Funktified!

Conversation with myself....

"What is my problem? I mope around on the weekends, I don't get my butt to church, I say I'm going on a diet and don't, I complain about stuff. I am feeling like a loser! Can't seem to get over this hump. Can't seem to hear God. What is my problem?'

I been funktified, attacked by the funk brigade, been funked upon, you name it! I am in a funk and once again, I find myself sick of myself. This journey has surprised me, I guess. I don't know what I expected but I didn't realize it would be this hard. It's perplexing to me because I still see God's caring, loving hand clearly and I see many of His blessings. But somehow, I am not truly laying hold of His joy and peace. I am concentrating on circumstances too much and not on the Creator. I have longed to understand all that has happened to me when I need to be longing to understand Him.

Joy is a deeply-rooted confidence that God is in control. 

I read that somewhere awhile back and I need this reminder. God is not held up in traffic! He is just as near to me as He has always been. If I don't "feel" Him near, that's on me, not Him. I need to live in that confidence regardless of how I "feel". Joy, then, becomes a choice - a choice to see things from God's perspective and a choice to trust Him as I embrace the new life He is giving me.

So here is my prayer...

"Dear Lord, 

You know me. You know my struggles and my motives and my desires - far better than I know them myself. I want to please You. I really do! But sometimes I feel like I'm just wandering around in the desert, like the Israelites did. Please change my perspective and make it Yours. Please change my focus and make it You! Allow me to grab hold of your joy and peace because it's mine, provided to me by Your work on the cross. And thank You that You never give up on me, You aren't disgusted by me, You don't mock me, You don't dismiss me. You wait, You love, You provide, You nourish, You delight. Imagine that! You delight in me! Teach me, Lord, to delight in You."

Psalm 118:1

Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;
For His lovingkindness is everlasting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6umWkVwpfBk

Letting Go

Today, I put my precious youngest daughter Tammera and her two sweet kids on the plane back to Tucson. They had been visiting for three weeks and while that is a nice, long visit, I hadn't seen them since May of last year. And - who knows when she'll be able to come out again? I am continually amazed at how much we all love and care for her. God grafted her into our family years ago. I didn't really understand the process but now, I can't imagine my life without her. She truly has become one of my own. I don't mean to sound sappy but I don't take this relationship for granted. My other girls were stuck with me from the start. Tammera and I chose each other. Maybe it's much like the way God grafts us into His family. I love Tammera for who she is, not for anything she does. That's how God loves me too. But today, I had to let her go. As painful as that was, she has a life and a husband in Tucson and that's where her place is now. I feel pretty sad tonight but kids growing up, moving away, having their own families, all that is normal. I hate the letting go that is part of that process but I accept it. I'm already eagerly looking forward to the next time we are together and I can hug all of them (By then, she'll have three kids)!

I've been thinking a lot lately about another kind of letting go. I was talking to Melissa the other night and I heard myself say to her, "There isn't one hour of any day that I don't think about your father." That was bothering me and as soon as I heard myself say it I knew I had to do something about it. I pondered this as I went to bed that night. I realized that Paul did consume my thoughts and consequently, I was constantly hurting. I was imprisoned in a way, by a man who was no longer in my life. I wondered if I could ask God to free me from the steady onslaught of memories, regrets, feelings, and thoughts. I was afraid. What if God answered my prayer? What would I think about? What would I have? And was it even right to be weary of the turmoil that thoughts of him brought? I felt convicted that it had been long enough. I may always love Paul and I will never regret my life with him. But it is gone now, not by my choice, but still gone. I very tentatively began to pray and ask the Lord to sort out my thoughts. This is hard for me to describe but it just felt so strange to be asking God to help me stop thinking about my husband! I fell asleep a little uncertain, wondering if I were on the right track, not understanding completely but suspecting that I was headed in the right direction. A few nights later I was at the Biblical Counseling class that I am taking. Afterwards, I was talking to a dear friend and I shared a little of what I had been thinking about. She jumped on it in her passionate, enthusiastic way. She's been where I am so she can get away with that. She very definitely felt that I needed to stop the unending cycle and boldly told me that it was sin! She said that I was putting Paul in the place where God should be. "Like an idol?", I said. Exactly. The Lord should consume my thoughts, not a mere man.

