Friday, October 30, 2009

My Prayer

I was leaving work today when I ran into a Christian woman with whom I rarely have an oppurtunity to speak.  She asked, as she usually does, about my children.  I was compelled to tell her about one of our children and the problems he is having. 

He is locked in a pattern of sin, he is firmly in its grip.  I say this not out of judgement, but out of love for my child; I speak not with self-possession for I know I was not the best parent, but with assurance that I did not spare him the best Heavenly Father.  He was raised in The Word; he attended church and we were actively involved.  He was told from a very young age what it means to be a Christian, he was shown what it means to serve as Christ did.  I could dwell on the multitude of times I was a terrible example to my children, I could lose count trying to number the nights I closed my eyes in exhaustion rather than keep watch and pray for them.  I could make this about me and my faults. 

Number One: I've apologized for my shortcomings -- to God and to my children.  My children know that on my own, I am flawed, wretched, and painfully human.  My children also know the gift of God's strength and grace that lifts me up and makes me whole -- if I seek and surrender.  My children know I don't always do those things.  My children also know they don't always do so, either.

Number Two: Satan would love for me to turn this into a self-serving, woe-is-me tale of Judi and her gaffes and foibles. Truth is, it is about one of the Shepherd's sheep -- lost, following another to its own slaughter. It is about a child and his immediate need to seek and surrender.

What I told this woman on the walkway is this:

"I pray for peace for myself, and brokenness for my son."

Initially, that may sound incredibly selfish.  Why should I have peace?  Why would I wish ill on my own son?  But, it is out of a boundless, inestimable, "chasmic" love for my Heavenly Father and my child, that I pray.  For me to have anything but peace after I have asked and received God's forgiveness, shifts the focus from God's grace and strength to my depravity.  My self-absorption negates His victory over sin in my life and renders me useless as His instrument of peace.

Secondly, brokenness is the path to being made whole. (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).  It is brokenness that has caused so many of us to concede failure on our own, to subjugate ourselves to the power of Jesus Christ, to fall prostrate at His feet and cry out that we cannot do this of ourselves, for without Him we can do nothing! (John 15:5)  A loving mother prays for the surrender of her children to the will of God; a loving mother prays that her children will be stripped of those things that would keep them from falling in love with their Savior and dying to Him (Philippians 1:21)

So, my child, it is out of love that I pray you will find yourself face to face with the fear, the hunger, the emptiness, the failure that would drive you straight into the arms of the One who knows and loves you best, the One you used to love and serve.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

"MissUnderstood" or "When Realism Is Misconstrued, Bad Behavior Can Result"

My family tells me that I tend to be confrontational.  Is there something I'm missing?  I'm certain we rarely see ourselves as others see us, but confrontational?  Me?  Now, depending on your sources, "confrontational" can be as generic as "meeting face to face," or as unflattering as "facing or opposing boldly, defiantly or antagonistically."  I know I am not the benign, soft-spoken, meeting-face-to-face "Excuse me, Sir, but I believe the driveway your are parked across is mine.  Would you care to move or just allow me to walk three blocks?"  Likewise I am not the petulant, juvenile, defiant "What do you mean 12 items or less?  Six jars of herring don't count as separate items -- they're all the same item!  Besides, you are not the boss of me!"  Nor am I antagonistic.  I don't threaten to call HR, the police or my councilman; I don't write letters to the editor or call to unleashed a stream of obscenities on one of those silly 30-seconds-to-make-your-point hotlines.  I don't jump on the bandwagon of causes everytime I see someone who doesn't get their way, and I certainly don't make it a point to call local news stations each time I see a municipal car parked in front of the Hair Cuttery where the police chief's wife gets her hair done.
In most cases, in fact, I bite my lip as the cashier stops to review her schedule with the girl that is bagging my eggs beneath the six pounds of bananas and the two gallons of milk.  Many times I have waited patiently as the guy in front of me slept through the green arrow and then stays behind the line phonetically uncoding the words, "Left Turn Yield on Green [circle]."  When the solicitor from Bank of America fails to cease and desist after my second "No, thank you," I politely explain, "The only thing I want from Bank of America is to be removed from their call list; have a good day," before I hang up on him. 

