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.

When It's Best to Just Shut Up

We're celebrating fifteen years of marriage today.  And for the sake of reminiscing, I'm sharing a few pictures of a certain young, innocent (& pretty clueless) couple back in the day on July 11, 1998:

On one hand, I cannot believe it's been that long.  On another, I cannot believe it's only been that long.

In fifteen years of marriage, I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two about living blissfully with my man. 

Things like respecting and honoring and trusting and supporting.  All really good things.  And about listening and observing and encouraging and praying.  All really great things. 

But one of the biggest lessons I'm afraid I'll still be learning until the whole "death do we part" thing can be summed up by any one of these phrases:

Be quiet.
Zip it.
Shush.
Close your mouth.
Silencio, por favor.
Hold your tongue.
Shut up.

However you choose to say it, they all mean the same thing.

Don't. Say. Another. Word.

I know the last one on the list sounds harsh.  Believe me, it sounded harsh fifteen years when it was said in my very own wedding ceremony...by my husband's friend and college mentor who was co-officiating the ceremony. 

After the vows, ring exchange, and unity candle, our friend stopped to take a moment to offer some personal words of wisdom and encouragement to both of us before we were announced as husband and wife.

He started with my husband.  He recalled a time in college when he felt my husband was holding back emotionally.  He emphasized the vital importance of him sharing his innermost feelings.  Of being open and vulnerable, even when it was hard.  Of trusting someone else (namely me, the new wife) with both his pains and his joys.

Then our friend shifted his attention to me.  He began with a story of another couple he'd counseled.  He told how the wife had come to him expressing her dissatisfaction with her husband's leadership and asked his advice as to what she should do.  Our friend said he knew the answer.  She just needed to "shut up...be quiet...and pray".  His implication:  I may need to do the same whenever I felt the same.

It was a stereotypical gender analysis.  Man needs to talk more, woman less. 

At first, I bristled.  I didn't like the way it sounded to my ears.  Even as gentle and as calm and as kind as he tried to say it, he still said it.  He said the words, "shut up" in my wedding ceremony and I was stunned.

Naive and inexperienced, I certainly had no idea how to navigate the waters of a godly marriage.  I had no idea what was ahead and had no idea how much I needed to hear those words.  But our friend apparently did.  He knew I'd need to hear them.  Maybe not then, but most definitely later.  Especially fifteen years later.

There are certainly times when it's beneficial and appropriate to speak up; I do not condone being a doormat.  As a matter of fact, I come from a long, female bloodline of "non-doormats".  But other times, I must confess.  It's best to just shut up.

So yes, I'm still learning this:

I spend most of my days overseeing, managing, correcting and teaching my girls.  I do all of this and all of that.  I'm a caretaker and a mama...just not my husband's.

And at no time do I desire to be this...

"A nagging spouse is like the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet;
You can't turn it off, and you can't get away from it."
Proverbs 27:15-16 (The Message)

No ma'am.  No sir.

Instead, I'd rather choose to:

*respect versus reprimand.
*encourage instead of enrage.
*agree instead of argue.
*consider instead of correct.

When I forget (and I will), I hope to call to mind the story of Daniel in the lion's den. 

I will try to remember the ferocious, ready-to-devour beasts as they stood before one of God's children.

And I will remember how an angel of the Lord was sent to still the lions.  To shut their mouths so they could not hurt or wound (Daniel 6:22a).  All because of prayer.

Harsh?  Maybe.  But sometimes harsh makes you think.  Especially when it's also true.  And helpful.  And inspiring.  And necessary.  And kind. 

So I finish with this:


Thanks to my pastor for this gem. :)

Lord, I know there's a time for everything.  

There's a time to speak and a time to be silent (Ecclesiastes 3:7b). 

Give me the wisdom to know the difference. 

Shut my mouth if what I'm about to say is not true, helpful, inspiring, necessary and kind.  

And may you richly bless the next fifteen+ years of my marriage as you have the first fifteen.  

Amen.

Declaration of Dependence for Today

Can't do it.  Not today. 

The moment I do is usually the exact moment it bombs.  You know I'm right, Lord.  You know me full well.

