Saturday, June 26, 2010

Care to Dance?

Last night as I was preparing dinner, I dropped one of my CD’s into the radio Scott had given me for my birthday a few years ago. Tonight was a Jann Arden/ Susan Tedeschi kind of night. I remember how, as a child, I enjoyed it when my mother played her old albums on the huge console stereo we kept in the living room. I could almost feel the mighty voices of Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby coming up from the floor, through my feet, and escaping out every pore in my skin. I can’t say I recollect too many female voices of my youth, and I know for certain there were no “empowered” women who played guitar like Orianthi, or could bang out a drum solo like Sheila E., residing in the depths of my mother’s console. But I think it’s very important for my daughters to see women in non-traditional roles, for them to know they are limited only by their refusal to depend on God for His strength and planning.

We kept the radio on through dinner, and as we cleared the table; by now Susan was belting out "You Need to Be with Me." I found myself lost in a sassy little blues rift that drove my hips to wiggling and my head to wobbling. As I bopped around the kitchen, I recalled an occasion not long after I met my husband’s children. They were dancing effortlessly around the living room of Scott’s condo, completely enrapt and utterly uninhibited. They urged me to join them, and I remember giving a wiggle or two and feigning a fit of silliness in order to collapse on the sofa and watch them instead; I was not as fearless as they.  I felt like a chump.  I'd finally met someone who allowed, even encouraged me to let my hair down and be myself, and here I was, begging off in front of his children.

Fast forward almost four years later, we laugh together, we play together, we even dance together and, yes, it is as if no one is watching.  The moments I have shared with Scott and our children are moments that during the years of doubt, fear, and self-consciousness I would have never imagined, much less accepted.  I remember gagging at the idea of drinking after one of my own children.  I demanded privacy in the bathroom, and would have died of embarrassment if another adult had seen me tumble into the creek like I did two summers ago.  But thanks to a life with understanding rather than judgment, and creativity instead of rigidity, I have blossomed, and so, I believe have our children.  Even those who have a tough time acting a little off-kilter, have succumbed to some wackiness now and then; despite what they might tell those on the outside, form and fashion isn't always important, and being yourself can be fun!  (You know who you are!)

As I write this, Olivia is standing in front of the desk wiggling and bopping to no music at all.  Madison just this minute popped in singing a Katy Perry song as if Katy herself was cheering her on. It makes me wonder about the possibilities if we could all treat others the way we would like to be treated; if we would look at others with the eyes of children, and just ask them to join  in the dance.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Raising God's Children

As I opened the refrigerator and stowed dinner’s leftovers for the hour in which they might avoid becoming a “late night snack,” I thought about the day’s events. Christine and I had had a rocky 24 hours. Her end of the year evaluation, something we’d always celebrated, had been marred by her self-absorbed behavior; a day I had anticipated from the moment I made the appointment became far less than I’d desired. Her nauseating, flirty, air-kissing nonsense that she reserves, apparently, only for those deserving, was contrasted sharply by the blatant snubs she offered Scott and I. Desiring Christine to be a woman of breeding, class, and character, the last thing we tolerate is shallow or rude behavior; she managed to pull them both off in one shot.

Earlier today, she’d neglected to clean up a couple of things in the sink as she was cleaning her own. “But Murph just told me to clean my things; they’re not even mine,” was her attempt at absolution. We’ve been teaching our children, “If you dirty it; clean it;” now I see just how important it is to amend that to include a sense of community.

Christine will be an adult before we know it, or prepare ourselves for it; it is important to us as parents, she is prepared. I imagine myself, the day she leaves for college, or slams the trunk of her car as she heads to her new digs, or rides off with her new husband, tin cans trailing, or maybe even boards a plane to head off to Iraq, running after her yelling, “Oh wait, there’s one more thing…” As I tried confronting her about some of these issues, I found myself floundering, going in circles. I prayed silently for God to give me the right words. It didn’t seem to me as though He was listening. I continued to blow it.

