There are two things you must know about me.
One, I love order. It makes my heart happy when things are neatly stashed away on a shelf or in a drawer. I am slightly more OCD than I’m willing to admit. I’m not a fringe comber, but I’m pretty close. I have been known to completely reorganize my pantry because one can of tuna doesn’t fit on the shelf with the other cans. My shoes are aligned perfectly on their shelves, the right one facing forward, the left the opposite. This is so I can see the front and back of each pair so as to make the perfect shoe selection each day. I don’t just love order, I’m obsessed.
Two, I love law shows. I am a serious “Law and Order” fanatic. Despite the fact that I’ve seen every episode more than once, I will watch L&O marathons without shame. If I believed in previous lives, then I was a lawyer like Jack McCoy. My obsession with law shows started as soon as I saw my first episode of Perry Mason. (Side note: If you don’t know who Perry Mason is, then you’re too young to read my blog) I am drawn to any show where a lawyer interrogates a witness until he breaks, and few things make me want to stand up and say “yes!” as much a compelling closing argument.
In life the love of such things as order and the law can be just that- loves. Loves, but not always realities. I’ve come to realize that my true reality is more a state of grace and disorder. I threw my mom hat into the grace and disorder ring this week, or better yet, it was snatched in for me.
M#1, still on his trip to NYC called me today. His calls are historically received for two distinct reasons. First- he misses home and just calls to “check in” or two- something is wrong. Being that he is on spring break with a group of friends, I was not surprised that today’s reason was the latter. He hadn’t looked closely enough at his bank account and overspent. He was facing an overdrawn checking account and four more days in NYC with no money.
Law would say that he made his bed and he would have to figure it out. Order would say that he practice what I taught him about balancing his checkbook to the penny. Reality said grace and disorder. I gave grace along with a loan as I put money in his account. The order of my day- or at least half an hour of it- was lost as I counselled him through his debacle and how to avoid the same mistake in the future. The debacle itself was a picture of disorder.
In my flesh, grace and disorder can cause frustration for sure. Then I allow the Lord to remind me that He too exists in much the same way. Without a doubt, He gives grace in abundance. I mess up over and over. His grace comes not as a loan but as a payment into my very soul. He forgives my blunders and washes away the debt I owe Him. He is a God of order, yet the world He created is the worst kind of disorder; a knot only He can untangle. I forget His instruction and warnings, making a mess of things, and yet He miraculously brings order to my life.
I love the law, but live by grace. I love order, but can’t manufacture it.
Romans 6:14- “For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.”
That is a very compelling closing argument, and I say, “yes!”
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
I don't know...
I long ago came to grips with the fact that I don’t know everything. I used to think my mom knew everything. Once I became a mom, I realized it was all a very elaborate ruse.
As a general rule I don’t spend a ton of time pondering the whys of life. I tend to lean more toward the camp of playing the cards you’re dealt and not asking a lot of questions. That being said, there are questions flying around in my head and churning in my heart.
One of M’s best friends lost a parent last weekend. He was a 52 year old who survived cancer, but then died of a massive heart attack instantly. There is no good time to lose someone you love, but the unfairness of this loss seemed to be exaggerated. One son in college, and the other just two months shy of graduating high school, he and his wife were readying themselves for a new season in their life together. The family just moved into a new home; a home built knowing the youngest would be leaving for college in the fall. Why…why now?
The part of me that trusts God and His timing knows the why doesn’t matter. Even knowing that doesn’t stop the questions-at least for now.
M broke his ankle almost 6 weeks ago and is still awaiting clearance to play soccer. In the same way a younger child would ask why the grass is green, my boy asked me why he wasn’t healed yet. He had prayed, he said. He had done all the prescribed exercises, he said. He had laid off sugar, taken in more calcium, and worn his boot faithfully, he said. Why…why not?
Like a song set on repeat, I answer my own questions more than his. I trust God so, again, the why doesn’t matter. And…again, knowing that doesn’t stop all of the questions, but this time it helps.
