Bent and Broken

We got snow on Tuesday and Wednesday. It's the end of October, so there is nothing unusual about that... Except that what we got was a wet, heavy, deep spring snow, at the end of October. All of the trees were still full of leaves, which made a lovely hammock for the blanket of white. The problem of course being that the snow was too heavy a burden for many branches to bear. Eventually, even some of the strongest branches gave up, and the trees in our city look like they are just back from battle.

As I was driving through my neighborhood on this beautiful, sunny day I was surveying the damage.  These trees are not old - maybe 10 years at most. But they have been standing in their place, doing their part to bring shade and beauty to the neighborhood. Just last week I was noticing how beautiful the flaming red maples were - and today they are mere sticks with a few wisps of torn leaves left, and a graveyard of broken branches below them. They have seen battle. They have taken on a burden that was too heavy, and they have paid the price.

This isn't the first time our trees have been broken, nor will it be the last. In time, the fallen branches will be picked up, the snow will fall, the spring will thaw, and the trees will bud again. And they will be different. They will bear the scars of their fallen limbs. Their canopy will form a new shape. And they will still be home to the birds, bring shade from the sun, and turn crimson and gold in the fall. As though nothing has changed.

I am reminded of a quote that I once read by Charles Dickens; "Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape."

We all carry scars. Battle wounds that are many times invisible to others, but seem so very obvious to us. We have been shaped by the different seasons of our lives, and we are growing into the people God intends for us to be. When we are broken, and we see our branches lying on the ground around us, it is easy to feel as though God has forsaken us.

According to Isaiah 64:8, God is the potter and we are the clay.  We are the work of His hand. And in Psalm 147:3, the bible tells us that He (God) heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds. With the knowledge that it is God who shapes us, and binds our wounds, perhaps our scars should be a reminder not of our pain, but of the love that God has for us, and the healing He provides.

So as I go through each season of my life; the laughter filled summer days, the golden autumn afternoons, and the broken winter nights, it is good to know that there is a new spring morning awaiting me. And although I have been bent and broken, I can't wait to see what God shapes me into next!

Good Enough

I'm not good enough. There, I said it... And after all, isn't that something that we all think from time to time? The people that we label "weak" are the ones that will say it outright. The rest of us spend our days trying to convince our friends, coworkers, family, and even ourselves that we are, in fact, good enough. That we do measure up.  


I remember as a teenager that my world revolved around trying to be good enough - trying to fit into a very unforgiving mold. And the heartbreak that came as a result of not being able to fit that impossible mold. And I remember thinking that the handful of plastic people that did fit into that mold HAD IT ALL FIGURED OUT! There was no sadness, no struggle, no tears. No, they were the "Chosen Ones"! 


And now as an adult, I think I have it all figured out... I mean, we are all individuals, our uniqueness is what makes the world interesting, yadda yadda yadda. And of course I know that even the plastic people of my youth had their insecurities - they just dressed them in designer labels in hopes that no one else would notice.


So, in all of my maturity and brilliance, you can imagine my surprise when I was trying to psychoanalyze myself during my latest panic attack and what occurred to me was... I'm not good enough!!!  If I was a better mom my children would always listen and obey; if I was a better wife I wouldn't have a pile of clean laundry on my couch; if I was a harder worker my husband could work normal hours and be home with our family, if I was a better Christian I would be reading my bible right now instead of blogging; and if I was a better friend I would never have to question the status of any of my friendships.  


Some of these realizations are reminiscent of things that I heard at Women of Faith - and at the time I was in one of my periods of denial and thought, "Oh, those poor people who feel like they aren't good enough. So glad I have it all together!" And here I am now, a couple of weeks later, and I'm "suddenly" battling some pretty significant insecurities. And this brings me to the realization that in fact, WE ARE NOT PERFECT! And isn't that what it's all about? The reason that God sent his son to die for us is because we aren't perfect, we can't measure up, we are HUMAN! And that is where we have to submit to Him! Because as soon as we start getting all full of ourselves and thinking we have it all figured out, that's when the enemy slams us back to the ground.


