Not too much on the brain today, but I'll come up with something to write about. I was just reading my last post and thinking about how much of a perfectionist I used to be. It's an issue that I still struggle with today. Recently, my husband and I realized that, as of this summer, I have stayed home for six years. I have been out of the fray, out of the rat race, for six years! Being at home has been a remarkable key to my staying healthy. When I work, the issues I struggle the most with, including my perfectionism, almost eat me alive. Once I'm in a job, I feel like I'm performing. Consequently, if I don't do it well, I've failed to meet some one's expectations. Even worse I've disappointed someone. Rather than enjoying my job, I become obsessed with it, always trying to figure out how to be better, always feeling that I'm not doing a good enough job.
That's what it was like to be a teacher. Don't get me wrong I really enjoyed teaching and still teach a sunday school class at church. But I'm not sure my perfectionist side could handle full-time teaching again. When I was a teacher my anxiety level skyrocketed. I felt like a tight rope walker; balancing everything oh so carefully, but one miscalculation, one misstep, and I was a goner. It all just became too much.
Writing is so different for me, I don't feel like I'm performing for anyone. I'm just writing what's on my heart, what's on my mind. I just get to enjoy the process. If I make a mistake, it's okay. Words can always be changed, sentences can always be restructured, and there's a dictionary for all those misspelled, misplaced words.
I have to admit that if I had my druthers, I'd stay at home, once all the kids were in school, and write for a living. Seriously, it would be my dream job. In fact it's something I want so bad, that I am almost afraid to ask God for it - as if he's a begrudging giver, a heartless master who withholds anything he thinks might give his child pleasure. I know that's the wrong attitude, the wrong heart to have. But when I want something so bad, it's hard to hold that "want" with an open hand. In his wisdom, I know that God will either gently curl my fingers around this dream, nod his head in approval, and whisper, "Go for it, child.", or he will lovingly peel that one from my grasping fingers. Then he'll whisper ever so gently, "I have a higher purpose, a greater cause, and an even better dream for you. Let this one go." So I guess I'll hold this dream with an open hand. Whether I go back to teaching, sit in an office chair, or write my heart out every day, it will all be okay. I just know it.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
giving grace
Well, here goes the entry for today. I think I'm on the every-other-day plan when it comes to a new blog post. Frankly, I'm surpised that I find time to do even this much. Which brings me to today's topic - the clealiness of my house. I decided that today was a cleaning day - vaccumed, dusted, mopped the kitchen floor. What's absolutely frustrating about doing all this cleaning is the knowledge that, in about two hours, it will all be undone. I handle it, the messes, a lot better than I used to. My standard of clean was much different before I was married and had a family. My weekly routine involved dusting things that didn't necessarily need it, vaccuming every carpeted floor, and mopping the kitchen and bathroom floors 'til they were sparkling. Having roommates helped tame my obsessive side. I learned to settle with less than perfect. But, I was still unprepared for what marriage would bring. My husband's idea of sweeping the kitchen floor was to "skate" in socks back and forth across it, 'til it was mostly clean. Needless to say, that was NOT okay with me. I remember the biggest arguments we had when we first married centered around the cleanliness of the house. My husband and I have learned to live with each other's eccentricities. He is still not the neatest person in the house, and I still tend to get crazy when I clean. But we've learned to give each other a little grace when it comes to our flaws.
It's nice to live in grace - isn't it? I used to be someone who didn't give much grace to other people . I was pretty judgmental. Some of the things I remember being critical about are the very things that I do today. For instance, I used to look down on my mom because I wondered how she could let our house get so messy. As I step over toys, stare at dust inches thick, and walk into a bathroom that smells like a little boy pottied everywhere but in the toilet, I find myself laughing at that arrogant girl who so easliy judged her mother; a mother who was raising three children and working a part-time job. The older I get, the more I realize that you truly don't understand a person's life until you "walk around in their shoes" for a season. It was a painful lesson to learn - to stop being so judgmental of people. But I'm glad I learned it. I find that the more grace I give, the more I seem to receive.
Matthew 7:1 "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."
It's nice to live in grace - isn't it? I used to be someone who didn't give much grace to other people . I was pretty judgmental. Some of the things I remember being critical about are the very things that I do today. For instance, I used to look down on my mom because I wondered how she could let our house get so messy. As I step over toys, stare at dust inches thick, and walk into a bathroom that smells like a little boy pottied everywhere but in the toilet, I find myself laughing at that arrogant girl who so easliy judged her mother; a mother who was raising three children and working a part-time job. The older I get, the more I realize that you truly don't understand a person's life until you "walk around in their shoes" for a season. It was a painful lesson to learn - to stop being so judgmental of people. But I'm glad I learned it. I find that the more grace I give, the more I seem to receive.
