The sun is filtering through the trees as it makes its quiet ascent to its place in the morning sky. The air is cool and still and the birds are calling to each other from all around me as I write. And a sun-faded red car with its one wobbly wheel sits abandoned next to me on the deck where it was forgotten about for some other toy yesterday.
When I was younger I always wanted to be surrounded by beautiful things. I would only listen to certain music or read certain books, and refused to let anything in my home or on my body that I felt didn't measure up to the image I was trying to present. If you would have told 22-year-old me that I would have cheap looking plastic toys in my house for my children I would have thought you were crazy. And that you just didn't get me.
In the last few years I have felt this very present tension within myself between that old desire and the realities of the life I lead now. I used to spend hours online scouring the internet for the latest indie band and read forums and obscure websites trying to find beautiful music, which I would listen to locked in my room while reading along with the CD liner and maybe crying (just a little). These days I listen to whatever is right in front of me, sometimes a CD (yep I still use those crazy old-fashioned things) and sometimes (22-year-old self please cover your ears) a good song on the radio. I used to sit beneath the tress and watch the clouds move and change above them as I pondered God and life and love and all its mysteries and lately I spend my time on such philosophical questions as, "what should I make for dinner that my 2 year old will actually eat," and "is that poop or chocolate, please tell me that's chocolate."
I'm starting to realize this tension I feel doesn't have to exist. That the addition of the faded plastic toy car in the picture of my idyllic morning doesn't ruin the frame, it only adds to it. That is the car that my children push each other around in, their squeals of laughter filling up the backyard as they tumble out of it. That is the car they push around with their chubby little feet. And it is also the car they use to bring me treasures like pretend ice cream cones and hot dogs that they present with chubby dirt-stained hands and expectant faces. I can't imagine anything more beautiful, more perfect, than the happiness of my children. I can't picture something I could buy, or wear, or hear that would bring my more joy than their joy. And I don't care if it is ugly toys or really crappy music (didn't I mention Everett's favorite song is a Selena Gomez number?). What is better, beautiful things or a beautiful life?
To reconcile my desire to find the beauty in this world and the realization that there is beauty in so many more things than my 22-year-old self dared realize might be the greatest gift that my 30's has to offer.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Ghosts
(I wrote this in November and kept changing my mind about posting it. But the truth is this is more me than probably any other post I will or would write, and I want this space to be documentation of who I really am and what was really going on at this time in our lives. Also, if people don't want to read it they don't have to. Which is totally obvious, but sometimes I forget that.)
There is nothing sadder than thinking you see someone you know across the room and realizing it can’t be them (it can’t be them) because they are dead. This time of year brings ghosts into our lives that for the rest of the year stay silent. I’m not talking about real ghosts, but the people in our lives that we lost and the way they still exist for us, somewhere in our brain or our hearts, maybe a little of both.
I am thirty years old and my heart is filled to the brim with ghosts.
Yesterday I was walking through the grocery store and thought I saw an old co-worker. Not the kind of old co-worker that you see and that you hope you don’t see you because you didn’t have that much to talk about when you saw each other everyday, so you dread the awkward conversation of two people who no longer have even geography in common. No, I’m talking about the coworker that made me laugh, that kept me sane. The one who tried to give me sage advice because, at ten years my senior, he looked at me as a little sister or daughter, depending on the day. The one (of only two) I invited to my wedding. But I didn’t see him because he is lost to me, ever since I got a phone call from his number years after we worked together. When I picked it up and greeted the caller with “Hey stranger!” and it was just that. His sweet wife who I didn’t know at all, calling to tell me that he would be someone I thought I would see in the grocery store, years later, but would not.
Last night as I was trying to go to sleep I kept thinking about my Noni’s date cookies. They were the most un-kid friendly cookie ever invented. Something your Noni from Italy would make instead of your Grandma from California. Yet every time I would spend the night at her house there would be a frozen roll of those cookies waiting to be thawed out, sliced, and baked just for me. I laid there, last night, thinking I would do just about anything to see her veiny, weathered fingers slicing her knife through that hard frozen roll of cookie dough. But she is gone as well, and with her, the smells of her kitchen and the feeling of her small, bony body underneath my own as we rocked in her pink easy chair. There is something different about the way you see people that you didn’t get to have around into adulthood, innocence and selfishness blurring the edges of your memories. All they can be is what they were to you because it is almost impossible for a child to see past that. How tragic that such a long life has been whittled down to cookies and rocking chairs in my mind. A woman who lived through more war years than not, more hard times than good, that spoke a language I did not understand into her kitchen phone to people that were and still are a mystery to me.
