Redirections

A time of change, a time to rearrange and rethink priorities and purpose.

That is what this time holds for me.

I've long wanted to move from my "newbie-Christian" place of writing and transition to a different blog with a different angle.

My angle will always be one pointed up at God with my head bowed, but as far as my writing goes, I am going to focus on different aspects a bit more.

I am starting a new blog.

I admit to not having a lot of details.

For instance, I haven't decided it will be completely anonymous (which has its perks) or if I will continue to be pretty open (with respect for boundaries, of course).

I haven't decided all the areas I'd like to focus on. I know I'd like to focus on being a stepparent and the challenges that holds, as well as how being a Christian stepparent has been increasingly challenging.

I'd like to include more of thoughts on the Bible.

I'd just like to feel more focused.

And a fresh start is a good way to do that.

So dear Dove Chronicles readers, hold on for a bit. I haven't decided when the switch will happen.

I already have the new blog up and running, but I've not decided if I will advertise that here or not. Those of you who are already "followers" received an email pointing you to the next destination.

Those who aren't "followers" should keep an eye out for any link I provide here, if I decide to.

Thank you so very much for two and a half years of writing joy. Thank you for listening and for providing prayers and feedback.

I know this is a wonderful step forward, an adventure I feel called to take.

All because of Him...

What the Heart Knows that the Womb Doesn't

This blog post has been resting in my heart and my mind for a while, ever since Lisa-Jo Baker posted this post the real-life definition of a mother.


Because I often think about the role I have in my kids' lives, Lisa-Jo's definition really struck home. Not in a bad way, just in a way that made me think. I know Lisa-Jo has had an "other mother" in her life so I do not pretend to think that she is really only talking about biological mothers here. But my mind often hangs on titles, so I wanted to write out my own "definition of a stepmother."

But I found I couldn't. Because I don't think there is one that can include all stepmothers. So I decided to write a definition of myself as a stepmother, as an other-mother, as whoever I am to these kids at this point in time. Because it's different for each child. To the eldest girl, I am a bother she doesn't want to admit that she loves. To the middle I am the mama she desperately wants to call on but feels scared and confused. And to the youngest, my little man, I am nearly as much of a mother as his own as I've been in all of his known memories.

So I set out to write a simple definition for myself which quickly became a tome of how my title of "stepmother" - and how these kids and myself - have changed in five years.

The following is my response to Lisa-Jo's blog entry and I ask for grace as you read. This is the story God currently writes in my life. Not every story is the same. In fact, our stories are not the same at all.

I thank you for reading and my hope is that the stepmother role and title can one day be taken out of the vaults of badly-depicted Disney movies and snarky women on soap operas.

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My womb was expectantly waiting for children the day I met my love. My womb waited and waited until the truth began to settle like an emptiness unknown to fullness.

My womb would always be empty and so, I thought, would my heart.

But I became a stay-at-home-Something soon after meeting him and took the one and a half year old to Storytime, tried to nudge him to join clapping games. I kissed his warm barely-there-blond-hair on nights he slept over and, in the morning, held and rocked him upon waking.

But my stay-at-home-ness was new and foreign and on some days I didn't like it.

And I resented.

But there were days when I played trucks and made PB&Js and secured bandaids. The girls, still young enough to be amazed, repeated their requests for me to sing Ariel’s song from “The Little Mermaid.” Then the next day they'd fight with each other so bad that I wanted to stomp out in my own tantrum and slam my door behind me.

My identity wavered.

Now, five-ish years later, my identity is rooted in titles that defy true comprehension. Titles like “stepmother” that get written on emergency contact forms and titles like “Mom” to the in-the-moment-slipped tongue.

I do not ask for the Mom title. I don’t feel it’s mine to have, though I do the Mom thing.

I have made plates of waffles that would sink a ship. I have yelled at doors so loud the house shook. I have used the word Stop too many times and not said enough Go’s.

I have worn my own mother on my sleeve and allowed her anxieties to clutch these kids tight.

I have walked blocks in this neighborhood crying, wanting an “in” to this family to which I don’t always fit, and also sometimes wanting an “out” to everything I said yes to.

And then I am reminded.

The middle girl who twirls my hair as we sit together, who fingers my cross necklace as she buries her head in my neck, who wants me to braid her hair because I finally got this hair-thing right.

I am reminded.

The boy who I potty-trained four years ago now won’t let me see his naked bum because I’m a girl and I laugh because I made sure he aimed at the toilet so many years ago. He who asks me to sing my made-up song I sang to him as a baby - that he remembers! Every night, the request to sing, the request to rub his back.

And I am reminded.

The oldest, in all her drama and trauma, I am reminded even as she pushes me away and spits on my advances. Even as she is not with us right now and is in serious peril, I am reminded as she talks calmly to me on the phone when everyone else she verbally abuses. When I look around my bedroom at the kids’ drawings and I see hers from four years ago, naming me the “best stepmom in the world” who gave her “hope when [her] family broke up.”  I am reminded when I clean out her bedroom and I see the poem I wrote her not torn and tossed in the garbage, but put in her dresser drawer. For safe keeping or just out of the way - no matter. It was not in the trash can in shreds and my heart was not in shards. Even in silence and absence she reminds me.

I can do this.

I can relive my childhood as I watch them grow up and I can be okay with it all.

I can forgive myself for all the wrongs I did as I watch my kids do all the same wrongs and hopefully forgive them, too.

I can do so much forgiving all before we get into the car to go to school.

“I have lost it, yelled it, fought it, cried it and apologized it all before 9am.” - Lisa-Jo Baker

Yes, that.

I have spoken Truth to a little girl’s fears, empowered her with an emotional vocabulary, and watch it all fade away in the span of a day only to have it return in full force the next.

