Superglued and Broken: 5 Minute Friday

And on a rare day where I get to publish more than one blog entry in one 24 hour period, here is my Five Minute Friday as I write, unedited, for five minutes, about a topic given by Lisa Jo Baker, the Gypsy Mama. 

The topic is:
BROKEN

Go.
************************************************
Broken are our lives when someone we love dies and broken are our lives when we come away from one family and cleave to our husband and his family. That was my case. In the Bible it says to say goodbye to the family you grew up in and cleave to your husband and to procreate. Broken was my heart, sometimes is my heart, that we cannot procreate, cannot birth a whole new being combined of his and my heart, DNA, love. So much of me broken. Or so I think.

Those 2 and a half years ago when I came to Jesus and gave my life to him, I felt so much of my broken rise above me and rest in his hands, pieced together by the only one who can do such a thing. So often had I looked to men, to food, to tarot readings, to astrology, to knives, scissors, soap operas, pills, to piece me back together again. Finally, here, I had found the One True Thing. The Ultimate Superglue.

I remember Miss G and I talking about the verse that says "Lord, you have given me my portion and my cup. My lot is secure" and we discussed what "secure" meant and after telling her my definition, she said "oh, it means superglued. I'm superglued to Jesus!"

So while it is tempting to get caught up on being broken, easy to see our lives as fragmented by busy schedules and needy children and drama on all fronts, I really think it all comes down to being superglued to Jesus. Just like my 8 year old-at-the-time said.

Jesus loves the little children.

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

Spring has broken through the snow

5 Minute Fridays: Ordinary Chips

It's fifteen minutes until Saturday morning which means I can still do....

FIVE MINUTE FRIDAY

Where, for five unedited minutes, I write my heart out on a specified word suggested by the gypsy mama over here. 

Today's word is:

ORDINARY.

Go.

************************************
Saturdays aren't days we think of as ordinary. Usually, people do special things on Saturdays. For me, as a kid, I woke up at my dad's house on Saturdays. Cocoa Krispies and chocolate milk. Mom would never had let me have such a morning feast of chocolaty goodness. But Dad would. We'd pig out on pizza and popcorn Friday nights, watch "Full House," "Perfect Strangers," and I'd wake up to cartoons on Saturday mornings with the breakfast of champions. Saturdays were not ordinary for me - not only because of my meal, but because Dad and I always did fun things, such as going to the zoo or to Kiddieland or over to Lyn, my future stepmom's house, or ... well, I seem to remember a lot of TV-watching. But that was special, too: I'd lie on my dad's side, the two of us like a stack of chips, and I the smaller one as he propped his head up with his elbow. It's just how we watched TV.

My daddy's tomorrow, Saturday, will not be ordinary. He will be getting his kidneys hydrated in preparation for some tests so that he can get some more tests and then a procedure and then perhaps he will be health....ier. So I pray these five minutes - and many more - I pray to my Heavenly Father, my Abba, I pray that my earthly father, my Dadoo, would find health and rest and peace and wholeness. I pray that we would have many more ordinary and non-ordinary, unique days together. So I guess, after these five minutes, I wrote about what was not ordinary, rather than what is ordinary...but that's just where my mind wanted to go this night.

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

linking up with Lisa Jo 

Two Kinds of Agains: 5 Minute Fridays

Five Minute Friday

Trying to get back into the swing of things, I come this morning to the page with the Friday-intent on writing without editing for five minutes about the topic Lisa-Jo Baker decides upon.
Today it is AGAIN. 

GO
***************************
Again, my side hurts, Again, it hurts to even stand up and walk. Again, I wonder how long, O Lord, will I feel this health-forsaken. It's been one year now since the big problems began and I would have to hunch over and limp in pain. How my right side would feel like it was exploding from within. Months and ER trips later, sobbing phone calls to midnight on-call nurses later, I would have tests done, and again doctors would scratch their heads and again they'd say it's my anxiety and again I'd cry at their blindness and ineptitude and then I see the specialist after all those tests come up fine and he says to go on this weird, strict diet and so I do and again I feel the pain but this time lose weight I didn't mean to let go of and again I can't fit into my clothes...never thought I'd be saying that in terms of clothes being too big...and again I hurt and again I turn to Husband and cry at night because I am sick of being so sick and isn't everyone else so sick of me being so sick, too?

We can say a lot of agains if we let ourselves. I can get stuck in the again cycle and be prone, as you can see, to complaining and sinking further into discontent.

I don't mean this is what Paul meant by thinking of things pure and holy and good.