My dad died when I was nineteen. I write that sentence easily, the easiest seven words I could ever type, because I live that sentence. Every big moment in my life, every sad day, every time my boy does something to make someone else laugh, there is the marked and tangible absence of him. He is a myth I will tell my children someday, a part of myself that those closest to me will never know. A person that I don’t even really know, another victim of a life oversimplified by those who remember him. I don’t even have the mundane details of daily life to keep him tethered to reality for me, having not lived with him since I was a baby. All I have is the stories people tell me of him and the memories I try to hold onto like paper floating away in the wind.
The first boy I ever loved died when I was twenty, before I was old enough to realize what real love felt like, and that what I felt for him was not it. The first time I saw him we were fifteen and he was walking past me in the hallway of my high school and it was like I was living in a Taylor Swift song, everything was in slow motion. Years later I would feel like I knew him better than anyone in the world, and even more years later I would realize I didn’t know him at all, and that maybe no one really knew him. He was the kind of person that was born to be a legend, someone that had a way of existing for each person that loved him exactly how they saw him in their mind. I am not happy he is gone because I know there are people whose lives go on with the marked absence of him. But I am glad that the person he exists as in my mind can never be ruined by the imperfection of a flawed reality.
The ghosts that we know remind us of who we are, our truest selves, because they are a part of that person. They aren’t just stories we tell or people we knew, they are wrapped up in who we are for having known them. That is how lost loved ones go on existing.
There is nothing sadder than thinking you see someone you know across the room and realizing it can’t be them (it can’t be them) because they are dead. This time of year brings ghosts into our lives that for the rest of the year stay silent. I’m not talking about real ghosts, but the people in our lives that we lost and the way they still exist for us, somewhere in our brain or our hearts, maybe a little of both.
I am thirty years old and my heart is filled to the brim with ghosts.
Yesterday I was walking through the grocery store and thought I saw an old co-worker. Not the kind of old co-worker that you see and that you hope you don’t see you because you didn’t have that much to talk about when you saw each other everyday, so you dread the awkward conversation of two people who no longer have even geography in common. No, I’m talking about the coworker that made me laugh, that kept me sane. The one who tried to give me sage advice because, at ten years my senior, he looked at me as a little sister or daughter, depending on the day. The one (of only two) I invited to my wedding. But I didn’t see him because he is lost to me, ever since I got a phone call from his number years after we worked together. When I picked it up and greeted the caller with “Hey stranger!” and it was just that. His sweet wife who I didn’t know at all, calling to tell me that he would be someone I thought I would see in the grocery store, years later, but would not.
Last night as I was trying to go to sleep I kept thinking about my Noni’s date cookies. They were the most un-kid friendly cookie ever invented. Something your Noni from Italy would make instead of your Grandma from California. Yet every time I would spend the night at her house there would be a frozen roll of those cookies waiting to be thawed out, sliced, and baked just for me. I laid there, last night, thinking I would do just about anything to see her veiny, weathered fingers slicing her knife through that hard frozen roll of cookie dough. But she is gone as well, and with her, the smells of her kitchen and the feeling of her small, bony body underneath my own as we rocked in her pink easy chair. There is something different about the way you see people that you didn’t get to have around into adulthood, innocence and selfishness blurring the edges of your memories. All they can be is what they were to you because it is almost impossible for a child to see past that. How tragic that such a long life has been whittled down to cookies and rocking chairs in my mind. A woman who lived through more war years than not, more hard times than good, that spoke a language I did not understand into her kitchen phone to people that were and still are a mystery to me.
My dad died when I was nineteen. I write that sentence easily, the easiest seven words I could ever type, because I live that sentence. Every big moment in my life, every sad day, every time my boy does something to make someone else laugh, there is the marked and tangible absence of him. He is a myth I will tell my children someday, a part of myself that those closest to me will never know. A person that I don’t even really know, another victim of a life oversimplified by those who remember him. I don’t even have the mundane details of daily life to keep him tethered to reality for me, having not lived with him since I was a baby. All I have is the stories people tell me of him and the memories I try to hold onto like paper floating away in the wind.