I have explained too much and also not enough.

I have nitpicked and critiqued.

I have not looked, listened, and felt in emotional first aid emergencies. And everyone knows you need to do that.

“I have been woken up, shaken up, thrown up, loved up, and shut up. I have never quite, completely, ever given up.” - Lisa-Jo Baker

And yes, that.

I am halfway to insanity on most days but still want to come home to the eyes of these children, the arms of my husband.

I would have never guessed this life for myself in a million years. My womb wants to fight me on this one. My womb insists it is still empty and on the bad days, it cries out for more.

I know better because just when I think they hate me they shock me with arms that reach for me.

I know better because just when I think I have done or said that thing to tip them over the edge, there is a knock on the door asking for one last hug goodnight.

I know better because God called me here and spoke to me clear and plain that these were the needy children I was to serve, not the ones in Honduras or Uganda.

And though wet towels left on the floor sends me through the roof, I can barely believe we own this beautiful house and live in this beautiful town and have the good neighbors and church families that we do.

I am amazed that after five years I can say to the kids, “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”

Stepmothers get such the bad rap and though I’ve been on the spitting end of hateful words and slammed doors and torn up pictures and scratched up gifts, I know that I love them with all the love that a womb can hold.

They are mine, too. Not born in my womb, but in my heart. And not right from the start, but in time. 

Our love for each other is by choice and earned intentionally. It hasn't been there “since their first breath,” but it’s grown over time and past shirt sizes.

“I am out of my mind and in my calling and desperate for five minutes alone and a lifetime together.” - Lisa-Jo Baker

Oh, and so much of that.

I want to slow down and listen to the wise words of other mothers around me, words to heed time and squeeze the small moments because memories aren’t as tangible.

I want a better sense of humor, to not be so weepy, but I want to teach the ability to let out the icky feelings and then be okay.

“These are the good days, the glory days, the slow-as-molasses days. These are the fast years, the wonder years, the how-do-I-find-words years.” - Lisa Jo Baker

These are days I want to stretch to infinity and stop all at once. These are days of contradictions and confusion, desperation and howling at the moon.

And I wouldn’t change any of it.

My womb might not have guessed I’d never bear children. But my heart always knew I would love them.

The Other-Mother Mother's Day

It’s hard to know what to say on Mother’s Day for women who care for and about children but don’t fit the typical title of “Mom.”

Aunts, grandmothers, sisters - they can be a mother. Neighbors, friends, mothers-of-friends - they, too, can be a mother.

And then there is the sort of mother that I am: stepmother.

What an odd word, “stepmother.” I used to think it meant that the 2nd wife, a fill-in mother for the weekend, was a mother who was always a “step” away from the children. Always second place. Always not-as-much. Not-quite-the-mom.

I had a wonderful stepmother growing up. She modeled independence and self-confidence in ways I still haven't digested. I know I learned a lot from her and what I did learn is still slowly coming out of me in bursts as I “stepmother” my own stepchildren.

I was not prepared for full-on-mothering my stepchildren, however. I didn’t know that was in the cards for me. I always heard of stepmothers who were on the peripherary. Side-stepping-stepmothers. Background-stepmothers. Stepmothers who had an invisible mask over their mouth so their ideas and opinions wouldn’t get in the middle of actual parenting. A mask, as though she had some sort of contagious illness.

Instead, I’m a stepmother who not only has no mouth-mask, but is encouraged to parent like a biological parent. I’m encouraged to be 50% of this household's parental makeup.

And I must tell you, with the world’s views of stepmothers, that is not an easy thing to do.

I’ve gotten all kinds of messages throughout my four and a half years of being in these children’s lives.

I’ve been told that I will never love them like a “real mother” does and I’ve been told that I am fully capable of loving them with a biological mother’s heart.

I’ve been told to back off and let my husband do all the parenting and enjoy the fact that I’m not the parent and I’ve been told to be grateful for a husband who respects me and wants me to parent alongside him.

I’ve been told these aren’t my kids and I’ve been told these are most certainly my kids.

Even my stepkids have been on this particular teeter-totter. When I first met them, they defied all the warnings I'd been given and all the horror stories I'd heard. They accepted me, even liked me. A lot.

But just as marriages have honeymoons, so, too, do kids and the new stepparent.

And I now know the stories of stepkids hating you because I've lived it. I've known the "you're not my Mom" because I've heard it. Mind you, this has only been from the eldest, but I sense the next one in line will come to that place all too soon.

My stomach sinks to think of it.

But through it all I have developed a wider definition of "mother." If the kids hadn't come to us full-time two years ago, had we stayed every-other-week parents and not become custodial, my love for them would have stayed confined by other people's perceptions of what my heart...and their hearts...could feel.

I am no side-stepping stepmother. I am not in any background, but rather in the foreground of the best and hardest calling I've ever had. I have no mask on and no illness to spread. My opinions might not always be agreed with, but my husband always listens and considers my ideas equal in importance to his.

I am in no peripherary, but, instead, in the thick of the teenage traumas, the torn mother allegiance, the frightening mental health.

In the thick of the little girl who vacillates between stuffed penguins and skinny jeans, who yells and screams at me one minute, then wants me to braid her hair and answer "one more question about Jesus, please" the next.

In the thick of learning "boy speak" as the toddler I met now says things like, "are you available?" and can't focus to save his life except in the case of Minecraft.

In the thick of emailing teachers to keep on top of school behaviors, monitoring homework and school concerts and karate class and play dates, worrying if she or she or he is learning the right or wrong lesson, being consumed with curiosity (sometimes trepidation) of who these children will turn into.  Wondering if I am doing all I can to teach them good things. Praying for them and praying that I point to God more than i point to them or myself.

