I've been struggling with a positive self-concept since the day I was born. I probably came out of my mom's womb wailing because I didn't have the perfect nose. So I guess this idea of being perfect is still rolling around inside my brain.
A book of the Bible that I've been thinking a lot about lately is the Song of Songs. Really a hard book to understand, but if you take the time to look into it, it's quite beautiful. One verse that has become a particular favorite is Song of Songs 4:7 You are so beautiful, my beloved, so perfect in every part. (NLT) There's that word perfect again. But for some reason, in this verse, I'm glad it's the word that's chosen - perfect. What must that be like to be viewed by God as being perfect, not kind of okay, not tolerable, not just good, but perfect. Perfect to the very fiber of my being.
In my last post I looked into this idea of perfect versus good, writing about how hung up I get on trying to be perfect. But in this case it's not me who's hung up on perfect - it's God. He's calling me perfect, not just perfect, but perfect in every part. And lest you think me bold to say that God thinks I'm perfect, take a look at another verse. Hebrews 10:14 because by one sacrifice [Jesus] has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. Yes, I'm still a mess in many ways as anyone who reads this blog can clearly testify to, but because of Jesus' sacrifice I'm now viewed by God as being perfect. No, not just viewed; I am perfect.
You know what? That kind of takes the pressure off. It kind of gives me hope. It definitely tells me that I am deeply and dearly loved. And you want to hear the best part of all of this; YOU, are so beautiful in his sight, too. YOU, are so perfect in every part, too. After all, this is a verse to share, not to hoard. It was meant for all of us from the very beginning - to be perfectly perfect. Not just now, but for eternity.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
taking off the mask
I'm a perfectionist. Like, I mean to the core. Chances are, once I've finished writing this, I will read and reread it until I've got it to my version of "perfect." Which, of course, it will not be (especially when it comes to commas). But I will give it a valiant effort nonetheless. I've been thinking about perfectionism this morning, wondering why we, as a society, seem obsessed with it. Is it possible that anyone is perfect or are we seeking the unattainable. I know I often look at someone who appears to have it all together. I feel envious and wonder, will I ever be that "perfect"? Well, I have to say that after thirty-seven years of living on this planet I have yet to create the perfect me. Any illusion I give off that I am perfect is just that, an illusion. Much like a magician, I can perform my best tricks. But in the end, I know in my heart that these "tricks" aren't fooling anyone - least of all myself.
When I was in college I lived with a gal who, when we prayed together, would often ask God to help us take off our "masks." I think of that phrase whenever I try to create the perfect me - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile. Who am I trying to kid? Every other person on the planet knows what I am often reluctant to admit to myself, that I'm not perfect. So if that's the case, why do I keep this mask on? Why not take it off and show myself, warts and all. These days I'm trying to be more vulnerable, share more of my struggles, ask for help when I need it. But it's never easy.
When it comes to this idea of being perfect, I think back to the story of creation - pre-fall, and never once after God had created something, did he ever delcare it to be "perfect". Instead, in my translation, it says that he called everything good. Fascinating isn't it? God is holy, completely without sin, perfect to the core of his being. But he doesn't use perfect in talking of his creation. He calls it good, even very good, but never perfect. And you know what? When I look at a tree I see that, in a pure definition of the word, it isn't perfect. I mean it's not like a tree has perfect symmetry, equal number of branches on every side. But I think it's beautiful because it's not perfect. I like that the branches stick out everywhich way. I like that there aren't the same number of leaves on each branch. I even like the scars that show the tree is a mighty warrior- standing up against the test of time. And it makes me glad, because, ultimately, I don't think God wants me to be hung up on pefectionism. So I think, for now, I'll pursue goodness. I like the sound of that word better anyway.
When I was in college I lived with a gal who, when we prayed together, would often ask God to help us take off our "masks." I think of that phrase whenever I try to create the perfect me - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile. Who am I trying to kid? Every other person on the planet knows what I am often reluctant to admit to myself, that I'm not perfect. So if that's the case, why do I keep this mask on? Why not take it off and show myself, warts and all. These days I'm trying to be more vulnerable, share more of my struggles, ask for help when I need it. But it's never easy.