The first boy I ever loved died when I was twenty, before I was old enough to realize what real love felt like, and that what I felt for him was not it. The first time I saw him we were fifteen and he was walking past me in the hallway of my high school and it was like I was living in a Taylor Swift song, everything was in slow motion. Years later I would feel like I knew him better than anyone in the world, and even more years later I would realize I didn’t know him at all, and that maybe no one really knew him. He was the kind of person that was born to be a legend, someone that had a way of existing for each person that loved him exactly how they saw him in their mind. I am not happy he is gone because I know there are people whose lives go on with the marked absence of him. But I am glad that the person he exists as in my mind can never be ruined by the imperfection of a flawed reality.
The ghosts that we know remind us of who we are, our truest selves, because they are a part of that person. They aren’t just stories we tell or people we knew, they are wrapped up in who we are for having known them. That is how lost loved ones go on existing.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Graham is One
On Saturday we celebrated my last baby's first birthday. I know he is my last because when I imagine a world in which I get pregnant again I instantly get a stomachache and try to thing of who I could give the child to...so I'm pretty sure we are done.
I can not believe that Graham is one already. I scooped my last scoop of formula the other day and then I cried. I got an email from babycenter.com about "my toddler this week" instead of "my baby this week" and I cried. I can't say that I'm not a little bit excited to be moving out of the baby stage but knowing that these last fleeting moments of chubby baby legs and sweet baby snuggles truly are the last, I can't help but mourn a bit. However, since I got pregnant with Graham when Everett was only 8 months old I have had an extra long run of non stop baby, so I would like to think that I really got the most bang for my buck of the baby years.
Graham entered into his first birthday with four teeth and one more on the way. He is the toughest little baby you will ever meet and when he is playing with Everett and they bonk heads or both fall down, he usually laughs and Ev usually cries. He is literally the hungriest baby in the universe and would eat non-stop all day if he had the opportunity. Everett is going through a picky phase and is hardly eating anything so Graham usually finishes up all of his leftovers. You only know he is done eating when he smears his food into his hair, which is adorable but also means he is never clean, ever. He is quite opinionated, well I'll just say it, demanding. He always wants to be held by his mama and always wants to be wherever the action is. He reaches out his little arms and screams at whatever he wants until he gets it. His brother didn't do this so I have a feeling Graham will be the assertive one.
For his party this year we wanted (let's be honest, I wanted) it have a cute little tee pee and cool Indian headbands, and he got both. It's always funny spending so much time on a party for someone who could care less, but event planning is kind of my love language so hopefully my boys learn to love a good theme.
I can not believe that Graham is one already. I scooped my last scoop of formula the other day and then I cried. I got an email from babycenter.com about "my toddler this week" instead of "my baby this week" and I cried. I can't say that I'm not a little bit excited to be moving out of the baby stage but knowing that these last fleeting moments of chubby baby legs and sweet baby snuggles truly are the last, I can't help but mourn a bit. However, since I got pregnant with Graham when Everett was only 8 months old I have had an extra long run of non stop baby, so I would like to think that I really got the most bang for my buck of the baby years.
Graham entered into his first birthday with four teeth and one more on the way. He is the toughest little baby you will ever meet and when he is playing with Everett and they bonk heads or both fall down, he usually laughs and Ev usually cries. He is literally the hungriest baby in the universe and would eat non-stop all day if he had the opportunity. Everett is going through a picky phase and is hardly eating anything so Graham usually finishes up all of his leftovers. You only know he is done eating when he smears his food into his hair, which is adorable but also means he is never clean, ever. He is quite opinionated, well I'll just say it, demanding. He always wants to be held by his mama and always wants to be wherever the action is. He reaches out his little arms and screams at whatever he wants until he gets it. His brother didn't do this so I have a feeling Graham will be the assertive one.