I think of my role in their lives so differently now. I think of non-traditional mothers differently now: with more respect and, frankly, awe.

We are a special breed.

Mothers, biological, are celebrated this coming Sunday.

I don't want to forget us other-mothers, the mothers who might not get the Numero Uno title, but who do the work, have the love, who hold the children as though they are their own.

I celebrate that other-mother.

Because though my kids have a mother, I am confident in the role God has called me to and in the love I feel for them.

We aren't in this for glory.

Sometimes all we get are the guts.

I'm in this for God's glory and trying to juggle all He has entrusted me with.

So thank you Mom - Happy Mothers Day to my beloved mama. 

Thank you Lyn, my stepmother, Aunt Vivie, Sue Edison-Swift, Mary Fullerton, Nancy Broberg, and so many more women who have other-mothered me in my life. Happy Mother's Day to you all.

My prayer is that every person who has invested themselves in a child will be honored this Sunday.

Wonderful: In Which I Sing My Praise

This is the video made by my husband of my solo at the Praise Team Concert (see previous blog entry, "I Will Praise You When I Cough).

I sang "Wonderful" by Christy Nockels.

And while I am my worst critic and all I hear are the cracks in my voice and the lack of vibrato, I also see the love and passion that dwells within me for Jesus.

And that is why I share this with you.

Ultimately, that is why I share anything with you.

Thank you for watching and listening.

The Paradox of the Season

Husband's birthday is today - on Good Friday.

It's been interesting, this paradox. Celebrating the man I love's birthday on the day I remember Christ dying.

Last night, at the end of the Maundy Thursday service, they ceremoniously stripped the altar as Pastor sang, in the same haunting melody as Ash Wednesday's Psalm 51, Psalm 22. And the ladies in prim and beautiful dresses, white gloves on their hands especially for this, took the candles, the cup and plate we had just used for the Lord's Supper, the altar cloths - they took everything off as the sanctuary lights turned off.  A firm lump rose in my throat and tears rolled down.

It has now begun, I felt deep in my bones. We enter the space of suffering and sadness and the why's and how-did-this-happen's. We hear Jesus' words, "Remember me" and as Good Friday fades to evening we think about him beseeching his Father, "My God, why have You forsaken me?"

Yesterday as I stood around the enormous cross which stands on a neighbor's land here in town, hand-in-hand with other believers wanting to usher God into the moment, wanting to thank God for the gift of His Son, wanting to pray for the church and everyone on this earth, I looked up as the sun shone on the stained wood, the two nails holding the pieces together - large nails - and I realized I had never been this close to such a cross. I could feel its pulse. I could feel its story of the Cross long ago.

The Pastor who led the prayer mentioned something that threw me for a headspin. He said that no one has ever or will ever suffer as much as Jesus did on that cross. Things certainly fell into perspective.

I love Good Friday because it gives me time to truly reflect on all Christ has done for me.

If I had it my way I'd have the entire day to just sit in the sun and read God's Word and journal and sing.

As it turns out, God had different plans for me this Good Friday.

I tried to make Husband's Good Friday Birthday an enjoyable one. I managed to handle the squabbles between 9 yr old Miss G and 6 yr old Mr. A. - they are getting at each other's throats more and more. I did not yell at all; I chose grace over anger.

Husband came home to presents and streamers. We had a good time.

Then the kids went off in different directions and I sat down to blog.

And in that time, while Husband takes a much-deserved nap, Miss G and Mr. A have come in three times declaring war and tattling on each other.

I have handled it all, so far, without yelling.

Then Miss G, who is ripening in opinions and attitude, announces that she can't help but hit her brother; she just gets so mad that she can't control it.

Oh, we've been through this before, child. I've been teaching you an emotional vocabulary since I met you at age four and a half. I gave you that Dora squeezie ball back then to hold when anger filled you to the brim and then we transitioned to a feelings poster and now, here we are in present day, with me asking you about your day and you releasing emotion after emotion.

So how did we get to today - how, apparently, it is okay for you to wallop your brother because you can't control it and oh, I just don't understand it and you just can't explain it, and you spin around in a huff and scream at me.

My heart pierces and I feel a sharp ache. I'm losing my little girl.

I calmly tell her that she has every ability to control her anger. She knows this. But she will not believe it. She sees her sister making excuses and falling into the victim time and time again and I worry for all of them, all of these kids who have seen such trauma and such suffering and I wonder if I can ever lead them to Jesus which makes me think

maybe Jesus needs to lead them to Jesus. 

I tell Miss G that I love her and I know she knows, though it's hard, she can choose not to hit or fight.

And I leave her room because I can see it is getting to be information-overload and I close the door behind her, feeling her seething anger, hearing the bursts of tears beginning.

And I can't do much but pray.

I want this Good Friday to be good.

I want our family to love each other and for us to get along.

Can't they see that?

Don't they know what this day means? What Christ did for them?

There is grace for them, I hear in my head. And I call you to show them such grace.

Oh God, it is so hard. I want to yell instead of love. I want to cry instead of pray.

But it is in my control, isn't it. Praying instead of crying. Loving instead of yelling. Just like she can choose not to hit I can choose not to sink into despair.

Hold me up, Lord. I've been pondering how we can hold you up on the cross; I think, secretly, I've been wondering if there could have been anything we could have done to save you from such suffering.

But I remember you are God-Man and you chose this, you knew this would happen. It is written...

You have not asked me to save you, Lord. Do I really think that? Is that why Good Friday pierces me so much this year? How mistaken I am.

You have called me to serve others. You've called me to serve these children. And I try, Lord, I try.

So what if it is about the paradox? A birthday on Christ's death day. Teaching her not to yell when I want to scream in despair. Running to you and proclaiming my need of you the day when you were nailed to the worst death imaginable.