Matthew 7:1 "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you."
Monday, February 21, 2011
Is it just me . . . or are they all crazy?
Okay, be prepared. I'm stepping up onto my soapbox today. The thoughts swirling around inside my brain are focused on the media, as well as the entertainment industry. Let's start with the media. Can I just say that I am NOT IMPRESSED with how events are reported these days. It seems as if every story, every lead, focuses on the negative things that are happening in our world. This may seem like an argument that you've heard before, but I feel like the media preys on our fears. Every story, every lead is meant to "fill us in" on the latest, breaking news. But what it really does, at least for me, is it makes me a little more afraid, a little more depressed, and a little more paranoid about life. Really, think of the last time you ever saw a broadcast that started, I mean really started, with news of all the good things in life; how many people did a good deed today, or worked really hard at their jobs, or volunteered their time at the homeless shelter. No, instead nearly every story is about war, or terrorists, or gas prices going up. (Why is it that when gas prices go down, you rarely hear about that?) I know that it's important to keep up on current events, to note what's really newsworthy, but since when is Lindsey Lohan's life a certain event that I REALLY need to know about.
And don't even get me started on television. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch the next "reality" show as much as any crazed, hungry-for more-American is. After all, there are some decent, even good ones, out there. But, sometimes, I feel that when I watch one of these shows, I'm participating in something that is completely barbarian. It's like I'm in a stadium, filled with the masses, waiting for the next victim to become prey to that crouching lion. Are we really so different from the crowds who used to cheer while a person was torn to pieces? I always used to think that the gladiator games were horrific, that the people who watched them were absolutely heartless. But, are we any better? When we put these people under a microscope, it seems like we're carrying out our own form of gladiator spectating. Sitting with the cheering masses, waiting for the next victim to "bite the dust," so to speak, leaves us craving, in fact, begging for more.
But, if we're so interested in reality, why aren't we getting real about our own lives? Why don't we turn off the television and start living, really living; going on a bike ride, playing a family board game, going to coffee with a friend, having meaningful conversations with those we love best. (I told you I was on a soapbox today.) I think that, far too often, we let the media and the entertainment industry dictate our lives - what we're going to think, feel, focus on, what we're going to believe about ourselves and life. I'm not saying we should never watch another broadcast or turn on the TV. What I am saying is this; If you find yourself thinking more, talking more, about what you saw on the news last night, or on the latest episode of reality TV, maybe it's time to turn the television off, and live your own reality. (Stepping off my soapbox now.)
And don't even get me started on television. Don't get me wrong, I love to watch the next "reality" show as much as any crazed, hungry-for more-American is. After all, there are some decent, even good ones, out there. But, sometimes, I feel that when I watch one of these shows, I'm participating in something that is completely barbarian. It's like I'm in a stadium, filled with the masses, waiting for the next victim to become prey to that crouching lion. Are we really so different from the crowds who used to cheer while a person was torn to pieces? I always used to think that the gladiator games were horrific, that the people who watched them were absolutely heartless. But, are we any better? When we put these people under a microscope, it seems like we're carrying out our own form of gladiator spectating. Sitting with the cheering masses, waiting for the next victim to "bite the dust," so to speak, leaves us craving, in fact, begging for more.
But, if we're so interested in reality, why aren't we getting real about our own lives? Why don't we turn off the television and start living, really living; going on a bike ride, playing a family board game, going to coffee with a friend, having meaningful conversations with those we love best. (I told you I was on a soapbox today.) I think that, far too often, we let the media and the entertainment industry dictate our lives - what we're going to think, feel, focus on, what we're going to believe about ourselves and life. I'm not saying we should never watch another broadcast or turn on the TV. What I am saying is this; If you find yourself thinking more, talking more, about what you saw on the news last night, or on the latest episode of reality TV, maybe it's time to turn the television off, and live your own reality. (Stepping off my soapbox now.)
Friday, February 18, 2011
Waiting for a Good Thing
I'm trying to write everyday. I've been given that advice twice now so I'd better follow through! My dearest little girl is sick today - stomach flu. It is the WORST when a little one has the stomach flu. First of all, they don't know where to throw-up; the toilet, a bucket, a sink. Consequently, you often end up with puke all over whatever happens to be in close proximity to the sick one. Today it was her bed; sheets, bedspread, blankets, pillow, and any unfortunate stuffed animal that happened to be close by. Anyway, I did my best to carry out my motherly duties - although I almost lost my lunch a couple of times while I was cleaning up.