Your own people tried.  They didn't get it right either.  They kept doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and to whomever they wanted.

Your Word says it was because they had no king.

"In those days Israel had no king;
everyone did as he saw fit."
Judges 21:25

That's why they did it.  Oblivious to You.

As I look inward and around, I notice how little things have changed.  Thousands of years later, I see moments when we're still trying to do our own thing.  In our own way.  With no profitable results, only substantial heartache and regret.

So much like a toddler, our hearts scream, "I can do it all by myself!" 

In the spirit of independence we think we can or we think we should, so we do.  But independence and self-reliance will eventually fail us in the spiritual realm.

The good news is that we have You.  We have a King.  And You have a kingdom.  Both in our hearts and in the heavenlies.

You have a throne where You sit, where You rule.  You are most definitely on it.  It's Your throne, not ours.  Our only response to Your throne:  bow before it; don't ever attempt to climb up on it.

You have complete dominion and absolute authority.  And only a King has both the privilege and joy of setting captives free.  Free from ourselves.  Free to follow You.  Free to do as You see fit.

Left on our own understanding and our own ways, we will screw up.  Royally. 

I don't want to do as I see fit.  No, I want to do as You see fit.  I want to live according to You and Your ways, not myself and mine. 

Direct my paths.  Direct the paths of your people.  Grant us the strength to do what is right and the grace when we don't.  Steer us clear of the compromising standards of this world and toward You and Your divine purposes.

Today {once again} I declare my dependence on You.  I fully rely on You for everything.  For in You, I live and move and have my being.  I trust You.  I need You.

I acknowledge You as King and rest in Your Kingship.   You are the King of all kings.  King of our hearts, King of our lives, King of every specific circumstance today.

May our hearts bow to You and Your authority as our King, today.  Because Your Word promises every one of our knees will do it one day.

I pray for my generation.  I pray that we may be a dependent people.  And that it may be said of us,
"In those days, they had a King; everyone did as He (the King) saw fit."

"Your kingdom come,
Your will be done..."

Matthew 6:10

I Am For You (Post Father's Day Post)

"I know, Mom.  You've told me that, like...a million times already."

"Good.  Glad to know you're hearing me.  And for the record, I'll tell you like...a million more." 

I am FOR you.

We were on our way home, having yet another one of those critical car conversations. 

You know the ones. 

Your kids start by asking you a simple, but profound, question.  Then you, sometimes accidentally, sometimes quite intentionally, weave a much-needed life lesson carefully into your explanation.  Happens all the time. 

The way I figure it is this: as long as they are buckled in and have nowhere else to go, their only option is to listen.  Captive audience.  All in the name of education and encouragement, of course.

I can't recall all the specifics of this particular dialogue. 
Something about boys.  Icky boys and ill intentions. 
Something about girls.  Lonely, lost and love-deprived girls.

No pointing fingers.  No judgment.  Just a tender, compassionate, innocent explanation of certain choices made by certain young people because of certain lacks in their lives.

I summed it all up by saying, "Not always the case, but it may be because they've never heard their mom, never heard their dad ever tell them, 'I am FOR you', like you always have."

And my oldest asked, "Why would that matter?"

What she doesn't understand now is that it matters.  It matters a whole lot. 

To know someone is on your side, your team. 
To know you aren't alone. 
To know you have a cheerleader in your corner. 
To know someone is rooting for you. 
To know someone wants the absolute best for you. 
To know someone is not against you. 
To know someone is purely for you.

Those of us who've experienced the blessing of parents who told us this truth both in words and actions can sometimes forget how much it matters. 

Or worse, take it for granted.  That is until we know an individual who has never known someone was for them.

It matters.

In my late thirties, I've found that it may matter even more.  Not so much from my earthly parents, but from my Heavenly Father.

Clinging to this one truth has affirmed me in more ways than I could ever think to express in simple letters, syllables, words or sentences.

It's imperative I know. 

Whatever the circumstance, whatever the challenge, whatever I've done in the past, and whatever lies ahead, He is for me.  I've just got to know.

He is.  Always for me.  Never against me.