I think that God gave us that conversation that night and that it was confirmation to what I had already began processing. I really appreciated her honesty, her courage, and her genuine concern for me. She prayed with me before we went our separate ways and I haven't stopped thinking about all of this since. I haven't arrived! But I'm on the bus. My desire is to glorify God through my life, whatever that life looks like. It seems that for now, that means letting go of the person that occupied the most major portion of my life. It is an extremely painful letting go, not at all like seeing Tammera off. But for the Lord, for myself, for my girls, it is a step I need to take. With God's strength, it will be done.

Philippians 3:13-14

Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Daughters

I, obviously, do not know much about raising boys. I was blessed with three biological daughters and God graciously blessed me with a 4th (more about her later) when I was nearly 50. Though I don't claim to be any sort of an expert on raising girls, I at least am familiar with the process. Boys? Not so much. I've lived with a lot of people over the years. When I was still married, we often took in people who seemed to have no where else to go and some of them were boys. I remember Rick. He had dreadlocks (this was long before it was acceptable for a white kid) and he had to be ordered to take a shower. He lived in an apartment down the street from us and his mom had thrown him out. He turned out to be very sweet to my young daughters. Last I heard, he was married, had kids of his own, and had a degree in horticulture or something close to that. I don't imagine he has to be told to shower anymore. Then there was Greg, who thought it was O.K. to have a leak in his waterbed and not do anything about it or even mention it, for weeks. He also boiled an artichoke until all the water was gone from the pan and the artichoke had self-combusted. But I digress....back to girls.

I don't think my house had more than the average amount of drama considering there were three girls living in it. I do remember that the drama tended to occur in the middle of the night. I can't count the number of nights that I sat up with a daughter until one or two in the morning hashing out life's difficulties and crying together. If you have sons, do they sleep? In my experience, men sleep at night no matter what. But my girls waited until I was just about to go to bed. It was then, when the house was completely quiet, that hurts, fears, worries, hopes, and dreams demanded to be let out. And so we would talk. I honestly never cared that I was exhausted the next day. I've done a lot of things wrong as a parent but this I can say - if you need an ear at any time during the night, I'm your gal. And it was a privilege to sit on a bed in the dark and listen. Well, of course, if you know me, you know that I also dispensed a lot of unasked for advice during midnight discussions. I've lost some of my stamina and staying power now that I am 60 but I can still rise to the occasion if necessary. Just because my daughters are all grown doesn't mean that they've stopped having late night crises once in a while.

Tammera, my 4th daughter, joined our family when she about 15 years old. Melissa was a year or so older and it wasn't long before they were acting like they'd been sisters all their lives. They would sit up all night watching T.V. and talking and laughing and eating. But then a few days later they'd annoy each other and not talk for a while. Tammera and I settled into our relationship slowly. I wasn't sure what she wanted from me and I am not the most exuberant, enthusiastic person. I didn't want to crowd her but at the same time, I was all she had in the mother department. It was a delicate dance for a few years. But gradually, biological lines blurred. I hardly remember life without her. She learned to drive, had her first boyfriend, renewed her trust in people, and grew as a Christian all under our roof. I had been content with three daughters but I was so honored that God gave me another. Then came the day when Tammera walked in one night and said to me, "Mom, I enlisted in the Air Force!" And just like that, the separation began and our relationship changed. She was going to see the world but she ended up in Tucson.  ☺ That young girl that came to me years ago, somewhat guarded and defensive and wounded, is now a fabulous young woman with a husband, two children and another on the way. I haven't seen her in over a year. She and her family were here when my mom died but we haven't seen each other since. She is arriving in six hours!! She and my precious grandchildren, Audrey and Asher, are flying in for a 3 week visit. I'm grateful that her husband, Eli, didn't mind. He has to stay in Tucson and work but understanding Tammera's deep desire to come home again, he is graciously going to "bach it" for a while. I cannot wait to see them all. It is always such a joy to me to have all my girls together and all the cousins happily creating chaos. I'm thrilled that three of my daughters are here in Paso but there is always an empty space. That space is going to be filled up for the next three weeks! Yea!!