When it comes to this idea of being perfect, I think back to the story of creation - pre-fall, and never once after God had created something, did he ever delcare it to be "perfect". Instead, in my translation, it says that he called everything good. Fascinating isn't it? God is holy, completely without sin, perfect to the core of his being. But he doesn't use perfect in talking of his creation. He calls it good, even very good, but never perfect. And you know what? When I look at a tree I see that, in a pure definition of the word, it isn't perfect. I mean it's not like a tree has perfect symmetry, equal number of branches on every side. But I think it's beautiful because it's not perfect. I like that the branches stick out everywhich way. I like that there aren't the same number of leaves on each branch. I even like the scars that show the tree is a mighty warrior- standing up against the test of time. And it makes me glad, because, ultimately, I don't think God wants me to be hung up on pefectionism. So I think, for now, I'll pursue goodness. I like the sound of that word better anyway.
Monday, March 21, 2011
toilets, and potty chairs, and air vents - oh my!
Potty Training - Day 1
6:30 am - Wake up bright and early! (Lay in bed as long as possible dreading the fact that pt-day has finally arrived.)
6:35 am - Take a very soggy pull-up off a little bottom and throw the smelly, disgusting thing in the trash. (Are we finally done with those nasty things?)
7:30 am - First accident in the bathroom (Good, no carpeting, I can handle this.)
8:00 am - First successful attempt at pottying in the toilet. (Yay, high fives all around.)
9:00 am - Drag a screaming, kicking three-year-old to the toilet. (She goes; it was worth the fight.)
10:00 am - Dress the cooperative (not) little girl in her favorite dress, telling her that if she doesn't go in the toilet her pretty dress will get all wet.
The rest of the morning - accident free (woo-hoo) the Pretty Dress Scheme worked! (Yes, I know - I'm brilliant.)
12:00 pm - Fill the girl with chocolate milk hoping her little bladder will cooperate so that she will have to "go" before nap time
12:45 pm - Chocolate Milk Scheme not so successful.
1:00 pm - Nap time. (Yes!)
3:15 pm - Nap time is over. (Boo!)
3:45 pm - Discover that my daughter has just peed into one of our air vents. (I thought it was a little suspicious that she was sitting directly on the vent, but figured she was just enjoying the hot air coming up.)
3:46 pm - Note to self: Keep her away from all vents in the house from now on.
4:30 pm - Go for a bike ride. May as well, it's probably the only time she will get to ride a bike naked from the waist down. (Don't worry, she was wearing a dress so that none of her "private parts" were showing. I'm not that bad of a mom.)
5:15 pm - Fourth accident of the day, in her brother's room no less. (That's all right. He's christened it a time or two late at night when he was too groggy to make it to the bathroom.)
6:00 pm - First bowel movement in the potty chair. (Smells nasty when I dump it, but I'll take it any day over wiping the squishy stuff off her little bottom. Sorry, TMI?)
7:30 pm - Prepare for bed. (Unsuccessful attempt at pottying one last time.)
8:00 pm - Put night-time underwear (that's code for pull-ups) on her (not me), and breathe a sigh of relief that Day 1 is over!
Taking a Break
I may be taking a hiatus from writing this week as I'm beginning to potty train my three-year-old. Will let you know how it goes. Hoping it goes well, but if it doesn't at least I'll have some good stories to share!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Crazy Storms
You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trust in you. Isaiah 26:3
Today was one of those, "Calgon, take me away" days. I had a hard time following my own advice; don't wish your days away. Really, I would be okay if my kids were, say, three or four years older than they are. Oh dear! What is it about preschoolers and toddlers that makes you feel like you're living in the midst of a tornado, clinging onto anything for dear life. And I mean anything. The above verse is one that I've been clinging to this evening. I don't know about you but I have trouble living in perfect peace. Every little worry, concern, event, catastrophe, mishap calls out for my attention all day long. I feel myself being sucked into a vortex of worry, fear, and yes, my favorite - anxiety.
How does one obtain perfect peace; is it even really possible? Well, with God all things are possible so I suppose this state of mind is possible too. One story about Jesus that I love, is the story of when he was asleep in a boat in the midst of a storm. And, I mean, it must have been some storm; the disciples were terrified. (Matthew 8:24a The disciples went and woke him, saying "Master, Master, we're going to drown.") I mean really, was Jesus deaf or something, or was he just that tired? Who could sleep through a storm like that, much less sleep in a storm? Now that's perfect peace.