So...

Again, my Jesus saves me. Again, He is the Healer and Comforter and it is His touch that can bring me peace. Again, day after day. Christ comes to shush my complaining-agains and remind me of the promises of His agains.

Again, He would suffer for me. Again, He would save me. Again, He would die for me. Again, He would take upon the world's sin for me.

It is an amazing thing to behold, just how different two kinds of Agains can be.

So...again I go to work with this pain and this weariness....again I might have woken up in pain and cranky...

but I am changing my again of angst to the again of gain. I am gaining God's promises and choosing that over malady.

And I just might have to do that each and every morning, again and again...as His mercies are new...again and again.

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

To Live a Thank You: Five Minute Fridays

It's Friday!
That means I've listened for the word that Lisa-Jo calls out and I'm writing, unedited and unbridled, for five minutes straight about that word.

Today's word is

THANK YOU.

GO....
****************************

I never had problems saying "thank you" as a child. My father and stepmother tell me now, as I call them and groan about the sense of entitlement and ingratitude in today's generation (particularly under my roof), that I probably said "thank you" a little too much. Can one do that?

I guess if it is born out of guilt. And I guess I felt guilty for getting things. Why? Did I not think I deserved them?

Was it about wanting approval and saying the "right thing?"

"Thank you" makes adults happy. It makes parents beam and say to themselves, "how nice my children look to others."

And when they don't say "thank you," parents might think, "how awful; I'm so embarrassed."

Has "thank you" become a measurement of how good we are as parents?

What if "thank you" became, to our kids, a measurement of how good we were doing as role models?

Ouch.

Husband and I are on the kids a lot about saying their "please" and "thank you"s.

And we try to say our "thank you"s as well. But how do we live the "thank you?"

Wouldn't that be...gratitude?

Oh, how circular it is. "You're welcome" is gratitude modeled to those who need to know what "thank you" looks like.

And my sometimes-ungrateful, entitled kids? If I model grace instead of react with sighed anger when they don't say "thank you," wouldn't grace feel better...and teach better? Wouldn't my consistent modeling of gratitude, even in the midst of ingratitude be the way to go?

I know I get so angry at the kids for being ungrateful because I am ashamed of my own ingratitude.

And so it is a circle.


STOP.
***************************

Smiling as this Friday's word is so fitting both because of Thanksgiving, but also because of what I received in the mail today:

One Thousand Gifts Devotional by Ann Voskamp

When You Go & They Want You to Stay: Five Minute Fridays

Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and friends with Five Minute Fridays

Today's word is STAY.

**********************************
GO

Trying to capture the perfect "family picture"

I remember when I went to Honduras to visit my sponsor child, Daniela, and I thought we were intruding on her time by the end of the visit. I couldn't read on her face if she was thrilled or excited to see me. She looked rather scared and moody. But what almost-13-year-old doesn't look that way? Also, you please imagine having three Americans come to your country who look rather hot, red, and sweaty.

So near the end of the visit, I asked for both families, along with the interpreter, to sit in the church-building and talk with each other. It was quite a moving experience, with the mother bursting into tears and praises for us and our love and prayers and generosity.

I came home feeling good about going, but unsure of our real effect.

Months later, I received a letter from Daniela. She said,

[paraphrased] My family and I wish that you could have stayed longer and seen our home. I wish you could have visited longer.

I was flabbergasted. We did not spend as much time with her as we hoped, but we thought that was due to the organizations's regulations. We did not know we had a choice on how long we visit. Who knows, maybe we didn't.

But what sticks out to me is that Daniela and her family wished that we had stayed longer.

And I thought that we were an intrusion. My anxiety and nervousness blinded me to the love that was there.

Friends, there are a handful of bloggers in Peru right now visiting with Compassion International children and blogging about their experiences to us here in the States. Would you read along with me? Their stories are chilling and momentous and huge and tiny and miraculous.

And I am sure that each and every family they come across...I am sure that their wish is it that these Americans would stay. The hope and love that these folks bring them is priceless. The hope and love that you, through sponsoring these children, is priceless.

So join me as I read the blogs these marvelous volunteers are writing here

and think about sponsoring a child through Compassion * ?

Stay with these children all of their years. Be their beacon of hope and love and point out God in their lives.