Kids in our city go hungry, teenage girls are sold in to prostitution, and babies are born with incurable diseases. Why….why…why?
Push the repeat button and finally peace is the song that plays.
As a general rule I don’t spend a ton of time pondering the whys of life. I tend to lean more toward the camp of playing the cards you’re dealt and not asking a lot of questions. That being said, there are questions flying around in my head and churning in my heart.
One of M’s best friends lost a parent last weekend. He was a 52 year old who survived cancer, but then died of a massive heart attack instantly. There is no good time to lose someone you love, but the unfairness of this loss seemed to be exaggerated. One son in college, and the other just two months shy of graduating high school, he and his wife were readying themselves for a new season in their life together. The family just moved into a new home; a home built knowing the youngest would be leaving for college in the fall. Why…why now?
The part of me that trusts God and His timing knows the why doesn’t matter. Even knowing that doesn’t stop the questions-at least for now.
M broke his ankle almost 6 weeks ago and is still awaiting clearance to play soccer. In the same way a younger child would ask why the grass is green, my boy asked me why he wasn’t healed yet. He had prayed, he said. He had done all the prescribed exercises, he said. He had laid off sugar, taken in more calcium, and worn his boot faithfully, he said. Why…why not?
Like a song set on repeat, I answer my own questions more than his. I trust God so, again, the why doesn’t matter. And…again, knowing that doesn’t stop all of the questions, but this time it helps.
Kids in our city go hungry, teenage girls are sold in to prostitution, and babies are born with incurable diseases. Why….why…why?
Push the repeat button and finally peace is the song that plays.
Saturday, March 7, 2015
Broadway, Disney, Mountains…more than geography
Being in three different states notwithstanding, my boys and I were on vacation this week.
Isn’t it funny how timing works out sometimes? M#1 was on spring break, M#2 was on his senior trip, and I, because the first two were occupied, got away for a girl’s weekend. We were all exactly where we wanted to be this week. I think, more than where we wanted to be, we were exactly where we were supposed to be. Today as I was driving home from a weekend of laughter and rest, I thought about where I was, and where my boys were at that very same moment.
M#1 – on spring break- had decided to leave the cold and gray city of Syracuse for the only slightly less cold and gray NYC. It is his sweet spot, where he feels most at home, and where he will (hopefully) do an internship this summer. He will eat great food, walk the streets of his favorite city, and try out his newly written comedy bits at some open mic nights.
M#2 – on his senior trip- was in warm and sunny Orlando at Disney World. This is his sweet spot, where he has not a care in the world, and where he will make more lasting memories with friends he’s had since first grade. He will stay up too late, run from park to park, and try to set a new personal best for how many attractions he can ride in a given day. (His current record is 32)
Reflecting on these same time/different location vacations, I realized where we each were was more significant than geography.
One son, independent for as long as I can remember, is still finding new ways to stretch his wings. His feet search for the next step in life almost before he has two feet planted on the current one. He is the best kind of dreamer; one with courage. He lives his life with the ideal that there is no lid in existence to hold down his dreams. If there were, he would figure out a way to pry it off. New York City is the place for such dreamers.
Another son, who hates change almost as much as he hates cynicism, is still trying to figure out what life after high school will look like. His heart thrives on shared quality time- preferably doing something fun and active. He is the best kind of friend; one that loves deeply. He lives his life on his terms, but only if that means he gets to live it with the ones he cares about. He is not quite ready to give up on the whimsical part of life. Disney is where whimsy lives, but cynicism can’t survive; a place where it’s okay to still be a kid even if you’re seventeen and 6’2”.
Two boys, two very different locations- more than geography. NYC matches the personality of one, while Disney matches the other. More than that, it’s a picture of what stage of life they are in. One is moving fast and dreaming big, while the other is okay to explore the fanciful parts of childhood just a little bit longer. My oldest wants to be in the memory of others because he’s done something big, while my youngest is satisfied to make memories.