Call it confrontational, but if I demurred each time someone approached me with an offer for new windows or a request for help in obtaining funds from a Nigerian bank account, not only would I get nothing accomplished, but I would fall for every sob story that comes down the pike.  You see, I'm a sucker for a cause.  I really do hate to see people in need.  The cashier?  If I could, I'd offer to work for her so she could go to her nephew's graduation.  And her friend, the bagger?  I'd bag my eggs myself.  I could buy the guy at the traffic light one of those sleep number beds that Lindsey Wagner endorses, and a copy of Hooked on Phonics.  The poor guy from B of A -- I'd have to get him a better job than telemarketer -- no one but a convicted felon should be forced to be a telemarketer.

My mother used to say "No good deed goes unpunished," her way of saying that sometimes it just doesn't pay.  From this I learned to weed out those things that will suck up too much of the parts of me I am not willing to invest.  In other words, I'm not committing to something that will cause me to unhappily, impossibly overextend myself in one way or another; I'm not opening the door to obligations I might be tempted to undertake, but not qualified to see to fruition.  Maybe I am a little blunt when it comes to my refusal; maybe I tend to cut people off at the knees before they've had their say.  Maybe I tend to dig in to avoid being sucked in.  I might be a little sarcastic from time to time, and possibly even a little cynical but, trust me -- It's only because I care. 

Quite frankly, I can't believe those who know me best would mistake my honesty and altruism for bold, defiant antagonism.  I definitely think we need to sit down and talk about this!       

Monday, October 26, 2009

A Few Revolutions of the Wheel



Today is my day off from "the job that pays the bills," the job that is "the daily grind."  It' s also the only day of the week I can get up "uber"-early to write without interruption until I walk the dogs at 8 or so.  So, with three or four hours to pen the "great American novel," I should have a lot done -- right?  Let see, so far it looks like this:

Cleaned up dog vomit -- that gulping noise that awakened me shortly before the alarm was the result of Bishop's success in eating his way out of his crate, and his body's refusal to digest pine and chicken wire.

Devotions -- 15 whole minutes of concentrated attention to God and His plan for me.  That is, besides wondering if I got that load of laundry out of the washing machine last night, and trying to recall if they started the winter trash schedule -- 'cause if they did, I have got to put out that trash...  Hey, did I even lock the gate last night?

Helped my husband pack up for work -- that's my husband, right?  Gotta take care of  the man who takes care of me!  Besides, get him off to handle his business, and I can begin to handle mine -- no distractions.

Checked email.  You never know when something very pressing is coming across the wire -- free kittens or coupons from Depends.  Good thing I did check -- that led me to the next matter vital to humanity's welfare...

A host of emails back and forth regarding the whereabouts of a couple of coffee pots missing from our office at work.  (Still haven't located them -- will handle that one tomorrow when, bleary-eyed, I arrive at work and attempt to make coffee in fishbowls a homeschooler was giving away *FREE* in another email.)

Facebook.  Research, right?  See what my friends and family are up to, maybe post a thought or two -- like warm-ups before running a marathon.  By God's grace, few people are up to chat at 5 AM, but it was a gorgeous weekend -- lots of photos and videos posted.  After weeding through them it was time to get down to business.

What's this?  "Balloon boy?"  "Mermaid girl?"  Riveting copy that can't be overlooked.  Maybe I'll pick-up some techniques; maybe there is inspiration lying within.  Maybe I'll just get disgusted by the way the media labels people and no one seems to be offended when Oprah's on the line.

It is now after 7:30 AM, and aside from what you see on this page, I have written absolutely nothing.  Besides my devotions, I have been essentially unproductive and, to be real, my devotions were so many hours ago I'm not sure whether it's time to throw stones or time to gather stones.

Three hours I am not getting back... maybe I can pick up a few extra on Freecycle...