Standing with the cold air covering my face, I breathed a sigh of relief that, at least for now it was out of my hands. Christine would be camping with her father for the weekend; I couldn’t screw things up anymore than I already had. I closed the refrigerator door and headed upstairs. Within minutes Madison and Olivia joined me for their obligatory showertime shenanigans -- dressing the dog in my rumpled clothes, dancing between the transparent shower liner and the curtain, gazing at themselves in the mirror – until it was time for them to hop in. (Oddly enough, some of the purest, most candid, most enjoyable times the girls and I have take place during our bedtime or morning routines.)

Once I flopped into bed I began to feel sorry for myself again. Thank God for free will, but when it comes to raising our children, it can seem like life’s biggest obstacle. “If only I could make her understand just how much I love her; if only I could make her feel what she will experience when she is raising children of her own,” I thought. Suddenly I was reminded I am no longer bound by earthly worries. I am incapable of changing any one of my children, which is why God does not expect it of me. My obligation as a parent is to be God’s hands, feet and voice in raising His child. Once I pray for the words, or the ability to remain silent, my job is over; God handles it from there, and who am I to say whether events that take place after that are fruitful or not. I am honored to serve in raising another of God’s children, but I am just a child myself. God is our Father, and the One who loves us enough to handle the tough stuff, supply all our needs, and listen to our cries for help – even when we can’t seem to find “the right words.”

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Eat Mor Chikin'

I love Chick-Fil-A!  I even got one of those "copycat recipes" so I could make it at home.  All that stinking up my kitchen for nothing -- it still doesn't taste as good.  Since I can remember, Chick-Fil-A has passed out free samples to anyone within a three mile radius of the store -- "but only one per person."  You mean to tell me that on any given day, there are dozens of people in the mall who have never laid their underprivileged taste buds on the savory breading and juicy tenders that Chick-Fil-A has to offer?  Doubt it.  At the risk of sacrilege, how about five people?  Three?  Anyhow, Chick-Fil-A's generosity aside, I got to thinking what it would be like if other stores allowed you a sample of their wares in an effort to lure you into their capitalist clutches.

For instance, what if the local nail salon gave out samples?  Can you imagine approaching the store only to have a smiling manicurist woman approach you with a fingernail in her hand?  Or maybe just a whiff of their latest OPI?

Worse than that -- our mall used to have a dental service!  Implants anyone?  "Unh-unh-unh, just one per person!"  Maybe you'd rather sample our latest extraction technique?

Shoestrings at Journeys, diamonds at Zales, pentagrams at Hot Topic, and minutes at Verizon (although that might be a little tough to pull off)!  Perhaps the folks at Hollister could give out one of their snooty looks, free to everyone.  Oh, they already do?  OK.  And they have special snooty looks reserved just for people who use the word "folks?"  Who knew?

How many takers do you think Victoria's Secret would get?  Depending on the samples, probably way more than that poor guy in the stupid cow suit with lukewarm chicken chunks stuck between his hooves!

Monday, June 21, 2010

A Message of Redemption and Mercy

I was a willing participant in an abusive relationship for many years. “Willing” because I stayed with no real effort to change it, and “participant” because I became just as abusive as the one I accused. I whined, I cried; I “just wanted it to stop.” I tried – constantly. To the point I was so obsessed, so very overcome, swallowed up by this relationship, it eclipsed all others – and I do mean all. My children suffered, my friendships suffered, but worst of all, my relationship with my Heavenly Father suffered.

Someone recently objected to the idea that “the victim” is in any way responsible. “When you’re so deep in it,” she said, “you can’t stop it. How can anybody say you are responsible?” Well, let me first point out that in most abusive relationships both people are victims. Sure, he hurt me, he took those things that meant the most to me and used them against me. He targeted my weaknesses and slowly opened them to gaping wounds. But I? I stayed because my competitive nature told me to win, to fix him at all costs.  My fear of "what others might think" (or maybe fear of eating my own words) kept me from surrender. The more I tried to change the way he treated me, the more he dug in and did it his own way; the more he dug in, the more I needed to control. He could never treat me the way I wanted; he wasn’t wired that way. He was completely incapable from the day we met, but I allowed other things to cloud my judgment, resulting in ten years or so of struggling to fit a square peg into a round hole.