Matthew 8:24b [Jesus] got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples. Just like that; "Where is your faith." Okay, who has faith like that? Well, apparently Jesus did. He trusted his Father completely. He had that perfect peace because he knew who was taking care of him. What's more he knew that with a single word, the storm could be stopped.
Yeah, that's the part I have trouble with. You see, in the midst of the storms of life, I struggle to keep my mind off the storm. It's what I think about, stew about, fixate on. But maybe I should take a cue from Jesus, find a way to block out the noise of the storm, and rest peacefully in my Father's care.
Must go now. I think the little tornadoes are tearing our living room apart. Hoping this is one of the storms that can be stopped quickly.
Today was one of those, "Calgon, take me away" days. I had a hard time following my own advice; don't wish your days away. Really, I would be okay if my kids were, say, three or four years older than they are. Oh dear! What is it about preschoolers and toddlers that makes you feel like you're living in the midst of a tornado, clinging onto anything for dear life. And I mean anything. The above verse is one that I've been clinging to this evening. I don't know about you but I have trouble living in perfect peace. Every little worry, concern, event, catastrophe, mishap calls out for my attention all day long. I feel myself being sucked into a vortex of worry, fear, and yes, my favorite - anxiety.
How does one obtain perfect peace; is it even really possible? Well, with God all things are possible so I suppose this state of mind is possible too. One story about Jesus that I love, is the story of when he was asleep in a boat in the midst of a storm. And, I mean, it must have been some storm; the disciples were terrified. (Matthew 8:24a The disciples went and woke him, saying "Master, Master, we're going to drown.") I mean really, was Jesus deaf or something, or was he just that tired? Who could sleep through a storm like that, much less sleep in a storm? Now that's perfect peace.
Matthew 8:24b [Jesus] got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples. Just like that; "Where is your faith." Okay, who has faith like that? Well, apparently Jesus did. He trusted his Father completely. He had that perfect peace because he knew who was taking care of him. What's more he knew that with a single word, the storm could be stopped.
Yeah, that's the part I have trouble with. You see, in the midst of the storms of life, I struggle to keep my mind off the storm. It's what I think about, stew about, fixate on. But maybe I should take a cue from Jesus, find a way to block out the noise of the storm, and rest peacefully in my Father's care.
Must go now. I think the little tornadoes are tearing our living room apart. Hoping this is one of the storms that can be stopped quickly.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Safe in his Will
Obviously the things that have been happening in Japan have shaken us all I would imagine. I've been dealing with my own personal struggles, nothing compared to what the Japanese people are experiencing, but I guess all things are relative. Anyway, I digress. Here's what I'm really trying to get to. It's hard to understand why God allows these types of things to happen; tsunamis, earthquakes, famines, floods. The age old question lingers in all of our minds, how can a loving God allow so much suffering? I am no theologian and I know there are no easy answers for any of this, but some thoughts have been rolling around in my brain for awhile and I'd like to share them. No, I don't have all the answers, mostly questions like the rest of you, but here goes.
I remember when I was a little girl having complete faith that God would take care of my family, that nothing bad would ever happen to us. This was a particularly comforting thought to me when it came to nighttime fears. You know, the ones that someone might break into your house, or there might be a fire while you sleep, or a tornado might come barreling down on your house. My faith was shaken one day when I woke up and heard my sister report to my mom that someone had been on our back deck the night before and had tried to enter our house. My heart sunk into my stomach. A burglar, or worse had tried to enter our home. I was stunned. I was trusting God to keep us safe. How could he let that happen? And even though nothing came of it, even though it was a failed attempt, I was scared, nonetheless. After some sleepless nights, I put the incident in the back of my mind and refocused my faith on the fact that God would always keep me safe, nothing bad would ever happen to me.
The thing is, though, bad things have happened to me over the years. Not just little bad things, but big ones too. I was sexually molested when I was eighteen, my parents divorced when I was 25, I was put in a psychiatric ward when I was 31 . These are some of the harder "bad" things, but certainly other "bad" things on a smaller scale have happened as well. God loves me, I know he's taking care of me, but then why, why did he allow these bad things to come into my life. Where's the promise that "He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands so you will not strike your foot against a stone." I don't know about you, but I've struck stones both literally and figuratively speaking, and it has hurt like nothing else can. Where is God in all of this?