This season is all paradox, upside-down. Then again, so is the Kingdom of God.

We are called to love the least of us; taught that you loved us when we were yet sinners; picked up time and time again if we just call out to you.

The paradox of this season is not lost on me.

The hard which can hurt can be the biggest blessing.

But the blessing might not come right away.

Miss G won't walk out of her room and tell me, "I get it now. Thank you so much for explaining it. I understand and I love you so much for leading me to the Lord."

Mr. A won't open his door with a big smile and say, "whining and tattling is so beyond me."

Miss A, the eldest, won't walk upstairs and hug me with tears, thanking me for loving her despite her hating me.

The hard which can hurt and then turn blessing-like might come years later - or even wait until eternity in Heaven.

What I know, Lord, is that you watch us all. You promise each of us eternal life in return for giving our life to you. And for all that you've done - in life and in death - how you conquered death - how you gave us hope in the darkest hours - after all that you've done, I'm going to take your paradox and hold it in my hand, drink from it like a pool of living water, and keep on moving through this life.

Once again, I seem to be living this stuff out so much more than in years past. It gets harder, but I know, because of you, Lord, I grow stronger.

The Most Radical Lullaby

Ann wrote today about radical faith. It's a theme she's been writing on and I've been riveted, as usual, by her insights.

I wanted to write a blog entry about what radical faith looks like to me and I had a million thoughts:

- I don't have time to sit and write a blog entry; I have to pick Eldest Girl up in 20 minutes.
- I don't know what I should say; I haven't felt very radical lately.
- My side still hurts and I don't want to get up.
- I am not qualified to talk on the subject.
- I'm weak and a faith-wuss.

Do you see the downward spiral? Once I heard the snaky hiss of that last thought, I stomped up and grabbed the laptop, logged in, and began writing here.

Sometimes, I have radical faith.

Sometimes, I don't have radical faith and I let my fears rule.

But I will count the ways I am radical in my faith, past and present and future, and I will list them as things I am grateful for - because living eucharisteo is the most radical thing I've ever tried to do.

I Am Radical in My Faith Because

I realize I don't have to do big, expensive things for God to love me and be pleased with me.

I realize that, in His upside-down Kingdom, the little turns to big and the nothing turns to something.

I know what God has called me to do - serve this family of mine - and I do it. It is a daily struggle and a daily joy and I am still learning how to live out grace, forgiveness, mercy, and love.

I am taking on my own kind of dare that is rather private and so I cannot share here...but it is between God and me and it is radical!

I invest my life into these stepchildren of mine - these children I did not birth by womb, but birthed by heart.

I sponsor two children and co-sponsor a third and am so blessed by each of them. I realize that it is the love that counts, not so much the money.

I have realized that if I pray, God, will you give me wisdom? then God might show me that I am wrong in my present thinking and I have to be okay with that.

I know walking a life alongside Christ is hard (In this world you will have trouble), but I feel secure and strong enough in my love for God to know that it will be all right in the end (but do not fear; I have overcome the world ~ John 16:33).

I have began memorizing Scripture with the Romans Project (see sidebar badge) and it is scary because I fear failure...but I'm doing it anyway. That is radical.

I am leading a DVD study on Ann's "One Thousand Gifts" and trying so hard to learn it out and walk it out and live it out. Such a radical notion, this give-thanks-in-everything. The Bible is so radical!

I am loving when I do not feel loved. I am serving when I feel jipped and unappreciated. I am forgiving when I don't feel forgiven. I am not choosing some battles I normally would choose.

I am slowing down. That is radical.

I am sitting here listening to Husband play with Son. And play is not common around here. Calm is not common around here. And my heart wants to burst out in tearful gratitude for this bit of time I carved out to remind myself that I can write about how hard things are over and over...

but God will constantly remind me of how He has us all in His palm.

Do you not know, Lisa, that if you take your hand out from beneath all of them, that My hand will not be there even moreso? (this the Lord said to me one day last year as I cried and clutched)

I am breathing. Heavenly Father, glory to You! - I am breathing!

This I haven't been able to do in months.

I breathe. I breathe the name that can only be breathed: {YHWH}.

On Ann's blog, she quotes Rabbi Lawrence Kushner as saying:

“The letters of the name of God in Hebrew… are infrequently pronounced Yahweh. But in truth they are inutterable….

This word {YHWH} is the sound of breathing.

The holiest name in the world, the Name of Creator, is the sound of your own breathing. That these letters are unpronounceable is no accident. Just as it is no accident that they are also the root letters of the Hebrew verb ‘to be’… God’s name is name of Being itself.”

I can finally be still enough to listen and breath His name..I breathe it like a song.

{YHWH}

...the most radical lullabies I've ever known. 

When The Odds Rise Against You

http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/businessman-removing-building-block-high-res-stock-photography/103033288

Two odds have stacked up; two very big facts in my life:

1. my body
2. my 14 year old teenager stepdaughter

Both are angst-ridden and angry, both are moody and stuck in a rut. Both are victims of circumstance and  victims of themselves.

Is that vague yet poetic enough for you?

To be more specific, yet still respecting privacy, let me try to explain a bit further.

My body has been fighting me for years, but has progressively gotten worse this year. Since March, I was in the emergency room three times. Urgent Care became my middle name and I formed long-lasting friendships with every on-call 24-hour-nurse at my clinic. They'd always be there at 3 in the morning to take my calls of pain and hysteria. They'd offer advice, suggestions, and sometimes just listen to me vent about how much pain I was in and how I couldn't get sleep.

After getting a common yet important procedure scheduled for January, my body made it known that it would not wait that long. The 3rd ER visit occurred and soon we had the procedure scheduled for four days later.

That was last Friday.

The procedure painted me as a healthy fool.