Maybe you need to hear that truth today, too.  Maybe you need to hear it for the first time today.  Maybe you need to be reminded of it.  Maybe you need to encourage your kids with it. 

Our Father is for us.  Always on the side of His children.  Never against us.

And for the record, even if you've already heard it like...a million times, I'll be glad to tell you like...a million more.

He is FOR you.

What Do I Do?

Forgive the recycling.

I wrote the post below a few years back (before this blog), but was reminded of it after my pastor's message yesterday when he made these statements:

*Our life is defined by our choices.
*Our choices reflect the voices we listen to.
*When we give a listening ear, we give that voice a platform in our lives. 

So...it begs the question.  What voices are we listening to?

What Do I Do?

It was the bottom of the last inning, in what had become a very competitive matchup between two girls’ youth softball teams. 

The score was tied six to six.  It was our opponent’s turn to bat.  If they scored, our team would inevitably lose the game.  If not, we had another opportunity to hit, which meant the chance to win our very first game. 

Their first player hit the ball and got a base hit.  Their second batter came up to bat.  She hit a long ball which made its way to the outfield.  One of our players ran after the ball, picked it up and ran toward the infield. 

 

Everyone held their breath, waiting to see what she would do next. 

Would she throw the ball to second base? 
Would she run in and try to tag the runner? 
Would she throw the ball back to the pitcher and therefore, stop the play, forcing all runners to halt at their bases? 

With great hesitation, she stopped right where the grass met the dirt and held the ball in her glove.  In both fear and uncertainty, our inexperienced player froze. 

Deafening shouts erupted from all corners of the ball field.  Everyone, young and old, started screaming.  Our opponent’s coaches shouted at their players to run, taking advantage of the situation to advance their base position and hopefully score.  Our fans were yelling for this beginning, first-time softball player to throw the ball. 

 

My husband, the head coach, was shouting as urgently as he could, waving his arms, in a frantic attempt to get her attention.  Her gaze spanned from one side of the field to the other, but she still held the ball. 

In desperation, our player sought out assistance from her fellow teammate, our rookie daughter, and asked, “What do I do?”  Her response, “I don’t know.  I’m not the coach!” 

 

Finally, after finding and fixing her eyes on her coach, she was able to block out the noise and was able to focus on his instructions in that moment.  Consequently, she threw the ball in to the pitcher.  Time was called and the play had been stopped.  Unfortunately, the injury had already been done.  In that brief moment, our chance of earning the win had slipped away.

“…the sheep listen to His voice.  He calls His own sheep by name and leads them out. 

When He has brought out all His own, He goes ahead of them,

and His sheep follow Him because they know His voice…” John 10:3-5

We've all been like this young softball player.  Life is often a cruel game in which situations and circumstances beyond our control are hit right at us when we least expect it.  Sometimes in fear and uncertainty, we freeze and our faith fades.  Various voices seem to deafen us with their shouts in our ears attempting to tell us what to do, where to turn. 

 

It’s only when we fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, that we see clearly what we are supposed to do. 
It’s only when we listen intently to the voice of our Shepherd that we hear and know which way to go. 
It’s only when we heed the wise counsel of other sheep following the Shepherd that we are able to navigate through the noise and find our way.

“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, “

This is the way; walk in it.” Isaiah 30:21

Sometimes the damage has already been done.  But it's never the end.  Just like our team gets the chance to try again in the next game, often we do too.  We have a merciful Father who revels in second chances and His voice tells us a different story. 

 

We don’t have to dwell on the past, but look with hope to all that’s promised in our future.  Casting Crowns' lyrics reminds us, “Out of all the voices calling out to us, let’s choose to listen and believe the Voice of Truth.” 

Because ultimately our choices depend upon voices.  Whose are we hearing?

My #1 girls
(who really have nothing to do with this post,
but since I felt the need to have a super cute softball pic,
here they are...)
 





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.

Post Mother's Day Post

Mother's Day.  Some loved it.  Some didn't.  Some were excited about it.  Some were not.

I confess I've had mixed opinions over the years.  And recently, I may have even dubbed it my "least favorite holiday."