I read something on Patsy Clairmont's blog that I really liked. "Our longing to be more is a good thing as long as we use it as motivation to move forward and not a whip to beat our selves up. Jesus gave His life for our freedom...let's live in it!"


Phillippians 4:6-9  reads, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me - practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you."


And Romans 12:2 says, "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.


And Galatians 2:20, "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved ME and gave himself for me."


So as hard as I try, and as much as I push myself, I will never be perfect. And that is okay. I don't have to be anxious for anything. I am GOOD ENOUGH for HIM, I am a CHOSEN ONE, and through Christ, I am made perfect.

Great Adventures with Gram

One Saturday afternoon my 92 year old Grandmother and I had just finished lunch at the Golden Corral and I asked her if she wanted to go walk around the RV lot with me. It was nearby, and I thought it would be fun to tour some campers and RV's.  

The gates were wide open and we saw a couple of other people walking around, so we parked, went into the yard, and started touring the campers.  We marveled over how comfortable they seemed to be, and how they had all the conveniences of home.  When we came out of the second or third camper, I happened to notice that the gates were closed.  My heart dropped into my stomach as I realized there were padlocks around the gates. 

I quickly tried to hide my panic because Gram was a worrier, and God only knew how she would react if she knew how worried I was! We walked towards the building, hoping to find someone inside that could let us out.  I banged on all the doors and windows to no avail.  There didn't seem to be anyone there. I pulled out my cell phone and called my husband, but before I could finish explaining our predicament, my battery died - of course. And just as I started imagining what this might mean for us - being locked in an RV lot for the rest of the weekend with no food or contact with the outside world, Gram started to laugh. 

I looked at Gram, puzzled, and wondered if maybe she was just hysterical with fear. But no, it was genuine laughter.  When she could catch her breath, she said, "What an adventure! If we have to get stuck somewhere, just think of all the nice campers we have to choose from! And maybe your husband will bring us McDonalds cheeseburgers? I think he could slide those under the fence." And then I was laughing right along with her. 

After a few more minutes, someone pulled up to the building and tried to go into the shop, only to find that it was locked.  We called the would-be customer over and explained our predicament.  He went back to the building and looked in and noticed that the lights were on. So he began banging loudly on the front door and window, for about ten minutes... I was just starting to lose hope when the shopkeeper FINALLY opened the door.  We were released from our RV prison, and giggled like school girls all the way home about our great adventure.

Autumn Blessings

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.  ~Stanley Horowitz


I LOVE Autumn.  Capital L-O-V-E! The early morning frost, the beautiful swirls of pink and blue that stain the eastern skies at sunrise.  The crispness in the air, and the colors - oh the beautiful artists palette of golds and reds, rusts and browns.  There is something in the air - a scent, a feeling - that tells me my beloved Autumn has arrived.  The scorching sun has begun to mellow, the cool breeze rattles the colorful leaves from their branches, sending them drifting to the ground.


I remember Autumn as a child.  Even then, my favorite time of year.  Walking to school in early October, there was nothing better than the crunch of leaves under my feet as I skipped through the piles in the gutter.  Those beautiful days when it was FINALLY cool enough to start wearing all of my carefully chosen new school clothes. And the anticipation of all that the season would bring.  The trips to the pumpkin patch. The fun of Halloween trick-or-treating.  The warmth of gathering around a Thanksgiving table with all of our loved ones. And the excitement of waiting for those first early flakes of white to fall from the sky.


As I take a moment to thank God for blessing us with the beauty of Autumn, it occurs to me that He is an amazing artist.  Psalm 118:24 tells us, "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." I prefer the warm tones of autumn, but there is beauty in every season, in every day.   The portrait that God paints for us changes daily - just as each snowflake is unique, so is the canvas of nature. What a magnificent gift He gives us every morning. Let us not forget to thank Him for blessing us with His beauty.