The doctors were perplexed.

Maybe you're too anxious, they said.

Yes. If you were going through this much pain and agony and worrying about how you were going to function every day and take care of your kids and husband and life-duties, worry about how many sick-days you were using up at work and were you going to lose your job over this...yes, I bet you'd be pretty anxious too.

So off I went to the specialist in my area of body-problem.

She was invalidating, plain-old-mean. She told me I was too emotional about it and wasn't the least bit sympathetic.

At that point, my normally-sweet and compassionate demeanor disappeared and I unleashed some wrath I did not know I had. Poor woman.

This got me to see a nationally-recognized expert in the area of my body-problem. I have to do another procedure this week and then get one x-ray next week and one on December 3rd. I'm told he will be able to tell me what is going on.

In the mean time, every day gives me pain, pain, more pain. I can't describe it without going into too much detail so you will just have to trust me.

Then there is my number two odd stacked against me: the 14 year old.

As with me and my health problem, she is full of pain and wrath. And lucky me, I am her target practice.

Actually, I don't think I'm "practice" for anything; I know she is very angry with me.

Yet I understand this. I'm not her biological mother; I'm the woman she lives with who is being the second parent in the house; I'm the woman who makes sure she does x, y, and z and gets on her case if she doesn't. I'm the parent who helps make sure her room is clean and that she gets picked up from confirmation and poms weekly.

But I'm also the parent who gets the "you're not my mom; stop trying so hard to be my mom."

I'm also the parent who gets to fight with her almost every morning about being upstairs on-time. About basic manners. About this or that. Name anything. We've covered it.

This girl adored me once upon a time. I have up on my wall a framed drawing that reads, "Stepmom is my favorite word. When you came into my life I felt hope in my family being broke up. I love you."

Was that only two years ago? How can a child morph into someone so different in two years?

And yet I love her. I am called to love her. God wants me to love her. And I do. I love her when I am angry at her, I love her when I act irrationally at her and when I act rationally (however irrational to her teenage mind). I love her when we bond over something and I love her when we fight (though, I admit, it's mighty hard to remember that).

So these two things: my 14 year old and my body...

they are both railing against me right now. They are wild animals howling in the night and they are in agony. They both want help but reject it. Granted, the 14 year old has more control about accepting or rejecting the help than my body does, but there are similarities none-the-less.

I feel like I'm being hated on...a lot.

This morning, after another tearful drive to work after dropping the kids to school (tears due to the tiredness of fighting with 14 year old every morning over something), I read through my index cards of Bible verses.

One stuck out in particular:

"If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first." 

No, that's not the president talking nor is it my own parent. It's Jesus.

John 15:18 (NLT).

I sat in my car, transfixed by that message.

I felt God lean in close and tell me:

I love you more than she hates you. 

Wow. I haven't realized the true nature of God's love. I haven't realized that God loves me no matter what time He goes to bed or needs to be upstairs in the morning. If God sneaks someone into the house, God is still going to love me when I punish Him.

Okay, so I'm making a bit of a joke there, but I think you might know what I mean.

Feeling God say that to me made such a huge difference. So much that I do not fear anyone or anything hating me [on a good day].

God loves me more, immeasurably more.

"With your unfailing love you lead the people you have redeemed. In your might, you guide them to your sacred home." ~ Exodus 15:13 (NLT).

Unfailing love, that's what Moses wrote. Unfailing love is mentioned, in the New International Version translation, 32 times!

So...

the odds might be against me.

But God is for me.

And if God is for me, who can be against me?

I rest in God. I thank God. I sigh into God's bigger-than-huge love.

Deeeep breath.

The Story Table: When All You Can Do is Lay There

[note: this took many days to write, so bare with me as it is now three or four days after this event]

I'm sprawled out on the operating table right now.

I have been split completely open by mess.

Things I have neglected kept building and building; my self-care had gone shamefully mismanaged and neglected. Things were not going well.

I am not saying things are perfect now, as I lie on the table. I mean, I see that God's hands are ready to mold me. Take me apart, squish me together again, reshape me, do all kinds of things.

I see that God is doing work in me.

And it's scary.

There have been nights - recent nights - where I have sobbed on the laundry room floor and cried out at God, not necessarily to Him - and said, "I don't want this call! I don't want to do what you want me to do."

I've gone to the brink of suffering and almost lost my footing and let myself be swallowed.

And today I was completely split open.

Thanks to a few trusted counselors and a friend, I'm gaining some perspective bit by bit. I'm realizing how I need to care for myself. I need to put my oxygen mask on before I can care for anybody.

And let me tell you - I've let my oxygen mask hang there like a tree ornament for years now.

Oh nevermind you, I'd say to myself. It's selfish to think of yourself.

(As God whispers His command: "love others as yourself")

Nevermind you, I've repeated for twenty-plus years. You aren't worth it.

But no more. I am not letting the enemy's lies dictate my worth. I will not rely on anyone but the Lord to tell me who I am.

So I have taken an R&R evening. I have had to force my mind not to dwell on whether she did all her homework or if that electric bill sitting on the counter is going to tip us into the red. I have had to walk away from a sink full of dishes.

This is not piously said.

I say this in shame because I had to force myself to say:

I am breaking. I need help. I need saving. If I don't change something now, I will be lost forever.

Lord, save me. Stop this. I am Yours.

So although the image of me on an operating table sounds completely helpless and vulnerable, I have complete confidence in the Almighty to make me into who He wants me to be.

Why am I sharing this with the blogosphere? And who, really, reads my blog, anyway?

Reading my dear internet-sister-in-Christ, Michele-Lyn's blog entry, "What is alifesurrendered.com?" I read many of my own mission statements.