For his party this year we wanted (let's be honest, I wanted) it have a cute little tee pee and cool Indian headbands, and he got both. It's always funny spending so much time on a party for someone who could care less, but event planning is kind of my love language so hopefully my boys learn to love a good theme.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Two Years and Ten Months, Respectively
This is Everett before it turned cold and drizzly out. The longer I am a parent the less pictures I take so forgive the less than current picture, but you get the idea. He is two years and 3 months old. He is, how do you say, the freakin' most awesome kid I've ever met. I was so scared that he would wake up on his second birthday and be the "terrible two" tornado you are always warned (aka threatened) about. But he has continued to be even keeled and friendly. Of course he has his moments of irrational anger and there are times he wakes up from his nap and there is someone over that he usually loves and he will refuse to look at them or acknowledge there existence. But who doesn't have moments like these, even in adult life. His favorite things right now are Curious George, my iPhone, and popcorn. He could eat popcorn for every meal if we let him. He is sweet and accommodating, and if his brother is crying he will say "brother OK mama?" in a concerned and caring voice that just kills me. The last few nights when I put him to bed he will pat his little pillow and say, "lay with me mama?" and I just dare someone to turn down that adorable request.
Our chubby little baby boy is slowly turning into a little boy and everyday it seems like a little more baby fat has disappeared of his little frame, which makes me sad, but excited to see what kind of boy he will turn into. He truly is a joy.
This is Graham. He will be ten months in ten days. Our little skinny baby is now a full on fatty. He eats everything in sight. You can't put something in your mouth around him without him crying and looking at you like you haven't fed him in weeks. I can't seem to feed him often enough. I think as sweet as Everett is will be how strong willed Graham is. He knows exactly what he wants and will let you know it. Usually what he wants is for me to pick him up and hold him. He will be contentedly playing in the living room and if he hears my voice in the kitchen he will immediately start crying for me to come get him. Everett was a complete daddy's boy at this age and Graham doesn't care about anyone but me. Sometimes it feels a little suffocating, but I know one day soon I will miss this sweet time when I was his whole universe. He is getting more and more steady on his feet and has recently started being able to walk while holding on to the couch. He is strong and sweet and loves to be held upside-down and tickled. He also REALLY loves bottles and can drink them faster than any baby I have ever seen. He loves when Everett talks to him or plays with him and can now clap when you ask him to and will "dance" if there is music on, which looks a lot like baby pelvic thrusting which is hilarious and a little disturbing.
I am so in love with my boys. I am starting to see the beginning stages of the two of them playing together and discovering how to be brothers and it is so much fun.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
When Worlds Collide
I just realized today why being a stay at home mom feels so hard. Right now I am listening with one ear to the monitor for signs that my nephew is awake from his nap while feeding my 10 month old a disgusting meal of gummed down biscuit that he consumes like a pack of wild dogs going after a bone, all while my two year old sleeps peacefully downstairs. While doing all these things it came to me that I have just never worked this hard in my entire life. The days I spend with my children are relentless, unending marathons of picking up messes, making meals, playing with cars and trucks and too many things that make too many noises, and of course changing an infinite number of diapers. Too many of which, by the way, require a change of clothes for all of us after the deed is done.
It should go without saying that I love it and LOVE my children. Even when it's hard and overwhelming, one little smile from my baby or funny comment from my toddler and my heart is so full that I think it might burst. I wouldn't trade it for a day job. (Unfortunately i feel obligated to say that because mommy guilt kicks in and I worry that I will be judged for complaining about my children, or taking the blessing of being with them everyday for granted. For the record, I am an awesome mom and my kids are super awesome, and yes sometimes I want to hide in my room while they fight it out Hunger Games style). But every job I have worked up until now, no matter how busy or fast-paced I thought it was, did not hold a candle to this. The jobs I've had outside the home have been at least somewhat self-paced...meaning I could pick how hard I chose to work or how much I would try to get done in a shift. There might be a demanding boss, and sometimes customers or clients, but if I wanted to be crappy at my job, I could be. Or, I might have worked my butt off, but at least there was a break or a lunch on the horizon, or the joy of joys, the end of the work day. But being a stay at home mom has absolutely nothing to do with me and there is no pause button or stop button, and definitely no mute button (which would sometimes be the button of choice, let's be honest). I can't choose how hard I work because children have to be fed and changed and entertained and especially in this phase of life, there is no way that they can rely on themselves for any of these things. They need me for absolutely everything in their lives and the work isn't done until they decide it is by finally going to sleep at which time I usually fall into the couch and stay in that position until I get the energy to go to bed.
