Sore Loser?

The other day I wanted Heaven.  Like really, really wanted it.

 

I wanted all that I know to be true about it. 

 

I wanted perfection.  And purity.  And health.  And right.  And full.  And joy.

 

No problems.  No pain.  No tears.  No wrong.  No lack.  No loss.

 

I just really wanted Heaven.  For me and for so many others.

 

I've noticed these times of longing happen periodically.  But mostly, whenever I'm sensing lack or loss.  Which is where I was.  Which in some ways is where I still am.

 

An experience or a reminder and that earthly feeling of emptiness settles in my soul and I don't like it.  I don't like empty or lack or loss.

 

I like full.  I like a full belly after a meal.  A full pantry after a trip to the grocery store.  A calendar full of activities.  A full bank account.  Full experiences.  Full opportunities.  I don't like empty.

 

I didn't like it seven years ago this month when we had one of our most profound losses.  When one day we were celebrating life.  And weeks later, mourning loss.  When hope and expectation filled my womb, only to be followed by emptiness.  When the label "miscarried" replaced "pregnant".

 

And I still don't like empty today.

 

According to wise Solomon, "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

 

If I take the fullness in one season, I have to be able to deal with the lack in another. 

Last week, my girls stayed home with a babysitter while my husband and I attended a meeting at church.  When we got home, we received a not-so-great report from my oldest daughter about our youngest daughter's behavior. 

On two different occasions, she acted out because things didn't quite go her way. 

She didn't want to take her turn being "IT" during a game of tag.  Then in the midst of trying to decide on a movie to watch, she expressed her discontent because she lost a round of  "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe" as well as "Whoever guesses the number gets to choose"--two well-played attempts by our sitter to be fair about the selection process.

This isn't the first time we've seen our youngest behave this way.  She's a six year old who doesn't like to lose (I mean, what six year old does?).  As her parents, one of our present tasks is helping her learn to deal with loss and not grow up with a "sore loser" label attached to her cute little forehead.

As my husband and I sat in her room that night explaining her offense and discussing consequences with her, I felt the Spirit nudge me, too.

How are you dealing with your current losses? 

With fussing?  Complaining?  Pouting?  With a disagreeable spirit?  With a "That's not fair" attitude? 

Or with acceptance?  And patience?  And prayer?

As I wrestled this out with the Lord,  I asked, "What do I do with all of this?  When I see loss and lack in my world and in others' worlds?  When Heaven is not an option right now, Lord?"

His quiet, but clear response was this...

Have it to the full.  Abundance.  His reminder of what He gives.   

He gives life.  And He promises to give it to the full.

Then suddenly a flood of other reminders rushed at me. 

This...

 

And this...

 

And this...

All reminders that my Father's speciality is fullness.

These empty, filled with loss, moments and seasons have the potential for great purpose. 

But only if we take them to the One whose fullness can crowd them out.

So that's what I'm asking during this season.

Father, fill me with Your fullness.  Let it crowd out the empty places.  The places where I see and feel lack and loss.  Help me not to be a sore loser.  And may I be content on the days when I really just want Heaven.  Thank you for coming.  Thank you for promising life to the full.

Darned Expectations

She got hit.  Hard. 

Right smack in her upper left thigh. 

It was her second at-bat in this particular game, but the first time she'd ever truly been hit by a fast-pitch while standing in the batter's box.  She took a few steps, dropped her bat and grimaced.  She was mad.  Then the hot tears came.  The pain and the anger were clear for all to see as my nine-year-old hobbled toward first base.

When she got there, she was met by her coach, a.k.a. "Daddy".  He spoke with her for a second, checking to see if she was okay.  I couldn't hear him, but did manage to hear her say, "I can't.  It hurts!"  Rubbing her stinging leg and fighting back the tears, she stepped onto first base, poised to steal second, which she did successfully. 

A minute later, she tried to steal third base.  But whether it was the throbbing in her leg or absentmindedness, she didn't slide, which is strange because she always slides if she knows it's going to be a close play. Because she didn't get down, she was thrown out.  (And for the record, she has yet to be thrown out this whole season.)


Safely sliding under the tag in a previous game.

Whereas I thought she was mad before, now she was spewing.  She fought with everything in her not to explode as she trotted off the field.  But as soon as she stepped into the dugout, the dam broke.  I watched her for a second, gave her some time to cool off and then made eye contact with her. 

"So...what happened out there?"