I can't keep quiet. What happens inside this heart is important. Not because I am more important than anyone else, but because I know God is doing important things in me.

I am becoming stronger not by my own efforts, but because I lean on Christ to strengthen me (Philippians 4:13).

My life will be a testimony. It already is.

God will use my story to help others. He uses all of our stories if we let Him.

Our story is His story.

That is what I desire - for my story to reveal His story.

Great Physician, here I am on Your table. I want to be molded, changed. I know I am made new by my faith  (2 Corinthians 5:17) and I also know that I will continue to struggle (John 16:33) so I ask you that you humble me enough to listen to You always. I ask that you humble me so that I may carry out the immense calling that you have for me - to serve my family and model Your love. As much as my heart beats for Daniela in her village, for Compassion International, Food for the Hungry, WorldVision, Operation Baby Rescue, and so many wonderful organizations that help the needy...my mission field is my home. The needy children are my own stepchildren who God has placed in my life. And God placed me in their lives. It goes both ways.

And Lord, I'm sorry that I was getting so overwhelmed and upset and I wiggled and strained against Your guidance. Sometimes it is so hard, Lord. Sometimes, I admit, I don't want this call.

I admit it. I am human.

I heard on Susie Larson's "Live the Promise" show (yesterday? I forget) concerning God's calling, that, if your heart resists a bit when you hear God calling you to do something, then that usually means you know that is what you ought to do.

Why? Because it's probably hard. And we have a hard time with the hard stuff. 

Lord, I wrote a few days ago - bring it on.

And oh, you did.

You did so much that I found myself split open. I know you didn't cause this immense suffering these past weeks or months, but I know now that it needed to happen. I needed to be split open to see the light - Your light.

I needed to remember where I come from, Who I come from, where I must serve, and who I must serve.

I needed to remember who I am.

I am not anything or anyone defined by my childhood friends or current friends; I am not defined by roles placed on me by family. I am Yours, first.

I seek You, Lord. I seek to love others as I...

I am learning to love myself.

That is hard to type. I still hear echoes of ugly in my head.

But You ask me to love others as I love myself.

So...in order to love others perhaps I must dare to love myself.

Perhaps I must dare to let myself be split open and lay on that operating table and release my life into Your will.

And it says - your will is that I love myself.

And others.

And You.

Lord, help me love.

Help the ugly voices turn truthful.

Help the lies dissipate into steam on the mirror which quickly fades.

This I pray.

This I put out there in the blogosphere for Your glory and in hopes that someone might come along and read my story, Your story, and decide...

to love him/herself.

And to love others.

And to love You, Lord.

I chuckle as I look down at the necklace I wear every day. The abbreviated Bible verse has not felt personal until right now.

"Seek...to reflect Him"  2 Corinthians 

So Lord, I seek You and I lay upon the story table where You mold and move me. 

That's where the big stuff happens. That's where redemption is found. 

When You're in Denial about the Hard Stuff

free wallpaper from Proverbs 31 Ministries at http://www.proverbs31.org/freebies/

Oh God, I feel it. I feel the ache and the gnaw.

I have disappointed you.

You called me and I knew I was a chosen servant

Isaiah 42 (NIV)

The Servant of the Lord

“Here is my servant, whom I uphold,
    my chosen one in whom I delight;
I will put my Spirit on him,
    and he will bring justice to the nations.
He will not shout or cry out,
    or raise his voice in the streets.
A bruised reed he will not break,
    and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.
In faithfulness he will bring forth justice;
     he will not falter or be discouraged
till he establishes justice on earth.
    In his teaching the islands will put their hope.”

This is what God the Lord says—
the Creator of the heavens, who stretches them out,
    who spreads out the earth with all that springs from it,
    who gives breath to its people,
    and life to those who walk on it:
 “I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness;
    I will take hold of your hand.
I will keep you and will make you
    to be a covenant for the people
    and a light for the Gentiles,
 to open eyes that are blind,
    to free captives from prison
    and to release from the dungeon those who sit in darkness.

 “I am the Lord; that is my name!
    I will not yield my glory to another
    or my praise to idols.
 See, the former things have taken place,
    and new things I declare;
before they spring into being
    I announce them to you.”

**********************************

So God, I say to You now...your servant has fallen. Not fallen at Your feet during the time of trail, as we are supposed to do, but my spirit has fallen. I gave up when I was not supposed to. I let the enemy win when I could have fought more. 

For that I am sorry. 

And yet I ponder Ann Voskamp's words from today's blog

"When did I start expecting successful Christian living to be smooth sailing instead of stepping out of the boat in the middle of a storm?"

Why am I continuously surprised when trials come my way? When children misbehave or, sometimes worse, make such poor decisions that you fear for them? When spouses fight and don't understand. When you yearn for the old life yet know very well that you are right where you are supposed to be, for "a time such as this" (Esther 4:14)?

Lord, I know better. I know that there will be suffering and trouble (John 16:33) and I even know what purpose that has. 

So why do I spin and spit and sob and rot? Why do I get caught up in the I-don't-want-to's and that's-not-fair's? Why do I question - no, argue - your plan for me?

Because...

it is hard.

And we humans don't like doing the hard stuff. 

And I dared to pray that dangerous prayer: Lord, bring it on. 

I knew what my call in this season of life was. It was not what I expected nor what I particularly wanted, but I said Lord, bring it on!

As though I was the karate student in my stepson's class when they get too tired and want to quit. The instructor has instructed them to yell out, "Bring it on, sir!"

And Sir, I did say to bring it on. 

And You did. 

So why am I surprised that life is a daily struggle and has been for a while?

I know you are doing a fantastic work in each of us, yet I still squirm and wiggle, moan and complain. 

I have to do this hard stuff. I can't give up nor ask my mother to sign a note to my gym teacher excusing me from doing the high-jump because I am too anxiety-plagued. 