Trauma in Shapewear

This is serious business, ladies, so pay attention. It also is a bit personal but I figured someone has to talk about it so it might as well be me.  I had, what can only be described as, an extremely traumatic experience the other day. I share it here in the hopes of saving someone else though I am wondering if it was just me or if anyone else has suffered through a similar fiasco.

I was shopping in Kohl's because, as you might guess, I had a coupon. I had wandered around fairly successfully and decided to end in "Intimates". Anybody that knows me well knows that I love P.J.'s. I'd live in them if I could so I am always checking out the sale racks for some new "after work wear". As I was heading for the pajamas, I noticed a display marked  "Shapewear". Hmmm...I've been having issues of late with the dreaded back fat. If I didn't have to wear a bra I'd have a much smoother shape in the back but inevitably, a saggier one in the front. Since going to work or church braless isn't an option for me (any more ☺), I thought I might benefit from a trip through the Shapewear department. I saw some camisoles and the brand name was Flexees. Doesn't that sound easy to wear? I grabbed a couple and headed for the dressing room. If you are interested in seeing just how innocent these creations of the devil look, here it is...

I took my shirt off and began to casually slip the cami over my head. By the way, I won't tell you what size I was trying on but suffice it to say, it was not a Small or a Medium. Now, the fact that I began having trouble moving this item down past my chin should have been a red flag. However, I ignored the warning and gallantly soldiered on. I mean, I am nothing if not persistent. O.K. Got it down to my upper chest and attempted to get an arm through. Again, major red flag! Again, I continued. I finally had both arms through and now, the tricky little item was rolled into a narrow little tube and was threatening to cut off all circulation to the "girls". Eventually, I managed to get it untangled and pulled down over my stomach. I began to suffocate. I could not take a full breath so I had to resort to short, shallow breaths reminiscent of the Lamaze breathing I was taught years ago for childbirth. That sort of breathing was ineffective while I was in labor and it was just as ineffective for surviving encapsulation by "power mesh". I realized that I needed to get this thing off me and reconsider this whole mission.

Easier said than done. I attempted to pull the cami up and managed to get it to just under the boobs, again in a tight little roll. I felt faint stirrings of panic but had no choice but to move forward. With a tremendous amount of tugging, I got it to about the middle of my boobs. I was so thankful that there were no hidden cameras in that dressing room. However, no matter what I tried, I could not get it to move any further. Finally, in desperation, I took my left arm and shoved it down through the roll that was the cami. I got it pushed down to about my elbow. I may not have thought this through very well. My left hand was now positioned over my right hip and my elbow was cocked at a weird angle, almost as if I was trying to take something out of a pocket on my right side with my left hand. I quickly ascertained that my arm was pinned. As in stuck. Tight. I was now feeling more than just stirrings of panic. I twisted and turned and twitched and thrust but all to no avail. Oh my gosh! I was going to have to pull the fire alarm lever and have a paramedic cut me out of the dang thing! Could I possibly be any more humiliated? I made one, last, dramatic upward arm motion and miraculously, I was free!! I gasped for air and praised God that I was no longer in the clutches of the "feminine, flattering" camisole. I think it was alive but it played dead sort of like an opossum. It is still there, in the Kohl's Intimate Department, waiting for it's next victim.

I, meanwhile, have decided to ignore the back fat issue for now.