"First I struck out!  Then I got hit!  Then I got tagged out!  I DON'T like to get out!"

I attempted to calm her down as best I could while I listened to her frustration.  Then softly I said, "Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, Mama said."

As helpful as I thought my words were, I'm fairly certain she didn't agree.  As a matter of fact, I believe I detected a slight eye-roll behind the mask and beneath the shades.

I reminded her to keep her self-control in check, take the frustration she was feeling and put it into playing defense the rest of the inning.

This is Grace's sixth season playing softball.  She's always enjoyed the game, but her love and interest in it has grown ten fold recently.

And I know exactly why. 

It began the afternoon we took her to her first game at the University of Georgia softball stadium to watch the Lady Dawgs play.

 

 

It continued to grow as she watched these college softball players excel in all the things she'd been learning to do over the past few seasons. 

It grew even more at the next game she attended, when both her team and her sister's team got to tour the locker room and then walk onto the field with the UGA players for the pre-game ceremonies.

And it hit an all-time high when she got to meet and get her glove and t-shirt signed by Geri Ann Glasco, the first baseman and her favorite UGA player, after the last game we attended.

Grace & Geri Ann

She wears her signed t-shirt constantly.  She's analyzed the UGA softball program.  She's memorized every player from the team poster hanging on her door.  She was even excited to write about UGA softball and Geri Ann for her descriptive writing assignment a few weeks ago here at home.

Since then, all we've heard is how much she wants to be like her.  She wants to hit just like her and she wants to play first base just like her.  She even wants to play for UGA just like her.  And she wants to do it all today.

We think it's great she has a softball hero heroine to look up to, much like little boys look up to Major League Baseball players.  We think it's super she is setting goals for herself and trying to improve her skills.  We think it's wonderful she is trying so hard and feels such passion for the game.  We love that she loves to play and to compete.

But here's where we aren't too pleased--when she sets up unrealistic expectations for herself and then beats herself up when she doesn't meet them now.

I mean, come on.  Grace is nine.  Geri Ann is nineteen.  Grace has played the game for six seasons and Geri Ann, well, way more than that.  Grace is a good athlete, but who's only had limited coaching and experience so far.  Geri Ann has combined her natural talent with years of specific, individualized training and hard work.  As best I could, I tried to explain this concept to our girl as we drove home.

"Grace, you gotta give yourself some grace.  Geri Ann has had years and years of training and practice.  Don't worry about being like her today and don't get disappointed because you aren't.  Stop comparing yourself to her abilities and accomplishments today.  Just be the best player you can be right now.  I promise you'll enjoy playing softball a whole lot more."

But in midst of speaking those very words, I suddenly realized how much I could relate to her.  I totally get those darned expectations. 

Silently or unknowingly I have heaped them upon myself and then felt angry or depressed when I didn't meet them.  When I have wanted (so badly) to do something someone else has done or have something it took someone else years to obtain, I have felt disappointed.  Maybe I needed more practice developing my skills or maybe I needed to wait for more time to pass.  Or maybe I needed to drop it altogether.

Whenever and whatever the reason, I need to extend grace to myself.  I need to take my own advice about the expectations I place on myself sometimes as a woman, as a wife, as a mom, etc. I just need to be the best version of me God is shaping me to be right now.  Goals are great.  Mentors are wonderful.  But when I quit comparing myself to others and contentedly just be me right now, I find I enjoy this game of life a whole lot more.

And you, friend?  Ever heaped an extra helping of those darned expectations upon yourself?  If not, please share your victories or your secrets for extending grace to yourself while battling the comparison game.

A Grinch's Prayer

As ashamed as I am to admit it, the Grinch and I share a similar past.

Not in the... "I hate Christmas, so I'll steal gifts and trees and lights and happiness right out from under everyone on Christmas Eve" way.

No.  Not at all.  Because, unlike the Grinch, I really, really love Christmas.

Instead, it was more on the lines of..."I think the most likely reason of all…may have been that his heart was two sizes too small.”

In past Christmases, I remember the internal struggle I had whenever I heard that description to explain the Grinch's personality and the reason for his less-than-acceptable behavior.

Maybe that was me, too.

Given any personality test in years past, I'd score high on thinking, low on feeling.  High on analyzing and judgment.  Low on sympathy and mercy.

I rarely cried and was rarely moved to tears by others' situations and suffering.  I cared.  At least I thought.  At least I tried.  But in truth, more often than not, I turned my head, closed my eyes, or pretended not to hear the cries of the needy and the most vulnerable.