Paparazzi

This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend Women of Faith conference.  I was particularly excited to go this year because a few of my childhood heroes were scheduled to be there.  Amy Grant (you may remember from my earlier post that she was part of the soundtrack to my life) was scheduled to sing Saturday, and because she happened to have Friday off, she came early to hang out and watch the conference.

So there we were, me, Amy, and 10,000 of our closest friends listening to all the inspirational speakers and singers together. It was surreal - to think that we were in the same place, hearing and watching the same things. I found my thoughts drawn to Amy - wondering if she was paying attention or thinking about what her kids were doing at home. When Mandisa was singing, I couldn't help but wonder if Amy had been a childhood hero of hers as well - and what it might feel like to stand in front of Amy with a microphone in your hand, singing your heart out. I was watching to see if she was lifting her hands in praise when everyone else was, and if she thought Mandisa deserved that standing ovation at the end of her performance.

Needless to say, when they announced on the screen that Amy would be signing autographs Saturday morning at 8:20, I knew I had to be there.  I felt like I needed to tell her what a profound impact her music has had on my life. Maybe point out a couple of my favorite songs, or maybe just be in her presence and somehow take on some of her greatness. And in my starstruck mind, it seemed like I might be the first and only person to be telling her this... Or that somehow I would stand apart from the millions of other fans that she has met.

So Saturday morning, I hurried my friends along to be sure that we got to the Pepsi Center bright and early... Didn't want to miss the chance to see Amy! We were only a dozen people back from the front of the line to get into the building when the doors opened at 8. Once inside we immediately found out where Amy was going to be signing, and we ran to get there.  (Okay, to be honest, I ran to get there and my friends caught up to me...) I got to her line and just as it was my turn to enter the waiting area the volunteer staff stepped in front of me and said, "Sorry miss, we are under strict instructions from Amy's manager that she can only see 30 people, and you are number 31."

What? It had to be a cruel joke! I mean, this woman wrote my soundtrack! Of course she wants to meet me, right? It was like a blow to the heart, and I was immediately reduced to tears. Embarrassed by my reaction, I walked away, dodging my friends who had just caught up to me while I tried to get my emotion under control. (If anyone ever wonders why my 6 year old can still throw a crying temper tantrum, you probably need not look any further than his Mommy ;). We are an emotional people, my family!)

So I gathered myself together and waited in the hallway, across from the table where Amy would be signing autographs, camera poised and ready to shoot. If I couldn't meet her, at least I could take her picture to memorialize this.... This what? This missed connection? And as I stood there with my dear cousin (she was determined to see this through, fervently praying that somehow I might still get my chance to meet her), waiting for my moment, I started to get a little uncomfortable. And as Amy walked up to her space, people cheering, with the obligatory smile on her face, I became a little more uncomfortable.

There she was, "larger than life", 5 feet away from me. Only, she wasn't larger than life - she was just a person. Just a wife, just a mom, just a daughter, just a friend.  She was just a woman whom God had blessed with a beautiful talent that she had chosen to share with the world. And suddenly I felt guilty. I felt like I was spying on this woman, and I was embarrassed to be standing there snapping pictures of her life. And for just a moment, I had this vision of what it would be like to be in her boots... All these expectant faces staring at you, trying to steal a little piece of your time, gushing about how you had affected their lives, begging you to notice them. Having to worry about what angle people might be photographing you from, smiling at all times, trying to look sincere as people tell you that you wrote the soundtrack to their lives.

And suddenly, I just felt sad. I felt sad that I had built this woman, this child of God, up in my mind to be a superhero. And I felt sad because it felt like the end of an era. Every emotion that I shared with Amy throughout my childhood, the nostalgia that I felt seeing her and hearing her sing... It was all rushing away from me as I realized that she was only human.