Yesterday I spent a few too many hours dwelling and wallowing on this fact. "Just one minute to do what I want," I thought to myself, while angrily washing one more dish and soothing another crying child. I went to a dark place of bitterness and jealousy and selfishness that I'm not really proud of. But eventually kids do go to sleep and there is a moment to take a breath, after putting away the ocean of toys I spent the day tripping over and cleaning up the remnants of the days meals from the kitchen. And when I had a second of rational thought I realized something. This is exactly what my life is supposed to look like right now. It is no accident that God has been working through my issues with idolatry of self that I wrote about in my last post while I am in a stage of life that is the perfect place to let that work happen. What better way to cut away the love of self than to be in a place where I have almost no time to think about/worry about/even acknowledge myself? What better way to kill the demon of want and consumerism and vanity than being stuck in the house with three kids and only the energy to throw on some sweat pants and my hair in a ponytail?
A funny thing happens when you ask God to move. He does. And you want it to be this magical experience where you wake up and all of a sudden you don't care about the dumb things you used to and you feel this supernatural love and joy and peace and your children's crying all of the sudden sounds like angels singing and you could care less how much money is in your bank account or how many pairs of jeans you own. But it doesn't really happen that way. It happens in the way it's happening right now. You capture what is vile in you and offer it up to Christ in repentance, and then he starts working on you and in you, and it is usually hard and painful and stretching in ways you didn't really sign up for, if you are honest. But it is also pure JOY, because you realize how pure, how TRUE the gospel is. How petty the things of this world truly are when held up next to Jesus and his infinite power and how beautiful it is when you feel that power inside of you.
When I made this connection I could do nothing else but worship, to thank God for loving me enough to want me to be better, to be changed. Colossians 3:1-4 says
My life is hidden with Christ in God, what?? My gross, jealous, bitter, selfish life is hidden behind His perfect one? If that doesn't make you WANT to be better, to kill those things in you as an act of worship and thanks for that being true I don't know what will. Because that is the truly beautiful thing about this whole thing. It is already done. All these things are already hidden in Him and my perfection is complete because it is HIS perfection that God sees in me. But he still chooses to work in us because he knows we need it, that life is better when are attentions and desires are towards Him and not the things of this world. Thank you Jesus, for loving me more than I even can comprehend.
Being a mom to little ones is hard, really hard. The knowledge that it is supposed to be hard doesn't change that, but it does give me something to cling to in those moments when the dishes are piling up and the baby is crying. My prayer is that my children see this struggle, somehow see and remember this time when there mom is learning how to cling to Jesus amid the biscuit crumbs and toy cars. And that they will learn to cling to him, too.
It should go without saying that I love it and LOVE my children. Even when it's hard and overwhelming, one little smile from my baby or funny comment from my toddler and my heart is so full that I think it might burst. I wouldn't trade it for a day job. (Unfortunately i feel obligated to say that because mommy guilt kicks in and I worry that I will be judged for complaining about my children, or taking the blessing of being with them everyday for granted. For the record, I am an awesome mom and my kids are super awesome, and yes sometimes I want to hide in my room while they fight it out Hunger Games style). But every job I have worked up until now, no matter how busy or fast-paced I thought it was, did not hold a candle to this. The jobs I've had outside the home have been at least somewhat self-paced...meaning I could pick how hard I chose to work or how much I would try to get done in a shift. There might be a demanding boss, and sometimes customers or clients, but if I wanted to be crappy at my job, I could be. Or, I might have worked my butt off, but at least there was a break or a lunch on the horizon, or the joy of joys, the end of the work day. But being a stay at home mom has absolutely nothing to do with me and there is no pause button or stop button, and definitely no mute button (which would sometimes be the button of choice, let's be honest). I can't choose how hard I work because children have to be fed and changed and entertained and especially in this phase of life, there is no way that they can rely on themselves for any of these things. They need me for absolutely everything in their lives and the work isn't done until they decide it is by finally going to sleep at which time I usually fall into the couch and stay in that position until I get the energy to go to bed.
Yesterday I spent a few too many hours dwelling and wallowing on this fact. "Just one minute to do what I want," I thought to myself, while angrily washing one more dish and soothing another crying child. I went to a dark place of bitterness and jealousy and selfishness that I'm not really proud of. But eventually kids do go to sleep and there is a moment to take a breath, after putting away the ocean of toys I spent the day tripping over and cleaning up the remnants of the days meals from the kitchen. And when I had a second of rational thought I realized something. This is exactly what my life is supposed to look like right now. It is no accident that God has been working through my issues with idolatry of self that I wrote about in my last post while I am in a stage of life that is the perfect place to let that work happen. What better way to cut away the love of self than to be in a place where I have almost no time to think about/worry about/even acknowledge myself? What better way to kill the demon of want and consumerism and vanity than being stuck in the house with three kids and only the energy to throw on some sweat pants and my hair in a ponytail?