Secondly, let me make this perfectly clear – ANYTIME you step outside the will of God, be prepared for disaster. You’re asking for it; you’re opening the door to it. God is a God of plan and purpose. With every curve ball we throw, with every snort and scoff, God still prevails. We can discount His precepts, we can downright defy His laws, but He will still accomplish what He wills – with or without us. And “without” is no longer a choice I am willing to make.

I choose instead to see this for what it is – a gift, only one of the gracious ways God turned a bad decision, my willful and sinful decision, into a message of redemption and mercy. He is the expert at creating unspeakable beauty from the ashes of the incinerated lives we leave behind when we choose to ignore His will. He didn’t have to change me, or rescue me, or even listen to my pleas for that matter, but He did. He didn’t have to leave me with painful memories and consequences that seem to materialize before my eyes each time I head in the wrong direction, but He loves me enough to discipline me. God used the painful outcome of my open disobedience to provide me a point of reference -- a way to gauge where I was, where I am, and where I need to be. I will never forget how deeply entrenched I was in wrongful thinking, thinking that led to despair and sin of which I never thought myself capable. Not only that, but He left me with a whole new way of life; a life in which I never have to be burdened by the things of this world again. But did He stop there? Oh, no. He gave me an earthly life full of new beginnings and love like I’ve never known.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Happy Father's Day

When much of the Western Hemisphere is sound asleep, or just crawling to their beds, I make my way to work.  Summer mornings are not nearly as bad as those cold winter mornings when the comforter seems to pull me back beneath its warmth, and dogs like snoring contentedly at the foot of the bed.  Not because I am a sunny, make-lemonade kind of person, but because of my German utilitarian blood, and an earnest effort to simply get through the next twenty years or so of employment while maintaining some wisp of sanity, I have embraced those wee hours of the morning as my quiet time.  I read the Bible left behind by my father, an edition of the Max Lucado NIV.  I love holding the same Bible my father held, turning the same pages he turned, wondering when and why he underlined certain passages -- what significance they held for him.  In the stillness of the morning I commune with the One who saved me and remember the one who led me to Him. 

I would love to say my father and I were so close I know exactly what he thought as he marked those words, that we shared those Scriptures together in our talks.  I imagine what it would have been like, sitting beside him in the pew at his church, maybe celebrating his birthday, as he opened that Bible to prepare to receive the message God had for him.  I can't.  The drama, bitterness, duplicity, hypocrisy, rage, rebellion and fears of this world erected an impenetrable wall which stood for years between my father and I; bricks laid one by one, mortar that kept the wall firmly in place, his workmanship and mine.  God forgive us.

For years I wavered between remaining a scared, hurt little girl or an angry, cold-as-ice youth.  I look back now, ashamed I never relied on God's strength and, at least tried to reconcile while he was alive; he was my father, after all.  Sadly, his death made it easy for me to come out of "that place."   I'm not sure, exactly, what his death did for him; I have an inkling, and I envy him.  But I'm sure he sees things much differently now, as well; I loved him then, and still do.  We allowed ourselves to be bound by earthly laws and emotions, things that the perfection of the cross negate.  We capitulated to the gods of this world -- self, unforgiveness, spite, arrogance -- instead of capitulating to the God of Heaven who operates in the spiritual realm, with power unspeakable, under laws He put in place before He breathed life into any of us.

My message today, this Father's Day, in loving memory of my father:

Whatever it is, whatever pain you carry, whatever road you've travelled or mountain you face, God is the Ultimate...  He will climb it with you in His arms.  He will bear it as you walk freely, unburdened beside Him.  He will overcome it as you kneel prayerfully before Him.  He will heal it with a touch of His hand.  He will restore it when the laws of our society dictate it is beyond repair.  Don't let one more day go by, surrendered to the ruler of this world; lay it all down at the feet of the great I AM.