It's time to do the hard stuff. 

So Lord, I am sorry that this heart is prone to wander, prone to leave the Father Almighty who I love so much. I am sorry I put humans' opinions above Your own. 

I am sorry for regressing. 

Head up and eyes toward Heaven, I am ready for the day which begins tomorrow. 

Nothing extraordinary planned, just another day. However, it is a day where I can start anew. 

That's the joy of You, Lord. I mess up on the hard stuff tonight, but I know you love and forgive me; I know you recognize my repentance and love for You. I mess up on the hard stuff tonight, but I know that you give me the new day tomorrow. 

Hard stuff will continue to rain down, this I know. 

Seal my heart, Lord. Seal it to Thy courts above. 

When You are Overwhelmed with the Need of the World

Charity.
What do you think of when you hear that word?
Giving.
What do you think of when you hear that word?

Do you feel excited and full of potential, ready to give? Or do you feel overwhelmed at all the need in this world?

Do you feel jaded by all the commercials over the decades that paste poverty-stricken children on the television screen and do you think to yourself, "oh, they're just getting the worst-looking kid to pose and they just want my money - my money won't actually reach them."

Are you thinking, "somebody else will take care of them?"

Maybe you feel guilty when you hear 2 Corinthians 9:7:

"Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver."

Are you not exactly a cheerful giver? Please. Do not feel guilty. I have thought long and hard and have had it placed on my heart: God does not want you to feel guilty. Let me explain further.

Right now, a number of my favorite Christian writers are blogging from the Compassion International trip to Ecuador. You can read the many inspirational and heart-touching blogs and stories here.

I'm reading Ann Voskamp's blog posts the most because she speaks to my poet's heart. In her November 10th post, she writes about meeting one of her sponsor children, Lidia, in Ecuador. Ann writes,


"All poverty is first poverty of a relationship." 

And who is that relationship with? She continues:

"Falling out of relationship with God was our first fall into poverty  — and into conflict and sin and hardship.  And all subsequent poverty —- All poverty stems more from an absence of right relationships than a right resources. Anything that takes the place of the primacy of the Christ-relationship leads to a place of poverty."


Tears spilled over as I read her 11-10-11 post, as she marvels at how she "fritters" away $38 a month when this child, Lidia, has waited THREE YEARS to find a sponsor. Or rather, for a sponsor to choose her. I looked at my bank account and felt ashamed at all the menial purchases when so many children are abroad, sick, starving, dying. 


And then I felt what you might feel: complete ovewhelm. I can't do it all, God! I cried. I CAN'T! How can I help them? Do I go on a missionary trip and lend my services? I wondered if I could make a quick phone call, drum up some money, and join Ann, Shaun, and their friends at Compassion and quickly go there and lend my aid. 


Then I realized I am a wife and a stepmother who is dearly needed at home. What was I to do?


Then...something else came to mind. I remembered an interview Susie Larson had done on "Live the Promise" with a family who had sold all their possessions (after learning that riches did not cause true happiness) and bought and R.V. and began their ministry, Passion to Action. You can hear their amazing interview here.  (particularly important is the talk at 32 minutes and 40 seconds and on).

To fully understand the connections I am trying to make, I urge you to look at these links I am giving you. Listen to the podcast of the husband and wife's interview on Live the Promise. 


Jay and Beth Loecken packed their 4 kids up and took an R.V. and decided to bring their family on the road to serve and love others. They say a lot about serving others and focusing right in our own community. They are not saying to disregard the needs in third world countries, but they made the point that there are needy people right next door to us. 


And that made me think. What does God call us to do? I looked at Scripture:


"Be careful not to do your 'acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven "So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." Matthew 6:1-4

He calls us to give, but to give quietly, without "trumpets" and fanfare. Basically, do not give for your own glory, but for His. 

And then I read 1 John 3:17:

"If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him? Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth."

So for the love of God to be in you, you must think of those in need. To have a heart for the needy, is to have a heart for Jesus. 

But what about all of us who feel guilty/overwhelmed/jaded by all the need that is in the world? Whether we don't actually believe that much is out there (I don't believe that) or whether we think that we can't possibly make a dent in this world...

Well, you know what? Yes, you. You. YOU can help. YOU are called to help. 

BUT...God does not call you to do anything that He has not equipped you with. 

So... do we do the BIG and go be a missionary for Compassion International? 

Or do we serve our own communities? Do we bring a casserole to the recently-widowed woman down the street? Do we offer babysitting to a family whose parents are overstressed and burdened (that recently was blessed upon me)? Not that that kind of serving is "little," but it isn't as BIG-SOUNDING as the above mentioned example? 

Big or little? Far or near? This or that? 

I don't want to judge one or the other - the point is that you need to ACT. Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth (1 John 3:17 once again). 

Yes, I understand there are so many cries for help. So many men, women, children, abroad and in our own country, state, town, street. Where ought we put our focus? 

Do we need to worry so much on the Where? On the How? Ought we just focus on the DOING of something? 

Stay with me here. 

What if EVERY ABLE person donated money to either a sponsorship program or money to a program that helps the poverty-stricken? Or what if EVERY ABLE person donated time at local soup kitchens, hospitals, or cooking dinners for that sick neighbor...

does God care about the HOW? He helps makes things happen.  But we have to make the WHAT. We need to make the first step. The ACTION. God will make the HOW of our steps. He will use us to do His good if we allow Him to. 

Now listen to this:

Our God is a God of HOW. He needs us to do the WHAT. He will direct us, guide us, if we let him.  

Do you feel a little less overwhelmed? When I realized this - that I didn't have to fret over how my help was directed - just that I had to make that step to help...when I realized that God would take my help and use it for His glory and good, I felt so much lighter. 