And I was reminded that we are all only human, and WE are not worthy of such worship. Who among us can carry that kind of load - who can meet such great expectations?

Later when I read my "Jesus Calling" devotion for the day, it was so appropriately titled (as it often is)...

"Worship Me Only"

And the scripture for that day read:

"...God, the blessed and only Ruler, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see. To him be honor and might forever. Amen. - I Timothy 6:15-16"


Can I get an AMEN?

Baa Baa Black Sheep

Wordless Wednesday

Sorry Mom!

I wasn't feeling particularly inspired to write about something specific today, so I decided to Google "blog prompts".  This got me to thinking - maybe I will write about "Google"...

When I was a kid my mom had a recipe card file full of wonderful family recipes - you know, the kind only Mom can make. One boring summer day shortly after we got our very first computer I thought I would help my mom out and put all of her treasured recipes into a homemade cookbook.  I got into the word processor, and with my less than stellar typing skills set to work transcribing each precious ingredient from card to computer. It was a long process, but I was determined to see it through.

I should mention that I have always been full of wonderful ideas - and when I have an idea I want to act on it immediately, full steam ahead.  The problem with this is that when I am in the middle of executing one of my wonderful ideas, and I have a new wonderful idea - well... You get the picture!

So there I was typing page after page, and inevitably a better offer came along... I don't remember now what that offer might have been, but I wasn't about to miss out on it. So I speedily "finished" typing up all of the precious recipes, printed them out, and threw away the old stained, faded and torn recipe cards. After all, I was pretty sure I had copied all of them... Hadn't I?

At the end of the summer when my birthday came along, I wanted my mom to make one of my favorite "family recipes" - Frozen Pineapple Torte. She set about looking for the recipe in her newly typed recipe binder, only to find that it wasn't there. Uh oh. Upon realizing that I had left one of my favorite recipes out of the binder, I decided that I'd better inspect it more carefully.  It seemed that this was not the only recipe missing, and there were also many other recipes that left out important information - like the zucchini bread that only directed you to pour the batter in the pan but did not indicate a baking temperature or time; or the lasagna that referenced layers of sauce, but had no indication in the ingredient list or in the directions of how to make or acquire said sauce.

Needless to say, in this pre-Google era, once these recipes were gone, they were just gone.  You could try to remember exactly who you got a recipe from, and hope that if you called them they might be able to hook you up. But there were several casualties of my "good deed" that have never been recovered.

In this day and age, we are so very blessed to have almost everything at our fingertips on the "information super highway". Say what you will about the "evils of technology" - sure there is evil out there, and yes it is more easily accessed now than it was when we were kids.  But seriously - without Google I wouldn't have known what to do when my one year old son got a macaroni noodle stuck up his nose. And when our dishwasher broke down, I would have had to pay a repairman to come fix it. In the old days if you lost or broke a part on your home gym, you were out of luck. And if you lost a user's guide to any of your appliances - forget about it!

You can find anything on Google - including blog prompts for those days that you are staring at a blank screen and can't think of a thing to write... Now, about that Frozen Pineapple Torte.

Used To's

So since this is my first time ever trying to write a blog, I feel like I should start out by writing about why I am blogging, or maybe what this blog is going to be about... The why is easy - I mean, everybody has a blog, right? But really, my reasoning is not do it because everyone else is doing it. It's just that I have been following so many blogs for the last year or so, and I am reminded of all my "used to's".  Among other things, I used to scrapbook, I used to read, I used to sing, and I used to write.

Over the years, marriage and three children have changed a lot of things in my life.  I finished my oldest childs baby book just in time for number two to come along.  I bought all the goodies for creating an account of the first year of his life, but set it aside until life calmed down a bit.  And now I have my third child, and life has still not calmed down. I used to scrapbook - and maybe I will again someday, but not today.