Agony of the Soul

I recently spent some time with a person who was experiencing what I can only describe as "agony of the soul". He was truly suffering as he ranted against all the people who have ever hurt him and also was suffering as he contemplated his many poor choices and failures. I felt so sorry for him and so inadequate for the task of trying to encourage him and assure him of God's love for him. In spite of the very real pain that he was in he still couldn't seem to grasp that there was any hope for him. It was as if he had made a decision to screw up his life and had also resigned himself to an eternity in hell, believing that there was no other option for a man such as himself. He was more willing to rail against the world's injustices than to even consider a different path. He also couldn't fathom trusting justice to God and yet he was so frustrated with his own inability to extract justice. I realized, as I listened to him, that too often I judge, criticize, nag, or attempt to manipulate a person but I don't really know what is going on inside them. What I witnessed that day was a person who was being eaten alive from the inside out. I asked him if he thought that all the hurts that he held onto and all the injustices he felt had been committed against him were any worse than the hurt that I had suffered at the hands of the man who had sworn to love and cherish me forever. (My girls tell me I always win when I pull out that card!  ☺ ) I realized that though I had been hurt terribly and I still mourn the loss of my husband, I was not in the sad state that this man was. Had I ever been? I'm not sure. Certainly, when Paul first left me, my heartache was much rawer than it is now. I also had to look at my own failures in my marriage. But I always had the Lord right with me and I felt His presence and I never doubted that He would bring me through this and He has. As I ached over my mom's illness and death and even my own fears about inheriting a tendency towards Parkinson's, I was comforted by knowing that she would be forever with the Lord and that eventually, so would I. As I attempted to explain myself to the man crying in front of me, I found that God was ministering to me while I thought I was ministering to him. By expressing my thoughts and beliefs out loud to someone else, they were cemented in my mind. I was able to say, "Yes! I am His, praise God!" And I wouldn't trade that for anything. The pain we go through on this earth is nothing compared to the joy that will be ours in heaven. I was reminded of the words to the song, "Eagle's Wings". To be hidden in His love brings me to my knees and that is exactly where I need to be. Though it was difficult to watch, I was grateful for the glimpse into the human soul that was living (or trying to live) without the Lord. The pain of living without Him eclipses any earthly loss. I left that day, far more thankful for the peace that is mine and far more determined to pray for those still suffering and searching.


"Here I am waiting, abide in me I pray.
Here I am longing for You.
Hide me in Your love, bring me to my knees.
May I know Jesus more and more.

Come live in me, all my life take over.
Come breathe in me. I will rise on eagle's wings."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNiJZIs_tgk

Reflections on a Garage Sale

So, my daughter, Sarah, decided that she wanted to do a garage sale. She was ready to get rid of some stuff and she lives right downtown so it is a great location. But, of course, since most women do not want to do anything alone, she invited me to join her. Translated, that means that I had to haul two trunk loads of crap to her house, work Friday night until 10 p.m. helping her organize stuff and then try to get up Saturday morning (my day off!) and get out and about by 8 or so.

I always have a thrift store pile going but I'd much rather go to a thrift to buy more stuff than sit on Sarah's front porch for 4 hours hocking our wares. But you know, I love my kids, so sometimes I gotta do stuff that isn't terribly exciting. (I'm polishing my halo right about now.)

I decided that I needed a little something special to get me going that morning so I offered to make a McDonald's run for me, Sarah, and my grandson, Gabriel. I hadn't had a sausage and egg biscuit in years and it sounded fabulous. I set my alarm for 6:30 a.m. and hit the snooze button about 9 times, finally coming to with a shock at about 7:30. I threw myself out of bed, tossed on some shorts, spit on my hair, and ran out the door. I didn't even brush my teeth! I was shocked to see that the McDonald's was absolutely packed at 8:15 in the morning. I mean, you would have thought it was a famous gourmet restaurant! It was standing room only. Good thing I was "to go". I ordered the breakfast platter for Gabriel. I figured it was an assortment so he was bound to be happy with at least some of it. After I had ordered, I noticed this large number posted by the picture of the "platter". It was "1090". I looked again, squinted a little, and realized that next to the number 1090, in small letters, was the word "calories". Holy Smokes!! One thousand ninety calories just in the breakfast? Looked again - my biscuit breakfast had 510 calories. Plus, in a fit of abandon, I had also ordered hash browns. Add another 150 calories. Whatever. It was 8:15 on a Saturday morning, I looked like a slob, and I was just too tired to care. And the day had just begun!