As for me and my vacation…
It was absent of my boys, but right where I wanted and was supposed to be. There was rest and there was laughter. There was a glimpse of what life with an empty nest will feel like. I have steps to take, dreams to dream, and maybe even some whimsy still yet to discover myself.
The thought of my boys on opposite ends of the same coast makes me happy and it makes me cry. The comforting thing – for all of us- I was and am in the middle. I’m home, and it's more than just geography.
Isn’t it funny how timing works out sometimes? M#1 was on spring break, M#2 was on his senior trip, and I, because the first two were occupied, got away for a girl’s weekend. We were all exactly where we wanted to be this week. I think, more than where we wanted to be, we were exactly where we were supposed to be. Today as I was driving home from a weekend of laughter and rest, I thought about where I was, and where my boys were at that very same moment.
M#1 – on spring break- had decided to leave the cold and gray city of Syracuse for the only slightly less cold and gray NYC. It is his sweet spot, where he feels most at home, and where he will (hopefully) do an internship this summer. He will eat great food, walk the streets of his favorite city, and try out his newly written comedy bits at some open mic nights.
M#2 – on his senior trip- was in warm and sunny Orlando at Disney World. This is his sweet spot, where he has not a care in the world, and where he will make more lasting memories with friends he’s had since first grade. He will stay up too late, run from park to park, and try to set a new personal best for how many attractions he can ride in a given day. (His current record is 32)
Reflecting on these same time/different location vacations, I realized where we each were was more significant than geography.
One son, independent for as long as I can remember, is still finding new ways to stretch his wings. His feet search for the next step in life almost before he has two feet planted on the current one. He is the best kind of dreamer; one with courage. He lives his life with the ideal that there is no lid in existence to hold down his dreams. If there were, he would figure out a way to pry it off. New York City is the place for such dreamers.
Another son, who hates change almost as much as he hates cynicism, is still trying to figure out what life after high school will look like. His heart thrives on shared quality time- preferably doing something fun and active. He is the best kind of friend; one that loves deeply. He lives his life on his terms, but only if that means he gets to live it with the ones he cares about. He is not quite ready to give up on the whimsical part of life. Disney is where whimsy lives, but cynicism can’t survive; a place where it’s okay to still be a kid even if you’re seventeen and 6’2”.
Two boys, two very different locations- more than geography. NYC matches the personality of one, while Disney matches the other. More than that, it’s a picture of what stage of life they are in. One is moving fast and dreaming big, while the other is okay to explore the fanciful parts of childhood just a little bit longer. My oldest wants to be in the memory of others because he’s done something big, while my youngest is satisfied to make memories.
As for me and my vacation…
It was absent of my boys, but right where I wanted and was supposed to be. There was rest and there was laughter. There was a glimpse of what life with an empty nest will feel like. I have steps to take, dreams to dream, and maybe even some whimsy still yet to discover myself.
The thought of my boys on opposite ends of the same coast makes me happy and it makes me cry. The comforting thing – for all of us- I was and am in the middle. I’m home, and it's more than just geography.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Dates, Throw Downs, and Talking the Talk
I find more and more, day after day, how much I learn about being a child of God by being a parent. I often think about how God must feel about my misbehavior, disobedience, or lack of thankfulness when my own children exhibit such distasteful behavior.
Over the last two days I’ve been in a stew over one such “misbehavior” from my youngest. In the big scheme of things, what happened can’t really be called a misbehavior, but yet it made me angry, and honestly, hurt. I found out MJH went on a date…make that THREE dates- with the same girl- without telling his mom. Oh, the horror!
His friends who divulged this insider info were hysterical with laughter at the look on my son’s face when they realized he hadn’t told me. They probably found just as much humor in my reaction. I think my exact words were, “M and I are gonna have a throw down when you guys leave my house!”
As I said, in the big scheme of things, this wasn’t a big deal. I have a kid- a young man- who loves Jesus, his family, and his friends. He is a great student, he has a kind servant attitude, and he makes wise (as much as a 17 year old can be wise) decisions. He takes responsibility for his actions, and is just overall, a really great guy. So, why did this bother me so much?