The other thing that is hard when a little one has the stomach flu, is the fact that they don't know why they can't have anything to eat or drink. They, of course, don't understand that whatever goes in will, inevitably, be coming back up. So, they stare at you with these big sorrowful eyes, sometimes crying because you won't give them anything to eat or drink. Oh, it is the worst.
Can't think of any moral to this little story. Well . .. maybe I can. I think that when we go through something hard in our lives, we often wonder why we can't have something that we're almost certain we need. Usually what we want is, or at least seems to be, a good thing. So what's the deal? Why don't we get what we want when we want it? Well, I think as a parent I understand a little more how God operates. Just like I know that my sick one can't have food or water right now, even though they are good, even neccessary things, so God must withhold certain things in our lives for our own well-being. The things we want aren't intrinsically bad for us, only bad in the time we want them. It's a hard lesson to learn, this letting God be God. But it's an important one. Try to remember why I'm not giving my little girl anything to eat or drink today, and apply that understanding to whatever "good thing" you're waiting for at this point in your life.
The other thing that is hard when a little one has the stomach flu, is the fact that they don't know why they can't have anything to eat or drink. They, of course, don't understand that whatever goes in will, inevitably, be coming back up. So, they stare at you with these big sorrowful eyes, sometimes crying because you won't give them anything to eat or drink. Oh, it is the worst.
Can't think of any moral to this little story. Well . .. maybe I can. I think that when we go through something hard in our lives, we often wonder why we can't have something that we're almost certain we need. Usually what we want is, or at least seems to be, a good thing. So what's the deal? Why don't we get what we want when we want it? Well, I think as a parent I understand a little more how God operates. Just like I know that my sick one can't have food or water right now, even though they are good, even neccessary things, so God must withhold certain things in our lives for our own well-being. The things we want aren't intrinsically bad for us, only bad in the time we want them. It's a hard lesson to learn, this letting God be God. But it's an important one. Try to remember why I'm not giving my little girl anything to eat or drink today, and apply that understanding to whatever "good thing" you're waiting for at this point in your life.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
"Crazy Pills"
I had an interesting experience a few days ago. I had forgotten to take my morning meds, and that whole day something just didn't seem right. I was feeling really weird - off kilter - so to speak. Finally, that evening, I realized what I'd done so I went to take my evening meds to get back on track. Scary how accustomed my body has become to these medications. Without them, I would not function well at all.
Meds are the best, and worst part about having a mental illness. I am thankful over and over again that I live in the time period I do, and that medicine has come a long way from where it was even 15-20 years back. For the most part, I don't have many side effects. The one side effect that I notice the most are my tremors. Strange as it may sound, my chin tends to tremble. It's pretty slight, but definitely noticeable. I also have tremors in my hand. When I hold something, my hands shake. It's embarassing sometimes, because I wonder what people think.
When I was first diagnosed, my husband was particularly worried that I wouldn't take my medications. I grew up in a family where the mentality was that if you were sick you just needed to "tough it out." Medicine wasn't "really necessary." I'm glad I'm married to a man who is, by background, a nurse. He's helped me to see how important these meds are to my health and well-being. A gal I knew once called them "crazy pills." I think that was an ignorant statement, and I hope others realize that these medications are anything but crazy.
Meds are the best, and worst part about having a mental illness. I am thankful over and over again that I live in the time period I do, and that medicine has come a long way from where it was even 15-20 years back. For the most part, I don't have many side effects. The one side effect that I notice the most are my tremors. Strange as it may sound, my chin tends to tremble. It's pretty slight, but definitely noticeable. I also have tremors in my hand. When I hold something, my hands shake. It's embarassing sometimes, because I wonder what people think.
When I was first diagnosed, my husband was particularly worried that I wouldn't take my medications. I grew up in a family where the mentality was that if you were sick you just needed to "tough it out." Medicine wasn't "really necessary." I'm glad I'm married to a man who is, by background, a nurse. He's helped me to see how important these meds are to my health and well-being. A gal I knew once called them "crazy pills." I think that was an ignorant statement, and I hope others realize that these medications are anything but crazy.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
And in this corner . . . faith.