The verse I quoted above (Psalm 91:11-12) has been one I've meditated on at different points in my life. If God isn't a liar, if he always keeps his promises then somehow, someway this verse has to be true. So here's the deal. Awhile back I started thinking about all the times I haven't "struck a stone." The times I've safely navigated through a minefield of toys without breaking an ankle or falling on my face. The times I've narrowly missed hitting the car that I accidentally pulled in front of. The car accident I was in when our van rolled and none of us wearing seat belts. Every single person in that car walked away without an injury. I think the problem with us is that sometimes we fixate on all the times we have "struck a stone," rather than opening up our eyes to all the times we have been kept safe.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this; I don't think God allows our foot to "strike a stone" unless he wants it to, unless he wills it to. What? God bringing pain into our lives on purpose. I know, doesn't make sense to me either. But throughout my recent health struggle, I've found myself clinging tenaciously to my dear father's hand, and saying 'Okay, I'll go through this because you're allowing it to happen, and I'll try to keep the peace that you want me to have.' And you know what? He has helped me to grow through this experience. Somehow I'm becoming less afraid in the face of this trial, less worried about my life, more focused on his grace than on my pain. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt, but I think there is a purpose for the pain. God doesn't do anything tritely. If something bad comes into our lives, it's come for a purpose. We may not understand it now, but someday we will. In the meanwhile though he may not calm your storm, let him calm you, his child.
I remember when I was a little girl having complete faith that God would take care of my family, that nothing bad would ever happen to us. This was a particularly comforting thought to me when it came to nighttime fears. You know, the ones that someone might break into your house, or there might be a fire while you sleep, or a tornado might come barreling down on your house. My faith was shaken one day when I woke up and heard my sister report to my mom that someone had been on our back deck the night before and had tried to enter our house. My heart sunk into my stomach. A burglar, or worse had tried to enter our home. I was stunned. I was trusting God to keep us safe. How could he let that happen? And even though nothing came of it, even though it was a failed attempt, I was scared, nonetheless. After some sleepless nights, I put the incident in the back of my mind and refocused my faith on the fact that God would always keep me safe, nothing bad would ever happen to me.
The thing is, though, bad things have happened to me over the years. Not just little bad things, but big ones too. I was sexually molested when I was eighteen, my parents divorced when I was 25, I was put in a psychiatric ward when I was 31 . These are some of the harder "bad" things, but certainly other "bad" things on a smaller scale have happened as well. God loves me, I know he's taking care of me, but then why, why did he allow these bad things to come into my life. Where's the promise that "He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands so you will not strike your foot against a stone." I don't know about you, but I've struck stones both literally and figuratively speaking, and it has hurt like nothing else can. Where is God in all of this?
The verse I quoted above (Psalm 91:11-12) has been one I've meditated on at different points in my life. If God isn't a liar, if he always keeps his promises then somehow, someway this verse has to be true. So here's the deal. Awhile back I started thinking about all the times I haven't "struck a stone." The times I've safely navigated through a minefield of toys without breaking an ankle or falling on my face. The times I've narrowly missed hitting the car that I accidentally pulled in front of. The car accident I was in when our van rolled and none of us wearing seat belts. Every single person in that car walked away without an injury. I think the problem with us is that sometimes we fixate on all the times we have "struck a stone," rather than opening up our eyes to all the times we have been kept safe.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this; I don't think God allows our foot to "strike a stone" unless he wants it to, unless he wills it to. What? God bringing pain into our lives on purpose. I know, doesn't make sense to me either. But throughout my recent health struggle, I've found myself clinging tenaciously to my dear father's hand, and saying 'Okay, I'll go through this because you're allowing it to happen, and I'll try to keep the peace that you want me to have.' And you know what? He has helped me to grow through this experience. Somehow I'm becoming less afraid in the face of this trial, less worried about my life, more focused on his grace than on my pain. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt, but I think there is a purpose for the pain. God doesn't do anything tritely. If something bad comes into our lives, it's come for a purpose. We may not understand it now, but someday we will. In the meanwhile though he may not calm your storm, let him calm you, his child.
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