Relationship. I was upset about what this omission in communication said about our relationship. He didn’t lie to me. He didn’t tell me he was one place when he was somewhere else. (This is one of the many downsides of being divorced- your kids can “do” things on the other parent’s weekend that you never know about) In the absence of lies, I was still upset; it was still a slap to our relationship. Did he not trust me?
I’m trying to get over it, but am obviously not yet since I’m writing about it. He’s apologized and told me his reasoning for not telling me. (He didn’t want me to make a big deal about it unless she became his girlfriend- which she is not) As I’m getting on with my life in the wake of such a crushing blow, I want to see this from God’s perspective.
I’ve now come to grips with the fact that God may have a bit of an issue with me in this area as well. I haven’t gone on any dates I didn’t tell Him about. It would be silly to think I could hide anything about my life from Him anyway.
What I have done- more times than I’d like to admit- is make decisions before talking to God. I’ve asked for advice from a friend before discussing it with the Lord. I’ve shared funny stories, joys, heartaches, and problems with my family or my friends, and never stopped to acknowledge that my Father may want to hear the news first. This isn’t to say that I don’t talk to the Lord. I do…A LOT; however, there are times that I don’t talk to Him first.
I was hurt by my son not finding it important enough…or not finding me important enough, to share his “news” with first. As a parent, that’s tough to swallow. I’m guessing God feels that little twinge in His heart at times too.
My response to that…I won’t tell you. I’m talking to Him instead.
Over the last two days I’ve been in a stew over one such “misbehavior” from my youngest. In the big scheme of things, what happened can’t really be called a misbehavior, but yet it made me angry, and honestly, hurt. I found out MJH went on a date…make that THREE dates- with the same girl- without telling his mom. Oh, the horror!
His friends who divulged this insider info were hysterical with laughter at the look on my son’s face when they realized he hadn’t told me. They probably found just as much humor in my reaction. I think my exact words were, “M and I are gonna have a throw down when you guys leave my house!”
As I said, in the big scheme of things, this wasn’t a big deal. I have a kid- a young man- who loves Jesus, his family, and his friends. He is a great student, he has a kind servant attitude, and he makes wise (as much as a 17 year old can be wise) decisions. He takes responsibility for his actions, and is just overall, a really great guy. So, why did this bother me so much?
Relationship. I was upset about what this omission in communication said about our relationship. He didn’t lie to me. He didn’t tell me he was one place when he was somewhere else. (This is one of the many downsides of being divorced- your kids can “do” things on the other parent’s weekend that you never know about) In the absence of lies, I was still upset; it was still a slap to our relationship. Did he not trust me?
I’m trying to get over it, but am obviously not yet since I’m writing about it. He’s apologized and told me his reasoning for not telling me. (He didn’t want me to make a big deal about it unless she became his girlfriend- which she is not) As I’m getting on with my life in the wake of such a crushing blow, I want to see this from God’s perspective.
I’ve now come to grips with the fact that God may have a bit of an issue with me in this area as well. I haven’t gone on any dates I didn’t tell Him about. It would be silly to think I could hide anything about my life from Him anyway.
What I have done- more times than I’d like to admit- is make decisions before talking to God. I’ve asked for advice from a friend before discussing it with the Lord. I’ve shared funny stories, joys, heartaches, and problems with my family or my friends, and never stopped to acknowledge that my Father may want to hear the news first. This isn’t to say that I don’t talk to the Lord. I do…A LOT; however, there are times that I don’t talk to Him first.
I was hurt by my son not finding it important enough…or not finding me important enough, to share his “news” with first. As a parent, that’s tough to swallow. I’m guessing God feels that little twinge in His heart at times too.
My response to that…I won’t tell you. I’m talking to Him instead.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Why are We Surprised?
