Whose Lead Do I Follow?

My devotional this morning was about how to discern that you're being led to do something by God and not your own mind.

This is a concept I have always wrestled.  With all of the decisions I make in a day, all the diverging, swerving paths there are to take in this world, how do I know where God wants me to go?

Common sense dictates that, obviously, God would never lead me to do something harmful or hateful or degrading to myself or to others - something that, as the devotional calls it, is inherently wrong.  I guess this seems obvious to some, but many "Christians" out there do God-awful things in his name.

And that must really piss him off.

Do they honestly believe that God led them to create and picket disgusting and contemptible signs at a soldier's funeral or an abortion clinic or a gay pride rally, for example?  When people are at their lowest and/or most vulnerable, they're going to spew hate at them "in God's name"?  When Jesus was on earth he walked beside us, dressed like us, suffered with us, talked to us, forgave us, loved us - prostitute and martyr alike.  What kind of Christianity are these people following?  I can only conclude that they are grossly misled and confused as to what our faith means.

Actual Christianity follows Christ and his teachings, which are above all else to love God and to love each other.

Bam!  Jesus dropped the mic on that one.

But beyond what I consider to be rational common sense, how do I distinguish what comes from me from what comes from God?

The devotional said that "the voice of God will always validate your being, affirm your belonging, and remind you of your origins."  It also requires a quiet spirit and an awareness of the now.

My old pastor, Derik, added once in a sermon that the best way of discerning God's path from our own is, when an idea surfaces in our mind, to talk to God about it and to talk to trusted friends about it.  Soon you'll feel the answer.

It has been a struggle for me to put this into practice throughout my life.  Giving up control, praying about something and handing it over to God is a tall order!

Sometimes it comes easy, like with marrying Rich and joining the church band and moving to our current home.  These big decisions were most definitely God-led.  That's not to say they weren't hard decisions (except marrying Rich - that was the easiest big decision I have ever made).  But God's presence was undeniable in each circumstance and his nudges were clearly felt and heeded.

Sometimes God nudges blindside us like a divine tackle.  Rich and I were not planning on having kids.  We thank God now that he knew better than us and that, when we weren't  listening to his whispers and nudges, he pushed us in the right direction, like a good parent should.  It was certainly an adjustment for us, but from the depths of my soul I know that our lives and the world at large are better places because our two God-pushed stinkers are in it.

Sometimes I know what the right decision is and I can feel God's whisper, but I fight it.  I remember times when I have felt the wrongness of a situation in my gut, but I haven't listened.  I have hurt people I love, hurt myself, and acted like an ass.  I could blame it on the human condition, that after so many denials of earthly things I was bound to slip up, but that's bullshit.  I was just selfish and stupid and I own that.  And I will no doubt do more selfish and stupid things as the years tick by.

But the idea I'm holding close, and the crux of this devotional today, is that I need to be more aware of God's voice.  I need to be more attuned to the feeling his whispers and nudges stir in me.  And, if I spend more time with him, I'll have a fighting chance at distinguishing his lead from my own.

That's the path toward Jesus living.

That's the path I want to travel with my family.

That's the path that, at the end of my time here, I'll hopefully have made wide enough that my kids can see it and be able to hear God's whisper to follow.

My Boy

Sam had a busy day of school and an evening full of homework and piano lessons and a boy scouts event that ran past bedtime.  I had already put Lena to bed when Rich and Sam got home from scouts.  I was waiting with a preheated bed and his pjs in hand when they walked in the door.  He asked so nicely if he could stay up for a few extra minutes and, since he had been fairly well behaved and I hadn't seen much of him all day, I didn't mind breaking our bedtime rule just a bit.

He cuddled with me on the couch and we watched American Idol.  That's when he melted my heart.

There was this blind guy auditioning for the judges.  He had a great big smile and spirit that filled up the room.  But his voice wasn't great and the judges did not let him through.  Dismayed, the guy took off his glasses and, heartbroken, he began to cry.

Sam asked me if I would have let him through.  I said no.

He said, "But he's blind, mommy.  Shouldn't they give him an extra chance?"  I tried to explain how people with disabilities should be treated with the same respect and candor as everyone else and that, even though our reaction is to absolve them from sometimes harsh realities, patronizing that person is unfair to them and the other singers.  "Plus", I told him, "that guy has other amazing gifts he should be proud of.  Singing's just not one of them."