A funny thing happens when you ask God to move. He does. And you want it to be this magical experience where you wake up and all of a sudden you don't care about the dumb things you used to and you feel this supernatural love and joy and peace and your children's crying all of the sudden sounds like angels singing and you could care less how much money is in your bank account or how many pairs of jeans you own. But it doesn't really happen that way. It happens in the way it's happening right now. You capture what is vile in you and offer it up to Christ in repentance, and then he starts working on you and in you, and it is usually hard and painful and stretching in ways you didn't really sign up for, if you are honest. But it is also pure JOY, because you realize how pure, how TRUE the gospel is. How petty the things of this world truly are when held up next to Jesus and his infinite power and how beautiful it is when you feel that power inside of you.
When I made this connection I could do nothing else but worship, to thank God for loving me enough to want me to be better, to be changed. Colossians 3:1-4 says
"If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at teh right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory."
My life is hidden with Christ in God, what?? My gross, jealous, bitter, selfish life is hidden behind His perfect one? If that doesn't make you WANT to be better, to kill those things in you as an act of worship and thanks for that being true I don't know what will. Because that is the truly beautiful thing about this whole thing. It is already done. All these things are already hidden in Him and my perfection is complete because it is HIS perfection that God sees in me. But he still chooses to work in us because he knows we need it, that life is better when are attentions and desires are towards Him and not the things of this world. Thank you Jesus, for loving me more than I even can comprehend.
Being a mom to little ones is hard, really hard. The knowledge that it is supposed to be hard doesn't change that, but it does give me something to cling to in those moments when the dishes are piling up and the baby is crying. My prayer is that my children see this struggle, somehow see and remember this time when there mom is learning how to cling to Jesus amid the biscuit crumbs and toy cars. And that they will learn to cling to him, too.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
A New Normal
Right now the wind is blowing in fierce gusts against our house, shaking the trees last desperately clinging leaves and sending them falling and swirling to the waiting earth below. It is overwhelming and beautiful that the same Creator that makes that wind and created those leaves is doing the same thing inside of me, something I have not allowed to happen for what feels like forever. I feel Him there, in the deepest corners and the most forgotten crevices of my heart and it feels scary and painful and SO necessary.
Jesus love me. He LOVES me. He loves ME? It’s a sentence that I write but still do not understand, a concept I don’t think I ever will. Yet as amazing as it is that God loves and forgives me, my idols rob me of the joy that this knowledge should bring. How is it that temporal things can seem bigger or more important than that which is eternal? Especially such small things, even by the world’s standards. Specifically body image, comparison, and insecurity.
In the 11 years I have been a Christian these issues have come up and been “worked through” time and time again. They have never gone away and I have had varying degrees of denial or acceptance of the role that these things play in my life. But they are always there. Lately, the ugliness of these sins have been truly disgusting to me. I am SICK to death of talking about things I have bought, or want to buy, or wish I could buy. I am sick of worrying about what the clothes I am wearing say about me, what people will think of my hair, makeup, nails, shoes, the existence of baby weight or the loss of baby weight, if strangers would look at me and think I was wealthy (yes I have actually had that thought, more often than I would care to admit), if I’m prettier than insert name here, if I’m skinnier that insert name here, if I’m more fashionable than her, I could just go on and on. How often these thoughts captivate my mind I don’t even want to admit to myself. They are a constant dialogue of flesh and sin that plays in my head and I just can’t take it anymore.
I feel like for the first time I understand the consequences of idols. I have always understood the definition of what an idol is but this is different. The Spirit has been talking to me despite the clutter that all this sin has caused in my heart. He has been shouting, actually. For the first time I have a picture of what I have been missing out on because of my constant unrepentant sin. Joy! Joy in the spirit that is real and tangible and isn’t based on circumstances. Joy in serving Him, in seeing the transformation of other’s souls, of having a relationship with Him and feeling his working in life. I am so filled up with other things I have suffocated the joy right out of me. Such a tragic way to spend a life.