I heard on the radio this morning that some Christians captured by ISIS last week had been released yesterday unharmed. The radio announcer said what everyone probably initially wondered- “Why?” Why were these believers released unharmed when others have been killed for their faith?
There is no indication that these believers suddenly denied their faith either in truth or in a lie to save themselves. There is no indication that ISIS was threatened in any real way by a government or other faction that would make them put their arms in the air or wave a white flag. So, again…why?
The answer - God. God intervened in some real and powerful way. He changed the heart of someone within ISIS enough to make them let these brothers and sisters of ours go. God’s army won this battle. And yet, we stand surprised.
We know without a doubt that our God and His heavenly army will win the war against evil in this world, so why are we so surprised when a single battle is won? We all stand in awe when someone is healed. We raise our hands in praise, while also shaking our heads in utter disbelief that the thing we’ve prayed for has actually happened.
I wonder today why this is. Why do we believe in such a big, powerful, all-knowing, and full of love God, but yet are surprised when He moves in mighty ways?
This is where I’m always encouraged as I minister to children. They don’t wonder why or even how. They just believe. They are not surprised in any way when God is so visibly active. The world and the God who created it are both real and mysterious, but yet, they are not confused or surprised by any of it.
I believe our surprise is rooted somewhere in how we so easily forget this truth- that we are to become like little children; to humble ourselves like a child.
Matthew 18:1-4- “At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
A surprise by definition is to be amazed or astounded because of unexpectedness. If that’s the case, then God and the ways in which He works can be an amazing mystery, but not a surprise. We can expect God to work because He said He would. No surprises, just praises.
There is no indication that these believers suddenly denied their faith either in truth or in a lie to save themselves. There is no indication that ISIS was threatened in any real way by a government or other faction that would make them put their arms in the air or wave a white flag. So, again…why?
The answer - God. God intervened in some real and powerful way. He changed the heart of someone within ISIS enough to make them let these brothers and sisters of ours go. God’s army won this battle. And yet, we stand surprised.
We know without a doubt that our God and His heavenly army will win the war against evil in this world, so why are we so surprised when a single battle is won? We all stand in awe when someone is healed. We raise our hands in praise, while also shaking our heads in utter disbelief that the thing we’ve prayed for has actually happened.
I wonder today why this is. Why do we believe in such a big, powerful, all-knowing, and full of love God, but yet are surprised when He moves in mighty ways?
This is where I’m always encouraged as I minister to children. They don’t wonder why or even how. They just believe. They are not surprised in any way when God is so visibly active. The world and the God who created it are both real and mysterious, but yet, they are not confused or surprised by any of it.
I believe our surprise is rooted somewhere in how we so easily forget this truth- that we are to become like little children; to humble ourselves like a child.
Matthew 18:1-4- “At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
A surprise by definition is to be amazed or astounded because of unexpectedness. If that’s the case, then God and the ways in which He works can be an amazing mystery, but not a surprise. We can expect God to work because He said He would. No surprises, just praises.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Signs, signs, and more signs
Oh my goodness- I love signs. I’ve always been slightly obsessed with signs actually. I think you can tell a great deal about whomever the sign represents just by reading that sign. The fonts, the colors, even the shape of a sign says a lot. But the words…the words say it all.
When I say I’m obsessed with signs, I’m not exaggerating. I’ve been known to go out of my way on a drive just to read a sign that I’ve found interesting on a previous drive-by. The changing marquee signs are my absolute favorite. Why? Because you never know what form of literary genius- or lack thereof- you’re going to get. Some employee or volunteer, with varying levels of creativity and literacy, put the words on these signs. A quick drive-by of these signs can lead to some pretty interesting reading.
A disclaimer before sharing some recent favorites: “The views expressed by these signs and the companies or individuals who made said signs do not necessarily represent the views of the writer of this blog.”
Okay, now that we have that out of the way, here are some I’ve found interesting and/or perplexing recently.
“Come on in and meet your future ex-wife”
This is just exactly where a single girl wants to hang out.
