So does the idyllic landscape of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, which my husband calls home. Perhaps someday we'll retire there.
By contrast, this November, we thought God might be leading us to make Tucson, Arizona, our new "home," and I wondered if it could ever truly feel like "home"--its landscape, climate, architecture were all so foreign, resembling nothing familiar. In fact, even if one could argue the superiority of one setting over another, the lack of familiarity could easily tempt a person to choose the "inferior" place, simply because of its greater chances of feeling like home. Thankfully, this was not a choice that was ours to make.
(To be quite honest, even though the "rejection" aspect was hard, we are actually relieved that God did not ask us to move to Tucson. Each day of the week before Christmas, I gave my husband, Jonathan, and our toddler son, Caleb, a small gift to open that symbolized something we're thankful God did not ask us--as yet, anyway--to give up! These included a grow-your-own-grass kit, a board book about dogs, and white tennis balls stacked to look like a snow man!)
Some people, sadly, "feel at home" when they're mistreated and in squalor, which is sad. My responsibility--part of it, anyway--is to form a positive sense of "home" for my own family. Will my sons feel at home when they are spoken to with biting sarcasm or shoved aside when technology or other "distractions" are present? Will they sense familiarity when there is conflict and ill will, or peace and harmony? I may not be able to control how many place
s they learn to call home, but my attitude and emotional and spiritual stability will go far to help establish their own self-confidence and sense of security. I hope they also remember that everything matched.
. That word encompasses so much more than a mere dwelling place. In fact, it could refer to something other than a residence, but it definitely refers to something greater. Something less tangible. Sometimes people say a place feels "homey" (that's one of my favorite compliments I've received about one of my many abodes!) or makes them feel "at home." As I looked ahead at the December page of my 2010 Susan Branch calendar to record an upcoming appointment, tears welled up in my eyes (see pics from it throughout this post). We were living with my parents at the time, just aching to again form a "home" of our own, where we could re-establish our family rhythm (my own term, but I'm sure you'll understand its meaning) as a foursome. Funny story--when I was single, my roommate and I invited a family from church into our "home" (then, a make-shift apartment that was the second story of an old farm house--very first-place-esque). Commenting on many "found" pieces of decor, including a hand-painted pie plate made by my ceramics-loving grandmother, one of our guests said they didn't expect such pieces to be on display in our home. Why? Because we were single! As if marrying a man is what brings such touches to our tables!
By contrast, there was a man I dated some who described his taste in decor as consisting of "nothing organic." When I probed as to his meaning, he cited not liking furniture made of wood. Well, if any of you have been to my home, you know that we would have clashed royally! Can metal and glass furniture really feel as cozy and "homey" as wood? Not to me. But then, my long-time home was in the middle of a forest. (Besides, how can one build a nest without wood? Okay, that was a bad one!) That brings me to my main point, though: Home consists of the familiar. A month-and-a-half ago, we moved into this bare-walled apartment, and we have since made it "feel like home." That consists of more than stuff--it's our stuff, our favorite fragrances, our favorite foods in the refrigerator and cupboards, and our style of cooking--for better or for worse.
For worse, you ask? Sure. Can't you think of something distasteful about your home, your home town, or your home state, that makes it feel like home? I loved going to my grandmother's house, and there was a particular mixture of fragrances that accompanied those memories. I once found myself in a dreamy reverie in the storate aisle at Wal-mart, when I realized that one of those smells was that of moth balls! Admittedly not a pleasant odor, I associated it with the familiar and happy place where my now-deceased grandmother made me feel so special and loved!
For some reason, other things say "home" to me as well and just somehow resonate with my homesick heart--autumn and its colors, "Spiced Pumpkin" fragrance from Yankee Candle, the soundtrack to Anne of Green Gables by Hagwood Hardy, Susan Branch and her handwritten books with watercolor illustrations, and Jan Karon's heart-warming Mitford. So does the idyllic landscape of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, which my husband calls home. Perhaps someday we'll retire there.
By contrast, this November, we thought God might be leading us to make Tucson, Arizona, our new "home," and I wondered if it could ever truly feel like "home"--its landscape, climate, architecture were all so foreign, resembling nothing familiar. In fact, even if one could argue the superiority of one setting over another, the lack of familiarity could easily tempt a person to choose the "inferior" place, simply because of its greater chances of feeling like home. Thankfully, this was not a choice that was ours to make.
(To be quite honest, even though the "rejection" aspect was hard, we are actually relieved that God did not ask us to move to Tucson. Each day of the week before Christmas, I gave my husband, Jonathan, and our toddler son, Caleb, a small gift to open that symbolized something we're thankful God did not ask us--as yet, anyway--to give up! These included a grow-your-own-grass kit, a board book about dogs, and white tennis balls stacked to look like a snow man!)
Some people, sadly, "feel at home" when they're mistreated and in squalor, which is sad. My responsibility--part of it, anyway--is to form a positive sense of "home" for my own family. Will my sons feel at home when they are spoken to with biting sarcasm or shoved aside when technology or other "distractions" are present? Will they sense familiarity when there is conflict and ill will, or peace and harmony? I may not be able to control how many place
s they learn to call home, but my attitude and emotional and spiritual stability will go far to help establish their own self-confidence and sense of security. I hope they also remember that everything matched.Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Nesting, Nesting
I cannot believe it's been over three months since I last posted! I've written often in my mind, but the technology to transfer that directly to a blog has yet to be invented (as far as I know!). I'm on-line mostly one-handed on my iPhone (fun!) these days, usually while nursing. (Sorry if that's tmi!) Today, my baby Joshua is 3 months old.