I used to read - I read poetry, devotions, romance, textbooks, biographies, mystery, you name it! I loved reading - I loved getting lost in the settings that the authors painted with their words.  Laughing and crying with the characters in the stories. I loved reading about new love, heartbreak, adventure, you name it.  I just loved how easily I could be transported to another place and time - like a mini vacation from everyday life. Now, with kids to run after, driving carpool, a house to keep, meals to cook, laundry to put away, homework to oversee - who has time for a vacation? I used to read - and maybe I will will again someday, but not today.

Music - it used to be a part of my every waking moment.  From the first notes coming out of my alarm clock in the morning, to the last song I was humming before I drifted off to sleep at night. Artists such as Dolly Parton, Amy Grant, and Journey wrote the soundtrack to my life. I can't remember a day that I didn't dream of being a famous singer. I remember having an argument with my best friend when I was six years old because we were playing "Music Class" and I didn't feel that she had enough vibrato in her voice. I remember forcing my mom's friends to sit and listen to me sing, "Love is Like a Butterfly", and then refusing to leave the room until I was told that I sang just as beautifully as Dolly Parton. I remember listening to Amy Grant singing when I was a young teenager, and just knowing that someday, I too would be on a stage singing to sold out crowds - sharing my voice and my very soul.  I remember listening to Journey as an older teenager and thinking that they had somehow gotten a glimpse into my heart and then penned my deepest emotions and put them to music. Then I remember all the years of voice lessons in college, fine tuning the "pop stylings" of my youth into art music and opera, and dreaming of one day singing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Today, the soundtrack of my life sounds very different.  It sounds like children playing, laughing, fighting, singing and crying. It sounds like Mommy disciplining, instructing, reading, and talking to her babies. And today the soundtrack of my life rarely contains any recorded music - because it seems like with 3 of my own children, and the numerous others that are often around, silence is hard to come by. So when it finds me, I want to bask in it. And now that my children think they are too old for lullabies, the only singing I do is at church on Sundays. I used to sing, and I hope to sing again someday, but not today.

This brings me to writing.  In my teenage years, I loved to write! I had an amazing childhood.  My parents are committed Christians who are still very much in love with each other.  They taught us right from wrong, sheltered us from all the things we shouldn't have to know about, and made sure that we were raised in a loving home that was built on a firm foundation of Christian morals and values.  There was so much light in my life that by the time I was a teenager, I was absolutely intrigued by wondering what life would be like in the darker shadows that some people seemed to live in.  This is when I really began writing.  I wrote poetry about dark and twisty things like heartbreak, loss, and even suicide. I wrote short stories about love and loss. I shared all my personal triumphs and heartbreaks with my trusted friend - my diary, until the day that it broke my trust and shared my most secret thoughts with my mom. And I regularly poured out my heart in long, LONG letters to the "love of my teenage life" talking about things I can't even remember now, but they seemed so very important at the time.  I just remember that I always had a pen or pencil in my hand and paper on my lap, and every thought I had - real or imagined, was put on paper. I even spent a couple semesters in college studying journalism because as much as I loved to read - I also loved to write, and wanted to find a career that would enable me to hone my skills as a writer and maybe eventually provide a "mini vacation" for other readers.

I don't know why I stopped writing. I don't know if I got too busy, or if maybe I just realized that I'm not really as dark and twisty as I thought I was. But I do remember what an amazing outlet it was when I wrote. As if by putting my thoughts and emotions into words, I was somehow releasing them into the universe and freeing myself of my hurts and worries. I've been thinking about that, and wondering if I still have it in me - the desire and ability - to write.

I don't know for sure what this blog is going to be about.  Maybe I will talk about my faith, maybe my music, maybe my family, maybe my friendships, maybe my childhood. Maybe I will try my hand again at short stories or poetry. Maybe it is just a new way for me to keep a diary - a place to share my secret loves, and hates. My joys and my heartbreaks. I don't even know who I want to read it - or who will be interested. I just know that I want to write again - and what better place to start than here? What better time than now? I used to write, and I know that I will write again - today is the day!