“Drink a triple, see double, act single”
This establishment is the same one that posted the first example. A class act for sure.
“Jesus loves you SNOW much”
My question for this church- what are you thinking? Jesus is not a cliché so please don’t make Him one on your sign.
“Crazy cat ladies welcome here!”
Okay, this one is slightly clever since it was on a veterinary clinic. But then again, does a crazy cat lady actually know she’s a crazy cat lady?
A sign is – or at least should be- a representation of the establishment that posts it. I chuckle, shake my head, or cringe at the many signs I read in a given week. I love them, hate them, or am confused by them. At the end of the day, they are just entertainment for a person like me who loves words.
As much as I love signs, there is one "sign" that I don’t care for. “God gave me a sign…”
I don’t claim to be an expert theologian, but I think this saying is grossly misguided. God doesn’t need to put letters on a marquee, He doesn’t need neon flashing lights, and He certainly doesn’t have to use clever word-ease to get His point across.
What people consider “signs from God” don’t have to be words- that’s true. To be clear- He doesn’t need to get His message across in stealth mode or with any passivity either. He is not hiding behind a sign- no matter how clever.
Wouldn’t we all, from time to time, love a big flashing sign from God? Who wouldn’t love to see the “writing on the wall” when trying to make a big life decision? Even so, I’m convinced signs are not a part of His means of communication. God is too personal for signs.
God is active in our lives. God speaks to us- not in signs, but in real time, with real words. He lives in and through us. He is beside us, behind us, and goes before us. God doesn’t give us signs, He gives us Himself. He doesn’t have to ‘represent’ Himself. He is. Period.
Instead of asking God for a sign, ask for Him.
When I say I’m obsessed with signs, I’m not exaggerating. I’ve been known to go out of my way on a drive just to read a sign that I’ve found interesting on a previous drive-by. The changing marquee signs are my absolute favorite. Why? Because you never know what form of literary genius- or lack thereof- you’re going to get. Some employee or volunteer, with varying levels of creativity and literacy, put the words on these signs. A quick drive-by of these signs can lead to some pretty interesting reading.
A disclaimer before sharing some recent favorites: “The views expressed by these signs and the companies or individuals who made said signs do not necessarily represent the views of the writer of this blog.”
Okay, now that we have that out of the way, here are some I’ve found interesting and/or perplexing recently.
“Come on in and meet your future ex-wife”
This is just exactly where a single girl wants to hang out.
“Drink a triple, see double, act single”
This establishment is the same one that posted the first example. A class act for sure.
“Jesus loves you SNOW much”
My question for this church- what are you thinking? Jesus is not a cliché so please don’t make Him one on your sign.
“Crazy cat ladies welcome here!”
Okay, this one is slightly clever since it was on a veterinary clinic. But then again, does a crazy cat lady actually know she’s a crazy cat lady?
A sign is – or at least should be- a representation of the establishment that posts it. I chuckle, shake my head, or cringe at the many signs I read in a given week. I love them, hate them, or am confused by them. At the end of the day, they are just entertainment for a person like me who loves words.
As much as I love signs, there is one "sign" that I don’t care for. “God gave me a sign…”
I don’t claim to be an expert theologian, but I think this saying is grossly misguided. God doesn’t need to put letters on a marquee, He doesn’t need neon flashing lights, and He certainly doesn’t have to use clever word-ease to get His point across.
What people consider “signs from God” don’t have to be words- that’s true. To be clear- He doesn’t need to get His message across in stealth mode or with any passivity either. He is not hiding behind a sign- no matter how clever.
Wouldn’t we all, from time to time, love a big flashing sign from God? Who wouldn’t love to see the “writing on the wall” when trying to make a big life decision? Even so, I’m convinced signs are not a part of His means of communication. God is too personal for signs.
God is active in our lives. God speaks to us- not in signs, but in real time, with real words. He lives in and through us. He is beside us, behind us, and goes before us. God doesn’t give us signs, He gives us Himself. He doesn’t have to ‘represent’ Himself. He is. Period.