The three months since he was born have been such a whirlwind, and it's finally dying down, at least for now. (In case you need catching up, after the first month, which is such a blur, we flew to Tucson for the week, where Jonathan candidated at a church. The week he became a 2-month-old cutie pie, we found out we would not be moving to Tucson and moved, instead, into our own apartment here in Madison. We're now moved in, settled, and past the holidays, so we're feeling pretty relaxed, at least for parents of two children under 2!) I have a sneaking suspicion the calm won't last long, so I'm trying to savor every minute. Sometimes savoring includes letting thoughts running around in my head spill out into the world, so here I am again.
Enough about me, on to some big ideas! Here are a few hints: "There's no place like ____," "____ is where you hang your hat," "____ SWEET ____," "____ is where the heart is." I'm sure you've guessed by now.
In the past six months of being in "limbo," not sure where our next residence will be, I have been contemplating that idea of "home." That was easy for me, not a question at all, during my growing-up years: I lived in the same house since I was 5 months old and attended the same church and church-run school from age five through high school graduation. It really "rocked my world" when the church and school changed locations my freshman year of college. When I came "home," the place where I'd spent more time than any other place (other than the house where I grew up) was no longer familiar. Then, the year I graduated college and moved to Michigan, going "home" for the holidays meant going to Wisconsin, not Illinois, for my parents had moved. Thus began my "home displacement" issues (yes, I did just make that up!).
Having grown up in Illinois and attended college in South Carolina before moving to Michigan, I had no idea how many more states would become "home" to me in the years ahead. While in Michigan, I called 5 different places "home," lived with my parents in Wisconsin and sister in Georgia between Michigan and Oregon, where I moved once I got married. From there, we moved to Pennsylvania, where we lived with Jonathan's parents for a few months between ministries. From there, we moved to Gillett, Wisconsin, where we stayed for over 2 1/2 years--a new record for me in adulthood! We really made that place feel like "home," even though we did not own it. It was a parsonage, and the church gave us the liberty to paint and make other updates that really made it feel like "ours."
After living with my parents for my last trimester and first couple months with baby Joshua (ever time we tried to move out, another strong potential would come up for moving out of state!), we moved into a 2-bedroom apartment here in Madison. It does feel like "home" with all our stuff around and all. Crazily, we hope to move sometime in 2011, hopefully to someplace we'll get to call "home" for quite some time.
So what is "home," and why is it so important to us? After 22 years in the same place . . . 11 years, 6 states, and 10 residences later . . . it's a question I've been asking myself. The next few posts will be my meanderings and fumbling answers to those questions, so check back soon!
The three months since he was born have been such a whirlwind, and it's finally dying down, at least for now. (In case you need catching up, after the first month, which is such a blur, we flew to Tucson for the week, where Jonathan candidated at a church. The week he became a 2-month-old cutie pie, we found out we would not be moving to Tucson and moved, instead, into our own apartment here in Madison. We're now moved in, settled, and past the holidays, so we're feeling pretty relaxed, at least for parents of two children under 2!) I have a sneaking suspicion the calm won't last long, so I'm trying to savor every minute. Sometimes savoring includes letting thoughts running around in my head spill out into the world, so here I am again.
Enough about me, on to some big ideas! Here are a few hints: "There's no place like ____," "____ is where you hang your hat," "____ SWEET ____," "____ is where the heart is." I'm sure you've guessed by now.
In the past six months of being in "limbo," not sure where our next residence will be, I have been contemplating that idea of "home." That was easy for me, not a question at all, during my growing-up years: I lived in the same house since I was 5 months old and attended the same church and church-run school from age five through high school graduation. It really "rocked my world" when the church and school changed locations my freshman year of college. When I came "home," the place where I'd spent more time than any other place (other than the house where I grew up) was no longer familiar. Then, the year I graduated college and moved to Michigan, going "home" for the holidays meant going to Wisconsin, not Illinois, for my parents had moved. Thus began my "home displacement" issues (yes, I did just make that up!).
Having grown up in Illinois and attended college in South Carolina before moving to Michigan, I had no idea how many more states would become "home" to me in the years ahead. While in Michigan, I called 5 different places "home," lived with my parents in Wisconsin and sister in Georgia between Michigan and Oregon, where I moved once I got married. From there, we moved to Pennsylvania, where we lived with Jonathan's parents for a few months between ministries. From there, we moved to Gillett, Wisconsin, where we stayed for over 2 1/2 years--a new record for me in adulthood! We really made that place feel like "home," even though we did not own it. It was a parsonage, and the church gave us the liberty to paint and make other updates that really made it feel like "ours."
After living with my parents for my last trimester and first couple months with baby Joshua (ever time we tried to move out, another strong potential would come up for moving out of state!), we moved into a 2-bedroom apartment here in Madison. It does feel like "home" with all our stuff around and all. Crazily, we hope to move sometime in 2011, hopefully to someplace we'll get to call "home" for quite some time.
So what is "home," and why is it so important to us? After 22 years in the same place . . . 11 years, 6 states, and 10 residences later . . . it's a question I've been asking myself. The next few posts will be my meanderings and fumbling answers to those questions, so check back soon!
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