I arrived at Sarah's with our breakfasts, which now contained enough calories to feed a small village for several days. Sarah had a wonderful attitude. She had been up much earlier than me and she and Gabriel had already neatly arranged everything onto her front lawn. It was a pitiful display. We really had mostly clothes which aren't the biggest draw at a garage sale. We would watch some people slow down and do the "drive by" and then keep on going. Now, mind you, this was crap that just the other night I wanted to dump at the AmVet trailer. Now, I was taking it personally that no one wanted to sort through my crap and pay me what I thought it was worth! Eventually, there were a few rushes and sales picked up. I was happy to at least make back the cost of my breakfast and Sarah did quite a bit better than me. During lulls, we chatted and looked through each other's stuff. I ended up loading a fair amount back into my car. For example, Sarah had seven champagne flutes that never sold. You know I have quite an active social life so I figured I could always use more champagne flutes. Score! I had donated a pair of earrings to the sale because Sarah had told me I should never wear them again. Come to find out, they never made it out to the lawn. She kept them! Hmmm. Oh well. They will look better on her.

Lots of very nice people stopped by. One group of four women arrived in an Escalade. They were having too much fun! One of Sarah's items was a small crystal ice bucket. One of these ladies was looking at it and commenting on how she liked it but that it wouldn't hold much ice. Her friend told her she should go ahead and get it. The woman replied, "It's so small, I would just have to fill it with ice and pour my booze right into it and drink out of it." We decided we liked her style. One man came by and wanted to know if we had any guns for sale. Um, is that legal we wondered? The 80 year old neighbor lady from down the street stopped by and we learned a lot about her history of flea marketing as a business, when her husband had died, where each of her sisters lived, etc. You get the idea. The nice thing was, we took the time to listen to her. In fact, Sarah was great about asking her questions and encouraging her to talk. We had no where else to be and our Craig's List ad said the sale went until noon so technically, we were working and were legally bound to sit on the porch and chat with strangers until then.

Sarah was trying to foster entrepreneurship in Gabriel. He had helped her drag everything outside so that had earned him two 12-packs of soda. He was supposed to try to sell them for a buck each and he would get to keep his profits. Several of Sarah's friends very sweetly stopped in just to buy soda from Gabriel. He got off to a bit of a rough start. His first customer was a nice young woman who had recently gotten married. Sarah had been her wedding coordinator. It was a little early for Gabriel so he needed a bit of prodding to semi-politely ask her whether she wanted Coke or Sprite but as the morning wore on, he warmed to the task. Pretty soon, he was sitting out there hollering at the browsers and actually selling more than me! The highlight of his day was when Sarah's friend, Robert, drove up. He had come just to buy soda and surprised Gabriel buy buying all ten of the remaining Sprites. Suddenly, Gabriel was very protective of his stash of money and quite excited about his earnings. I actually managed to sell my king sized comforter. It was in great shape. I just can't fit it in my washing machine. I hope the people who bought it don't mind the cat barf that precipitated the sale.

Finally, noon arrived and we began to pack up. We had one other family group stop and we let them take whatever they wanted. It saved us the trouble. Then we loaded up what was left and off we went to the AmVet trailer. I was home by 1:30 p.m. and was worn out. Would I do it again? Well, I figured that between the prep time before the sale and the time spent the day of the sale, I made about $4 an hour. Frankly, I'd rather sleep in. But...there were a few things that made the day remarkable...

I'm blessed to have daughters who don't seem to mind my company so spending a morning with Sarah was a blessing.

I enjoyed seeing the camaraderie of women as they enjoyed a morning together and was reminded of my own good friends and what they mean to me.


I was humbled as I watched families gather up clothes and be grateful for them.