STOP.
***********************

* To clarify, Compassion International is not the organization I went through to visit my sponsor child, Daniela, in Honduras

5 Minute Almost-Friday: SICK

So... I would normally write a blog entry tomorrow and link up to 5 Minute Fridays over at Lisa-Jo Baker's blog, but I am going into the hospital for a procedure tomorrow. Don't worry, it is one that many people have to do. Hopefully it will help doctors find out why I've been in such pain this last year. Anyway, given that tomorrow morning the procedure will be happening and the rest of Friday will be spent in bed sleeping off the sedative, thought I'd do my own 5 Minute Almost-Friday.

And so my word is...

SICK.

http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/mother-and-daugther-high-res-stock-photography/85271995

**************************
GO

I feel quite sick right now and have for a long time. I remember when I was very young I had a phobia of

throwing up. I must have been eight or nine years old and I would make my dear mother sit with me in the

bathroom as I sat on the floor near the toilet, knees on towels for padding, body ready to heave, tears

streaming down my cheeks. Mom would be trying to comfort me, knowing I was probably not going to

vomit since I rarely did. I was mostly-sort-of-a-hypochondriac in that sense. But Mom did not make me feel

bad or stupid; she was supportive and loving. I listened to oldies music back then and I remember a song

that went, "Apple peaces pumpkin pieeeeee" came on the radio while I was crying in the bathroom because I

was yet again afraid of vomiting and we burst into sudden laughter because I said that song was making me

nauseous. Instead of remembering fear and sickness, I remember love and care. I feel so grateful to have had

a mother who took such loving care of me. I know that she would be so happy to know that I have found

my loving Father who is so good at taking care of me. And so He does right now. As I am sick and going to

have this procedure tomorrow to try to find out what is going on, I know Mom is in Heaven, watching me be

sick and...yes vomit...but vomit without fear...(go me!)...and I know Mom is proud of me and glad that I

have my Heavenly Father taking care of me. She knows He can take care of me better than anyone can.

Doctors included. O Great Physician, heal me, Lord.

STOP
*********************************

So Mom, this one's for you:

Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker and I hope she doesn't mind that I made up my own word because I don't know what her word is going to be.
Remember, this 5 Minute Almost-Friday!

http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/

5 Minute Friday: Roots

My first 5-Minute-Friday. Read about it here or click on the badge on the sidebar. I'm hoping I can be intentional enough to do it every Friday.

This Friday's word is ROOTS

GO
*   *   *

photo from mike_tn at http://www.flickr.com/photos/21966325@N00/201221336

I think of roots and I think of family trees and the roots that hold the tree together. I'm missing my main root, my mama who will have died 6 years ago this next Tuesday, November 6th, and I have written about her so much these past 6 years, about her death and her life and my mourning and my healing so much these past 6 years, that it is blooming into my first real poetry book in 2013, God willing.

So much written about my Mom and yet I can't reach her. I have lost my grasp. I try and I try but I cannot recall what her voice sounds like and it shatters my heart. It shatters my stepmama-heart because I need my mama so much this year as mother-daugher/mother-son issues have exploded into my life, as I have truly morphed into these kids' other mother. I wrote about this on my stepmother blog that often goes untouched these past years. I wrote about how I wasn't a mother and then I was and now what do I do when the roots these kids began with are not my own? I do not share them, yet I feel these kids are my own. God gave me these kids and these years are the labor pain years.

But it is in these years that my love has blossomed for them. Why does it seem to take strife and pain to grow our love? I feel like their mother though I would never declare myself such a name to them, particularly the oldest who wants to put my name and the word "mother" as far away from each other as possible.

My roots are not theirs. My mother was a gentle, kind woman. She taught me about gratitude and acted very Christ-like even if she never openly professed herself as a Christian. She gave me forgiveness and grace and love. And when she died my life up to that point died along with her. I don't know how I survived. I almost didn't. But look at me now - I am married with three stepchildren who I consider my children (Husband and mine) and yes, I even call them "my kids" when talking about them. So does this increase in love through pain and hardship, this forgiveness and grace, make my roots intertwine with theirs? Maybe I can use that word-picture. Their roots might not be from my tree, directly...but I am certainly influencing them. I am making an impact that they will carry with them forever. So maybe roots aren't strictly blood-related. Maybe roots are love-related. Family trees don't just grow by water; they grow by love. And though we all certainly have our stressful days (years!), I am certain I love them as if they came from my womb.

STOP
*   *   *
Okay, so that was a tad more than 5 minutes. I remember doing timed writing exercises a la Natalie Goldberg, my great writing teacher and mentor from my high school/college days, and I'd always go over because I couldn't stop the thoughts from pouring out - nor did I want to.

May this 5-ish Minute Friday be the first of many.

Thank you for your eyes that read and thank you for your heart, that I pray is full.