Then Sam looked up at me with his big blue eyes and said "I feel like I might cry for that man".

Oh, my heart swelled for my son in that moment.  "I love your soul, buddy.  You're so kind and caring.  What a lovely soul you have."  I asked him if he knew what a soul was and he said, "Kind of like my heart?"

"Yes", I said, "It's kind of like your heart and your mind and your spirit all together.  If you think of your body as a car, then your soul would be the driver.  Without your soul, your body would be empty and you wouldn't be you.  It's more important to have a good soul than anything else in this world.  And son, you have a good one.  I'm so proud of you."

Then he smiled his toothy wide smile and hugged me.

That's my boy.

Books and the Pursuit Greatness

I've been reading a lot.

Well, actually listening a lot.  

Overdrive's library of e-audiobooks is my favorite technological discovery.  I've listened to an embarrassing number of books on Overdrive during my commutes and the brainless data entry part of my job.  To the point where I am having a hard time getting into the several hardbound books awaiting my attention on my nightstand and end tables.  (Side note: Why must I always have at least three books going at once?  It's a thing with me.  Counseling may be in order.)  

Through this period of winter reading binges, I've come to a few realizations.

Neil Gaiman is my spirit animal.  

I wish I had a British accent.

Stephen King's books, as well as his book recommendations, are unwaveringly amazing and never fail me.

It is still my favorite book of all time - the characters, story development, nostalgia, scares and weirdness speak to my soul.  But American Gods now runs a very very close second.  

I'm actually starting to enjoy biographies.  This must be a symptom of me "being in my 40's".  Great.

Another symptom of me "being in my 40's" is a heightened appreciation of and attraction to authenticity in all its forms.  I dig people brave enough to bare their souls, to be true to who God made them to be, with all their pecadillos sticking out and their freak flags flying through the waves of mainstream.

That's real.  That's life affirming.  That's greatness.

I'm tired of trying to live up to the image of my 41 year old self that my 16 year old self (who evidently had a dangerously inflated sense of reality) dreamed up.  This doesn't mean that I have given up.  I still have goals and dreams and continue to strive for them.  But I'm not a famous singer or an acclaimed writer living the fame and fortune life.  I haven't unlocked the secrets of the universe.  I'm not and never will be a size 2 or somehow miraculously continue to grow to achieve my ideal height of 5'8".  And I have not stumbled across a magic item/substance that will gift me telepathy or the ability to fly.


To my 16 year old self I say there is nothing wrong with striving for greatness.  We all should hold ourselves to a high standard and push ourselves to try harder.  But my youthful dreams of worldly greatness have been replaced by internal, soul and God-honoring greatness.

Authentic greatness.

I have moments of authentic greatness.  Like when I light up my husband's eyes.  Or when I fuel my kids' imaginations or catch glimpses of goodness in their souls.  Sometimes I write something that sparks someone.  Sometimes I sing something that moves someone.  I always listen to a friend.  And sometimes I hold my tongue against all urges to yell (this is a significant achievement of greatness for me).

When I was 16 years old I thought greatness was a sustainable degree of being that, once achieved, would remain and life would sail smoothly along.  But greatness is actually much smaller, more precise moments weaved throughout someone's life.  Good decisions made. Selfless actions given.  Using the gifts God has given only to you to make changes in the world, in one life or many, that only you can make.

This kind of greatness is internal.  It's harder and smaller in scope than you anticipate.  It's clumsy and ungraceful.  It's soul filling.

That's what makes it authentic.  

A Perfectly Ordinary Day at the Park

Sunlight frolics through the leaves, chasing the shadows on the pavement.  The breeze slows and the dance changes, becomes graceful and fluid.

Mourning doves coo a soft melody against the lyrical rustling of the leaves.

Kids beckon their mothers, "Look at me, Mommy!" and "Mommy, look over here!".  Moms respond with waves and affirming smiles.  Their gazes linger sometimes as they seem to try, as I so often do, to memorize the sunlight kissing their children's faces, illuminating their twinkling eyes and their wide toothy grins and their dirty skinned-up knees.  

Girls cartwheel.  Boys race.  Gnats annoy.  Sunshine warms.  Clouds roll.