For me, it was the burden of expectation.  The sense of obligation.  The "have-to's" and "should-haves".  The let-downs and the disappointments. 

It became too much for me.  So I downplayed it with my husband and my own girls, until the past couple of years when I've felt the Lord helping me to achieve some much-needed balance.  Now, I can walk in freedom with the whole thing.

No guilt.  No worries.  No burdens.  Not about what I did do or didn't do.  Not about what I have done or haven't done. 

Just the freedom to enjoy the weekend with my family.

I love being a mom.  I really do.  But the last thing I want for my girls to feel is that I need them to fill my love tank.  Don't get me wrong.  I absolutely, without a doubt, appreciate their encouragement, their sweet gestures and their kind words.  But my survival and worth as a mother is not tied to it.  And their worth and value as my daughters should not be linked to it.

I want them to feel free to express their affection to me however they want to, when they want to, not only when they feel they should. 

And I know the mother-daughter relationship can be very complex.  Some days are good.  Some not-so-good.  Some seasons are easier.  Some, more challenging. 

But as I lead my girls and teach them to navigate our relationship and the world around us, here's a short list of things I say to them and pray they will know deep in the core of their being:

1.  I love you and treasure you because you are mine.  Period.

2.  My love for you will not change because of what you do or what you don't do; I will not love you any more or any less based on your behavior or choices, your successes or failures.

3.  I am FOR you.  I am NEVER against you.  I am on your team.  I will always be your biggest cheerleader and coach.

4.  You may have come from me, but you are not an extension of me.  You are a distinct individual, created by God Himself with a specific personality, specific giftedness, abilities, and plans for this life.

5.  It's okay if we don't agree from time to time; it's okay if we do agree from time to time.  I love and respect the differences and similarities in our opinions, outlooks and preferences. 

6.  I absolutely do not expect you to be just like me, nor do I want you to be.  I only want you to be who God designed and purposed you to be.

7.  As you grow and mature, take what you've received and pass it down to others. Love as you have been loved.  Give as it has been given to you.  Serve as you have been served.

8.  I am here for you.  If you need me, I'm here.  If you don't, I'm still here.

9.  I will tell you the Truth.  Whether you like it or not, or want to hear it or not, I will tell it.

10.  I will pray for you.  You can count on it.  It's singlehandedly the most important privilege I have as your mother.

So, now and for future Mother's Days, I'd rather focus on the camaraderie.  The fellowship of valiant mama-warriors who fight for their children nearly every minute of every day.  Because I've learned that motherhood ain't for sissies.  It's for the bravehearted, but also for the tenderhearted. 

It's for all of the women who display mothering hearts, whether they have children to call their own or not.  It's for those who teach and share and love and guide and care.  For those whose mother-love spills over to anyone in need of mothering.  These mama bears, forever looking out for the little cubs who cross their paths.

At the end of Sunday's service, our pastor asked for all the mothers to stand.  He read a very kind "thank you" note of sorts to all the mothers, supposedly written from a child's point of view.  It was an emotional display of gratitude to all the mothers.  And I appreciated it; I even teared up during it. 

But for the first time ever during a Mother's Day service, my heart was torn.  I wanted to soak in the moment for me, but found myself aching for a host of other women.  For those women who longed to stand, but could not.  For those waiting for the day they get to stand.  For those who've accepted the reality they may never stand. 

For those who've suffered loss.  For those who still long to mother and that time hasn't come yet.  For those still in a season of waiting.  For those who have suffered a difficult or strained relationship with their mothers.  For those abandoned by their mothers.  For those whose mothers are no longer present in their lives. 

And if you are one of these women, Mother's Day might not have been a welcomed day on your calendar either.  You may have preferred to skip right over it.  In some ways, I understand.  And I pray for you.  

Whatever our role or position as women, let's brave the battlefield together.  Let's step in for the sake of the next generation, for the mothers now and the ones to come, knowing all the while Who gathers us and leads us as we go.

"He tends His flock like a shepherd: 

He gathers the lambs in His arms and
carries them close to His heart;

He gently leads those that have young." Isaiah 40:11