Living life in limbo is always interesting, isn't it? Which way is the path you're on going to twist or turn? Will it take you to the right - down that easy, safe path, or will your travels take you up a difficult, even treacherous road? Last night I was laying in bed thinking about what the next day was going to bring. For some reason, I thought back to all the really bad, horrible days I've ever had: the day my brother called to tell me my dad had passed away, the day my grandma died, the day my favorite dog was put to "sleep", the day I left for college. So many come to mind, and I thought to myself, 'What if tomorrow is one of those really horrible, awful, I can barely-make-it-through days? What if tomorrow brings the worst news yet?' AIl of a sudden I got kind of scared. How was I going to make it through the next "bad" day of my life?
Interesting how fear can be such a roadblock, making me afraid to take that next step, to face that next day. And I guess that faith is the antithesis of fear. Faith makes life bearable, doesn't it? We don't know what the next step, what the next day will bring, but we do know who holds the next day in his hand. All of our days of life were recorded in his book before one of them came to be. That's what the psalmist says - David, I believe.
So, with worry crouching in the corner of my mind, ready to pounce and make me a slave again to fear, I did the best thing I could. I chose to remember how faithful God has been to me, reminded myself that he has brought me safely through every "bad" day I've ever had, and remembered that he will be there for me whatever tomorrow may bring: joy, sadness, amazement, discovery, loss, or even pain. None of it is new to him. All of it is part of his plan, his design for my life. So, I guess you could say that even my bad days, in fact my worst days, are really okay in his hands. He's working it all together for my good.
Interesting how fear can be such a roadblock, making me afraid to take that next step, to face that next day. And I guess that faith is the antithesis of fear. Faith makes life bearable, doesn't it? We don't know what the next step, what the next day will bring, but we do know who holds the next day in his hand. All of our days of life were recorded in his book before one of them came to be. That's what the psalmist says - David, I believe.
So, with worry crouching in the corner of my mind, ready to pounce and make me a slave again to fear, I did the best thing I could. I chose to remember how faithful God has been to me, reminded myself that he has brought me safely through every "bad" day I've ever had, and remembered that he will be there for me whatever tomorrow may bring: joy, sadness, amazement, discovery, loss, or even pain. None of it is new to him. All of it is part of his plan, his design for my life. So, I guess you could say that even my bad days, in fact my worst days, are really okay in his hands. He's working it all together for my good.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
saying good-bye
She stands at the door, small and fragile waving good-bye to me as I pull out of the driveway. So hard to leave her knowing that she is going to be alone again, completely alone. My throat tightens and tears well up in my eyes as I put the car into drive and wave at her one last time. Mom, I'm so sorry that I have to leave you again. You always put on such a brave front for me when I leave - telling me you'll be fine, and that you won't feel too lonely. But I know you better than that; I know that inside you're hurting as much as I do. I'm so glad for all the times we've had together, and I know they mean alot to you too. Someday we'll be in a place where we'll never have to say good-bye again. Til then, Mom, I love you, and see you soon.
Just some thoughts I had about leaving my mom the other day. I went up to spend time with her over the weekend. It was good because the kids stayed at home with my hubby, so we had some nice visits. (Nice visits never happen when you have a two and four-year-old screaming in the background.) Anyway, ever since my parents got divorced, it's been extremely hard for me to leave her after I've visited. She is a homebody, so I know there is a part of her that doesn't mind the alone time. But, I'm realistic and know that at times it must get awfully quiet around her house. When I got home and called to let her know I'd made it safely back, she kept thanking me over and over again for coming. Hard to believe that a short weekend like that meant so much to her. She would be the last person to want me to feel bad for her, but can't help it. She is my mom after all.
Just some thoughts I had about leaving my mom the other day. I went up to spend time with her over the weekend. It was good because the kids stayed at home with my hubby, so we had some nice visits. (Nice visits never happen when you have a two and four-year-old screaming in the background.) Anyway, ever since my parents got divorced, it's been extremely hard for me to leave her after I've visited. She is a homebody, so I know there is a part of her that doesn't mind the alone time. But, I'm realistic and know that at times it must get awfully quiet around her house. When I got home and called to let her know I'd made it safely back, she kept thanking me over and over again for coming. Hard to believe that a short weekend like that meant so much to her. She would be the last person to want me to feel bad for her, but can't help it. She is my mom after all.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
A Crazy Love
Finished a really good series this week called The Hunger Games. As a hopeless romantic, I have to admit that the part I liked best in each book was, of course, the romance. Is it just me, or is that about the best part of every book, movie, show, etc.? I mean, who doesn't love a good romance. So, awhile back I was thinking about how much we all CRAVE romance, and I started to wonder why that is. You want to know what I think? Well, I guess you don't have a choice because I'm going to tell you exactly what I think.