It's a perfectly ordinary day the park, one that will surely fade from memory as these drowsy meandering youthful days filled with sweaty hair plastered to chubby red cheeks and bike rides, turn into hurried days filled with crammed schedules and teenage angst, when there just isn't time enough for one last ride down the slide.

This perfect, ordinary summer day surely won't be one that lingers in my children's memories as they grow and get busy with life.  But I pray that this perfect, ordinary summer day takes up residence in mine.

Where My Treasure Is

It's June.  Wait.  What?  How did that happen?  My blog has once again fallen victim to the villainous traps of the hustle and the bustle.

Thoughts and ideas and inspirations have been stacking up in my brain lately, each waiting their turn to be organized and assembled and written down.  It looks like a midday line at the DMV up there! I have a few minutes today, so I thought it wise to get one out that has been lingering up there awhile.

Work and relationships.  

My job has always been a struggle for me.  I spent the years before we had kids loathing my position.  Commercial real estate is absurdly boring to me. And I foolishly saw my job as a partner's secretary as demeaning and beneath me as a bright, collage-educated woman.  I looked for other jobs, but none came to fruition.  I finally figured that God must want me there, so I stayed and wrestled with my pride.  I have always been grateful for the blessings my job has brought to me and to our family, but to say that it has been a lesson in humility is a grotesque understatement.

When our kids came along, everything changed.  I no longer sought purpose and self-definition from my job because I found both in the brilliant blue eyes of my babies.  Paradigm shift!  I began looking at my role at the office differently.  I saw myself as a nurturer and that spilled over into my work.  I'm good at taking care of people and now I pride myself at doing just that.  The title of secretary is no longer something I scoff at.  It's just another way to serve.

Now I don't always do it with a smile on my face.  I lament.  A lot.  Taking care of demanding grown men is much more frustrating than caring for children because these grown men have so few redeeming qualities.  :)  They don't have sweet angel faces that make you feel guilty for losing your cool.  They don't say they're sorry when they hurt your feelings or push your buttons or ask too much.

But I love them anyway.  

Because I've never accepted the "business is business" rule. My relationship with my boss is the longest and most difficult relationship I've ever had with a man.  I adore him.  He's family to me.  Over these fifteen years we've shared many personal moments, like when his father died, when my grandparents died, when he had a very scary health crisis at the office, when he's shared things with me about his family, when we've laughed so hard we've cried, to name a few.  And in these moments I have caught glimpses of him as a man.  Not the boss or the businessman or the high-powered executive, but stripped down to what we all are when the titles and wealth can't help us.

Our most humble human selves.  

It's these moments that have fostered a place in my heart for this man who I have admittedly cursed as often as I have praised.  He's a tough man to love, but I love him nonetheless.

One of the hardest things for me to reconcile is the knowledge that my feelings are not reciprocated.  I know he cares for me like a sister.  He's told me as much many times.  But I'm under no delusion that he wouldn't fire me if it were best for business.  For him ambition and business reign supreme.  It's how he lives his life.  I get that.  I in no way agree with it, but I guess that's why I'm not a powerful millionaire.


My relationships are my treasure.  

They keep me going.  The fill me up and make me whole.  They make me who I am.  Sure I would love to vacation in Scotland and Greece and Africa, to travel the world in comfort, to give my children those experiences.  But my focus is on the stripped down soul inside.  When I stand before God at the end of this journey, in the place where we can't hide behind money and beauty and titles and power, it's my love and my relationships that I will offer as evidence that maybe I understood what it was all about.  And I want my kids to learn by example that our lives and the people who are placed there are deeper and more beautiful and more important than any business deal or bank account could ever hope to be.

And maybe, when I'm in that place and God sees where my treasure truly lies, he'll overlook all of the cursing.  :)

Our Easter (and Anniversary)

We spent a beautiful weekend at my parents' house for Easter.  The weather was beautiful and the Wingers joined us on Sunday for a feast and an egg hunt and good family time.

Our schedules have been so busy with school and sports and dance and sickness and work and church that we haven't had much time to spend together.  Lori and I live 15 minutes from each other and have barely spent any time together all school year.  Another reason that I'll be happy when summer comes!  I miss my sister!

Here's the lowdown on our holiday weekend.

Dying eggs, a time honored tradition.

The Easter bunny showed up!