I was thankful that I did, eventually, make it to the AmVet trailer.

And lastly, I must not eat breakfast at McDonald's!

A Hard One

Been thinking some hard thoughts lately. Or maybe, more accurately, I should say that I have been avoiding thinking them. They touch just at the edge of my conscious mind before I push them away. I don't want to let them in. I think it's because I have no idea where they will end up. Too many thoughts rattling around in my head and I can't sort them all out. But it's two in the morning and, thanks to the prednisone I am currently on, I am still awake. I figured I might as well do a little exploration. Not sure if it's wise to share so personally but somehow, this writing is therapeutic for me and maybe my crazy thoughts are in someone else's head too.

It has occurred to me that I don't cry much at all any more over my failed marriage. I don't think it's that I'm over it. I'm wondering if I just needed to take a break from the effort of trying to understand what has happened. Will I ever make sense of an event that was so wrong? I doubt it. But I can't seem to let it go either. Do I still love him, miss him? I'm sure that's part of it, in spite of all that has happened. But there is much more and at the root of it is my pride. His total rejection and abandonment of me has thrown me. Am I so unworthy? So unlovable? I know I was far from perfect but when I'm rational, I also know that it probably wasn't much about me. His hurts, insecurities, desires, and weaknesses eventually got the upper hand. My weaknesses and failings contributed to the mix. And yet, I missed it for so long. He seems to me to be an illusion, someone I thought I knew but obviously did not. Again, my pride takes a beating. I mean, after all, shouldn't I have seen it coming? Couldn't I have done something to help both of us? As I look back on my life it seems robbed of all validation, like none of it was what it seemed. There must have been very real times, wonderful times, but now I question it all.

There are moments when I want to talk to him so badly and many days when I honestly wonder how he is and, I'm a little embarrassed to say, some times when I worry about him. I can't even keep track of how many times I wonder if he ever misses me, thinks about me, imagines how I am. I suspect he figures I'm fine, figures I never really needed him, figures he has left me in the capable care and comfort of a father, daughters, grandchildren, friends. And to a large degree, that is true. I am fine. I really am! But that doesn't mean I don't hurt.

We can never, on this earth, escape the pain that accompanies living on a planet corrupted by sin. As a Christian, I have the Lord as my resource and strength and certainly, it is only because of His graciousness to me that I can say, "I'm fine." But the hard part is accepting that God does not remove me from the pain. Nor does He remove the pain from me. I am a doer, a follower of lists, an administrator. Can't it just be that I need to pray more? Do more Bible Study? Minister to others more? Then life wouldn't hurt so much? Certainly, I would benefit from all those things. But no matter, my joy will not be complete until I am lifted from this world and safely in the arms of my Father. So that is what my struggle boils down to - accepting the pain while rejoicing in the blood of Jesus that saved me and the Glory of God that awaits me.

Please don't think that this is a depressing state I'm in. In fact, I just might be about ready to burst out the other side of "down in the dumps". Often, when I let myself think too hard, I can relate to the philosophy that  says, "life sucks and then you die!" But if I continued in that frame of mind I would miss all that God has for me here and now. When I bang on heaven's door and complain to God and beg Him to ease my pain right now, I deprive myself of what He can offer me in the meantime. I owe my life to Him and the work that was accomplished on the cross and my future lies in the hope I have in His eternal promises. It all sounds so lofty but grabbing hold of this truth is what I want to make real in my life. My pain pales in comparison to most people's lives and I feel insignificant even talking about it. But, it's where I'm at and it's my pain so I have to deal with it. Comparing myself to someone else will only make me feel guilty (I'm a master at that) and won't help any in the long run.

My struggle is not really because of a failed marriage. That just happens to be a symptom in my life of the sin that permeates our world. I want the Lord to change me, from the inside out, so that my perspective is completely different. I want to live like I've already got one foot off this earth and reaching towards heaven, holding out a hand to reach for His, able to cry because it hurts but also to sing because I know what awaits me.