And though I'd never considered myself a taker, I'd never described myself as a giver either.  It's not that I was opposed to giving or that I hadn't given or that I didn't give. 

I had.  I did.

It's just that giving didn't seem to overflow naturally from me like it did from so many others I knew.

The hard reality:  I needed some supernatural help with my seemingly small heart.  The heart defect had to go.  My heart needed to grow.

So I prayed.  One simple prayer.  One very short, life-altering prayer. 

(I feel the need to offer a word of caution here.  You may not want to pray this prayer unless you really, seriously...like really, seriously mean it.  Consider yourself warned.)

"Lord, break my heart for what breaks yours."

 

What breaks the heart of God?  Here's my short list:

The lost.  The vulnerable.  The oppressed.  The captive.  The lonely.  The needy.  The helpless.  The poor.  The sick.  The persecuted.  The wounded.  The widow.  The orphan.

That one prayer changed my whole perspective on God and others.  No longer can I sit back and watch, content to stay within my own world, doing my own thing, for my own pleasure. 

No longer can I look at the needs, both here and there, and think, "There are just so many. I'm only one person so I won't be able to do much." 

Instead, I need to help.  I want to bless.  I'm compelled to give.  Something.  Anything.  Not sparingly, but generously.  Not under compulsion, but from a full heart.  A heart which has been given so much.

Weeks ago, I wrote down a specific list of giving opportunities I was aware of this holiday season.  Knowing it was not possible for our family to give to all of them, I narrowed the list to several things/people/ministries which resonated both with us and the heart of God.  And we focused our giving to that list.

And with each giving opportunity, I'm learning a valuable lesson.  Giving takes practice.  Lots of it.  Like learning to play a musical instrument or a new sport, giving is a skill.  The more you do it, the better you become at doing it. 

I'm grateful for these opportunities.  They have given me the chance to put into practice what I'm learning.

In 2 Corinthians 8:7, the apostle Paul said,

"See also that you excel in this grace of giving."

 

Paul knew that left on our own, we will hoard.  We will keep instead of give.  We will continue to store up temporary trinkets for ourselves.  But because God has been so incredibly generous to us, He calls us to store up eternal treasures on behalf of others and for His name's sake instead. 

 

Clinching closed fists less.  Extending open palms more.  

Not to receive, but to give.  Because the more I try to hold on to my life or my stuff, the more I lose it. The more I let go, the more I gain.

Including a bigger, growing heart.  A more generous heart.  A heart that breaks for what breaks His.

(To all my friends and family who possess such giving hearts, thank you. 

I have learned much from your example.)

 

Goldilocks

You know the fairy tale. 

Little girl with golden curls. 

Family of three bears. 

House in the woods.  

Three bowls of porridge.  

Three different chairs.  

Three dissimilar beds. 

Little girl on a quest for "just right."

I confess I've been feeling a little like Miss Goldilocks lately.  Searching to find "just right". 

It seems I've been swinging on the pendulum of discontent between "too much" and "not enough".  My perspective, my opinions and my outlook seem to shift between the two varying extremes on a frequent basis lately.  In some circumstances, I feel I am "too much".  In others, "not enough". 

Can you possibly relate?

I talk too much.  I don't share what I'm thinking and feeling enough.

I plan too much.  I haven't planned enough.

I'm thinking too much.  I haven't put enough thought into it.

I'm giving my girls too much freedom.  I haven't given them enough freedom.

We have too much stuff.  We don't have enough stuff.

I have too much to do.  I haven't done enough.

I spend too much time networking socially.  I don't spend enough time connecting with friends and family.

I think about what I want too much.  I don't think enough about what I need.

My body is too __________.  My body is not __________ enough. (you fill in the blanks)

Maybe I show my love too much.  Maybe I don't show my love nearly enough.

And the list goes on and on and on.

When I find myself in the midst of this heated mental battle of tug-of-war, I am reassured by these ancient words...

"I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith.  And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge--that you may be filled with the measure of all the fullness of God." Ephesians 3:16-19

I am reminded that I have been filled to the brim with the fullness of God.  I am complete in Christ. 

Lingering long in limbo between "too much" and "not enough" is no longer acceptable.

Instead, grasping the deep, wide, fulfilling love of Jesus, the search party is called off.

I have found my rest.  I have found my "just right."