Posing with Papa, who was busy at church preparing and serving pancakes and sausage to the masses.  Yum.

The brood pre-hunt (including Dylan's sweet little girlfriend).

Lilly girl!

 

Cuddled up with Dad.

 

Someone else has been missing Aunt Lori too. 

Easter Sunday was also Rich and my wedding anniversary!  Twelve of the happiest years of my life have been spent as this man's wife.

Truth be told, we both forgot about it.  Lol.  Between me getting a new car and both of us preparing for Easter and everything in between, it totally slipped our minds.  No worries, though.  There is no love lost on the two of us.  As I am reminded by our friends, it's kind of disgusting how crazy Rich and I still are about each other.

We view our marriage as the foundation upon which everything else in our lives is built.  And we have learned to give it the priority it deserves.  We have our highs and lows just like every couple and have worked hard to maintain our passion through the years.  We have both made mistakes along the way (me more than him, I am certain) and will again, I have no doubt.  But we have come to realize that a marriage is a living, breathing, changing thing and, as such, is vulnerable.  So we both committed ourselves to protecting and feeding and honoring it.  It's as tough as it is rewarding.  And is not for everyone by any means.

But it works for us.  And it works very well.

The work is so important.  But I also strongly believe in love's magic and divinity and destiny.  If you know me, you know that love is pretty much my #1 thing.  A favorite pastor of mine once told me that when your marriage is going through rough times, when you're feeling far from your spouse - you both need to remember your "first works".  Which means remember what about that person made you fall for them in the first place and what about yourself made them fall for you.  (I believe that comes from Revelations in the context of straying from your faith, but it works in this context beautifully.)  I think one of the things that makes our marriage so special is that we're never very far away from those first works.  We keep them close at hand and reinvent them often, which deepens what we have.  It's easy for me because Rich is a gift and I'm reminded of that daily just by him being who he is.

Plus he's very cute.  :)

As for him...I have no idea how he does it.  I'm kind of a pain in the ass. :)

So happy Easter (and Anniversary) from this blessed pain in the rump.  I hope yours was a special as ours!

God's Mobile Bowling Alley

The kids are on spring break this week, which I have to admit is nice.  I'm over all this homework, struggling to provide proper motivation for said homework, grumpy moods from forcing said homework to be completed, running from school to school to accommodate schedules...bring on summer!

My kids are early risers.  Like 6:00 am early risers.  So it's not uncommon for them to be playing downstairs while we are still in bed.  It's also not uncommon for them to sneak candy from the candy cupboard, which they have both pinkie promised me they wouldn't do again and which they both lie through their little teeth about having done until I wave the poorly hidden candy bar wrapper in their suspicious angel faces.  Sigh.  Now I have to come up with another candy cache consequence.  Blarg.

Anyway, since there was nowhere to go this morning, I was attempting to sleep in a bit.

That's when the storm hit.

I was awake but trying hard not to be when I heard a very distant rumble of thunder.  Before the thunder had rumbled itself out, a mere seven seconds or so, my kids had raced upstairs, burst through the bedroom door and pounced on me.  Their chocolate-speckled faces (clue #1 that another candy sneaking caper had ensued) stared up at me in horror, their giant blue eyes bugged out in fear of our imminent and certain doom.  

They both snuggled tight against me under the covers and we listened to the rain fall.  We counted seconds between lightening flashes and thunder rolls.  I tried for the 2,937th time to explain how most storms aren't anything to be frightened of, especially when we're safe inside our home. How they're actually pretty cool.

They weren't buying it.

While we were huddled together under the covers, they came up with an interesting spin on the God bowling theory.  Sam thinks that God moves his bowling alley around a lot, which is why storms move around so much.  When the sky gets darker as the storm approaches, it's actually the shadow of God's bowling ball rolling down his heavenly mobile bowling alley and that giant celestial ball, of course, is what makes the thunder boom.  Lena added that the rain gets harder when the thunder gets louder because there are too many angels bowling with God and God gets sad that it's not his turn yet, so he cries harder.

I adore how their little minds see things. I adore snuggling in bed during a storm with them tight against me.  I adore hearing their wandering thoughts.  I adore that they feel safe with me and that, when I put my arms around them, everything is all right.    

Being a mom can be tough and terrifying and insane and grisly.

But most of the time, being a mom rocks.