We all try to be God once in a while, don't we?

But God is God and we are human. Flawed humans who sometimes don't know what to do with all of our privileges, yet at the same time some of us don't know how to ask for help for what we need. 

Let God be God and let us do what we need to do: take action. 

I feel so passionate about this, folks. I was explaining this whole concept to my husband in the car and I was almost crying. I was so grateful to God for laying these thoughts and realizations on my heart because I feel it's so important to share. 

You don't need to feel guilty or overwhelmed or jaded or think you can't possibly make a difference. The TV may make you think you have an obligation to this or that in a foreign country. And maybe you do. Is that something that calls to you? For some, it is. And God bless their souls and acts!

But maybe you feel called to help out locally - for the homeless or needy families in town. 

The point is, my lovely friends who have stuck with me and are still reading this long blog post, is that you must first do something in order for the glory to go to God. 

If I may digress a little, let me say that I am the first to admit that I am a bit selfish at times. I want to do my thing the way I want to do it. But I am tired of the selfishness. And I do feel called to go abroad and place myself in a country that is in desperate need. I want to force myself to serve others. Am I going to book the tickets next week? No, I know that trip will have to wait until God provides. 

BUT I know I can work on that selfish nature by looking around in my own neighborhood. There is a woman at church who is in the hospital for a brain aneurism. She is such a sweet soul and I want to check up on her. And God has called me to serve my stepchildren. They are broken in their own ways. They have food, clothing, shelter, but they are very needy in emotion. They crave love and I need to make myself available to them. That sounds easy, but trust me - for me, it isn't. 

So what I am trying so hard to say is...

just act. Don't worry about the HOW and just do the WHAT. 

God is a mighty God, God is an awesome God. He is a mover and a shaker. 

Trust in Him. Act. Be His vessel. Glorify Him with your good deeds and kindnesses. Look outside of your own personal box and make yourself aware of the needs around you. 

In giving, we receive. 

My dears,

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.  

 Colossians 3:12


May God bless you with ideas and passion and may He work your work, may he make your WHAT glorify Him and what Christianity is all about and may He work a miraculous HOW through your efforts.


Now, enjoy this song that has the lyrics that talk about what I've been talking about:
Steven Curtis Chapman's "Do Everything."

The Anniversary of Giving and Taking Away

I don't know how to start. Some moments I feel overcome with grief for what day it is: the 5th anniversary of my mother's death. The day my world stopped turning and spun out of control for many years. And then last year - on this day - I spun into the Lord's embrace and there have I nestled myself happily and gratefully. And yet some moments I rant and rail against God, asking him why? Why did He have to take my mother, my best friend, away from me? Look at what happened to me two years after her death: I got married and became a stepmother of three. So much happened in my life that she was not a part of.

Last night while sitting in the passenger side of the car, head leaning against the cold window with eyes searching the stars and moon above, I listened to the new Casting Crowns CD,"Come to the Well" and I was in an angry place. I wanted my Mom. I wanted her not just alive, I wanted her right next to me, holding me. I wanted to talk to her, to hear her voice, I wanted to feel her arms around me. And I was angry.

Then I remembered what I had heard in a Beth Moore Bible Study on the Book of Esther. She talked about "reversal of destiny." or peripeteia which is a fancy way of saying reversal of fortune - that is to say, a literary device and concept of a turning point, a change of circumstances. There are plenty of people in the Bible who have had reversals of destiny. Actually, that is what a lot God's Word is: the lowly, the least-deserving or the least-expected people turning out to reach the highest heights, become the greatest people, the wisest, the strongest. In the book of Esther, it was Esther, herself, who started out as the Jew, Hadassah, who rose in status to be the Queen of Persia. Such an "ironic" or upside-down turn of events is an example of "reversal of destiny."

I asked myself: what was my "reversal of destiny?" What became ironic in my life - born from tragedy which turned into something benefiting me or others?

I struggled with figuring this out until last night in the car, looking up at the sky. As I was venting to God how unfair it was that my mother was no longer with me, I began to feel a calm settle over my body. My mind stayed on thoughts of my mother, then drifted to thoughts of my stepchildren. And that's when the pivotal phrase hit me:

A mother mothering without a mother.

How ironic. What a tragedy turned into a blessing. Blessing, you ask? I often don't think so, but my stepchildren are in full-time care of  Husband and I because of an emergency situation that happened in their lives and thank God Husband and I had a stable home and life. It has been nothing short of total chaos trying to manage a life which includes a (fairly) new family of 3 kids plus husband...but I'm doing it.

And I know you probably don't understand this because you didn't know the dynamic between my mother and me, but I think I would not be as effective a stepmother if my own mother, though much loved, was still alive. Oh, of course I long for Mom to know my family, but for some reason, God thought it would be better for me to go at this without her earthly presence.

I don't pretend to know the mind of God, nor do I wish to. But this realization gave me some purpose for Mom's passing. And whether or not I am right about the "reversal of destiny" and my place in it, whether or not it makes sense to you or to me, it brings me a certain sense of calm and peace and on this day of days, the 5th year of her passing, I think that's a fine thing to think.

I'll leave you with this verse from Psalm 30:11:
  
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;

I hope to feel that way some of the time. I say some because I know I will grieve, I will hurt. But I know the Lord makes all things new, that He loves and guides...

and in coming to Him, I have been made free (mostly, because hey, I'm human) of this anger at her death. 

I hope the verse comforts and inspires you. 

And I'm curious. What do you think about "reversal of destiny?" Google it. Wiki it. Look up what Beth Moore has to say about it. And get back to me. 

Happy All Saint's Day, as celebrated in my Lutheran Church today. 

God Bless. 
And Mom, I love and miss you.