Instead of asking God for a sign, ask for Him.
Monday, November 3, 2014
What is My Voice?
As a mom I've often said, "Just do what I've said because I'm tired of hearing myself talk!" Seriously, there have been times...many times...that I can't stand the sound of my own voice. In those times I can only imagine how my children (or whomever I'm overloading with excessive verbiage) must feel!
As I am working through...or better stated, allowing the Lord to work me over... finding what is in my heart and what that means, I feel the need to purge more and more words. I'm trying to write as much or more than I talk in the pursuit of two things. One- to spare those around me from wanting to cover their ears, and two- to find my own voice.
Sitting across the table from a dear friend yesterday who was sharing some amazing insights she learned at a conference, I realized many things. Some of the most prevalent were questions I need to ask myself.
What do I want? Who am I? These seem like such self serving questions that I hate to write them, much less actually ask them. And in asking...ugh, there is the answering.
I find that I'm a mess of jumbled feelings and thoughts when it comes to such self exploration.
On one hand I love a good personality test. I answer the predetermined questions and then someone else says, "this is who you are." On the other hand, I really hate asking myself who I am. I find it much more comfortable to hear what someone else thinks or sees in me than actually saying (or looking) myself. I almost always agree with the results of such tests, thinking, "yes...that's me to a tee. So glad you saw that!"
I want to be defined first by who God says I am, but if He created me then there must be some value in seeing myself as myself too...I guess...right? To know myself...to really know myself seems strange in some way. I'm not sure why.
Maybe it's fear...
What if I don't like myself?
What if I'm really boring? (I hate boring!)
What if I never figure out what I REALLY want?
What if I actually figure out what I want and fail?
Each one of those is scarier than the one before it.
Quote after quote I see lately seem to have a common theme... "go for your dreams and fear is okay." One such quote- "If your dreams don't scare you, they aren't big enough." - seems to sum up the whole lot.
If I jump into this dream thing, then I'll have to conquer some fear. I'll have to find my voice. I know I have a voice- a very southern mom kind of voice. The kind of voice that has lots to say. So...the next big scary question for the list...
What if I actually find my voice and then get tired of hearing it?
As I am working through...or better stated, allowing the Lord to work me over... finding what is in my heart and what that means, I feel the need to purge more and more words. I'm trying to write as much or more than I talk in the pursuit of two things. One- to spare those around me from wanting to cover their ears, and two- to find my own voice.
Sitting across the table from a dear friend yesterday who was sharing some amazing insights she learned at a conference, I realized many things. Some of the most prevalent were questions I need to ask myself.
What do I want? Who am I? These seem like such self serving questions that I hate to write them, much less actually ask them. And in asking...ugh, there is the answering.
I find that I'm a mess of jumbled feelings and thoughts when it comes to such self exploration.
On one hand I love a good personality test. I answer the predetermined questions and then someone else says, "this is who you are." On the other hand, I really hate asking myself who I am. I find it much more comfortable to hear what someone else thinks or sees in me than actually saying (or looking) myself. I almost always agree with the results of such tests, thinking, "yes...that's me to a tee. So glad you saw that!"
I want to be defined first by who God says I am, but if He created me then there must be some value in seeing myself as myself too...I guess...right? To know myself...to really know myself seems strange in some way. I'm not sure why.
Maybe it's fear...
What if I don't like myself?
What if I'm really boring? (I hate boring!)
What if I never figure out what I REALLY want?
What if I actually figure out what I want and fail?
Each one of those is scarier than the one before it.
Quote after quote I see lately seem to have a common theme... "go for your dreams and fear is okay." One such quote- "If your dreams don't scare you, they aren't big enough." - seems to sum up the whole lot.
If I jump into this dream thing, then I'll have to conquer some fear. I'll have to find my voice. I know I have a voice- a very southern mom kind of voice. The kind of voice that has lots to say. So...the next big scary question for the list...
What if I actually find my voice and then get tired of hearing it?
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