The thing is, I do not have the power to change the desires of my heart to the things that matter. I can’t just will myself to not care about my appearance no more than I can will myself to go to sleep and wake up looking like a Victoria Secret model (let’s be honest, I’ve had that wish a time or two). Repentance in this area will be a complete transformation of my mind, my daily activities, the way I spend my money, and even my relationships with the people I care most about. I don’t even really know where to start. Actually I do know, its also where I finish and where I continually return to day after day as I fight this battle. Jesus. Praying to Him, reading His Word, crying out to him as I struggle to change the way my mind has always worked. Praying that he captures my heart in a way that I fear I have never let Him.
*As I process through all this I already know that I will regret putting this on the internet and that is exactly why I am. Even if no one reads it I will know it s here and transparency is essential to the death of this sin*
Jesus love me. He LOVES me. He loves ME? It’s a sentence that I write but still do not understand, a concept I don’t think I ever will. Yet as amazing as it is that God loves and forgives me, my idols rob me of the joy that this knowledge should bring. How is it that temporal things can seem bigger or more important than that which is eternal? Especially such small things, even by the world’s standards. Specifically body image, comparison, and insecurity.
In the 11 years I have been a Christian these issues have come up and been “worked through” time and time again. They have never gone away and I have had varying degrees of denial or acceptance of the role that these things play in my life. But they are always there. Lately, the ugliness of these sins have been truly disgusting to me. I am SICK to death of talking about things I have bought, or want to buy, or wish I could buy. I am sick of worrying about what the clothes I am wearing say about me, what people will think of my hair, makeup, nails, shoes, the existence of baby weight or the loss of baby weight, if strangers would look at me and think I was wealthy (yes I have actually had that thought, more often than I would care to admit), if I’m prettier than insert name here, if I’m skinnier that insert name here, if I’m more fashionable than her, I could just go on and on. How often these thoughts captivate my mind I don’t even want to admit to myself. They are a constant dialogue of flesh and sin that plays in my head and I just can’t take it anymore.
I feel like for the first time I understand the consequences of idols. I have always understood the definition of what an idol is but this is different. The Spirit has been talking to me despite the clutter that all this sin has caused in my heart. He has been shouting, actually. For the first time I have a picture of what I have been missing out on because of my constant unrepentant sin. Joy! Joy in the spirit that is real and tangible and isn’t based on circumstances. Joy in serving Him, in seeing the transformation of other’s souls, of having a relationship with Him and feeling his working in life. I am so filled up with other things I have suffocated the joy right out of me. Such a tragic way to spend a life.
The thing is, I do not have the power to change the desires of my heart to the things that matter. I can’t just will myself to not care about my appearance no more than I can will myself to go to sleep and wake up looking like a Victoria Secret model (let’s be honest, I’ve had that wish a time or two). Repentance in this area will be a complete transformation of my mind, my daily activities, the way I spend my money, and even my relationships with the people I care most about. I don’t even really know where to start. Actually I do know, its also where I finish and where I continually return to day after day as I fight this battle. Jesus. Praying to Him, reading His Word, crying out to him as I struggle to change the way my mind has always worked. Praying that he captures my heart in a way that I fear I have never let Him.
*As I process through all this I already know that I will regret putting this on the internet and that is exactly why I am. Even if no one reads it I will know it s here and transparency is essential to the death of this sin*
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Late night mama ramblings
Being a parent is weird. Right now I am sitting in a dark, quiet, peaceful living room while my husband sleeps down the hall and my children sleep across town at my mom’s house. When they are here I find myself sometimes wishing they weren’t. Wanting one minute, one hour, one day of no one asking me for anything, or crying because they want me to hold them, or asking me to play in the dirt with them.
Now, here I am, in the middle of exactly that thing that I wish for so often, and I am completely lost in thoughts of them. Everett’s sweet voice saying, “Ok mama,” which is how he says yes to any question I ask him, even if “Ok” doesn’t quite work. Or his little, chubby arms connected to his little, chubby hands reaching up and up and up to me, his fingers moving back and forth as if he is trying to pull me closer to him by sheer will. To say that I love that boy is such a cheapening of my emotions that it is almost not worth saying. He makes every day of my life better. He is joyful and funny and silly and brilliant and has been pretty much every day of his two years on this earth.