I think that, as humans, we're designed for love. We were created to love and be loved. Sometimes, we look for love in all the wrong places because the hunger for it drives us to find it anywhere we can. But the best place to find it is in the arms of the One who loves us with an everlasting love. How much better does a love story get then when a Man, and so much more than a man, gives his life to save the life of his beloved? But why is this one so hard to get? Why is it I can read a romance, any romance, and be completely moved by it, but when I think about the story of salvation, my heart turns lukewarm at best?
I don't know - don't have any answers there. But I'm beginning to think that if I could just get that love story through my head and maybe, more importantly, through my heart then my life would be radically changed - forever. How can that great of a love not do something wonderful in our hearts? In fact here's my prayer for myself and and anyone who's reading this:
Ephesians 3:17 And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is.
I think that, as humans, we're designed for love. We were created to love and be loved. Sometimes, we look for love in all the wrong places because the hunger for it drives us to find it anywhere we can. But the best place to find it is in the arms of the One who loves us with an everlasting love. How much better does a love story get then when a Man, and so much more than a man, gives his life to save the life of his beloved? But why is this one so hard to get? Why is it I can read a romance, any romance, and be completely moved by it, but when I think about the story of salvation, my heart turns lukewarm at best?
I don't know - don't have any answers there. But I'm beginning to think that if I could just get that love story through my head and maybe, more importantly, through my heart then my life would be radically changed - forever. How can that great of a love not do something wonderful in our hearts? In fact here's my prayer for myself and and anyone who's reading this:
Ephesians 3:17 And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts as you trust in him. May your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love. And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love really is.
The Crazy Kitchen Cycle
My husband says I should be blogging everyday. HA! What does he know? Hmmm, what to write about today. Well, there's nothing in particular on my mind . . . well, wait, maybe one or two things. The first being that I can be a very negative "the glass is half-empty" kind of a girl sometimes. Well, if I must admit - most of the time! So, I'm trying, stress that word trying, to become a bit more positive about my outlook on life. But, maybe I won't start just yet 'cause I have some complaining to do. After all, this IS my blog.
So, sometimes I feel as though I'm caught up in the vicious cycle of "mommyhood" - especially when it comes to the kitchen. It starts with breakfast. First, empty the dishwasher, Second get breakfast for the kids and me. Third, clean up the breakfast mess. Two hours later, feed the kids their snack. Then, clean up the snack mess. Before I know it, it's time to get lunch ready. When lunch is over, it's time to clean the kitchen, load the dishwasher, (it's quite full by now) and run it. Two hours later - snack time. This, of course, involves finding a snack for the kids, and cleaning up the mess once they're done. Finally, in the evening I'm in the home stretch - I can feel it. I start by emptying the diswasher while I'm making dinner. We enjoy a meal together as a family. Then, for one last time, I clean the kitchen and breathe a sigh of relief when that last dish is loaded, and I can run the dishwasher. I turn out the lights, and go to bed, knowing full well, that tomorrow it starts ALL over again. How did the pioneer women do it when they had all that baking to do on top of regular meals. Did they ever leave the kitchen?
It's a good thing I like my kitchen, 'cause I'm definitely in it a lot. In fact, it's the room I spend most of my time in (sigh). Well, it's almost snack time and the kitchen's not clean from breakfast, better get to work.
So, sometimes I feel as though I'm caught up in the vicious cycle of "mommyhood" - especially when it comes to the kitchen. It starts with breakfast. First, empty the dishwasher, Second get breakfast for the kids and me. Third, clean up the breakfast mess. Two hours later, feed the kids their snack. Then, clean up the snack mess. Before I know it, it's time to get lunch ready. When lunch is over, it's time to clean the kitchen, load the dishwasher, (it's quite full by now) and run it. Two hours later - snack time. This, of course, involves finding a snack for the kids, and cleaning up the mess once they're done. Finally, in the evening I'm in the home stretch - I can feel it. I start by emptying the diswasher while I'm making dinner. We enjoy a meal together as a family. Then, for one last time, I clean the kitchen and breathe a sigh of relief when that last dish is loaded, and I can run the dishwasher. I turn out the lights, and go to bed, knowing full well, that tomorrow it starts ALL over again. How did the pioneer women do it when they had all that baking to do on top of regular meals. Did they ever leave the kitchen?
It's a good thing I like my kitchen, 'cause I'm definitely in it a lot. In fact, it's the room I spend most of my time in (sigh). Well, it's almost snack time and the kitchen's not clean from breakfast, better get to work.
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