Oh he is a little tester of my patience, too, don't get me wrong. He has recently discovered his bottom lip, which he can stick out farther than should be possible. He knows exactly what he wants and will make you go through every option until you arrive at what that thing is. But even in those moments when he is crying and running through the house screaming and shaking his arms and hands at me in anger, I am struck, practically floored at how much I love him, how visceral love is sometimes...that you can actually feel it in the pit of your stomach.
And then there is my charming little Graham. The past 4 months of his life have been such a challenge. We recently discovered that my breast milk was just not working for him and that he didn’t grow from four months to six months old. The guilt was overwhelming. Pretty much the one thing I was really in charge of by myself, keeping him nourished, I was failing at. He was such a fussy baby for that time, and we now realize it was simple hunger. Now that he is eating bottles and fattening up, he has become an entirely different baby. Once fussy and clingy, now mild and flirty and so loving and joyful. He still clings to me, but it isn’t the desperate, suffocating kind of cling. Now it feels like “hey mama, I just like to be close to you if that’s OK.” And trust me, it is more than OK. He is trying to crawl and you should just see him try to reach for his big brother, with so much pride in his eyes already. He is downright proud to be Everett’s little brother and I know that sounds crazy but it really seems true. And when he looks into your eyes and then smiles and looks away with his little tongue poking out from between his gums I swear your can hear the drippings of your melted heart on the floor.
I think I’m writing this because I need to get it all out, to say the things about my boys that are constantly swirling around in my head. And maybe a little bit to give me things to remember when I’m having a moment where the frustrations of the day overshadow all of this love. Also, I know that this time, this precious, exhausting, intense time when my children are young and each day is filled with hugs and tears and kisses and chubby cheeks are going to be over so quickly, already I feel them slipping away, and I want to be able to remember. To not just have pictures of this time, but words that explain how I was feeling and remind me of all the blessing my life has held, and I’m sure I will realize then that none were more blessed than these days I’m living right now.
Now, here I am, in the middle of exactly that thing that I wish for so often, and I am completely lost in thoughts of them. Everett’s sweet voice saying, “Ok mama,” which is how he says yes to any question I ask him, even if “Ok” doesn’t quite work. Or his little, chubby arms connected to his little, chubby hands reaching up and up and up to me, his fingers moving back and forth as if he is trying to pull me closer to him by sheer will. To say that I love that boy is such a cheapening of my emotions that it is almost not worth saying. He makes every day of my life better. He is joyful and funny and silly and brilliant and has been pretty much every day of his two years on this earth.
Oh he is a little tester of my patience, too, don't get me wrong. He has recently discovered his bottom lip, which he can stick out farther than should be possible. He knows exactly what he wants and will make you go through every option until you arrive at what that thing is. But even in those moments when he is crying and running through the house screaming and shaking his arms and hands at me in anger, I am struck, practically floored at how much I love him, how visceral love is sometimes...that you can actually feel it in the pit of your stomach.
And then there is my charming little Graham. The past 4 months of his life have been such a challenge. We recently discovered that my breast milk was just not working for him and that he didn’t grow from four months to six months old. The guilt was overwhelming. Pretty much the one thing I was really in charge of by myself, keeping him nourished, I was failing at. He was such a fussy baby for that time, and we now realize it was simple hunger. Now that he is eating bottles and fattening up, he has become an entirely different baby. Once fussy and clingy, now mild and flirty and so loving and joyful. He still clings to me, but it isn’t the desperate, suffocating kind of cling. Now it feels like “hey mama, I just like to be close to you if that’s OK.” And trust me, it is more than OK. He is trying to crawl and you should just see him try to reach for his big brother, with so much pride in his eyes already. He is downright proud to be Everett’s little brother and I know that sounds crazy but it really seems true. And when he looks into your eyes and then smiles and looks away with his little tongue poking out from between his gums I swear your can hear the drippings of your melted heart on the floor.
I think I’m writing this because I need to get it all out, to say the things about my boys that are constantly swirling around in my head. And maybe a little bit to give me things to remember when I’m having a moment where the frustrations of the day overshadow all of this love. Also, I know that this time, this precious, exhausting, intense time when my children are young and each day is filled with hugs and tears and kisses and chubby cheeks are going to be over so quickly, already I feel them slipping away, and I want to be able to remember. To not just have pictures of this time, but words that explain how I was feeling and remind me of all the blessing my life has held, and I’m sure I will realize then that none were more blessed than these days I’m living right now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)